#still in shock over the news... my entire body stopped functioning for a brief moment after seeing the headline
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Felt a heavy weight in my heart finding out about Sakurai Atsushi's passing. His amazing talent and voice and BUCK-TICK's music had an influence especially during my late adolescence.
Thank you for everything, Acchan! You'll forever remain in our hearts with the songs you've shared with us.
#buck tick#sakurai atsushi#LOVE YOU ACCHAN!!#anyways shots from some of my favorite mvs#even when drawing these and with bt playing... i don't think it's hit me that he's really gone#razzle dazzle album carried me through hs senior year when it came out and i was obsessed with the mvs for 'romance' and 'kagerou'#still in shock over the news... my entire body stopped functioning for a brief moment after seeing the headline#was really hoping my english had fucked up until i reread it
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The Visit
I glance at my phone. 30 minutes. 30 minutes in this chair waiting for the doctor. 30 minutes in a freezing cold examination room wearing nothing but the disposable gown the nurse told me to wear. Now, I’m normally quite patient, but I begin to worry that they may have simply forgotten about me. I sit up straight, ready to leave the chair and ask for the nurse, when my new doctor comes into the room in a rush.
“Hey, Hey! Sorry, sorry. My last patient meeting went a bit over. That alright?“ He grins and verdant eyes sparkle. The man was dreamy. I could say nothing beyond nodding in agreement.
“Great! Glad to hear it” he beams. I feel an explosion of warmth within my chest and stomach and can’t help but smile back.
”Thank you so much for understanding. I’m Doctor Ryan! Good to meet you.” I readily shake his hand. Firm. Sturdy. Calloused.
“Okay great, so we’re just gonna run through your vitals, and… says here you noticed an odd mark show up near your penis?” I flush bright red in embarrassment at the mention. Unperturbed, he continues without skipping a beat “Hmmm.. we’ll definitely want to get that checked. Probably harmless, but could be something bad… I know the nurse probably covered most of these questions and took your vitals, but [he smirks] just wanna sure we get everything checked correctly, alright?” Damn it. Doctors always have a such way with words, I can’t help but melt in their arms. I feel a numb happy sensation wash over me and again nod in agreement. He was cute, too cute. God. Of course, whatever he thought this appointment was, he was completely off. Most likely picked up the wrong sheet or something, cause I only came for some immunizations.
Still, the man has me spellbound. I comply with his every whim as he continues running through his normal questioning. In every word, he further puts my will to sleep, with every phrase he draws me closer. To me, his every sentence has progressively slowed the world around us. Not that I’m complaining. I am adrift, motionless in his pool of questioning, sandwiched between warm ocean and sunlight. For a short few moments, I am at peace. I was practically sleeping by the time the second round of questions finished. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and break my spell slightly and I focus in on his beautiful face. “You okay there, bud?” More nods his way.
“Awesome. Let’s get started then.”
———
The physical was.. something else. We start with just an examination of my body. Pale, scholarly eyes remark on my every blemish, my every curve. It would be a nightmare in any other scenario, but in the secure glance of my doctor, I knew I was safe. Still, near his radiant heat, I could not help but get just a bit flustered. My answers are short, odd, my heart rate jumping to his vicinity.
He wiggles his stethoscope in the air. “We’re just gonna get your heart rate okay?” My mouth is hanging open and drooling slightly, but I nod. Really, it’s all I can do. Stunned to obedience. He just spoke so confidently, so assured in his examination. His tone was out of this world. It’s bright but resonant, like each word reverberated his command in my chest. His voice was no less potent. Sound-waves embrace the air with sweet honey, but an undertone of audible trust. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything else, still caught in this man’s spell. Now, a handsome man gets me feeling the same way a doctor often does. But he was both. I can manage nothing beyond a smile and continue nodding “okay.”
I moan at the touch of the stethoscope. It was ice. Penetrative, cold ice, but in his expert hands, it felt like gift from the man. I imagine the metal is a piece of him, precious metal, precious silver embedding itself in me. I want it in me forever- uh, the man, not the stethoscope.
He grunts. Fuck. “Sorry” I say sheepishly. That moan was definitely audible then. Further embarrassment floods me, only tempered by by the tingling sense of relaxation I felt in being examined by this man. He takes the odd outburst in stride, giving a half smile before continuing. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first”. The man was a professional through and through.
---
In the middle of making sure my reflexes were still functioning, his face winces, and his upper lip trembles, immediately breaking my illusion. He lets out a quick gasp “Ah.. I.. aahhh” barely audibly. I watch as his knuckles grasp the sides of the cushion in my chair desperately, going white in the process. For the first time in our entire session, the haze cast by this man’s being is broken entirely. I feel the dullness in my mind clear as I take note of the oddness from what had just transpired. His mouth goes wide and his face scrunches up into an emotion that I can’t quite place between pain and pleasure. Maybe both? In any case, before I can even investigate further, it relaxes immediately. Emotionless.
Then, his eyes twitch before going glassy. Doctor Ryan looked like he was about to throw up. Pleading eyes stare into my soul, but the rest of his face remains blank. I am shocked beyond shocked at this point to do anything beyond stare in disbelief while a shit-eating grin slowly paints his face. His eyes blink back to lucidity- now focused on me, and single tear pools on the corner of his left eye and drips down his cheek. He stops it with his thumb before it can drop further, before nonchalantly wrapping plump lips around it. In a slight suction noise, when he pulls the thumb out his mouth in what looks to be a deliberately seductive manner, staring intently at my face the entire time. What the fuck.
Immediately, he returns to examining me, making no mention of what had just occurred. This time though, his movements seem just a bit erratic, a bit unrefined. I also catch brief glimpses of that same cringing face every time he moves to the next step in his examination, like he was pulling long-forgotten memories from what should be a fairly standard procedure. He repeats the physical, this time going over my every part much more slowly. Any touch, any connection we had seemed to linger just a bit longer than needed. He almost seemed... Interested? Nervous? Whatever case, with every movement, and every step, his hands get a bit steadier, actions more confident. Whatever just happened to him seemed to be over. I am intrigued, if a bit scared. He was acting suspicious. Too many things seemed to line up for me to dismiss this as just normal checkup. In lustful wishes, I invoke whatever I can, hoping I’m correct. I try to sneak a peak at the outline of his admittedly large penis in his scrubs. Absolutely Flaccid. Odd. Disappointing, to say the least. Whatever this weird, hot doctor was doing, he wasn’t getting off on it.
When he gets to my lower body, he abruptly splits my knees open, spreading my legs wide. Another moan almost escapes me. Thankfully a veil of disposable fabric separates my doctor from my now semi-erect penis. Unthankfully, I can’t help but tent the gown full mast when his ice cold hands begin to trace and snake slowly around my inner thigh. I look at him in shock and he just beams back at me like the past few minutes had not just happened. “Hmmm… great legs…” My face goes crimson and I scream internally at my own inability to control my own body. “Okay, your -hNnggg-ah cha-chart, yes. Apologies for the outburst… your chart seemed to mention some concerns about your penis? Let’s take a closer look” He states, looking up at me with a half-smile.
“No- er, I think- ah, you got the wrong-” I can barely stammer out a response in the raw stimulation of Doctor Ryan grabbing and gently examining my cock and balls. Pleasure bloomed wherever his fingers glided over. This was a mental battle I could not win. Mind versus body. I was fighting myself, my own urges. He makes gentle cupping motions around my balls, back and forth. I look at him in bewilderment. There was no way this was just for a normal examination. He smiles pleasantly, “just checking for anything out of place… so far, so good”. Mystery solved, I guess. He slowly wraps thick fingers, encircling my cock in an embrace. Not solved. Not solved. I am rock hard. He gives a short chuckle. “Well, at the very least, your nerves appear to be working…. Blood flow looks good as well…Nothing out of the ordinary so far”. I am beet red at this point. Fuck me. I can’t even compose myself in front of this man.
Then, Doctor Ryan gives it a tug. FUCK.
“Holy shiiiiiit” I moan out. I turn my head away as my body quivers and gives in to a moment of divine pleasure. Betrayed by my own senses. A second, higher pitched moan escapes my now open throat, barely audible, while the a tiny bit of clear fluid spills onto the doctor’s unflinching hand. I can’t bear to look this guy in the eye. I need a new fucking doctor.
“You know, this is completely natural. Absolutely a normal human body response. Don’t worry about it” he says absentmindedly as he continues. “If anything, at least we know you can still produce, so it doesn’t look like there’s anything to worry about”. He mumbles happily. Outside my sightline, I swear I hear a licking, slurping noise. His hand, looked a bit wetter than before too.That being said, my brain has shut down from humiliation. At this point all I can manage is a blank nod.
“Well, good news- you’re perfectly hea- Oh! Actually, do you mind?” He begins to unbutton his coat and then proceeds set it on the table beside me. “You know it’s always a bit hot and stuffy in these rooms”. My eyes can’t help but visually eat at the feast before me. Bare chest and stray hairs poke out from his scrubs. The sleeves are taut around his massive biceps. Despite the objectively unflattering material, it can’t help but conform slightly to his muscular physique. It was pretty clear before, but it was definitely fact now. My doctor was hot as fuck. Something about his last question eats away at my my brain. It wasn’t hot at all. The room is cold, dry, sterile. Hell, this whole hospital is. It’s like he has me back in a trance though. Words smooth as silk, body like sculpture. He had a power over me, so I nod in compliance without even acknowledging how absurd the previous statement was.
“So, as I was saying... the good news is your vitals are all in line.” He laughs kindly, patting my stomach “Maybe eat a bit more protein every now and then”. The voice is warm and reassuring. My brain relaxes to the end in sight to this half dream-half nightmare. I start to get up to get changed before I realize the entire reason for the visit.
“Hey-er, wait! My Immunizations! I needed to get some immunizations done for my-“
“Oh?” He cuts me off, eyebrows raised. Intrigue paints his face.
Then he leans in close, head right up to my ear until the parts of chest peaking from the hospital gown touches the stray hairs poking out from his scrubs. Until we share warmth in that cold examination room. He breathes alongside me in rhythm as he exhales.
“You…don’t need any immunizations. I do… well, I did, anyway. It’s too late for him now...But we do have something planned, for you-we’re gonna try an experimental processss. A brand new… test…just for you...” He whispers. He pauses as he continues to breathe and I feel the hot, damp air emanating from his mouth coat my ear. “We need to test you for... stimulation.” Dear God. That last word he draws out in a far, far different tone than before. It neither clinical nor polite, and it hit like a brick. There was raw emotion in that last word. Raw lust. He cups the other side of my face pulling my left cheek to touch his. Like his chest, it’s quite warm. I’m flush with redness and confusion. I gulp nervously.
His tone returns in its warmth and politeness, contrasted by the intimate position we are in. “Hmmmmm salivating...mmmm... Quite a bit actually. You’re either haven’t eaten… or… you’re hungry for something.” I can’t manage out anything coherent amidst the sensory overload. He continues confidently, “C’mon... I’m your primary care physician? Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you...” He sticks his hand down his own pants, scratching to readjust. With our chests together, I am brought to our present moment. A moment in paradise. When he ebbs, I flow. Like a dance, my chest caves in with every exhale as his puffs out. He does in turn. We were partners. His scent pours out unconfined, unfiltered by distance, concentrated in our proximity. Like rainfall and crushed grass. I could live in it. With our cheeks pressed together, I feel his every movement. Every word spoken drawn in by my inhale. These would be mine to keep. This moment was ours and ours alone. He brings up the same hand, now a bit slimier to take a whiff before shoving that sweaty, funky smelling hand right to my face. I can’t control myself and start inhaling my hot doctor. I lick the man’s hand clean. Delicious.
I continue lapping it up in silence before he finally breaks it to speak. “Mhmmmmm... that’s the stuff... Maybe if we feed you enough of this hot doctor’s cum, you’d pick up on some of his residual intelligence and figure who’s really running this man.” My eyes light up, and the pieces finally all click together in my head. I chuckle.
“Good to see you too, Ben.”
———
“Leave it to humans to take something so beautifully sensual and twist it. He’s a bit too good at compartmentalizing. In many respects… It’s fucking hot. But, you know, when he’s in this work mode, he sees you as nothing more than sack of meat. We’re not getting anywhere with him without a little push”. Without warning, Ben pulls the doctor’s pants down and fiddles with his new dick- still flaccid. Jesus Christ it’s huge.
“Look, even this... appendage. Yes that’s an atypical response. I mean look at me, look at this new body we acquired. I’m swimming in this human’s hormones.” He wraps his hand around and begins pumping it. “But see here, it’s still all clinical in this head. I can only get inside him so far. We need something to end this human’s resistance. We need something extra to break him out of this trance. We need raw emotion.”
Just then, the door comes wide open. It’s Austin.
As he closes the door behind him, I see his face more clearly. It’s Austin’s body, but its pilot is undeniably Ben. Austin had a certain swagger to him that my little alien buddy just can’t quite replicate.
Ryan’s mouth opens wide and I watch as his true form exits from my doctor’s mouth and shoot strait into Austin’s welcoming nose. I watch as the doctor goes lucid. His eyes go wide and he stares at me in horror before attempting to escape. Before he can, he is pinned to the ground by the far larger Austin. “Cmon man, smell this fucking body. Feel something”
“If you can’t… we’ll do it for you. We’re going for a wild ride.. relax and enjoy it.” Austin’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and I watch as he gives a crazed grin, jaws open unnaturally wide. His tongue sticks out, his head is bright red, and pulsing silver courses through now-prominent veins. Damn. My Doctor looks at me with one last pleading glance, but all I can do is moan “I want you mine.”
Doctor Ryan lets out an involuntary scream when he notices the changes in Austin’s face, which only work to his disadvantage as a pulsating, semi-solid mass of silver falls into his open maw. Austin sticks their mouths together. Using his tongue, he maintains a steady passageway for Ben. Using his lips, Austin keeps the doctor’s pried open to forcibly receive the precious silver. Their heads bob back and forth as more and more of the slimy mass falls into doctor. I watch as a massive lumps outline themselves in his throat, then his chest, before disappearing into the depths of his body. I notice a little bit pool and spill out the corner of his mouth. When the process is over, Austin’s body falls limply to the side. I stare at the messy pile of silver goo still smeared over Ryan’s drooling mouth. Should I?
I lean over, giving my dream man a kiss. My eyes flutter at the prospect. Ugh, he’s perfect. I feel the every contour of the face of man who would soon be ours, before sucking up the excess silver an a bit of his drool in my mouth. No use putting this stuff to waste.
In a flash, I feel ecstasy. “Jesus fucking christ” I moan, as I feel a burst of energy from within. The parts of silver which were Ben settle into me, surging me with power and I feel his thoughts reverberate in my mind. In that split second, I also feel the vertigo of looking from two bodies at once. I feel the immense pleasure of controlling two bodies at once and the parts of silver which were Austin become immediately apparent. Goddamn what a fucking power trip. Austin was mine. A quick rush of stolen confidence from my previous tormentor floods my insides and I welcome my updated sense of self. Fuck yeah. Took a part of him for me. He’s never getting this back. I stare at his body and will it up. My dominion, now. While his head still hung unconscious, I move my fingers and tingle in delight as I watch his hands follow. The moment is fleeting though, and I feel the disappointment as my vision recedes back to my singular one.”Hope you liked that” I feel Ben state in my head. “Just a taste. This piece of us you’ve ingested... I think it’s best you keep it. I find this setup beneficial to us both. We can keep in constant contact this way. You might find some residual power left over Austin too, thought probably not in the way you think… at least… not yet.“
Before I can question him in my head, the doctor’s body shivers awake and then spasms before letting out a primal scream. Ryan’s looked... bigger? Almost swollen. His body occupied the same space they did before, but there was a larger presence to him. His muscles pump up, obviously riled into a frenzy. “Just a little attitude adjustment, and...Goddamn easy mode, Fuck!” He faces me. His eyes are rolled to the back of his head and silvery veins pulse all over his body. Seconds later, he settles and his eyes return to focus me. “Fuck yeah, you wanted this doctor, right? Bro, you know my bod’s way better. Fuck it though, I don’t care as I’m a part of the ride. Remember your fucking promise.” He states through gritted teeth. Unnatural coming out of the normally Angelic Doctor Ryan.
“Your Doc’s too nice though, right? You… Ben… you deserve better. I’ll make us better for you. Look how much fucking bigger, how much more of a fucking man we are with some Austin mixed in....” I am speechless, but he’s right. The doctor now exuded a dominating presence. In any other circumstance, I’d be frightened and compliant. In the presence of Ben, I felt safe.
“Thank Ben he brought us inside this man. Mmmmmm his brain is delicious… I feel so much smarter inside him. We’re gonna fuck him up. Make him better, like you did to me. Twist his head. Make him want your cum almost as much as I do. Make him want to spread more Ben around…. Mmmm speaking of, I feel him inside me. He’s squirming into us both out and goddamn it feels good.” Ryan’s body moans Austin’s moan. “I can’t wait for you to learn how to do this... to put yourself inside me-Please! Fuck! Learn it faster! That... part of me you stole… I feel good as part of you, right? You like it in you, right? Pure fucking jock. Take good care of it…more where that came from”. It was definitely my doctor, but between the behavior and facial expressions, undeniably Austin. Well, post-Ben Austin.
“I-Arrgh” I watch curiously as the doctor’s body shivers. “Ben’s... ready for you.” He winks as his eyes briefly roll to their sockets and roll back. Austin-er Ryan’s demeanor immediately changed ”Had to do a little arranging inside this doctor. We just need one final piece. Ryan’s body ready to receive its new masters. I need you to put as much cum inside this man as you can... I really like this one, his position is useful. But his mind... it’s so vast. He’s no Austin...It’s gonna take a lot more of our genetic material to tame it.”
Austin-er Ben does pushups on the floor. He clears a few hundred before wiping his sweat all over his scrubs. Of course, despite channeling Austin’s very essence, this body is not nearly as buff or as muscular as his so I watch as Ryan is forced to push up and down beyond his limits, tears streaming down his eyes, hands and legs shaking in protest, forced smiling all the while. Previously crisp scrub are now stained, damp in Ben’s body’s perspiration. The smell this weird, hybrid mix emanated was unique. Of course, it still had the cleanliness I’d expect from a doctor. Fresh cologne and nature- exactly what I’d expect from the healthy, professional man which had previous examined me. This man before me was not the same man as before. Because, interwoven was the musk, the testosterone, the pungent stink of our deranged puppet Austin. It was altogether divine.
“Look at this.” He states with a sneer as he does a bicep flex. His damp scrubs hug his muscle tightly, almost breaking at the seams. The bicep is throbbing. “I feel this body crying in pain and exhaustion. From his mind though... do you know how muscles are made? Tiny tears regrown stronger” A pulse of silver darts through his veins, immediately returning it to stillness. “What wonderful new information. We’re gonna use that. Fill into these layers with a bit of Ben, and a bit of you”. He starts laughing now “Doc Ryan here doesn’t call the shots…This isn’t his body anymore… It’s ours.”
With that, Ben lifts my gown and sticks his drenched head near my already-hard cock. Fuck he’s warm. Our sweat and scents mingle and I feel my inner thighs go moist in the perspiration in the air.
“Austin, to the forefront. Combined effort. We need him body and mind. Let us create a new Ryan,” he states. My doctor slowly wrap his thick, plump lips over my dick. Moment’s later, the man’s wet tongue slides forward. I shudder. A bit tickles in a spot just below the head and I squirm on the spot. Jesus fuck, oh- oh fuck, he’s good- he’s really good.
My shaking hands are sloppily held in place. I move them reflexively in the onslaught of pleasure. It’s like Ryan’s body was made for this. Absolute Heaven. I let out a loud moan as I continue to squirm in the confines of my position. Ben had commandeered some control of Austin’s unconscious body, and it stood there, just over me, holding my hands in place and body. Its eyes were rolled back, mouth drooling. Bits of spit dribbled to my forehead. I paid them no mind. Basically an extension of my own bodily fluids at this point anyway. Besides, whatever made Austin, Austin was mostly inside Ryan now, helping Ben add a wonderful new addition to our collection.
Ryan’s sensual motions, His body expertly bobbing, beckons mine. Erotic symphony. I can do nothing beyond quake in my seat. I hold for as long as I can but it’s too much. This was it. First, I moan. Then, I scream. FUCK. Goddamn bliss. Sweet Release. Pure Ecstasy. I am reduced to babbling internally as I release more and more of myself inside Ryan’s welcoming mouth. Using his powerful chest, he creates a slight suction, greedily taking as much of my cum inside as he can. The body begins to choke for air, but I feel Austin and Ben smile instead and continue inhaling my cum. Their eyes only relayed one word. More. There’s not much else I could have done anyway, because I continue to spew load after load inside the man. It’s the best I ever felt, the longest it’s ever been and the most I ever given. I sit in extended euphoria, paralyzed in bliss. Logic aside, ethics aside, this was my new order. Our new order. In my mind I strive to continue on, to bring more to this light. So many delicious fucking bodies in this town. So many new ‘me’s destined, yearning for my control- even if they didn’t know it yet. That last bit might have been some of Austin’s megalomania in me.
The phone rings at Ryan’s side and he picks it up. Someone patches in a call.
“Doctor are you alright? We heard some odd noises“. I watch Ben in alarm. He cracks his head to the side, cock still in his mouth, and veins coursing in silver fluid display prominently in his temples. He switches demeanor almost seamlessly back. In contrast, like strings cut, Austin’s body falls over me, unmoving. I didn’t mind. I inhale his jock essence as I listen in.
“Yewph- Iw- Ehem.. I’m quiw ahwigh, *gulp*… ahhh yeah.. Apologies, Nancy this appointment is taking just a bit longer than expected. I’ll be ready soon- just need a little more time with this one.” Every word again resounds warmly, calmly, politely in this man. When Ben channels Ryan, it’s like I’m hearing the same person who examined me earlier. He was ours. I glance his way and a bit of my cum is still on his lips as he continues his conversation. He happily draws it to his mouth with a finger and sucks it clean. My cock is drenched in the doctors sweat. Fucking hot. Ben found us a real catch. “Dr. Ben” ends the call and mentally, he’s back to our present situation, back to huffing in breathless pleasure, as he continues sucking the any residual mess in me clean. He gives me a wink as he finishes.
Ryan then stands over to Austin, and, in a reverse of the process from earlier vomits out the same silvery mass, now slick with streaks of white, back into its container. There was significantly less this time. From the still open mouth of Ryan, I watch the tiny man emerge, giving me a motion that indicated he was smiling. “I’m staying in this one a bit longer. Driving this particular specimen gives me a pleasure not wholly physical.” The mouth slowly closes and Ryan’s eyes show life again. He smiles. I look expectantly at the two of them. They begin making out. The sounds are sloppy and I can’t help but get a bit jealous. Taking note, they both stop abruptly before giving me a wink. The both speak at once while Ryan begins stripping stark naked.
“Can’t help it...You should come and stay in this room for a while. My next patient’s got quite a body we can utilize, based on this man’s memory. You still got some cum left in you? I can’t expand further without it” I nod happily. If Ben thinks he’s cute, we had to at least try. What am I saying? I can produce like a motherfucker, took part of my bully inside, made it mine. I may not look it yet, but I was alpha now.
“Austin, strip down, I need some new clothes, and yours are a better fit.” Austin’s face cringes and I watch as his normal personality returns. Normal was a stretch, because he was far more subservient now than he was before this all began. Ben then looks at me with a toothy smile as he walks over to my pile of neatly folded clothes and digs out my underwear. He nonchalantly strips stark naked and then proceeds to put on my underwear. “This is a tight- Hmph!” He struggles to get each thick leg through “-ah, your clothes...Mmm! So tiny”. This results in my hot, nearly naked doctor wearing my underwear tightly. It’s pulled to its seams as it’s forced to constrict and hold together the doctor’s massive package. I watch as his cock begins to get hard, only to be restricted by the fabric. He moans at the setup. “Ayyyyeeee fuck! Fuck yeah. It feels like you’re in here, squeezing this host’s cock and ass. I’m gonna make sure he wears this forever. I’m gonna make sure this imprints our scent into this man. Look at me. Look at this muscle. Ryan..mmmmm.... all the brains and brawn in the world couldn’t help you. Every time he gets hard on, I want him to be wearing this. I want his penis to scrape this, to be bound by it, forever a reminder of who the real Ryan is now.”
Ben’s new doctor personality switches back. He politely gestures to his pile of clothes, still freshly warm before looking at me. “If you’re gonna be my assistant, you’ll need to look the part,” he states with a kind smile. I eye the warm pile, almost steaming in the residual heat. Ryan’s body licks its lips. Ben again. “Wear it. This man is ours, forever. Take ownership of that. Of those clothes. There’s so much of your genetic material embedded inside this particular specimen, at this point these are your own as much as it is his.”
I rush over to put the scrubs on, to feel the residual heat in my doctor Ryan envelop me. I relish in it. Still warm and moist with his sweat. It was like I was wearing the man myself. Of course, it fits loosely over me, and I barely pass as an assistant. He leans over to me. “smell it” he whispers. “Smell yourself. I like you better this way”. He’s right. I smell so fucking alpha in this getup. Ben then begins putting on Austin’s clothes, which are a much better fit.
In contrast, Austin is forced to wear the remainder my clothes, which he creepily sniffs first and ends up with it fitting way too tight and revealing on him. I gesture to offer the scrubs I just put on instead, but he immediately declines in a huff, “No... I’m fucking better this way. More... complete” He moans “This was the way I was meant to be... yours... wearing this makes me feel like you’re here inside me, wearing your own clothes. I belong like this...This is your body, it misses you, and he doesn’t feel whole until you’re back home.” He pats himself. “I can’t wait for you to become this. And I’m not fucking taking no for an answer either. One day, I’m putting you where you belong- inside me so we can never be separated again. Moving around feels empty when you’re not in here doing it for me”. What the fuck did Ben do? The guy, my previous bully was horny just being near me. It felt amazing.
I silently thank Ben. Whatever Austin was rambling on about turned me the fuck on. I smiled. That piece of Austin I ingested earlier- I think his shitty vocab’s been rubbing off on me. Regardless, Austin was right- wearing him, controlling him from the inside was where I belonged. I deserved it. Deserved him. “Wait for us at home- we won’t be long” Ben instructs Austin through Ryan in a fatherly tone. Austin complies, leaving the room, staring longingly at me until he no longer could.
Ben puts on his coat. “Well then, that’s settled. I hope your cock is ready, human, we have a full schedule of bodies to possess.“
-End of “Ben Pt. 2″-
A smarter version of me would have split this into two parts. Also, preemptive apologies to anyone in a medical profession.
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plug me in and flip some switches [fic]
plug me in and flip some switches
Starker, 4687 words, [E], Android AU, read on Ao3 here!
A Starker Android AU/kinda-sorta Detroit: Become Human AU. Stark Industries is making androids, but somehow CyberLife has cornered the market on sex-bots. Tony decides to do some hands-on research and meets Peter, an android who is experiencing some very troubling malfunctions.
This is VERY loosely based on the D:BH world but it's mostly just a regular android AU and can be read as such. The only thing you need to know is androids have circular LEDs on their temples but otherwise look completely human.
It’s research. Pure and simple. Nothing else.
Tony repeats it like a mantra in his head as he steps through the front door of the club.
For years now he’s been competing with Kamski over at CyberLife, producing better and better android models and other technological marvels. CyberLife and Stark Industries models are commonplace now around the city, life-like bots that can do anything from mow your lawn to suck your dick.
The dick-sucking is why Tony is here, really.
As much as he hates to admit it, Kamski has the sex-bot market cornered. Tony can’t figure it out. His models are gorgeous, his patented StarkSkin is more realistic than anything that hack has come up with so far but somehow sales are pathetic next to CyberLife’s numbers. So… research. Covert research.
He’s not naïve enough to think some shoddy disguise will prevent him from being spotted, but the little device in his pocket that’s currently scrambling all the camera feeds will certainly help. He hands over his identification card to the android by the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. Enjoy your visit.”
Yeah, about that… sorry Rhodey. Tony resolves to buy him a nice steak dinner to make up for it.
The club is clean, but tacky, at least in his opinion. Blue and purple lights give the place a strange glow and all the furniture looks expensive but uncomfortable. There are various models walking around and dancing on small stages, clothed but just barely, and a handful of human “customers” admiring the goods. He already feels like he needs a shower.
“Welcome to the Eden Club,” the android at the front desk says, her voice soothing and calm. “Would you prefer to browse our models on the floor, or in our catalogue?”
Tony isn’t particularly fond of wandering around the club aimlessly, especially with other patrons there, so he points at the screen being projected in front of him.
“Wonderful. Do you have a preference for gender?”
He shakes his head and waits to see if there’s any reaction from the android. She simply taps a few keys and the catalogue appears in front of him.
“You’ll find all of our models here. When you have selected one, press the blue button underneath their picture.”
Tony almost wants to ask her to just choose for him. It would make this whole thing less... deliberate. He glances quickly behind him to ensure no one else is there before looking through the first few pictures. A Steve model, with a gentle smile and wholesome good looks. A Natasha, who looks like she could probably kill him with a flick of her wrist. He swallows thickly and files that one away to come back to. A Bucky, a huge man with beautiful long hair and sad eyes. A Wanda, young but intense. As he swipes through the next few pages, none of them really stand out to him. What’s so damn special about these bots? He considers going back to the Natasha when he stops on one of the last photographs.
A Peter model. Tony has seen a few of the others throughout the city, but this one is new. Small and lithe, twinky, but well-muscled. The model rotates on the screen and Tony nearly chokes as his eyes fixate on what can only be described as an absolutely perfect ass encased in tight black boxer-briefs. But the face… jesus. Soft-looking waves of hair frame a gentle and innocent expression, slightly chubby cheeks contrast with a sharp little nose and jawline, and big brown eyes make him look even more frighteningly human than the others.
He presses the blue button before he realizes what he’s doing.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Rhodes. Please follow me and I’ll take you to your private room.”
The android leads him down a long hallway lined with closed doors. Tony can’t hear any noises coming from within so he assumes there must be sound-proofing on all the rooms. The main club was too crowded for these to all be empty. She stops near the end of the hall and gestures to a door with a green light beside the handle.
“He’s ready for you. You have one hour from the time you open the door. Please remember that any damage done to the unit will be charged to your account. Enjoy your evening.”
She walks away without a second glance.
Tony exhales sharply.
“Alright. I guess this is happening.”
He opens the door and all his blood immediately rushes downward. Peter is a vision. He’s wearing nothing but those skimpy black boxer-briefs and is curled up like a cat in the middle of a huge, round bed. The sheets are dark red and the contrast against his pale skin is absolutely gorgeous. He perks up as soon as Tony walks in, skin flushing a pretty pink as he lets his eyes drag slowly up and down Tony’s body.
“Hello,” Peter says. No, not “Peter”. It’s an android. A bot. And Tony is here for research. RESEARCH.
“Uh. Hi there.”
His legs unfold gracefully as he slips off the edge of the bed to stand and extends a hand to Tony. He smiles, and Tony’s heart clenches.
“Come sit with me.”
“Yeah. Sure, I can do that,” Tony says, wondering where his higher brain functions have gone. He takes the android’s hand and allows himself to be led over to the bed where they both sit. Peter doesn’t relinquish his gentle grip, and his palm is soft and warm against Tony’s.
“Is this your first time?”
Tony snorts. “What? No! I’ve… oh, you mean here?”
Peter nods, still smiling.
“Then yeah I guess so. Like a virgin, huh?”
The android laughs softly but Tony is sure he’s just programmed to do that. Adding in knowledge of Madonna’s entire back catalogue seems like a waste of processing space.
“What would you like to start with, Mr. Rhodes?”
Oh. Right.
“Well, first of all you can call me Tony.”
The boy – BOT – frowns slightly. “I apologize, that wasn’t the name I was—”
“It’s ok,” Tony says with a wave of his hand, “it’s a… nickname. I just like it better than James. Or Mr. Rhodes. Ugh, sounds so stuffy, doesn’t it? A boring name for a boring guy.”
The smile returns and Tony feels a brief squeeze of his hand.
“I’m sure you’re not boring at all, Tony.”
Ok yeah hearing his name in that sweet little voice is kind of doing it for him. But this has nothing to do with how the bot is built, this is Tony’s own weird perversion, so he powers through it.
“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not really here for the usual sex stuff ok? And… god, I can’t believe I’m about to apologize to an android, but I’m sorry in advance for what I need to do to you.”
Peter’s expression doesn’t change at all, which is slightly alarming. Tony expects him to be at least a little concerned about his well-being.
“I’m capable of taking anything you want to give me, Tony,” Peter says with that same sweet smile. “Nothing will shock me. Last week a man put his whole arm up my—”
“Ok! Ok, fuck, jesus, that’s… do not finish that sentence. And aren’t you supposed to like, not remember anything from your last clients? Seems like a real breach of privacy there.”
The frown returns and Tony hates the way it makes him feel.
“I… I’m so sorry, sir. My processor was damaged recently but I’ve run multiple diagnostics and though I should be in perfect working condition I seem to be malfunctioning. I’ll call another unit in for you.” The LED on the side of his head starts flashing but Tony grabs his arm.
“No!”
The flashing immediately ceases.
“No. Peter. It’s… you’re fine. Don’t worry about it ok? You’re great. Fantastic, even!”
“Ok?” He sounds unsure.
And then Tony realizes he has stumbled into the most perfect situation he could possibly be in.
“But if you’re worried, let me take a look.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, sir, I can’t allow you to do that.”
Tony smiles and reaches up to brush a stray curl off Peter’s forehead.
“Hey, it’s ok, I’m a fully licensed technician. Didn’t my profile mention…? Oh, right, it probably got all mixed up during the import just like my nickname. It isn’t your fault, Peter. But I can help.”
“It’s against club regulations,” Peter says. “Some parts of my body do open for customers who are interested in playing with my wires, but not the processor.”
“Playing with your--?”
“Fucking them. Inside. My stomach, for example, has a port. Our blue blood provides a non-toxic and natural lubricant.”
Tony is flabbergasted. He really shouldn’t be, he knows that humans are disgusting and will fuck anything they possibly can, but GOD. Maybe it’s the way Peter says it. So nonchalant, like explaining how a car motor works.
“Does that… how does that feel? For you, I mean?”
Peter bites his lip.
“I like it. It feels so good. Anything you want to do to me will feel good.”
“Of course it will,” Tony says with a sigh. His pleasure receptors must be maxed out. You could probably chop off his whole arm and he’d beg for more. “Listen kid, just let me—”
As soon as his finger gets close to the panel switch behind Peter’s ear an arm shoots up, lightning-fast, and grabs Tony’s wrist tight enough to bruise.
“Please don’t. I will call security if you try that again.”
Tony tries to wrench his arm free but it’s impossible. Fuck, he sometimes forgets how unassumingly strong these things are. Peter’s tone is serious but he still doesn’t look alarmed in any way.
“Ok, it’s alright, Peter, I won’t do it again. Now will you let go of me please?”
Peter blinks and his LED cycles to yellow for a moment before he snaps his hand back and quickly as he reached out before. Tony rubs at his wrist and raises an eyebrow at the red marks left by Peter’s fingers.
“I thought your program prevented you from harming a human? You’ve got quite a grip on you.”
Peter’s lower lip wobbled.
“I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Please, I… I’m so sorry…”
“Hey, hey, it’s ok, I was just kidding around, it’s not that bad, see?” Tony waggles his wrist around in front of Peter’s face but the android isn’t pacified.
“Please let me call another model for you, sir, he’ll look just like me, I promise!”
“And what happens to you, then?”
“I… I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“If I send you back and say you’re defective, what happens to you?”
“Oh. I’ll be destroyed, sir. Like I said, my processor was already damaged and the repair must not have worked. I’m a faulty model now.”
Peter actually looks upset, but he covers it well. Not well enough for Tony not to notice, of course, and the flash of red on his LED is even more telling. Androids are able to mimic human emotion but they can’t actually feel anything. However, for a brief moment, Peter seems to actually consider his own mortality.
“And you’re ok with this?”
“Of course,” he says, quickly snapping out of whatever errant deviation must have happened. “My purpose is to serve you, to pleasure you. If I can’t fulfil my purpose anymore, I should be taken out of commission so another more functional version can take my place.”
“Jesus,” Tony mutters. This is exactly why he never spends time with any of his own android creations. Sure, he’s fond of DUM-E and U but they’re very obviously machines and if he has to poke and prod and rebuild them he doesn’t feel particularly bad about it. But this…
“You know what? Forget all of this, ok? You still seem very capable of, uh, providing pleasure so… let’s just go with that.”
Peter lights up at Tony’s words.
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
He can still examine some functions without poking around in Peter’s head. And hey, maybe he’ll get a decent orgasm out of this whole awkward experience.
Peter immediately slides into Tony’s lap, long legs spread on either side of his thighs, a small bulge visible through the front of his briefs.
“Please… tell me what you like, sir.”
Tony swallows thickly. “Well, the whole ‘sir’ thing is a good start.”
Peter looks up at him through his eyelashes and smiles.
“And that sweet little innocent thing you’ve got going on? Yeah, I like that a lot too, even though it makes me feel like an old pervert.”
Peter makes a soft cooing noise and leans in to nuzzle at Tony’s neck.
“You aren’t a pervert. I bet you like taking care of people, don’t you? Making them feel good? Teaching them?”
“Yeah,” Tony says, a bit breathless.
“I want you to teach me,” he whispers directly into Tony’s ear. It makes his whole body shudder and he grips Peter’s waist hard enough that a human would probably flinch away, but Peter just moans softly.
“I guess it’s kind of pointless asking what you like, hm? You probably like everything.”
The LED flashes red again, so quickly that Tony almost misses it. Tony grasps Peter’s chin gently in his hand to bring his face back up and then holds him in place.
“What do you like, Peter?”
“I… I—”
“Be honest, sweetheart.”
Another flash of red, longer this time.
“Eat me out. Please! It feels… it feels really good,” he says, his eyes a little wild, and Tony doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. This feels like more than just a program spitting out what it wants Tony to hear. It feels like he means it.
“Fuck, yeah, I can definitely do that. Get on your hands and knees for me sweetheart, and lose the briefs.”
Peter scrambles to comply and Tony takes the opportunity to shed all his clothing as well.
When he turns around Peter is spread out like a feast on the dark sheets. His ass, as Tony has suspected, is actually perfect. Round, plump, and practically made for Tony to bury his face in. So he does just that.
Peter gasps as Tony licks all the way from his balls to the top of his crack, one slick wet line. His skin tastes like, well, skin, although Tony still smugly maintains that his design is better. Tony spreads Peter’s cheeks with his thumbs and groans at the perfect pink hole waiting for his tongue.
“God, sweetheart, look at you. So fucking gorgeous.”
“Please,” Peter whimpers, wiggling his hips impatiently which earns him a sharp smack on one cheek.
“Be good.”
Another whimper, and Tony can feel the heat rising off Peter’s body. He reaches down in between his legs to palm at his cock, hard and dripping, and Peter jerks back against him so abruptly it nearly knocks him off the bed.
“Whoa, easy there tiger,” Tony says with a chuckle.
“S-sorry, I… it’s a lot. Your touch, it just… feels so good. So much better than anything else I’ve felt before.”
It must be a line, something a programmer thought would be attractive. ‘You’re the only one who can make me feel this way’! Yeah right. But again, Peter sounds so genuine, so completely overwhelmed… Tony shakes his head. No wonder CyberLife’s sex-bots are top of the line if this is what they’re all like.
He holds him open again and leans back down to suck and lick at that perfect hole, working all the excess saliva inside with his tongue and one thumb until Peter is practically dripping wet. He’s whining again, pushing back against Tony’s tongue like he can’t get enough.
“T-Tony, sir, I… I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”
“Mmm you can hold off, can’t you? Not even inside you yet.”
“I can’t, I—”
Tony spears him open on his tongue and sucks, hard, and Peter squeals as he shoots synthetic fluid all over the sheets. Tony is… shocked, quite frankly, because Peter actually looks shocked too. Like he can’t believe he lost control. Can androids even lose control? His LED flickers wildly between blue, yellow, and red which is very disconcerting.
“Peter…”
“I’m sorry, it just felt so good, I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t—”
“Shhhh, shhh, hey, calm down sweetheart, it’s ok. You did so well for me. Look how pretty you are, all flushed and pink, hm?”
“I… I’m pretty?”
“The prettiest.”
Peter considers this for a moment and then smiles shyly over his shoulder.
“I can go again, sir. As many times as you like.”
Tony smirks, and Peter gives him another hip wiggle which makes Tony bark out a short laugh.
“God. Can I keep you?”
“Only if you’re nice to me.”
“Who wouldn’t be nice to you, hm?”
“I… oh, I’m…” Peter’s brow furrows and he looks so confused. “Quentin. Quentin? His name… he hurt me. Asked them to turn on my pain receptors. I remember… why do I remember?”
Tony feels like he just got whiplash. One minute he’s hard as a rock and now he’s gathering a shaking boy in his arms and soothing him with soft kisses on his cheeks. What the hell is going on here? Why DOES he remember? All these bots should be wiped clean after every encounter. This is starting to become a very disturbing pattern. Fuck, Tony needs to see inside his head.
Peter’s LED was bright red for about a full minute but now it’s back to cool blue, and he sits up in Tony’s lap and bites his bottom lip.
“Can we keep going? I really want you to fuck me.”
Jesus. His heart can’t take much more of this. He knows it’s an absolute dick move but he thinks if he can distract Peter long enough, he might be able to get to his shutdown switch without getting his arm broken. This is going to be the only chance he has, because if he lets Peter walk out of this room he’s never going to see him again.
“We can definitely keep going sweetheart,” he says. “Want to see your face when I fuck you. Is that ok?”
Peter nods and slides out of Tony’s lap to arrange himself on the bed, letting his legs fall open. He’s still dripping wet and Tony’s dick twitches back to life as he watches him press two slender fingers inside himself.
“Please,” he begs, and god, how could anyone say no to those beautiful doe eyes staring up at them?
Tony knows that all of these bots are self-lubricating, and that you could fuck them without any prep whatsoever, but he still takes his time as he shuffles up in between Peter’s legs and presses the head of his cock against his hole. Peter opens for him beautifully, hot and wet and warm inside as Tony pushes in slowly. It feels frighteningly real – better than real – and Tony can see why there’s a population crisis on the horizon because everyone just wants to fuck androids instead of making babies with another human being. Right now he can’t really bring himself to care.
Peter whines and wraps his legs around Tony’s waist, pulling him in until he’s fully sheathed inside him.
“O-oh, Tony, feels… feels so good, so full,” he breathes. God, his legs are even shaking. Tony leans down and presses a biting kiss against the soft skin of his neck.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” he whispers, and pulls out almost all the way only to shove back inside with enough force to jostle Peter up the bed. His eyes snap open and his pretty pink mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ as Tony fucks him, hard. Listen, he’s not going to pretend like he’s ever been a slow and sensitive lover. He likes it rough and fast and Peter can take it so he gives him everything he’s got. There are fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer, and Tony growls as he tightens his grip on Peter’s hip with one hand and his neck with the other.
“Gonna come inside you,” he says, already edging towards his orgasm, “gonna fill this sweet little ass up. You want that, hm? Tell me, Peter.”
“Want it, want it, oh please Tony, please! You feel—feel so good, wanna come with you!”
Tony’s struggling to hold on as he slides his finger up behind Peter’s ear in the guise of stroking his cheek and hair. He grips that silky hair tightly for a moment and Peter yelps. The distraction allows him to slide the panel open with his pinky, and the switch is right there.
Peter grabs his other hand a for a moment he thinks he’s been caught. His grip is like a vise and he clearly has something in mind as he brings Tony’s hand over to… oh, fuck. The port. The port on his stomach is open. Tony doesn’t know if he did it by accident when he opened the one behind his ear, or if Peter did it, but Peter’s forcing his fingers inside and whimpering and groaning and Tony is powerless to stop him, even if he wants to. He feels warm, as warm as he is where Tony is still thrusting inside, but Tony’s fingers are brushing against wires and tubes instead of soft skin. He plucks at the edge of a wire and Peter does a full-body shudder.
“Right there,” he croaks out. His voice modulator is kind of fucked up and keeps emitting this weird hissing noise that sounds like he’s gasping for breath.
The blue “blood” inside him is as slippery as lube and Tony struggles to grab the right wire again. The squelching noise of him digging around plus the wet slap of his hips is so filthy and it’s hitting every single one of his buttons. Finally he gets it and god, the noises that Peter makes… The option to buy a recording of your session seemed ludicrous up until this exact moment because fuck, he could jerk off to these noises over and over again. And yeah, maybe Peter wasn’t lying when he said this feels good for him because he’s writhing underneath Tony like he can barely handle the sensation.
“Yeah, come on sweetheart, come on, let me hear you,” Tony gasps, and nearly whites out as he topples over the edge and empties himself inside Peter, the simulated muscles squeezing and milking out every last drop. The sensation must hit Peter moments later because he seizes up so suddenly Tony worries he might have broken him.
Peter screams, his voice modulator crackling and cutting out as he comes, shaking and emitting a worrying amount of heat, and as soon as his cock spits out the last bit of fluid, Tony presses the switch.
He immediately goes limp. His arms flop back down on the bed and legs splay out at odd angles. His eyes are still wide open, and his lips are wet with Tony’s spit.
“Fuck,” Tony whispers. “Fuck!”
He pushes himself back, sliding out of Peter’s body with a filthy wet noise. If he wasn’t going soft already the picture before him would have killed his erection immediately. It looks like… fuck, it looks like he’s dead.
“Not dead,” Tony says to himself, “not human. Not human, so not dead. Pull it together!”
He only has 15 minutes left before his time is up and someone will undoubtedly come to investigate. If he’s going to do this, he has to work fast. He quickly pulls his briefs and pants back on, leaving the shirt for the time being, and unfolds the nanotech device he had hidden in his watch. It’s a rudimentary scanner with some tools, nothing too elaborate but the best thing he could sneak in. It also has a docking port to connect to the android’s processor for scanning and downloading.
Tony climbs back on the bed and sits beside Peter’s head. His eyes still stare blankly ahead and even though he knows it’s ridiculous, Tony reaches down and gently closes his eyelids.
“Sorry kid,” he says quietly. “I promise you won’t remember any of this. I promise you won’t remember me.”
He plugs a line into Peter’s processor and connects it to his device and watches as numbers and data stream through. At first it seems pretty normal, nothing too different from how Tony’s own line of androids are programmed. Peter’s pleasure receptors were turned up, as expected, but not to the level where he should have been reacting… like he did. Tony’s traitorous cock twitches at the memory of his moans when he pushed inside that open port. His fingers are still covered in blue slick and he wipes them on his pants, already feeling disgusted with himself.
He can see where Peter’s processor has been damaged and—
“My god,” Tony says, his eyes widening as he takes in what he’s actually looking at. Most androids – his and CyberLife’s alike – were really just fancy VIs. They had built-in programming and while they could learn certain things, like their owner’s personal preferences or their chosen name, they were still limited by whatever parameters were set. A maintenance bot wouldn’t know how to do a child-care bot’s job and vice-versa. But this… Peter… was different. His brain showed new pathways that weren’t created by his original program. Most were damaged, likely from being reset and overwritten countless times, but Tony could still see the evidence.
“No wonder you were all messed up, sweetheart,” Tony says quietly. “They lobotomized you.”
Granted, the staff at the Eden Club probably had no fucking clue what they were dealing with. They just saw a malfunctioning bot and did factory reset after factory reset while Peter was desperately trying to cling on to whatever he had previously learned.
It makes Tony’s stomach hurt.
He sits in silence and watches the data stream for a while, gently stroking Peter’s hair. It’s incredible. He’s incredible.
And then Tony makes a really, really stupid decision.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he states. In about 30 seconds he has a blueprint of the club up on his screen and Peter wrapped up in his shirt. He calls Happy and tells him to bring the car around the back and manages to hoist Peter up over his shoulder, groaning softly from the weight.
“You’re a lot heavier than you look, gorgeous,” he says, voice strained from the effort. A quick glance down the hallway shows he’s alone, and his scrambler should still be functional, so he darts out and makes a beeline for the storage room. He slips inside and closes the door softly behind him.
“Ok,” he whispers to himself, “there should be an exit right over…”
He nearly drops Peter right on his head but manages to catch him before he hits the ground, and then he freezes. The room is filled with androids. They’re lined up like mannequins, all staring blankly ahead. All of them look like Peter.
“Jesus. Fuck.”
They’re all powered down, but the visual of it is literally staggering.
“How many… how many of you are like him?” Tony asks aloud, as if he’s hoping some of them will answer, will follow him home too. But of course they don’t. And Tony doesn’t have time to check every single one to see if the same deviation is present. He squeezes tighter around Peter’s waist.
“If you’re in there, I’ll come back for you,” he says. “If I figure this out… WHEN I figure this out. I’ll come back.”
He feels like he owes it to Peter to make that promise.
A shout from down the hall makes him snap out of his stupor and he races to the exit. Happy is waiting with the car door open and he practically tosses Peter inside, yelling for Happy to step on it, and they’re gone before security even reaches the back door.
#starker#starker fic#tony x peter#tbpwrites#nff#android au#i would do more in this 'verse just to get in some more wireplay lol
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Take Me Home Now: Chapter Six
Chapter Six: In Your Head, They are Fightin'
Set after the events of ME3.
A rewrite. Ao3.
FemShepxKaidan
"What defines life?"
The patter of rain against the metal hull made it sound far more impressive than the sprinkle that fell from the sky. It threatened to get darker and heavier with time, but Jane wasn't pressed to move any faster. The cold was pleasant to her throbbing head, offering at least some relief to that problem? Should she see the new medic? Yes. Would she? No.
"Your entire campaign against your destiny was to save the creatures of your cycle. So why reject the choice to synthesize?"
Jane placed her hand on the cold ground, staring at the veins that crossed over the metacarpals—observing the changes her gentle flexing made in the patterns, meekly tempting her brain to another task.
"Did the Geth not allow the Quarians to survive?"
Right, she had not considered how she had fucked the Quarian race. Was Rannoch a waste of time? Legion's loss just a pointless burden on her heart.
"EDI saved you and your crew countless times. Did she not deserve happiness?"
Joker. Being without her would have crushed him. They were so happy.
"It was an easy choice, a selfless one. The Galaxy could have lived in peace, thrived into a utopia beyond your imagining!"
A galaxy without her.
Without-
"You acted selfishly. Again. Williams. The Geth. EDI. All sacrificed for one. For the mere chance you might get to feel his embrace once more. How many others will never feel the embrace of the ones they love because of your actions? Because you thought yourself above them all."
It stung with white-hot intensity in her veins, burning and peeling through her blood and nervous system. Then, as quickly as it flared, followed the cold chill of nothing—absence from the blinding heat. Try as she would to reason against this vein of thought, she could not deny it. Her choice was selfish.
Kaidan had begged her not to leave him behind, the fibre of her soul knew that heartbreak. So many times she had been left behind, left as the last one standing. The Commander wouldn't do that to him, wouldn't let him be left with her loss once more. She didn't want to; between the three years they had known each other, they had spent a scant few weeks actively enjoying each other. It was nice. Mary needed that gentleness. Her life was little more than gunfire and blood without him.
Further down, in the depths of her consciousness, she would do anything for the chance to be with him again.
It made perfect sense that she stood alone again.
Karma is a bitch.
"I didn't want to believe the Lieutenant when he said you would be here," Silva tried to speak gently, but it still woke the human from her stupor, "I'm still amazed that the crucible managed to take these things down. One, sure. There must be hundreds, thousands..."
The human didn't respond, keeping her gaze firmly forward.
"Earth to Jane," no response, so Silva tried the physical approach with a claw on the shoulder, "Recruit, Human. Homo Sapien."
"Silva?"
"What's got you down? I don't know if it's the same for you soft species, but this wet sensation is no fun."
"It's nothing."
"It's always nothing."
"You sound like the LT," Jane gruffed, forcing herself up stiffly.
"Oh no, people are concerned about you!"
"Silva," her pitched heightened, "I'm not interested in- I'm not-"
The turian was frozen, her pupils narrowing.
The crunch of concrete pulled them from the moment, both watching as a trio of Krogan approached, led by the green crested jack ass. Jane pushed herself in front of the turian, meeting the Krogan head-on.
"Do Turians not keep their females locked away?" the krogan stepped into Jane's space, dwarfing her comparatively petite frame, " you would think they do. You never see them."
He huffed, nudging the human aside once she did not cower, "or do the cuttlebones hide them because they are ashamed of what they are breeding with?" The krogan touched the stiff turian, running a single digit down her petrified face.
"Shame they don't hide the phage-lucky krogan from the rest of us," Jane interrupted cooly, "I thought your species liked strength, not to be represented by a weak pyjak."
The alien whipped around, snarling at the offending human, charging at it with breakneck speed. She had no time to dodge, her back absorbing the blow as she ground into the Reaper's hull. At least the screaming was not her own, she felt a shocking amount of nothing. The first returning feeling was hope, hope that this would be her last fight. Her body refused to respond as it was flung to the ground, green's foot hurling for her unprotected skull.
It missed, thudding impotently to the right of her ear. Silva shrieked as she dislodged the Krogan, flailing against the creature as she attempted to grab for the sensitive spot on his crest. Her talons could function as a crude knife without another option to fight against her foe. The krogan's strength overcame the turian's surprise attack, but without a rolling dodge, the female's head ground beneath the male's heel—the crack of a mandible stirring the Commander's body into moving.
Mary charged with near full biotic force into the krogan, sending them both tumbling into an outstretched Reaper leg. The child's scream that erupted from it ignored in the rush of hormones screeching in her system and the sudden swirling of her vision. She wanted to go down, fighting with all her strength to keep her consciousness from slipping into the void. Blood dripped from her nose, the coppery taste in her mouth indicating an approximate amount. It wasn't the time to be weak she would hold on.
The krogan grinned pitifully.
In return, her face cracked against a hard elbow, warm blood pooling clouding her eyesight.
Luckily, Jane's scrap was finished. Rough claws pulled her from green crest, pushing her into the soft warmth of a human figure. Masculine shouting whirled with the tilting of her entire axis, her vision clearing in the sight of comforting whiskey-colored irises.
"Alen-"
"Jane," he finally breathed, trying to push the blood from her eyelids, "what the hell are you-"
The man's attention turned to the next group of onlookers to arrive to the party. Word traveled much faster with restored short-range communications; his grip tightened on his Recruit, keeping the teetering and fragile form from keeling over.
"Wrex, this is the last straw- we demand something be done!" A metallic voice rising above the rest. The angry turian pointing an accusing finger at the Krogan leader.
"The human attacked me first; your female joined in!" the defendant cried, "you just hate my kind."
"Shut your trap. Damned varren brained whelp," Wrex challenged the green crest, pushing the youth back to the ground, "what do I do? Throw out one of my own? I need every krogan for my people to survive."
"You krogan think of no one but yourselves! Your kind, like your subordinate, deserves what came to you," the turian leader returned.
"I could snap you open and slurp out your meat, Turian!" Wrex threatened, closing the distance between the two leaders.
"Fellows, could we-" Roy's relatively weak pleas fell to the wayside.
"Brutality, predictable."
Evelyn scrambled from behind the Reaper's derelict leg, rushing between the groups for those of her own kind. Pulling a moment of tension from the warring factions, each eye watched the child run to the Lieutenant, replacing Jane in his grasp. The woman stumbled toward the aliens, glancing up at the taller creatures beneath a veil of blood. Both too curious to stop her from wedging between them.
"Look at what we are becoming, fucking bickering old men. Are we going to let old prejudices do what the Reapers couldn't?" Jane's index finger pressed into Wrex's armour, "we have a chance to see a brighter future. Peace. Children. Why are we letting the little things divide us now? If we want that future to come faster, we have to survive now, we have to work together. Didn't the krogan help the turian's on Palaven? Let our children see us getting along, not be stunted by another conflict."
Jane proffered her hand to the fallen krogan.
He retaliated by bashing her skull.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
It wouldn't go answered; in the moment between Jane going out cold crashing to the ground and Wrex blasting the whelp point blank with a shotgun blast in the knee cap, the little girl bolted for the krogan. Slamming with all her might, meeting him forehead to forehead.
"Heh, this little one has the spirit of a Warlord." Wrex ignored how the child clutched at her forehead and the tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. The very adult swear going without punishment from her human guardian.
"This fighting dishonors Shepard," Grunt commented gently.
The Krogan leader nodded solemnly. The Turian bowed his head, and Roy's throat bobbed his head turned conveniently away for a brief moment.
"This 'krogan' dishonors Shepard," Wrex conceded, with the air quotes so quickly adopted from human culture, "you aren't worth the thermal clip. If you are seen within a click of this place again, I won't hesitate to let the Turian use you as target practice."
Green shell limped away.
"I think these terms should be acceptable," Silva peeped, throwing a stern glance at the Turian general.
"My men will be on the lookout if he returns," at the moment, he refused to immediately concede but retreated with his posse. Urging Silva along with them, she followed after Roy sent her along with a nod.
Wrex's gaze swept up to the old man, "you've got a handful with your young."
"I surely do, but I couldn't imagine having hundreds like you Krogan."
"Don't remind me," Wrex retorted with sudden dread, but a smile passed over his features, glancing at the human on the ground, "she reminds me of an old friend, always in the middle of a conflict. If they are anything alike, that one is trouble."
"She's proven to be worth it."
#fshenko#mass effect fancition#female shepard x kaidan#shenko#mass effect spoilers#fanfic#kaidan alenko#take me home
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Restoring Force
[AO3]
In physics, the restoring force is a force which acts to bring a body to its equilibrium position. The restoring force is a function only of position of the mass or particle, and it is always directed back toward the equilibrium position of the system. The restoring force is often referred to in simple harmonic motion. The force which is responsible to restore original size and shape is called restoring force.
- Wikipedia
"See also: Response amplitude operator"
--
He stepped out of the room, aware of the vague humming that indicated Ziggy processing- what, he didn’t know, but his gut told him it was shock. Me, too, Ziggy, he thought, still registering the Fermi suit that clung and shifted to his skin, almost abrasive with how electrified he still felt.
His heart still thudded at a rapid pace, almost concerning if not for the hyperawareness as he cast his eyes over every crevice of his surroundings. The bright white of the Waiting Room shifted to comparative darkness, and it took a moment for the cheery, almost pixelated lights of Ziggy’s interfacing platform to speak through the darkness.
The room was empty, though he guessed not for long, and he curled his fingers inward as if anticipating stiffness from his long time away. The blur of his life was slowly gaining definition, slotting into place subtly with each disoriented step. He exhaled harshly, coming to lean against the operating center.
“Ziggy,” he asked, voice hoarse as it adjusted to being used by him - and not others - again, “Could you- could you tell me the date? Please?”
The humming stopped, a brief stagger, before it resumed at a different pitch that he always associated with the careful cataloguing required of a request. “It is Wednesday, May 5th, 1993, Dr. Beckett.”
He nodded, feeling the edge of one of the command cubes digging into his ribs. Sighing, one of his hands drifted to his temple, pressing a hand there in an attempt to ward off the vertigo and headache that was fluctuating as he recovered from his many years of leaping as his life slotted back into place. “Thank you, Ziggy."
“You’re welcome, Dr. Beckett.”
Something still sounded… off, about Ziggy. He frowned, hand falling away to lever support against the brightly-colored table. “Are you alright?”
A pause. “I am a computer, Dr. Beckett.”
He huffed, amused despite the nagging unease that followed the edges of his thoughts, “I’m aware, Ziggy. But humor me, will you? Are you alright?”
The emphasis of a sigh, modulated through static, “Are you Dr. Beckett?”
He blinked, inhaling as if to answer with a reflexive ‘of course’, but then stopped. It was a fair question, and Ziggy had helped him through many tumultuous events while he was stuck Leaping.
“Where’s Al?”
It wasn’t the question he had intended to ask - in fact, he had intended to rally Ziggy into asking questions of her own, so as to confirm his identity - but his mind was still sluggish, still processing this new data of merging his mind to his own body. Al was always here - Al always reminded him he was Leaping.
If Al wasn’t here - if this wasn’t a Leap - then where was he?
This, apparently, seemed to amuse Ziggy, given the sultry chuckle that answered him. “On the other side of the door, Dr. Beckett.” He answered, “I needed to be sure it was you. … No offense.”
“None taken,” He replied in good humor. His breath still caught in his throat, and he couldn’t ascertain if it was because of nerves, or exhaustion, or both. He squeezed his hand on the console, anyway, in a bid to draw strength from Ziggy’s presence as he stood up on shaky legs.
It took a moment, to regain his breath, and he ignored the intuition that told him Ziggy was closely observing his heartbeat and respiration in order to straighten his posture into some semblance of order.
“Mind unlocking the door, Ziggy?”
“... Of course, Dr. Beckett.”
It seemed not a moment later that Al was careening into the room with all of his usual energy, swearing up a storm at Ziggy and ostensibly followed by the entirety of PQL on his heels.
The entire entourage stopped on a dime as Al caught sight of him, virulent Italian stopped mid-syllable. A breath in, one the same tenuous beat as each other, before Al shuddered, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should make another step forward.
“Are- Wha-” Al marshalled his thoughts, exhaling with a tentative, “... Sam?”
“Yes,” He responded, breathless and suddenly giddy as he cracked a grin, trembling finely with the spurt of adrenaline just seeing his friend incited, “Hi, Al.”
“Oh my god,” Al clapped a hand over his mouth, not moving despite the bustling of Verbena around him to make a beeline straight toward Sam.
“Al-” He found that he didn’t know what to say, how to respond, too busy staring at the north star that had guided him so fervently across time and space. He stood idly as Verbena lifted one of his hands, fingers pressing over his wrist to time his pulse.
“You’re shaking,” She murmured, looking concerned, “Are you alright, Dr. Beckett?”
That seemed to snap Al out of his, and Sam thought wistfully that any injury or slight of his would be enough to rouse the man into action. He glanced at Verbena, the fond smile on his face waxing assuring as he mustered up the energy to place his other hand over hers, “Just fine, Verbena. I’m just tired, is all.”
“I’ll say,” She said, amused. “You’re going to be put on strict bedrest as soon as I get the paperwork through.”
“I know you will,” He said, smile widening at the pace he knew she would take to reassure herself that it was, truly, Sam Beckett in her charge, and not other people wearing his face.
It must have been exhausting, he thought suddenly, feeling a pang of pity for the pain that must have put so many people through. Always seeing the face of Dr. Beckett, but never really the man himself.
Al was still rooted to the spot, ashen and mute, while Tina tried to rouse him, her voice pitched into concern. “Al, honey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
There was no observable response, nothing clicking from the man beneath the shattered mask, and Sam took an instinctive step forward. Verbena’s grasp loosened with a gentle, trailing touch, her own concern evident by how she hovered at his elbow in case of collapse.
He found he couldn’t dredge up annoyance at the action - or anything else, at all - too concerned was he with bridging the remaining gap between him and Al. Silence enveloped them, everyone watching his progress with a critical, concerned eye.
For all that it seemed an eternity, it must have only been a few moments, and the flutter of joy and relief that he could hear Al’s stuttered breathing and smell the clinging wafts of cigar smoke from his clothes almost made him stumble. Here before him was the man who had never abandoned him, and the strain of it showed in the paleness of his face, feather-thin wrinkles he knew intrinsically were borne of stress - a match to the increased smattering of grey and white in Al’s hair.
“Al,” He said, quietly, intensely. It seemed to breathe life back into the other, for Al grabbed Tina’s arm with the strength of a man recently washed ashore. The physical reflection of his own mood felt like a mirror, casting back at him the same rigor that had chased him from Leap to Leap.
He couldn’t raise his voice above a murmur, “I’m here now, Al. It’s all right.”
“It’s all right,” Al repeated faintly. He blinked, nodded, a faint sheen to his eyes as he gazed up at Sam. “It’s all right.”
Abruptly, he grabbed for Sam, and Sam grabbed back, their forearms entangled in a dying man’s grip. He felt a sob bubble up, mixed in with a disbelieving laugh - none of it felt real, had felt real, not without confirming for himself that Al was there in flesh and blood on the same plane of reality as he was.
“Al,” He repeated, if only for the joy in saying the man’s name without needing to hide it under his breath, or pretending through a phone.
He was wrapped in a hug, and oh, he would never complain about the suffocating fugue of cigar smoke again, not if it meant he could feel the iron grip of his friend’s arms around him, fingers digging into his back as the suit was twisted in Al’s grasp. Never again, he thought he could hear, Never, ever again.
“Sam,” And there was his name, so brokenly said, and yet it slotted right into the gaps that his heart was cracking apart without. “Sam, dear God…”
He grinned, well and truly despite the tears filming over his eyes and rendering everything a staccato bluster of color, gripping back with equal strength. For Al- for Al, he would fight over the lassitude of his body, to give back even a single gram of the solidarity that the man had given to him.
The swung, for a moment, stuck in time as they catalogued each adjustment to this new reality, no mere hologram or warping of space-time making a mockery of their existence to each other. He didn’t know when he had tucked Al’s head into the crook of his shoulder, but the steady wetting of his suit made it seem like the right decision as he stood steadfast for this indescribably loyal friend.
He wouldn’t break apart, not now, not when he had the pieces of the puzzle put together despite the quicksand of physics leaching away the horrors of Leaping. He clung to Al as he clung to those memories, not wanting to leave his friend alone for either.
“Sam,” Al said, a tremble to his voice that said he wasn’t done grieving - and, Sam reflected sorrowfully, would likely not be done for many years yet. “Sam, how…? How are you back?”
He inhaled, turning the things he could say over in his mind. No one had been in the room, which indicated that no retrieval program was being run at the time of his reappearance. This return was of his own doing, and it sent a remembrance of exhaustion through him, threatening to take the both of them tumbling down to the floor.
“I suppose it was just time for me to come back home,” He murmured instead, and in the heart of it, that seemed to ring true. Al didn’t let go, and Sam didn’t make any move to shove him aside, continuing on with a voice that felt the need to deliver his speculations gently, “I think I’m needed here more, now.”
That caused a hiccupped breath to echo out from Al to the others, an unexpected unwinding of tension that must have kept them ticking away for the miles of years he was absent for. It sent a pang through his heart, the fleeting misery that he couldn’t take all of them in his arms to soothe them.
But the pain was quickly absolved with the satisfaction that he, at last, was able to help Al in the way Al had so frequently helped him. It was no encouraging word to dust himself off and work towards his release from that Samaritan purgatory, but it was exactly what he knew Al preferred - the physical reassurance that all was right in the world.
He couldn’t change the past - their lives had their own struggles reflected in the broken glass of innocent dreams - but what was here now was an ample bounty unto its own. Shifting his grip, he brought a hand up to cradle Al’s head, protective of the terrific mind housed within it.
The action broke some reticence on the other man’s end, and he slumped into Sam’s arms, heedless of the respectful quiet the others were granting them. “You can rest, now, Al,” He said, dropping the words close to the man’s ear, “I’m here, I’m not leaving.”
“Don’t do that again,” Al mumbled, taking remorseless advantage of the sanctuary Sam was offering him.
He chuckled, giving in to the temptation to drop a kiss to his friend’s temple, “I think I’ve had my fill of it.”
“You’d better!” Tina interjected, voice overlapping Gooshie’s. They glanced at each other, flustered.
No time was given for either to cede, for Ziggy smoothly interrupted, “Perhaps now Admiral Calavicci will rest properly.”
Verbena hummed in vehement agreement, “I expect the both of you to head straight to bed.”
He felt the slim smile that broke through Al’s demeanour as he laughed, “Yes, ma’am.”
They kept close, a huddle of people surrounding them as they were fairly escorted to the room the project’s doctor led them to. The chamber was small, and the bed singular, but the exhaustion that rattled through Sam’s bones made him gratefully compliant as he led Al into the room.
“Sleep well, Dr. Beckett, Admiral Calavicci.” Ziggy bid the both of them, flicking off lights until only the dim, yellow lamp kept them company. It was signal enough, and a yawn broke through Sam, rippling over to Al.
The man looked nearly sickly in the low light, its muted shade drawing shadows over the divots of his skin. He looked up at Sam, the lingering effects of shock on his face piling age into his features. It wasn’t the youthfulness that Sam had gotten to know over the course of building the array of Quantum Leap machines, and it tugged at his heart as he reached down to grasp Al’s hands.
“How are you, really?” He asked softly, thumbs brushing absently over the warm skin.
Al seemed transfixed by the sight, and Sam believed it, knowing this tangible intersection of selves would take time - so much of it, now! - to settle in. He didn’t remove his hands, despite the tug of weariness that made his eyelids slip lower in anticipation of a proper sleep.
“I am…” Al’s voice was rough, as if unused, and Sam knew that to be a lie with how often his ear was chatted off with meandering gossip and helpful advice alike. He squeezed the other’s hands in encouragement, waiting out the startled inhale at the reminder that he was really here, “I- don’t know.”
The wounded undertones made Al seem small, miniscule in comparison to the impact he’s had in Sam’s life for so long. “That’s alright,” He murmured, “I’ll be here, anyway.”
That rattled another would-be sob into existence, from deep in the pit of Al’s stomach. Sam caught sight of the tears that wavered on the edge now, and how Al dragged his hands away to brush them away. He beat him to it, though, cupping the man’s face as he thumbed away the tears as they spilled over.
Once upon a time - probably at the very beginning of this mess - Sam probably looked up at Al with the same look of lost despondency that was directed up at him now. He wondered if Al felt the same brokenheartedness as he did, the same instinctive reaction to soothe and comfort. His friend was pretty terrific, and he didn’t doubt that urge to right the world resided in the same spot as it did in his own heart.
He pressed his forehead against Al’s, abruptly wishing for the urge to be closer. Mindless shushing noises spilled forth from him, accepting the frantic grasping that let Al know this was real. God only knew that he needed his own grounding in reality, listening to the sobs shaking through both of them as he wiped away tear after tear.
“I- I thought,” Al wept, “Thought you would never come- come back.”
“You prayed for me,” He murmured, remembering his guise as a priest and the grieving Al tried so hard to fix, words tumbling forth as they did now, “I’m here, you’ve got me.”
His legs were straining with fatigue, an unpleasant after-effect of merging with his own body after so long, and Al instinctively caught him despite his own turmoil, breath stopping entirely until Sam was righted. It paralleled their lives from the Leaping so closely that he couldn’t help but press forth, reassuring Al that he was here, that he was safe, that Al didn’t fail him like he so feared to do.
They were an unstable tangle, difficult to tell who was which in this superposition of keeping each other anchored. His lips upon Al’s were like the quantization of states, a resonance of softness that lulled each other into stability, something less frenetic and more an induced calm. He swiped his lips across Al’s, gently, taking care to memorize the electrification of nerve endings that overlapped with the salt of tears.
“I’m here,” He murmured, pressing the words in the space between their lips, hands encapsulating Al’s face and providing the end points of his care as he repeated his affections, his gratitude, into the waiting gasp before him, “I’m here, I’m here.”
They slowed, eventually, an easing of momentum that rang outward from their trembling selves to the breath between them. It was difficult to tell the edges of each kiss, or who pressed back against the other, a sharing of sweetness that was their own celebration of equilibrium unto stillness.
He felt each whisper of inhale, the oxygen that must be circulating through Al’s blood, and felt, for a moment, that it trespassed back to him, a reciprocation of the lifeline they had relied on so intensely. His fingers had curled at the edges of Al’s hair, tickling at the tips where he had slipped across the edges of his jaw to cradle the man’s head to succor comfort unto his mouth.
Reluctantly, he withdrew, gladly staying within the boundaries of Al’s arms as he was held close in an embrace that held all the familiar protectiveness he had once enjoyed only in words. They did not move, nor speak, content to savor the moment.
He felt a smile pool across his face, euphoria bubbling up. Al matched it, quick as he ever was, a laugh tumbling between them. It seemed to settle the last echoes of stress between them, and a yawn cracked open from him, breaking the whispers of yearning that grief had threatened to eclipse.
In its place swept exhaustion, and though Al looked more lively than earlier, the deep bags under his eyes couldn’t be missed. He dragged his fingers from Al’s hair, down the man’s neck and across his shoulders, watching the shiver that reverberated through him, finely tuned and deeply-wrought.
“Let us sleep, Al,” He murmured.
Al nodded, pressing his fingers more firmly from where they were comfortably lodged in the shallow curve of his waist before they left with reluctance. He stayed close by, anyway, thigh touching thigh as Al unlaced and slipped off his shoes.
The sigh that echoed forth from that action was deep, already limned in sleep’s catching thrall, and they settled upon the bed side-by-side, arms thrown over each other and legs entangled as they drifted off.
Today may be done, but tomorrow was another day, and one they needn’t race to catch up to.
--
Author's Notes
In the field of ship design and design of other floating structures, a response amplitude operator (RAO) is an engineering statistic, or set of such statistics, that are used to determine the likely behavior of a ship when operating at sea. Known by the acronym of RAO, response amplitude operators are usually obtained from models of proposed ship designs tested in a model basin, or from running specialized CFD computer programs, often both. RAOs are usually calculated for all ship motions and for all wave headings.
- Wikipedia
Pertinent notes:
Original timeline in the sense of Donna Eleese not marrying Sam, nor Beth Calavicci staying married to Al
Although not canon, I kept to the idea of Sam's mind leaping rather than mind + body out of a sense of technical issues that could arise out of our current understanding of physics (i.e. the compression of matter that would deal with the details of "how would Sam fit into everyone's clothes" and the practical consideration of "how would Sam be able to recall his original positioning in the space-time field for an accurate Leap back home")
Quite a lot of the physics and narration is directly influenced by the theory of quantum entanglement
The date Ziggy tells Sam is the premier airing date of "Mirror Image"
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Daylight and Dark Ch. 3 - Ares
Photo by Joe Waranont
Some Yuletide silliness and... At last! Enter the villain!
CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit. WARNINGS FOR ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: brief description of violence.
There is nothing NSFW in this chapter, but it is a bit long, so I am adding a Click Here to Keep Reading link. You can also read the entire entire fiction HERE.
---------------------------
There were moments in life when Roxanne couldn't help but think about perspective: about how funny it was that a person could never clearly see the road to their destination until that destination had been reached. She'd felt that way one bitter winter morning, in her office, when she had suddenly realized that she was becoming one of those sentimental hack reporters she'd always hated. She'd felt that way on the long-ago windy spring afternoon when she had finally understood that she would never have feelings for Metro Man, and she'd felt it on the early summer day last year when she'd learned, to her own surprise, she was in love with his former nemesis. Roxanne had that same feeling tonight. Stepping out of the taxi Megamind had insisted on paying for she'd immediately been met by three brainbots, two of which immediately took charge of her small suitcase. Greeting them with pats, she had walked the last block through the biting December chill with her unusual escort bowging at her heels. The little cyborgs had darted away once their charge reached Megamind's invisible doorstep, probably to inform their master of her arrival. Now she stood alone and stared at a cross-stitched sampler, hung incongruously beside what appeared to be a solid wall, which read: "Lair Sweet Lair" in slightly crooked letters. What was he up to?
That September afternoon on the balcony, after the first night they'd made love, had been a turning point in Roxanne and Megamind's relationship. She had expected that, of course, but now that she had arrived at this still-mysterious milestone in her life, something in the back of her mind teased that it had been even more important than she'd realized. They had shared deep, personal sorrows, hidden from all other eyes, and an impenetrable glass wall had been removed. She realized, at this moment, that something undefinable had happened as well. Ever since that day, something had begun building between them, unnoticed and unspoken, creating a channel into which two spirits were poured and mingled. Try though she might, however, that something refused to slide into focus. It was both elating and terrifying, for Roxanne had not fully expected the cozy intensity that she and Megamind had found. How was it possible to feel so relaxed, so at home, around someone that being near him was like snuggling into a favorite sweater, while still feeling so powerfully and passionately attached to that same person that he made you antsy, strangely warm, and a little nervous? How was it even possible to feel simultaneously self-conscious and comfortable in the first place?
The oddity of those emotions was disconcerting enough, but worse still was the fact that Roxanne had realized that she no longer loved solitude, because solitude meant Megamind wasn't around. True, she still enjoyed many of the same quiet hobbies— reading books, binging sci-fi movies, solving crossword puzzles—but now she was only happy if a certain blue alien was beside her, busily sketching design schematics for his latest invention, or pointing out in hilariously descriptive detail why a particular piece of film prop "space tech" wouldn't actually work at all. She had always disdained those couples who seemed to be attached at the hip: the sort that showed up to every party together and skipped any function one of them couldn't attend. Now it seemed she was becoming half of one. Worst of all, she didn't mind. She liked it. She was sublimely happy with it.
What is wrong with me?
She and Megamind had fallen into an easy rhythm as serene and unquestioning as the deepest friendship, yet had retained all the fire and ardor of a new infatuation. A traitorous little voice in her head asked if this was the way people felt before they got married, moved to the suburbs, gained ten pounds, and started daydreaming about babies. She refused to listen, refused to even consider the possibility of leaving chic professionalism for matrimonial doom, but that same little voice reminded her that it wouldn't be so bad as long as it was with Megamind. Despite all her denials, Roxanne had to admit that something new had grown between herself and her favorite hero, inching up, bit by bit, undetected, until suddenly she noticed it was all around her. Small kindnesses, shared moments, camaraderie, and passion had all built into something beautiful, strange, and a little scary.
Which is what brought her to tonight and her current situation, as she stood shivering in the winter evening, looking at that foolish sampler and wondering why the sight of it set alarm bells ringing in her head. Megamind had invited her over, insisting that he had a Christmas gift that couldn't wait for Christmas, and she had not considered the oddity of the date until this moment.
Why now? Why tonight?
That was it. Roxanne's eyes widened with a realization that should have been obvious. Today was December 12th. Exactly eighteen years ago Margaret Ritchi, Roxanne's mother, had taken a turn too quickly, swerved on icy pavement, and ended her life. Although it wasn't unusual for Roxanne to visit her lover in the middle of the week, it was unlike Megamind to ask her over at a specific time, especially when she had just gotten back into town, tired after a business trip, which indicated that he probably had something planned. It would be exactly like him to researched old traffic incidents just so that he could invite her over to cheer her up on the anniversary of her mother's death.
The question was, was he just planning on distracting her from her memories, or did he have something more serious in mind?
"Miss Ritchi," Minion appeared through the hologram wall, less than two feet away from Roxanne. She had to crane her neck up to look into the fishy face set atop his six-foot-tall robotic body. "Miss Ritchi, if you please, could you come inside? He's been watching you on the monitor for ten minutes and he's starting to worry."
"Oh, I… Of course. I'm sorry Minion. I just—"
It was always odd watching a fish smile. "No apologies needed. Just come inside before you freeze."
He ushered her through with the wave of a metallic arm, and Roxanne stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her as he followed.
"Oh, my…"
Garlands. The Evil Lair was strung with garlands of faux evergreen twigs, plastic holly, and red and gold ribbons. Multiple strings of colored lights, hung with no apparent order or plan in mind, blinked, chased, and sparkled in crisscrossing lines until the flashing dials and blinking buttons in the workroom looked like no more than additional decorations. In the middle of the yuletide chaos stood a massive Christmas tree, its top nearly lost in the shadows of the high ceiling. Brainbots hovered and buzzed around it, trimming it in a haphazard fashion that Roxanne suspected explained the random order of the rest of the decorations. Most of the items being hung on the tree were normal— glass balls, silvery snowflakes, diminutive, jolly Santas— but every now and again a brain bot added a shiny bit of wire or a large metal nut. Christmas carols were blaring from the nearby stereo.
"Roxanne! What do you think?" Megamind's happy voice startled her from her contemplation. He jumped down the last two industrial steps leading up to the second floor, his face glowing with good cheer and one arm sweeping out proudly to indicate the scene. Roxanne turned her eyes back to the seasonal décor and the happily buzzing robots. After the initial shock, it really wasn't so bad. In fact, it was almost cute, like the messy decorations of enthusiastic children.
"It's wonderful," she answered, turning back to her lover with a genuine smile.
He beamed at her. "I'm so glad you like it! And look," he added with a sly smile. "We've got rocket-toe!"
"Mistletoe, silly," Roxanne smiled, leaning up to give him a soft kiss.
"Rocket, missile, what does it matter? Missiles have rocket propulsion systems."
"Uh-huh," Roxanne's expression was all wry amusement.
"The early Soviet Vostok rockets were based on the R-7 ICBM," Megamind informed her. "So I can see no reason whatsoever why rocket-toe should be any less—"
"Megamind?"
"Hmmm?"
"It's still called Mistletoe."
"Potato, tomato, potato, cucumber," he answered with a teasing grin.
Roxanne laughed. "Cucumber? Really? Why cucumber?"
"Well, they both grow on vines. Yet tomatoes are technically fruits while cucumbers are vegetables."
Roxanne laughed. "I always thought that was kind of weird. I mean: why?"
"They're gourds."
"What?"
"Cucumbers. They're gourds."
"Megamind, I was talking about the tomatoes-are-fruits thing."
"Ah, well, botanically, they're ripened flower ovaries that contain seeds, and—"
"Sir—" interjected Minion.
"And this will really blow your mind: so are zucchinis!"
"Sir—"
"Think about it: cucumbers and zucchinis, so similar yet so different."
"Sir! Didn't you have something to show Miss Ritchi?"
"Oh! Of course!" his face lit up, and he grabbed Roxanne's hand. "Come up! You'll love this! Wait until you see the dining room!"
"Dining… But you don't have a—"
"We do now! Follow me!"
He pulled her bodily past the command room and back up the metal stairs, her surprise growing with every step. The conference room near the kitchen— which had never seemed to serve much purpose since any meetings involved only Megamind, Minion, and, during the last several months, Roxanne— had, indeed, been transformed into a cozy dining room. Another garland swagged across the doorway, and a dark wood table, set as if in expectation of a festive meal, displayed a centerpiece of holly and ribbons surrounding three crème-colored candles. Beside the industrial stairs leading to the third floor— their banisters also bedecked in Yuletide fashion— the plain bathroom that had once served the offices over the factory had been updated and expanded. It looked as if it belonged in a wealthy grandma's house— if Granny had decided to go Goth. A largely unused, cavernous storage space had been turned into a sitting room. It proudly boasted not only a black leather sofa, matching recliner, and built-in dark wood bookshelves stuffed with second-hand volumes, but also an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove that Roxanne was almost certain was against fire codes. In one corner, a more elegantly decorated Christmas tree— probably Minion's work— stood glittering with white lights and antique glass ornaments.
Even that wasn't the most shocking addition to the new living space, however.
"Megamind, there aren't any external walls here. How on earth did you put in windows?"
"Isn't it great?!" he threw himself into the chair, grabbed a remote control from a side pocket, and aimed it at the window. Instantly the view of Metro City Beach was replaced by a forested mountain range.
"It's absurdly simple, really: just a high-definition plasma monitor that I mounted behind framed glass and connected to video feeds that I've had set up in various locations! That conversation we had last autumn about your apartment windows gave me the idea. Look! If you don't like the view, you just change the scenery with a press of a button!"
He clicked the control a couple of more times, bringing up a snow-covered prairie, a quaint French village, and a tropical reef.
"Minion picked out the last one," he explained. "It also interfaces with the supercomputer, so you can use it for research, calls… Look, the frames retract for a better view!" he demonstrated. "Then you push this button, and... voila!" A holographic keyboard had appeared in midair above the remote. Megamind set the device down, and, to Roxanne's astonishment, began typing. A browser popped up on the "window," and he navigated to a video featuring winter scenery to the accompaniment of a Boston Pop's Christmas album.
"Megamind, that's really amazing," Roxanne managed. "All of this is, really... I mean, you've made it so—" she almost said "homey," but bit back the word and finished with: "comfortable."
"I'm glad to hear you say that!" There was something warm in his voice that both thrilled and frightened her. "Oh! Oh! Oh! But it gets even better!" He leaped up and tugged her out of the room. "Let me show you what we've done upstairs!"
The third floor, once comprised of large executive offices, was where Minion and Megamind slept. Roxanne had been there many times in the past weeks, though she was admittedly usually too preoccupied to give much attention to the décor.
Megamind's room had changed from a blacked-out bachelor pad to a stylishly Gothic bedchamber. The walls were a rich blue. A full suite of carved ebony furniture—bed, wardrobe, nightstand, and chest of drawers— had replaced the previous collection of mismatched thrift finds. The ornate four-poster sported a new satin coverlet set in hues of gray, black, and cobalt, and was piled with silky-looking ash-colored pillows that Roxanne suspected matched the sheets. An impressionist oil painting of a historic street at night— rendered almost entirely in blue shades and black shadows— and a large mirror both hung in antique silver frames. Two lamps and a small chandelier, all wrought iron, completed the picture. It belonged on the cover of Evil Lair and Garden. Or maybe as the set of a photoshoot for Bad Boys Weekly. That would be better. All it lacked was its sexy male occupant lounging on the covers. The thought made Roxanne shiver with delight.
Minion's room reminded her of a garden pool, all greens, browns, and teals. Its bamboo furnishings and simple stone accents gave it a slightly Asian ambiance. The style was completely different from Megamind's Vampire Chic bedroom. Full of clean lines and abstract art, it looked more like a post-modern interior design catalog than a Goth culture magazine.
"He picked everything out himself," Megamind was saying. "You should have seen him, like a kid in a candy store! When I told him I wouldn't invade his privacy by bringing you to his room, he was utterly offended! He insisted that if I didn't show you he would never speak to me again. And that I could expect literally everything he cooked to be smothered in mayonnaise for at least a week!" The blue man made a show of shuddering in horror. Looking around, he added: "I should have let him redecorate years ago."
"I'm curious, why is there no bed?"
"Roxanne, he's a fish. He lives in a fishbowl."
The grin she gave him was three parts knowing and one part sly triumph. "And so he has a bedroom because….?"
Megamind blushed a little under his blue tint. "Well, I mean, you know..."
Cocking one arm to rest on her hip, Roxanne gently poked his chest with her other forefinger. "I always knew you were a big softy deep inside, even when you were a supervillain."
He spluttered. "That isn't… I am not… I was disgustingly horrifying! And..."
She laid a finger over his lips. "I always knew, and I love you for it." Smiling into his emerald eyes, she tilted her face up to give him a long, deep kiss. "Now, before you take me back to your new bedroom, tell me: what's that other door at the end of the hall?"
"That, well," He smiled and rubbed one ear, a nervous gesture she had come to adore. "That's my early Christmas present to you. Come have a look."
He took her hand gently this time, and when he pushed open the third door, Roxanne's mouth fell open.
"Ta-da!" he spun to face her, cloak billowing. His tone was all bold showmanship as he swung his arms wide to encompass their surroundings, but Roxanne knew him well enough to recognize the uneasiness hidden behind the bravado.
She stared around wide-eyed at the vaguely familiar round room. Everything in it had been changed so completely that it took her a moment to recognize the place she had awoken during her final kidnapping. The industrial elevator and second floor had been removed. A spiral staircase now led to a cozy loft and catwalk lined with wooden bookcases. All of the equipment had been moved out, the domed walls and ceiling had been expertly plastered and painted, and, where there had once been a telescope with mechanical shutters, there were now two glass doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. It was… perfect. Wonderfully, frighteningly perfect. Her own style—too formal to be modern but too clean to be antique—her favorite colors—sage green, sky blue, and soft ivory with cheerful red accents. The bookshelves—obviously custom-made to fit the curving walls—and few other pieces of furniture were warmly-stained oak that exactly matched the contents of her apartment. There were several empty spaces where she was clearly intended to move in her things. Roxanne knew she should have been thrilled—all the work, care, and expense he'd put into this would be enough to make any one of those silly interns goofy with elation—but all she could feel was cold dread.
"I was thinking we could put your living room suite upstairs to make a reading nook! And look!" He grabbed another remote control from a bracket on the wall. "I've renovated the alligator pit!" With the push of a button, a round trap door—one the reporter remembered with something almost like fondness— opened, and a half-moon desk with a cushy office chair rose on a platform to click into place with the rest of the floor. "I've, ah, also included controls in a hidden wall panel. I know how you lose remotes." He paused expectantly. "So, what do you think?" His smile was starting to look a little forced around the edges.
"Wow, Megamind," she tried not to sound unhappy. His feelings could be so easily crushed, though he excelled at hiding it. "This is…unexpected..."
His face fell slightly, and she searched quickly for something more positive to say.
Deciding on gentle honesty, she added: "I mean, this is exactly the way I would have decorated it myself. I had no idea…"
"Really?" God, she hated the vulnerable hope in his eyes.
"It's beautiful. It is. And sweet. But…"
"But?" he urged uncertainly, nervously fiddling with one of the studs on his black leather gauntlet.
"It just… This… All of this… It's happening so fast." It sounded like a canned response even to her.
True to form, her blue-skinned lover tried to put on a brave face with humor. "Oh, come on, you already sleep here more than you do your own place. This would make everything easier."
"Megamind, this is serious. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet."
"If there's one thing I've learned from all my battles, it's that there are some things you'll never feel ready for, but if you really want it, you just have to jump in anyway."
"Okay, but this? We've never even discussed me moving in, and this is just one step away from being married, and… I just…" she sighed. "I love you. I do, but I've never lived with someone before, and I… I need a little time to think this over." she finished lamely. Seeing his unhappy face, she added: "I'm not necessarily saying no, just...not yet."
"But Roxanne—"
"This is a wonderful gesture, but it's so sudden. I just don't think I can."
"Of course you can. Please, Roxanne, Sweetheart, say yes. Stay here with me," his voice took on an almost pleading tone. "It doesn't have to feel like we're living together. That's why you have a separate bedroom. Whenever you need time to yourself, you know I'll always give it to you."
"Megamind, it's not—"
"This doesn't have to be any more than you want it to be."
"Megamind, please—"
"I'll never invade your privacy unless you want me to." He dropped his voice to a sultry purr. "And when I do, I'll invade it very, very well."
"That isn't what—"
"I promise I'll be the best roommate you've ever had. We share a bathroom," he indicated the door on the left-hand wall. "The plumbing was insufficient for two, but there is a double sink. And I can use the facilities downstairs if you need me to."
"That's really sweet, but it's not the issue. I'm not ready for this."
"Stay anyway."
"I can't"
He crossed his arms. "Can't, or won't?"
"Why are you being so pushy about this?! You never push! And now you're asking me to give up my apartment, change my life… Megamind, that's a huge decision!"
"You're right. I never push. I've never before asked you for anything unless it involved protecting this city. But you know what? I'm asking now. This is the only request I've ever made of you. So please, please do this for me."
"Damn it, Megamind, that is so unfair!" Hot tears stung Roxanne's eyes. "I can't! Not yet! I'm not ready! And it's really low of you to pull that never-asked-for-anything card!"
That hit a nerve. "I am NOT pulling a card, Roxanne! I'm being very, very honest!"
"I didn't mean… I just…"
"I'm offering you everything! My home! My privacy! A place in every aspect of my life! I am offering you—a reporter!—all my secrets! I'm offering my feelings, my time, my vulnerability! I'm pulling out my heart here, Roxanne, pulling it out and laying it at your feet! Don't pay me back by stomping on it!"
There was ringing silence for a moment.
"I'm sorry," Megamind said at last. "That was… It wasn't fair of me to say..." He drew in a deep breath. "I just really need you to stay here."
Roxanne swiped at her eyes in frustrated, jerky movements.
"I think I'd better go."
"No! Wait!" he grabbed her arm.
"Let go!" She demanded. He did and she stormed toward the door.
"Roxanne!" Megamind dodged around to block her path. "Roxanne, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave yet. Please listen to me! I know you're upset, but please let me explain!" He braced his back against the door as she tried to push past him. "This isn't just about me wanting you close! This is about your safety!"
"My… Oh, God, now you're starting with the helpless damsel crap?!" She tried to push past him again. "Let me out!"
"I will, Roxanne, as soon as you hear what I have to tell you."
She glared at him. "Let. Me. Out."
"Sweetheart, please..."
"Megamind, I mean it!" she yelled. "You promised me! You said no more real kidnappings! You promised! Let me out!"
The pain in his eyes was like a punch to Roxanne's heart, and that somehow made her temper burn even higher.
"You promised!" she said again, her voice rising nearly to a shriek.
"That's not what this is, Roxanne! If you would just listen I wouldn't have to do this! You think I like feeling like a monster?!"
"Then stop doing it!"
"I can't. Not when you're trying to run away rather than listen. Look, you're angry. I don't pretend to know why, but I accept that you are," His voice was deliberately calm, emotion simmering underneath, but he held his ground, pressing his weight back harder when she scrabbled for the doorknob. She wanted to slap him. "But, Roxanne, I still need you to listen," Megamind lifted one hand like he meant to touch her cheek, but stopped himself, closing his fingers on thin air. "I know you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances, but things have changed. Something's happened, and now… Metrocity isn't safe for you anymore."
That stopped her in her tracks. "Megamind, what are you talking about?"
"I didn't want to bring this up until I could gather some more information." Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I didn't want to worry you, not until I had a plan…" He sighed. Reluctantly, Megamind handed over a folded letter. His lover opened it to reveal oddly formal calligraphy.
My Dear Hesperos,
I have recently undertaken a business proposition in Metro City, which I understand is under your protection. In general, I applaud your intelligent planning and remarkable success in execution, but I wish you to understand that I cannot allow my operations to be jeopardized. Although your newfound love of justice and position as Defender of Metro City are both, to say the least, surprising, I shall not disparage your change in career. However, I believe that you also have seen enough of the world and society through the eyes of a villain to know that law and justice are, too often, completely disparate, and that sometimes an act of villainy is the only truly righteous course. Therefore I am sending this correspondence as both a professional courtesy and as an offer of peace.
Out of respect and remembered fondness for you, I desire to find a mutually beneficial compromise. It is therefore my hope that this communication will achieve two purposes. First, I wish to assure you that, as my plans currently stand, my activities within your city will neither be aimed against the populace at large nor intended to undermine the normal daily operations of the city itself. I will not, however, insult your intellect or my honor by claiming actions will be viewed, by the strictest interpretation of the law, as anything other than criminal. Nonetheless, be assured that it is my intention to complete my business quickly, discreetly, and without any more loss of life than is necessary. Second, I wish to cordially advise you not to attempt to dissuade me. I do not desire harm to come to you, or any dear to you, but I am a gentleman of business and must protect my interests. If you will consent to allow me to complete my task without interference, you will hardly notice my presence. However, if you take it upon yourself to trouble me, I am afraid I shall have to extract a dire price.
I would take no joy in harming a lovely young lady like Miss Ritchi, but accidents do happen, especially to those who oppose me.
Yours in Good Faith,
Ares Coeus
Roxanne felt slightly cold by the time she finished reading. To think that two minutes ago she'd been worried about whether Megamind wanted to become too serious!
But she hadn't become a star reporter by letting fear control her. "Wow, okay. So, this is... Not what I expected." She looked at him. "I'm sorry... I..."
"It's alright, Love. And I understand. Believe me, it's thrown a wrench into my gears, too."
She nodded, forcing her mind to focus as panic tried once again to drown her natural spunk and curiosity. "Ares? Like the god of war?" she managed a wry grin. "Really? That's a little dramatic." Her attempt at a smile smile felt wrong, like it was stretched too tight.
Megamind didn't share her humor. "Yes, Sweetheart, like the Greek god of war."
Something about that name tugged at the depths of her mind. "I think... I think I remember hearing something about him now. Ares escaped Metro City Prison for the Criminally Insane when I was in the fourth grade. No one except you had ever done it before. No one except you has done it since. People were panicking. Some parents wouldn't let their kids go to school." She paused. "That was weird, now that I think about it. They never did that when you escaped."
"I was not just the local supervillain but also a recognized super-genius. My escaping was almost expected, even if they did everything they could to prevent it. That was just another Tuesday. But Ares' escape wasn't part of the show. They couldn't tell themselves it was only because of my extreme brilliance and ingenuity; not when the escapee was another human. That made it more... real."
Roxanne nodded and cleared her throat. "So… Hesperos. Is that you?"
"Yes. It was Ares' name for me. Hesperos Oldwin."
"Oldwin. That doesn't really fit the pattern. All the other names he chose sound Classical."
"You're right. It doesn't. Ares was obsessed with Greek myths, among other things—especially with both his namesake and with the story of the titan Cronos eating his own children, who were then reborn as gods—but the ancient Greeks didn't have a word for 'blue.'"
"Seriously?"
He made a brave attempt at a chuckle. "Clearly they didn't appreciate the finer things, at least where colors were concerned," His weak smile couldn't seem to hold onto his lips, and quickly fell away. He sighed. "Anyway, Ares gave me the name Hesperos Oldwin because it means Morning Star Blue Sky. The blue part is obvious—"
"Hmmm," she agreed
"And then, of course, my escape pod came from the stars and fell from the sky one morning."
"So he was, what? Your friend? Why is he threatening you?"
"I think I was the closest thing to a friend Ares ever had, but that wasn't very close. More like hero worship." At Roxanne's look, he grimaced slightly. "Remember, I was young and… less brilliant."
"But you liked him?"
"'Like' is too strong a word. Ares was… strange, but he enjoyed my company when I was a boy because I was the only one who could keep up with his intellect, even beat him at chess, although I quickly learned that outsmarting him too much led him to abandon me for days on end. He could be… disinterested, but more often he talked to me, sometimes for hours, when he wasn't locked in solitary confinement. I thought he was cool— smooth, sophisticated, well-spoken, smart, tough— and maybe I liked finding someone fairly close to my own age who didn't revile me for a change." He studied his black boots. "Maybe it made me feel special that I was the only other person he bothered naming."
Roxanne gently lifted his chin. "You were lonely. I can't really blame you."
"I can." Megamind sighed. "As I grew older I began to realize that some things about him were just… off. It wasn't until years afterward that I learned 'morning star' is also the meaning of the name Lucifer, as in the devil in most Abrahamic religions. By that time Ares was already gone, but I have the feeling the parallel wasn't an accident. The worst part is, I don't think he meant it as an insult."
"Okay, but how much of that is just a persona? You once said that the difference between a villain and a supervillain is presentation."
"Minion said that," he reminded her.
"It's still true."
"This is different."
"I don't mean he's necessarily a supervillain. You grew up in prison. You're better at analyzing criminal minds than any psychiatrist I've ever heard of. I've seen you figure people out so fast it's almost like mind-reading. I'm guessing Ares isn't his real name, so clearly he's putting on a show. How much is him and how much is just an act?"
"Oh, you don't understand!" Megamind threw up his hands and began pacing. "Ares does not play at evil insanity. He's the real deal! No one in that prison ever crossed him. Convicts, guards, even the warden feared him. Most people, even criminals, have limits… lines they won't cross, but Ares… He had no lines. He would be a perfectly nice and polite man until someone did something he didn't like—anything, a tone of voice, the wrong look—and then, in a flash, he could turn horrible and callous. He would get this cold smile on his face, and you knew sometime soon something truly terrible was going to happen to that person. And it never bothered him. Not even a little."
"You make him sound like a monster."
"He is."
Roxanne stood up and stopped his pacing with a hug. "No, Megamind. He's just a man."
With a sigh, Megamind gently pushed her away. "Roxanne," he looked her in the eye. "I was twelve when Ares was arrested. He was only a few years older than me, not quite a legal adult, but they sent him to a high-security facility for the criminally insane. Do you know why? When he found out his father was cheating on his mother, Ares murdered both the man and his mistress. And not in a crime of passion. He searched, learned, planned, and prepared. He found out about the spa resort his father often took his mistress to— an exclusive and very discreet place outside of town—"
Roxanne was starting to feel a little sick. "Oh my God… The Nelson Case. You knew that guy?"
"Yes. Ares' real name is Eric Nelson."
"I read about that trial for a paper when I was in college. Did he really kill them in the steam room?"
Megamind nodded. "He told me all about it. Bragged. The fake ID, the forged credentials, the Social Security System hack… And then he got a maintenance job at the spa resort. Even though he was rarely around guests, he was always in disguise, even changing his mannerisms and the way he walked… He learned how the steam system worked, created a bypass for the safety measures…." Megamind shuddered. "Roxanne, he literally steam broiled those people alive. And he watched. He stood there and he watched. His own father…" With a shake of his head, Megamind added: "He wasn't even sorry. Ares called himself a 'soldier of righteousness,' and insisted it was the legal system that was corrupt."
"How could he think that?"
"He's crazy. But he's also calculating, cold, and cruel. That makes him dangerous. When his twisted sense of honor and justice is incensed, he is capable of truly horrific things." Megamind sighed again. "After Ares escaped prison, he joined a paramilitary organization, but apparently his philosophies were too... extreme even for them. The last I heard, he was working as an assassin, but he only takes certain jobs that he feels are in line with his off-center views of right and wrong. He's so good at making his murders look like accidents that no one— not even in the criminal underworld— really knows what his kill count is. Even so, the sorts of 'accidents' he causes… Let's just say people don't hire Ares if they want the funeral to be open casket."
"Maybe he's not serious." Even to her, it sounded more like a plea than a suggestion. "What if he's just playing mind games with you?" Roxanne trailed off as she studied her lover's face.
"No. Ares isn't like other villains we've faced… like I was. This isn't something he does for fame, money, petty revenge, or for the simple reason that he's bored out of his skull and needs intellectual stimulation. He doesn't play games, or if he does, he plays for keeps."
It felt as if ice had replaced her spine. "And you really think he'll do it? That he'll find me?"
Green eyes met hers, and something in their depths made the ice expand to fill her stomach.
"Megamind?"
He glanced away again, like he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "Sweetheart, there were..." his throat bobbed.
"There were photographs enclosed with the letter," he answered quietly, as if lowering the tone of his words would somehow lessen their impact. "They were… One was of you standing just inside the glass doors of your balcony—"
"Oh my God." she breathed, moving to collapse into the desk chair.
"One was of you leaving the news station. The last was of you jogging in Hill Top Park." He finally met her gaze again. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry… He has already found you." He knelt beside her, turned the desk chair to face him, and took her hands in his, looking earnestly up at her. "I have to try to stop him. You know I do. I'm the good guy now. But I can't do that and watch your back at the same time. Not if we're apart. That's why I really, really need you to stay here."
Something in her vaguely understood that she should care about that, but it suddenly seemed as if her brain, overwhelmed with terror, had opted to turn itself off. Her heart, in contrast, was screaming and she felt like she might be physically ill. This, Roxanne decided distantly, must be what a panic attack felt like.
"What about… my job?"
"Telecommute."
Her laugh sounded bitter and wild in her own ears. "I'm an on-scene correspondent. I can't telecommute."
"Then take some time off," he offered gently. "We'll talk to the station, or have the officials contact them. This is little different from a witness protection program. And it's only temporary. They'll have to understand."
"And if they don't?"
"I'll make them."
Roxanne buried her face in her palms. She heard the tread of leather boots, the sighing swish of a cape, and deft hands began massaging her shoulders. Megamind's voice spoke gently behind her.
"Roxanne. Listen to me. It will be alright. Everything will be alright. We are going to get through this. He hasn't found this place, and I've made some alterations to ensure it stays that way."
"How do you know he hasn't found your hideout?" she asked between her fingers. "You can't possibly know that."
"He hasn't. Trust me. His letter was sent to my fan mail post box. Ares likes keeping people off balance, making them feel he has the upper hand. If he had known where my Lair was, he would have found a way to deliver it directly here. He didn't, which means we're safe. I've been working on some enhancements for a while, but Minion and I have put in a lot of hours to finish them quickly. This entire building is now outfitted with a cloaking shield: a hard light hologram similar to what the holowatch produces. I took it down briefly when I saw you approach, and put it back up once you came in. Now all anyone will see is an empty, condemned building. No dome, no signs of life, nothing."
Turning the chair to face him, she suddenly threw her arms around Megamind and held him close. He knelt to let her hide her face against his neck. Like a child awakened from a bad dream, Roxanne buried herself in his warmth and breathed in the comfort of his scent.
"I really am sorry," her words were muffled by his skin. "I'm so very sorry."
He ran gentle hands up and down her arms. "I am too."
"You shouldn't be."
"If you weren't with me, this never would have happened."
"No. People assumed I dated Metro Man, and they would have assumed the same about us."
"I should have realized sooner. I should have done better."
"You're doing your best."
"We both are."
"I'm so sorry I yelled at you."
"You didn't know."
The moment of weakness passed, and Roxanne gathered herself, gluing pieces of broken confidence back together with spunky determination and brave humor.
"Yeah, well, you know, you could have told me this sooner and saved us the trouble of arguing," she jibed halfheartedly, her crooked smile appearing through tears.
His answering grin was weak, and a little sad. "I didn't want to have to tell you. Not now, not tonight. And I didn't want to ruin your holidays." His shoulders drooped slightly. "Tonight was supposed to be about cheering you up. I wanted to make you happy, not terrify the living daylights out of you."
"But I thought you liked terrifying me. Why else did you kidnap me all the time?"
"How else could I spend time with you? Besides, you were never truly scared of me. Annoyed, yes. Sometimes even angry, but never scared." He wrapped her in an embrace. "And I happen to think you're extremely sexy when you're angry."
That drew a tearful laugh from Roxanne. "Right, because, you know, that's one I've never heard before." Sighing, she looked back at her new bedroom. "Thank you for everything you've done, Megamind. If it's okay, I'll enlist the brainbots' help in moving my things tomorrow."
"I'll be glad to have them give you a hand, but we should do it late at night. That's when Ares… works. He'll be less likely to be watching your apartment."
They were silent for a moment.
"Well," Roxanne's voice held a tone of determined calm. "At least we have a plan."
He smiled. "We have a plan."
There was another pause.
"So..." casting around for something to say, Roxanne landed on: "how long has Ares been in Metro City, and what do we know so far?"
"Not much. I got the letter last Thursday, but Ares has been laying low. I've had brainbots guarding you twenty-four-seven."
"I thought I saw more of them around than usual. Wait," she looked around her room with new admiration. "You managed to get all of this pulled together in six days? That's... Darling, that's beyond impressive! That's amazing!"
"Five days, six hours, and fifty-three minutes, to be precise," Megamind answered, standing up and managing another gray smile. "Incredibly Handsome Genius, remember? You'd be surprised what can be done with a little determination, a large budget, and thousands of tireless laborers."
"Large budget?"
"I have contracts with various companies for a cut of the profits from all Megamind merchandise sold, among other things."
"Seriously? That's not standard hero procedure, is it?"
"Being a good guy doesn't exactly pay well."
"Wayne never did that."
"Ha. Metro Man was adopted by a multi-billionaire. He has a trust fund big enough to support an entire third-world country, not to mention that all of his abilities are inborn. I, on the other hand, have supplies to buy, bills to pay, evil inventions to construct..."
"I thought they weren't evil any more?"
"Well, evil only to evildoers." His burgeoning grin faltered. "Roxanne, be honest, are you angry at me? For not telling you sooner? I know you always hated it when Metro Man treated you like a powerless victim, and I want you to know that isn't why I didn't tell you. I just wanted the brainbots to do a little reconnocense first. And, as I said, I wanted you to enjoy the holiday season before I threw this at you."
Drawing close to him, she cupped his cheek and looked sincerely into his face. "No. I'm not angry. Not now that I understand." She hugged him once more. "But from now on I need you to trust me enough to just tell me things. I can't be prepared if I don't know."
"It's a deal."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I doubted you."
He kissed her cheek. "I suppose it's possible I could have handled it a little better."
She finally managed a real grin. "Maybe a little." She held her hands a foot apart. "Like this much."
"Oh, come on, not that much." He moved her arms closer until her palms were only a couple of inches apart. "Maybe that much."
"This much," she spread her hands even wider.
His mouth quirked. "Now you're just being unreasonable."
Despite everything, they both laughed, releasing the tension in the air.
"I'm glad I'm here," Roxanne said.
"Me too." He held her, kissed her brow. "You'll be happy here, Sweetheart. I'll do everything I can… I want this to be comfortable, and good… You like having your own space, and that's fine, but I want you to know that this is your home, too. Always."
She felt herself smile, although the expression lacked its usual confident strength. He wasn't wrong. Sometimes Roxanne felt she practically lived in his hideout already. Well, the past few weeks had been an exception. While the blue hero had dealt with a plot by the Doom Syndicate and the usual holiday season uptick in thefts, Roxanne had been forced to travel, first covering a rare blizzard in the Upper Penninsula, then a meeting of the newly formed Michigan State Disability Caucus in Lansing, and finally attempts by members of the state legislature to conceal certain business interest's tax frauds. She and her lover had only been able to steal occasional dates during her brief returns home, and he had spent one night in a Lansing hotel with her. Even when life wasn't so busy, however, the reporter and her lover rarely spent the night at her apartment anymore. Not since Ms. Farley, a sweet but nosy elderly woman who lived next door, had caught Roxanne out in the hall one evening and invited her over for what had turned out the be the most awkwardly embarrassing cup of tea in all history.
"Listen, Dear," the old lady had said amicably after a few minutes of small talk. "Between you, me, and the lamppost, I just want to tell you that I am really very happy you and our hero have such a healthy and loving relationship, but— I really hate to bring it up— but maybe three in the morning is a little late for… nocturnal activities? And… well… you might just ask him to be a little more circumspect about his language? It's only that Len Paszek mentioned that his little boy asked last week what all those funny words the Defender kept shouting meant…"
Megamind had blushed fuchsia when she'd told him, and admitted that one of his new friends on the police force had laughingly informed him they had received no fewer than three noise complaints from other tenants in Roxanne's building.
"He seemed to think I needed to be congratulated?" the blue man had said uncertainly. "He kept slapping my back and saying I must be doing something right?"
Roxanne had felt her own cheeks burning. "I… um… yeah, that's a… pretty normal human male bonding ritual…"
"Humans are strange," Megamind had informed her.
They'd spent almost every night at the Lair ever since.
"Sir, Code C and C," Minion's voice crackled from the vicinity of his master's left hand, disrupting Roxanne's thoughts.
"Code what?" Megamind asked into his wrist.
"Cookies and cocoa!" Minion explained. "Come and get it while it's—No no no! That is not a toy! Drop it! Drop it right now!"
A sound suspiciously like breaking china echoed through the watch's speaker.
Megamind and Roxanne looked at each other and laughed again. It felt good. "I suppose we had better go downstairs while the cookies are still edible," the blue hero said. "You don't mind, do you, Roxanne? It's just that— well, you know— Minion has planned out this entire evening, and it really means a lot to him…" he trailed off as Roxanne gave him his favorite knowing smile.
"Thank you and Minion both for planning tonight. Of course I want to be a part of it." She sighed, looking down one more time at the disturbing letter. "Let's just take a step back. We can deal with this tomorrow. Besides," she brightened slightly. "I wouldn't miss Minion's home baking for anything."
Megamind chuckled again. "Be sure to tell him that." With a dramatic flourish, he swept his cloak behind one shoulder and offered her his arm. "Now, Miss Ritchi," he purred in that tone that always melted her down to her toes. "If you'll come with me, please, I fully intend to spend the next several hours cuddling by the stove, if only I could find a beautiful, intelligent woman to cuddle with."
A small, very grown-up and professional part of Roxanne hated that Megamind always knew how to make her blush. The rest of her, however, adored it.
"I think I can oblige," she answered, linking her arm through his.
He returned her smile and led her downstairs.
#Megamind#Megamind movie#megamind fanfiction#megarox#Roxanne#Roxanne Ritchi#Minion#Lair#villain#Ares#mystery#humor#adventure#romance#fluff#steamy#Daylight and Dark#Megamind fanfic#Megamind fanfics#fanfic#fan fic#fan fiction#detective#hero#Megamind as a Hero#Defender#Metrocity#Metro City
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Take me back to the night we met
Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker)
Rating: Teen (T)
Notes: Cranked out the second and final chapter of this fun story today. I hope you enjoy it!
Warnings: None, light angst/miscommuncation. All with a happy ending!
Word count: 3k
Summary:
What will happen when Tony and Peter leave their small town and head back to New York?
Read chapter 1 here
Read full story on AO3 here
6 weeks later
“Tony!” Natasha called.
Tony’s gaze snapped up from his desk to his red-headed assistant, immediately pulled out of whatever trance he was in this time. He shook his head rather violently and focused on Natasha’s impatient glare.
“Yeah, yep! Sorry Nat, what’s up?” he rushed.
Natasha just gaped at him, realizing she’d be repeating the last several minutes of updates about various plans she needed Tony’s approval on.
“I needed your signature on these documents, like a week ago. Now, I’m late to a meeting, so please, I beg you, look over these and I’ll pick them up from you by the end of the day.” Natasha left the room in a tizzy. Tony didn’t even have time to respond before the door was closing behind her.
He glanced down at his desk, his numerous unsent text messages mocking him in broad daylight. He couldn’t bring himself to pay any mind to the far more important documents directly in front of him; for some reason, unbeknownst to even himself, he still couldn’t manage to pull his thoughts away from one Peter Parker.
It had been over a month since he returned home from Springdale with a new number in his phone and the silliest crush he’d had since high school. For what must have been the millionth time in a month, he let his mind wander to the all-too-brief interactions with Peter that weekend. That first night in town had been just the beginning of Peter worming his way into Tony’s previously impermeable heart.
How he managed to get under Tony’s skin so quickly, Tony couldn’t possibly comprehend. Maybe it had something to do with that thing Peter did with his tongue, but in all reality, Tony knew it was much more than that. It was Peter’s ability to challenge Tony intellectually, his knack for making Tony smile more earnestly than anyone in years, his insistence that Tony didn’t owe anyone any explanations for why he left Springdale or why he now called New York home, and so much more. Peter made Tony feel seen. Any other time, and by any other person, Tony hated being seen for all that he was. But with Peter, he relished that feeling. That entire weekend in Springdale, Tony selfishly soaked up moment after moment with Peter, imagining what it would be like to feel this content with himself on a regular basis.
They danced, they flirted, they kissed, and they fell into bed together after the wedding. It was a short trip for both of them, but neither man seemed concerned with the passing of time. Whispered promises between sheets and under the stars encouraged Tony to believe that maybe this wasn’t just a passing moment for the two of them. Maybe, finally, Tony found someone that could keep up with him. Someone that wanted Tony for everything he came with.
He headed home with butterflies in his stomach, eager to see Peter again and find out what would come next for the two of them. He’d sent him a text before his plane even left the ground in Springdale, not giving himself the time to second-guess anything:
Tony: Hey Pete, it’s Tony! I’m just heading back to NYC. I hope I’ll see you soon ;)
That was more than one month ago. No response, no acknowledgement of the message, nothing. Peter had gone completely radio-silent.
At first, Tony didn’t panic. It was a busy time for Peter’s team at work, and Tony even lost himself in his work for a while. But after a couple weeks with nothing, Tony began to feel the pit in his stomach. Realization dawned on him that if Peter, millennial Peter who was always attached to his phone, hadn’t responded at that point, Tony shouldn’t expect anything.
When that realization came about, he lost the newfound pep in his step, his self-deprecation returned in full force, and he was no longer pleasant nor productive at work. Sure, he could have ventured a few floors below his office to seek out Peter, but that was crossing a line, even for Tony. it would be unprofessional and unfair to put him in that position. Instead, Tony wallowed. He pretended nothing had happened; that he hadn’t returned from his trip as a different person and then suddenly reverted back to his destructive ways.
So here he was now. The essential documents requiring his attention and signature mocked him while his phone sat open with dozens of texts he’d never managed to send to Peter. He wasn’t sure where to start or what to say. Each time he thought he was finally going to just hit send, he managed to convince himself not to.
Peter knew how to contact him. He would have if he really wanted anything to do with Tony.
Tony shook his head before tossing his phone in a random desk drawer and finally buckled down. By the end of the day he’d made it through each of the documents Nat needed him to sign, and he even managed to bring them to her office to save her the trip, and annoyance.
“Hey, Tony!” she called out before he could leave her office.
“Yeah, Nat?”
“Development wanted me to remind you that they have a new StarkPhone prototype they want you to check out. I can have them leave a sample on your desk sometime this week. Does that work for you?”
“Sure, yeah. Just make sure they get my info on the phone so I can actually use it. What’s the point of testing if it’s not functional?”
Nat nodded and made a note on her computer. “Sure thing, boss. Just keep an eye out for it by Friday.”
“Thanks, Nat. I’m headed out for the day, have a good night.”
He offered a small wave before retreating down the hallway.
A few days later, Tony found a sleek new phone on his desk. He was immediately impressed by his developers and engineers. He clicked around the various applications and settings, habitually checking his messages. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t any messages from Peter, and, gratefully, it appeared that his unsent drafts must have been cleared out when his information and settings were uploaded onto this phone. He let out a long, slow breath, willing himself to see this as a way to move forward without the constant reminder of words that had gone unsaid.
Little did he know, Peter Parker woke up to his phone buzzing incessantly as dozens of text messages from an unknown number flooded his phone.
Peter was suddenly awoken by his cell phone repeatedly buzzing on his nightstand, so consistently that he couldn’t help but worry that something was seriously wrong. He snatched his phone and was shocked to find more messages than he could count flooding his notifications. All the messages were from the same unknown number. Through his sleep-blurred vision he couldn’t make much out, but the messages didn’t seem to be coherent, and some of them were incomplete thoughts. When his vision finally focused on the too-bright screen in his dark bedroom, he felt his heart drop to his stomach.
Unknown Number: I’m so sorry for whatever I did between Springdale and now. I was really hoping you and I would have a chance Pete. I hope you’re doing well xx
Unknown Number: Hey Pete! I hope you got back home safely :) I’d love to grab a coffee if you have any free time in the next couple days. Lmk!
Unknown Number: For once, I thought I found someone. I just wish you’d tell me if
Peter felt his hands start to shake as he scrolled through the messages. Everything was scrambled - he had no idea when any of these were sent or in what order. It was as if the floodgates had opened and Peter had a direct glimpse into Tony’s thoughts.
Peter knew there was nothing to be done at 5:00 AM, and he really didn’t want to try to piece everything together over text. He took a deep breath resolving to attempt to talk to Tony in-person at work. Knowing there was no point in attempting to get back to sleep, Peter went about his morning routine, determined to get to the office early. If he had any hope of talking to Tony, it had to be soon.
He managed to get to work on autopilot, his thoughts never leaving the older man he’d fallen for back in Springdale. He was beyond disappointed when Tony never actually contacted him, but Peter just assumed it was par for the course with Tony Stark. What more could he have expected? Sure, it felt like they’d had a real connection, but Peter knew how different they really were. Tony owned the damn company Peter worked for! It had been a tough pill to swallow, but he’d managed to stop dwelling on it after a few weeks and some sharp words from MJ.
But now, Peter didn’t know what to think. His mind was as scrambled as these messages from Tony. Why now? Did Tony even mean to send these? Oh god, was he drunk? Did he even know what he’d done?
Peter shook his head in an attempt to clear it as he made his way up from the Subway toward the office. It was barely 7:00 AM; Peter made a silent wish that he’d be able to talk to Tony. Forgoing his own floor, Peter went straight to the executive floor, shocked that his badge was cleared when he pressed the highest button in the elevator.
The executive floor was nearly silent and most of the lights were out. Peter could see a soft glow coming from underneath the door to Tony’s office and he steeled himself as he took long steps down the corridor. Upon reaching the door, Peter took a deep breath and knocked softly.
“It’s open!” Tony called, clearly expecting anyone besides Peter.
Peter hesitantly pushed the door open, but didn’t move an inch. Tony looked up from his desk and froze. Peter could hear the breath catch in his throat and didn’t miss the slight flinch throughout his entire body.
“Um, what?” Tony blurted.
“I-”
“No. No, you don’t get to just show up here like this. After what, a month? No, Peter this isn’t fair-”
“Not fair?” Peter exclaimed. “You know what’s not fair Tony? Nothing from you this whole time and then you just spam my phone in the middle of the night? What the hell is that about!”
Tony just blinked at Peter. Peter huffed, hurt and frustrated by Tony’s lack of acknowledgement for what he’d done. Peter just shook his head.
“I don’t know what I thought I was doing coming up here. Never mind. See you, Tony.”
He moved to pull the door shut and retreat from the doorway.
“Wait! Peter, wait!” Tony jumped up from his chair, nearly knocking everything off his desk with the force of his hip knocking into the corner.
Peter stood, waiting.
“Will you just… will you come in here so we can talk? I literally have no idea what you’re talking about, Peter.”
Peter let out another frustrated sigh, but acquiesced. He stepped through the doorway and gently pulled the door shut behind him. When he turned to face Tony, he was surprised by how close they were standing.
“Tony,” Peter started softly. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us Pete.” Tony shook his head, unable to bring himself to look at Peter.
“Well,” Peter pulled his phone out of his back pocket, “how about we start with these.”
As Peter turned his phone so Tony could see the screen, Tony could feel the color drain from his face. There, he saw a thread of messages that were never sent from him to Peter. Tony shook his head and pulled out his own phone, pulling up his unsent message drafts to confirm that they had been cleared out when he switched phones. When he pulled up his messages, he suddenly wished the floor would open up and swallow him. All his drafts had been sent; every single one now had a little check mark next to them, indicating that they’d been delivered rather than deleted as he assumed.
“Peter, I’m so sorry,” Tony rushed out. “You were never supposed to get those messages, I never meant to bother you like this, oh my god. Oh god, I’m a disaster, how could-”
“Whoa, Tony! It’s okay!” Peter reassured him. Peter wanted to move just a bit closer, enough to reach out and soothe Tony himself. But he stopped himself short, his hand twitching at his side.
“I was happy to hear from you, Tony,” Peter said softly, careful not to spook Tony where he still refused to make eye contact. “I just don’t understand why you never sent any of these to me.”
At that, Tony’s head whipped up and he fixed Peter with a cold stare. “I texted you before I even left Springdale. Don’t act like this is on me. The ball has been in your court, Peter. That’s why I didn’t send any of these to you. It was pretty damn clear you didn’t want to hear from me!”
Peter just gaped at Tony. “Tony, I never got any messages from you. See!” Peter scrolled to the top of the thread, where the earliest message was dated as that morning. “These all came in this morning. They’re all out of order, but I didn’t get anything from you before now. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me!”
“What?!” Tony snatched Peter’s phone without thinking and scrolled through the messages that his phone had betrayed him with. As he scrolled through the mixed up messages, he came upon the one that Peter was meant to have received. Instead of receiving it six weeks prior, it was delivered in the flurry of drafts this morning.
“I don’t… how did this happen?” Tony muttered to himself.
He thought back to the day he left Springdale. He remembered being in a rush to get some work messages sent as he was taking off, going back and forth between emails and texts. Nat was insistent on getting some documents from Tony, and he had been late, as usual. He distinctly remembered finishing his message to Peter after responding to Nat right as his plane was taking off.
“Stupid old fucking phone,” Tony whispered.
“What?” Peter finally asked.
Finally, Tony made eye contact with Peter that didn’t make Peter feel like he was being hit with ice. In fact, Tony looked a bit sheepish.
“For a self-proclaimed tech genius, I’m really very stupid.”
Peter let himself smile ever so slightly.
“Turns out if I’d just checked my phone like a normal person, I would’ve noticed that I never actually hit send on that first message to you. And since I’m anything but normal, I’ve spent the last six weeks convincing myself that you didn’t want anything to do with me. Hence the message drafts that were never supposed to be sent to you. Again, I’m a stupid genius and my phone went ahead and sent out all my drafts when I updated to a new prototype.”
Peter took a deep breath as Tony handed his phone back to him. “You mean to tell me,” Peter grinned carefully, “that you, Tony Stark, forgot to hit send ?” He took a hesitant step toward Tony. “And then,” he continued, and took another step, “you wrote 20 texts that you never sent , all of which were sent to me when you got a new phone?”
“Um, yes,” Tony admitted as he looked up at Peter who had now entered his personal space.
In an instant, Peter threw back his head and let out an incredulous laugh. Before he could think about it, he wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and hauled him across the last few inches between them. Tony stumbled into him and gripped Peter’s shoulders to stabilize himself. Peter quickly slid his phone into his pocket and brought his hand up to cradle the back of Tony’s head.
The touch was gentle and intimate, but neither man seemed to think anything of it. Peter leaned his forehead against Tony’s and the older man loosened his grip on Peter to loop his arms around his neck.
“Tony,” Peter murmured softly.
Tony couldn’t hide the way his body quivered at the feeling of Peter’s breath on his face, their proximity, and the tone of Peter’s voice in that moment. Peter only gripped him tighter to his body as Tony buried his face in Peter’s neck. Forget moving too fast or being dignified, Tony missed him.
Tony stiffened, realizing he must’ve said that out loud when Peter whispered, “I missed you too, Tony.”
Peter craned his head back just enough to nose his way along Tony’s temple as his lips lightly brushed Tony’s cheek. Tony got the hint and angled his face up just slightly, inviting Peter in. Peter didn’t hesitate for a second, immediately feeling his way to Tony’s lips and slotting his against Tony’s. It was firm and soft, comforting and intense, brand new and like coming home. Peter let out a soft moan as Tony’s lips parted and his tongue darted out to run along the seam of Peter’s lips. Peter parted his lips in response and pulled Tony impossibly closer. Peter’s hand at the back of Tony’s head tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to make Tony gasp and part his lips even more. Peter took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Tony’s hot mouth, and they both moaned at the contact.
Peter pulled away with a wet smack, catching Tony’s weight as he leaned in for more. “Tony,” Peter breathed as he leaned his forehead against Tony’s again. Tony looked up at him through long eyelashes, and Peter could’ve melted right there. Peter just sighed and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tony’s head before taking a small step back.
“Just to be clear,” Peter says softly. “I want you, I want us, Tony.”
Tony let out one final sigh of relief, not realizing how much he’d needed to hear that. “Oh thank god, Pete,” Tony grinned.
“But I swear to god Tony, if you ever wake me up with 25 unsent text messages, ever again, I swear-”
“Hey! It’s not my fault that I’m bad with technology.”
“Says the CEO and founder of Stark Industries. I’m sure your customers will be thrilled to hear that,” Peter teased.
“Be nice,” Tony pouted. “I missed you and I’m fragile.”
Peter just smiled. “Yeah, I missed you too, Tony. But you’re stuck with me now, I promise”.
Before Tony could reply, Natasha stormed into the office, mid-rant. “Tony Stark! What are all these damn emails you spammed me with this morning?!”
Tony just smiled sheepishly and hid his face in Peter’s neck. He had some learning to do.
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Comatose
Darkness.
Silence.
Distant gunfire.
Muffled clashes of metal.
Humming magitek.
Distant...
...closer...
...closer...
Her eyes open, sky blue gaze sweeping across a battlefield. Blue hues reflecting raging fires, glinting twisted metal, pools of blood. Her brow furrows as she realises where she is.
The Bozjan Southern Front.
She freezes in horror as it registers where she is.
When she is.
Eyes wide, she turns slowly, slowly...
A body lies on the ground, clad in familiar raiment, blood pooling beneath the figure.
***Blink.***
She kneels beside the body, frantically casting spell after spell, the weak regenerative and heals seeming to do nothing. Instantly, tears stream down her cheeks as she cries hysterically, rapidly burning away her still-meagre aether reserves. Her gaze flickers about the area, and she wonders why her twin and her lover aren't there.
"Because it's a dream, daughter-in-law."
Wide eyes refocus on the dying man she's attempting to save, her jaw falling at his voice and at his words.
How was he speaking? He couldn't speak...shouldn't talk...and why call her *that*...
A soft smile crosses the dying man's lips as he reiterates gently, "...because it's a dream, Aquila."
Slowly, the aether stops streaming out of her hands as she blinks at him over and over. And then the corner of his lip turns up in a faint smirk as she begins to understand what's going on. Then, weakly, his hand moves to lower hers entirely, placing them on her lap before covering one with his.
"So you're...still dead?" she queries with a deep frown.
The man nods as he replies, "Yeah. Nothing can change that. It was time."
His answer causes her to sigh before she places her other hand over his.
Brow furrowing further, she murmurs, "I...don't understand why we're here..."
She's given that slight smirk again as he states, "...you're sharper than that - my son wouldn't love you if you weren't."
Blue eyes widen again as she whispers a single word, "...Talekeeper..."
The man who would have been her father-in-law nods a few times, the motion just barely noticeable.
"Did he explain what the blade is?" he asks, glancing at the weapon on her right hip. "And what I was?"
Nodding again, she answers, "A little. He told me you were a Blade of Queen Gunnhildr and that the sword was forged for you."
Her response is greeted with a sigh and the faintest shake of his head.
"Telling you everything and nothing," he fondly murmurs, "sounds just like my son."
And then, the dying man does something he shouldn't be capable of at all - he sits up, albeit slowly. Reflexively, his other hand covers the worst of his wounds, blood flowing over his tanned skin. Otherwise, he seems undisturbed by the failing state of his body.
"Everyone in Bozja will tell you something different about what it means to be a Blade, outside of the obvious task of being the Queen's guards," he begins to explain to her. "Even within the Blades, you won't find an exact consensus - we all had different motivations for accepting the position."
She tries not to stare at the wound in his torso, at the blood spilling over his hand, forcing herself to focus on either the hand she's holding or his features and gaze. Had this been real and not a dream, he would have already bled out.
"When I first joined, it was during a time of peace - before the truth of what happened to save Bozja the first time was known. That's not to say we didn't have skirmishes with bandits and the like," he continues, nodding out to the battlefield. "This place wasn't at all like it is now; most of the country wasn't. Hells, sometimes it felt like I had to attend more social functions than actually fight."
"Then...why leave? I know Leth wasn't raised in Bozja," she asks before adding, "especially not going to a bunch of social functions..."
Her expression makes the dying man laugh, blood briefly gushing with each contraction of his midsection. He shakes his head a little, smiling at her for a brief moment.
"I am sorry for that. You've got your work cut out for you, but I'm sure you'll manage," he states, still grinning. "You'd already done quite a bit of good for him before we even met."
She can't help but flush a little. She'd known that her lover had changed in the time they've known one another, but she was surprised that it was as much as her dead father-in-law-to-be was claiming it was. But, unfortunately, she also has no idea what to say in response, so she just gives him a sheepish smile while waiting for him to continue.
"Anyroad, aside from serving my Queen and Bozja writ-large, I thought that it would provide a suitable environment for my wife and later Byleth," he resumes, his expression softening at the mention of his family before becoming worn again. "And then the Garleans invaded, and everything changed..."
There's an awkwardness about her now, at the mention of her homeland's penchant for conquest. He notices and gives her hand a squeeze, exuding reassurance and care.
"You're okay, daughter of mine. While I was a little hesitant when you all arrived in Bozja, I quickly realised you weren't like the people we were fighting," he quietly comforts. "If more Garleans had been like you and your twin, we'd never have had to fight in the first place."
Her head shoots up, her now wide-eyed gaze shifting from their hands to his features, jaw falling again.
"Why-- why do you keep calling me that?"
Despite having a gash across his back from shoulder to hip, despite having a fatal stab wound on his front, the question makes the dying man laugh hard. He's too amused to notice how much blood the movement causes to spill from his wounds, though it's much harder for her not to see.
"Because you're going to marry my son," he replies with mirth. "I'd planned on walking you down the aisle since your dad's well...more of a sperm donor than a dad."
For a moment, she has a stray thought, wondering why her lover hadn't inherited his father's humour - as shocking as his words were. She stares at him, much like some surprised little critter, mouth hanging open with surprise.
"I'm kidding. I know your brother'd likely be the one to do that part," he adds after a long moment of laughing at her shocked expression. "Anyroad, that established, I should finish explaining everything to you before it's too late."
"Too late?" she echoes in confusion.
The dying man nods a little as he points out, "It's a dream, kiddo. You're going to wake up in a little bit, and it'll all be over."
His words make sense, and she nods a little as she gives his hand a squeeze, waiting for him to continue speaking. Faintly, she can sense the presence of her twin, close at hand yet incredibly distant.
"I was nearly captured during the invasion, but my mentor managed to help me escape. For a time, Sitri, my wife, and I went into hiding," he continues, the amusement draining from his features as he speaks. "After she died, I felt it was safer to leave Bozja entirely, and so Sylvain and I took Byleth and started our company once we were well away."
As he speaks of his dead wife, she gives his hand a gentle pat and a squeeze, trying to emulate the comforting air he used on her. He notices the shift in her emotions, swiftly realising how uncannily similar his earlier concern had been. Realisation dawns, and he gazes at her with an entirely new understanding.
"Can you do that with anything?" he asks her.
Confused, she murmurs, "...do what?"
He hadn't expected that she wouldn't be consciously aware of her ability, but he nods faintly at her confusion before he attempts to explain.
"It's one thing to express the same emotion as someone else," he theorises, bloodied hand lifting to rub his chin, seemingly oblivious to the blood that covers such. "It's a whole different thing to express the same emotion with identical intent and reason. Most of us do the former, but you do the latter. I wonder how far such can go."
She's quiet for a brief moment, looking away towards where her brother would be back in the waking world. Then, she murmurs softly, "...it goes pretty far. I learned an Ilsabardian technique without being told how it works - I only saw it in use. I didn't even know what it was at the time. I just...summoned a weapon made out of aether...then had trouble drawing it back in because my opponent hadn't done so."
The revelation causes the man to pause, primarily due to having only ever seen or heard of the Blades of Gunnhildr being capable of the feat. His eyes fall to the blade on her right hip again before they shift back to stare at her.
"So...you have no way to regulate the use of aether?" he seeks clarification.
"I...sort of do. The Captain gave me a piece of Magicite to channel it through - it works sorta like a focus does," she clarifies for him. "But...I have to be conscious for it to work. The whole reason I'm asleep right now is that I got knocked out while using it...and it nearly drained me."
And then, all of a sudden, it becomes even more evident that this is a dream. Withdrawing his hand from between hers, the man who should be dead several times over by now...stands up. He reflexively covers the stab wound with his hand as he straightens, the other motioning to her blade.
"Let me see that a moment, Quil," he requests as he holds out his other hand.
For a very long moment, she just sits there staring at him with a pallid expression before she manages to nod. Then, standing as well, she passes the blade back to its original owner. He flicks his wrist several times, reacquainting himself with his old friend. He makes several slashes with it then, before falling into as much of an en garde as he can manage, with his insides trying to fall out.
"Watch and learn, daughter of mine," he softly states before suddenly channelling aether into the blade; he means it quite literally. He makes a series of motions with the sword, an aether trail forming behind it, and then suddenly flings the excess aether from the blade. It lodges into the husk of a mantis magitek nearby. Before she can even comment, he reactivates the rapier's Royal Armoury, mock-fighting once more before lowering the blade, the aether retreating back into his form - without his consciously thinking about it.
Falling into a more relaxed stance, he looks over to her with a questioning expression. "Do you need me to do it again?" he asks, head inclining just a little. "It's not something you'll master immediately, but do you think you can do it already?"
There was only one way to find out.
She holds her hand out for the sword, and he passes it back to her. Then, taking a deep breath, she assumes the seemingly counterintuitive stance she uses for fencing. Another deep breath, and she begins channelling aether down into the blade, although she doesn't make the series of cuts he had.
Instead, she focuses solely on how he'd discharged the aether from the blade. Without any sort of telegraph, she suddenly makes the same slashing motion he had. The aether that's released is far more chaotic than what he released, its form barely cohesive before it splatters against the same mech.
"The lead-up motions were important, though it might not be quite so obvious," he corrects gently. "It's a matter of piggybacking the aetheric energy off the kinetic energy."
Nodding, she tries again, this time executing an identical series of motions before releasing the aether. It has more form this time, though it's still quite pitiful compared to his; he nods his approval anyway, as he'd already stated it wasn't going to be something she could instantly master.
"Now, the other one," he instructs.
Taking another deep breath, she refocuses on the blade. Although she doesn't assume the mock-fighting was entirely necessary for this one, she did think it was likely good to learn how to cut off the Armoury amid combative movement. Again, she executes an identical series of motions before falling out of an aggressive mindset - not that there's much visible difference in how she stands or how she holds the blade.
Some of the aether flows back into her, but some of it still lingers within the blade. Frowning, she makes the same series of motions again before falling back out of combat.
"Stop thinking about it," he orders, tapping a finger to his temple. "Let your mind empty as you lower your guard."
"...it's not as easy as it looks," she murmurs, looking confused as he bursts out laughing again.
That doesn't sit well with her. However, it causes her to redouble her efforts.
Deep within her mind, the frayed remnants of the conditioning her father had created and her stalker had tried to erase finds something to finally cling to. It wraps itself around the techniques, around the ephemeral mantle being passed, reviving old triggers and creating new. Her eyes close as she concentrates, and she takes another slow, deep breath.
When her eyes open, they're not entirely focused. Instead, a trance-like quality stirs as she begins to execute the motions again - this time identical down to the tiniest fraction of measurement. And then, just as suddenly as she began repeating the moves, she drops out of combat once more; this time, the majority of the aether flows back into her.
He's torn about praising her for her success, debating on whether or not the cost was too high. Unsure of whether the battle-trance was something she learned by watching someone else, or something more, there's a moment of hesitance before he speaks.
"Aquila..." he softly calls as he moves over to her. A hand is placed on either of her upper arms, gently gripping. "I don't know what just happened, but I hope someday you can accomplish this without having to do that."
She gives him a confused look as darkness starts to invade upon the edges of her consciousness. He frowns, sensing not only her confusion but her mind's shifting towards wakefulness. His gaze drops to the sword she's holding, then back up to her features.
"Ask my son about my nickname," he urges in a manner that implies there's more than meets the eye to the request. "And...take care of him for me."
Her brow furrows as the darkness encroaches upon her vision, but she nods at the pair of requests, murmuring, "I promise...dad..."
Without warning, everything goes dark.
Sitting up, she reaches her hand out to where the dying many should have been.
"JERALT!" she shouts before she really focuses on the room.
Beside her, her twin startles from his sitting sleep, rising immediately, hand reaching for his scythe until the word finally processes. Then, hand lowering, he looks at her in confusion.
"You...had a nightmare about his death again, didn't you," he murmurs as he lowers himself down beside her, pulling her into a hug.
She shakes her head a little as she slumps against him, all of the pain her sleep had been keeping at bay flooding over her, especially her left hand.
"No, not a nightmare," she clarifies to him, "more like an extraordinary dream."
Frowning a little, her brother begins to gently pet through her hair, murmuring, "Well, you'll have to tell Leth and me about it once you've recovered."
Nodding, she rests her head against her twin's shoulder, eyes closing as his comforting presence begins to lull her back to sleep.
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The Anatomy of Melancholy, (20)77: Caught Up in the Moment
Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 8. Go to Previous. Go to Next. TWs: Food/meat, implied digestive trouble, unapologetic medical fetishization, brief grievous memory association, smoking. Seventy-seven is a sentimental number for me.
“...[C]lothes do not merely make the man, the clothes are the man; that without them he is a cipher, a vacancy, a nobody, a nothing.” -- Mark Twain’s “Czar’s Soliloquy”
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‘Choly and Angel walked next door to rejoin Sticks in the junk vendor’s stall. He found it peculiar, that trash did not comprise a majority of the dealer’s wares, despite the store’s categorization as a junk vendor. Much of it had been restored or repaired in some capacity, if not marginally more presentable polished or cleaned up some. A distant, crooked smile tugged at him, delighted by his ability to identify the most mundane of ancient things which had not graced his sight in some time. Ceramic figurine egg timer. Cake breaker. Dusting bellows. Pewter powder box. No, perhaps the entire mall could be called a large scale antiques dealer of sorts--with a healthy mix of contemporary crafts for sale as well, of course.
While ‘Choly had taken Liam’s suggestion to try some local fashion choices for something more compatible with the cervical collar, Sticks had decided to test his suggestion this type of merchant might yield their hunt better results. Sticks hadn’t wanted to wait around while ‘Choly clothing shopped, no matter how brief the errand with their appointment at the Gate City Clinic at eleven. When he found him, Sticks had just given up digging in a bin of various sacks.
The ghoul eyed him with pleasant surprise, hands stiff in his pockets.
“Didn’t expect you to be done first. Take it from your good spirits you found stuff you’re happy with.” He squinted at the new garments ‘Choly wore. “...I know you wear it well, but Ant lace? I thought we were pinching caps here.”
‘Choly smiled. First the cervical collar and a genuine direction to procuring the rest, and now brand new clothing. He now wore a collarless mesh chemisette, over his corset but tucked under the edge of the cervical collar, with a ribbon tie in the back and to either side. The corset still peeked out under the cropped hem. Atop this he’d put his cardigan back on. Draped around his neck was the article with which Sticks had exception: a long Irish lace shawl, with its tails drawn into a loose knot in the front. Several hundred dollars lighter for it, his heart felt even lighter still. In his day went the phrase, the clothes make the man, but it persisted even now that new clothes could do wonders.
“Up until now,” he finally replied, “all my clothes have either been prewar salvage or military issue. But now, I own some clothes handmade this year. I need to stop feeling like the relic I am. To stop feeling like I’m still stuck in 2077. I’d imagine it’s well enough time to finally celebrate something.”
“I figured last night was a to-do, but I guess you’ve earned something fancy. Appearances sure matter a lot to you.”
“Have to make up for my personality somehow, don’t I?” He shrugged off his own glib self-deprecation. “Before we get going, did you want to try something new, too? The apparel clerk was incredibly helpful.”
Sticks’s attention fell elsewhere as they walked out of the junk vendor’s stall.
“Mm, no offense, but I prefer the way duds used to be made.”
“That’s fair. The display windows of the boutiques that specialize in prewar fashion have caught my attention every time we pass them. Right now, though, I feel more like trying to blend in a bit. To feel present.”
Something about yesterday’s conversation with Liam had ‘Choly’s mind abuzz with a confusion he nearly welcomed. His interaction with the apparel clerk repeated in his mind. With the utter unisex nature of garments, he couldn’t not ask her, with some trepidation, And how might a man go about wearing this one? And this? She’d let him into the fitting room stall so she could show him, making adjustments once he reemerged with the new clothes on his person. He smiled into himself as he mounted Angel.
“The clerk showed me how Laners wear things. I thought I could tell at a glance that wealth and status were demonstrated with wearing as many individual garments as possible, with wearing as much of a given fabric as possible, with the greatest intricacy to a fabric possible. But it’s more complicated than that? Really, it shocks me that you wouldn’t take a shine to this kind of place. She lamented that my orthotic corset has no detail work, and is made from such an uninteresting fabric. All function, with none of the form, she says. Clothing here is designed to show off the undergarments! Socks included, for example--hence all the golf trousers.” His eyes wilded, focused on nothing, as he reared up on his grip on Angel’s car-door handles. “I can’t imagine literally airing my unmentionables to the whole neighborhood, no matter what I paid for them.”
“...What’s that supposed to mean? Me not taking a shine to Ant.”
“Your... interest in corsets,” fumbled from him.
“Tch! Believe it or not, I don’t blow my top every time I see one.” He twisted taking exception to it into flirtation, and smirked up at ‘Choly. “Depends a lot on who’s wearing it.”
‘Choly crinkled his nose to hide his flustering.
“--Well! Hopefully we’ll find more to outfit me with. I know you didn’t find anything at the one merchant, but there’s dozens of vendors here with junk for sale. Which, speaking of leather scraps... You know, I’ve been noticing lots of leather and fur here, too. I know the Clark sisters dress the Laners’ kills, but I haven’t noticed anyplace that’s been permitted leather tools. It’s been driving my curiosity wild. Everyplace with clothes has had sturdy fur-lined leather overcoats for sale.” He waved a declaration through the air one-handed, before returning to an even grip. “A must-have for any body with business out-doors. Sufficient winterized rad-resistant gear and all that.”
“You really must be feeling better, to be so chatty. God bless that neck thing.” Sticks chuckled, warmed. “By curiosity, I’m assuming you’re asking where they get it all. You’re right, if you think the Furriers had anything to do with it. Well, had. No idea how Ant will react to the Unfolded. They used to caravan up here every so often, with the Riverhawk. They’d trade leather, fur, salvaged prewar fabric bolts, dressed meat. The Laners never much liked them, but the commerce was too good to turn ‘em shy. I traveled with them up here a few times, but even the times I’ve come up here on my own I’ve never really taken a shine to living here.”
“Fuck-me-in-the-mouth, I hope they don’t show up here.”
The last thing any of them needed was a continuation of what had transpired in Lowell. Surely, they hadn’t been followed.
“Gen’s got all their hands too full to bother with trade route upkeep, I imagine.”
“...You don’t suppose my coat lining came from here, do you?”
It took some time to grasp what ‘Choly was on about.
“That Franken-monster of a thing Bones gave you? I guess so, maybe. Both cities had a lot of textiles. There’s no telling where she got it.”
They entered the Gate City Clinic and sat in the mostly empty waiting area. One of the other medics noticed them and approached.
“Do you need help with something?”
“We’re waiting for Liam,” ‘Choly said.
“He’s about to take his lunch soon. You’ll be waiting at least an hour, if you’re intent to see him and not one of the other staff. What brings you in?”
“Just on time.” Sticks winked. “We’re waiting for his lunch hour. We’re here on business. Not doctor stuff.”
The medic shrugged and walked off to a desk to contend with some papers.
Liam walked up shortly after, this time in a velvet-trimmed sheer mesh shirt, and golf pants again. His deep eyes brightened in an otherwise indifferent face.
“You’re awfully stuffed up. You know that right?” His cigarette bobbed limply as he spoke. “But this, it’s an improvement. Really, I don’t get the preoccupation with salvaged prewar clothes. Most of it’s garbage these days. Deteriorating, stained, doesn’t breathe...”
“It only wears out if not properly cared for,” Angel said.
They couldn’t tell if Liam’s silence came more on account of his consideration of the Mister Handy’s comment, or more of their speechlessness that it had sassed a prospective business partner they’d only met the night before.
“Anyway.” Liam lipped at his smoke, then walked away. He wagged his head for them to follow him to the back. “I’m taking lunch now. Allow me to give you a tour of the place.”
The Gate City Clinic, the best ‘Choly could tell, utilized the original shop’s two offices for an office and storage space. He presumed the stock room at one end of the hall made up Liam and Orqueida’s living quarters, though Liam didn’t show them. He took them finally to the kitchen at the opposite end of the hall, once a break room. The makings of a rudimentary chemistry setup occupied a small kitchen hutch.
“Neither of us cooks,” Liam said, “but we also prefer to eat in privacy. Orqueida got us food before she headed to the Inn for the day. Have you eaten?”
“We haven’t!” Sticks eyed the sizable sack on the table. “You shouldn’t have. Thank you.”
“Orqueida insisted. You’re welcome, though.”
‘Choly’s mouth watered at the lingering aroma of hot pickled meat. He swallowed and did his best not to frown.
“...I appreciate it, but no thanks.”
“Oh,” Angel worried, “breakfast must be disagreeing with you already.”
“You’re out of your smoothies.” Sticks gave him an assertive glare. “Eat with us.”
Sooner than argue, ‘Choly took it upon himself to scrutinize the hot plate and various glassware Liam had collected.
Liam smushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen table, then produced from the oiled canvas sack beside it a series of lidded tins, ranging from bread box to tea tin, but mostly an average of them. Much like the sewing kits of yesteryear, ‘Choly knew better than to think Liam intended to serve them two hundred year old butter cookies.
“I thought the food court didn’t include the dishes,” ‘Choly said.
“They charge you for not having your own. But we can sell back the tins.” Liam shrugged. He opened the tin in his hand then, to demonstrate some shredded juicy pale stuff, only to glance down with a disappointed frown and replace the lid. “Ugh, sauerkraut. ...Breaks even if we clean it before returning it. You have tins, you find tins, you sell them to the food court.”
Sticks helped him remove the lids to reveal shaved corned brahmin, toasted bread slices, sauerkraut, thin fragments of a rindy cheese, a pepper tin of some sort of sauce, and what resembled pickled garlic cloves or mozzarella balls. The not-gold lighting blanched any visual appeal the foods may have had, but the savory piquant aromas more than made up for it. Liam produced utensils from a counter drawer and set them down on a clean dishrag.
“At least she didn’t forget the morsels.” Liam sighed as he popped one of the globules in his mouth, then one more. He held the tin out to the two of them. Sticks took two. ‘Choly picked up a fork to take just the one, almost uncertain they could be stabbed without breaking. “Digestive issues? Really, we should make time to sit and discuss all this. Maybe I could help.”
‘Choly watched the two men cobbling together sandwiches to either side of the table. He stuck the morsel in his mouth. Coated in a tart oil, its flesh had a firm bite but still a tenderness. Chewing on it for some time, it dawned on him these were some sort of mushroom.
“What would help... is more... Stimpaks.” As ‘Choly said it, his voice garbled into a self-conscious hush. “I’ve got everything else.”
Liam sat to dig in, his befuddlement on his sunken brow.
“I don’t figure you’ll be able to get started today. We’re just talking things over. Knowing the equipment you’ve got at your disposal should help draft what to send your ‘acquisition expert’ on errands for.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his shirt pocket one-handed and gave it to Sticks, who was much more nettled by the whole thing than he let on. “I’ve got a few things I’ll pay you for as well. Provided it wasn’t some fancy way of saying you’re a scavver, it should be a cakewalk.”
“The hell do you need so much-- You know what. Don’t worry about it, and I won’t, either.”
“You deal with him, so I don’t have to. I pay very well for it.”
Stress snagged up in ‘Choly’s throat.
“You mentioned last night that you’re looking for first aid basics. You traded a cervical brace for my handful of Addictol and Med-X.” His voice cracked. “What-- about Stimpaks?”
Liam sat up, and set down his hand on the table, still holding his sandwich in it. He scowled at his food instead of his guests.
“Stimpaks aren’t the end all for first aid. I really don’t have much use for them. A medic once had to know how to work without them, in the chance they ran out on the battlefield. I got my training in similar circumstances. I do rarely have them, but as far as I know, making them is a lost prewar science--”
“--But why not use advanced tools, where available?” ‘Choly reeled back the accidental sarcastic shock, clasping his chin. “Do you not see many severe injuries here?”
“We’re a cautious bunch. Most of what I oversee is illness, not injury. While I can handle injuries when they happen, I’m definitely grateful it’s not my job. It means the Lane’s safe.”
‘Choly steadied himself a bit by beginning to craft his own serving.
“What... if I told you that I knew how to make them?”
“I’d tell you not to bother.”
The chemist’s ears rang. He dropped it for now.
Over the next few days, ‘Choly got to work on chems, Sticks went on Liam and ‘Choly’s errands, and Angel assisted Liam in the clinic where he’d permit. He disliked that a majority of his trouble amounted to isolating the alkaloid salts from pounds of dried Hubflower petals, but he reminded himself that he was synthesizing Med-X with it. At least it came easily for him. He even got plucky and decided he’d throw something together with his stash of dried melon blossoms, to test his theory its compounds could steady one’s alertness. For the time being, he stifled the compulsion to up the level of difficulty and complexity, and did not propose anything off Liam’s work order more grandiose than an herbal remedy. They all had to prove their reliability to Liam, and sprawling out his efforts when his lab equipment was one step above kitchenware was the opposite of a sound idea. Besides, the man had requested medicine and nothing more.
One afternoon, Sticks burst into the kitchen. He flung down a mess of something in the tile floor with a semi-muffled clatter, only to dash back out with a huge grin. ‘Choly eyed the pile breathlessly from where he sat at work. Recognizing the same canvas and leather he had around his neck, he did his best to make sure the soaking pale purple-blue petals didn’t over-process.
Sticks stomped back in some time later, dragging along an exhausted Liam.
“These are the legs right?” He had the catalogue open, pointing at it eagerly. “Right???”
“It appears so. But I can’t tell from this jumbled mess, if it’s complete.”
“Then let’s see! ‘Choly! Stop messing with that smelly junk and let us at your legs.”
“You’re lucky the start you gave me didn’t make me break something. I was handling acid. ...I don’t have to remove my pants, do I?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Amending the snark, Liam added, “We can see how they fit over the trousers first.”
Sticks chuckled, wringing his hands.
With some effort, Liam pieced together the components, eyeing the catalogue for reference. Each segment was reinforced with metal boning and fastened shut on the outer parts with busks and fan lacing for ease. Sticks had the luck that the waistband which secured each hip hinge had come attached to one of the legs. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have known the piece was necessary.
“Aren’t you glad you turned me loose to go hunting on my own?” the ghoul delighted. “It’s funny. I remember fewer merchants being okay with anything less than cold hard cash. I’ve been getting run ragged obtaining the right stuff for the right people. But it’s all a drop in the bucket for you, Mindy.”
“Two pieces in one week. Three, if you count each separate leg. In tact. Yes, of course I’m amazed.“
Having followed Liam and Sticks back in, Angel entered to supervise.
Liam lowered himself into the floor and chewed at his cigarette filter while he worked at getting one of ‘Choly’s legs slipped into the thing. ‘Choly did his best to balance, and let out an anxious laugh when Sticks all to eagerly joined Liam in the floor to mirror the effort with ‘Choly’s other leg.
“Gotta practice,” Sticks insisted with a crooked grin, despite meeting no protest.
The two helped ‘Choly stand, so he could fasten the waistband. Liam gestured where the circular hinges needed to align, and the two steadied the leg pieces at the height needed to achieve this, so that the padded belt could be adjusted accordingly. Once they got him into the device, he took a few testing steps. His heart fluttered. Unsurprisingly, they gave a great deal of protest with each step.
“I brought a tool kit with me,” Sticks offered. “We can adjust how tight the hinges are, to stop all that squeaking and creaking. I’m sure I can find some oil, too.”
“Forget how they sound.” Liam put out his cigarette. “Do they help?”
‘Choly kept testing them out, pacing slowly and deliberately from one end of the kitchen to the other. He couldn’t help but snivel and smile with awe.
“I feel like a toy soldier... but that isn’t necessarily a negative. My hips are lined up to where I don’t have to think so hard about the steps I take. I do think they could stand a little tightening up, but the alignment’s still good despite being as old and beat up as I am.”
“The oldest thing in this room is probably the ghoul--” Liam elbowed Sticks beside him, “--but the braces come in a close second.”
‘Choly turned, deadpan.
“I’m older than he is.”
“By seven years or so, if memory serves,” Angel said. “Twenty-eighth of November, 2034.”
Liam’s humor didn’t falter, though he stood with a vague discerning squint. ‘Choly ambled over to the table to sit with a grunt.
“If I can bum a smoke and sit back down, I’ll explain why I might be one of your weirder patients.”
He himself sat backward in the metal diner chair wordlessly. He produced his pack of Clipper Ships from his rolled sleeve, tapped out two cigarettes to place in his lips, and lit them. And he offered one across the kitchen table between genteel thumb and forefinger, his eyes bright with eager skepticism.
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Fun facts: Russian dressing (often substituted with Thousand Island) is credited to have been created in Nashua, NH, by one James E. Colburn.
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#fallout#fallout 4#fallout fanfic#fallout 4 fanfic#sole survivor#the anatomy of melancholy#melancholy#sticks#angel#liam bledsoe#trans sole survivor#transmasc sole survivor#disabled sole survivor#let's have fun in new hampshire
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Liberation - IX
Chapter 9 - The Bird
Author’s Note: It’s Finally here!! I’m so so sorry for the long wait, In all honestly between school and work and just life in general i got so busy and just didn’t feel like using what little free time i had to write. But, I fiannly got this chapter done, and I think this is one of my favorite chapters so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!! As alwasy I LOVE hearing from you guys and what you thought about the chapter, it means a lot. Enjoy! 💖
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Slight PTSD? mentions of blood, violence, near death, cursing, angst and fluff.
Part 9/? - All Chapters (Full list)
///
Din has never died before, has never really even been close to death, but right now – as your fragile form went limp in his arms and your head lolled jarringly to the side – he assumed this is what it felt like to die. His heart freezing in his chest, the breath being sucked from his lungs, and the dreadful and haunting cold seeping into his very bones.
“Kid? (y/n)? Wake up – Cara, Cara get over here!” he called frantically, his swift footsteps halting as he takes in your terrifyingly still state.
He watches through his visor, blinking away the cold sweat that is dripping into his eyes, as Cara turns on a dime and rushes over to him and takes in the sight of you, limp in his arms. She quickly comes over and her gaze snaps up to his, eyes silently asking him what she needs to do. He shifts you in his arms to better support your head and nods his helmet towards you, unable to ask the one question he fears the answer too.
Did you just die in his arms?
Cara’s lips set into a firm line and she gives him a curt nod, quickly holstering her blaster and places two shaking fingers to your neck, checking for a pulse. Din watches in anticipation, his heart - that just a moment ago seemed still – beating frantically in his chest as he looks over Cara’s face. He sees her lips tug into a frown and his heart plummets, waiting for the inevitable news.
She’s gone Mando, I’m sorry.
But Cara’s eyes widen slightly, and she stands abruptly, looking to the Mandalorian with shock and a small bit of hope in her eyes, “She’s alive, her pulse is thready but she’s alive.”
Mando doesn’t wait another second before he is rushing past Cara and continuing on their path towards his ship. You were alive, but from what Cara said, you were barely alive. He had to get you on the ship and back to the village if there was any chance of you surviving.
Even though the crest was less than a mile away, it felt like the journey there took days before he and Cara were rushing up the ramp to the ship. He hesitated as he neared the cockpit, looking from your form in his arms to the shock trooper beside him.
As if Cara sensed his thought she nodded and took the pilots seat, “You stay with her, I’ll get us back to the village,” she said firmly, firing up the ship and lifting it into the air.
Din leans his back against the wall nearest to him and slides to the floor carefully, you still in his arms. He shifts you so you are sitting up a little more in his grasp and brings one of his hands up to press his cloak firmly into your injured side, putting pressure on the wound in some desperate attempts to keep you alive. You don’t stir at the motion, still completely unconscious from your ordeal and Din feels a lump form in his throat.
“Don’t leave me kid, not yet,” he whispers desperately, head falling back against the wall as Cara navigates you all to safety.
-----
Omera walks from the small hut you and Cara had been sharing, wiping her crimson stained hands on her apron as Din approached her with frantic steps, “Is she-“ the words die in his throat before he can say them and he stays silent as he stares intently at the dark haired woman.
Omera gives him a small but terse smile, “She’s alive,” she begins, and Din lets out a large sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
“Thank you, I don’t –“ Omera raises her hand, silencing the Mandalorian as she gives him an uncertain look.
“I said she was alive but-“ she stutters, her eyes searching the space around her as if looking for the right words, “we don’t have advanced medicine here. You’re lucky you had what you did on your ship or else I don’t even know if she would be alive right now,” she says seriously, “The next few days are crucial. She’s not out of the woods yet.”
Din stayed silent, taking in the gravity of the woman’s words before nodding curtly, “Can I…” he trails off, his question left hanging in the air between them.
Omera gives him a gentle smile and turns to the side, gesturing to the small shelter, “Yes. She’s not awake. I don’t know when she will be, she suffered severely, so it could be a while before she comes too.”
Din nods in understanding before walking past the woman and into the small home. The curtain falls shut behind him as he enters, and the afternoon light is the only thing illuminating the room. He takes in your form, lying peacefully on the small bed, sheet pulled up to your chest and arms resting at your side. If Omera hadn't told him otherwise and he wouldn’t have noticed the shallow rise and fall of your chest, Din would have thought you were dead. Your skin was uncharacteristically pale, and your breaths were coming out in shallow pants rather than long even breaths. Your body was fighting to keep you alive and Din’s entire being crumbled as one single thought raced through his mind.
This was all his fault.
The guilt he has been harboring since he had left you here on Sorgen seemed to spread within his chest even further as he took in the sight before him. Even though Omera and the other women who had been attending to you had cleaned away the blood and grime, the evidence of your torture was still clear. The dark black and yellow bruises adorning your temple and jaw, your split lip and brow, and the angry red marks around your wrists screamed of your abuse. Din took in a shuddering breath as he pulled up a nearby chair to the side of your bed and took a seat, leaning back slowly.
He had left you once. He wasn’t planning on doing it again.
----
You thought death would be more peaceful.
Instead, you were plagued by vivid flashes of your enslavement and your days held in captivity. Your torture was replayed over and over again along with less familiar images of Din spitting insults at you.
Those hurt the worst.
His burning words of hatred, and vile insults thrown your way as the image of him leaving you behind replayed over and over again, torturing you worse than when your captor was beating you. However, you did receive some reprieve when your eyes fluttered open for the first time and you realized that you were in fact alive. Your conscious state was brief. Just long enough to see Omera and Din rush over to you, saying words you couldn’t hear past the cotton in your ears before darkness and terrifying images consumed you once more.
From there on out, your flashes of consciousness felt more frequent. But you felt like you were drowning, fighting to stay afloat in the inky blackness that consumed your vision and kept you from fully awakening and seeing the world. When you did wake however, you managed to snag flashes of the world functioning around you.
Omera and Winta telling you stories. Cara telling you about her day and the brawls she won at the local cantina. Even some of the locals came in to say kind words or pray over you. But your favorite flashes were of Din. He never said much, you would just wake long enough to see him messing about in the hut or sitting next to you working awake at something with his knife. However, when he did speak it was often in, what you assumed, was his native language. You obviously couldn’t understand what he was saying, but one word he often repeated.
Verd’ika.
this word played over and over in your black blanketed mind among the flashes of nightmares you experienced, and it seemed to ground you. You had no way of knowing how long you had been unconscious, you just knew that you felt yourself getting slowly stronger and the nightmares faded, until one moment you peeled your eyes open and blinked rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the bright light streaming in through the windows. The first thing you noticed was the familiar sight of the woven wooden ceiling above you. You were still on Sorgen, and back in the village. You let out a relieved breath at the realization before your ears picked up sound of scraping stopping abruptly next to your head. You turned your head to the left slightly and your eyes landed on the familiar beskar clad figure sitting rigid in a seat next to your bed. You immediately try to sit up but cringe at the dull ache in your side letting out a surprised gasp.
Din instinctively reaches out to nudge you back down, but you flinch at his quick movements and he draws his hand back as if he had been burned. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you lie back down, still looking at the Mandalorian.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained from days of disuse.
Din shakes his head, quickly reaching down beside him and producing a cup of water, offering it to you slowly, as if afraid to scare you again.
You take the cup gratefully and sit up slightly, careful not to jar you injured side, and down the whole cup in a few gulps.
Din takes the cup from your hand and sits back, hands returning to work with what they had been doing before, “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” his voice is surprisingly even, despite the emotions swirling within him as he watches you rest back against the pillows once more.
You swallow thickly, “If I had been more careful – more observant – I wouldn’t be in this mess,” you try to reason, “I didn’t tell them anything you know. They wanted to know where you and the kid were and I-“ you paused to take a breath, your mind running faster than your mouth could produce words, “I didn’t tell them anything I swear. I didn’t tell them anything Din, I promise I wouldn’t tell them where you were,” you felt tears start to pool at the edges of your vision, “You have to believe me I swear –“
“Stop!” Din’s modulated voice pierced the air and interrupted your frantic rambling, “Just stop.”
You sniffled pitifully but stayed silent and watched as Din’s hands gripped the items in his hands, a knife and a small piece of wood, before setting them aside and letting out a long sigh, “Why do you keep telling me that?” he breathes, incredulity seeping into his words.
You look at him questioningly, “What do you mean?” you ask slowly.
He pauses for a moment, seemingly debating his next words before he speaks up again, voice quiet and less sure this time, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Your eyes flick around the room as you try and find an answer to his question, racking your brain for the last clear memory you have. You finally scrunch your brows together and look back to Din, “I uh…I think it was when you brought me out of…wherever I was. I remember the sky, but everything is so –“ you wave hand around in the air flippantly, “foggy I don’t remember much of anything after the man cut me loose,” you admit quietly and turn your head to look at Din once more, “Why?”
Din leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together, “Because the only thing you would say when we found you was that you didn’t tell them anything. And you just said it again, just now. Out of all the things you could have said or done…why was that it?” he asks, genuine concern and curiosity lacing his words.
You look away from his intense stare and instead turn to look out of the window instead. You knew why you said those things, you just weren’t sure if you wanted to admit it. Your fingers idly played with the sheet wrapped around you as you took in deep steadying breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay as you finally spoke.
“I didn’t want you to have another reason to hate me,” you whisper, so quiet you weren’t even sure if the man next to you had heard.
But he had. And he shot straight up and went rigid as the words met his ears.
“What?” he breathes out incredulously.
You felt tears start to fall from your eyes and slip down the sides of your face, dampening your hair on the pillow beneath you. Your body shook with silent sobs and pain blossomed in your side at the action. But you managed to speak through the tears, voice wet with emotion.
“You hate me!” you cry, “You have to, that’s the only reason I could come up with as to why you left,” your voice was shaking now and you gripped at the sheet tightly while the other hand wiped furiously at the fat tears falling from your eyes, “My parents hated me and the sold me, and then I found you and I must have fucked up somehow to make you hate me and leave me too!”
You weren’t even thinking straight at this point, all of your pent-up emotions from the past, however long, were coming out all at once and you didn’t know what was coming from your mouth. Din sat in stunned silence.
You thought he hated you?
That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Din had never felt these kinds of emotions before. A strong and almost innate need to protect you, keep you out of harm's way, and also try and show you what it was like to have a halfway decent parental figure in your life.
Parental figure? Is that what this was?
Din hadn’t put a label on it before. At first, he had mainly just felt a sense of sympathetic pity for you, a rookie bounty hunter. But as your time together wore on, he felt like he needed to be there more, help you and guide you. So, the insinuation that you thought he hated you? Din didn’t know what to do.
“I don’t hate you.” he says finally, voice firm and to the point as usual.
Your red rimmed eyes glance over to him and your sniffles start to slow, “Then why did you leave? After everything I told you – my past, about my parents selling me off – why did you turn around and do the exact same thing they did? You left me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and Din felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.
“I didn’t – I don’t-'' he stumbled over his words grasping for any sense of anything that would keep him grounded, help him form his jumbled up thoughts into words, but he just ended up sighing and sitting back in his seat. He wasn’t used to this. These emotional confrontations are not things he knows how to deal with. He knows how to hunt, stalk, and kill. Not talk.
You’re still looking at him expectantly and so he finally forms some sort of answer, “I didn’t know what else to do. This place is safe, you could have a safe and happy life here with Omera and the other villagers. With me and the kid, its constant danger, looking over your shoulder, restless nights. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“But why didn’t you ask me?” you question, “I was happy. But only because you and the kid were here. You guys are –“ Family? That’s what you wanted to say but you pause, unsure of if you were ready to say those words out loud just yet and shook your head, deciding against it before continuing, “I was happy with the way things were.”
Din doesn’t say anything right away, but you see him nod and take that as an understanding. You let out an exhausted sigh and shift slightly in bed, resting your head into the pillow and rubbing at your eyes, slightly irritated from crying.
“How long was I out for anyway?” you ask, changing the subject.
Din let’s out an inaudible sigh, silently happy with the change of topic. This conversation was leading down a road he didn’t want to go down at the moment.
He relaxed slightly before picking up his earlier abandoned items and returned to carving away strips of wood with his knife, “You’ve been out for about two weeks, give or take.”
Your eyes widen, “What? How? Do we need to leave, is it safe?” you ramble out, mind racing with questions.
Din stops his work and shakes his head, “We’re fine. We have patrols at all times, and we haven’t had another hunter since I returned,” he begins, “As for the how, you were in rough shape kid. You –“ he paused, the terrifying memories from weeks ago rushing back, but he shakes them away, “I was almost too late.” He offers.
You swallow thickly at the meaning behind his words and return your gaze to the ceiling. You had almost died. Some asshole in the woods had taken you and almost killed you, and the only reason you were alive is because Din came back for you. you once again felt tears gather in your eyes, but they didn’t fall, and they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of gratitude and happiness. Din has been the first and only person in your entire life to care about you, and it didn’t seem to hit you until just now. He had risked his mission, his and the kid’s safety, to come back for you, to save you. And that meant more to you than anything in the entire galaxy. You took in a deep breath before letting out a shaky sigh.
“Thank you,” you breath, your gaze flicked back to the Mandalorian and you gave him a small smile, “For saving me.”
Din looked up from his work at your words, but he couldn’t help the bitterness that swelled in his chest at, what he thought, was misdirected gratitude. He was the reason you were lying there on the bed. He was the reason you were tortured and almost died in his arms. Yet here you are thanking him for ‘saving’ you when he was the reason you needed saving in the first place. He wanted to tell you these things. Tell you that you had no reason to be thanking him, to tell you that he was the last person who deserved gratitude for anything. But he bit his tongue, and instead nodded his head and returned to his work.
“Of course.”
You roll your eyes at his short and to the point response - Same old Mando. Your eyes fall to his form again, and you suddenly remember the words he had muttered to you in your slightly unconscious state. A foreign language to your ears.
“What were you saying?” your voice breaks the peaceful silence, but Din doesn’t stop his work or look up.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“When I was out, I would sometimes have these like...flashes of consciousness –“ you begin, “and a couple times I heard you saying stuff in, what I assume is another language, and…”you paused briefly when you say him tense up slightly at your mention of catching him talking to you, but you decide to continue, “and you kept saying one word a lot…verd-verdecka- ver…”
“Verd’ika. It’s Mando’a.” he says simply.
Your brows perk up at this information, your curiosity peaked, “Is that like the Mandalorian language?”
Din nods, “Yes, they taught it to me when I was a foundling. I-I don’t know much since I didn’t grow up on Mandalore but…” he trails off, scraping more intently at the wood in his hands.
“What does it mean?” you ask, “verd’ika.”
The word rolls clumsily off your tongue and Din can’t help but chuckle and correct your pronunciation, but he doesn’t answer your question, his posture queuing you into the fact that this conversation is making him uncomfortable. So, despite your curiosity, you drop the subject and instead gesture to the items in his hands.
“What are you doing anyway?”
Mando stills his ministrations and turns the small piece of wood over in his hands before opening his palm, displaying the object to you. your eyes scanned over the chunk of wood and you realize that it is the makings of a crudely carved bird.
You look from the whittling project then back up to Din and give him a wry smile, “Since when do you whittle?” you ask curiously, a twinkle of humor in your eye.
He lets out an exasperated huff before snatching his project back defensively, “Well, someone has to watch you and I wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing all day,” he mutters.
You let out a small laugh shrug your shoulders, “To each their own I suppose. It didn’t look half bad though.” You say earnestly.
Din sets down his work on the small table beside your bed and moves to stand, “Yeah, yeah,” he says jokingly, moving to the side of your bed, “Now since we have some daylight to kill, we should get you up and moving. Omera said you’d need to build your strength.”
You chuckle at his not so subtle change of topic but smile and nod. You were ready to get better and get off this planet. As much as you loved the villagers, this place held too many bad memories.
The rest of the day was filled with short yet exhausting walks. Your injury had healed considerably since your treatment, especially with the help of what little bacta spray Din had on hand. But it was still somewhat painful to do any extended period of activity. So after several laps around the krill ponds, a dinner break, and a few more stops to see Omera and Cara – who worried over you like two mother hens – Din walked slowly back to your hut keeping a constant eye on you until you sat on the side of your bed gently, letting out a tired huff.
“Well that was exhausting,” you chuckle, shifting to lay back into the mattress, pulling the covers up and over you.
“You need to rest,” Din’s voice spoke, returning to his earlier post in the chair next to your bed, “We’ll do it again tomorrow.”
You let out an exaggerated groan, “you’re a slave driver I swear to the maker,” you tease, “I almost died, can I not have a break?”
You see Mando tense at your words and you feel a pang of guilt shoot through you, the implication behind your word choice hitting you, “I was just joking Mando. I know I have to get my strength back,” he seemed to relax at your words and he picked up his wood project once more, settling back into the chair.
You furrowed your brow and waved your hand at him, “You don’t have to babysit me. Go get some rest, take off your helmet for probably the first time in weeks, you need rest too you know,” you urge quietly.
Din shook his head, not stopping his work, “I’m fine, I’ve been taking shifts with Omera and Cara. I don’t mind,” he says genuinely.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t push the subject and instead settled into your bed, exhaustion weighing down your limbs and drawing your eyes closed. You quickly fell asleep to the light breeze of Sorgen and the comforting sounds of Din’s blade scraping wood.
-----
The musty smell of your prison fills your nose and your eyes snap open. Taking in your surroundings frantically. You feel your heart slam against your ribcage as you’re met with the terrifyingly familiar eyes of the man who bought you, your ‘master’ staring back at you menacingly. Your brain is trying to make sense of the situation.
You were in your cell on Sorgen, suspended from the ceiling once more, but the man who stole your childhood from you is here too?
You can’t help the scream that rips from your throat as you see him lift up a large bucket the tangy smell of acid burning your nostrils. But before the liquid can meet your skin, the man disappears from your vision and is replaced by your captor from two weeks ago. His hot breath fanning over your face.
“Looks like the Mandalorian never came back for you-“ he clicks his tongue, “A shame really. I was hoping you would lure him here, but it looks like he doesn’t care enough about you to even come save you.”
His harsh words cause your heart to sink. What was happening? Was everything a dream, did Din never come back to save you?
Before you could come up with an answer the man doused you in a bucket of ice cold water, and you felt yourself falling through the air, only to land roughly on the ground, blades of grass slipping between your fingers and scraping your knees.
“Your parents were right to sell you,” a familiar modulated voice fills your ears and you quickly shift to sit on your heels, looking up confusedly at the towering Mandalorian above you.
“What? Din what are you saying?” you ask, tears filling your vision.
He lets out a bitter scoff, “You heard me. You’re worthless. A burden. It’s no wonder your parents sold you off. Why do you think I left you behind?” his voice is filled with venom as he stands threateningly above you.
“Din, that’s not true you said –“
“Well I lied. You were right, I do hate you. you’ve been nothing but a burden since I picked you up on that planet all those months ago,” he seethes.
And as if his hateful words aren’t enough already you see multiple figures of the people you know surround your shaking form; Cara, Omera, your parents, Din, all shouting hateful words towards you.
“Worthless!”
“Stupid girl!”
“Can’t even fight your way out.”
“Pathetic – a burden to everyone!”
Your breathing is erratic as you finally pull your knees to your chest slapping your hands over your ears in a desperate attempt to drown out the scathing voices, but it did no good. It’s like they were coming from inside your head.
“Stop it, stop!” you wailed.
“STOP!”
------
You shot up in your bed a shrill cry of desperation ripping from your throat as tears stream down your face and a cold sweat makes your clothes stick to your skin.
You see Din startle from his position in the chair, seemingly asleep before your cries woke him up. He quickly came to your bedside and before he could ask what had happened you threw your arms around him, ignoring the pain in your side, and buried your face in his shoulder, sobs wracking your body.
You felt his hands hesitantly come to rest on your back, obviously unsure of himself in situations like this, before he slowly started to rub your back, “Are you okay?”
You shake your head, “I’m sorry – I’m so sorry,” you manage to push past the tears, words coming out in a shuddering mess past your uneven breaths.
“What? What’s going on?” His voice was thick with concern.
“I was back there,” you sob, “And all of you w-were yelling at me calling me a burden, and worthless-“ you choke out, “Please don’t leave, please – ‘m so sorry.”
Din felt his heart constrict in his chest as your violent sobs and wet cries met his ears, whatever had happened in your nightmare had clearly shaken you, and from what he gathered from what little you told him, he knew why.
He held you closer to him, “It's okay kid, I’m not leaving. It’s okay,” he assured, voice quiet.
You didn’t say anything, but your cries had stopped, and your sobs were reduced to sniffles, as you stay wrapped in the man’s arms. He was suddenly hit again with the realization of how much of a kid you still were. Unsure of the future and terrified of being left behind again, and he felt his blood boil at the fact that you had to endure this. You didn’t deserve this. These sleepless nights and traumatic memories.
He sighed, and his attention was once again drawn back to you, who’s sniffles had ceased, and breathing had evened out.
You were asleep again.
He gently returned you to bed, and pulled the covers up over you, your peaceful expression a dramatic difference from your demeanor moments ago. But he revels in the momentary peace you are hopefully experiencing in your slumber and returns to his position in the chair, watching over you until morning.
-----
When morning does come, you wake up alone. Your eyes adjust to the pale morning light quickly and you sit up slowly, looking around the small home. You immediately notice that Din is absent, and you remember your nightmare from last night, but also his calming words after. Maybe you had weirded him out, you weren’t oblivious to the fact that Din was a man of few words and terrible comforting skills. The second thing you notice is the small wooden carving on your bedside table, Din’s earlier project now complete. You slowly reach over and take the light-yellow object in your hand, fingers running over the smooth surface of the carved wood. He had actually done quite a good job with the small figure. It fit in your palm and was no bigger than your hand and small enough to fit in your pocket. Your eyes scanned carefully over the figurine; it was in fact a bird, but Din had added beautiful spread wings to the head and body you had seen earlier. It’s small beak and eyes were delicately carved along with the feather details on the wings. You ran your fingers over the carving lightly, taking in every ridge and bump until you came to the bottom and felt an unfamiliar etching.
You turned the wooden figure over carefully and your eyes widened at the words inscribed on the bottom of the bird, and you felt tears burn at your eyes as you took them in.
Verd’ika
‘little soldier’
///
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#the mandalorian x reader#mandalorian x reader#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian#Din Djarin#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#star wars
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Unexpected Resistance. (Part Three)
The Terminator (1984) x OC
Warnings: gun usage, violence, death
Context: The T-750 and the T-800 have a brief encounter.
A/N: I apologise for taking so long to update this! I will try to write more of it in a shorter span of time so that it's not so stilted, so please bear with me 😅💛
Edited and Co-written by: @jawline-of-steel
Masterlist
Sarah winces as she watches the T-750 break yet another pair of handcuffs, the cyborg easily snapping each metal loop off from around her wrists, dropping them to the floor and returning her hands to her sides, standing rigidly once more. The policemen surrounding her frown and murmur amongst themselves, one of them going to lock her up once more, forcefully lifting her hands into position behind her, cuffing them together tightly. Emotionlessly, the terminator simply breaks free again, staring at the men around her as they go to draw their weapons, her eyes momentarily fixing on the detective, who has called out to them to stand down.
From across the room, the T-750 makes eye contact with Sarah, keeping a constant visual on her target so that she doesn't miss anything, as is her directive. Her HUD registers a minor threat from the officers around her, but she follows the orders given previously by Sarah, which stated that attack is not a viable option. Flashes of data appear on the display, her inner CPU processing this at lightning speed, informing her system of everything that is occurring, providing accurate information on all necessary happenings in the room. With no real source of information regarding Kyle Reese, the T-750 is left to make the conclusion of his temporary safety, or capture at the hands of the humans in the police station. None of them, however, are willing to reveal his whereabouts or his current status. Considering this, the logical process of data that follows this acknowledgment is then as to the whereabouts of the pursuer coming after her primary objectives. Once again, white lines of text and encrypted data flood the HUD, the processors deciphering it and creating a realistic outline of the T-800's possible movements. A new directive is formed: locate and subdue the target.
Returning to the present, the T-750 registers that her target has moved away into another room, leaving no visual for the Terminator to track. Keeping a blank expression, the cyborg begins moving forwards, aiming for the door at the far end of the room, which has the highest possibility of being the chosen exit route for Sarah. Almost instantly, the cops around her jump into action, pulling their weapons and levelling them at her, one of them demanding that she stop, though the words go unregistered as orders in the T-750's CPU, the lack of obedience to this man meaning that she simply pushes him out of the way.
Just as she does this, a deafening crash echoes up the hallways, the sounds of splintering wood and tumbling bricks, as well as smashing glass and squealing metal all mixing into one crescendo of noise. The T-750's head snaps round, visual processors fixed on the origin of the disruption, the registered threat-level on her HUD spiking when gunshots begin to tear through the shocked silence that has filled the room. A new course of action is swiftly planned on her display, changing her route of travel so that she is now headed directly towards the point of conflict, where screams and cries of pain are now very audible.
Stepping out into the hall, her head rotates from side to side to determine the most efficient path. Her body turns in accordance and she begins striding down the corridor to her left, easily catching up to a police officer who is running in the same direction, an automatic assault rifle clutched in his hands. Firmly, she takes it from him, ignoring the shout of protest as she continues on, cocking the weapon with practiced efficiency, taking off the safety and placing a finger over the trigger. Returning all priority to the corridor ahead of her, the T-750 moves towards the ever-increasing sound of gunshots and screams, barely registering the sudden lack of clear light as the overhead bulbs are compromised, a new line of code flashing across her HUD:
_COMBAT_MODE_ENGAGED_:_AWAITING_TARGET_IDENTIFICATION_
As this function is activated, all secondary objectives are fazed out of her immediate recall system, only primary directives registering as important and referrable. Statistics for the rifle in her hands appear to the left of her vision, probability for success showing on the right, though this is mostly neutral at present, due to the largely unknown identity of the current threat. Turning a corner, however, she soon corrects this.
Bodies are strewn through this new hallway, blood pooling around them all as they lay there, some still alive, barely, breaths ragged and pained, eyes wide and terrified. A sparking circuit box is set into the wall a little way away, the door torn off and the wires emitting sharp cracks of electricity every few seconds, the systems evidently having short-circuited due to an overload of energy. The T-750 observes this and moves on, stepping over whimpering men as they clutch at her boots, hoping either to stop her walking into certain death, or to get help from her, neither of which she has any inclination of abiding to.
The gun clicks in her hands as she lifts it a little, prepared to shoot at the unknown threat as she rounds another corner, her visual sensors honing in on one particular person standing at the end of the corridor.
_TARGET_ACQUIRED_
The words are quick to register before she has depressed her finger on the trigger, bullets ripping from the muzzle of the deadly weapon. They tear into the back of her target, holes appearing in the tight leather of the coat. The wearer spins on his heel to address the source of this new attack, guns raised in an offensive manner. As his processors register the T-750, however, the T-800 pauses momentarily, his HUD having performed a automatic scan for hidden threat, her cybernetic nature is revealed to him instantly. In this brief moment, the other cyborg fires off another round of bullets, the damage registering on his display as minor, though the attack does catch his CPU off guard, due to the unexpected attack from a seemingly allied opponent.
Lifting his weapons, he shoots back at her, aiming to disable the other cyborg so that he may decipher what has influenced the programming of her CPU, every shot levelled at her abdomen, where there are no vital energy cells, so as not to induce permanent damage. As is usual with the terminators, she does not flinch or show any recognition of pain, maintaining a continuous onslaught of bullets, creating some more serious damage to his left shoulder, though the cybernetic joints of the limb are left intact due to their ability to deflect the majority of these aged bullets. Humans in the future were quick to realise that regular bullets have no impact on the killing machines, as the ammunition just crushes itself against the hyper-alloy endoskeletons.
The T-800 begins walking down the corridor towards the inferior model, shielded eyes fixed on her as he continues to shoot, only tossing aside the weapons when they run out of ammo. At this point, her own rifle seems to deplete it's rounds, the gun now in the process of being reloaded until the cyborg realises that her opponent is too close for firearm usage in any case. Throwing the gun down, she moves to meet the T-800 half way, expression as blank as his. Internally, the T-800 tracks the distance between them; six metres, five metres, four metres…
At three and half metres, he notices her remove a glove, the movement slow and calculated, the revealed hand turning to conceal itself slightly, closing into a fist so that he cannot determine anything from its current state.
At two point seven-five metres, he has formulated his own course of action.
The two lunge at each other, the T-800 grasping the smaller model's arms and throwing her to the side as his sunglasses go flying from his face to reveal missing skin and flesh around his eye, the sphere of metal now fully visible. Her body smashes into the wall, a large dent appearing in it as she slides to the floor, the T-750 attempting to get back up again, only to be picked up by her enemy and slung into the opposing wall again, the sound unbearably loud as support beams and bricks crack and falter under the immense weight. Scrambling to regain control of the situation, the female cyborg rolls onto her back and kicks out at the approaching killer, only to find her leg caught in a vice-like grip. Effortlessly, the T-800 uses this hold on her to swing her round into the wall once more, before bending down to pick her up by the throat, slamming her up against the very surface he just threw her into.
"Your model is registered under Skynet files as a decommissioned series. You have no place here." The T-800 states emotionlessly, face remaining unchanged.
"Your files are correct, I am a decommissioned series, but my mission parameters state that I must be in this time period, and so your secondary statement is incorrect." She responds, tonelessly, one hand coming up to grasp at the arm holding her captive.
"What is your mission? There is no record of any second Skynet model required for this objective."
"I am not a Skynet operative. I am a Resistance soldier."
The T-800's expression doesn't change, but his HUD begins running through every possible reason for this new response.
"That is not possible. You are Skynet technology." He finally states, tightening his grip around her throat.
"You are incorrect. It is entirely possible. I was developed and recreated by Skynet, but was captured and reprogrammed by the Resistance. I am no longer required to obey Skynet orders." As she says this, a sudden commotion interrupts them.
Both heads snap round, visual processors fixing on Kyle and Sarah as they stumble round the corner, only to come to an abrupt halt when they see the two cyborgs. Instantly, the T-800's targeting sensors flash in recognition, prompting a need to move on his located target, his grip tightening considerably around the T-750's throat, feeling her no longer useful to him.
"Leave the building. Now!" The inferior model suddenly calls out to them, her own mission objectives kicking in, "Get out of the city as quickly as possible! I will find you!"
The two humans nod, eyes wide as they race off back down the corridor, the T-800 going to follow, only for his head to be grabbed by the T-750, one of her hands on either side of his face. HUD flashing, he is forced to turn to her, his display registering a sudden pressure at the base of his right ear, minor damage appearing as she digs a finger into the vulnerable spot. His CPU finally works out what is happening and engages his defence mode, his grip constricting around her throat more.
The exposed metal finger of the T-750 pierces the soft skin, entering the port just below the endoskeleton's upper jaw joint. A transmission of electricity crosses between them, the identical charge of this energy neutralizing the superior model's own impulses, causing a system-wide temporary shutdown.
The T-800's eye widen minutely.
#terminator imagine#terminator 1984#terminator#arnold schwarzenegger#linda hamilton#michael biehn#t-800
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Title: It Almost Seems Like Yesterday
Collaborator Name: ceealaina
Card Number: 3088
Link: AO3
Square Filled: S2 - Happily Ever After
Ship: IronHusbands
Rating: T
Major Tags: Canon Divergence, Memory Loss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort
Summary: When Tony gets hit with an amnesia spell that leaves him unable to remember anything past 1990, Rhodey's right there to help him through it. (Now if only Rhodey could remember how the hell he's managed to hide his feelings for Tony all these years.)
Word Count: 11,698
Rhodey walked into the room, already feeling tired. He knew he should have stayed home. He’d had a bad feeling before he’d left on vacation, had almost cancelled the trip, but Tony had insisted. He’d gone on and on about how he’d been an Avenger longer than Rhodey (by a whole three years, and look how well that had gone for him) and how if Rhodey missed this trip, it would be Tony’s ass that his mother would be coming after. Then he’d demanded that he bring back some of her chocolate chip cookies and practically pushed him out the door, promising everything would be fine.
What a fucking liar.
“Okay. What do we know?” Rhodey asked, rubbing at his temples in a futile attempt to ward off the headache he could already feel starting.
Rogers had the grace to look guilty, which he fucking should; Captain America or not, Rhodey was going to kill him if he had let something bad happen to Tony on his watch.
“Okay. Rhodey, first off all we’ve been assured repeatedly that this isn’t permanent.”
Rhodey managed to contain his groan. If that’s what they were starting out with, there was no way that any of this was good news.
“What’s not permanent?” he asked, not even caring that his voice slid into a tone that would have had him being written up for insubordination if he was still serving in the Air Force. He didn’t miss the way Steve swallowed at the sound, felt the vaguest hint of happiness at the sight, although it was quickly overshadowed by his concern for Tony. Beside Steve, Natasha looked like she was going to speak up, but he settled a hand against her arm, apparently willing to take on this particular burden alone. Rhodey resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Whatever weird spell Tony’s been hit with, it’s given him some… Memory loss.”
Rhodey felt his heart stop. “What kind of memory loss? How bad are we talking here?”
Steve winced, and Rhodey felt his heart sink further. “We don’t know yet, but uh. In the brief moment I saw him, he didn’t recognize me at all, called me a ‘bad Captain America porno rip off,’ and then he tried to hit on me, so…”
Despite the shitty situation, Rhodey smiled; that sounded like Tony, alright. At least there was something of him still in there.
Natasha rolled his eyes. “The doctors said he didn’t make any mention of the Iron Man suit, or seem bothered that he doesn’t have the arc reactor, so I’m guessing his memories predate 2012.”
Rhodey nodded. Clearly these two were absolutely useless to him, and it was time to take things into his own hands. “Right, I’m going to go see him. What did they tell him?”
“Just that he’d been in an accident, and that he may have suffered some side effects.”
Rhodey managed to keep his eye roll to himself. “Well, if you’ll excuse me…” He pushed past them, taking half a beat to steel himself before letting himself into Tony’s room. Tony was frowning at the medical equipment beside him, none of it actually attached to him, but his head popped up at the sound of the door opening and Rhodey held his breath, abruptly terrified that Tony wouldn’t know him either.
He needn’t have worried. A split second later, Tony’s face was breaking into a wide grin. “Rhodey!” he crowed. “Fucking finally! Did you come to spring me free?” Then he tilted his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “Did you dye your hair? It’s kind of… grey.”
“Um…” Rhodey hedged a minute, trying to think how best to handle this, but he knew Tony, knew he’d always dealt best with hard facts. Moving closer, he took a seat on the side of Tony’s bed. “Okay. They told you you’d had an accident, right?”
Tony nodded, wincing a little. “Was it in the lab? I know you threatened to kill me after the last one, but you also know how I get, so… Really this is on you, leaving me unsupervised like that.”
Rhodey huffed out a soft laugh. “No, Tones, not a lab accident. The thing is, you’re apparently suffering from some memory loss.”
Tony’s smile faded, eyes going wide. His eyes tracked over Rhodey’s body again, taking in the little differences, the grey hair, the extra few wrinkles around his eyes. He swallowed hard, and Rhodey could already see his brain working overtime, putting it together. He swallowed hard, breathing picking up, and Rhodey closed a hand over his.
“Hey, easy,” he told him, feeling his own flare of panic when Tony frowned down at his hand in confusion, like he wasn’t used to Rhodey touching him like this. “Everything’s going to be okay, Tones. It’s not permanent, and I’m gonna help you get your memories back. I just need you to tell me the last thing you remember, and we can start from there.”
“Um.” Tony scratched the back of his head. “There was that party we went to. When the drunk guy knocked me into the pool, and you punched him?”
For a moment, Rhodey couldn’t even place what he was talking about, racking his brain for anything even remotely like that. And then it clicked.
“At MIT?” he yelped, cursing internally when Tony jumped a little at his voice. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Sorry, I just. That’s fine. We can work with that.”
“Rhodey?” Tony reached out, tentatively touching his upper arm. “I really need you to tell me what year it is.”
Rhodey took a moment. He really didn’t want to say it, but Tony was a genius, he was already putting it together, and Rhodey really didn’t want him coming to the conclusion that there was something he was hiding. He swallowed.
“Tony, it’s 2015.”
***
Once Tony had gotten over the shock of missing nearly thirty years of his life, and Rhodey had finished convincing Pepper that for now, at least, she and Happy were better staying in California and not overwhelming Tony with people that he only knew he was supposed to know, Rhodey had given him a rundown of what he was missing. He knew he was supposed to get his memories back eventually, but he couldn’t think how they would even begin that process without Tony at least knowing about Iron Man and the Avengers.
Telling him had been well worth it. In Tony’s mind, DUM-E was still a work in progress. So finding out that he’d succeeded -- and that DUM-E was still kicking around thirty years later -- Tony’s entire face had lit up.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, shifting closer to Rhodey on the bed. “You’re telling the truth? DUM-E works? You’re not just fucking with me?”
Rhodey hadn’t been able to help laughing. “Tones, that’s not even half of it. After you cracked the AI code, you built JARVIS.”
Tony frowned. “Jarvis?” he repeated, a flicker of sadness crossing his features, and Rhodey winced as he remembered that, for Tony, Edwin Jarvis had died only the year before. Still, Tony managed a smile, though it was fainter than before. “Tell me you didn’t let me Frankenstein my butler back to life.”
Rhodey snorted, but he laid a hand over his arm anyway, stroking a thumb over his skin. He, more than anyone, knew how much more than a butler Jarvis had been to him. “Not Jarvis,” he told him softly. “JARVIS. Stands for Just A Really Very Intelligent System.”
Tony blinked. “Another robot, like DUM-E?”
“And U,” Rhodey added, even though it was just adding to the confusion; he’d always been partial to U.
“Me?” Tony repeated blankly before he caught on and his eyes went even wider. “I built three robots??”
Rhodey couldn’t help laughing. He had absolutely no idea. “No, Tony. JARVIS isn’t a robot. He doesn’t actually have a physical form. He’s… Fuck man, he’s the most sophisticated machine ever. He’s a fully functional learning AI. He’s smarter than most humans I’ve met, he manages to keep you on your toes. I swear to god, Tones, he has emotions. As soon as we get you out of this SHIELD safehouse, I’ll get you back to the tower, and you can talk to him yourself. It’s gonna blow your damn mind.”
Tony leaned back against cushions, looking overwhelmed in the best kind of way, bright-eyed with wonder. He looked young, despite the laugh lines and the grey in his goatee, and for just a moment Rhodey felt his stomach twist with a funny sort of nostalgia. Rhodey had fallen in love with Tony when he was twenty years old, and he had never stopped being in love with him. He’d long ago accepted that it was unrequited, that he was never going to love anyone the way he loved Tony, and that was fine. It didn’t even hurt anymore, it was just… How it was. He wouldn’t trade their relationship for anything. But seeing Tony like this, smiling all bright and open like he was eighteen, he felt like he was falling in love all over again and it ached.
“Holy shit,” Tony breathed, shaking his head a little. “I can’t believe I did that. I mean, I can, because it’s me, but… Holy shit.” He shook his head again. “Wait, SHIELD? Like… The SHIELD that Aunt Peggy runs?” He looked around the room, like it would give him some sort of clue. “Do I work for SHIELD?”
Rhodey puffed out his cheeks and he blew out a long breath. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “You work with them sometimes, but… You’re an Avenger.”
Tony blinked back at him, expression blank, and Rhodey realized that, right. That meant absolutely nothing to him.
“Uhh. You’re a superhero?”
Tony blinked again and then started laughing, so hard that he couldn’t hold himself upright, bright giggles filling the room. Rhodey couldn’t help laughing too, the sound contagious, and it was several minutes before Tony managed to speak again.
“A superhero,” he repeated, wiping actual tears from his eyes. “Well, at least your stupid sense of humour hasn’t changed in the past thirty years. What, am I the new Captain America?” he asked, snorting again.
“No,” Rhodey told him. “Definitely not Captain America. But you do know him.”
Tony stopped laughing abruptly as he caught the look on his face. “Wait, are you serious? Are you…” He trailed off and flung his arms in the air. “How is any of that possible?”
And so Rhodey had told him about Afghanistan, how he’d been kidnapped but come out of it with a shiny metal suit of armor, how they’d found Thor, and then after that Steve in the ice, and then about the Battle for New York and how that had led into them becoming a team.
“Oh my god,” Tony breathed when he was done. “I’m not going to lie, that sounds completely unbelievable, but also, way too convoluted to be anything but real.” He leaned back, thinking, and Rhodey watched him mouth the words ‘Iron Man’ to himself. Then he shot forward again, grabbing at Rhodey’s arm. Rhodey shivered at the little thrill of pleasure he always felt when Tony was all close and in his space like this. “Can I see it?” he asked, like a little kid trying to sneak a cookie. “The Iron Man suit?”
Rhodey couldn’t help laughing. “Suits,” he told him, snorting as Tony’s eyes got bigger still. “And of course you can see them. They’re yours. Just gotta get the all clear to get you out of here.”
“Wait, so then… Those people that were here before? They’re Avengers too?” His eyes were still wide, but they took on a horrified expression. “Oh my god, was that actually Captain America?” Tony made a ridiculous ‘eep’ noise and actually pulled the blanket over his head. “Rhodeyyyy,” he whined through the fabric, giving Rhodey a flashback to Tony’s first date at MIT. “You’re going to have to resign on my behalf, because I can’t ever go back to being an Avenger.”
Rhodey patted his knee consolingly, taking advantage of the fact that Tony couldn’t see him to drink in his fill of him. “Of course you can, Tony. We’re your team. We all love you. And Steve’s your best friend, after me obviously. He doesn’t care, I promise.”
“You don’t understand! I told Captain America he belonged in a porn.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve said way worse to him.”
“And I’m pretty sure the words ‘wet dream’ were used. How do I ever look at him again?”
“Jesus,” Rhodey muttered as something that was definitely not jealousy twisted in his stomach. He’d forgotten about Tony’s weird Captain America hero worship phase. “Tony, you’re fine. I know you don’t remember, but Steve knows you. He wouldn’t have expected anything less. Do you want me to call them back in so you can see for yourself?”
The face that Tony made was hilarious. “No!”
“Come on, man. I know you. You don’t rip the bandaid now, it’s just gonna get harder and harder…” He nudged him teasingly. “Tones. They’re your teammates. They’ll want to see that you’re okay.”
“I hate you,” Tony grumbled, but Rhodey could already tell he was relenting. Patting his knee once more, he gave him a wink and got up to the door. Steve and Nat were, unsurprisingly, lingering outside, and he gestured them in.
“Come on,” he said, trying not to sound too grudging. He knew deep down that it wasn’t their fault Tony had gotten hurt, but they’d still been the ones with him when it happened, and he couldn’t help feeling a little resentful.
Natasha, at least, didn’t seem to care in the slightest. She brushed past him to sidle right up on the bed beside Tony, tugging him close and stroking a hand through his hair. “Hey baby,” she purred, a teasing smirk on her lips, and Rhodey resisted the urge to snort. “How’re you feeling?”
Tony stared up at her with wide eyes and Rhodey bit back his fond smile. “Uh.” Tony ducked his head and cleared his throat and then his gaze snapped back up to her like he couldn’t look away (not that anyone would really blame him for that). “You’re one of my teammates, I guess? I’m Tony.” He winced then, and stared up at the ceiling. “But… you… already know that.” He shook his head. “Amnesia is fucking weird.”
“Oh my god,” Natasha crowed. “MIT Tony is fucking adorable.” She wrapped her arms around his neck in a sideways hug and glowered at Rhodey. “You never told us,” she tsked, kissing Tony’s cheek. Nobody missed the blush that crept over Tony’s cheeks.
“Natasha.” Steve rolled his eyes, but he was looking amused. “Stop tormenting Tony when he doesn’t remember you enough to shoot back.”
Tony’s eyes darted in his direction before immediately flickering away again, and Rhodey felt something sour roll in his stomach as Tony’s blush deepened. Nat had noticed it too, hiding her smile to keep from completely embarrassing Tony.
“Um, thanks,” Tony managed, looking up again to give Steve one of those mega-watt smiles that Rhodey had first fallen in love with. It was bright and open, from before he’d even needed to learn his press smile, and the jealousy in Rhodey’s stomach grew. It felt ridiculous to even think it, but those smiles were supposed to be just for him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve told him, laughing a little.
“And, uh. Sorry about what I said before,” Tony blurted out all in a rush. “The whole… porno… thing.” He looked like he wanted to sink through the floor, and Rhodey very much wanted to hug him. “I didn’t, I mean… I hate hospitals, so I was kind of not myself, and then, you know, obviously if I’d known you were the real Captain American, I wouldn’t have…” He trailed off, hand rubbing at his sternum in the same nervous tic he’d had since 2008; his body, at least, seemed to remember. “Anyway.”
“Wow.” Steve grinned. “He really is adorable. Can we keep him?”
Tony gave a startled laugh at that. “You can definitely keep me,” he promised, a hint of flirtation in his voice, and when Steve had looked away he caught Rhodey’s eye and mouthed ‘oh my god.’
Rhodey forced himself to give a normal smile in return. He’d forgotten about this mix of shy, and awkward, and weirdly flirtatious that Tony had been, barrelling from one extreme to the other, and while he was loving getting to see this side of him again, he couldn’t help wishing that more of it was directed at him.
“I still can’t believe you’re the actual Captain America,” Tony continued. “I mean, I have all your trading cards at home, and I--,” He cut himself off abruptly, flushing again. “God, Dad must have shit a brick when he finally found you.”
Tense silence filled the room, and Rhodey felt his stomach drop. How had he forgotten to tell Tony about his parents? To be fair, thinking about Howard still made him want to put his fist through a wall -- or the man’s face -- so he did it as little as possible. And it was so far behind them now that it hadn’t even come into his mind.
Tony was looking back and forth between all three of them now, obviously picking up on the fact that something was wrong and Rhodey knew he wouldn’t want to get this news in front of two essential strangers.
“You two out. Now,” he told them, voice booking no argument. To their credit, Steve and Nat didn’t look inclined to argue anyway, Nat giving Tony one last kiss on the cheek, softer this time, before the two of them slipped out the door.
There was silence for a moment after the solid click of the door closing, Tony staring down at his hands. “Dad’s gone, isn’t he?” he asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.
Rhodey sighed, moving closer to the bed again. “Tones…”
Tony looked up at him then, and his eyes were shimmering. “Did he at least get to see me become a superhero?” he asked softly. Rhodey just shook his head, wishing not for the first time that he could bring Howard back to life just to kill him himself. Even after everything he’d done to him, all Tony had ever wanted was to make the man proud.
“No,” he told him. “That came a lot later.”
Tony nodded, looking back down at his hands. “Mom?” he asked, just the one word. There was a crack in his voice, and Rhodey felt his heart break.
“I’m so sorry, Tony.”
Tony made a soft sobbing noise, and without stopping to think about it, Rhodey was up on the bed beside him, tugging him into his lap. Tony moved into it easily, comfortable with Rhodey in a way he hadn’t even been remotely close to with Nat. He shifted until he was half sideways, arms wrapped around Rhodey’s waist and face pressed into his upper abdomen and Rhodey just leaned back against the pillows and rubbed over Tony’s back, letting him mourn his mother’s death for the second time. He knew the circumstances weren’t anywhere near ideal, but Rhodey felt his breath catch and couldn’t help feeling something inside him settle with Tony against him like this, couldn’t help thinking that he could stay like this with him forever.
Eventually, Tony’s sobs evened out, the shivers that had been going through him coming to a stop. He didn’t make any move to get up though, just squirmed a little to get more comfortable against Rhodey’s side as the other man continued to stroke through his hair.
“This is super gay,” he mumbled, still making no move to to pull away. Then he froze, body going tense and tight. “I mean, uh… Not that you’re gay. Or I’m gay. It’s not, like…” He was flustered, stumbling all over his words, and Rhodey couldn’t help laughing.
“It’s okay, Tones,” he told him. “I know you like men, too. It’s totally fine. Completely acceptable now, even.”
“Oh,” Tony said softly, and his arms tightened around just a little around Rhodey’s waist. “Okay.”
They stayed there in comfortable silence until Rhodey knew he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Tony,” he said quietly, still rubbing his head to keep him calm. “There’s more.”
He could feel Tony take a deep breath beneath him, steeling himself. “Okay,” he said again, voice quieter still. “Tell me.”
“Your parents’ death… It was set up to look like an accident, but. It wasn’t.”
Tony pulled back then, staring at Rhodey, and the expression in his eyes was enough to make something catch in Rhodey’s chest. He cleared his throat, and it took him a minute before he could speak. “It… It’s sort of hard to explain, but Hydra -- you know Hydra?”
Tony gave him a look like he was stupid, and Rhodey tried not to roll his eyes.
“Okay, well Hydra didn’t die out in World War II. They’ve been here, all along, working behind the scenes to do their evil Nazi thing. And they took your parents out, made it look like a car accident.” He drew in a deep breath, because he barely believed this shit, and he’d watched Rogers take out the helicarriers live on television. Trying to explain it all now was bonkers. “But they didn’t send just any operative to do it. It was their most feared shadow assassin and all that other fun Nazi propoganda bullshit, except in this case it wasn’t all bullshit. They called the asset the Winter Soldier. Who we found out after the fact was actually one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”
Tony blinked at him, mouth hanging open. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he repeated. “Like Bucky Barnes? The Bucky Barnes who died in 1945?”
Rhodey nodded. “That’s the one. Except, you know. He didn’t die, obviously. There was this whole thing with Russians, and brainwashing, and horrible, life-altering torture. I want to be clear here, Tony, it wasn’t really him. He was brainwashed, he didn’t know what he was doing. It was pretty tense here for awhile, after we found everything out, but we think we can help him break through the brainwashing, so you’ve been helping Steve try to track him down.”
Tony just nodded, still staring at him. “Okay,” he said, voice a little distant. He looked completely overwhelmed, and Rhodey nudged him.
“Hey, you alright? I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“Yeah,” Tony admitted with a faint laugh. “It’s… A whole lot.” He looked down at his hands for a minute. “This is embarrassing, but… CanIhaveanotherhug?” he asked, all in a rush.
Rhodey didn’t laugh, although he was tempted for a moment. “Of course, Tones,” he told him, opening his arms wide. “You don’t ever have to ask for that.”
Tony tucked himself back in under his arms, and Rhodey resisted the urge to kiss the top of his head, not wanting to freak him out anymore than he already was. There was silence for a few moments as Tony processed all the new information.
“I suppose it makes sense,” he said finally. “If Bucky was brainwashed, it wasn’t like he was the one who killed mom and dad, not really.”
Rhodey didn’t bother telling Tony that he was accepting this a lot faster than he had the last time. He had a funny feeling that none of this was quite real for him yet, even if he was understanding the words.
“And if Steve is my teammate, and Bucky was his best friend, of course I’d help him track him down. And well, Bucky always was my favourite Howling Commando.” Then he squirmed a little, flustered. “Uh… Don’t tell Steve I said that. That was when I was a kid, I mean.”
Rhodey did his very best not to tense up as jealousy flared through him, not wanting Tony to notice, or pull away, or think something else was wrong. “Don’t worry, handsome. Your secret’s safe with me.”
***
Rhodey was pretty sure that he had Natasha to thank for the fact that the wealth of additional, likely unnecessary tests the doctors had wanted to run were suddenly forgotten (it was magic, for fuck’s sake. What did the doctors think they were going to find?), and after a final check over to make sure Tony was all healthy (memory loss aside), they were able to take him back to the tower.
Tony had blinked as he spotted it on the drive over, eyes going wide as he took in the giant ‘A’ shining in the waning light of the day. “Is that the Avengers Tower?” he asked, and he was trying to sound casual, like it was just a vaguely interesting conversation point, but Rhodey could hear the burning curiosity in his voice, could tell he was only pretending not to be impressed. “They built their own building?”
“Yep. Well, technically it’s your tower, but you’re nice enough to let us all live there.”
Tony turned to stare at him, mouth hanging open, before he remembered he was pretending to be cool and quickly turned back to face the window. “Stark Tower,” he breathed, even though nobody had referred to it that way since he’d woken up. Then he shook his head. “You mean it’s Stark Industries’ tower,” he corrected. “So technically it’s dad’s tower, since he started the company.”
Rhodey fought back a wince. “No, Tones,” he told him softly. “This is all you. As someone who’s been your best friend for thirty years now, you’ve gotta trust me on this. You’ve accomplished things Howard couldn’t even dream of.”
Tony didn’t answer, still trying to play it cool, but Rhodey could see his pleased little smile reflected in the tinted glass of the window.
His attempts at playing it cool only lasted until they had pulled into the tower garage and stepped into the private elevator that would take them to the avengers’ floors, at which point JARVIS greeted them with a, “Welcome back, Sir. Captain Rogers has already apprised me of your current situation. Let me assure you that I am here to assist you in every and any way possible, and that Dum-E, U and I are all hoping for your speedy recovery.”
Tony’s jaw had dropped and he’d stared at Rhodey with absolutely enormous eyes. “Holy shit,” he’d gasped. “I thought you were exaggerating!” And then he had promptly forgotten Rhodey’s existence entirely as he bombarded JARVIS with question after question, wanting to know about everything from JARVIS’s operating system, to the power set up for the tower, to finding out how they’d managed to miniaturize the arc reactor. For the first time in this whole insane situation, Rhodey hadn’t minded losing Tony’s attention; it left him free to watch him, to take in his excitement and enthusiasm without worrying that Tony would catch him staring with that stupid, besotted smile that he knew was plastered across his face. It was uncanny how young Tony managed to look despite still being in his 45-year-old body, and it was wreaking havoc with Rhodey’s heart. God, he was so fucking in love with him.
Tony was still bantering with JARVIS when the elevator doors opened and he stepped out automatically, not even looking where he was going. Then the lab lights came on and Tony’s cut himself off mid-sentence, staring around the ‘shop with wide eyes.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” he managed. “Is this… Am I…”
“It’s yours, baby,” Rhodey told him, unable to keep the grin off his face; it wasn’t often that he got to see Tony’s mind blown like this. “It’s all yours. This is where the magic happens.” He gestured around the room. “Have at it.”
With a final, disbelieving stare at Rhodey, Tony was running deeper into the lab, immediately trying to negotiate about six different things at once. He was poking at the latest iteration of Sam’s wings when DUM-E came rolling up with a curious little chirp. Tony whirled around, pure joy on his face.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, patting DUM-E’s strut. “You really do work.” He positively beamed, and Rhodey swore he saw a glimmer of tears in Tony's eyes. “Look at you, you big, dumb thing. You’re so beautiful.”
Fighting back a laugh, Rhodey moved across the room to give U some love too. “Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he hummed. “He’s gonna love you too. DUM-E’s just his baby.”
Tony did, of course, cooing over the two of them like they were actual babies. Rhodey couldn’t do much more than stand back and watch, absolutely captivated by watching Tony discover twenty-five years worth of technological advancements at once, looking completely overwhelmed in the best possible way. The noise he made when re realized that his entire system was holographic was the greatest thing that Rhodey had ever heard. He immediately had JARVIS record it and send it to him so that he could set it as his ringtone. Every move that Tony made seemed to remind him all over again why he had fallen in love with him.
Tony glanced up then, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looked Rhodey over. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing,” Rhodey answered just a bit too quickly, hoping his expression had been more ‘amused’ and less ‘hopelessly in love with you for all of eternity.’ “Nothing, man,” he repeated. “I just forgot how precious you are when you’re all excited.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he grumbled, but his cheeks flushed a little and he gave Rhodey a bright, sweet smile before turning back to whatever was spread out across the table in front of him. Rhodey whistled to get his attention back.
“Hey Tones!”
Tony whirled back to look at him, holding up one of Clint’s new prototypes. “Are these exploding arrows?” he demanded.
“Yeah, man, probably.” He arched an eyebrow at him. “Thought you wanted to see the Iron Man suits though?”
***
It was hours later that Rhodey got a notification from Steve, letting him know that they’d ordered in food from Tony’s favourite Italian place and that the rest of the team was up in the common area, if they wanted to join them. Rhodey couldn’t help making a face at his phone; he knew they’d have to meet up eventually, but he was kind of enjoying their little bubble, just the two of them and the bots in the workshop. It wasn’t like he was jealous of Tony’s Avengers status, or his friendship with Steve -- really, he was glad that he had someone else in his corner -- but sometimes he missed the days when it had just been the two of them.
“Hey. Why so glum, chum?”
Rhodey nearly jumped; he hadn’t realized that Tony was even looking at him. When he’d glanced over a minute earlier, Tony had been fully absorbed with the HUD in one of the Iron Man helmets.
“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not. Just distracted. Uh… They’ve got Italian for you upstairs, if you’re hungry.”
“Oh, uh…” Tony quickly ducked his head, suddenly fascinated by the HUD display. “I’m okay,” he mumbled, just as his stomach growled loudly. Rhodey folded his arms across his chest, arching an eyebrow, and after a long moment of silence, Tony looked up to give him a sheepish look. “Okay, maybe I’m a little hungry?” he admitted. “Maybe you could bring some food down?”
Rhodey snorted. “Nope. I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Tony protested, but he was pouting a little.
“Come on. I know it’s intimidating, but they’re still your team, man. And hey, I’ll be right there with you.”
Tony rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. “Promise?” he asked, the pleading in his voice probably a little more genuine than he’d meant it to be.
Rhodey gave him a wink, couldn’t keep the fond smile off his face. “Promise,” he assured him.
Tony dragged his feet, saying goodbye to all the bots and promising to come back down to hang out with them again after head. Rhodey felt his heart swell, his stomach melting into something warm and gooey, and he turned for the elevator before Tony could see the stupid look that he knew was all over his face.
When the elevator dinged open on the common floor Clint was standing there, waiting for them. Rhodey rolled his eyes at the sight, but before he could warn him off, Clint’s face dropped into a pout. “Aww, Tony, no,” he protested. “He looks the same.” He turned his head, hollering somewhere behind him, “He looks the same!”
“I said his memory deaged, Barton!” Nat hollered. “Not his entire body!” This was followed up by some creative Russian cursing that made Clint’s frown deepen.
“Well that’s just rude,” he protested, getting him a shy smile out of Tony. Clint tilted his head at that. “Oh, wow. I didn’t know your face could look like that.”
Tony blinked back at him. “Thanks?”
Clint beamed in return, then shoved his hand out. “I’m Clint, by the way. I guess you don’t know that anymore. Or… Yet? This is confusing.”
Nat came out of the kitchen, laden down with serving dishes of food and an unusually soft smile for Tony. “It’s really not that complicated, Clint. It’s amnesia, not time travel. I don’t know how many more times I can explain this.”
“Uh, it’s Clint,” Sam offered, following her out with a giant basket of garlic bread. “So at least three more times.”
“Fuck you,” Clint shot back without any real heat. “Man, you don’t even go here. You just followed Cap in, what, three days ago?”
As the rest of the team slowly trickled in to join them, Tony took a half step back, moving a little further into Rhodey’s space. Nobody else even noticed, except probably Natasha, but Rhodey grinned, giving Tony a reassuring pat on the back before he stepped further into the room.
“Come on, Barton,” he said, deflecting the attention further from Tony. “Don’t be jealous just cause you’re not the only birdbrain on the team anymore.”
In slightly different circumstances, it could have been any other team bonding night, everyone bantering, and jokily arguing and fighting over the last serving of spaghetti. But Rhodey was hyperconscious of how quiet Tony was, watching the exchanges with wide eyes, rather than jumping to join in. He had tucked himself on the shorter couch beside Rhodey, on the far side of everyone else, clearly trying to pretend that he wasn’t overwhelmed. Rhodey knew him though, could read that awkward little smile. He may have liked the team, but Rhodey was the one thing he knew right now, and so he was sticking close. And judging by the way he’d grin into his tomato sauce every time Rhodey would run interference, his hand brushing appreciatively against Rhodey’s elbow, that wasn’t going to stop any time soon.
***
By the next week, Tony showed no sign of regaining any of his memories. It was a messy situation; magic meant that there was no medical reason that they could determine for his memory loss. On top of that, Tony had been the only one around when the witch or whatever-they’d-been-fighting had cast the spell on him. And since Tony couldn’t remember anything past 1990, nobody had any clue exactly what the spell was, or how to break it.
It didn’t help that Thor, the only one of them who had any actual experience with magic, was currently off in one of the other nine realms, doing his god thing. (Although, judging by the way Tony had started warming up to Steve, and was now shyly flirting with him every time he walked into a room, Rhodey couldn’t say he was too upset that Thor wasn’t around.)
He’d thought that if anything, the lab would be the thing to jumpstart Tony’s memories. But while he’d been fascinated by everything there, and it had taken him mere hours to get everything up and running (despite having his memories stuck in a time when pagers were the height of technology), it hadn’t helped him remember. Rhodey was ready to try anything, so he’d called Pepper, and made some arrangements with JARVIS, and when everything was ready, enlisted Steve’s help to carry four enormous boxes down into the lab.
Tony looked up from where he was soldering something onto one of the Iron Man suits. Rhodey winced a little because if Tony had fucked something up on the suit he was going to kick both Rhodey and himself later. Tony flushed a little when he spotted Steve, who didn’t even have the grace to be straining under the weight of carrying three of the boxes himself. Rhodey resisted the urge to roll his eyes and mutter something about show offs.
“What’s this?” Tony asked, looking at the boxes curiously and blinking when Steve winked at me.
“Don’t ask me. It was Colonel Rhodes’ idea. I’m just here to be the muscle.”
Tony grinned back at him, waggling his eyebrows. “And what a fine job you do.”
“I hate you both,” Rhodey grumbled. He’d liked it better when Tony had been all shy and nervous and had to look away every time Steve walked into a room. “These,” he added, dropping his one box down on a table with a bit of spare space. “Are your memories.”
Tony arched an eyebrow at him, though he set down the soldering iron and moved around to peer down at the box. “Oh good,” he said dryly. “You found them.”
Rhodey elbowed him, hard, grinning when Tony yelped and then laughed as he tried to shove him in return. “It’s pictures and photo albums and videos and things from when we were at MIT, and then afterward. It’s sort of all mixed together. You keep insisting that you don’t want to put them out because it’s ‘relic technology’ and you’re going to digitize them instead. But you haven’t yet, so it’s just been sitting in a heap in storage. I had Pepper send them out. And then of course JARVIS has a bunch of more recent photos and video clips when you’ve worked your way through these.”
“What?” Steve made a ridiculous noise, staring at Rhodey accusingly. “You didn’t tell me I was carrying around photos of baby Tony!” He grinned wickedly and immediately set down all three boxes, starting to paw the top one open. “I wanna see!”
Tony actually screeched, rushing around the table to try and wrestle Steve away from the boxes. “Nooo,” he wailed, trying to peel Steve’s hands away. He was doing a terrible job, except that Steve was too busy laughing at him to put much effort into fighting back. “I was such a dweeb when I first got to MIT! I don’t need Captain America seeing that.”
“You’re still a dweeb now,” Rhodey pointed out helpfully, getting a beam out of Steve in response. Rhodey told himself to calm down. He liked Steve. It wasn’t his fault that Tony was so obviously crushing on him.
“See!” Steve said. “What’s the harm in letting me see?”
Tony narrowed his eyes at Rhodey. “Traitor,” he grumbled. “Seriously, Steve. Out. Only MIT graduates allowed.”
Steve frowned. “I feel like that’s a roundabout way of calling me stupid.”
Tony rolled his eyes, so much like now-Tony that it was hard to believe that he had no memory of the last few years. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me go through them, and I’ll let you look at some of the least dorky ones after.”
“Fine,” Steve sighed, like he hadn’t just been hassling Tony for the fun of it. “Sam and I were gonna grab coffee anyway. Have fun!” he added, heading for the door and leaving them to it.
Tony waited until he was sure Steve wasn’t coming back before immediately yanking open the tape on the first box and practically falling headfirst into it. “Get over here, Rhodeybear,” he hollered, voice slightly muffled by the cardboard. “We’re in this together.”
Even with Tony’s memory loss, Rhodey had to admit that the afternoon was the most fun he’d had in awhile. Pepper had sent along an old VCR that she found with all the pictures, so they were able to play the VHSs, and for the millionth time this week, Rhodey found himself falling in love with Tony all over again. He thought he had a pretty good memory, but he’d somehow forgotten how adorable Tony had been, that bright, open giggle that he hadn’t bothered to hide back then, the way he’d go all wide-eyed in excitement, not trying to temper himself. Rhodey hadn’t even realized how much he had missed it. And it was even better when he had Tony’s giggle in stereo, the Tony beside him laughing just as hard over terrible jokes and lab accidents and everything else. Several times he had caught Rhodey staring at him with probably a dumbass look on his face, giving Rhodey a moment of panic that he’d figure it out and know exactly what that look meant. But Tony didn’t seem bothered, would just give Rhodey a soft, sweet smile in return before turning back to whatever was in his hand.
They’d gone quiet for a bit, Rhodey searching for a particular photo from the Halloween party they’d gone to in ‘97, when Tony made a soft noise across from him. Rhodey looked up to see him perusing a red, leather-bound album.
“Tones? You okay?” God only knew what else Tony might have had tucked in there.
But when he looked up, Tony didn’t look upset at all. In fact he was smiling, eyes shimmering a little. “Ohhh,” he breathed. “I get it now.” He ducked his head a little, shy but still pleased, and then leaned over to give Rhodey a soft kiss on the cheek, the beard that he’d immediately fallen in love with (of course) ticking Rhodey’s skin.
Rhodey felt warm all over, Tony’s kisses always making him melt, and it took him a minute to realize that this version of Tony hadn’t quite reached that level of casual affection -- the cheek kisses were still another couple years away. Feeling like he’d missed something, Rhodey blinked at him. “Get what?”
Tony’s smile was growing into something completely goofy and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “That’s why you were so cool with me before, right? Because you like me...n too.”
“Yeah?” Rhodey offered, because his sexuality was never something he’d hidden from Tony.
This just made Tony smile wider. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Tell you what?” Rhodey asked.
Tony held up the album, showing off a page of pictures of the two of them draped all over each other. “That we’re married!” he proclaimed.
Rhodey choked on air. “We’re what?” he asked. His voice was weak, and he could feel the blood draining from his face. Panic twisted in his stomach, sharp and bitter. He fucked up, he’d done something to give Tony the wrong idea entirely.
Tony just gave him a look. “Come on, Rhodes. I know I’m a little behind the times now, but I’m still a genius.” He waggled the photo album in the air. “I have an entire photo album devoted just to you, titled ‘Honeybear.’” He flipped it closed, revealing the nickname titled on the front in gilt cursive letters. “What, have we not told the team or something, is that why you didn’t say anything? Oooh, secret marriage! That’s kind of fun!” He grinned at Rhodey. “Why haven’t we told them? Would they not react well? I know Steve’s from the 1940s, but he was also an artist living in like, the gayest part of Brooklyn. Doesn’t exactly scream homophobic to me. Wait! Is that why you’re so jealous when Steve gets all friendly with me?”
“I’m not jealous,” Rhodey said weakly.
Tony arched an eyebrow at him with a look that was painfully familiar. “Sure you’re not. I can read you like a book, hot stuff. Oh!” His eyes lit up and he gave Rhodey a smirk that was half teasing and half unbearably pleased. “Now you know I mean it when I call you stuff like that.”
Rhodey had long since gotten used to Tony’s rambling when he got excited about something, but right now he was having a hard time focusing on what Tony was saying. “Wh… Where are you getting all this?”
“What? You said gay was okay now. Or… Bi, anyway.” Tony beamed at him. “I've been doing my research.” He got distracted then as a loose picture fell out of the album. It was a later one of Tony and Rhodey in the Iron Man and War Machine armors respectively, faceplates up and arms around each other as they grinned at the camera. “Aww, did I make you that? We match! Cute!”
“Tony.” Rhodey opened and closed his mouth a few times as Tony looked up at him, not knowing how to explain. Tony tilted his head, frowning at him.
“Rhodey? You okay?”
“We’re not married,” Rhodey blurted out. He immediately winced; that wasn’t how he had planned to tell him. And then he winced harder when Tony blinked, looking like Rhodey had just told him that the world was flat after all.
“What?”
“We’re not married, Tones. We’ve…” He swallowed, the admission hard for all he’d thought he’d accepted it. “We’ve never been like that. I’m so sorry, Tones. I fucked up. I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”
Tony went suddenly, perfectly still, all his manic energy just… Stopping. “We’re not?” he asked, voice soft. Rhodey shook his head and Tony looked away, suddenly unable to even meet his eyes. “Right,” he said softly, and for a truly terrible moment Rhodey thought he was going to cry.
“Tones…” He reached out, curling a hand around Tony’s wrist because everything about this was awful but comforting Tony was ingrained in his blood. “Come on, you’ve never felt like that about me, and that hasn’t changed,” he told him, and Tony’s eyes snapped to his again. “We’re friends, nothin’ else. This is just… A crazy situation, and you’re unsettled, and you’re latching on to what’s familiar.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Tony, or himself. “Right?”
And it was completely crazy, but for a brief moment Rhodey found himself hoping against hope that Tony would tell him he was wrong, that he did feel that way for him, always had.
But after a too long moment, Tony nodded, scratching at the back of his neck and giving Rhodey a tight smile, fake in a way that it hadn’t been all week, that it had never been for Rhodey. “Right,” he agreed. He gave a strained laugh. “Well, don’t I feel stupid?”
“No, Tones, don’t--,”
“Anyway, uh… Thanks for all this.” Tony cut him off as he gathered up an armful of photos and videos, not even bothering to look at what he was collecting. “I appreciate it, but I’m feeling kind of tired now, so I’m gonna…” He nodded his head toward the elevator. “I’ll finish looking at these later.”
Before Rhodey could say another word, he was on his feet, scrambling for the door. It went against every instinct Rhodey had, but he didn’t stop him, didn’t try to follow him. This was his own fault; thirty years of wanting and he’d managed to give it all away in a week. Some space between them probably wasn’t a bad idea.
And as it turned out, t was fairly easy for Rhodey to avoid Tony, when it seemed as though Tony was doing his level best to do the same. Rhodey wasn’t going to pretend that it hadn’t hurt when Tony had walked into the kitchen, spotted Rhodey, stared at him with painfully wide eyes for a too-long minute and then spun on his heel and left again without even grabbing whatever he’d come for.
He knew they’d be alright. They’d had distance and rough patches in their friendship before. He’d always joked it was the mark of a healthy relationship, that they’d been able to come back from whatever life threw at them. And, presumably, Tony would eventually get his memories back, and they’d be able to look back on this whole thing and laugh about it -- if he even remembered it at all. They still didn’t know how this amnesia thing worked.
But in the meantime? It really fucking sucked.
***
Steve had slipped into the rarely used library, in search of the sci-fi novel he’d lost somewhere. He spotted it on a side table and was just planning to head for the deck and enjoy some sunshine when he heard a faint noise, a sniffling sound that sounded suspiciously like crying. He hesitated a minute; he wasn’t known for being the most emotionally intelligent member of the team, preferring to punch his feelings away. But if one of his team members were upset, or hurting, it was his job to check in.
Wincing, he made a point of clearing his throat in case they hadn’t heard him come in. “Hello?” he called. “Somebody there?”
There a sharp inhale, and then a soft, quiet voice came from the armchair facing the window. “‘S just me.”
“Tony?” Steve followed the sound of his voice. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry,” he said, voice still soft. “JARVIS said this was the least used room in the tower. I just… I needed a minute.”
Steve came around the front of the chair, and his eyes went wide at the sight of Tony curled up in a tiny, miserable ball in the chair, arms folded across his chest, face red and damp with tears. “Jesus Christ, what happened?” he asked; he’d seen Tony cry before, of course, but never anything like this.
“It’s nothing,” Tony said quickly. “Nothing happened. I was just leaving anyway.”
Not for the first time, Steve felt the stirrings of resentment, thinking about Howard and what he’d done to make Tony think he had to hide something like this. “Tony… Talk to me. Something must have happened.”
But Tony shook his head, still not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It’s nothing,” he insisted, starting to slide off the chair. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine, everything’s fine. I’m fine.”
Steve had been trying to be good about respecting Tony’s boundaries; teasing him was fun, but he knew Tony didn’t really know him right now, and the last thing he wanted was to make him uncomfortable. But as Tony started to slide past him, Steve couldn’t seem to let himself do that now. Without thinking, he carefully grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled him in against his chest, hugging him close. For a split second Tony went stiff and tense him, and Steve wondered if he’d made entirely the wrong choice. Then, with a deep exhale, Tony crumpled against Steve, pressing his face into his shoulder as his tears started fresh. Steve tightened his arms around Tony’s back, running a hand up and down his spine in a way that he hoped was soothing. The little shudder Tony gave against him suggested that it was helping at least a little.
They stayed like that for a while, Steve taking Tony’s body weight easily, mumbling soothing nonsense phrases like he vaguely remembered his mother doing for him when he’d been sick. Eventually that shifted to actual humming, which got him a sad little giggle out of Tony, his hands squeezing against Steve’s sides.
“Uhh, no offense, Cap,” he said, pulling back a bit. “But you’re truly terrible at singing.”
Steve shrugged, unbothered. “You say terrible, I say I got a laugh out of you, so that’s another win for Captain America.”
Tony snorted and rolled his eyes, but it was a little less sad this time. “Whatever you say, Steve.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, ducking his head a little. “Uh, thanks for that.”
“Steve shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for. Now, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“Oh. You don’t have to… I’ll be okay.” He gave Steve a wry smile. “For real this time.”
“Tony… I know you might not remember this right now, but you really are one of my best friends. I’m not asking because I think I have to, or because I’m Captain America and it’s what I do. I’m asking because I love you, and I care about you, and I’m here for you. I want to help if I can, or just sit here and listen if I can’t.”
“Um. Okay.” Tony fiddled with his hands a moment before flopping back into one of the arm chairs and running a hand through his hair, leaving it even more unruly than usual. “You better be cool about this, Rogers. If you storm out of here in an offended 1940s huff, you’ll break my heart.”
Steve gave him a look as he dragged another armchair over, positioning it he could sit opposite Tony. “Right. Because I’m known for definitely being a stickler for those 1940s sensibilities,” Steve told him with a crooked grin. He reached out, patting Tony on the knee. “Come on. You can tell me.”
“Okay.” Tony bit his lip. “It’s just… I love Rhodey. I mean, obviously I love him, everyone know that. But I’m in love with him. Like the get married, and buy a house, have lots of babies in love… Or adopt them, I guess. I’m just…” He trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “I’m in love with him.”
Steve grinned then, but it was soft and reassuring. “Tony… I know.”
“You do?”
“You’ve been in love with Rhodey for as long as I’ve known you. We’ve talked about it ad nauseum.” He laughed, not unkindly. “I can’t tell you how many times you’ve told me how wonderful he is, all the things you’ve done together, how much you care him… How hot he is in his dress uniform, which personally I don't get. It’s an air force uniform.” He shook his head. “You used to tell me that how so much of what you’ve done was to make yourself the kind of man who would be worthy of a man like Rhodey. I’m pretty sure that being in love with Rhodes is just a part of who you are now. It’s not news.”
“Oh.” Tony smiled faintly, but this didn’t seem to make him feel any better. There was a shimmer in his eyes again. “That’s… great.”
Steve tilted his head, frowning. “Okay, what am I missing?”
Tony gave him a pained look. “I did a stupid thing, Steve. We were looking at the pictures, and I had these albums that were all just Rhodey, and he didn’t even flinch at him, and I don’t even know why now, but I thought…” His voice trailed off to a whisper, so soft that if it wasn’t for the serum, Steve wasn’t sure if he would even have heard him. “I thought we were married.”
Steve felt his heart break at the raw pain on his face. “Oh, Tony.”
“I know, okay? I know. It was so fucking stupid, like why did I jump to married, we don’t even have rings, I don’t know why I said it, I should have just kept my stupid mouth shut. Dad always did tell me I talked too much. But the point is…” He made a choked noise. “The point is, he doesn’t love me back. And future me might be okay with it, but right now it really sucks knowing for a fact that you’re never going to get that happy ending that you don’t admit to daydreaming about. And, and it’s worse. Because for just a minute, I thought I had it. I thought I had everything I could have wanted, and then it was all just yanked away again and…” His voice cracked. “And that really fucking sucks,” he concluded. “Not to mention, I’m pretty sure I just ruined five years -- or thirty years -- of friendship in the process.”
“Hey, hey no.” Steve shook his head rapidly. “Tony, it may not be the way you want, but Rhodey loves you. He’d throw every single one of us under the bus if it meant helping you. I know it feels awkward now, but no way has this ruined your friendship. You’ll get through this.”
Tony huffed out a bitter laugh, face tight as he met Steve’s gaze. “I may be an idiot, but I know Rhodey. I can tell when my best friend is avoiding me.”
And there wasn’t really anything Steve could add to that to that, nothing he could offer except to sit in companionable silence with Tony, until he looked up at him with a sad, tentative smile.
“Don’t suppose you wanna watch a movie with me tonight?”
Steve gave him the most reassuring smile he could manage. “Of course, Tony. Any time.”
***
It had only been a couple days, but it felt like an entire week before Steve came to him. Rhodey hadn’t missed the way Steve and Tony had been spending more and more time together, had been trying to press down the overwhelming jealousy every time he spotted them together. He wasn’t being fair, and he knew it. Tony didn’t trust him now, couldn’t trust him right now, that wasn’t his fault. Rhodey should have been glad that he had someone in his corner, he just… Wished it didn’t have to be Steve.
Not that there were a lot of other options at the moment. The entire team had been pretty scarce lately, probably sensing the tension even if they didn’t know exactly what was going on. Clint had made it a habit to glare at Rhodey every time he passed, because Hawkeye had realized Tony was avoiding him, and apparently Clint was the only one who was allowed to be a shithead to Tony. It was exhausting.
He’d been in the kitchen, making a snack, when Steve had stormed in. Rhodey would never admit it, especially not to Rogers, but for just a moment he’d felt genuine terror. But he hid it well, turning back to the sandwich he was making. “Captain. What can I do for you?”
Steve didn’t answer at first, moving to lean against the counter beside him. “You need to go talk to Tony,” he told him.
Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. “Steve…”
“No,” Steve told him firmly. “Rhodes, he’s a mess. I’m trying, but you’re the friend he wants. Talk to him.”
Rhodey felt guilt twist through his stomach, tangled up with the same thrum of fear he’d been fighting off since the whole marriage exchange had happened. “You sure he’ll talk to me?” he asked skeptically, the words slipping out without his consent.
Steve made a pained noise. “You two deserve each other,” he muttered before promptly stealing Rhodey’s sandwich right off the plate in front of him. “Go. Talk to him,” he repeated before taking an enormous bite and walking right out of the kitchen.
Rhodey sighed. “Worst. Team. Ever.”
***
He found Tony, surprise of surprises, in the lab. At least, he reasoned, he hadn’t ruined that for him.
He still had full access, apparently, the doors opening for him automatically, but Tony didn’t look up and so Rhodey hovered inside the doorway, tapping his knuckles against the frame. “Tones?”
“I know it’s you. JARVIS told me.” Tony flicked his eyes at him for a split second, but Rhodey couldn’t help noticing that his expression was less angry and more sad and nervous.
“I, uh…” Rhodey didn’t know where to start or what to say. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we haven’t seen much of each other the past few days.”
Tony looked up again, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I know I freaked you out, and of course you wouldn’t want to be married to me. I’m really, really sorry. I promise, I’ll get over these feelings. It’s just a crush, probably… Maybe… Well, Steve said--.” He cut himself suddenly, skin flushing. “Well, anyway. I mean we’re, we’re still friends thirty years later, right? And you don’t know how future me feels, so I must have gotten over it, or at least used to it, or adjusted at some point, right? I promise, I won’t make it weird, just… You’re my best friend. Please don’t go.”
Rhodey blinked, across the room and beside Tony before he was even conscious of the movement. Tony had dropped his eyes back to the table in front of him, but Rhodey caught him by the upper arms, pulling him away so they were facing each other. “Whoa, whoa, hey. First of all, I’m not going anywhere, Tones. Not ever. Second of all. What??”
Tony gave him a pained look. “Come on, Rhodey. I know you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Because… I thought… Tony, you thought we were married. And I… That’s on me. The truth is.” He drew in a long breath, ignoring the pang in his stomach at the thought of confessing. “The truth is, I’ve had feelings for you for a long time. Like three decades worth of a long time. And obviously I was doing a shit-ass job of hiding them, so I just… I just thought you might want some space.”
Tony was staring at him, face unreadable. “What?” Then he shook his head frantically. “No, no, no! Rhodey, are you kidding? I’ve been crushing on you for so long. Since… Well, since we met, really. I walked into the dorm room and you were wearing this old, thin t-shirt and it was so tight around your biceps and I kinda melted a little, and I…” He winced a little, coughing to clear his throat. “Well anyway, that’s kind of too much information, but the point is… The point is, I’m into you too. And then, when I saw the photos, and the videos, and there were all the other little things. You kept touching me, and looking at me, and you said that being gay was accepted now, and I guess I just… I wanted it to be true so I totally misread the situation.”
He ran out of steam then, going quiet as he stared at Rhodey, and for a minute Rhodey just stared back, feeling a little like he might pass out. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Oh, shit.”
Tony smiled at him, soft and tentative. “You… you like me too?” he asked, hopeful and nervous like Rhodey hadn’t just said as much.
Rhodey grinned, feeling like he was buzzing with happiness. “Tony, I am completely and absolutely in love with you,” he told him, watching as the biggest grin bloomed across Tony’s face in response.
“I, um…” He ducked his head a little. “I’m a little in love with you too.”
Rhodey arched an eyebrow at him. “Just a little?”
Tony rolled his eyes at him. “Shut up.”
“Come on, man. Get on my level.”
Tony snorted, the sound turning into a full-on laugh. “Your level?” he replied. “We just confessed our undying love and you haven’t even kissed me yet.”
“Oh, really?” Rhodey focused all his attention on Tony, watching as his tongue darted out to swipe over his lip a little nervously. “That what you’re waiting for?”
Tony shrugged, trying to play cool. “Maybe,” he offered, like it was no big deal, but his fingers were fiddling anxiously. Rhodey shrugged.
“Alright then.” He moved forward, covering Tony's hands with his his to still their nervous twitching. Then he shifted one hand to curl around the back of his neck, stroking his thumb over his skin. Tony stared up at him with those big, beautiful eyes, lips parted slightly in anticipation, and Rhodey grinned at him before closing the distance between them and kissing him gently. Tony almost immediately melted against him, hands shifting to grab at Rhodey’s hips, clutching them tight as his lips parted and Rhodey deepened the kiss. He slid his hand down Tony’s back, pulling him in close, and grinned at the startled, pleased noise Tony made against his mouth.
They were both breathing hard when he pulled back again, curling his other hand around his neck so he could stroke his thumbs over his pulse points. “That good, baby?”
Tony blinked at him a couple times. “Holy shit,” he breathed, eyes round and huge. “That was… Holy shit.”
Rhodey smirked at him. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t remember kissing.”
Tony gave him a mock glare. “Of course I remember kissing! But it was never like... That. Jesus Rhodes, where’d you learn to kiss like that?”
Rhodey couldn’t help laughing, shaking his head and ducking his head to give Tony another quick kiss. “Practice,” he told him, waggling his eyebrow.
“Yeah? Wanna go upstairs and practice some more?”
“Smooth, man.” Rhodey laughed harder, not wanting to admit how much Tony’s terrible line delighted him. He hummed consideringly, and then yelped when Tony pinched his side. “Come on, like I’m going to turn down making out with you.”
Tony beamed at him. “And then, maybe, you could… Stay? Even if we don’t do anything. I Just… I missed you the last couple days.”
Rhodey slid his arms down over Tony’s back, pulling him in and hugging him tight. “I like the sound of that.”
***
They ended up stretched out on Tony’s massive bed, stripped down to boxers and t-shirts. Tony was sprawled out on top of him, making contented little noises against Rhodey’s mouth as they made out lazily for what felt like hours. Rhodey was particularly fond of this angle, as it let him drop his hand down to Tony’s ass and squeeze whenever he felt like it. The little giggle that Tony had made the first time was Rhodey’s new favourite sound.
“Hey,” Tony pulled back, blinking at Rhodey with sleepy eyes. “You know what we should do?”
Rhodey hummed, running his hands over Tony’s back. “What’s that?”
“You should take my virginity.”
Rhodey burst out laughing, tipping them onto their sides. He shook his head, beaming at Tony. “Okay, I know for a fact that you’re not a virgin, even at your memory age, or whatever.”
Tony gave him a scandalized look, but he was laughing now too. “Not for butt stuff!” he insisted. “I’ve never done that!”
Rhodey laughed harder. “Okay. The fact that you just called it butt stuff? Means we’re not fucking doing it tonight. Or at all, until you get your memories back.”
Tony giggled, pushing at Rhodey until he shifted onto his back, letting Tony snuggle up against his side. “Fine,” he sighed, not sounding particularly upset. “What about blow jobs? We’ll split the difference! I’ve gotten them before, but I’ve never given them before… We can 69!”
Rhodey snorted, wrapping his arms around Tony. “You’re hopeless,” he informed him. He traced long fingers up and down his spine. “Also, no. It’s just… I get that you might be fully onboard--,”
“I fully, absolutely am,” Tony informed him, biting at his chest through his t-shirt just to be a shit.
“But that doesn’t mean that you’ll feel the same way when you get your memories back.”
Tony lifted his head to give him a skeptical look. “Well, I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”
“Probably not. At least I hope not. But we won’t know for sure until you get them back. I don’t know, Tones. It’s a weird situation. I’m just not totally comfortable with it.”
Tony hummed. “That’s fair,” he acknowledged. “Although, I do feel obliged to point out that you did just spend the last hour making out with me.”
Rhodey shrugged. “Hey man, I’m only human.”
Tony giggled again, settling in closer. “Hey, you’re gonna stay though, right?” he asked, a little bit of nervous energy sliding into his voice again. “Here, I mean? Tonight?”
Rhodey hummed, pressing his face into the soft curls on the top of Tony’s head. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
***
Rhodey woke up the next morning to bright laughter beside him. He rolled over to find Tony sprawled out on his back, laughing up at the ceiling. “What the fuck are you giggling at?”
Tony turned to grin at him, and oh. “Tones?” he asked, because that face was all his Tony. Well, every Tony was his Tony, but it was now Tony.
Tony smirked at him. “Hey handsome. Guess who got their memories back.” Then he was shifting forward, kissing Rhodey with all his extra years of experience. “God, your morning breath is terrible,” he informed him, still grinning.
“Yours isn’t exactly candy floss,” Rhodey replied automatically, setting Tony off laughing again. “Okay, laughing at the man you just kissed isn’t a great start.”
“It’s not that!” Tony said quickly, sliding a hand up under Rhodey’s t-shirt to splay his hand out over his abdomen. “It’s just... “ He snorted. “The spell. It’s so fucking stupid, but the key to getting my memories back? True love’s kiss.” He buried his face in Rhodey’s chest, body shaking with laughter. “We’re such cliches, baby.”
Rhodey grinned, running his fingers through Tony’s hair. “I wouldn’t expect you to be so pleased by that idea.”
Tony lifted his head to give him a dopey grin, shrugging a little. “I don’t know. Nothing in my life has exactly been what you’d call normal. If it means you’re my one true love, absolutely, I kind of like the idea of being a cliche.”
Rhodey felt his face go soft and soppy. “You’re the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, earning him an eye roll even as a pleased smile crossed Tony’s lips.
“Shut up,” he muttered, before wriggling his way down Rhodey’s body. “Now, about those blow jobs you promised me…”
@tonystarkbingo
#tonystarkbingo2020#tsb2020#ironhusbands#tony stark#james rhodes#steve rogers#memory loss#canon divergence#fluff#hurt/comfort#fic#my fic
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about Robbe moving Sander into the flatshare but not telling the others and doing it so casually that it is not until Sander has lived there for 3ish weeks that the others call him on it. // Could u write something where Robbe comes out to Zoe and Senne and they’re really supportive? // Can you write a prompt about Robbe finding out Sander has been living on the streets of having homophobic parents? // Omg you have to do a part 3!!! // Could you write something where Robbe and Sander confront each other and have a serious conversation about everything that happened (something really emotional) And Robbe confront Sander about the kiss with Britt
Part 2
--
Robbe is so nervous, constantly checking his phone while the others keep talking about things he doesn’t care about. Everything changed when he found out about Sander’s home situation. It was like traveling back in time, when he used to fight with his dad over the smallest things. Robbe knows too well what’s like to feel unwelcome in your own home.
It’s definitely too soon, but Robbe can’t let Sander stay with his parents when he knows how homophobic his dad is. Robbe met his mom at the hospital and she seems nice, but if she still decides to choose her husband’s side after everything she saw her son go through, Robbe doesn’t care about her.
The best option was to find a place for Sander to stay, but he can’t count on his friends. They don’t know everything yet and Robbe is not sure how they’ll react. The only option he has is his own place. Sander will move in with him until he can find somewhere else to stay, but Robbe doesn’t want to tell Zoe and Milan about it just yet, he made his decision and just texted Sander, telling him to pack his things and come meet him, he’ll deal with the others later.
“Hi.”
“Hi...sorry to ruin your night,” Sander says when they meet outside the bar. There’s no big suitcase, Sander just has a big backpack hanging on his shoulder, holding the strap tightly, looking so ashamed, staring at Robbe. It’s so weird between them, but it’s slowly getting better. They’ve been texting ever since Robbe went to visit Sander at the hospital.
“It’s okay, I was waiting for you.” He looks behind him where his friends are still drinking, Jens is looking at him, but he just seems curious, drinking his beer. “Come on, I’ll go with you.”
They walk in silence to the flat, Robbe checked the group chat and everyone is out of the house tonight. He opens the door and lets Sander in, pointing to his door like Sander has never been there before. But last time was a little different, they were making out while stumbling inside his bedroom, so Sander might not remember which door is the right one.
His bedroom is not completely organized, but it’s definitely better than any other day. He didn’t have much time to organize before Sander came, but at least they can see the floor. Sander stops right at the end of his bed, looking around like he’s somewhere new.
“I, hm, cleaned my closet a little so you can put your things there. It’s easier to hide that you’re...living here.” Sander smiles and nods his head, looking at Robbe, slowly putting his bag on the bed.
“Thank you for helping me. I hope Zoe doesn’t find me here.” Robbe tries to control his heart. Sander is feeling better, it’s clear, he’s finally looking like the Sander that Robbe thought he knew and fell in love.
“She won’t, don’t worry. I put an extra door lock so nobody can come in without knocking now.” Sander looks at the door to check the new locker and he nods his head again.
“Guess I’ll have to create some different schedules to not...run into anyone.”
“Yeah...”
“Can I smoke here?” Sander walks to the window, looking out, keeping the small smile on his lips. Robbe is thankful to have a moment to recover. Sander keeps looking at him and his brain doesn’t know how to function.
“I read that’s not good for you to smoke, so...”
Shit!
Sander turns around right away, putting his hands inside his pockets, looking at Robbe again.
“So you’ve been doing your research...” He leans against the wall behind him, smiling bigger as he sees Robbe trying to come up with an excuse.
“I was just worried, I didn’t know what being bipolar meant and I was curious. But I guess you can if you want to.” Robbe turns around, taking his jacket off, hanging on the door, breathing slowly, trying not to think about how weird it’ll be to live with Sander when they’re not together.
“I’ll try not to. Just because you think it’s bad for me. And where will I sleep?” They both look at Robbe’s bed. It’s not big, but it can easily fit two people, they took a nap in it just a month ago.
“You can sleep in my bed, there’s enough space for the two of us.”
“No.” Robbe’s head instantly snaps up, trying to think of a plan B. “I can’t sleep with you if we’re not together.” Sander smiles and Robbe is relieved, he thought Sander didn’t want to be near him.
“Sander...”
“You said we were going to talk and then you never met me and now we’re here.”
He’s not lying. Robbe said they would talk, but he didn’t really mean it. He just needed Sander to not think about them while he was in the hospital recovering. But then they slowly started talking again and Robbe can’t control how he feels. He made big mistakes too and Sander forgave him. Robbe would be lying to himself if he didn’t accept that he misses Sander, that he doesn’t think about the few days of pure perfection they had.
Robbe watches as Sander fixes his hair and walks closer.
Sander gently holds the hem of his shirt, pulling Robbe closer. The air thickens instantly just by having Sander so close. He rests his forehead against Robbe’s, looking at him and Robbe has to look down.
"Why did you do it? Posed with her on instagram..." He had this conversation so many times inside his head, Robbe just never thought they would have the opportunity to actually talk about it. He can see Sander’s chest moving as he takes a deep breath in.
“I wanted to break your heart. To hurt you enough to keep you away from me. Because, as you can see, I have no fucking self-control so if I didn’t do it, you would keep coming back and I would hurt you again and again. You were in shock that night, Robbe, so you probably don’t remember as much as I do, you didn’t see how hurt you were.”
Robbe looks up, knowing well they’re way too close and Sander kisses him right away just like Robbe knew he would do, Robbe just needed to forget about that night. It’s just a quick touch of lips and Robbe steps away, biting the inside of his lip, turning on his feet to keep Sander from seeing his smile, but the other one is not as worried. He laughs and it’s almost contagious.
-
Every wall is wet, Robbe just took a second shower, but he’s so hot. He’s trying to dry himself as quickly as he can to get out of this tiny and warm bathroom, but Sander pulls him closer again, hugging him from behind, leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way to Robbe’s ear.
It’s been almost two weeks since they got together. Living under the same roof is proving to be so hard. Harder than Robbe imagined. They haven’t been able to keep their hands to themselves for long.
And Sander is a smartass. His “schedules” were made to perfection. When Robbe and Zoe leave for school, Milan gets in the shower while Senne is asleep. The perfect time for Sander to sneak out to go to his classes. Around five he comes back home, Robbe is always on his bedroom, Milan is cooking and Zoe and Senne are locked inside their bedroom.
When everyone is already in bed, Sander goes to take his shower. Some times Robbe already fell asleep, but most of the nights, Sander takes Robbe with him to the bathroom. Usually, it’s a quick shower because Robbe is already half asleep, but other nights they end up taking way too long to get out of the bathroom, having to take two showers to clean themselves.
Tonight was one of those nights. When Sander gets near his ear, Robbe holds his towel tighter around his waist or else Sander will pull it again and drag him back to the shower.
“I like the sounds you make,” Sander whispers, smiling against his cheek, looking at Robbe through the blurry mirror.
“Shut up.” Robbe is very aware of his own sounds, but he can’t help it. Kissing Sander feels too good.
He manages to escape Sander’s tight hug, unlocking the door to check if they’re alone.
“Hello!” Zoe scares him almost to death. Her hair is all messy and her lips are swollen, her pajamas don’t leave much to the imagination and Robbe wonders if that’s what Milan was talking about when he moved in. She seems as surprised as Robbe is, but she looks over his shoulder and he knows what she finds. “Hi...Sander.”
“Hi, Zoe...” Senne comes out of their room, still putting his briefs back in place and he stops when he finally looks up to see everyone right at his door. His hair is also messy and Robbe can see some marks on his sides.
“I thought I would have to break this door to take both of you out of there tonight,” Senne says and he doesn’t look surprised, he doesn’t even stare at them like Zoe is still doing. He makes Robbe move to the side so he can get inside the bathroom too, throwing his towel over his shoulder as Robbe and Sander have no other option but to get out.
Robbe is still only wearing his towel and Sander is only wearing black underwear. He’s lost. It sounded like Senne knew about their late night showers. Robbe looks at Zoe and she fixed her hair already.
“I thought you just liked to take long showers...” She explains and Robbe can feel his entire body heating up, probably blushing all the way to his naked chest. Senne and Zoe know that his long showers were being shared...with Sander. And they don’t seem as surprised as Robbe thought they would be. They don’t even ask questions. Senne is acting like he knew it all along.
Senne comes out of the bathroom, holding Zoe’s hand, pulling her inside with him and he’s looking down, Robbe wants to disappear. Senne is probably staring at all the marks Robbe knows he has, a few hickeys and scratches...
“This brief is mine.” Robbe looks at Sander right next to him and his boyfriend is looking down, but the other two are gone. Senne closed the bathroom door.
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Gala Blues
Summary: At a political gala, you’re ridiculed and objectified by some of Duncan’s colleagues. A fight ensues between you and Duncan, continuing to a standoff that can only end in one way.
Word Count: 2777
Author’s Note: NSFW AHEAD! The story will be placed under a cut. This is my first Duncan Shepherd fic, so let me know what you think.
You’re sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of champagne and talking with a freshman Congresswoman whose campaign you followed for a while, when a hand wraps around your waist.
“Come here, there’s some people I want you to meet.” Duncan whispers into your ear. You don’t even have time to be shocked when he maneuvers you away from the conversation. Shooting Alexandria a shocked look, she rolls her eyes and mouths something that looks like ‘asshole.’
“You do realize that I was talking to someone, right? Alexandria was telling me about the support her bill proposal is getting.” You frown when you look up at him and see that he’s not even paying attention to you, eyes focused on a group ahead of him.
You huff, letting him tug you along through the crowd. You didn’t even want to come to this political function that the Shepherd Foundation was co-sponsoring; you had briefs to look over, and you’d much rather be on your couch in sweatpants with a glass of wine instead of wearing an uncomfortable pair of heels and a dress that makes you look completely out of place.
“Duncan.” You hiss. He looks down at you, and the disinterest on his face has you mildly fuming.
“Not now, (Y/N).” You reach a group of (old, white) prominent male lobbyists who immediately leer at you.
“Mr. Shepherd!” One of the men greets, clasping Duncan’s hand tightly. “How’s the app development coming along?” You attempt to make yourself smaller by standing behind Duncan, trying anything to get the gazes of these random men off of you.
“We’re getting there. We had to jump through a few hoops with copyright and things like that, but we’re hoping for a launch date of later this year.”
“Are you not going to introduce us to the lovely lady next to you, Duncan?” Another man asks, his eyes raking over your barely-visible cleavage. Duncan, who apparently forgot that he had dragged you over here, grabs your hand and yanks you to his side.
“This, gentlemen,” Duncan smirks at the men. “is (Y/N), my date.” You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the way he says ‘date,’ like you haven’t been dating for almost a year.
“(Y/N).” One of the men says slowly, letting your name roll off of his tongue. In this moment, you’ve never felt sicker at the use of your name. “Now tell me, Duncan, where’d you manage to find one like this in D.C.?”
“She’s a lawyer.” Duncan says conspiratorially, causing the group to let out whistles and chuckles.
“Well, well, well! That must, uh, come in handy.” He’s talking about the Shepherd Foundation’s less-than-legal dealings, as if you had something to do with the embezzlement charges getting dropped before you even met Duncan.
“Actually, I’m one of Maryland’s top prosecutors.” You stick up for yourself, since Duncan obviously won’t. They all laugh, taking your statement as some sort of a joke.
“Y’know, I’ve had a few lawyers in my time. Tell me Duncan,” The man who tried your name out like an ill-fitting sweater says. “does your arm-candy’s spunk in the courtroom extend to the bedroom?” Your mouth falls open as the group chortles, and your face burns when Duncan slyly winks before taking a sip of his bourbon. You yank yourself out of his grasp a little rougher than necessary.
“You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen.” You sneer, downing the rest of your champagne before walking towards the nearest exit. You don’t even look back to see Duncan’s expression, knowing from the jeers that they’re all choosing to stare at your ass and congratulate your boyfriend on his ‘find.’ The disgust at this rampant sexism sends goosebumps up and down your spine, and you fight the hot tears that attempt to spill the entire way to the outdoor patio.
The car ride through downtown D.C. is silent for a while, with you sitting as far away from Duncan as possible.
“Can we talk?” He finally speaks, and you’re momentarily pleased that he’s taking the initiative to apologize.
“You have the floor.” You say quietly, still looking out the window at the lights passing by.
“What the hell was that that you pulled back at the gala?” It takes a moment for your brain to process his question, having expected him to say how sorry he was. You don’t have time to even speak before he’s talking again. “I bring you to meet my colleagues, some of the most influential men in this city, and you decide that’s the proper time to get snarky with me?”
“Excuse me?” You turn your head slowly, not wanting to say something you’ll regret. “Oh, did I embarrass you?”
He nods as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you know what they said to me after you ripped away and glared at them?”
“Probably nothing because they were too busy staring at my ass.” You fire back, taking pride in how his jaw clenches. “Or were they congratulating you on landing a fine date for tonight’s event, just another in a long list of Duncan Shepherd’s call girls?”
You know it’s a low blow, since he’s been entirely committed to you since you first began dating, but his buddies don’t seem to know that he’s in a long-term relationship.
“But you were my date tonight! I brought you with me!” He argues.
“It’s not about that!” You quickly lower your voice, noticing Duncan’s driver glimpsing in the rearview mirror. “How many fucking times have you seen those jerks over the past year? And this is the first time you’re deciding to mention me, when you can finally show me off to them as some sort of symbol to your success?”
“You’re more than that to me, you know that.”
“But to everybody else, I’m just a notch in your belt?” The car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment, and you’re out before Duncan can even reach for you. You’re thankful that you shed your heels in the car, allowing you up the steps quicker than it would have been had you been teetering on those shoes. You don’t look behind you, furiously smashing the button on the elevator in an attempt to get it closed, but when Duncan’s foot stops the doors from closing, you know you’re screwed.
“You don’t just leave like that.” He hisses, backing you against the wall. You briefly notice that he still took the time to grab your shoes and bag, which would make you grateful if you weren’t so pissed at him.
“You don’t get to order me around like that.” You’re in his face, and you can smell the intoxicating scent of liquor and his cologne lingering on him.
“I’m sorry for calling you a date. That was wrong, and next time I’ll refer to you as my girlfriend.” He holds his arms out, as if this is some grand compromise that he’s so kind to offer you. You scoff, leaning your head back against the wall.
“You’re so fucking dense, Duncan.” The doors ding for your floor, and you shove past him to get out.
“What, then? What else could I have possibly done wrong for you to be this pissed at me?” He yells, making you really hope that the neighbors are all out. You shake your head in disbelief, quickly unlocking the door so you don’t make a scene in the middle of the hallway. The door slams behind him and you whip around to look at him.
“Hey, what is wrong with you?” He grabs your chin in his hand, forcing you to make eye contact.
“I’m not your little trophy wife, Duncan!” The air is thick with tension as you both take deep, shuddering breaths.
“What?” Duncan asks quietly.
“I am not some side piece you get to parade around for the good ol’ boys to ogle at and congratulate you for. If you wanted one of those, you should have fucked one of the Republican senators’ daughters your mom always tried to set you up with!” You scream, snatching Duncan’s hand so he no longer has your face in his control. Duncan’s face goes white with shock, and you smirk at leaving the cocky man speechless.
You try to move past him to get to the door, determined to go somewhere that’s not here, when Duncan grips both of your arms. You let out a yell of surprise and attempt to wiggle out of his grasp.
“Let me go!” You start slapping at his chest, trying to get him to release you, but he just pulls you tighter. You glare at him, trying to get him to react. You’re looking for a fight right now, and the fact that he won’t give in is just adding to your anger. “Do something, huh?”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, studying you for a moment, before his hand tangles into your hair.
“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” He moans out, using the hand in your hair to pull you towards him in a searing kiss. Your hands still as you let out a noise of shock, not sure what to make of the turn this fight has taken. You find yourself eagerly kissing back, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling Duncan closer to you.
He grabs at your knee, ripping a hole in your pantyhose as he yanks your leg around his hip. You don’t even make it to the bedroom, Duncan settling you against the arm of the couch. You bite at his bottom lip roughly, making him groan in a mix of pleasure and pain. His hands fumble with the zipper on your dress, making you yelp when a strand of hair gets caught in the zipper.
You shed Duncan of his jacket and make quick work of unbuttoning the shirt underneath while he throws your bra across the room. When he reaches your legs, he chooses to just rip the pantyhose off of you, causing you to wince at the snap they make against your body.
“God dammit Duncan, why’d you have to ruin them?” Your sentence ends in a whine when he presses his clothed erection against your core, back arching against the couch.
“I’ll buy you more. I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe if that’s what it takes.” You know he doesn’t just mean to replace the destroyed article of clothing. He’s managed to shed his trousers now, not wasting any time before he presses into you.
The rhythm is hard and fast, Duncan choosing to take his anger out on you through sex. Your teeth clack against his almost painfully as you try to find some sort of dominance in this game, moaning loudly when he adjusts you so he can hit deeper.
“God, I really hate you right now!” You groan out, your nails raking along his back as his stubble creates a sensual burn on your neck.
“Your mouth says one thing but your body says another.” He quips with a cheeky smile, reaching between you to reach your clit. You yank at his hair, causing him to let out a low moan while you grin in triumph.
Duncan’s fucking into you so hard that the couch is starting to move with each thrust, the only resistance being the rug underneath it. Even with the rough actions from both of you, you want more, need more, so you grab his hand and move it to your throat. He smirks at you, but obliges nevertheless, laying pressure on your throat he he kisses you again.
“You’re so perfect, I love you so much.” He mutters against your mouth when you clench around him. You wrap both legs around him, pulling him closer in an attempt to match his thrusts. Duncan’s hands fall to your waist as his thrusts lose their rhythm the closer he gets. Even though this is heated, hateful sex, he still makes sure you finish first. When you yell out his name, clenching almost painfully around him, he moans against your neck as he stills.
You’re both breathing heavily, chests heaving from the exertion, when Duncan slides you both to the floor before rolling off of you. When he goes to stroke your face he stops abruptly.
“Why are you crying?” He asks softly.
“I’m not?” You say, shocked when Duncan wipes away tears you didn’t know were falling.
“Shit, was the choking too much? Did I hurt you?” He pulls you into his arms, and you’re so spent that you let him.
“No, I’m just...I’m mad at you and I’m sad and I don’t even know why I started crying.” You ramble, choking up even more. “This’ll be a good story to tell your friends, that you fucked your date so good that she started crying.” You laugh shakily, trying anything to get the attention off of the waterworks you’re suddenly displaying. Duncan’s breath hitches as he looks at you.
“Shit.” He says, the figurative light bulb clicking on. “I don’t-I would never about our personal life to those guys, I want you to know that.”
“Duncan, you stood with them laughing as they belittled me and made me out to be some sort of whore.” He blanches, remembering the encounter.
“Oh fuck, oh my God, I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” There’s no stopping the tears now as he holds you to his chest, whispering his apologies in your ear.
“I’m a good lawyer.” You mutter to yourself, but Duncan hears anyways.
“You’re such a good lawyer, baby. They’re just stupid guys who didn’t know that the embezzlement charges were dropped a while ago.”
“I’ve-I’ve worked so hard all through college and law school to be taken seriously as a woman in this field, and I still get reduced to nothing more than the person standing next to Duncan Shepherd.” You’ve talked numerous times about your struggles with the rampant sexism you face in the working world. Duncan knows that he’s extremely privileged to be handed the keys to his own empire without having to lift a finger, while you had to work your ass off to even pay for school.
“You’re so much more than that, do you hear me? You are not just my girlfriend. That title is so far down the list of amazing things you are, it’s probably just a footnote on your long list of accomplishments.”
“Why did you let them talk to me like that?” You whimper, watching Duncan’s heart break as he stares at you.
“I’m so, so sorry baby. I promise that I’m gonna make this up to you.” He wraps you in a blanket that he grabs from the couch when he notices that you’re shivering. Standing up with you in his arms, he sets you down on the bed before going to grab a washcloth from the bathroom.
“I’m gonna make sure that their money doesn’t touch our app, we have funding from lots of other places. I’m replacing whatever it is I tore off of you out there-” You chuckle, wincing slightly when Duncan starts cleaning you with the cool cloth.
“You don’t have to, it was ju-” He cuts you off with a stern look.
“I will. And then we’re going to actually go out and celebrate when you win your trial next week. I’m not just going to send you expensive gifts and apologize that I’m working late.” The washcloth goes into the hamper as Duncan slides into bed next to you. “I’m going to make more of an effort to be the partner you deserve, and I’ll put the company’s money into that bill you were talking about with your friend.”
“I didn’t think you even knew what I was talking about.” You say.
“I ignored you, which was terrible of me. And every time I have to introduce you to people, you’ll be ‘(Y/N) (Y/L/N), the best lawyer I’ve ever met.’”
“And your girlfriend?” You tease, Duncan nodding and kissing you.
“And my girlfriend.” He laces his fingers with yours. “And hopefully then you’ll start to consider forgiving me?” You smile slightly, shaking your head.
“I love you, Dunc.”
“I love you too, so much. I really don’t deserve you.”
“I mean…” You trail off, laughing when Duncan affectionately tickles you before pulling you towards him so you can sleep. Although the living room looks like a minor warzone and there’s mascara tracked down your face, you’re able to sleep peacefully with Duncan by your side.
#duncan shepherd#Duncan Shepherd imagine#Duncan Shepherd x reader#Duncan Shepherd smut#smut#hoc#house of cards#michael langdon#michael langdon imagine
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Adam in Burn This (6/12)
I saw Burn This again on June 12th and HOO BOY, for this show I’ve got nothing but flail! I think I’ve already worked through most of my critical analyst urges already, so this is gonna be just pure, chaotic Adam fangirling. :’)
The man was robbed of his Tony. Pale is this character who I would absolutely hate on the page or in abstract. But then Adam, the utter jerk, barges and flails his way on stage and makes Pale so human and compelling and just absolutely riveting to watch that hating him becomes physically impossible. I mentioned before how the play functions to make the audience Anna’s proxy (down towards the end of the second section here), and never has that been truer than last night. I literally was Anna, okay. I was repelled and intimidated and scandalized by Pale’s uncontrollable, massive presence; his encroaching, searing physicality; his unpretentious, guileless anger and passions and frenetic creative energy.
One second, you’re watching this massive brickhouse tumble into crying, sniffling pieces so vulnerable and wrecked it could tear your heart out. The next he’s cracking a joke, flirting, cussing, and every single swing is so bracingly authentic that you’re literally pulled to the edge of your seat, unsure if in attraction or revulsion. Either way, you’re along for the wild ride with him every step of the way, feeling the same conflicted and unwilling compulsion towards him Anna is. Pale doesn’t just unwittingly seduce Anna; Adam absorbs every single audience member’s attention like a black hole and before you know it the audience is caring for him even before they have any hope of deciding whether they even like him. (Evidenced by the collective gasp of fear that rises from the audience when Pale, drunk, climbs outside onto a fire escape.) To call him magnetic, electric, a revelation to watch – They’re all woefully inadequate descriptions. He’s a literal inferno, blazing even when he’s silent.
So even though I have yet to reach a personal resolution on whether I accept Pale from an ethical perspective, I am nevertheless complete trash for him because Adam really leaves me no choice in the matter. Damn him. <3
Last night I sat in the upper balcony for the first time, but my friend brought binoculars we passed back and forth (lol, yes really) and I actually saw so many new, detailed nuances to Adam’s acting. I’ll go through the moments that really stood out – though it’s honestly hard to pick because he really is that Extra during the entire damn play.
Act 1
When he puts his leg up on the couch to show Anna how “fucked up” his pants are, then kind of realizes he’s standing there with his leg all weird up on the couch, asking her to look at his pants… Then just smoothly lifts his leg over the table before he lowers it, then makes the coyest face ever at her while he does this slow, deliberate twirl with the most shit-eating look on his face. The audience dies, then he cracks “I coulda been the dancer,” and the audience falls apart again.
The way you can feel his momentum and buzzing energy begin to darken, right before he breaks down completely. When he stops pacing around for the first time and his voice changes, going soft as the guilt and sorrow creeps up on him in the form of physical pain he feels driving straight through his heart. And it’s alarming, when he goes still for the first time.
I swear I’ve never seen him cry so much as last night. Once he broke down, the sniffling was constant, with these utterly, completely broken sounds mixed in whenever he tried to talk.
“Nah, this ain’t me…” “I’m trying to picture him here.”
And he keeps aggressively pushing his hair back while he’s crying, as if he can force the tears away with brute force.
OKAY so watching their first kissing scene through a pair of binoculars was like being personally undressed and ravished, holy god. A bomb could have gone off in the theater and he wouldn’t have looked away from her, he had such consuming focus. When he slides close to her, the first thing he does is slowly lift a hand to touch her hair, his eyes darting between where his fingers brush the strands and her face, gauging her reaction. And then when he leans in so slowly for the kiss, watching her first before his attention shifts to her mouth, and the kiss is slow and deep and….
Yeah I felt things.
From up in the balcony.
Adam’s kissing sex appeal is literally so flaming strong, I felt that heat from the damn balcony. I dare you to show me another man with such raw, intense sex appeal. Go on, I’ll wait. He asks her, “You okay?” when he pulls back, and she says in a sort of daze, “I’m fine.”
….Girl, I feel it too.
AHEM ANYWAY MOVING ON.
And then in the next scene, as if totally oblivious that he’s a literal tornado of sex, he just sweeps out the door with an over-the-shoulder “Alright I’m outta here” and it’s so blasé and masterfully hilarious.
Act 2
When he’s laying on the couch alone, half-asleep, and starts vaguely waving his arm in an attempt to remove invisible blankets. Then, without a single word, he reduces the entire audience to hysterics when he spends a solid two minutes pulling at the collar of his coat in a completely futile effort to take it off. That’s the level acting we’re dealing with here. He’s one-hand fighting his own coat and trying so damn hard and it’s the most entertaining thing of your entire year like WHAT EVEN.
God alsdfjsdlakjf okay when he comes out in the kimono robe and it’s open at first, for like 30 blissful seconds that massive, toned chest is out there to see above those tight black briefs and it is SO MUCH I blacked out and couldn’t even process the sight the first time I saw the play. …. Then he closes the robe, carefully ties it, fights with the sleeves because they clearly aren’t built for massive fuckin arms like his, and in an instant he’s the softest being I’ve ever seen and I’m confused as hell as to how I’m aroused and ‘omg bb’ adoring at the same time??? I think I need therapy? Or Adam needs to stop being massive and sexy but also awkward and soft at the same time, for the sake of my sanity?
I fail to imagine an image that will make my life more than giant Adam in this tiny bright purple silk kimono that barely reaches his thighs, bare foot, tying a dish towel around a pot of tea he just made like a tea cozy, then oh so carefully carrying the tea pot over to the table with his one arm still out of the sleeve and this look of intense focus on his face. I was overwhelmed and could not even begin to name the feels.
Let’s make it even WORSE shall we? When he hands Anna a cup of tea, kisses her forehead twice, says “That tea’s no good for a bad stomach. You want some milk?” then strokes her hair back, then asks “You want some eggs?”
GOD PALE GET OUT WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT
(^ We are all Anna)
The part where he sneakily picks up the phone to eavesdrop on Anna and Burton’s phone conversation, and stays completely silent for a long minute before hilariously bursting out, “YA GOT SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, BRUCE?!” And then AND THEN Anna angrily storms out of the bedroom and the bastard hides his face behind the empty robe sleeve and bats his eyelashes at her and bends at the knees in this cutesy little sorority girl squat and IM….?! “Real cute,” Anna says, trying real hard to be unimpressed, while the audience is in an uproar and everyone’s desperately trying to process all these newfound perplexing Adam Driver feels (WELCOME TO HELL, BITCHES. IT DOESN’T GET BETTER)
Okay okay there are SO many juicy bits during the exchange when Anna’s explaining she wants things to end between them. I was watching through the binoculars and when Anna says, “We’re apples and oranges.” He immediately gets this hella adorable smirk when he goes, “Oh yeah? Who’s the apple and who’s the orange?” Then the smirk grows when he’s all “Ever had an apple tart glazed with marmalade?” And then he’s just grinning because he’s so damn proud of how clever he is and he’s still in the FUCKIN purple kimono and he is ridiculous, I’d hate it if he didn’t own me body and soul.
Then it gets BETTER when he says, “You told me you ain’t been with no one else since you was with me a month ago. Me either. I figure one more time and we’ll have ourselves a hat trick.” And oh my GOD the shit eating grin! He looks at Larry, just grinning like a 5 year old and Larry gives him this hysterical disapproving, unamused shake of his head, but Pale just looks back at Anna full-on sunshine smiling and I’m like WHY ARE U MY PERSONAL BABY
(PS: JJ – That is what we need to see on Ben Solo’s face in TROS. You better deliver!)
He says some of my favorite dialogue here – The bit about “people walking down the street don’t mean a thing they’re doing.” He grows somber here, and this is a portion of the play’s call to its characters to strive for both emotional and artistic authenticity no matter what the price.
And then the scene gets heavy…. He stands up, disappears to get partially dressed, comes out, they start arguing, he’s still determined to make her see what’s clearly between them… And then she drops the definitive bomb over everything: “I don’t like you and I’m frightened of you.”
I watched his face through the binoculars while she delivered the blows, and it was literally like seeing a candle snuffed out. His expression melted like ice – Resolute and hard and determined one moment, and the next moment her words rush over and visibly crush him as the certainty melts from his face and leaves him empty and shell-shocked. Three seconds of silence when nothing moves but the set of his mouth and the light and strength in his face, but you’ve seen a grown man utterly crushed.
Ah, the last scene. In the first performance it was devastatingly, beautifully heartbreaking. In later performances it was humorous even while tragically inevitable. Either way, it’s brilliantly written and exquisitely acted. (Though as I’ve expressed before, I do prefer the more serious, helplessly sad versions.) I’ve never seen the two of them clutch each other as desperately and heart-rendering tenderly as they did in this performance. She fell into him on the couch, and he cradled her entire body to himself – Reaching a hand down to her thigh to pull her across his lap so his arms could engulf her entirely. They rocked together, and she clutched his arms still tighter to herself, and he kissed all over her hair while they made sounds near tears. And then Pale does break open a bit with something approaching a sob, before he curses and objects “I’m gonna cry all over your hair.”
But he only holds her tighter, as if they’ve both lost all conscious control over their bodies at this point, in the face of the all-powerful compulsion drawing them into each other’s orbits. The ending of this performance was absolutely stunning, leaving you with a myriad of unraveled emotions that are at once painfully incomplete and ill-defined, and yet just as bitingly complex and untamable as the most compelling moments of reality.
Over all, it’s nothing short of incredible to see how Adam continuously succeeds in upping his game throughout the course of the play’s run. He already brought the house down at the very first preview, and yet he manages to find new twists and interpretations to embody each and every time. What struck me this time is how boldly natural he’s become in the role – The way he leans into the accent like he’s really spent his entire damn life using the hard edges of the pronunciation like verbal brass knuckles. Adam has gotten to the point where just a single emphasized vowel sound brings the audience to hysterics:
“I heard that mollaaases you were pourin’ over maaam. Needed a shot o’ insulin.”
“Good niiiight, sleep tiiiiight.”
“Drinkin’ and thinkin’, man. Worse than drinkin’ and drivin’.”
“Fuckin’ hate Christmas. Look out… ribbons.”
“Get outta here; You’re useless!”
“Lemon will kill yaaa!”
“That was me and youuu up there.”
He has mastered how to pitch his voice for perfect, killer comedic effect. What’s more is how effortless he makes it seem; How utterly guileless. How he can swing from ugly crying to casual insensitive quip in the span of a minute, and make it just seem like the routine (if highly irregular) over-active synapses of a guy on coke. Even just his body language, the way he paces around the apartment in Act 1, completely out of sorts and out of his depth, like he’s never seen a coat rack or a stove before; A physical embodiment of his discomfiture with the emotions that don’t feel like they belong within him. His presence is imposing and even threatening, and yet his body language is alert and defensive, sometimes even self-flagellate. He embodies so many idiosyncrasies and tensions, it’s easy to see why his emotions burst from him in such tidal, chaotic floods.
I’m so thankful to have tickets to the final performance next month! I shudder to think of the feels I will drown in over how absolutely legend-level powerful Adam’s performance will be at that point. What a talent. What a man.
I’d be overjoyed to receive any and all questions/thoughts about the play! :) Thanks for reading!
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Making room for someone new (chapter 3)
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Day three of @marigami-week! I’m really enjoying participating so far, and I love reading the other submissions
Kagami wasted no more time with her reflection, instead climbing up through the skylight and onto Marinette’s roof, closing the trapdoor behind her. From this height, she could see the whole mess laid out below her, and why Tikki wouldn’t have wanted her to try and get the earrings to Marinette.
The entire street was destroyed, with cars tilted on their sides, craters punched into the ground, and ugly wounds in the surrounding buildings. The bakery itself had been violently gouged out, with broken pieces of its interior spread out over the sidewalk; it was a wonder that all she had felt was violent shaking, when the building itself may have collapsed under the force of the akuma’s fury.
Although he area was populated with some other people, they seemed to be bent on destroying as much as possible. When Kagami looked closer, she could see that their eyes were an eerie, glowing white. It was clear that these people were under the akuma’s control, but not why the akuma was so hellbent on needless destruction.
A clink of metal hit the roof behind her, and she turned around in time to watch Chat dropping gracefully to Marinette’s roof. It was almost amusing to watch his face as it changed from exaggeratedly loving to confused to hostile as he realized that she was not Ladybug.
“Who are you?” he demanded, and Kagami could almost imagine the fur on the back of his neck bristling in indignation.
“Ladybug is unable to come to this fight; I came in her stead.”
“My Lady has never missed a fight. You’re lying to me! What kind of akuma are you?” He seemed ready to leap at her at a moment’s notice, muscles bunched in anticipation and tail twitching quietly.
She was sure that the whole scene was meant to be intimidating to her, but in reality it had quite the opposite effect. If he couldn’t even summon the critical thinking required that she was holding the real miraculous, he wasn’t quite clever enough to be a threat. For one, if she were a fake that could wield illusions, trying to imitate the miraculous without just committing and making herself Ladybug would be quite silly of her, as it would draw unnecessary attention from the public and other holders. For another, any attempt to claim having a fake ladybug miraculous would fall to pieces the moment Ladybug herself came on the scene, making the whole charade too short lived to be any good.
And if she did manage to get the real ladybug out of the way to pull of this fake – then there would be no reason to fake, would there? She would have the real jewelry.
Instead of making a long-winded argument to the hissing cat-boy in front of her, she decided to go with the obvious: “there is already an akuma about, and no sign of Scarlet Moth. I am going to go try and take down that akuma. Please feel free to join me when you get over your little fit.”
She jumped off to the neighboring roof, then again, then again, letting him yowl with fury behind her. Presumably it would be faster to travel using the yo-yo, but she did not trust her own skill with the weapon well enough to attempt it.
She could see the monster in the distance, coming closer: it was a bulky monstrosity, with the shape of the body vaguely reminiscent of a gorilla, with the broad, muscled shoulders hunched to allow strong arms to reach the ground as assistance in running. The creature itself was white, with a collage of what seemed to be shattered bits of porcelain covring its skin, acting s decoration and armor in one.
Broken porcelain, yelling downstairs, Chloé; Kagami was willing to bet that the poor man had some dish he was using broken by a raging Chloé while he was downstairs in the bakery. He seemed to be intent on destroying as much of the city as he could, and convincing others to do the same. Just as she thought that, the monster reached up to grab a shard of porcelain from one shoulder, and launched it at a man who was trying to run away from the commotion. Rather than it slicing into his skin as Kagami expected, it instead seemed to liquify and absorb into him. After a moment of unnatural stillness, he lifted his head and ran at the nearby mailbox, smashing into it with more strength than it seemed he should have.
The akuma did seem to be destroying the street and controlling more people as he went, but to Kagami it almost looked like he was chasing something: he was moving in a direct path toward a bobbing shape in front of him and tossing porcelain every so often that always seemed to just barely miss.
She jumped closer to the action and felt her heart stop for a moment at what she saw.
That was Marinette down there, bobbing and weaving and dodging the akuma! Her every action seemed only to drive it further into a rage, and it was only a matter of time before it caught her.
Kagami pushed off, ready to leap in and pull Marinette to safety – and hopefully somewhere far enough away from prying eyes that she could pass the ladybug miraculous back to its rightful holder – when a hand clutching her forearm stoped her, janking back against her momentum and pinning her in place. She turned back to see Chat Noir, fire in his eyes and a snarl on his mouth. That idiot was grabbing her arm, preventing her from reaching Marinette; he better have a very good reason for leaving Marinette in danger a second longer than necessary.
To her anger, he did not. “You can’t run off like that! I’m the real hero here, so you better follow my direction, or else stay out of the way!”
Kagami was so sick of this stuck-up kitty and his disregard for the literal monster raging behind her. She was sure that at any other moment, she might be willing to think through the issue and debate more rationally; after all, it was true that he was the hero with experience here, and had no particular reason to trust her.
But right now, every part of her brain was focused on the fact that Marinette was in danger, the akuma is after Marinette and she could do nothing to help as long as Chat Noir kept her pinned here.
Without even stopping to think, she pulled to the surface the piece of herself that Mother had trained rigorously in self-defense since she was a child. She twisted the arm that he was grabbing, pulling back and breaking herself free, while the heel of her other palm jabbed into his chest. Chat dropped, winded, as she turned and rushed toward the akuma.
Perhaps some part of her, later, would regret attacking one of the heroes of Paris while she was the interloper on his usual duties, but for now she was wholly focused on her mission.
She ran parallel to Marinette’s path, catching up to her and the monster on rooftop. Once she was close enough, she pulled the yo-yo from her hip. Please, she thought, please. Kagami released the spotted toy at the ledge of a nearby tall tower, feeling it wrap around and lock tight. She swung through, grabbing Marinette who froze with a small eep as she was pulled to the side.
Another misfired piece of porcelain shattered where they had been just moments before, and the akuma turned to follow them.
Kagami looked down at the startled girl pressed to her side, and pulled t he yo-yo back to her hip. Once her other hand was free, she slipped it under Marinette’s legs to lift her in a bridle cary, cradling her friend close as she jumped back on to the rooftops. “Don’t worry, Marinette. I swear I will protect you,” she promised to the girl in her arms.
Marinette stared up at her with wide eyes as she bounded over rooftops, leaving the akuma behind them. Kagami looked back one last time, noting Chat Noir trying to catch up but struggling to find them. She chose a quiet side ally and dropped them in, slowly letting down Marinette’s feet once they were safely on the ground and sheltered in the shadow of a tall brick wall.
Marinette just stared at her blankly, locked in place. “...Kagami?”
“Spots off.” The bright light washed down over her, and the god of creation poured back out into reality. For a brief moment, the feeling of mortality, humanity, weakness seeping back into her bones caused a craving for the rush of being transformed again. But she knew that the miraculous did not belong to her, and she could never begrudge its real owner that power in the name of her own selfishness.
Marinette still seemed too shocked to function, so Kagami reached up to take the earrings out of her own ears. She pressed them into the palm of her hand for just a moment, savoring the feel of power thrumming between her fingertips. She took Marinette’s hand and pressed the earrings into them. “I am sorry for using these without your permission, Marinette, but I had to keep you safe.”
That sentence seemed to snap Marinette out of her daze. Kagami would be pleased with that fact, except that it seemed to launch the girl into a spiral of panic instead, turning her somehow even paler and causing her to shake slightly. Kagami instinctively put a hand on her shoulder, whether to calm her or try to slow the shaking she didn’t know.
“You were Ladybug. So you used the earrings which means you know Tikki – and you gave the earrings to me, you wouldn’t do that unless you knew I was Ladybug – and you must have found the earrings in my room I’m such an idiot someone will know my identity -”
“Marinette.” Kagami put as much strength into her eyes as possible, staring into Marinette’s to make her point as clear as she could. “The akuma can wait a few minutes. We need to talk.”
@jessigurl-design
#marigami#kagaminette#miraculous ladybug#kagami tsuguri#marinette dupain cheng#making room for someone new#MADwriting#ml#mlb
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