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alexa-crowe · 3 years

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Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

#txf #fanfiction #msr #mine #wahhhh!!!!!#i love: them #i had so much fun writing this ksdjhfkjs like an inordinate amount

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hazzabeeforlou · 6 years

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WIP snippet: H’s sweet 16

“I swear, this thing is a heart attack on a plate,” Gemma muttered, flinging the finishing touches of chopped chocolate onto the Bavarian Torte.

By some miracle Gemma had agreed to come home for his birthday, and Harry would take her, sardonic comments and all. He smiled as he reached for the napkins.

“You do not have to partake, Gemma,” Anne huffed, raising one eyebrow

“More for me,” Robin teased from over at the table, where he’d been attaching blue balloons to the backs of the dining room chairs.

“If fact,” Anne said, turning to Harry, “Even without your sister’s help, the cake might disappear fast tonight. Louis has a large family.” Anne said it with a taunting twinkle in her eye.

“I don’t mind.” Harry hid a sheepish smile behind the package of paper plates he’d started unpacking.

As he and Louis were attached at the hip most days, no one had batted an eye when Harry asked if they could have the Tomlinson’s over to celebrate. Their parents got along splendidly and the girls absolutely worshiped Gemma, so it seemed only logical.

The doorbell rang, and Harry raced to answer it, his socked feet skidding between the rugs.

“THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!”

As he swung the door open Louis blew a loud party kazoo right in his face, the shiny, curly end of it thwaking Harry’s nose.

“Happy sweet sixteen, Harold!” Louis yelled, springing on him in a giant bear hug, his whole being luminous with excitement.

“Thanks, Lou.” Harry smiled so big his dimples felt like trenches in his skin.

“And look who I brought to celebrate! Thing one, thing two, thing three, AND thing four!” Louis ushered his sisters into the house, Lottie and Fizzy shooting him exasperated looks as they passed Harry.

“Hello dear, happy birthday,” Jay said warmly, embracing Harry as her and Mark slipped their shoes off and put them by the door next to the girls’.

As Louis made to follow Harry into the dining room, Jay caught his arm.

“Louis, your shoes,” she reminded, pointing to his sneakers.

“Mom,” Louis moaned, returning grudgingly. Though it was the dead of winter he’d forgotten socks. Again.

“S’okay Lou, I promise I won’t smell your feet,” Harry said helpfully, grinning at Jay as Louis mock fumed.

“You’re both the worst, see if I come to any more birthdays, just see,” Louis mumbled, toeing off his shoes and walking gingerly towards the kitchen in his bare feet.

“This is from Mark and I, Harry. We hope you like it.”

Harry took the bag from them, nodding his thanks. “I’m sure I will, Mrs. Tomlinson.”

They gathered around the table for food and festivities. Gemma had prepared popcorn, chips and salsa, and a stellar platter of cheese and crackers to complement Anne’s taco dinner. Everyone soon became engrossed in board games, save the twins, who wandered in and out of the dining room, easily bored. They tried playing Pit first, but Fizzy found it difficult to reach the spoons, so they switched to Uno, and later to monopoly.

Time flew by. Harry laughed until his stomach hurt when Jay snatched Park Place, thwarting Louis’ elaborate and well-voiced plans of real-estate domination. Louis proceeded to dramatically pout like the world had ended. Harry giggled secretly behind his hand when Louis’ pawn landed in jail for the hundredth time and instead of hollering complaints he stuck one of the discarded Pit spoons on his nose, balancing it there until the twins started squealing with glee and trying to jostle if off.

Sometime after dark Jay and Anne disappeared into the kitchen. Gemma stood and flipped off the lights, and soon only the incoming glow of candles illuminated the streamers twisting down from the dining room chandelier.

“Happy birthday to you…”

Robin started off the singing as Anne rounded the corner carrying Harry’s cake, bedecked with sixteen striped candles. Harry had difficulty picking out individual voices due to the twins’ yowling, but Louis’ voice cut through. It floated to his ears silkily, like melted caramel, yet sharply distinct. It had a tone like the clear peal of a bell amidst a storm. He latched onto it and locked eyes with Louis, who smiled back as his cheekbones caught the candlelight.

Harry should have been looking at the cake before him, not at his best friend. But he didn’t much care.

“Make a wish, Harry!” Daisy called out as the chorus ended.

“Okay.” Harry cracked his knuckles and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the flickering wicks against his face. A wish came to him, half formed and inarticulate: he wanted this always. He wanted these people, these families, and Louis around him always. He wished that Louis would always be his best friend.

The ache swelled against his ribcage.

Quickly, he opened his eyes and blew out the candles, banishing the discomfort from his mind. Everyone clapped and cheered, but Harry looked only at Louis, meeting his eyes as Gemma flipped the lights back on, seeing in them blue, pupil-huge mirrors of his own.

Anne sliced the torte and gave Harry and Louis the biggest pieces, much to Robin’s protest. Everyone enthusiastically complemented Anne’s signature back, the twins liking it so much they fought over who had the biggest chunk of cream-cheese-and-chocolate-flake icing.

Harry ate his cake slowly, savoring it. Louis had no experience with the word ‘savor.’ He devoured his quickly, enjoying it far too much, seeming to slip into a personal ecstasy. Harry watched as he forked bites to his pink lips and closed them over the creamy icing, the flakes of chocolate melting into the edges of his mouth, lining it like makeup. His jaw worked slowly, smoothly, making angles Harry imagined were sharp to the touch. When he’d finished, Louis ran his fingers over the remnants of icing on his plate, popping them in his mouth and pulling them back out clean and damp and slightly red.

“Hairball, earth to hairball,” Gemma waved a hand in front of his face.

“W-what?” Harry stuttered, blinking at Gemma dazedly.

“I said, want me to get the presents now?”

“Oh. Oh sure,” Harry smiled at her, hoping Gemma couldn’t see how his cheeks had warmed.

His presents were small, nothing extravagant. Harry opened his parents’ first, a small package wrapped with shooting star paper. They’d gotten him a soft-knit shirt adorned with a penguin. Harry loved it.

Next he opened Gemma’s, an encyclopedia of C.S. Lewis quotes she’d found at the second-hand store on campus. The girls had also gotten Harry a gift. He unwrapped a shiny new board game to their excited shrieks.

Harry opened Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson’s next, a gift card to Barnes and Noble. He thanked them enthusiastically, realizing, with a clenching gut, that only Louis’ gift remained.

He opened the card first, smiling at the goofy picture of two dogs gobbling birthday cake. He read Louis’ small handwriting to himself.

Happy sweet sixteen to my very best friend!!!! Hope you had a wonderful day, Harold. You deserve it. My gift’s pretty lame, but I hope you like it. Open the bag but don’t open the thing on the bottom until we’re alone. The girls would tease me forever. –Lou

Harry bit his lip. He set the card down quickly and fished into the bag, pulling out a Packer’s jersey.

“No way,” he said, his mouth hanging open in shock. Harry had always wanted a Favre jersey, a no. 4, but they were too expensive back when Favre was quarterback.

“Where on earth did you find this?” Harry asked, clutching the shirt to his chest.

“Oh, I got lucky at a thrift store,” Louis smiled brightly.

“I should say so, let me see that,” Robin motioned for the jersey and Harry obliged. It got passed around the table to much fuss, Jay even asking when on earth Louis had the time to poke around in thrift stores.

Harry met Louis’ eyes as the shirt came back to him and nodded just slightly at the bag. Louis blinked twice.

“Mommy can we play the new game?” Daisy asked, fidgeting around in her seat.

“Maybe you kids can just play, honey, I think the adults are going to sit in comfy chairs in the living room,” Anne replied for Jay, getting up and clearing the dessert plates.

Gemma broke away with the parents, though instead of joining in whatever adult conversation they started, she curled up in the armchair on her phone. Lottie and Fizzy were un-boxing the new game with Harry’s blessing, trying to explain the rules to the twins. Harry listened half-heartedly, curiosity gnawing away at his stomach. Louis caught his drift.

“Harry, think I could borrow some socks?”

Harry frowned at him. “Sure, Lou. Go ahead.”

“Where are they, exactly?”

“In my room,” Harry blinked at him. “Oh.” He stood up so abruptly his chair nearly toppled over. “I’ll get them for you, come on.”

Louis smirked triumphantly, stealthily tucking the bag behind his back as they hurried from the dining room and up the stairs.

They tumbled into his bedroom and plopped down on the rug.

“Go ahead,” Louis said, eagerly presenting his gift yet again.

Harry felt around inside until he grasped a hunk of thick paper. He pulled it out and stared at the little booklet of construction paper, the spine held together with staples, the cover a pasted picture of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. In thick, markered letters across the top it read, “Best Friends Book.”

Harry dimpled terribly and side-eyed Louis in wonder. “Did you make me a book?”

Louis fiddled with his hands, nervously chewing his lip. “Maybe. Open it.”

Harry did. Inside were pages and pages of inside jokes and quotes, clipped magazine pictures movies they’d watched, and attempted illustrations of all the various activities they’d done together. It looked adorable overall, and spectacular in detail, every page inked over with Louis’ writing, which he’d been neater about than normal. Harry flipped through it, his grin growing with each new page.

When he got three quarters of the way, he found blank pages. Louis coughed delicately into his hand.

“Er, that’s for, you know. More.”

Harry swallowed down whatever had lodged in his throat. He folded the book closed and pressed it to his chest.

“I love it, Lou. It’s the best present ever.”

“It’s so girly, isn’t it,” Louis muttered, a smile playing about his lips though he continued to stare at the carpet and fiddle his hands.

“I think it’s awesome,” Harry stated, scooting closer to Louis and throwing his arms around him, drawing him into a hug.

Harry tipped them slightly off balance with his gangly limbs, though, and instead they toppled over, their arms twined together messily.

“Oops,” Harry said apologetically.

“Hi.” Louis had landed on top, pinning Harry to the floor. “I’ve heard you’re ticklish. Some people outgrow such things, though, so we need to test you again, this being your birthday and all.”

Harry had only a moment to squawk out a protest and try to cover his belly before Louis attacked him, his lithe fingers hitting just the right places, making Harry squirm and yelp and twist and laugh under Louis until his sides hurt and his eyes were streaming.

“Uncle unlce uncle!!” Harry screamed, trying desperately to get his legs up to Louis’ torso so he could push him away, but Louis knew that trick too well.

“What’s that you said? Buckle? Chuckle?”

Louis was merciless. Harry thought he might wet himself.

“Uncle!” Harry cried, his fingers trying to reciprocate the tickling, but to no effect.

“I think I’ve gone suddenly deaf, must be all the yelling in here,” Louis giggled, bearing down hard right above Harry’s tender hips.

“Louuuuuuu I’m gonna pee my pants stooooooop,” Harry moaned, his muscles jerking in twenty different directions.

The tickling ceased. Louis didn’t move, though, just hovered above him, his face flushed and close enough Harry could smell his cake-sweet breath.

“Alright, birthday boy, I’ll relent just this once. But only because it’s your birthday.”

Harry tried to recover some ounce of his stability, panting. “That’s noble, Lou. Gold star for you.”

“Eh, I try. I have a reputation to maintain and all.”

“I know.” Harry smiled up at him, his eyes maybe falling for too long on Louis’ thick eyelashes as they batted like sleepy caterpillars each time he blinked.

“Harry,” Louis started.

“Ya?”

Louis looked down at him a moment, a strange light coming to his eyes.

Nevermind.” Louis pushed up from him and stood. “We’d better get back down, make sure the girls haven’t caused any disasters.”

Harry wanted to press, wanted to ask further, but Louis had already launched into the hallway, his smelly, bare feet trumping down the stairs.

Before he followed, Harry tucked the book under his pillow securely, replacing Azzy on top with the admonition, “Make sure you guard it, okay?”

The stuffed animal made no answer, but Harry smiled anyways. He grabbed a pair of sock on his way out.

#I bribed myself with posting to make me edit more lol #It's now up to 82k... yikes what have I done??#Anyways have Harry's 16th party scene whilst I am sat a home alone on a friday night eating squash and drinking tea #the official working title is Promise in the Sky #my fics

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builder051 · 7 years

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Okay but... can you imagine how sick Peter would be if he ate a bunch of left over Halloween candy thinking it'd be fine in the morning cause of his metabolism but then Tony called and he had to swing around the city for a while? He'd probably manage to keep it down until he got to the tower and then he'd dizzily stumble towards the bathroom but end up loosing it in the hallway on Tony's shoes since Tony was concerned about him and grabbed Peter's shoulder to spin him around or something...

Thank you so much for this! It’s possibly the most excellent prompt ever! And you @wiseinnerwhispers, you make the world go ‘round with all the support and love you give.

So here you go. I think I messed up the details a little bit, and I don’t even want to talk about the timeline. But this does take place right after my last Spiderman fic, No sympathy.

___

Peter wakes and immediately looks at the clock. It’s 6:59. His alarm will be blaring in a minute. He blearily reaches out to turn of the device before it can startbeeping at him. May’s given himpermission to miss school if he still feels as sick as he did yesterday, but asPeter lifts his head, there’s no echoing throb. It’s a relief.

He slides out of bed and heads to the bathroom to wash hisface and brush his teeth, stepping a little harder than he normally would justto test his luck. The resultantvibrations die out around his shins and leave his head alone, and the taste oftoothpaste doesn’t turn his stomach, so Peter decides he’s ok.

He kicks it into high gear and goes back to his bedroom todress and pack up his backpack. Petergrabs his suit from the back of his desk chair where he’d thrown it last night,shakes it, and gives it an experimental sniff. It’s a little sweaty, but the god-awful scent of homeless man’s potsmoke has dissipated. He wads up thespandex fabric and tucks it into the bottom of his backpack.

Peter barrels through the kitchen, almost knocking AuntMay’s orange juice to the floor as he throws pop tarts into the toaster andlooks for something to toss in his bag for lunch.

“Feeling better this morning?” May asks, looking up from thenewspaper.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, still scanning the pantry. “I don’t know what hit me, but I’m finenow.” He spies a half-finished bag ofcandy corn and a handful of fun-size Milky Ways, and Peter sweeps them into hisbackpack.

“Maybe just had to clear your system,” May suggests. Then, “Are you taking all my candy?”

“Um.” Peter hastensto put a few of the chocolates back.

“No, go ahead,” May says, smiling to show she was joking thefirst time. “You didn’t really get tocelebrate last night.”

“But, I mean, I could leave some.”

“Take it. Or I will eat it all, and I can’t afford newjeans,” May jokes. “I’d give a lot tohave that teenaged boy metabolism.”

“Hm,” Peter muses, feeling a little guilty that his growinghunger lately has forced an increase in the grocery budget. He forgoes dropping cheese crackers into hisbackpack as well.

The toaster spits out the pop tarts, and Peter takes one ineach hand, clamped between his thumbs and index fingers so the steaming pastrieswon’t burn him. “See ya, May,” Petercalls, transferring one pop tart to his mouth as he lets himself out the frontdoor.

“See ya,” May echoes.

Peter wolfs down his breakfast as he dashes to school. He hadn’t realized the hunger gnawing at thecorners of his stomach, but now that he thinks about it, he didn’t have much ofa dinner last night, and most of it ended up splatted on a street corner and inthe toilet. It makes the pop tarts tasteextra good, like the food of the gods. Which, who knows? Maybe they are.

His morning classes pass quickly, and Peter does his best tofocus on algebra and chemistry and history even though his mind is on otherthings. He didn’t do that great of a jobof patrolling the neighborhood last night, and he forgot to call Mr. Stark andleave a message. A mission report. If Mr. Stark asks about it, he’ll just tellthe truth and say he was sick, which is perfectly valid reason for an excusedabsence. But it still doesn’t seem likea great track record for a superhero.

During lunch, Peter hides out in the band room with Ned towork on the Lego death- star-in-progress. Ned has a treasure trove of Halloween booty to share, somehow includingthe diamonds of watermelon sour patch kids and multiple full-size chocolatebars. Peter adds his candy corn andmilky ways to the pile and chows down, ruefully wishing he’d made butteredtoast for breakfast. Or at leastsomething a little less sugary. It onlytakes a few pieces of candy to sear his tongue with sweetness and make his teethfeel grimy. But Peter’s hungry, and withhis current rate of calorie burn, it’ll only take a few rounds of the block inhis Spiderman suit to burn it all off.

The bell is ringing to signal the end of the lunch period,and Peter’s phone is vibrating up a storm in his pocket. Pretending he’s on his way to class, he ducksinto the bathroom to check the messages.

Mr. Stark: There’s athing. Can you assist?

Mr. Stark: Oh, you’re at school. Nevermind.

Mr. Stark: But really, can you assist?

Mr. Stark: Happy’s on a Starbucks run. Please provide own transportation.

Peter hastens to compose a reply.

Peter: Yeah! Ofcourse! I don’t have any tests today.

He considers deleting the exclamation points. Decides against it. Oh well.

Peter: To the tower,right? What do you need help with?

Mr. Stark: Yes. Excusethe boxes. We’re packing for the move.

Mr. Stark: How’s your knowledge of local gang hangouts?

Peter: Not fantastic?

Mr. Stark: Hm. Ok. Scans are showing up weirdweapons tech. Figured if it’s HYDRA,I’ll handle it. But if it’s justbullies, you can give it a try first. Ialso need you to model.

Peter: Always happy to slam some bullies. Model what?

Mr. Stark: Your suit. Duh. I’m working on a new microarmor layer, and I need you to put it on and tell me if it hurts when I hityou.

Peter: Ok…

Mr. Stark: Don’t just stand there like a dumb kid onyour phone. Get your ass down here.

Mr. Stark: I’m notswearing at you.

Peter wonders if he’s supposed to reply, but he just throwshis phone into his backpack and exits the bathroom. He glances up and down the hall a few timesto make sure there aren’t any teachers watching, then he dashes for thedoor.

Peter dumps his backpack in the alley and quickly pulls onhis Spiderman suit. Since he doesn’thave any cash for a cab and his metro card’s down to a few cents, webbinghimself across the city seems like the best option. He supposes he could park somewhere and waitfor Happy to finish up whatever he’s doing, but what fun is that? Peter usually gets a kick out of swingingaround. Plus, he doesn’t get theimpression Happy likes him that much.

Once he’s situated, Peter scales the brick wall and sprintsacross the building’s flat roof. Heshoots a web onto the corner of the building diagonally across the street andjumps, letting his feet skim the roofs of a few taxis on his way over theintersection.

With this quick method of transport, it’ll still take Petera good ten or fifteen minutes to get to the tower. He’s less than halfway through the journeywhen his stomach starts sloshing. Honestly, it’s not that unexpected what with all the junk he just ateand fact that he was sick yesterday. Butit’s annoying as anything.

Eight blocks from the tower, Peter’s head starts isaching. Not in the nice, polite,excuse-me-I-think-I’m-starting-to-get-a-headache way, but more in theplease-stop-I’m-hella-dizzy way. The waythat demands a change in activity or dire consequences.

Peter jumps onto a rooftop and sidesteps a skylight,doubling over with his hands on his knees so he can catch his breath. He’s fine. He tells himself he is five or six times and swallows a sweet, chocolatyburp, then leaps back into free fall before he can second guess himself. Once he shoots a web and starts to swing,though, the disgusting flip of his stomach starts up again in the worstcombination of overindulgence and motion sickness ever. Peter’s fucked and heknows it. He imagines he feels worsethan Steve Rogers did in that infamous story of Cap and the cotton candy andthe Cyclone on Coney Island.

He’s swallowing hard against rising gunk in his throat whenhe swings onto the block dominated by the Avengers Tower and, as it has beenfor the past few weeks, about a thousand U-Haul trucks. Peter doesn’t want to let his feet hit theground for fear that his body will take it as a cue to turn itself inside out,so he webs himself to the balcony on the 21st floor, the one wherehe knows Tony’s lab is located. Thesliding glass door is open slightly, and Peter shoves through it. He pulls his mask up over his nose and mouth,intent only on getting to the bathroom before the inevitable happens.

“Hey, where are you going?”

For once in his life, Peter ignores Mr. Stark’s question andkeeps hustling, though his pace is slowing significantly as the motion sendshis stomach into frantic convulsions. He’s sweating all over. He can’tfeel his face. He can’t feel his feet.

“Yo, kid.” A handcomes down on his shoulder and forcibly spins him around. “I’m talking to you, you know?”

“Ohshit—” Peter manages to choke out beforeeverything’s coming up, running through the fingers of the gloved hand he’spressed to his mouth a moment too late. He can’t suppress the next spastic retch, and a heavy splash ofminimally digested candy and pop tarts hits the floor, soiling his red bootsand Mr. Stark’s black Converse.

“What the fuck?” Tony leapsbackward, then seems to think better of his actions and comes up behind Peterto place a tentative hand on his shoulder and keep him from collapsing on hisshaky knees as his stomach continues to evacuate.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter chokes out as soon as he cantake a breath. “I didn’t mean—” He cuts off with another gag. “Sorry.”

“Um. It’s ok,” Tonysays, sounding like he’s out of his depth, fishing for the right words. “I’ll…call May to pick you up?”

“No, I…I can’t,” Peter breathes, scraping mucous and meltedchocolate off his tongue with his teeth. It seems rude to spit onto the floor, but there aren’t a lot of betteroptions.

“Yeah, right, you’re supposed to be at school…” Tony remindshimself. “Well, I have 23 guest rooms inthis place, so I guess it won’t be any trouble if you want to lie down for aminute.”

Peter tries to say thank you, but the words turn into a wetburp he struggles to keep from turning into a heave. “OhmygodI’msorry,” he exhales.

“You’re…gross,” Tony says. “But, come on.” He uses the handon Peter’s shoulder to steer him down the hall. “Good thing I haven’t packed the puke-cleaning robots yet.”

#mcu #marvel #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman #spider man: homecoming #spiderman homecoming #how many ffing ways can you spell spiderman #peter parker #tony stark #sickfic #fanfic #fanfiction #emeto #emetophilia #halloween

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the-grumpy-panda · 6 years

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That's Not A Snack Box...

THIS is a snack box! Oof. An extremely outdated and severely tired Crocodile Dundee joke? I'm sorry. So very sorry. But it's time for another snack box adventure. This time from Australia! Land of Brody Dalle! Land of Isla Fisher! Land of the Irukandji jellyfish! All beautiful and deadly in their own unique way. Thanks, Australia. This sugary, salty and unhealthy excursion is courtesy of Snack Crate. A bit pricier (although I did opt for the 'premium' box) than other boxes I've tried, but this box is quite hefty and fully loaded with a wide assortment, and for a few bucks more, they also offer a drink option, which I of course threw in as well. I want the whole experience. So as a (possibly) one time splurge, I feel alright with the price. For anyone not wanting to splurge big, there are a total of three box sizes to choose from. Of course, the lower the price, the less goodies you'll receive. Two day shipping is also already included in the price. Express shipping is also available if you simply can't wait two days. But I'll tell ya, I ordered my trial box on a Friday evening, and the very following Monday afternoon I had it in my hands. That's a hell of a fast turnaround, and I praise Snack Crate for that. The insides were wrapped in a pleasant and fun themed paper, also included was a sleeve of Australian based stickers (Fun! I'm not going to secretly decorate the desk of the girl I secretly like as if I were a ten year old...) and the always appreciated sturdy booklet with some fun Australia facts, information and a run down of all the treats included in the box. All it truly lacked was a hand written welcome and a picture from Rose Byrne to class it up a bit. Come on Australia, she just looks like a princess, put her to use! For ease and comfort, I'm just going to run down the treats in the order they appear in the booklet. So, put on some Colin Hay (an Australian transplant, but I'll allow it) music and settle in, we're off to a land of snacks atop the counter! -Violet Crumble! A crunchy honeycomb toffee center coated in milk chocolate. I was not expecting this to be as crunchy as it is. It bites as if it were frozen. Even with the density of the center, it melts nicely in your mouth. It's a very airy sort of nougat. For being as hard as it is, the airiness is still a perplexing note. This is a candy bar to study! It's also fortunately very tasty. A very smooth honey infused toffee flavor that is delicious and makes me wish more treats used this formula. A great way to start this box!

-Milo Snack! Crunchy cereal pieces mixed with chocolate powder and dipped in milk. Hmm. Cereal pieces is a vague description. Dipping in milk seems odd to me for some reason in a pre-packaged item. Can't specifically explain why. Let's open this oddity and see what we see. Upon opening I discover it looks like one of those ready to go milk and cereal bars available nowadays. This looks like Cocoa Krispies smooshed up and then yes, a layer on the bottom of whatever milk substance companies use to make sure milk congeals and sticks to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, this bar smells exactly like dried dog food, so my first, and very tiny, bite is taken with trepidation. Not a winner here. It tastes merely of very old and very stale Cocoa Puffs. -French Fries Original! Australia's original potato straw snack! Just a simple and classic salty potato chip flavor, but in straw form. These do have a pleasant crunch, though. -Tim Tam Original! Two chocolate cookie biscuits filled with chocolate cream and covered in chocolate. For all the chocoholics! The name Tim Tam seems familiar. Either I've had them before somewhere along the way, or they are so popular in Australia, knowledge of their existence has permeated out. Like Natalie Imbruglia. You know the name, but you can't remember when last you saw her and if you liked her music or not. Time to try it again. Ha. These deliver exactly what they promise. Chocolate on chocolate covered in chocolate. A nice cookie crunch that's not too hard, the middle is tasty and the covering chocolate is smooth, creamy and adds to the whole flavor. A good treat, but one that could also get old quickly. Eat in small doses. -Fantales! Smooth and velvety caramels, coated with milk chocolate. Quite dense. Be prepared to be gnawing on this little sucker for a couple of minutes. It's not great, but it's certainly not awful. Comparable to a Milk Dud I suppose, but with a higher chocolate component and better made. I'd eat one if offered, but not a caramel treat I'd actively seek out for myself. -Arnott's Shapes Pizza! Pizza flavored biscuits. Um, what exactly do pizzas in Australia look like? These crackers resemble coffins to me. Which is fine, I'm into it, but is this a general Australian pizza shape or am I just a rambling moron inadvertently insulting an entire country? I'm not really getting a "pizza" taste here. It's more like an oregano infused cracker. Not bad for what it is, but it's lacking something and doesn't deliver the promised flavor. Or maybe it does. Someone send over Karen Martini to make me an Australian pizza, please. Thanks. -Twisties Cheese! Apparently Australia's most popular snack. Corn and rice snack with cheese flavoring! Let's crack a bag! They look like Chee-Tos, but the taste is definitely different. This cheese coating seems a bit creamier or milkier and they're not as salty as Chee-Tos, which is a big bonus. All said and done, though, I like these but I don't love them.

-All the snacking has made me thirsty. Luckily I opted for the drink! Here comes Solo Original Lemon! A refreshing drink made with 5% crushed lemons! The can says so! And it absolutely shows in the flavor. This is not just another "lemon-lime" sugared up soda. Oh, no. This is like a very genuine and nicely home made lemonade with some carbonation thrown in. I dig it. It is refreshing and tasty. Back to the foods! -Chomp Caramel! A crispy wafer layered with caramel then coated with chocolate. I have nothing else to compare this to other than a Charleston Chew, but it is most assuredly not a Charleston Chew. It bears the same shape, the consistency is close, but the flavor of the Chomp is far superior and the addition of a thin wafer layer gives the Chomp bar a very nice and welcome crunch and added fun element. The caramel here is very smooth, and it eats easily, as opposed to a Charleston Chew trying to yank your fillings out. A solid winner, here.

-Allen's Pineapples! Pineapple shaped gummy candy! A bit more solid than gummy candies I'm used to, and the pineapple flavor is very subtle. Another not great but not bad candy. Pairs well with the Solo Lemon drink, though, for a weird sort of tropical taste trip. -Wagon Wheels! Marshmallow filling between two soft biscuits and dipped in chocolate. Sounds like a Moon Pie to me! Let's see if we'll notice any differences. It's certainly a lot thinner than a Moon Pie. The cookie, while soft, still has a bit of a welcome crunch to it, the chocolate is very chocolatey and what I didn't know at first was this Wagon Wheel also has a thin layer of jam within. It doesn't say what kind of jam, so it could be Vegemite jam. But since my American taste buds aren't heaving, it's safe to assume it's some sort of fruit jam. I like this a lot, and far better than the Moon Pies I'm used to, which admittedly I haven't eaten one in probably twenty years. Just not a fan. The Wagon Wheel also gets to be too much of a good thing. A mini Wagon Wheel would be a perfect serving size. -Milky Way! Yep, a Milky Way! But the Australian version is only filled with a light and sweet nougat. Which means it's a 3 Musketeers bar. Nice try Australia! I'm on to your ruse. You owe me one Abbie Cornish. -Iced Vovo! A biscuit topped with pink fondant, a strip of raspberry filling and sprinkled with coconut. These are a beautiful cookie. Ready made for presentations and for putting on airs. If you were fifteen and had no idea how to impress anyone, that is. And that's not a slam against the cookie... but it is still just a cookie. Taste wise, they are sadly just okay. I like the cookie part, I like the raspberry stripe, but the fondant and the coconut just don't work and those two items should never be paired together to begin with. But I'm going to place the majority of the blame on the fondant. A raspberry coconut cookie could have been lovely. Fondant is... it's just somehow not right. Ever. I know you know what I mean. How cake makers get away with using it so much is a mystery to me. -Chokito! A Milk chocolate bar filled with caramel and crispy rice. Or as the packaging proclaims... "Chewy Caramel Fudge! Crunchy Balls! & Loads Of Chocolate!" This doesn't quite work. It tastes like all the ingredients are quite cheap, and seems like a drunk babysitter just dumped leftover pieces from other treats into bowl and gave it to you to shut you up for a minute. This candy bar made me sad. -Cherry Ripe! A mix of cherry, coconut and dark chocolate! Australia's oldest candy bar! I would have been much better served by this were it bite size pieces instead of a whole bar. It's good, I enjoy it, but it has far too much coconut. The cherry notes are wonderful when they finally fight their way through the coconut. -Peppermint Crisp. Milk chocolate bar filled with thin cylinders of peppermint flavored toffee pieces. Those who know know I'm no fan or friend of mint, but I'll try this bar all the same. Nope. Nope Nope. Nope. It's like a candy cane covered in chocolate and the inside color is that of mouth wash. Nope Nope Nope. Don't want. -Caramello Koala! A chocolate bar filled with caramel. Pretty direct. And exactly what you'd expect. It's made by Cadbury, so it's safe to assume most of us have had a chocolate and caramel product by Cadbury at some point, or at least something strikingly similar. No muss or fuss here, it is what it claims to be and serves its purpose.

-Cheezels! Corn and rice rings with a zesty cheddar cheese sauce! Very similar in taste to Chee-Tos Paws but a bit crunchier. Not bad. Slightly too salty for me, all the same, though. -Cadbury Picnic! Crispy wafer with caramel, peanuts and raisins covered in chocolate. A very hard candy bar. Watch your teeth with these. Taste a lot like a frozen Baby Ruth bar somehow. It's alright, but it's hardness level wouldn't make me a repeat buyer.

-Golden Vines Anzac Biscuits! Just a big ol' honking cookie. Apparently these were sent to Australian soldiers in WW1 as a reminder of home. This might be one leftover from then. It's hard, it's dry, and it's only remotely sweet. Tastes like an oatmeal cookie that only used honey for sweetening. All that being said, I can honestly see the appeal to this cookie. Once I swallowed my initial bite and set it aside, the flavors really took hold and I want another bite. It's very large, though, so I imagine this one cookie will last a few days, if not a week. Which makes their part of soldier history make a lot more sense, as well. This seemingly bland and innocuous little cookie is the surprising little cookie that could. Thumbs up. -Wizz Fizz Sherbet! A sweet powder that fizzes in your mouth! Thanks Wizz Fizz. I am now coated in your powdery wares because opening this little pack was like opening a gag gift. Despite my efforts to prevent such a thing, the moment the package got the tiniest tear, its contents flew everywhere. So now I must appear to be a messy baker covered in powdered sugar, or some sort of coke fiend who knocked over his mirror. Including a tiny spoon in your packaging just the right size for a "sniff" isn't helping. Are you trying to be the "cool" "street cred" candy maker? Plus, your product doesn't fizz whatsoever in my mouth. It sat there, lumping up like a gob of remorse. This product sucks. I hate everything about it. -Last in line for this sojourn is Allen's Chico's! Cocoa flavored gummy candies! Gelatin and cocoa just do not mix. It's like uncooked brownie batter left atop your fridge for two weeks. Dang. Ended on a sad note. Just the way things go sometimes. Might be a good time to revisit the 1996 Australian bio-pic "Shine." Or perhaps 1978's "Patrick." Thanks again, Australia. Until next time, I am momentarily The Grumpy Koala. Koala's sleep up to twenty hours a day! Waking to eat, and "socialize." Now that's a life. Cheers, mates!

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