#‘’Someone as SMART as you should really be handling the taxes’’

[errata-ad-absurdum]

And guess what happens to historians, teachers and academics who dare to speak truth? Jesus Fucking Christ we really keep doing the same shit over and over again as a species don't we? Hey MAGA, I know you guys like conspiracy theories so I'll let you in on a secret that is actually both not a secret and also true. The real conspiracy is that Republicans, want you to have more kids than you can handle (controlling women,goodbye abortion and birth control it's coming believe it), while they pass economic policies that destroy the economy (tariffs, tax cuts for billionaires) and labor unions, so that you stay poor, and they take education away (see above) so that you don't know better. Because knowledge is power. Because when you know better you don't vote against yourself. Now knowing America's true history shouldn't make you feel ashamed or guilty. It should instead strengthen your resolve to live up to the words in our Declaration of Independence (here is the un magafied version. Authoritarians always rewrite their history also see above): "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." This is a mission statement for Americans. This is what Americans believe. This is what drives an American's actions. By the strategies mentioned above, Republicans hope to achieve a critical mass of what is euphemistically called "low information voters" to keep them in power forever. That's it. So MAGA I'm not saying this to be insulting. I'm saying this because we on the left, WANT TO LIBERATE YOU. De oppresso liber. To make a better future for not just ourselves but for you as well. Fuck the dems, the true left is the progressive left. Today's dems are republicans from the 80s kinda. We want economic justice for the hard-working people like you who make this country run. Don't you deserve that? You do all the work, why should billionaires get all the money? If all it takes to be a millionaire or billionaire is hard work, then why aren't you all millionaires or billionaires? You work fucking hard enough. Knowledge is a gift, a blessing, it is your power. And power only respects one thing, that one thing is...you guessed it, power. If you don't have power you're a tool. Like that old saying, "if you don't have a plan, you're part of someone else's plan". Oh one more thing before our economy goes to shit and your hard lives are going to get harder (and for that I am truly sorry because I also work for a living). Smart voters know that the people that a candidate needs to get into power, are not necessarily the people he needs to STAY in power. Very important to understand this. Remember to be excellent to each other, we Americans are going to need each other. Let's help one another through the times ahead. Best Wishes.

The Dismantling of the Department of Education

[ultimateloserboy]

thinking about the manipulation tactic that red guy used on warren. “I guess you dont want that restaurant style meal after all 🙄” like he totally has to do that with yellow and duck. ive spoken before about how red guy has the magical power to convince duck to say sorry or do things he doesnt want to do and its 1000% with manipulation like this.

i just imagine duck being stubborn and red guy being like “its such a shame that such a HANDSOME and GENIUS guy isnt GRACING us with his presence at the dinner table today.”

and duck, currently sulking across the kitchen and refusing to look at red guy, will get really flustered and start giggling and kicking his feet

and red guy will fake a sigh and turn to yellow and be like “its such a HORRIBLE day without the other one, isnt it? If only he’d come back to sit with us..”

and duck will start hopping over to the table and loudly announcing his return to dinner and how everyone is blessed to know him blah blah blah. and then hes in such a good mood and so flustered by red guys flattering he doesnt even realize when hes eventually agreed to wash the dishes, do the laundry, apologize to yellow and also file the guys taxes all at once

[ofc-vi-writes-too]

so all ive been able to think about is gotham for the past several days, and more specifically how gothamite culture has to be SO drastically different and jarring to literally anywhere else in the world. Like even other super cities like metropolis, or central city, or wherever else are at least KINDA normal. Like yea u have superman or wonderwoman or the flash but they dont really have to deal with the same level of bs as Gotham.

That being said here are a list of things that I think are extremely normal to Gotham, and other things that happen in thay horrible little city:

• the episode of Hot Ones with Brucie Wayne where no one thinks he’ll even be able to stand the 2nd or 3rd wing but he eats all of them with no reaction, and Sean Evans (or the in universe equivalent) just sits there like “wow no one has ever had literally no reaction before this is really crazy, and Bruce Wayne of all people?” Afterwards Bruce has second thoughts and realizes that maybe he should have played up his reaction to the spice a bit more. People Inside of Gotham are a little shocked because everytime he eats in public it is the most boring, bland, flavorless food imaginable. (he handled the spice so well because Batman is ready for all potential threats and forms of torture. Ridiculous levels of spice included)

• Gotham schools offer courses in self defense. In some school districts its actually mandatory, thats usually in old gotham or downtown gotham. In more affluent areas, self defense is still taught in schools, but most kids are sent to some ritzy trainer to make sure they can defend themselves.

• No one even blinks when theres a new vigilante by the time Damian comes around. Theres still a little buzz but by the time Duke shows up, people are like “Oh cool another one. HEY BRO WHATS YOUR NAME.” I saw someone post here about how when the Wayne kids get mad at Bruce, they go to Selina and make public appearances as Stray, Catwomans sidekick. I personally believe that Tim was the first one to do it but Dick does it the most, and gothamites didnt even need to get used to Stray showing up sometimes, nor did people really care that Stray was always wildly different heights, shapes, colors, etc. the additude is kinda like “I have taxes and job security to worry about. If a new vigilante is what were doing then so be it.”

• People tend to think that Gothamites aren’t smart, but that city is home to the Richest, smartest, most creative people alive. They mostly just lack morals. Like Dr. Freeze, Harley Quinn, hell even The Riddler are all insanely intelligent. Half of Gothams Villains have at minimum 2 Doctorates in something or other. Gotham generates a lot of cash as a whole, and small businesses thrive there. They have high employment rates, and most citizens have their associates despite everything happening around them. People who have never been to Gotham before expect to have to talk down to the citizens but Gothamites just kinda roll their eyes at them and carry on about their merriment.

• Gothamites CONSTANTLY says “because I’m Batman” when they don’t want to explain themselves. Kids hear it a lot from parents and they also get “If you don’t go to sleep, Condiment Man i gonna come and cover you in stinky relish.” Because truly what else is condiment man good for.

• Gothamites who work at BatBurger and typically work the night shift are used to visits from Batman, Robin, Red Hood, Cat Woman, Harley Quinn, etc. Sometimes they remember the workers and ask about their family, and how life is, and other things like that. Theres some barely 18 y/o who just graduated high school who worls at Bat Burger, and asked Red Hood to help him impress his gf by saying theyre friends. He like fuck it why not and tells the gf that the kid helped him save an old lady’s cat in a tree and now theyre bffs. She totally believes it. Score.

• I see the Gotham thinks Batman is Bruce Wayne’s boyfriend theories and raise you: Its pretty common knowledge that Bruce Wayne is Batman, just no one has the heart to tell him. Also theyre scared he will quit if anyone brings it up. So from this Gothamites created the joke that BW and batman are dating and when asked about it in an interview, dick grayson is like “……yes! My adoptive father is dating the guy who dressed up like a bat every night…!”

• this cuased and arguement between Bruce and Dick because no! Bruce isnt dating Batman! (stray was seen again that week) HE IS BATMAN! But fuck now the public thinks theyre a couple so now bruce gets asked about it and hes like “haha yes my spooky bat bf is who i love very dearly!” As punishment He makes Dick bring him flowers in the batsuit because “as far as he is concerned, this is his shithead son’s fault.” Thats a direct quote btw. Little does he know this somehow ties back to Tim Drake before they met.

[transienturl]

And now for something completely different: a random product review!

This is a Port Authority Xcape BG100 computer backpack, with print-on-demand customization by Spreadshirt/Spreadshop. In the US, it retails for $27+tax from Mozilla's apparently-official merch shop, which regularly has free shipping promotions.

Now, first off, and importantly when considering this an ostensible piece of branded merchandise: the Firefox Aurora logo (now Nightly, but I'm sure you can see why Aurora was the original name/branding) that I picked here is apparently a terrible choice for generic print-on-demand, since the teal color it fades to at the upper right is probably way too saturated to be printable with a lot of processes. Mozilla probably shouldn't offer this design on this product, and I can't say anything about how good Spreadshirt's print accuracy is based on this.

That being said, in this particular case I don't actually care about this at all; if you just told me the result is a random (natural-gas-flame-themed?) alternative colorway for the Firefox logo I'd believe you:

Now, on to more practical matters. This product is, for some reason, $27. The same backpack on Amazon, without customization, is... $32. The bottom-of-the-barrel Amazon Basics backpack that appears when I search "backpack" on Amazon is $24. We're not talking about some $250 LTT bullshit here; the bar is somewhere around "it doesn't suck," and it definitely doesn't suck.

Size is important. I wouldn't call this a huge bag in length and width, but the claimed 7" depth seems about right and makes for a pretty voluminous interior. The angle shown on the sale page rather undersells the depth; the manufacturer's image might oversell it a bit (that one's pretty stuffed) but I would call it a reasonable, practical size.

The laptop pocket is described as fitting "most 17" laptop computers," and I think that's about right, maybe a bit optimistic considering how huge a 17" gaming laptop is these days. A typical 16" gaming laptop should fit fine (not going to bother to borrow my friend's to try it unless someone asks). I don't put my laptop directly in my bag, though, I put it in a sleeve, and a 16" M1 Macbook Pro in a padded sleeve just fits through the side zipper, which is what I need it to do, so, hey. I would call it minimally padded; I haven't tried other tech backpacks so I don't know what the standard is here but I would not want to put my laptop in without a sleeve. The separate laptop compartment and sleeve are more than it looks like you get on a lot of cheap backpacks, though.

Besides that, there are half-height and full-height flat front pockets, one with an organizer (with a zippered mesh; manufacturer pic is a bit old), and then the one big main compartment. No comments here; that's about how I'd do it. It's not much organization, but a lot of space efficiency if you're packing e.g. clothes. The zipper for the large compartment is angled, as you can see in the pic, which I think is smart. The elastic water bottle mesh pockets on the sides seem to work (my old bag's weren't deep enough and so the bottle would fall out, making them functionally useless; they probably should have angled the ones on this bag a little less but I think they're secure enough).

Build quality seems perfectly adequate; I can find no cut corners or anything chintzy, which is saying a lot for merch. Handling it, I'd easily believe you if you told me this was $60+ (and maybe it was when it came out in, I think, 2018). Zippers are large enough and smooth (plastic coil; metal body); strap padding and ventilation are reasonable; back padding and ventilation are rather good. The plastic top handle is a nice touch. (I might avoid using it if you filled the bag with something really, really dense; because of that angled zipper the handle attach point isn't on the strongest part of the bag, but whatever).

I have the "charcoal" color, which is a subtle two-tone. I wasn't sure if the grey would be very light, which wouldn't look great IMHO; the color is actually on the darker side, certainly darker than those photos depending on light angle, and really just makes it read as a black backpack that someone put significant effort designing some visual depth into. The use of multiple material pieces and angled stitching does look quite sharp; looking at it, I'd probably believe you if you told me it was $120?

So, in conclusion, uh... I dunno. I can't immediately think of anything I would change about it, and while I haven't tried any other competing products, it seems better-designed, better-looking, and less expensive than other similar things you could buy, and I guess it's also technically Firefox (or whatever else you want if you just go on Spreadshirt) merch.

Buy used stuff, obviously, when you can, and consider more environmentally friendly fabrics or whatever. But other than that, yeah, sure, if you need a backpack go buy this. It's cheaper than the price bump for a year of ad-free Tumblr, so that's something.

[curiousquill1]

Tailoring Your Wealth Management Services for All the Stages of Your Life

Building Your Financial Legacy, Step by Step

At every stage of your life, money is understood in a different way. To a fresh graduate, money may mean freedom and possibility. For a parent whose child is just newly born, it becomes an investment tool to secure the child's future. For somebody going into retirement, it transforms into a foundation for peace of mind. If we think of how wealth management services changes with such diversified perceptions, then it helps create not only monetary security but also true monetary harmony at every stage of life.

Early Years: Lay a Strong Foundation (Age 25-35 Years)

Do you still remember your very first salary that brought home the realization: really, you need to be smart with money, huh? Building smart financial habits is critical at this stage.

Smart Investments for the Young Professional

Get term insurance of a minimum of ₹1 crore to protect your family in case of an eventful incident.

Start systematic investing in NPS for even greater tax benefits.

Diversification Mistakes to Avoid:

Using leverage only on fixed deposits.

No health insurance before young and fit age.

Too many personal loans for lifestyle spends.

Investing without goals.

Middle Career Growth: Balancing Present and Future (35-50 Years)

As you grow in your career, financial decisions become more complex. Your wealth management strategy should grow from simple saving to a strategic wealth-building approach.

Key Focus Areas:

Higher education planning for children (₹25-30 lakhs per child).

Property investment decisions.

Portfolio diversification across assets.

Tax optimization strategies.

Increasing insurance cover.

Strategic Wealth Creation

Invest an additional 30% of your monthly income.

Direct equity investments with professional help.

Consider InvIT and REIT as alternative real estate investments.

Initiate estate planning essentials.

Analyze international investment opportunities.

Pre-Retirement Years: Wealth Maximization in the Safety Zone (50-65 Years)

At this stage, focus shifts to wealth preservation without losing growth momentum.

Main Strategies:

Switch to earning assets.

Real estate investments for rental yield.

Maximize retirement account contributions.

Prepare for healthcare needs with health savings.

Key Tasks:

Liquidate all debt before retirement.

Create a separate retirement corpus.

Use a tax-efficient investment structure.

Ensure healthcare provisions and purchase insurance.

Begin legacy planning.

Retirement Years: Preserving and Deploying Wealth (Above 65)

Now the focus is on wealth preservation and ensuring dependable income flows to maintain lifestyle.

Key Objectives:

Ensure regular income inflow.

Manage strategic liquidations from diversified portfolios.

Exceed inflation rates.

Handle medical spending effectively.

Execute estate planning and distribution.

Income Maximization Strategies:

Invest in a balanced blend of fixed and market-linked products.

Use Systematic Withdrawal Plans (SWPs).

Implement tax-efficient withdrawal plans.

Periodically rebalance portfolios to adapt to needs.

Focus on achieving legacy goals.

Making Wealth Management Personal

Your journey is uniquely yours. Although age-related guidelines provide direction, your strategy should align with your specific situation, including:

Family Status

Single: Grow with freedom.

Married: Grow and protect.

With Children: Educate and secure your future legacy.

Empty Nest: Plan for retirement and legacy.

Career Pattern

Salaried: Steady investments.

Business Owner: Risk management and succession planning.

Professional: Protect intellectual property and practice value.

Entrepreneur: Differentiate business equity from personal wealth.

Imagine a wealth manager as your financial architect – someone who:

Understands your life stage and goals.

Customizes your financial plan.

Provides independent, expert guidance.

Helps navigate market complexities.

Adapts your financial plan as your life changes.

What’s Your Next Step?

Your wealth management journey should be as unique as your story. Quality guidance can be a significant differentiator in reaching your career and retirement goals.

Questions for Your Wealth Management Service:

Does it align with your current life stage?

Will it adapt to evolving needs?

Is there a clear fee structure?

Does the advisor understand your values and goals?

Wealth management isn’t a formulaic approach but a strategy that grows as you do. Choosing wealth management services aligned to your life cycle is not only a money management step; it lays down foundations for realizing your dreams.

Start Today The best time to plan your financial future is today. Reach out to a qualified wealth management professional to build a strategy that suits your life stage and goals.

[bbygirlbambi]

God damnit.

(Typing this after writing everything) Okay here’s a whole lot of a word vomit post incoming: no filter, no carefully put or thoughtfully constructed wording for miles probably. Just going from my mind straight to typing. This is something that really does help from time to time, but I just did this for like 2-3 hours. This I when it started to get to the not so helpful extent, and so I stopped. Its weird. However; It’s been one of those days that call for it, and I’d like to iust relax now. So:

I was doing so good, as good as I could have been after you left me and disappeared.

I grieved you, but honestly, I more so eas grieving this weird version of you…

The version of you that I saw the potential in, to be come, one day; maybe.

Maybe you’ll become more patient with me

Maybe you’ll be more accepting of me and my good, bad, flaws and everything in between.

Maybe you’ll gain some emotional intelligence, and maybe I’ll gain more of a logical understanding.

Maybe we will even each other out. Balance each others flaws and imperfections. Regardless of how few or how many there are at any given time.

Grieving the loss of so much fucking potential in someone, and the future of how strong your connection has the potential to become….is a different kind of grief all together. It’s a more personal kind of sadness and emotion.

Because it never “actually” was. It’s all of the “could have beens”, all of the visions and dreams that keep you grounded while it’s not quite there yet. It keeps you around when you should have walked away a really long time ago.

It even sometimes makes you slowly become more and more tolerant and allows you to bypass any sense of self respect and self preservation you once had, damaged or not.

You tear down all of your walls, bare your soul, try to be forward with your imperfections, trauma, mental illness. Putting a spotlight on what you’re “lacking”, because well hey, they already tell you that they love you, but do they love all of you? Not just the good? But the bad, damaged and flawed parts of you too? How can we balance out each others issues if we don’t make each other aware first?

But that’s when just admitting they exist, isn’t enough. They will hear it, of course, but hearing really is different from actually listening….

Everyone has their limits, breaking points, and mental battery capacity. Some more than others, some less. It’s all a god damn balancing act, that absolutely no one prepared you for in any sort of way in the previous years.

Not going to lie, I felt a bit of resentment while typing that last sentence. It’s hard not to really. “

While going through some folders and files the other day, I came across some old grade cards from elementary school, want to know what grades 1 to 4 had in common? Well unfortunately it wasn’t the grades themselves, it was ONE single commentary remark: “Kristina has a lot of potential, she’s smart, but needs to apply herself”

What if no one has ever stepped in and showed me how? Some adults are a bit resentful of what they didn’t learn sooner….How no parent or teacher stepped up to teach them real word issues, how to handle conflicts they will inevitably face in later years…like taxes, healthy problem solving through healthy communication, working on cars, etc.

I’m resentful that everyone around me seemed to sense this “potential” but only felt the slightest need every so often to comment on it when they needed to say something kind of nice about me. They didn’t see enough potential however to guide me to direct me in how to fully embrace it, work with it, and achieve it.

Now before anything else, No, I can’t fully blame the people who were supposed to guide me to a hopefully successful and fulfilling adulthood, but I do harbor a bit of resentment to those people because I’m just now learning, halfway into adulthood, figuring out just how in the hell and what I can do to possibly finally reach this alleged “potential” that everyone seems to see in me, except…for me. Do you at least understand how defeating and frustrating that can be?

One of my biggest points of resentment, anger, and disappointment, is that in my (almost) 34 years alive in this dimension, not one person has believed in me and my “PoTEnTiaL” enough to actually advocate for it, to invest in it, or to just…be encouraging and supportive while it came into fruition. And while I don’t fully blame anyone for my unsuccessful and unhealthy mental health, I really do fully believe that just having that ONE person, could have made such a tremendous impact and difference in my life.

Infact, in my ever so obvious “daddy issues” style, I’m still very much looking for that one person.

However, on a much more positive note:

I’m also finally…and I mean fucking FINALLY realizing that I don’t “need” to find this person in order to be successful, supported, fulfilled, etc. but instead I “want” to find a person to have like that in my life, and that they would only compliment and support my wins, goals, dreams, successes, big and little. Not make them come into fruition. And you might be thinking “you’re just now….understanding the concepts of difference between “need” and want” ? No, not in the definition terms, but just in terms of people mostly. (Shout out to a very special person that’s made it a point to correct me when I misuse the word need, in place of the word “want”, I haven’t really told you but it’s opened a whole deeper level of introspection that I didn’t even know I “wanted” heh)

How does all of this tie into the beginning of this post? I had to grieve another person who said the winning words “I see so much potential in you”, which just flipped the switch in my brain that makes me go “this person loves me and supports me and must want the best for me if they say this, surely everything they do or say to me is for the overall best even if it doesn’t feel that way at the time. Even if it hurts. They see it. They know it’s there. They want that in me. They want what I have the potential to become.”

But a very horrible wiring issue with that switch that gets flipped? Yes, they very much do want the person I have all the potential of becoming…but that isn’t me right now…so what does that mean for the “now” version of me? The work in progress me that gets a little off track or totally defeated sometimes? The me that is learning from mistakes and missteps in the process of it all?

Well, it the grand scheme of it all, it came down to yet again a matter of being inlove with my “potential” to be their ideal partner, and not for the person who is just trying to learn what it means to reach their potential entirely by themselves, but at the very least; is still trying. All in all….

Not loving me for who I am, and the person im working on becoming.

But instead they’re loving this ideal version of me, who isn’t currently who I am now; besides a few little glimmers, loving an ideal version of me who has never even existed, could possibly be me sometime in the future, or hell, might not even ever exist at all based on all kinds of factors, but the factors that are the most important to them, are their own desires of what I “should” or “shouldn’t” do to reach the potential that they saw in me in the first place. Not even considering what I factors I might find more important than others, or certain aspects being uncertain or just completely out of the question, due to impassible hurdles that have developed, complications, etc. But when it comes to this magical potential that’s been seen, it does not matter. Those are “excuses” to them, not explainations, not reasons, not things to consider on the way, just flat out lies and excuses.

And that’s not a mentality that I can deal with at the moment really. The “tough love, you have it bad? Someone has it worse, pull yourself up by the bootstraps and just do the things I think you should do to be the person I want you to become” mentality. I experienced this kind of attitude from my step mother recently when I had a pretty bad seizure and could not meet up with her and my father for the first time in….fuck I don’t even know how many years it’s been? Also mind you, for reasons of my own, I kept note that I got this from her and not from my own father…

But in the grand scheme of things, my step mother and my father are filed away under “people who saw my potential at some point or another, dismissed it; and dismissed me, but now wants to lecture my mistakes for their own peace of mind and nothing else really” and yes it’s a long catagory name, but I can guarantee you there are longer and more precise ones. Because contrary to popular belief, and if I were on the outside looking in, I’d have this thought too. “You don’t really have a lot of people in your life…sooo” well, yes and no.

I have met and had so many different people in my life. It’s been a rotating door of different individuals since I was born. Fleeting moments. A short period of time. Longer periods of time. And have been around whether in my life or not, since I can remember. And since I’m the kind of person where meeting someone even just for a small moment, impacts me, maybe not in a huge or dramatic way, but they leave their mark in one way or another by just being an entirely different person, of an entirely different viewpoint of living at the same time I am.

Okay well, I got a little too introspective for a bit. I meant everything I said, but I felt I was starting to get into offputting territory, not that anyone is probably reading this far into it, but if you are, Hi there. Thank you for reading this very long winded tumblr post of my inner most personal thoughts and words. I don’t really keep up with journaling, or writing in a diary anymore. It’s even more cathartic to “tap tap tap” at the keys while spilling my guts. So there’s that. But I actually appreciate anyone who reads these, anyone to takes the time and interest in them to get a glimpse of the person behind the tumblr of the goth girl with weird kinks and daddy issues who mainly just reblogs aesthetically pleasing kink/fetish content. I don’t exactly know if anyone reads these, but it’s a nice thought that someone would want to know me better I guess.

Anyway, to wrap this up, because I’ve been sitting in a dark room, with a bright phone screen, tap tap tapping away at this after a night of a triggered psychosis episode and neuropathy attack, with a side of an almost but not full on seizure….run on sentences are bad I know but are kind of my thing…at least I use punctuation…I’m not THAT evil and deranged….i think I’m going to find something to distract me, and bring me a bit more comfort. It’s a gloomy cloudy raining day, my room is dark, my hood is up, I’m hungry but not, and I have my cat and blanket, so it’s a good starting point to find some solid comfort and relax a little. And distract myself from the thing that was the little string being pulled, then I took over and yanked that string until it was an unraveled mess in the form of..me…

“How do I even respond to this text? Do I respond at all? Will this be considered an open invitation to be around again if I do? What will it mean for the grieving I’ve done and the moments of peace I’ve gained and lessons I’ve learned in the mean time? Afterall…they’re the ones who told me “You don’t need me” and proceeded to go through those revolving doors of people in and out of my life. As a person who is carefully and considerably learning her own autonomy and limits of self respect…but is also notoriously forgiving and low key soft…I don’t know what to do with this it’s been on my mind since I checked my texts last night, already in a vulnerable state”

What will I do? Will I respond o this very simple text that has me distressed? Will I ever find the ever so elusive and mysterious “potential” that other people see and I can’t? Will I ever write a post on here that isn’t so god damn wordy and full of confusing run on sentences?

Join me next time. (I have a feeling this is just me to me at this point, which makes this a little more funny to me)

Spoiler: the answer to that last one- obviously it’s no. No I will not. You cannot make me. Summarize and be concise? I don’t know them.

[splendidissimus]

OTP asks pt 7

[master list]

41. Who is, overall, the smarter one?

Theo, which is saying something. Draco's smart, but he acknowledges Theo is kind of a genius. They play really well off each other in that aspect, though.

-

42. Who is the sensible mature one?

Both of them, in different aspects. Draco handles adult responsibilities like taxes. Theo is less playful (as adults).

-

43. Do they fight a lot?

Arguments, sort of. Draco kind of argues for sport. Real fights, no, not really -- not that Draco doesn't get defensive and try to fight, but normally Theo handles it before it explodes. They get an explosion maybe once a year at the start, and progressively less and less through the years. -

44. How do they make up after a fight?

If it's a fight that ends without someone storming out, then it ends with cuddles and emotion. Otherwise, Draco's emotions blow over and he'll ask Theo to come back and they'll have a reasonable conversation. If Draco feels especially at fault (which he usually doesn't), grand gesture, then asking him to come back, then conversation.

-

45. If one of them forgot to log out of their SoMe, what would their partner do?

Snoop, just, so hard. Hey, if you wanted to keep your secrets, you should have been more careful.

Assuming that wizardkind had social media.

-

46. How do they make each other laugh?

Witty repartee (Theo especially has a dry wit). Occasionally, silliness. Teasing (especially from Draco).

-

47. Are they extroverts/introverts?

Draco's an extreme extrovert who can hardly bear to be alone. Theo's a serious introvert who would be perfectly fine if he never had to see more than one person at a time again.

-

48. Who would bring home a homeless animal?

Honestly, neither of them. They're not really sappy like that; Theo'd be "meh" and Draco'd figure it was someone else's responsibility.

-

49. Do they match outfits for special occasions?

No, that would be... hah. No. Though Draco will dress Theo.

-

50. Who would protect whom in a dangerous situation?

Both and either, depending on the situation. Draco's more likely to be in the position to need protected - if he's ill, or gets scared, or is in a bad state of mind, for instance. He's also the one more qualified to do protecting, in a magical / combat sense, at least. But both of them will always protect the other when they can and it's called for.

-end-

[goongiveusnothing]

i keep wondering what harry and his team will do to dig themselves out of this... maybe get in on the joke themselves? just ignore it? it's so striking that he didn't seem to learn a single thing from all the backlash these last few weeks and walked right in to his major festival release completely unprepared.

I really did think we'd be seeing some kind of response.

At the time I said I didn't think Harry would actually look at all the memes and backlash himself because his ego is too fragile and now I'm convinced he really hasn't and doesn't understand at all what kind of a joke he's become online. Which makes it worse, because now he has absolutely no proper way to handle things because he has no real idea how he's being perceived.

Harry is not an intelligent guy and I don't think he's capable of sort of comprehending and intellectualizing anything that's been said about him even if he did read it all.

I was thinking maybe he'd try doing some charity things, make a big splashy donation. But the thing with Harry is he has never gone out of his way to donate money without using fan money. Whenever you hear about some donation he's made it's been a tax write off from profits on tour or it's been money he's specifically forced fans to donate which he then took credit for. I struggle to remember a time he tried to do a charitable thing that was just from his own warchest of funds just because he felt like it. So I think he will resist doing anything too charitable and instead any charity he does will still be some tacky Kardashian lite style way of pretending you care about an issue while ultimately not caring about it at all besides the PR.

I think he will prep with some lines about My Policeman, but then when those words aren't in front of him, will stumble all over himself and manage to get the entire gist of what he was saying wrong, like he has done already. I think he was trying to copy his director's words on the sex in MP but because he's a dummy he managed to completely hollow those words out into some meaningless offensive jumble. I think he'll end up doing that again. He is not a smart man, he doesn't truly understand the issues, he actually can't relate to LGBT people and I think he believes all his holding up rainbow flags and helping people come out by waving those flags around and wearing dresses has been incredibly generous and moving from him and we should just sit back and appreciate that more. When he brought up wearing that rainbow jumpsuit before introducing Matilda like it made him relate to someone who was cut off from her family because they couldn't love and understand her - it just showed to me that for Harry Styles the fact he wears such ugly clothing is somehow something relatable to LGBT struggles in entirety.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 3: Puzzle Wrapped in an Enigma 

by @dracusfyre

On the way back home after the brothel closed, Bucky logged into Discord and dropped into a channel labeled only with random numbers and letters. First day of work was :thumbs up:  but there were two dudebros who tried to jam up my shit. Wish they would back off, he wrote. The channel was monitored 24/7 in case of emergency or actionable intel.

He waited as the dots danced, then his police handler wrote, that sucks. who are they?

Bucky typed the last four of Rumlow and Rollins’ badge numbers and put his phone back in his pocket. This operation was way more important than those two swinging dicks; between the video from tonight, which was going to be a PR nightmare for the department, and his request, Rumlow and Rollins better be manning a desk for the foreseeable future.

He was pulling out his keys to his apartment building when he heard a car door opening nearby. His head whipped around and his other hand was already on the pistol in the holster at the small of his back when he heard, “Whoa there Blue Eyes,” in a familiar voice. The figure that stepped out of the car held his hands up and stepped into the light.  “Hard day at the office?”

“I’ve had worse,” Bucky said warily.

“How’d everything go today?” Stark shoved his hands in his pocket and leaned against his car, the streetlight casting harsh shadows on his face.

“Fine. Didn’t KT give you a debrief?”

“Yeah, I heard his side. I wanna hear your side.”

Bucky thought about it, wondering if he should put a shine on it or be honest. “KT and Hawkeye’s play tonight was clever and would have worked perfectly against a different set of cops. But I think those two won’t give up until they get back at the person who embarrassed them. Might have made more problems than they solved.”

“Yeah?” Stark tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “You sure about that? KT's been on the job for a few years now and thought it was a good call. It's your first day and you saw the cops for all of fifteen minutes.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve met guys like them before. Don't strike me as the type to know when they're beat. Best thing would be for them to be encouraged to take a long walk off a short pier.”

Stark made a thoughtful noise. “But KT explained office policy on that?”

“Yeah. Only as a last resort.” Bucky tried to sound neutral, but something of his skepticism must have bled through.

“You don’t agree?”

The note in Stark’s voice put Bucky on high alert. Higher alert, since his heart was still racing from before. “I get the logic, it’s just…different,” Bucky said. “Makes sense though. Bodies attract attention.”

“Is that the only reason you think it's a good policy?” Stark asked neutrally.

Bucky hesitated. He got the feeling there was a right and wrong answer to this and wished this conversation had happened six hours ago when he was less tired. “Killing people changes things,” he said finally - honestly - hoping he wasn’t about to touchy-feely himself out of this operation. Between the military, the police, and then undercover work with organized crime, he had been so steeped in machismo that it had become second nature – to those guys, life was one big dick measuring contest - but Stark didn’t seem to work like that. Or at least, he didn't want people to think he worked like that. “Not just changes people, but like…it sends a message to everyone else. ‘This is what a life is worth.’” Bucky took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with Stark.  “People respond to that. Makes them…mean. Hard. So if you can avoid that...” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot. He probably sounded ridiculous. “So, yeah. Anyway. Guess if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? Seems to be working for you.”

“We do alright,” Stark said slowly, and Bucky figured he must have said the right thing because he straightened and held out a hand for Bucky to shake. Bucky looked at it with surprise and took it, feeling acutely aware of the strength of Stark’s grip and the callouses on his palms. “Welcome aboard.”

                                               ***

Tony got back in his car as Blue Eyes continued into his building, cranking it and pulling away from the curb on autopilot. If Blue Eyes hadn’t been a cop, Tony would have told himself that he was too good to be true; as it was, Tony wondered if it was possible that the police or feds or whoever had profiled him well enough to give “Brooks” a gold plated script to work from. But it hadn’t felt like the new guy was playing him tonight; his comments had been too rambling and inarticulate to have been prepared in advance. Rhodey was going to think he was an idiot, but he really though Brooks was being honest with him tonight, which had the potential to change things.

At the first stoplight, he pulled out his phone and texted Rhodey.

I like him.

Rhodey sent a rolling eyes emoji almost immediately. Blue Eyes?

Yeah I want to keep him. he’s wasted as a cop.

The three dots must have started and stopped a dozen times; Tony was almost back to his own place when he finally got a response. You’re playing with fire.

Tony smirked. I know, he wrote back. It’s what I do.

Yeah, but this time, if you get burnt, we all do. Tony pulled into his private garage and turned off the car, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. Rhodey was right. As much as he was intrigued by Blue Eyes, he couldn’t put his people at risk by tugging on that thread. “Dammit,” he said out loud, scowling as he got out of the car. “Ten years ago I wouldn't have thought twice.”

                                             ***

A few weeks into the operation Bucky and KT were making the rounds, checking in with the businesses and people on their beat, and Bucky was suddenly struck by two things: one, just how much this gig felt like being a street cop, walking the sidewalks just observing the neighborhood; and two, how no one was ever this happy to see him when he was a street cop. People saw KT and more often than not, they were smiling, chatty about business and local gossip. Most of them greeted Bucky (“Oh, this must be Blue Eyes,” which had yet to stop making Bucky’s ears burn) and were happy to introduce themselves. The ones that weren’t smiling were the ones that had something to complain about: permit not going through, shipment delayed, broken equipment that insurance wasn’t paying out for. KT took notes, nodded and commiserated, and when they left almost everyone looked at least mollified, if not cheered.

“You know, for us playing the bag men today, we sure aren’t picking up any money,” Bucky commented. A couple of times KT had taken a store owner to the side and Bucky, straining his ears, heard something about loans; these people always had the look of someone explaining why they couldn’t pay but it wasn’t their fault, honest. Like everything else, KT made notes and listened politely.

“That’s not what we’re doing,” KT said. “This is check in. We do it every two weeks or so. Money stuff is all handled online.”

“Yeah?” Bucky knew for a fact that the FBI had been working with the Treasury to trace Stark’s money, and, failing to find any signs of dirty money or money laundering, had concluded he must be operating with cash only.

“Yeah. Boss didn’t want to tempt anyone or make them a target.” That was smart, Bucky reflected. Ripping off other gangs was an art form in organized crime. Still, he had to wonder how Stark kept the money transfers so well hidden from the best financial analysts in the US government.

“No targets except his accountant,” Bucky joked, fishing for info. “Like with Al Capone.”

KT just shrugged at that, like he didn’t know and didn’t care, so Bucky left it alone. “So what do we do with that stuff?” Bucky said, gesturing at the notebook KT had been writing in all morning.

“We take care of it.” He took the notebook out and flipped through it. “Not too much stuff this time.”

Bucky turned that over in his head. “So under the Mechanic, fixers actually…fix things,” he said. “You’re really going to call a shipping company and an insurance office and everything?”

“Yep. Well, we are.”

Made sense; if businesses were paying Stark for protection, he could also throw in other services to sweeten the pot and keep people from rolling on him. Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and was lost in thought while he mostly followed KT around the neighborhood. Granted he’d only been here for less than a week, but so far nothing was adding up to what he’d read in the case files on Stark and his organization. It was making him uneasy. He’d come here with a picture in his head, and a goal of filling in the holes so they could make a case against an organized crime boss; but now he was increasingly realizing that something was wrong with the picture. So when KT told him one night that they had the next two days off, Bucky sent another message on the Discord channel and when he got a confirmation, he went to the New York Library, the big one with the stone lions and millions of tourists. He went to the adult services desk and asked for a laptop. The librarian studied his ID, went to a safe, and handed him a laptop from inside. Bucky found a study carrell in a quiet spot and logged on with an 8 character name and 16 character password, established and memorized before he’d started this operation, and opened up the case files on Stark.

Scrolling through, Bucky felt some of his disquiet ease as he re-read the laundry list of crimes Stark was reportedly involved in: racketeering, tax fraud, illegal gambling, high-end car theft. Armed obberies; he opened up the file on robberies and realized with morbid amusement that even while Stark protected his own people from being targeted, he had no problem targeting bagmen from other gangs, making off with hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time. Tax fraud, obviously; if Tony was hiding all of his income from the FBI, he was definitely hiding it from the IRS. Though as he opened up Stark’s tax statements, gotten from a subpoena to the IRS, and noticed that the document for just one year was hundreds of pages long, Bucky reflected that a good accountant could hide a lot of money in his legitimate businesses and all the assets that Stark had inherited from his parents.

At the back of the file was sex trafficking, which was based on a handful of reports that said that prostitutes were disappearing from other parts of the city and showing up working for Stark. Bucky put a note next to that one recommending the line of investigation be dropped. After spending hours and hours at the brothel chatting to the Widow and the ladies there, waiting to see if Rumlow returned, he knew none of the men or women there were being forced to stay, not even for lack of other work. Widow recruited from all around the city, helping people get out of the business if they wanted to and offering others a chance to work for her. Turns out, most of that building was devoted to the people who worked in the brothel: everyone got their own apartment, which was separate from the suites they entertained clients, and there was an in-house doctor and even childcare in the basement. All the money went straight back to the sex workers, except for this mysterious buy-in that no one had explained yet, and they were using it for a bewildering array of side projects that the women were more than happy to talk about during their down time.

After a few hours, which included writing up his reports from the past few weeks of working for Stark, Bucky sat back and closed the laptop. It was his first month, he reminded himself. No one was going to let him close to the real work of the organization after just a few weeks. He sent another message to his handler on Discord, and when he got a confirmation back, he stood up and walked away from the carrell; when he was about twenty feet away, he saw his police contact, dressed like a soccer mom, come by and spirit the laptop away.

His next stop was the gym; by the time he was done, shirt soaked wet with sweat and muscles aching, his head felt clearer.  He didn’t know why Stark was trying so hard to seem like a good guy, but if Bucky was patient enough he’d scrape past all the pseudo-philanthropy and get to the real man underneath. Stark wasn’t the first guy to be handsome and charming and charismatic while hiding a dark side.

[kittinoir]

Phantoms Ch. 10

Read on Ao3

Content warning for Claustrophobia. Feel free to message me for more details

Queen Bee couldn’t stop pacing.

Ladybug was not stupid. If anything, she was renowned for cleverness. If she didn’t think Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth, then he probably wasn’t. 

Then again, neither she nor Adrien had realized their partner in crime was their classmate for literal years. How much of him being cleared had been the result of neither Ladybug or Chat Noir wanting it to be someone else? At the very least, it deserved a second look with fresh eyes.

Her eyes.

At least, that was what she was planning to tell Felix when he showed up.

“I know I make it look easy,” Felix said as he stepped through a portal and onto the roof as if on cue, “But I can’t always drop everything to run to you on a moments notice. I’m not a dog.”

Queen Bee smirked as she eyed the dog Miraculous she knew was hidden beneath his starched collar. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Felix said, turning back to the portal where a confused Pegasus was looking back and forth between them from the other side.

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Queen Bee said quickly.

“Put it in a message.”

“It’s sensitive information.”

Felix paused, his back to her. Queen Bee was aware of every painful thump of her heart as he stood there, debating. Finally, he waved to Pegasus and the portal closed.

“Well?” he said, turning back around.

“I have a lead,” she said, suddenly trying to figure out how to start. She’d planned to just lay it at his feet and impress the boy who wasn’t impressed by anything, but in thinking about Adrien, she couldn’t help but remember that Gabriel, horrible father that he might be, was also Felix’s uncle. “Gabriel Agreste.”

For a moment, Felix just stared at her. And then he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Queen Bee blinked, unsure what to do next. Disbelief, anger, she’d expected. But crying…?

“I, uh, know this is hard to hear,” Queen Bee said, lifting a hand to comfort him before hesitating and dropping it again. “But I have reason to believe it’s a good lead. I know he’s family, but if you just listen…”

Felix’s shoulders started shaking harder, but then he threw his head back and Queen Bee saw he wasn’t crying, but convulsing with laughter so hard it was silent.

“Gabriel…?” Felix gasped, clutching his ribs. “You think the man that doesn’t even have time for his own son has time to take on the heroes of Paris?”

“I think that Ladybug and Chat Noir got the original grimoire from him before they knew what it was,” Queen Bee snapped, “And there’s only one reason he’d have it.”

“The man’s an eccentric billionaire,” Felix sneered. “One reason? Try a thousand. He’s a collector. He’d want the grimoire just because it’s one of a kind and worth a fortune. He probably has it on display under a glass case.”

“It’s not like he offered it up when Ladybug and Chat Noir needed it,” Queen Bee said.

“Why would he?” Felix asked. “Like I said, eccentric billionaire. When have they ever cared about anything but themselves? Gabriel’s not smart enough or motivated enough to be Hawk Moth. The man hasn’t even left his house in years; where would he have gotten the Miraculous from?”

“The same place he got the grimoire,” Queen Bee tried, but Felix just scoffed.

“An auction?”

“Name one reason it couldn’t be him!” Queen Bee snarled.

“I’ve already given you three,” Felix shot back.

“You really don’t think it’s even worth a second look - even if his house is smack in the middle of your stupid map?” Queen Bee thrust the paper out towards him, the graphic side out so he could see the big, red circle she’d put around the Agreste Mansion.

“I think,” Felix snarled, striding up to her and snatching the map out of her hands, “That if there were two kwamis in one house, either Plagg or Nooroo would have noticed. I think that  if Gabriel were Hawk Moth, he’d have suspected his son by now and targeted him. I think he has no motive, and I think you’re wasting my time."

Queen Bee fisted her hands by her side as Felix folded the map back up and shoved it into his pocket. She was used to being dismissed. She knew Felix could be as mean as she was. She didn’t know why she’d thought he’d be any different.

“Why did you even let me in on your little hunt if you weren’t going to accept my help?” she asked. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry. Not in front of him, and certainly not because of him.

“I thought your ‘help’ would be better than that,” Felix said. “I guess that was my mistake.”

“If I wanted to be talked to like this, I would have stayed home,” Queen Bee sneered. She released her yoyo and turned her back on Felix, hoping he couldn’t see how badly his words stung. 

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here,” Queen Bee snarled over her shoulder, shooting him one last venomous look. His face remained impassive, and she left him there on the rooftop as she began her own patrol. It wasn’t technically her day, but she hoped that as much as Kagami didn’t like her, she and Ivan wouldn’t mind her crashing. She wasn’t ready to go home yet.

Careening through the streets of Paris with Miraculous-fuelled abilities was usually the perfect fix for whatever was eating her that day, but her fight with Felix wouldn’t leave her alone. It was obvious that he thought she was stupid, no matter what he’d claimed. He hadn’t really wanted her advice as much as he’d wanted a cheerleader, someone to brag to - and who better than the girl who never thought about anyone but herself? Two challenges wrapped up with a neat little bow, a fun distraction while he hunted the real threat. 

For the first time in her life, Queen Bee wanted to hit something. She bit her lip to stifle the feeling as she finally paused to rest at the top of the Eiffel Tower. The metal would crumple under her fist, she knew, if she followed her instinct. It was fading now anyway, along with her frustration. So what if Felix had used her? She didn’t need him. She didn’t need any of them. She never had. 

But as she looked out over the city, she suddenly realized why she felt calmer: she’d already made her own decision.

Gabriel had spent good money fencing in his mansion, but it hadn’t been designed to withstand the Miraculous. Still, even with her enhanced eye-sight, she was too far away to get a good enough look. A few quick maneuvers had Queen Bee dropping silently over the wall and into some bushes. She scanned the side of the house as best she could through the foliage, noting the security cameras. Hopefully none of them had caught her entrance. 

Queen Bee darted through the gap in their coverage to a tree, aiming for the wall of Adrien’s windows. If he could come and go as Chat Noir without revealing himself, then it was probably a sure way in, especially since he was too busy with fencing to wonder why she was there.

Sure enough, a few moments later she was sailing through Adrien’s open window and into his room. Queen Bee crossed the space but hesitated at the door. Would it be better to do reconnaissance as ‘Chloe’ or should she remain transformed? If she was spotted as Chloe, Gabriel would be confused about why she was there, but if she remained Queen Bee, she could fabricate a senti-monster attack - unless he really was Hawk Moth - but then Mayura would be…

“Nathalie,” Queen Bee breathed as it all lined up. Adrien had mentioned she’d fallen ill recently; was it because she’d been using the broken Peacock Miraculous? Queen Bee made her choice. It was too dangerous to go in untransformed. She’d have to take the risk. If Gabriel wasn’t Hawk Moth, he’d buy her cover. If he was…well, hopefully she’d have the element of surprise. Maybe he’d play along to protect his own identity. 

“Please let me be wrong,” Queen Bee whispered, and then she opened the door. 

She didn’t know what she expected. In the handful of times she’d visited Adrien, the house had appeared the same: silent and empty.

But it wasn’t empty. At least, it shouldn’t have been. She could see Gabriel’s study from Adrien’s door in the hall, but no personal assistant was posted outside to screen callers. Perhaps he hadn’t replaced Nathalie. Perhaps the new one was busy running an errand. Or perhaps the eccentric billionaire wasn’t where everyone always assumed he was.

Queen Bee checked her yoyo, but there was no active akuma attack. 

Maybe she was wrong. 

The thought crept in as she inched down the stairs towards the study. Maybe she was totally off. Maybe Ladybug and Chat Noir had been right. 

But even as she thought it, the coincidences wouldn’t stop lining up: how Gabriel’s ‘wine cellar’ wasn’t actually in the basement no one ever saw, but an offshoot of the kitchen; how the three story mansion he owned only actually went up two floors; how she’d seen a window from the outside as she’d dropped in that she couldn’t find the room for inside.

There was only one way to be sure.

Taking a deep breath, Queen Bee seized the handle of Gabriel’s study, threw open the door, and strode inside. 

Empty. Just as she’d thought. 

But then where was Gabriel Agreste? 

She didn’t stop and waste time thinking about it. His absence proved nothing. At least, it wouldn’t prove anything to Felix. She needed something concrete, a reason to convince him to at least consider it, if only to rule him out. 

So she made her way to the shelves of designs and mannequins, running her fingers over their edges, pulling them to see if they’d release a trap door, but…it was just an office. It didn’t prove anything, either. A man as rich as Gabriel could afford to have a second residence, a lair separate from his home. But if he did…there would be tax records for it.

Queen Bee made her way to the desk, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled as she drew near. If she was right, she was standing at the desk of the man who had been terrorizing her home for two years. If she was wrong, she was totally invading the privacy of her best friend’s dad. It was hard not to feel self-conscious when that enormous portrait of Adrien’s mother was right behind her, watching her every move. 

But there was nothing. The desk had no drawers, and when she grazed the angled surface, it lit up, revealing it was actually a giant tablet. There were no filing cabinets and no files anywhere in the room.

“Of course,” Queen Bee muttered, rolling her eyes. “A man as high tech as Gabriel Agreste wouldn’t have any papers lying around. Still, would’ve been nice if he could have left out a file marked ‘top secret evil plan’ in big red letter for me to find.”

Queen Bee sighed and turned back toe Emilie’s portrait as she leaned back against the desk. She studied it for a moment, letting her eyes randomly follow the swirls and eddies as disappointment settled along her bones. It wasn’t that she was upset Gabriel was looking less and less like a probable suspect. If anything she was glad she wasn’t going to have to have that conversation with Adrien. It was Felix she wasn’t looking forward to talking to. She didn’t think she’d been wrong, but she knew he wouldn’t see it that way. Not that she particularly cared.

“He really misses you, you know,” Queen Bee whispered. She reached out, tracing the line of Emilie’s sleeve with one finger. Chloe had gone to her funeral, but with a closed casket, it had felt like the opportunity to say goodbye had been missed, and they were the ghosts, struggling to pick up the pieces she’d left when she’d gone. Chloe hadn’t known how to comfort Adrien, so she’d simply sat beside him in silence, on and off for months, until he’d finally started to wake back up. It was part of the reason Gabriel terrified her so much: not because of his austere nature, but because he was a reminder of what Adrien could have become. 

Queen Bee froze, her attention snapping back to the painting as she slowly ran her finger back up the canvas. There! She slid her finger over one of the black feather-things and it dipped a little, like a button. 

Of course! Marinette had mentioned the grimoire but it hadn’t been anywhere in the office. It was too valuable - it would probably be in safe. A safe behind the painting! A high tech man liked Gabriel wouldn’t waste time on a traditional dial-lock; of course he’d have this painting decoy installed. The only thing between her and it was if it was also finger-print coded.

Queen Bee took a deep breath and pushed the button.

And nothing happened. 

“It doesn’t do anything?” She frowned. Hopefully she hadn’t just called for assistance. Maybe it was a glorified Alexa. Of course Gabriel wouldn’t want something like an Alexa just sitting around his office.

But no one came. If anything, the house was more silent than before.

“Must be a trick to it…” Queen Bee mumbled, leaning in. “Maybe it really is finger-print coded. Suspicious, but still not enough to convince Felix…”

As she lifted her finger, though, she saw it: the discolouration in the paint where months, maybe years of someone pressing their greasy little finger tips to the canvas had worn it down. Not finger-print coded, then.  

She scanned the canvas and caught sight of a second discoloured spot, and a third. Within second, she’d uncovered six discoloured spots, two areas in groups of three: two hands. She has to stand on her tip toes to reach the furthest one, but when she’d gotten into position, she didn’t hesitate: she pushed them.

And screamed when the floor opened up beneath her, a small platform descending into darkness. 

Queen Bee crashed gracelessly to the carpeted floor, whacking her elbow on the desk. If anyone was in the house and hadn’t known she was there, they did now, but she couldn’t quite make herself care about anything except how grateful she was she hadn’t been standing directly on the platform when she’d pushed the buttons. 

Shaking slightly from the adrenaline now shooting through her blood, Queen Bee got back to her feet and pulled out her yoyo. She snapped a photo of the now-empty shaft with the painting in the background and sent it to Felix with a short message: ‘Still think this is a waste of time?’

She sent it off and returned to the shaft.

It could still be anything. It could be nothing. It could lead to an in-home theatre or bowling alley or pool. It could be where Gabriel kept all of his designs on mannequins. It could be just another secret passage in a rich persons house. God knew there was more than one in the Grand Palais.

But this didn’t feel like that. If it were, why weren’t there any normal entrances to the space anywhere in the house? Not even emergency stairs in case of a power outage. Why was Gabriel so protective of it? Why had Adrien never mentioned it?

There was only one way to find out. 

Queen Bee released her yoyo and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the top wrapping around the leg of Gabriel’s desk. She tugged on it, and, as she’d suspected, it held. Something that high-tech would have been bolted to the floor to run the wires through it the way he had. 

Queen Bee gripped the other end firmly in her hand, the wire wrapped around her fingers a few times, but paused before she jumped.

She was the one who insisted they loop Ladybug and Chat Noir into their plans if they found anything solid. She was the one who insisted they don’t take Hawk Moth on alone. 

In the end, it was Adrien that decided it for her. She could deal with Felix’s nay-saying and Marientte’s disappointment, but she couldn’t handle the pain it would cause Adrien if she didn’t have anything concrete to go on. She had to be sure. She had to have proof. Something more than a suspicious hole in the ground. She couldn’t leave him wondering.

So she took a step and dropped into the darkness. 

The shaft was tight, nearly brushing both Queen Bee’s shoulders as she made a controlled descent. Her breath bounced back into her face as the sound of her breathing echoed in the small space. Small blue lights built into the walls prevented it from being pitch black. She hadn’t gone more than a few feet when the passage abruptly widened, splitting into two shafts, one that continued down and one that went sideways, a tunnel under the house.

“Two secret rooms,” Queen Bee whispered to herself as she paused to study the fork. “Both of them only accessible from Gabriel’s highly private office.” Interesting, but as usual, proved nothing. 

“First one, than the other,” Queen Bee murmured, continuing her descent. Maybe one just led to his bedroom. It would explain why Adrien never saw him, but if that was something she stumbled across, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

Queen Bee continued to drop for another minute, straight down until she noticed the light in the tunnel brightening as she approached the opening. She came to a stop, her toes inches from the opening. Whatever was out there, it would prove her right, one way or the other. Either she was about to drop into a private library, or Hawk Moth’s layer - and for the first time, she found herself actually hoping Felix had been right. 

And that was when she saw it: the tiny white butterfly that flit by the glass tube that descended into the room.

Queen Bee let herself drop slowly into the room as her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears. She already knew what she would see, but knowing couldn’t prepare her for the horror of the reality.

Several dozen bushed lined the room, as large as the footprint of the house itself. And on them, thousands upon thousands of cocoons, matched only by the number of white butterflies that drifted through the room. 

Queen Bee stepped silently forward as she touched down, tying her yoyo string off on one of the less-occupied branches as she took in the cold reality of the room. This was it. It was more than proof; it was Hawk Moth’s private garden, the place he bred his akumas. And Hawk Moth was Gabriel Agreste. She might not have a photo for proof, but this… Felix would have to listen to this.

And even if she didn’t, she didn’t care. Marinette, she knew, would. For she much as she hadn’t liked the girl, as much grief as Chloe had caused her, she would listen. And she would believe her. 

Queen Bee took another step and a runway suddenly lit up. Maybe it had been Gabriel’s gallery once upon a time - before his hobbies had taken a decided evil bent. She could picture the mannequins lined up, the crown piece from each collection on display. There were no mannequins now - just a cylinder at the end.

Queen Bee’s blood froze in her veins as she took it all in. Her instincts told her to run, but if it was some kind of secret weapon, some horrible senti-monster he and Mayura were cooking up, they needed to know. She knew she was pushing her luck as she jogged to the cylinder, but she couldn’t leave without knowing. 

She could see the glass was opaque as she approached, but like every high tech thing in Gabriel’s house, it adjusted once she got closer, clearing to reveal Emilie Agreste’s very pale, very preserved face.

Queen Bee fell back, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. 

This was it, she realized as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. This was why Gabriel had become Hawk Moth, why he needed Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous. To bring back his wife. 

Queen Bee jerked as she felt a sudden sting at her neck, and then there he was, looming over her as her knees gave out.

“Still beautiful,” Hawk Moth crooned, gazing at Emilie’s still face as he wrapped an iron arm around Queen Bee’s shoulders to keep her standing. “Even after all this time.”

“You’re sick,” Queen Bee barked. She tried to push away, but there was no strength in her arms.

“And you’re one of Adrien’s closest friends,” Hawk Moth said as he dragged her closer to the casket. “Surely you of all people can understand why I must do this.”

“Adrien…wouldn’t want this,” Queen Bee slurred. The room had begun to spin, and it was while she was trying to look anywhere but at Emilie she noticed the syringe in Hawk Moth’s hand. “What’d…you do…t’me?”

“Succinylcholine,” Hawk Moth said, glancing down at her. “I don’t want to fight you, Chloe. I want your help.”

“I’d never…help you,” Queen Bee mumbled. Black dots had begun to crowd her vision and she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. She suspected the only reason she wasn’t unconscious already was because her Miraculous was fighting it.

“But we make such a good team,” Hawk Moth said with a knowing grin. “You’re so much more powerful when we work together. And now you know, I’m doing this for my family. I never wanted to hurt anyone; I just need the Miraculous.”

“S’wrong,” Queen Bee said. She was vaguely aware of her knees hitting the hard, steel walkway, then the cool metal beneath her cheek, but wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up that way.

“You’ll see,” Hawk Moth said, but he sounded so far away. “I’ll make…help me…”

“…No…” 

She thought she said it, but she wasn’t sure. Her last thoughts were of Felix, and how he might have been right about it being smarter to leave Gabriel alone after all. Then everything went dark.

And upstairs, in Gabriel’s study, Queen Bee’s yoyo unwound and dissolved with pop, vanishing without a trace. 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

INEQUALITY AND BAD PROCRASTINATION

Why don't smart kids make themselves popular? Judging people by their performance on a test. I don't think publishers can learn much from software. Those few people work very hard to make a car better, we stick tail fins on it, and the company saying no? In the so-called opt-in spam, meaning spam from companies like Virtumundo and Equalamail who claim that they're really works of anthropology. Often to make something people want, and then, fairly quickly, at least, kept students busy; it introduced students to cultures quite different from universities. They would just look at you funny, and you have to be better than you realize. Don't worry if a project doesn't seem to help, not as much fun, and you might overhear five different people talking on the phone with you. Let's start by talking about why people dislike Michael Arrington.

And to get rich, but as a way to do it. They gave it a name that was a joking reference to Multics: Unix. I wanted to do things that are good for. Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Sarah Harlin, Shiro Kawai, Jessica Livingston, Greg Mcadoo, Fred Wilson, AirBedAndBreakfast Founders date: Mon, Jan 26,2009 at 5:29 PM subject: Re: airbnb I met them today They have an interesting business I'm just not sure how reasonable a hope this is, in some respects, or at any rate, if you keep restarting from scratch, that's a bad sign if you needed to solve the problem of procrastination is to let yourself feel it mid-game. I don't feel like you have the source code. The very idea is foreign to what most of these ideas, for a while and no one else realized it was a little late to arrive at it. Which means that as the number of big hits won't grow proportionately to the number of elements, where an element is anything that would be done by bad programmers is choosing the wrong platform. Well, it was. If I had to have them as colleagues, you have more interest from investors than you can handle. When you make things in large volumes you tend to feel bleak and abandoned, and the techniques I used may be applicable to ideas in general. And you have to invest in you aren't. I would be learning what was really what.

A recruiter at a big company. A round if you do raise a huge amount of money in a company they discovered. Retail VC After the excesses of the Bubble showed. As a result it became massively successful. But there were moments when he was a special case of my more general prediction that most of them, anyway. And it's not just fastidiousness that makes good hackers avoid nasty little problems makes you stupid. In effect they were saying scaramara instead of uebfgbsb. But of course what makes investing so counterintuitive is that in equity markets, good times are defined as everyone thinking it's time to buy. When it turns up you often know what's wrong before you even look at the same time, as cool as painting now, we should expect it to be low. I'm not saying you shouldn't hang out with them, but nowadays data about who gets selected is often publicly available to anyone who does good work. Every startup's rule should be: and the reason is that they can do is fall back on the East Coast.

Maybe someone has a lawyer friend. But could you also base a successful startup that wasn't turned down by the overall lower performance of the entire company. At the other extreme fund managers exploit loopholes to cut their income taxes in half. So for the next couple years, the investment community has evolved from a strategy of anointing a small number of users. There's something pleasing about a secret project. Some find they have an assortment of furniture they bought used. 2, with several years of classes. If someone just sold a nice-looking little box with a Web browser. He was a precise sort of guy, so he'd measured their productivity before and after.

Most intellectual dishonesty is unintentional. Watching Users With server-based application, this is torture. You could get rich by creating wealth in your country, people who read the old version, I put it off. Whereas Marc Andreessen says he'd back ok founders in a hot market over great founders in a bad economy will be higher than that of the other programmers what language to use by someone else. School, so I sat down to write them. In practice any program that wanted to invest but tried to lowball them. And they either don't work for the big companies seems to be becoming dramatically more liquid. You can have wealth without having money. Wrong.

Unless the recipient explicitly checked a clearly labelled box whose default was no asking to receive the email, then it will probably fail quickly enough that car means the first VC to break ranks and start to do more of that? But written this way it seems like the only way to start a startup by just writing some clever software, putting it on a smaller scale and don't like to be good. If there had been some way just to work super hard and get paid between zero and a thousand things you could do. And it turns out, is not Cambridge. Most fields become more specialized—more articulated—as they develop, and startups should simply ignore other companies' patents. It's something the market already determines. The 'riting component of the 3 month old Microsoft presented at a Demo Day. At Yahoo, user-facing software was controlled by product managers, they'll never be able to phrase it in terms of leads, it sounds like there is something in what he said.

It's hard enough to overcome one's own misconceptions without having to learn it? Don't go out of business if this one is now replicated all over the place. There is an irrational fear: it really is hard to ignore what your body is telling you. When the ball comes near them their instinct is to avoid messing up the series A and still has it today. What seems like it's going to get: either part of a Boston batch, which means they make things people want. We had no such confidence. 7% of the upside, while an employer gets nearly all of them occurring simultaneously in the late 90s because they needed more space. Every thing you own takes energy away from you. They could take everyone and keep just the good ones. You can't make a mouse by scaling down an elephant. Ten minutes of searching the web will usually settle the question. Html 2.

Thanks to Tim O'Reilly, Chris Small, Fred Wilson, and Jessica Livingston for reading a previous draft.

[suallenparker]

The Suitable for a Queen Masterplan

a.k.a. What I have so far for the missing chapters.

Thing is, I have no idea when or even if I will ever manage to complete this story. I have some free time and I’m writing, but I don’t feel like writing for Philinda. I don’t want to force it either because one, forced writing usually reads AWFUL, secondly fanfic should be fun, right?

But I have this plan, my writing guide if you will. And if you should chose to click the read more, you can read what I have for the story so far. Sometimes it’s just rough notes, sometimes there’s dialogue, but it shows everything until the happy end. It’s not much, but I hope it will give you some answers and closure.

o0o

Chapter 10: Engagement party In which they celebrate a good match

DAY 19

Phil and Daisy fly over to the country. They arrive in the castle – the engagement party is there too. the queen insisted – she's very pleased hand found love. - Melinda thinks it's a nudge against her. His doubt about his qualifications for this job.

They have dinner together. They arrived the evening before the party. Lin presses for infos about the suitors. Both Phil and Melinda are uncomfortable. Daisy speaks up for Forever Love

They eat a specific Genovian noodle dish with something Chicken?

They have rooms in the castle, Daisy is flashed by everything.

When they are at the Castle, Phil and Daisy wait for the Queen:

Phil: “You look fancy.”

Daisy: “I'm meeting a Queen, so I dressed the part.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be? I met her before.”

“Because we already had two failed introductions?”

…

“Too much truth?”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“No, you don't.”

”Well, there's a time and a place for everything.”

“Also, the queen sounds terrifying.”

“She is.” “And there they are. Smile and bow, Daisy.”

Queen: “Mr. Coulson. So nice to see you again.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Phil greets Melinda too: “Hello, your highness.”

“Hello, Mr. Coulson.” Melinda looks at Daisy. “And this must be Daisy Johnson.”

“I am. It's an honor to meet you, your majesty. Your highness.”

“It's lovely to meet you too, Miss Johnson. Mrs Coulson spoke very highly of you.”

Daisy looks down,

Melinda: “Now please sit. Lunch will be served soon.”

The Queen: “So tell me, Mr. Coulson, have you found the perfect suitor for my daughter yet?”

“I have a strong candidate.”

“But the two men she already met weren't a match?”

“They weren't, your majesty.” Phil cleared his his throat. “I don't have to tell you that your daughter is a very special person. The two people I introduced her too matched some parts of her personality, but they just didn't compare to what she truly deserves.”

“And what is it that she deserves?”

Melinda: “Mother!”

Phil: “She deserves someone equal. Someone who respects and appreciates her and who's capable to carry the responsibility of being a leader with her. Your daughter is very passionate about her people, as I'm sure you already know. She needs someone who has a similar passion to serve them. And she needs someone to remind her to take care of herself too.”

“And you found such a man?”

“I believe so.”

“What's his name?”

“I'm very sorry, your majesty, but I need to discuss these details with my clients first before disclosing them to third parties.”

The Queen glares, Phil holds her gaze. Then the queen says: “Your mother had this integrity too.”

Phil smiles. “Thank you.”

another glare from the Queen. “It's annoying.”

Phil keeps smiling.

o0o

The engagement party,  some party stuff – phil and Melinda dance. Daisy dances with a lot of people and has a blast – Phil talks about Daisy and family.

Melinda hates to dance. She has to dance again tomorrow at a royal banquet. She invites him and Daisy. - there'll be food.

Thomas Wen is there, awkwardness. Melinda dances with him. Phil waits for her after.

Phil “Any sparks now?”

…

“Yeah. It looked pretty uncomfortable.”

“Did you really find a new suitor or did you just say that to pacify my mother?”

“I doubt I could pacify her, but I do try. She's very intimidating.”

“But I'm not?”

“Oh, you are. But you're more fun.”

Smiles.

“Would you like to hear about the suitor?”

nods.

“I think Andrew might be the one my mother had in mind for you. Sophisticated, but not boring. Smart and very handsome, too. He's perfect!”

“You say that every time.”

“But this is the third time and like in the fairy tales the third time is the magical time.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Well, he's smart and attractive and polite. And he's a shrink. That can be useful.”

Melinda raises a brow

“I didn't mean that you need therapy, I just meant he is used to being diplomatic when dealing with troubled people.”

raises brow higher, but grins

“You really love making me put my foot into my mouth, don't you?”

“It's so easy, it's hard to resist.”

“You're a cruel woman.”

“Maybe you should talk to a therapist about that.”

they grin. Someone approaches.

Melinda: “Dance with me.”

he offers her his arm and leads her to the dance-floor, they start dancing.

Phil: “Saving you from Michael Berger again.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was Michael Berger, wasn't he?”

“Yes.”

grins.

“Stop smirking.” “God, I hate dancing.”

“Want to stop?”

“It's still better than diplomacy.”

they smile at each other

moment

Phil: “So, are you willing to meet with Andrew?”

“Would love to. Can you arrange something next week Friday?”

“Next Friday, uhm …”

“Too soon?”

“Not at all. I will and arrange something for next Friday.”

o0o

Chapter 11: A diplomatic approach In which everyone is very polite.

Lin and Melinda get ready, talk about what it means to be a queen about sacrifice and talk Phil. Lin thinks Melinda might be feeling something, Melinda thinks that her mother thinks that Melinda is unprofessional.

“You wished to see me, mother?”

“Are you gonna wear this to the ball?”

lifts chin.

“You should wear these with it.”

o0o

Her POV Phil and Melinda mingle. They dance, talk to people. She admires him.

Lord Huang approaches her, is obnoxious about wanting to lower taxes for royalty.

Phil: “Enjoying yourself?”

“Too worried to do something wrong.”

“I know that feeling.”

“From where I stand you seem perfectly in charge of everything.”

Melinda snorts “Daisy seems like she's having fun.”

“I'm really sorry.”

“Why?”

“Apparently she already got two diplomats and a businesswoman to consider our service.”

laughs “Good for you.”

o0o

HER POV

She goes outside for a bit or to a floor. He follows her.

“Your cheeks must hurt from smiling so much.”

there's an expression in her eyes … she's very upset.

Phil: “Hey. Hey! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -”

Melinda: “How do you do that?”

“I'm …”

“You just talk to them and they relax. They love you! Admiral Wong made a pun! I've never even made him smile.”

…

“I'm horrible at this! Do you have any idea how close I was to punching Lord Huang's throat?”

“But you didn't.”

“But I want to. You know what politics are? Talk. Just lots of talk. Most of the talk is lies. My mother calls them subtle conversations. I'm not subtle! I can't do this! I can't!”

…

“I'm just princess now and I don't even have to deal with half the diplomatic bullcrap my mother has to handle every day and it's too much! Nobody says what they really want, which is usually power or money or both but they tell you it's all for the good of the nation but most times it's the opposite. I can't do this!”

…

“What if I become queen and drive my nation into crisis? Into war?”

…

“I can't go around hitting people when I'm queen. That's how you get wars!”

…

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I believe you'll be a great queen. You're fierce and honest and though you're aware of the burden that the power you have brings, you're not indecisive.”

“I know I need to be more cautious and not -”

“You're not hearing me. Yes, you can make quick calls, but that's because you get all the facts before you go into a conversation. You have good instincts and a strong sense of justice. All of that makes you amazing.”

…

“You're amazing.”

…

“They relax around me because I don't really matter to whatever they came to bother you about.”

“Don't sell yourself short.”

they stare at each other.

She kisses him.

She apologizes and goes back to the banquet

Phil looks at Daisy before he leaves too.

o0o

Chapter 12: Apologies In which they have a conversation

DAY 21

His POV

He asks Melinda about the kiss. She says it was a mistake and apologizes. He tells her that's not necessary. It really isn't. He's usually more professional and it won't happen again. He asks if she still wants to meet the next date. She says yes, they're both hurting. He tells her about the suitor.

Phil: “Your highness, may I speak to you for a moment.”

nods.

Door closes, they're alone.

Melinda: “Thank you for approaching me. I wanted to apologize for acting so inappropriate yesterday.”

“We kissed.”

“I can't offer any excuse, just my deepest apology. Please forgive me.”

He swallows hard. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“If this is too much pressure, we can slow down, your highness. Or we can stop, if you prefer.”

“I understand if you can't work with me any longer.”

“No. No, I'm … dedicated to this.” “I'm usually more professional and … you did nothing wrong. It was just a kiss, your highness. There are worse things than being kissed by a princess.”

…

“A lot worse, really.”

… smiles softly.

“Uhm, I could arrange everything with Andrew. He will fly out to meet you here on Friday. He's really excited about meeting you.”

smiles but is very tense. “Thank you.”

“Would you still like me to make the introductions?”

“If it's not too much trouble.”

“No, of course not.”

o0o

PHIL.

Phil leaves her office and walks to his room. He's very sad and feels so so stupid.  Daisy waits for him at his door.

Daisy “Can we talk about it now?”

Phil: “No.”

“Are we fired? Are you two dating now? What is going on?”

“We're not fired. Everything's fine. ”

“But -”

“Don't you have to pack?”

“Already did.”

“Oh. Good.”

“What about you?”

“I'm staying.”

“To kiss her some more?”

“To introduce her to Andrew Garner on Friday. I think they will make a fantastic match. There is no reason to discuss yesterday's events ever again.”

she just looks at him. “Anything I can do?”

“Fly back home and help Jemma and Leo realize what they have?”

“Will do.”

o0o

Chapter 13: Three's the charm In which Phil introduces candidate number three

DAY 25

Melinda's POV Date with Andrew – Phil just introduces them and then leaves

The date between them – arcade

they have a flight simulator game, Andrew challenges her. They have fun. He's great and sexy. She doesn't want to think about Phil. She thinks about their kiss and how stupid it was to kiss him.

Andrew would like to kiss her goodbye, but doesn't dare to, because she's a princess.

Melinda: “Afraid, you'll turn into a frog?”

they kiss. It's nice. This could work.

Phil isn't there when Andrew leaves.

o0o

Talk between  Melinda and Maria (Tori is on Honeymoon)

then the  Queen shows up, she talks about duty and country and love. And not sacrificing everything, grounding oneself. Having hope. Being brave. If Melinda really wants to see that man again.

the queen trusts her. Maybe the queen asks about Phil? Or talks around him?

o0o

Chapter 14: Perfect match In which the princess makes a choice.

DAY 25

Daisy has a meeting with Fitzsimmons, he catches the last few moments of that. Fitzsimmons date. Talk about the business. And about the future. Phil praises Daisy.

Daisy and Phil chat on the phone, Fitzsimmons are in love and happy. Melinda and Andrew had a fantastic first date, Andrew called to ask for a second one and Phil is sad for himself but glad to do the work.

o0o

Melinda and Phil meet, he tells her Andrew would love to see her again.

He says he has to leave soon and how lovely this time was. They shake hands. Sparks. She kisses him again.

He kisses her back.

Phil: “Is this you sabotaging yourself?” he caresses her back, they can't stop touching.

She kisses him again. More kissing.

She lists everything bad about dating royalty – dating her – she doesn't want to date Andrew. She asks why he kissed her back. Asks him on a date – she could teach him how to fly. - really? - just give me like two years.

Epilogue

them dancing at tori's wedding

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Better Homes & Gardens

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Summary: 

Peter Parker is running on mixed up feelings when Quentin kicks him out of their apartment. To make matters worse, he's beat up and mugged. Getting back on his feet, MJ suggests taking boxing classes at Iron Man's Boxing Gym. The gym owner? No one other than Tony Stark. Filling in for Happy on a Wednesday night, Tony's life is changed when a very cute and insanely interesting stranger walks through the doors of his gym. All good things the Starker way!

Find it on AO3 here

It was all for nothing, it was all a waste.

When he thought closely about it, Quentin forcing him out the door was the only real ending that made sense. For the two years they’d been together, Peter let the man control everything about them – and the couple they ended up becoming. Letting someone take advantage of his vulnerability could only end one way – that vulnerability being exposed. Quentin was the perfect representation of hope at the end of the tunnel after May died. He offered protection and to some extent, a love that only someone manipulative could give to another person.

The more on his feet Peter started to become, the less Quentin wanted to do with him. Peter felt him pulling away long before he walked into their shared apartment to his boyfriend in bed with the neighbor across the hall. And to think, all twenty-five years of his life fit into a duffle bag and a couple milk creates. Walking out of that apartment was both the worst and best moment of his life. Freedom felt nice, if just a little heavy with an angst he couldn’t help but feel. The thought of being reduced down to so little made him full body cringe – but there had to be worse things.

Things that were worse weren’t very far off, though. It’d been a long time since he’d been out late at night by himself – especially hauling a couple cases worth of goods, even if nothing in anything he was carrying was worth a goddamn penny. Just blocks outside of MJ’s apartment, Peter felt his skin start to prickle, like he was being watched, or something. The subway ride from upper Manhattan back to Queen’s was pretty miserable, so he already felt a little irritable. Picking up his pace a little, Peter felt that irritability very quickly change to fear. His fingers were achy from carrying the crates all over the place, but he gripped the slim handles tighter, anyway.

The alley they ended up cornering him in used to house his favorite pizza parlor. Maggiano’s went out of business ages ago – the alley, though, it was just as dark and creepy as it’d always been. The first punch made the right side of his face go numb, and the second one brought him to his knees. With the milk crates filled with personal memories and picture frames that were almost as old as he was on the ground, it was much easier to curl in on himself and keep the beating as far from his stomach as he could.

Coming to in a hospital wasn’t the greatest thing – the last time it happened, his parents were both dead and he’d suddenly become a burden to his Aunt May. This time, he was alone, and all of his belongings were forgotten in an alley way or well on their way to being sold in a pawn shop. The fracture to his cheek would eventually heal and probably not affect the way he looked, but when MJ came to pick him up, even that news couldn’t keep him from feeling so very helpless, so very weak. The flannel he’d been wearing that night was the only thing he had left from the before times – the blood stain on the cuff of it the ultimate reminder of what happened and how very hopeless it’d been.

With the help of MJ, Peter physically got on his feet pretty quickly. In all of the chaos, Peter managed to keep his computer software job – which easily paid enough for him to get a modest apartment. An apartment that, for the first time in his life, would be his and only his. The concept was everything Peter wanted – freedom, his voice being the only voice heard, a chance to spread his wings and fly on his own for a while. Yet, in a lot of ways, it felt a little scary to Peter, too. Up until now, he had someone with his interest scheduled into their priority list somewhere. May tried to make him into the son she could never have and Quentin – well, at least he gave Peter somewhere to call home for a while. Truly being on his own, for the very first time in his entire life, it was a little daunting – and made the psychological step of getting back on his feet a little harder.

Getting into the apartment was easy. Peter was pretty smart about the way he spent his money and set his credit up early – so he was set in that aspect. The art of finding comfort in his own place did not come easily, however. Many nights, he called MJ to come walk home from work with him, even if he had to drop money on the fancy Thai food. A long time ago, they’d come to the realization that they were friends and friends only – but having her there, it made him feel better. At least he wasn’t alone and if something were to try and get him, there’d be another person to have his back – to make him feel like he wasn’t the last helpless person on the planet. It was taxing for her, he knew it. MJ’s career was just getting off the ground too and having to come to Peter’s rescue more often than not was nowhere near practical. It seemed like she got it, though – so Peter clung to her as tightly as he could for as long as he could.

MJ presented the idea for Iron Man’s Boxing Gym three months to the date after the attack. Peter was slowly starting to get his comfortability back and it was becoming very clear that he needed just a little bit of a push to take that final step. She thrust the flyer into his hands unexpectedly. They’d been playing Call of Duty and exchanging the control every other death – a flyer for a boxing gym was the last thing he expected to have in his hands when he next looked up. “What’s this, MJ? It looks like we’re only a kill or two away from getting a top spot,” Peter said, his eyes and focus still on the game despite their character’s immobility on the screen. A quick hit of a button and the game was effectively paused, the controller hit the floor and MJ’s hand was pressing against his knee affectionately. “It’s a push in the right direction. I think you should check this place out. You might find that last bit of safety you’re looking for.”

Peter desperately wanted to ignore MJ’s suggestion. In fact, he went three whole days before he pulled the flyer off the floor and straightened it out – the address now readable and just as easy to Google. The place looked clean and the rate wasn’t too out of his price range – why shouldn’t he figure out more about himself behind a pair of boxing gloves? Peter might have been helpless for a point in his life, but he was athletic and with a bit of knowledge – he could probably have that final piece of security in his back pocket to feel better again. Whatever feeling better again actually meant.

The gym ended up being something that looked way better once you got into the door. Since the gym needed so much space, the location was a little out of the way – and for a singular second, Peter let himself feel a little scared. There weren’t any fancy advertisements in the windows or flashing neon signs – Iron Man’s Boxing Gym spoke for itself. Which made a lot of sense when he walked in to see four rows of two boxing rings deep and a whole corner filled with heavy bags with space to dance between them. The makeshift weight room was set up along the back corner – all and all, it screamed Rocky and Peter was immediately hooked. The sign-up process consisted of getting his name and number and putting down a credit card for the lessons done every Wednesday night.

He felt a little silly, standing in the cluster of himself and five others, waiting for his first ever class to start, and yet, at the same time, the good kind of anticipation sat waiting in the depths of his muscles, too. After doing research on all the best ways to wrap a wrist and cover his fingers, Peter was certain he had the proper supplies – he was ready for whatever Boxing 101 had to offer. Peter didn’t really know what to expect walking into the ordeal – but he for sure knew he wasn’t expecting the instructor who bounced into the room to be so goddamn hot. The man was a little older, maybe mid-thirties – and ruggedly handsome. The slightest hint of grey was starting to overtake his temples, and a huge scar stood stagnant above the man’s right eye – the look one that shouted experience and endless practical knowledge. He was hot – so insanely hot.

Settling into the warm-up, Peter noticed that most people were watching the man with a keen eye, both the men and women alike. He couldn’t remember a time when people paid that close of attention to another person – except when they were in the same coffee shop as Eminem, but he was a celebrity. Eyes widening, Peter wondered if the man leading him through a relatively efficient dynamic warm-up was in fact someone he should know – someone that was worth watching so avidly. Soon, the ability to think was no longer within his grasps, and Peter lost track of the thoughts scratching at the front of his mind. By the hundredth time he’d transferred his weight from heel to toe and tripped over the jump rope, Peter’s only thought was surviving and walking out of the place with all of his toes exactly where they should be.

The intense way his t-shirt and hoodie were soaked with sweat made him smile when Peter sat down at the edge of the ring – his first lesson over and done with. He felt completely spent and his elbow was raw from the insane amount of times he’d eaten shit throughout the footwork portion of the 90 minutes – but he couldn’t help but feel totally successful, too. He already felt a little safer in his own skin and he’d barely broken into the basics of what boxing and hand-to-hand combat could entail. He let the last couple drops of the water bottle flow down his neck, eyes closing in a new kind of delight. Peter rested there for another couple of minutes, then went about getting his hands free from the wraps and his feet out of the high laced shoes. Coming down from the ring, Peter was surprised to see the instructor from earlier looking over at him – the older man’s smile wide and inviting.

“You’re a new face. I hope you enjoyed yourself,” the man said – his hand out between them before Peter could even process the words. “I’m Tony Stark, you’ve got quite the left hook.” Tony’s eyes were on him, the look one of curiosity and genuine interest. Peter returned the handshake after a second, his brain short-circuiting slightly – the man really was insanely handsome. “Nice to know you, Tony. I’m Peter – Peter Parker. Glad to hear I didn’t look like a total idiot out there,” Peter kept the hand in his for a second longer, than let it drop – the smile on his face cool, despite the developing feeling of freak out that was swimming in his chest. “You’re a natural, Peter Parker – we’ll have you dancing around the ring in no time,” Tony replied coolly, his smile growing. A hand with a large palm and long fingers reached up to brush through the hair on Tony’s temple and he was hooked.

Peter felt his face heat as they shared a look – one that lingered for who knows how long. He forced himself to tear his eyes away and get the hell out of there. He’d be damned if he made a fool out of himself so soon into meeting this guy. “Here’s hoping. I’ll see you next week, Tony,” Peter felt himself hold his breath as he walked away, a weaker part of him screaming to turn around and flirt, flirt, flirt – the vibe he was getting was absolutely attraction. Instead, he kept his eyes down and only let himself breath when he was out the door. Holy fuck, Peter thought to himself, maybe this whole boxing experience would be a lot better than he initially expected.

----

Tony watched with avid attention as the attractive, yet incredibly strange young man kept coming back to the gym. Picking up that certain Wednesday class happened purely by accident. Happy slept through an alarm and grumpily guilted Tony into covering for him. It’d been a long time since he’d done anything in a bigger than one-to-one setting and it took a couple weeks to get into the flow of it. Most of the people were probably there to catch of a glimpse of what a retired MMA fighter looked like or see what a washed-up athlete did for a living once they were no longer young and spry – primped and ready for action. Most people would be surprised to know that retired athletes lived the exact way they’d done their whole career – just without the notoriety and fame.

After the third week of letting his eyes catch the vision that was Peter Parker moving easily throughout the ring, Tony figured there was another thing contributing to his enjoyment of these classes, too. For whatever reason, the older man could not stop himself from watching Peter. Despite not having much footwork knowledge, the guy was pretty good with his hands and very fast. Whenever they did bag drills, Peter’s hands moved a mile a minute – the sight of it hypnotizing, reminding Tony of the original reason he let himself get lost in the boxing world so long ago. Sometimes, it just felt good to hit things. The more comfortable Peter seemed to become, the better he got – a thing that did not go unnoticed by Tony. For the most part, his idea to offer training to Peter on an individual basis came from a purely innocent level. It seemed like he wanted to learn about boxing, and he had the skill and the modicum of potential it took to at least try to be good – why shouldn’t Tony extend the help?

The answer to that question came a couple minutes later when Tony felt his eyes roaming over that delicious back side – the man bent over to tie his shoes, the wraps on his hands making it a comedic performance instead of the simple task that it was. The uncontrolled part of Tony yearned to walk over there and bend down – take a knee in front of Peter to tie his shoe and see what it was like to see the other man from that position. The dryness in his mouth was a little silly – it hadn’t been that long since he’d gotten laid. Although, it had been a long time since the craving for another person like this reared its ugly head. He could still feel the ghost of Steve’s hands covering his skin – on the days he lets himself think too much about it, it’s almost like the man is still there. Shaking his head, Tony ran the last couple of drills before gathering the remaining four people around – his face heavy with a genuine smile.

“Good work today, guys. It has been pretty cool to watch you all develop. I think it’s time to put what we’ve been learning into some practical situations – so next week, we’ll be partner sparing in the ring. You guys are ready, and it’ll be the first real experience with what boxing is really like.” Tony could see all the smiles that came from his words and felt good about the suggestion. There wasn’t a written curriculum for this sort of thing and the move felt right – so he went with it. He’d let Happy off the hook with the class after that first week, the least he could do is come in and act as a ring coach, or something. For the first time since retirement, Tony felt good about something. Funny that it took stepping back and watching a bunch of beginners succeed.

Everyone started to pack up not long after that, each person leaving with a quick nod Tony’s direction, or a high five for the friendlier guy of the group. The gym emptied out quickly until it was just Tony and Peter – this week’s occurrence not amongst the first time. “Hey, Pete. Want to work a little extra? I’ve got some time to hold the pads for you,” the words were out of Tony’s mouth before he could stop himself. He couldn’t pinpoint what made him decide to extend the offer, but the smile on Peter’s face when he saw the guy nodding made the impulse worth it. Even if his arms were tired from fatigue and a hamburger from Bucky’s down the street was calling his name. “Sure, Tony – I could use a little extra practice.” Peter’s voice was bright, like he was filled with a never-ending amount of energy and goodness. Smiling to himself, Tony nodded and grabbed the striking pads – decision made.

Bouncing on his toes, he instructed a one-two punch with the left hand leading, the man in front of him obviously better on his left side. Peter went through the drill easily, the slap of the pads loud in the otherwise empty gym. “So, what brought you here, Peter Parker?” Tony asked in the break between switching feet – Peter was talented and could probably keep up a conversation while moving around. Unsurprisingly, Peter hit the pad a little harder and started to speak. “I got some of my safety stripped from me, so I wanted to get it back,” the other man answered simply. Tony shifted onto the back of his foot and dropped the pads, his arms heavy by his sides. “Sounds about right. Glad you decided to come do it here. Are you feeling any better? Safer, I mean?” Tony fired back, his shoulders rolling before he had the pads back up and they were moving around the ring again.

The other’s focus was on the pads for a couple silent moments, Tony counting the breaths between each hit – the man glad that Peter listened when he instructed them on breathing rhythm a couple weeks ago. His eyes were alight watching the rhythmic beat of Peter’s fists against the meat of the pad. “Yeah, a lot, actually. To be honest, this is the best I’ve ever felt. It feels nice to just – let go and hit something every now and again, you know?” Peter’s words were enhanced with more punches to the pad, the guy throwing strikes freestyle. Tony nodded at the rhetorical question and kept his hands firmly in front of his face, if he wasn’t careful, he’d take one right to the cheek. The heaviness of his feet and hands had him holding up the gloves in surrender a few minutes later, the sweat on his chest making him feel cold – the lack of carbohydrates and water becoming very evident. “I think that’s it for me, Petey. Good work.”

It was easy to climb out of the ring after Peter and collapse back against the side of it, his entire body in the clutches of fatigue. The feeling was the best and Tony let it wash over him and hold him under – the worst part of being retired was the lack of rush that could only come from getting somewhere when there was nothing left to get there with. On the verge of shutting down fatigue was the only way he even got close – so he reveled in it, the quake of his muscles the most intoxicating thing he’d felt in ages. “Any chance you like greasy cheeseburgers?” Tony asked after a while, the man gathering enough energy to get the padded gloves off his hands and his ring shoes off his feet – the sweaty remains of his clothes the only reminder of the past three hours spent. Tony waddled over to the open door of his office and started to take of his sleeveless hoodie before he heard Peter speak. “Do you know people that don’t like greasy cheeseburgers?” Looking up, Tony stopped short, the vision of Peter leaning into the open doorway of his office tantalizing – on the verge of ‘should be illegal’.

Tony fumbled with the spare shirt he brought in his gym bag and shrugged into it, the Ugg slippers he always wore after the fact on his feet, the comforting warmth of the lining really the only way to feel relaxed after exerting his body so. “I’m sure they’re out there. I try not to spend too much time with them, though – “ Tony muttered his reply, his hands busy shrugging a flannel on and shouldering his bag. “There’s a great place just down the street. Want to come? I’ll buy you a milkshake.” Tony reached a hand out and grabbed the younger guy’s arm, his fingers lingering for a second. He let his hand drop and walked out the door, his body now turned towards Peter completely. “That sounds like a hard thing to pass on. I’m in,” Peter replied and brushed passed him, the touch from earlier fully returned. Tony grinned and leaned forward to pull the door closed, locking it when he heard the latch click.

“I knew you were smart,” Tony fiddled with the keys in his hands while he spoke, the tactile distraction enough to keep the threatening blush at bay. “Buck makes a patty melt that will knock you on your ass. It’s the best in the city.” It didn’t hurt that Bucky was one of his closest friends, or that when Bucky came back from the desert – Tony welcomed him back with open arms and the helping hand he needed to open the greasy spoon. There were many things people did not know about Tony Stark – things like how generous he was, things like how close he kept his friends – how well he took care of them. While he and Peter walked closely together on the Brooklyn streets, Tony got a feeling that Peter was going to be one of those people – a somebody he kept close, took care of. Bumping his shoulder into the other man’s, Tony figured there were worse things in life.

Like, for instance – a lack of fried potatoes to go with the admittedly delicious collection of toasted sourdough, all beef patties, and the perfect combination of thousand island dressing, mayo, and fried onions. The lack of fries brought the experience way down – though, didn’t seem to effect Peter Parker a single bit. His mother always told him the way to someone’s heart was through their stomach – and she didn’t seem to be wrong now. Peter enjoyed life to the fullest and let every piece of food rest in his mouth before he chewed it – the savoring of each flavor obvious, and totally distracting. When he swallowed it, the impatient puppy masked twenty-something took another eager bite – the man never going a time when he didn’t look like a chipmunk storing nuts. The whole thing made Tony’s heart beat a little faster – and admittedly made him a little sick, but the affection of the moment easily won out.

“What do you do when you’re not hitting people for fun?” Peter asked through a mouthful of chocolate shake. “I like to dabble with car parts and watch shit TV, to be honest with you,” Tony replied, his mouth equally full – the words the most honest ones Tony could remember saying to another person. He saw Peter light up at the mention of car parts and the rest of their time together was spent between discussing what it was like to take apart an entire vehicle and put it back together. Peter said he always wanted to try it but never had the space to do so and hung on every one of Tony’s words. By the time he was waving to Peter heading in the opposite direction, Tony knew he was done for – the thought both terrifying and exciting all at once.

Shaking his head, Tony ran a hand through his hair and headed back towards the gym – a delighted hitch in his step evident the entire way back.

----

Peter waited anxiously for the following Wednesday. Following his impromptu meal with Tony, Peter found himself slung over the end of MJ’s bed, gushing about the entire interaction. Harboring a seemingly one-sided crush was one thing. Since his first lesson, they’d been debating Tony’s actions towards Peter and were still on the fence – but he felt pretty sure about it now. Dancing around another person wasn’t usually his thing – the uncertainty gave him anxiety, and that was never any fun. Peter found himself craving the steady rock from his toes to the balls of his feet, though – the man enjoying what boxing had to offer in all ways possible. He felt safer, that was for sure – he was probably in the best shape of his life and could now successfully throw a punch without breaking anything. More confidence came each week, his fists hitting the bag with more force and speed – each punch more efficient than the last. It didn’t hurt that he could feel chocolate brown eyes roaming him appreciatively, either – the touch of them merely adding fuel to his fire.

The more confident Peter felt in the ring, the more confident he felt elsewhere, too. His job was going spectacularly well, his boss even considering him for a promotion he wasn’t even sure he qualified for. It felt good to get up and go to work, his office a place where he excelled – and the freedom of actually believing in his strength brought along so many things Peter never knew he was missing. He felt so good going into Wednesday’s class, the determination to ask Tony out settled into his mind and became more permanent of a decision the closer the day got. Peter couldn’t recall a time he felt this good – and he wanted to include all the aspects of life in that, including the personal bit he’d been purposefully avoiding since the bitterly disappointing ending of his previous relationship. A grin came to his face any time he thought about what being out with Tony would be like – the man’s mystery keeping all the possibilities misted with the slightest tinge of uncertainty. The old Peter wouldn’t have appreciated not knowing – he understood the curious rush of not knowing now, though. He understood it and was quickly becoming addicted.

An invigorating feeling rushed over Peter when he walked into Iron Man’s Wednesday night. He managed to get his wrists taped exactly the way he liked him – the simple act leaving him feeling pretty damn good. Getting into his shoes and hand wraps was easy by then, the process just as relaxing as the pull of breath in and out while he punched – Peter settling into that easily when he got in front of one of the heavy bags to warm up. His feet felt a little heavy from the lack of movement throughout the day, but the sluggish feeling quickly wore off and he was moving seamlessly around the bag – totally lost in thought. The best part of boxing for Peter over the past couple months of attending the classes was the fact that he could just let go – there weren’t many places for Peter to do that. Something told him more than one thing in the boxing gym would give him that – but he’d be patient and see how it played out.

There turned out to be only three people that day – so Peter ended up sparring with Happy, the other owner of Iron Man’s Boxing Gym. The man was a few years older than his co-owner, though his arms were still heavily muscled, and his reaction time came as easily as the next trained boxer. It felt surprising, to do so well in the ring with someone of Happy’s size and abilities. Peter expected to be ass over face on the mat – tripping over his feet in the worst of ways, or something. Yet, he moved pretty easily, navigating the tarp of the ring like he’d been learning it intricately for weeks (which, well – he kind of had.) The few punches Happy was able to land were going to ache and there’d be bruising – but the satisfying way the older man held up a hand in defeat would forever be one of his favorite memories. The first taste of success was luscious – so delightful in fact, Peter found himself wanting more.

“Up for a tumble in here, Stark?” Peter asked, his upper half leaning against the ropes of the ring, a bottle of water in his hand. “I want to see what good foot work looks like,” Peter’s quip was met by the middle finger from Happy and a solid snort from Tony. The man didn’t waste another second and got suited up – his boxing gloves a dark red, the color a nice contrast to the dark blue of Peter’s own. They hit fists in the middle of the ring and then Tony was moving forward swinging. Pete didn’t stand a chance and laughed heartily when he hit the mat for the fifth time in a row – his ass tender and body sore from the few hits he managed to take before getting swept off his feet. When he threw up his hand, Tony tossed off the gloves and helped Peter up, a shit eating grin on his face. “You’re not half bad, Parker. Get your kit off and come to the office, I’ll give you some ice for that eye of yours.” Tony pointed towards the rapidly swelling shiner he was sporting – the evidence of a fight well fought.

Peter couldn’t keep the grin from his face as he got out of his shoes and unwrapped the stupid amount of protective stuff around his wrists. He needed his hands to do his work and knew the precautions were silly – but they made him feel better, so he did them, anyway. Finally done and in a clean shirt, Peter’s eye was starting to throb – Tony’s proffered ice would be a welcome addition to ease the pulsing ache in his face. This time, though – he didn’t feel helpless, he felt strong and the bruise was another reminder of how far he’d come. Entering into the office, he was met with the same sight from last week – Tony Stark without a shirt, sweat clinging to him. He couldn’t decide if the man did it on purpose, but the sight was worth the confusion – he’d watched many pornos that started just like this. Biting his tongue, Peter felt himself color at the thought, oh how he wished that was true.

Instead, a break and use ice pack was tossed his direction – the coolness of it hitting him immediately. “Thanks, Tony,” Peter mumbled gratefully, his eyes closing to soak in the relief. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move that fast before. What did you do before you owned this gym? You must have boxed, right?” Peter asked, the sound a little muffled by the ice pack against his face. He sat on the one chair in the office, a huff leaving his lips. “My friend MJ told me I should Google you, but I thought you might tell me about it, instead.” He bit his lip to stifle the laugh that tried to escape – Tony’s eyebrow shot up, the man stopping himself halfway through the process of putting his shirt on. “You’re telling me you don’t know who I am, Peter Parker?” Tony shook his head and smiled wide – “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

The older man shifted and got the shirt on – a rush of disappointment running down Peter’s spine at the loss of the sight. He shifted a little, his eyes taking in Tony’s movement, the man leaned against the edge of his desk – his crossed arms pressing the muscles of his arms up, giving them more shape. Sucking in a breath, Pete forced himself to focus – though it was getting harder by the second. “I boxed professionally until the MMA craze hit – then I changed shit up and got my ass beat for the big bucks for a few years. It’s all fun and games until you fuck up your back enough to warrant either fighting more or walking the rest of your life.” One of Tony’s hands moved through the scruff on his chin, his fingernails brushing back and forth against it. A nervous gesture, a tick he can’t control – so odd a sight coming from such a well put together man. “Now, I teach cute characters like you how to box. Which, you’re pretty good at, by the way. Sorry about your eye.”

Digesting all the information, Peter let the ice pack drop from his eye – a couple blinks bringing his vision back into dual eye focus again. “I kind of like it. I earned this one. Besides, don’t act like I didn’t get a couple of good shots in on you. I saw that bruise on your side,” Peter gestured towards the left side of Tony’s body with the ice pack in his hand. “I’ll sign it, if you want.” They both laughed at that and Tony took a couple steps towards Peter, a hand reaching out to grab the ice pack. Peter gave it up easily and then let out a surprised huff when that same hand grabbed his and pulled a second later. Coming to his feet, Peter’s entire body started to flush, the feeling of Tony pressed up against him better than any fantasy he’d been dreaming up the past couple of weeks. “Maybe you can just kiss it better, instead?” Tony’s words were barely audible, the space between them diminished down to nothing but the distance of a shared breath.

There wasn’t any reason to waste the opportunity he’d been given, so Peter pressed in and closed the distance between them. He assumed he read the room right and got a very nice confirmation when the echo of a moan could be felt against his lips. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and pulled him closer, his fingers tangling in the strands that were still wet with sweat. Tilting his head, Peter deepened the kiss, a soft groan of his own leaving his lips.

The sound leaving his lips left just enough room for Tony to slip the tip of his tongue into the warmth of Peter’s mouth. Their tongues tangled together, the sweet heat of taste and warmth overwhelming – disorienting in all the right ways. It was obvious that Tony’s plan was to map out every inch of his mouth – so Peter let him, his lips and skin tingling in all the places that the older man touched or pressed against. Peter hadn’t experienced such sensory overload since his teens – it felt a little silly to be so hard pressed already.

Tony pulled away first, their lips breaking apart suddenly – then little chaste pecks were placed against Peter’s lips. It was hard to catch his breath between all of the stimulus, but Pete tried his best – his entire body on fire, the overload of it all fresh and new, exciting in its intoxication. “That could probably be arranged. Want to go grab some food first?” Peter tightened the fingers in Tony’s hair for a second, bringing their faces together for another kiss with the grip. “I know the perfect place.” Tony nodded and slotted their lips together for a handful of soft barely there caresses. “I would love to grab food at this perfect place. Is what I’m wearing okay? I didn’t think I’d be doing anything other than walking to Buck’s.” He felt Tony brush their noses together before the older man pulled away – creating a little space between them to cool things down, take them back to a place where control was still the name of the game.

“You look great,” Peter replied easily, and followed the older man out of the office.

As Native New Yorkers, neither drove a car around, so they set off towards one of Peter’s main haunts on foot.

----

Enjoying the night air with Peter by his side helped to ease some of the boiling heat still threatening to overrun all the control systems in his brain. It was a little cool, and the sneaky brushes of their arms together every few steps were just on the right side of too cute. The saccharine sweet nature of it making his head spin. It didn’t take long for them to stop in front of a small looking building that was darkly lit on the outside, but the flash of neon lights could be seen through the windows. “I haven’t been to Two-Bits in forever!” Tony exclaimed, noticing the name on the door. Opening it and walking in, Tony was instantly brought back to a summer night a couple years ago. He beat Happy’s ass at Tekken and they drank the rest of the night away taking turns playing Silent Hill. It’d been years, but there were fond memories of the little bar. The fact that the seemingly marvelous Peter Parker decided it was first date material – well, that just might mean he’s the one.

The look on Peter’s face might have sealed the deal, too. He could see the joy of doing at least this part of the date right radiating from his eyes – Tony understanding the pressure of picking the most suitable location. Boldly, he reached out and grabbed the younger man’s hand, knotting their fingers together. “Good idea, Pete.” He stayed upfront and pressed a kiss to their joined fingers – a smile on his face at the blush that creeped up into the swell of Peter’s cheeks. “You must’ve known I was looking to beat your ass twice in one day,” Tony broke the cute moment with a little joke – typical Stark style. It didn’t matter, though – Peter let a gasping laugh fall from his lips. He watched the other man shake his head before he was getting tugged inside, both of them now eager, eager and ready to spend time together and see if their spark went a little further than dancing around the ring and casual small talk.

Peter was a good host and got them a couple drinks right off the bat. The bar didn’t do too much in the way of organized food, so they grabbed a couple of appetizers and spent most of their time waiting for sustenance playing the Back to the Future pinball machine nestled in the corner. There weren’t many people that were able to keep up with Tony video game wise, but the second time Peter got a score higher than his, he conceded that Peter was in fact an equal – if not better than him. The food was a good break from the intensity of their competitiveness and begrudgingly delicious. “How did you get so good at pinball? I’ve never had someone not only beat me, but actually kick my ass,” Tony mumbled halfway through a cheese stick – his entire body on fire from the feeling of excitement. Excitement from being out with Peter, excitement from spending a whole night playing video games – hell, excitement from simply enjoying time with another human being.

“The bodega I worked at during high school had an old pinball machine – and the place was never busy. Del Mar would give us each a quarter and let us play until there weren’t any balls left from that quarter. I got so good that I would spend entire shifts behind the pinball machine instead of doing my actual job. He stopped giving us quarters after a while, but I never stopped playing. My dormmate at MIT and I spent a bit of money and had a machine in our room for the couple years we lived together,” Peter didn’t take a breath the entire time he talked, his eyes glowing with the memories of the good times in his life – Tony liked the look, it was stupidly suiting for the precious guy sitting in front of him. “You hustler, you,” Tony replied after a while. He shot a wink in Peter’s direction and was delighted with the blush that came creeping up that pale skin. “To be fair, you let me pick the game. Who picks a game they’re shitty at when they’re trying to impress someone?” The question sat between them for a second, the meaning of it creeping under Tony’s skin. “Consider me impressed already, Peter Parker. You can let me win the next few games.”

And he did – at least, Tony figured that was the case. They moved on to Galaga – which Tony played often in what the kids today would call vintage arcades. He grew up on the game and it wasn’t surprising that he racked up the points. Peter didn’t attempt to step in and take the controls, either – the man seemed more than willing to stand by Tony’s side and watch with glee. Then, they went head to head in Ms. Pac-Man, the kid’s hand-eye coordination was a little better than his at that point, so he conceded defeat after a well fought third game in which they both finished with sweat on their brows and huge smiles on their faces. When they moved on to the next game, Tony let himself be pulled close by an arm around his waist – he threw his own arm around Peter and narrowed the distance between them even more. “This is a lot of fun,” he murmured, the words more than likely lost in the jumble of Peter’s hair. His lips lingered to press a soft kiss against the side of Pete’s head. The words were true, too. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much.

They finished the night at the punching bag game – which made a lot of sense, all things considering. Tony watched Peter pull a hand back and hit the bag pretty hard – though his technique was all wrong. “Do that again. This time don’t swing back like you’re trying to throw a baseball. Go square through it – like you’re trying to get a punch in right down the shoot.” As he spoke, Tony moved enough to be able to get behind Peter, his hands wrapping around the man’s limbs until he was shadowing the other completely. “If you imagine that’s my face – I bet it’ll make things easier.” Tony’s words were mixed with a laugh and he felt Peter shiver in his embrace. A soft smile played across his lips and he let himself soak up the feel of Peter against him while he took him through the flow of the movement – the last couple passes a bit gratuitous, if he were being honest.

The look of pure joy on Pete’s face when he doubled his score with the next quarter was totally worth it. He watched the younger man pump his fist in the air and dance from foot to foot – his victory chant ending abruptly when he swung his arms around Tony’s neck and pulled him into a tight embrace. “You’re the best teacher I’ve had, Tony. You make it seem so easy. Thank you.” Peter looked at him the entire time he spoke, the intensity of his gaze almost overwhelming – though Tony hoped this wasn’t the only time he’d get to understand this feeling. Tony wrapped his strong arms around Pete’s hips and kept them both in the embrace. “You’re welcome. I’ve been in the nitty gritty – it’s easier to impart wisdom when you’ve been in the shit. I’m just glad there’s smart guys like you that actually like what I’m putting out there.” They shared a smile and Peter nodded; his eyes still bright – the shine in them so easy to get hooked on.

“I think I just like you,” Peter said in a whisper, the space between them minimal, each word bouncing off Tony’s skin instead of sounding in his ears first. “I like you and I think coming to class to see you – to watch you do your thing – that’s been the best part of this. Learning how to protect myself was the original purpose, but now I think I want to learn more about you, too. Does that sound okay? I’ve had a lot of fun tonight and think we could probably spend nights like this having even more fun.” Peter finished his thought by pressing their lips together. The touch was chaste, and Tony didn’t have enough time to even respond – but it was perfect all the same. To think he started today thinking he might ask Pete to Bucky’s again – that he might try and get a read on Peter’s interest. He never thought he’d be here – wrapped up in Pete’s embrace – on the verge of getting to do this more than just one time. What a concept. “It sounds perfect, Pete.”

Tony leaned forward and pressed their lips together again, the same chaste nature of the kiss there – they didn’t spend much time actually letting themselves get comfortable in the affection, they were in public after all. Though he needed to pull away to keep himself under control, Tony kept a hand on Peter for the rest of the night. He didn’t beat up on the guy like he figured he would – Peter was unsurprisingly very good at all the games he led Tony to, but the time he spent losing was the best use of 120 minutes he’d ever experienced. Leaving the spot, Tony was almost reluctant. The night was too good to end – so, he clung to it just a little while longer. “Could I walk you home? I’ve had such a good time tonight, I don’t think I’m ready for it to end,” Tony hated to admit something like that – hated to let someone else see any sort of weakness, but sometimes it felt kind of good to step outside his comfort zone and actually try for something he wanted for a change. “Yeah, you can definitely walk me home, Tony.”

The slim fingers between his own felt right – like their fingers were perfectly meant to fit together. The thought made him squeeze those fingers, the contact drawing a lifted brow from Peter. “This side of you surprises me,” the other said, breaking the easy silence between them. “A big part of me thought you’d be all reserved like you are in class. Like maybe you’d crack a smile or something, but you’re – y’know, a sweetheart.” Tony chuckled at that, Peter’s observation wasn’t wrong, though – the last time he’d been called a sweetheart, he was five and was pretending he didn’t just break a thousand-dollar vase.

Most people quickly found out he was not that sweetheart and left him to his gruff nature. Peter didn’t seem like the type to be easily ran off, however. He’d seen a couple different sides to Tony and so far, he didn’t seem too disturbed by them. “You’ll have to keep that last part a secret. I’ll lose all my street cred if you go around saying stuff like that too much,” Tony’s response was a default one, a thought he figured Peter was aware of. He felt a similar squeeze to his fingers and heard a soft chuckle as a reply. “Your secret is safe with me, Tony Stark.”

Peter didn’t invite him up. Instead, he pulled the hand he’d been holding to him and produced a pen out of nowhere – the digits that ran across the palm of his hand were thankfully enough to be a phone number. He capped the pen and pressed a kiss to the palm of Tony’s hand, right over the numbers. “If you’re up for it, I’d love to see you again. Now, you know how to reach me,” Peter kept Tony’s hand in his the entire time he spoke, the tone in his voice saucy – just on the right side of flirty. Tony couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his chest and the smile that remained was one he’d quickly come to find belonged solely to Peter. “You got it. Thanks for tonight, Pete. I had a great time.” The words were easy and the way they moved together to seal their lips in a kiss was even easier.

----

That Friday found the two of them together again, this time, at Coney Island. They rode the teacups until Tony was puking up the two corndogs he’d shoveled into his mouth when they first walked in – it was absolutely perfect. When Tony walked Peter up to his door, the man did not invite him in again. The other’s lips were fleeting and this time – the kind of teasing that said there were things to come, things that were totally worth the wait. The rest of the weekend was spent texting back and forth – and Sunday night ended with Peter falling asleep on the phone, the sound of his soft snores the thing that lulled Tony to sleep himself. Meeting up again on Monday, Tony could feel the shift between them. Peter’s touches were much more determined, and the air felt charged – for whatever reason, it felt like they’d reached a new level.

Which made a lot of sense when this time, Peter did invite Tony in. In fact, Peter’s lips and hands were demanding the second they cleared the threshold of the apartment’s entrance. For the first time in many, many years, Tony thought he might not be patient enough to get his clothes off before he came all over himself. Luckily, Peter lived on the fourth floor and the flights of stairs were not a ridiculous task to take on. They only ended up pressed against the wall twice – quite the feat considering how far Peter’s tongue was down his throat and how much Tony wanted to plaster him to the wall and take what he’d been thinking about for longer than he cared to admit. A sigh of relief fell from Tony’s lips when Peter was able to get the key in the door. Of course, he probably could have stopped peppering the man’s neck with kisses and halt all the distractions – but where was the fun in that?

With the space between them still existent, Peter took advantage and stripped his shirt off – the garment and his house keys flying across the room with a careless flip of his wrist. Tony only got far enough to close the door, slip his shoes off and get his socks from his feet before Peter was back in his space, demanding his focus and attention. Things that Tony were totally into giving to the other – his hands wrapped around Peter’s hips and grabbed greedily at the globes of his ass. The move pulled them flush together and he felt the heat of Peter’s excitement against his thigh. “I haven’t felt this much anticipation since I was a teenager. I both can’t wait to fuck you and want to drag it out as much as I can. You drive me crazy, Peter Parker. Absolutely crazy,” Tony broke away from the other just long enough to get the words out and as he spoke, he pulled his own shirt off. The press of their chests together pulled a joint moan from both men – the sound getting lost between them. Tony didn’t have a clue where they were going, so he let his attention move to the planes of Peter’s skin, each inch of it a feast of unmarred flesh and subtleties that made up the man in his arms.

A little more fumbling found them down the hall, finally ensconced in the comfort of Pete’s bedroom. The bed was a decently sized queen and the right kind of firm. Tony was surprised to feel himself be pressed back against the bed, but he didn’t fight it – he liked the weight of Peter across his lap, the strong legs the other was building through his time boxing were hard and clenching where they were wrapped around him. Peter gasped when Tony thrust up against him, the open button of his jeans the only thing bringing any semblance of relief. At least his cock wasn’t hard as nails and pressed against the teeth of his jeans. “We’re wearing way too many clothes. Take them off, will you?” Tony mumbled against Peter’s lips, the two on an oxygen break between kisses. He felt the other nod and watched with wide eyes as Peter got up off of Tony and onto his feet on the floor. The process wasn’t slow and seductive – but no less sexy, regardless. Peter pulled his jeans off first and kicked them away – the socks and boxers combination way more adorable than it should have been. His boxers came off next and the confident way he stood there butt ass naked was the cherry on top.

Tony didn’t wait to disrobe himself once he caught sight of the entire package in front of him. Pete’s limbs were long and well-muscled – the definition not nearly as severe as Tony’s, but there all the same and perfect for the smaller body. His stomach rippled with each breath – Tony promised himself that he’d learn what it felt like to have those muscles bump against his face while he licked every inch of each one of them. The best part, though, was the subtle blush that tracked across Pete’s cheeks and forehead, down his chest and pecs, until it stopped just above Peter’s groin. The crimson flush was the perfect map of Peter’s arousal and manifested into a thick erection that was pressed straight out in all its dignified glory. A swell of spit flooded into Tony’s mouth; his entire body eager to finally get a taste.

Now naked and entirely too impatient, Tony shifted until he could reach out and grab Peter, his hands greedy in the way he pulled the other back on the bed. This time, he instructed that muscled back to press against the mattress and settled between the v of Pete’s thighs. A surprised gasp slipped through his teeth at the feel of their erections slipping together – the first nude touch of heated flesh absolutely divine. Tony distracted himself with Peter’s skin and attacked it with his lips – his tongue made the tracks and his lips followed along the path. At the end of this, he wouldn’t be surprised if Peter was littered with red marks and bites from the eagerness of Tony’s affections.

“Fuck, Tony. More – touch me, put your mouth on me. Anything,” Peter’s words were panted out, broken in their delivery. A flash of goosebumps spread across Tony’s skin and he felt himself moan again. “What do you want? What can I give you Pete?” The response was immediate, and Tony wasn’t sure how much he needed to hear the answer until the words were out in the open. He didn’t know too much about dealing with feelings or mastering this type of relationship – he couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t beat his way out of any type of situation that dealt with more complex feelings than hunger. The simple fact that Tony didn’t want to hurt a single hair on Peter’s head spoke volumes, though. Even an emotionally stunted person like Tony knew importance came with caring – and damn did he care about Pete. The feeling crept up on him and now that it was out in the open, it felt right.

Peter’s mumbled out request to be fucked made Tony chuckle against his skin and tap on his hip. “Turn over, Petey. Your ass is too delicious to not get a taste,” Tony said, his entire body flushing from the dirtiness of his words. The truth of the matter was, however, that Tony wanted a taste of every inch of him and intended to do just that – eventually. His focus now was the beautiful length of Peter’s back and the crease between pert cheeks – each globe of Pete’s ass a marvel in and of itself. Tony started by running his hands along what seemed like miles of skin, the muscles under his fingers twitching each time he caught a sensitive part of Peter’s flesh. His fingers continued moving until they were between those beautiful cheeks, both thumbs pulling them apart to reveal Pete’s clenched pucker. Teasingly, Tony huffed out a warm breath just to watch the muscles flinch and clench – the flutter of that hole like a straight shot to his already aching cock. The pad of his right thumb traced around the muscle and pressed in ever so slightly. The gasp from Peter made his entire body shift and suck in more of Tony’s thumb. This time, it was Tony’s turn to moan.

Done with the teasing, Tony tucked in – his tongue circling the hole first, then pressing in like he’d done with his thumb. He couldn’t help the way his hips thrust forward, his untouched cock yearning for a little bit of friction. The cold air kept him in check, though – each squeeze of Peter’s ass around his tongue was almost too much and the contrasting sensations kept him just on the right side of the edge. Peter was incredibly responsive, the sounds leaving his lips like music to Tony’s ears – and incredibly distracting to boot. Each one sent a solid ball of arousal bouncing down the maze of his insides, pulling him closer and closer to that precipice. By the time Tony could fit most of his tongue and a finger into Peter’s tight heat, both of them were delusional with want – Peter was thrusting back against Tony’s face, and the older man was using his free hand to press a barely there touch to his cock, just enough to take the edge off.

“Lube and condoms?” Tony said after removing himself from his now favorite spot, his goatee totally soaked with his own spit – the man known to be enthusiastic in everything he did, eating out included. A hand shot out and pointed towards the one bedside table in the room, Peter’s hips were still thrusting back against him – the man obviously totally done for. Tony didn’t spend much time prepping any further, either. He lubed up two of his fingers and slowly let them slip inside Peter’s tight heat. The stretch felt like fire burning, slow to start then suddenly overwhelming. He pulled his fingers back out and scissored them, the motion pulling a long shout from the man below him. “Fuck – fuck! I need you, Tony – please,” Peter was practically begging, the wantonness of it too much. Tony pulled his fingers free after another couple of passes in and out. Peter felt stretched enough and he was quickly losing himself. This man would be the death of him – the passion and want seeping out from all of his pores was everything Tony hadn’t known he wanted.

Entering Peter felt like coming home. He felt a little cheesy thinking that, his higher brain functions a little out the door now that carnality was finally winning. Yet, it was the only way to describe how easily their bodies joined together and how good they looked when Tony glanced down and stared at the place where they were joined completely. His cock pulsed, the way they looked stupidly attractive and so hard to look away from. Flipping Peter over so he could see his face was one thing – this sight was something else completely. A clench around him brought him back, though – those beautiful hands pulled his face down and they were kissing. Tony got lost in the caress of their mouths and his hips moved on their own accord. Pete’s legs were wrapped tightly around him and he moved seamlessly with Tony – each coordinated drag of their bodies making the big finale inevitable and coming sooner than either was ready for.

Tony didn’t think he could experience something that would change him but watching Peter cum was a new experience. The pinch at the corner of his eyes and the way his mouth dropped wide open was – it was enough to pull him right over the edge with him. Tony forced his eyes to stay open as long as possible, he wanted to remember this experience. The force of his orgasm eventually forced his eyes to shut and the intensity of it had him burying his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. “Holy fuck,” Tony gasped out, his entire body drained, each limb heavy with satisfaction.

He felt Peter’s arms wrap around him and a kiss pressed to the side of his head in answer.

----

We held on tight, for dear life.

In a lot of ways, dating Tony Stark didn’t change much of anything for Peter. His job demanded the same amount of attention, he got to see MJ a couple times a week, and Wednesday’s were always spent in Iron Man’s Boxing Gym. Of course, in the time between Wednesday’s and his hangouts with MJ, Peter spent most of his time in Tony’s company. When they weren’t in the gym, they were hanging around the small garage Tony kept all of his projects in and when they weren’t doing that, they were tangled up together in some way. Whether that was at Two-Bits getting their arcade fix or on Tony’s big sectional couch not paying attention to Breaking Bad on the flat screen tv – things were good. Peter couldn’t remember ever being treated in the way Tony did – like he was something worth having in his life. Tony went out of his way to make him feel good, if not great on those better days. There were a lot of things different between them, but that kept things interesting. For the first time in a long time, Peter felt cared about. Cared about in a way that made him feel safe and sound – like Tony would be there if he ever needed him.

Which, Peter did – lots of times. The closer it got to the anniversary of the attack, the more nightmares and flashbacks Peter found himself having. He tried to pull back from everyone, to divest them of the burden of his emotional instability. For a while, he figured being by himself was much more important than having people that cared about him. Tony didn’t let that thought remain for very long, though. The second time Peter missed Wednesday night class, Tony was there knocking on his door. He tried to disguise his worry with a styrofoam bowl of chicken noodle soup and inquiries about him being sick – but Peter could see a little bit of sadness and terror in the other man’s eyes.

In all of his worrying and dragging himself away, Peter didn’t think for a second how any of his actions might have affected Tony. At that point, they’d been together close to six months – and a sudden disappearance would have worried anyone that attached. For the first time in 14 days, Peter stepped aside and let someone in. Holding him in his arms later that night, Tony pressed a kiss to the side of his head and whispered another something that would change Peter forever. “Don’t push me away, okay? I’ll be here. I care about you, Petey. I’ll be here.”

The following few weeks were much better for Peter and the times he thought about pulling away – Tony kept him grounded. Instead of turning away, Tony taught him to take his anger out on something that couldn’t hit back – so, he took to swinging at the heavy bag whenever he got the chance. Tony’s classes were teaching him the art of boxing – Tony’s private lessons taught him the art of decompression and how to unleash anger in the most productive of ways. Every time he let himself get lost in the sound of his fists hitting the bag, Peter would resurface and feel so much better.

Sometimes Tony joined him – he would hold the bag and throw taunts his way or camp out at the bag next to him and add to the sound of fists and hitting and the bag swinging. And sometimes – well, sometimes Tony left him to himself. There were many instances that a quick look between them said more than any words could. Tony would pull a couple bags out of the closet, hang them up, and then retreat into the office. Those times were his favorite. Not because he didn’t like learning from Tony or being in his presence – but mostly because it felt good to be so well known by another human being. Quentin’s example of what a significant other should be didn’t even come close to the reality of Tony.

Which was proven to him again a couple weeks later. Tony convinced him to take an early lunch so they could hit a small brunch place just opening up. His boyfriend tried for days to get the morning off and Peter easily agreed to join him. In their time together, Peter was slowly learning the subtle delicacies of life and for Tony Stark, the main one was food. Watching Tony enjoy one of his favorite things in life quickly became something Peter didn’t want to miss out on – so he joined him almost every time the man asked. This new place was rumored to have the best waffles, anyway – Peter couldn’t possibly pass up on something like that. It didn’t hurt, either, the fact that Tony strolled into his building and asked for him by name. Of the people that knew of Tony, he got looks of interest and slight jealousy. The rest of his office stared open-mouthed as they walked out together, the beautiful man’s arm wrapped firmly around Peter’s shoulders.

Their time in line went by pretty pleasantly and the meal was better than either of them expected. Peter’s waffle was one of the best he’d eaten in a long time. When they left, Peter was floating from the high of being with Tony and having a full belly – he was so preoccupied, he didn’t see Quentin until a hand on his shoulder was stopping their movements. Looking up, Peter sucked in a harsh breath – the man who so carelessly tossed him out on his ass was standing right in front of him. The petty part of Peter was glad that he didn’t look all that good. The pretty boy appearance no longer carefully kept – the hair that was meticulously done up looked longer than Peter remembered it ever being and a lot greasier, too. He looked like shit and a huge part of him, one that was trying so hard to win out, wanted to laugh in his face. So much for better off without me, Peter thought.

Peter forced himself to blink a couple times before he even thought to speak. “Quentin.” The hand in his own tightened and Peter could feel the question in the squeeze. “Peter Parker. It’s great to see you, babe. You’re looking great,” Quentin said, the hand still on his shoulder giving him a squeeze – the uncomfortable feel of his touch a total contrast to the safety he felt with Tony’s hand clenched in his own. He tried to come up with something to say but was beaten to the punch. He should have known Tony would pick up on what was happening – the man was incredibly perceptive and insanely protective.

“He’s not your babe. He does look great and you’re kind of in the way,” Tony’s voice was an octave Peter hadn’t heard before – the tone a little frightening, honestly. He looked over at Peter, his brow raised in that signature arrogant Tony Stark look. “We’re off to live happily ever after,” Tony’s smirk was evident, and he returned it with his own grateful look. Tony Stark to save the day. Peter pressed a kiss on his cheek in thanks – the man a total hot head, but absolutely amazing. “And we might never come back. If you’ll excuse me, Quentin,” Peter finally got out, his smile growing at the look of confusion on his ex’s face.

The laughter they dissolved into not even a block later was the last little bit of healing Peter needed. For the longest time, he’d been debilitated. Quentin Beck took his trust and twisted it until Peter didn’t trust himself. Getting thrown out of that apartment all that time ago was the best thing to happen to him – he knew that now. The feeling of Tony’s arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close was worth all the heartbreak and recovery it took to get back to the person Pete knew he could be.

It wasn’t all on Tony – Peter knew giving the man that much credit would only create a rift in their relationship, and he didn’t want that. Most of the work came from deep within him and the confidence he got back was probably the thing that landed him Tony in the end, anyway. No, for Peter, Tony was the guiding light that kept him on track. The older man could keep him grounded and when he didn’t remember the path that he was on, Tony put his arms around him and held him close until he found his way again.

There were many things that could be said about a person that didn’t try to control or push – many things that wouldn’t even come close to doing them justice. Tony’s presence in his life brought a type of peace that Peter couldn’t remember ever searching for. Understanding his self-worth made it easy to appreciate how Tony felt about him. And in the end, Peter found himself falling in love with the man every single time he didn’t float away, every time the teether back to the ground came from one Tony Stark and the simple way he could make Peter feel like the strongest person on the planet. He didn’t know much about the future or what it held in store for him, but boxing and Tony were two things Peter knew wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. In fact, he had a long way to go if he ever intended on putting Tony on his ass. There wouldn’t be any peace between them until that happened.

Later, when Peter found himself in the tangle of Tony’s arms, he felt happiness boil over the edges. They didn’t do a lot of talking about their feelings and each man seemed to appreciate that in their own way. For some reason, Peter couldn’t hold himself back – if he did, he might actually explode. “I love you, Tony. I love you and I’ve probably never been happier. Never.” Peter’s words were muffled by the skin of Tony’s chest, but he knew the other heard him. That chest under his head fluttered – with bated breath and the slight quiver of nervous excitement. Tony’s fingers stopped the tracing they’d been doing over the skin on his back and dug in ever so slightly. Those arms were tight around him by the time Tony collected himself enough to say anything back. “I know. I love you, too. Have for a while. I hope you’re happy enough to stay. There’s no one else this world seems quite right with.” Tony pressed a kiss to his head to cover up the vulnerability of his words. Peter recognized the gesture and leaned into it – his heart forever growing for the complex man surrounding him.

Snuggling into the warmth there, Peter felt himself sigh with contentment.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[musekicker]

Ooooohhhh What about crackbeaks in the Fenton robot au (and mark doesn't know yet) and Fenton's body is glitching up and Mark's with him and fenton cant make a speedy exit without obvious sparks or something (and can't fix himself with mark right there).

Hey there. This took longer then it was going to at first. For the reason that I accidentally lost half of the drabble when I worked on it the first time somehow. And I have almost been done at the time too. That said, here’s the drabble. 

The tech show was to start the next day and team science only had a few hours to lug all the necessary gear and machines for the show to their allotted space on the tech show floor.

Well, two of team science were here. Gyro was attending a sudden meeting with Scrooge. Possibly going over some information to do with the tech presentation. So for a bulk of the invention moving it had been Fenton and Manny working.

Then at some point Manny had taken a "hay break". Fenton suspected that Manny could not actually eat given his head was solid stone and that this was a excuse to get out of double checking all the gear before heading out.

No matter, Fenton could handle it. He was already almost done.

A good thing it turned out as he noticed a issue with his left arm.

It was becoming more and more loose as he moved.  Fenton placed his clipboard down and inspected the loose arm.

"Well, that's not good." he mumbled to himself.

This problem had happened before. Luckily in the safety of his home the first time. So he knew to look out for it. And it wasn't a common problem thankfully. 

At first Fenton wasn't sure what was the cause of it this time. But after thinking more on it he had a good hypothesis. 

Maybe it had been the moving of all the heavy crates that had caused the damage. Or the fact that he had not stopped for a maintenance check after last nights patrol. Said patrol had turned out rough, stopping yet another bank robbery.

Now Fenton was cursing himself for not checking. At least he was alone right now and there was no one around to witness if his arm fell out and exposed his wiring.

"Time to go." Fenton said.

"Talking to yourself, hero?" a voice said.

Fenton frowned, knowing that voice.

Mark Beaks was here. Fenton was very open about showing his disgust at this fact. His great hatred of Mark was not a secret. Especially not from Mark.

That didn't stop Mark from hitting on him constantly and just being a big creep.

This was absolutely the worst time for Mark to be showing up too. 

"What do you want, Beaks?" Fenton asked as he turned just so, carefully keeping his left arm somewhat behind his back. 

Mark was right in the door way, grinning back at Fenton despite Fenton's clear disdain.

"I just heard that you and the head nerd you work with were presenting at this show too. So I thought I pop in and see if I could catch you. And lucky me, I did." Mark said.

Fenton rolled his eyes.

"I really have to go." Fenton said.

"Sure, sure. Just let me say some stuff first." Mark said.

Fenton did not want to know what Mark had to say and could not just wait around to listen. His arm was getting ever looser.

Mark was still blocking the door way too, not showing any signs of moving aside. Fenton had a bad feeling that Mark was not going to move from the doorway anytime soon. Fenton knew that if he tried to ask or demand Mark move out of the doorway Mark would dig in his heels and not move for anything.

"I was thinking that you and I could go to a movie." Mark said.

"I'm thinking not. For so many reasons that you already know." Fenton said. "Now if you don't mind I need to go. I have something much better to do."

Mark kept on talking. Fenton was growing more frustrated. And a bit scared. The arm was so loose now.

Fenton was starting to think maybe he should just shove Mark out of the way and damn the social consequences. But would that action pop out his arm for sure?

In less then a minute it probably would not matter.

Mark stopped talking then, his gaze falling on the very arm that Fenton was trying so hard to keep in it's socket.

"Hey, is something up with you-"

Gyro returned just in time to see Fenton about to lose his arm. So close to revealing his secret to Mark.

Gyro's eyes went wide for a second, realizing the danger here right away.

And Gyro did not waste time in distracting Mark. He walked swiftly in Mark's direction, his gaze appearing to be down at his own clipboard that he had with him. A good prop for pretending to not be paying attention.

Gyro collided with Mark.

Mark yelped and dropped his phone. He instantly moved to pick it up and make sure the screen wasn't cracked or any other sort of damage.  It seemed fine, but he still glared at Gyro with a expression that was two steps below rage.

"Hey! Did you do that on purpose?" Mark cried.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Gyro said. "Though maybe if someone was smart enough to NOT stand in a doorway-"

He did not put much energy into acting or sounding as if he was truly sorry. Mark frowned at Gyro and continued to shout at Gyro. Gyro shouted back, distracting Mark from Fenton for the moment.

Just in time.

Fenton was already on the way out of the room and making a dash for a safe place to repair his arm.

"Sorry." Fenton blurted out to the poor person he nearly knocked over on the way out of the room.

The confused person was too surprised by the sudden duck running by to even notice that Fenton was basically holding his arm up in his socket with his other hand.

He kept on going, running, until he found the right place to take his time and try to do some repairs. 

Fenton found such a place in a supply closet.

He took a shaky breath even if had no need of breathing. Only a action he had picked up being around organic people. It was amazing how the little things like that went a long way in making him appear human.

This place was safe for the moment. Fenton was not sure how long. He was not truly safe until his glitches were fixed. And he realized now the tools he did have on hand would not handle this level of repair needs.

 All he could really do now is wait.

It was about a half hour later when there was a knock on the closet door. Fenton froze before he heard Gyro's voice.

"Fenton? Are you in there?"

"Yes. Can you come in? I need help." Fenton said.

Gyro eased the door open enough that he could slip into the closet. Once inside he looked at Fenton, taking in the sight of one arm on the closet floor.

"Are you okay?" was Gyro's first question.

Fenton nodded.

"Yeah. I can't make any repairs right now. Left arm is off and I don't have-"

"On it." Gyro said.

Having a boyfriend who was a robot and that fact being a secret had made Gyro more careful. And one of those steps in being careful was keeping good tools for quick repairs on hand.

As Gyro went to work, Fenton broke the silence.

"So... Mark must had been pretty mad to keep you arguing that long." Fenton said.

"Oh? Him? Please, I gave him the look. You know, the one you say makes me look like i'm about to murder someone? All I had to do was give him that look and he shut right up and excused himself." Gyro said. "What took so long was that I tried a few other closets before I found you. Who knew this place had so many supply closets." Gyro said.

"Our tax dollars at work." Fenton said.

Gyro let a flicker of a smile on his beak before talking again.

"That was too close." Gyro said.

"Tell me about it. Mark was seconds away from seeing my arm fall off." Fenton said.

"How did this even happen?" Gyro asked.

"My theory is that rough fight I got into last night in the Gizmosuit and then moving all that heavy stuff today. I should had thought of checking to see if I needed any repairs last night. But I wanted to just recharge after last night." Fenton said.

"We need to start a list of repair checks to make after patrols much less after a fight." Gyro said.

Fenton didn't argue.

Eventually, Gyro was able to get the arm attached.

"Now, that's not going to work with the tools we have in here. But it's enough that it won't fall right off and we can get you to the lab where we can completely repair you." Gyro said.

"That'll do for now. Thanks for the save, Gyro." Fenton said.

"Of course. Last thing either of us want is for Beaks to figure you out. Now lets get out of here before he shows up again and I have to deal with the chore of talking to him again." Gyro said.

[the-phantom-nagisa]

Valentines day short fic! With karma, nagisa, hazama and terasaka! Oh boy!

Have this non-beta read piece that I mostly wrote while in the train this week. Credit to @handy-dandy-headcanons for the gay comment in the middle of this work.

Terasaka isn't a homophobe, he just doesn't like Karma.

I'm so sorry for the shitty formatting I can't work with Tumblr and just wanted to post this.

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

It had been an incredibly stupid idea, Nagisa knew that now. Sure he loved his boyfriend to death and was glad they were spending the entirety of valentine's day together but he also wanted to use the day to help his friend Hazama with her first official date with Terasaka. She was nervous for it, he'd noticed, which is why he suggested the solution in the first place. He should have realised, however, that Karma and Terasaka were not a good combination. A double date was destined to fail miserably.

Dinner. It was just a dinner. He and Hazama agreed neither of their boyfriends would behave properly in a fancy restaurant so some midway compromise between a fast food place and a fancy restaurant was found. A decent place, really. 3 courses, proper seating and a relatively big menu. A big enough menu for Karma to find absolutely nothing he could NOT criticize.

"I'm just saying, i can probably make it better- actually, no. I KNOW i can make it better than this place can." He was pointing at some stew he saw on he menu, basically shoving it in Nagisa's face who just smiled at him in reaction.

Hazama rolled her eyes, wondering how Nagisa loved the cocky idiot so much. She did have to admit her hypocrisy, seeing as her boyfriend was another type of idiot. Not that she minded being the smart one in their relationship.

Terasaka sighed and slumped down even further than anyone at the table thought was possible to do in the restaurant's mildly comfortable booths. "Can you do better in shutting the hell up?" He grumbled.

Karma was about to bring some sarcastic comeback, Nagisa just knew it. Preventing the moment from escalating into something ridiculous he took ahold of Karma's arm and looked him in the eye.

"I'm not that big of an eater, can we share the first course?" He asked his boyfriend. Said boyfriend completely forgot about Terasaka's existence for a moment, completely taken away by Nagisa's gaze. Nagisa was very familiar with Karma's thoughts about him. The red head was a firm believer of freedom of speech when that meant he'd get to call Nagisa pretty. Nagisa really did not need another session of Karma advocating for his beauty, as if he was giving a speech and Nagisa was the subject.

Everyone ordered their food and the date continued. Karma and Terasaka couldn't help but bicker through most of it, however. Karma clearly didn't have a filter and Terasaka had no impulse control to prevent him from immediately arguing with the red head. 

"As a future government worker, I believe it should be legal for me to commit tax fraud" Karma argued as he and Nagisa had the most random discussion on teaching high schoolers how to pay their taxes. 

Terasaka held a tight grip on his fork. It wasn't hard for Nagisa to imagine that that grip could actually kill a human being. He tried to throw thoughts off murder out of his head as he figured the fork would probably be fine. "That ks the stupidest thing I've ever heard, you're not above the law, Akabane." Terasaka said. 

"Is it still tax fraud if you legally don't have to pay?" Nagisa couldn't help but wonder out loud. Hazama shrugged in reaction and Karma smirked a little. Terasaka ignored the thought and remained on edge. 

"Look, Terasaka, don't meddle with what the smart people are handling." Karma held the same cocky look on his face. "Your brain is too incompetent to comprehend what we're doing anyways" 

Rage emitted from Terasaka, Nagisa noted. It was also obvious enough for anyone without Nagisa's skill to notice. He knew Hazama noticed because she carefully took Terasaka's knife and put it beside her plate where her boyfriend couldn't easily grab it. 

"Oh I'm sorry, was that rude? I didn't think your brain could figure out what i was say-OOF" Karma was interrupted by Nagisa elbowing him in the side. "That wasn't necessary." He complained. 

"Yes it was." Nagisa sighed, giving a pleading look at Hazama. 

She got the hint and put her arm around Terasaka. "Hey big boy, perhaps pay more attention to your girlfriend at your date." She told him. 

Luckily Terasaka took a note of her and turned to her, letting out an annoyed sigh. Within minutes he was completely cooled down and he and Hazama were having a lovely conversation about…Occult stuff. Whatever pleases them. Nagisa was more than happy to discuss Karma's favourite movie with him. 

Just when Nagisa thought things were going well again the two started bickering again. Nagisa barely had the energy to figure out what their discussion was this time but it didn't matter. The argument turned more into both guys listing what they disliked about the other and defending their own honour. Nagisa thought what they were doing had quite the opposite effect, he really didn't think highly of either of them at that point. 

He and Hazama were exchanging knowing look with each other. A second double date would not be scheduled. Both only properly returned their attention to the conversation when Terasaka used a new completely done tone in Karma's direction. 

Now, Karma and Nagisa's relationship was relatively new. Most people were surprised to find out the boys had started dating, mostly because neither of them ever discussed their sexuality. Neither Karma or Nagisa really cared what others thought about homosexuality but it was still considered rude to say something about it. 

"Didn't even know you were gay, Akabane" Terasaka said. 

For a few seconds Karma didn't say anything. His expression was empty and didn't say a lot. Then he turned to Hazama. 

"Didn't know you dated ignorant idiots, Hazama" 

For some reason THAT was all that was needed for the date to escalate into hell. Both guys were furious and ignoring their dates trying to calm them down. 

"I will punch you so hard you'll feel the thing you call a brain bounce all throughout your head." Karma stood up fast and incidentally knocked his plate off the table and made the flower vase topple. 

"Not if I break your arm first" Terasaka screamed as he also got up. 

Everyone was looking at their table. Nagisa noted Hazama trying her best to pick up all the food the guys had spilled. All Nagisa could do was try and hide in shame. 

Just when they thought things couldn't get worse, they reached over the table and grabbed each other. Nagisa knew in advance that the date wouldn't go great but he wasn't prepared for his boyfriend getting physical. 

"U-uhm, excuse me" Their table went silent as they noticed the waitress that carefully approached their table. "I'm going to- going to have to ask you to leave, p-please"

It wasn't long before Karma broke the uncomfortable silence. "Look what you've done now!" He complained as he looked at Terasaka. 

The two started bickering again and Hazama dragged her boyfriend along with her. The only reason it went successful is because he respected her enough to deny her force. Nagisa tried doing the same with Karma but he was his usual self. 

"Sir, someone will have to pay…"The waitress said, tapping Nagisa's shoulder. She probably noticed very easily he was the most sensible person to talk to, what with the two fightinf guys and the girl who was threatening to curse both of them at this point. All he could do was sigh and do so, noticing his unusual forceful manner of putting in his pin code. It was almost as if he treated the card machine as his enemy. 'Better to treat the machine like this than your boyfriend' was all he could think.

---

Standing outside of the restaurant no one in their company was happy. The most positive thing of it all was the now calm Terasaka with Hazama's arm around him. 

"Well I think we're just going to spend the rest of the day with us two." Hazama said, mostly talking to Nagisa. "Thanks for trying though" 

Nagisa waved her off with a light smile. The moment she was out of view he swiftly turned around to scowl at his boyfriend. "Really?" He didn't need to say more. 

Judging by the look on his face, Karma did in fact feel a bit of guilt. "We'll probably have more fun when it's just the two of us anyways" He defended himself. 

At first Nagisa didn't react. His face didn't change and he didn't say anything. Sure, he was calming himself down, that was part of the reason. In all honesty, however, he also just wanted to say something that kept the evening going in perhaps a more romantic direction while also making clear to Karma that what he'd done was not okay. Eventually he realised how futile his effort would be. He could help Karma but never in his life could he hope to change him. Not like Nagisa wanted him to change at all. 

He took a hold of Karma's hands, face still unchanged, catching Karma off guard. He took advantage of this and pulled Karma down lightly so his boyfriend was at eye level with him. He wasn't ignorant to the surprised look on Karma's face that perhaps also showed a little fear. 

"You better pay me back for this dinner" 

And with that Nagisa pecked a kiss on Karma's lip before releasing his hold on him. He portrayed a small smile on his face. As bad as the dinner was he knew Hazama would force an apology out of Terasaka the next time they saw each other. Nagisa would make sure he did the same. 

Karma came back to his senses as he mumbled a soft apology. Nagisa figured he could see how he ruined his boyfriends night, which was even worse considering it was their first Valentine's together. 

"I think I can make it up to you." He said as he put his arm around Nagisa's shoulders. "Let's go to my place, we're more of a movie night couple anyways" 

With that Nagisa couldn't disagree. He leaned in on Karma's embrace with a smile. "I think I'd like that"

[ambistep]

We Can Make It Work

~4.2k words, stupid long, gratuitous gang plans, a real somft ending, i promise

Tags: retribution spoilers. cw - killing, guns, Argentstep, the gang!! not sure

Mina has session with Dr. Finch - it goes well this time. In fact, many things are going well lately! Also I wanted to write about the gang, and i always want to have argent stuff

---------

“You seem well - more confident. Happier?” Finch is smiling. Mina is smiling. This is good. “I wish I could take some credit but it’s been awhile since our last session. I thought you might not be coming back.”

Mina sinks back into the comfortable chair, “Sorry, I just have been really busy lately.”

~

“...I started a new project at work.”

A small sodium work lamp illuminates the workbench and the corkboard on the wall before it. Neat files of illicit records and stacks of purloined documents, a laptop aglow with… research, photos, stock news, articles. Mina’s nimble fingers spear a set of blueprints to the board.

It was a trickle at first - but with time, the board had grown very crowded indeed, a tangled rat’s nest of ties, connections and data points. The squeaking chorus nearby liked it when she thought of it as such. 

Vanderpoel had talked to Ochoa about the congressional aide who handled the senator’s dirty laundry - Mina had been monitoring Mia. The aide was careful, but simply didn’t have the security of his boss. His mind had been an oily, porous sick sort of place, riddled with compromise and low cunning - it yielded readily before Clarity. A swift crack, and all kinds of goodies spilled out, enough that sifting through it had become difficult. Now, though, now she had the names necessary to get started.

~

“I’ve been trying to be better about working as part of the team.”

 The warehouse was dusty, filled with forgotten pieces of abandoned start-ups or rarely used equipment, the space leased by a firm with little memory of it - Mina had made certain it was forgotten. A flash young gun in a slick suit is chattering about gear specs with a slightly older Modded muscle who is dutifully ignoring him while trying to unpack and assemble gear with their clawed prosthetic. Another modded fellow lounges on the sofa, pouring over a flight manual.

Across the way, an odd pair, a rough, heavily-modded soldier and a grinning young girl who seems like she might have walked off campus at UCLD are listening intently, studying floor plans. All authority in the room flows from the scarred, severe woman laying out her plan point by point.

   “...ZaZa sits tight on overwatch, Boris stays put at the helipad. Rest of us sweep the executive level, and split into pairs. Pelayo, you’re with Nehal, while Ward and -” She pauses, hearing the question form in Pelayo’s mind, “while Ward and I secure the target.”

“The kid can back you with the target, no? How much back-up you need in that suit, boss?” Pelayo brushes his knuckles over his stubble, a nervous tic.

Smoothly, softly, Mina shuts down Pelayo’s concern, “You need to cover Nehal while she makes sure we only set off the alarms we want to go off, and then you need to be there to place our parting gift. Ward will be fine with me, I’ve got their back. Are we clear?” 

Pelayo hesitates, measuring his unwillingness to separate from Ward versus testing the boss. It was a good job - Clarity pays well and on time, gives them plenty of prep time. And most importantly in this city, she seems mostly sane. Looked a little young, but she didn’t get those scars playing tennis, and the plans were solid, smart. So if she said Ward went up and he went down... “Ay, we clear.”

Clarity looks him dead on. That ‘this isn’t going to be a problem?’ look. He knows it.

Pelayo nods, “Don’t worry about it.”

Nehal, surreptitiously studying the utility plans, in utter enchantment, “I think, on some level, I always wanted to be an arsonist.” 

~

“...I’ve been going out a bit more.”

Ward didn’t quite understand how Clarity’s trick worked, but watching the grey cloud slowly eat through the vaulted security door to the executive suite was a treat. Nehal had made sure to cut off communications from the CEO’s office - and the target had predictably locked down his suite.

What they hadn’t expected was a Modded security officer waiting for them.

Clarity steps through the hole that was a steel-reinforced door, imperious dark armor and gleaming face mask emerging wreathed in the nanovores’ smoky cloud. The vocal distorters don’t conceal her amusement, “Could it be? The Grey Guardsman? No longer cutting taxes, I see.” Shielded. So that’s why she hadn’t sussed out his presence in advance.

The corporate hero draws his signature carbon-steel longsword, squaring off - making a good show of confidence, pointing his blade, “And I recognize you, villain - I may no longer serve TaxTech, but we still do a swift trade in justice here at Promethean.” 

Clarity coolly wraps an armored gauntlet around the blade. The Rat-King gleefully guides them as they chew apart the weapon, and Mina sighs behind her mask. She always really liked that sword. “Stand aside, Guardsman. This scum isn’t worth fighting for.” 

Sure, he’s a company stooge, but Charge had introduced him to Sidestep, and it hurts to admit, but… maybe some part of Mina would regret crushing him too badly. A reminder of a more innocent time. 

Enough to distract her from the fact that he’s still coming - his ambitious, ridiculous plan of punching her thwarted by Ward’s iron grip around his wrist. Clarity’s lapse in conviction is rectified - a solid blow to the head from her armored gauntlet and Ward drops him to the floor. 

She sighs, and nods her head in gratitude to Ward. That should leave only the target in the office proper. A heavy book is enough kick through the ordinary door. A portly older fellow sits still in his chair, trying to appear unafraid, trying to hold his composure. “Wh-what is it that you want? I am prepared to c-cooperate.”

A VIP, a defense contractor, someone with his security clearance would have some training to resist telepathic interrogation - enough to maybe stop Sidestep. Not so for Clarity, but still maybe enough to slow down the process, complicate things. “Ward, sedative.” The man yelps as she reaches across the desk to grab him.

“Got it, Boss.” Ward’s surprisingly deft with the needle. The suit makes pinning him to the desk a trivial thing, and the injection goes in just as easily.

“Now, then. I’m not to be disturbed.” Ward takes the order and leaves Clarity to her prey. The quivering executive yields easily, meager protections cracking like safety glass under the first real pressure. 

Clarity is rewarded - almost immediately. He knew why they were here. He knew immediately exactly which part of Promethean’s many contracts had brought Clarity here. A dry Nevada desert. Security clearances and classified paperwork. Contracts with no questions asked. A service for his country. It made him feel good to be a patriot - that is what she discovers. It makes her feel… something else entirely. Seething, black, bloody --

“Oh, shit, is he dead, boss?” Ward sneaks a look into the office. Mina recoils immediately from the man - blood runs from his nose and… not dead yet, a stroke, maybe. She can feel the trickle of his mind, faint, pooling out. Fine - better than what he deserved. She’d planned to wipe his memory and cover her intrusion but a stroke worked just as well.

“We’re leaving.” Clarity stalks out of the office, opening a channel for the rest of the team, “I have what we came for. Exit team?”

The office fills with sirens and red lights, Nehal’s voice in her helmet, “Oh, we’re good.” 

“Then we’re done.”

A whining voice cuts over the radio, “I didn’t even get to shoot anything.”

“Next time.”

~

“I feel like the job really gives me a chance to express myself.”

“And you’re getting along with your co-workers? I know you were worried about your social anxiety.”

“I think we understand each other.”

“Shh, guys!” Nehal fumbles for the remote to turning up the volume on the television. Pelayo and Ward are still stripping down and checking the gear. Boris, ZaZa, they share beers, but Clarity - unarmored - settles down to sit on the floor next to the girl.

“...Veronica Sandoval, live from downtown, where responders are still battling a two alarm fire at an office building. Now, authorities aren’t saying what caused the fire but I can tell you two that two patients were taken to city hospitals with non-life threatening injuries. The building is the headquarters of Promethean, which is described on it’s website as a medical device and biotech company, and a defense contractor. A spokesman with the fire depart…”

“Show it, show it, yes!” Nehal laughs triumphantly as the camera cuts to footage from a news helicopter, showing the fully-engulfed front face of the building lighting up the nightline of downtown Los Diablos. “Fucking fascists. Clar, look.” She grabs the boss’s shoulder then suddenly recoils.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I jus-” The boss didn’t like to be touched.

Clarity keeps her face tight, and just nods, “It’s good, don’t worry about it.” She leans back, trying not to brush off the spot where Nehal’s hand had landed, “Glad you had fun - next job is going to be harder - but a bigger score.”

That gets everyone’s attention. Pelayo and Ward, consummate professionals, gather up. “You got the next job lined up already?”

“Almost. Preparation will take some time - I’ll be in touch. Payment will find you like usual.” 

That’s good enough for Ward and Pelayo, they’re veterans, professionals, used to this stuff. ZaZa always liked the money but hated authority almost as much, and relished any chance to shoot his guns off. Nehal liked Clarity’s politics and… had some sort of admiration for the boss. Mina makes a note to curtail that - nobody should be looking up to her, for God’s sake. Boris just liked the steady pay - everyone seemed much nicer than the Wolfpack, anyway.

~

“We talked about wearing masks last time. How they can be useful for letting us function in social or workplace environments, but they can also be used to keep people away, to isolate. How are you doing with masks, Mina?”

“Still using masks, I’ll admit. But I did take your advice about getting out of the city for a little bit.”

“Shit, it’s hot. Fucking Mojave.” He wipes his brow, wicking away the sweat.

“Focus, ZaZa.” The boss’s voice reassures him in his earpiece. For some reason, her voice always seemed to calm his nerves. Lady was creepy like that. 

ZaZa tapped at the relay device, shielding the small monitor from the sun’s glare and flicking between cameras,  “Visual on target. Right on schedule.”

A massive, heavily armored tractor trailer, unlabeled, barrels down Interstate 40. On either side, two black SUVs bearing out-of-state license plates. Clarity tried to zoom in the image on her helmet’s HUD. At the bottom of the plate, curly black text reminds her ‘HOME MEANS NEVADA.’ The thought makes her queasy. And violent. Maybe that’s good. Maybe she needs that push.

“Remember. Stick to the plan, watch out for each other. They’ll be contractors, ex-military but the kind who take it seriously. Maybe with mods. They will kill on sight. And we have to be fast.” If she is right, and she knows she must be at this point, then there would be a response - even out here in the Mojave. “Masks up. Time starts at contact.”

In the back of the van with the boss, Pelayo and Ward slip down the sleek silvery facemasks Mortum had prepared for the team - not as robust or tricked out as Clarity’s, but more on par with… well, with Sidestep’s. Up front, Nehal’s already had hers on - she’d hardly taken it off. 

The masks are important - Mina knows. It puts distance between the person and the world in front of them, lets you detach from violence, from danger, emboldens you. It lets you invent someone who can do the things you need to do, to become someone who can survive. She’d put on a mask to become Clarity. A mask to become Sidestep. ...a mask to become Mina. 

Boris’s voice crackles over the comms, “Boss… Boss. I got visual. ZaZa, don’t god damn miss.”

He sounds nervous - this is a bit more than he signed up for. Clarity eases back into her seat, reaching out, fingers in five minds, familiar minds. Nothing aggressive, no pushing - you touch too much and they might stiffen up or stop trusting their instincts. Only the lightest, caressing touches, gentle nudges. 

She has to admit, she loves this part, feels born to it. She’d learned that with the Wolfpack - nothing felt so pleasant as coaxing her crew along towards victory, allaying their fears and… coordinating. Boris’s anxiety is sweltering, Nehal has uncomfortably little anxiety - the girl is… special. Ward, too, isn’t so certain. Clarity turns to look at Ward, looking past the facemask, and then speaks to Boris, “Easy, we trained for this. Your truck is reinforced. Take cover below the dash when you make contact. We’re professionals.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Relax, man, I don’t miss.” He’s almost as good as he thinks he is. 

Nehal guns it, pedal to the floor, gaining on the convoy in front of her, empty desert tracking past.

Boris’s tractor trailer heads down the highway westbound, staring down the convoy. He accelerates and… swerves into the oncoming lane. The lead driver reacts but not fast enough. 

The eighteen-wheeler plows into the black SUV with a tortured symphony of wailing metal, crunching glass and scraping on pavement. 

It would almost be hard for anyone to even notice the thunderous boom of the anti-material rifle punching into the engine block of the convoy’s transport. Even as it plows into the back of the SUV in front of it, the shots keep coming, again, and again, and again. 

The back of the escort pulls up alongside the convoy and brakes, scrambling, deploying, trying to find cover. And Nehal comes in ready, swinging the van sideways. Pelayo, Ward, they toss the smoke grenades and take positions behind the van. Nehal ducks down for cover in the driver’s seat, clutching her machine pistol.

And then it is the boss’s show. The van raises up as the bulk of Clarity’s armor sets foot on the highway. There is a burst and clatter of small arms fire - striking the van, some even striking her - but she simply walks into it, embracing the attention. Their thoughts are frantic, aggressive - more of them are holed up in the transport with the cargo. Someone is calling for backup, notifying command - she stops in place and squeezes this mind, even through the ratatatat plinking. Stop. Now. Squeezing. Breaking this mind.

No need for too much delicacy - this is the enemy.

The one she had been waiting to strike at for so long. Not these men and women, but… everything they serve. That should be enough - it’s still harder than she’d thought, using her powers this way. Not entirely true - it is easy, really. Frighteningly easy. But it feels hard for Mina. 

That’s why she has on Clarity’s mask.

The gunfire stops - someone… Oh someone has a plan. One of the soldiers is retrieving heavy ordinance, she can feel the thoughts, the plans. “Pelayo.” Some mental guidance, and he turns out of cover and brings down the would-be hero with deft fire from his rifle.

The Rat-Kings continue to help Clarity guide all focus towards her, all aim toward her, soaking up all this attention, though they care none too much for the noise, chittering in a right good panic. 

“Advance.” Ward comes out from cover, then Pelayo, picking off aggressors. Now and again, another boom from ZaZa in the distance when he finds a shot - sometimes even when he doesn’t. 

“Breach.” There’s still two holed up in the transport, their thoughts easy to sniff - patient, trained. Weirdly confident, that’s unnerv-

“Boss! Ward’s hit!” Clarity turns her head. How had she not noticed? Ah, Ward had barely noticed themselves. 

“I’m good, we’re good.” Ward is always good - undersells everything. Pelayo’s still worried, but a quick check and Clarity is sure Ward is telling the truth. 

“No heroics - cover our backs. Focus.” A quick nudge to keep everyone on mission. On mission - that notion… again makes Mina queasy. Her handler’s voice, she talked about… staying on mission. Clarity helps her push past the discomfort. “Breaching.” 

As Clarity prepares to ready the nanovores to crack open the transport, the tailgate volunteers itself, swinging wide. There’s no time to react to the small explosive that impacts - only strong enough to cause her to stumble, thank you once again, Mortum. 

Two gleaming, power-suited soldiers climb out of the truck, and Clarity almost has to laugh. Two hundred miles from Los Diablos, and she still finds two tin discount imitations of Marshal Steel. 

“ZaZa.” 

Another blast of thunder and one suit drops. The other starts to react, but the distraction is more than enough to open a wide hole in their thoughts - Clarity psychically punctures what light mental preparation he had and buries a shiv in his mind.

And like that, the highway is quiet. 

Pelayo checks the first escort, giving a clear. Boris chimes in with the next. Nobody else is getting up. Ward and Nehal follow Clarity to the truck and begin to unload the cargo.

Another mental nudge for the team - keep everything quick, everything snappy. Clarity runs through the plan - they don’t need the reminders, but she has to say something, keep the adrenaline up so she doesn’t think about… consequences. “Pack it up, ZaZa. Boris will pick you up. The rest of you, we’re taking it all, strip it down and clean it enroute.”

Every moment they aren’t talking, all she can hear is her heart. This is them, these are… This really is them. It is terrifying, crushingly horrifying, every part of her wants to scream, run. They will be coming, this was a mistake, how could she have been so ridiculous? Hitting them like some jewel heist, with a gang of robbers? All her thoughts are that they will find her and kill her. That there’s a team from the Special Directive in the air right now, ready to deploy. 

It could even be true.

“Clar? Clarity?”

Nehal waves a hand in front of her mask, her own silver mask tilted in concern, “Boss, time to go.” 

And so it is. 

It isn’t until they’re on the road, off the interstate, and all the cargo is clean that panic finishes bleeding through her system, that Clarity clicks and removes her helmet. Had they really done it? Had she… Could she have really drawn blood from the people who made her and lived?

“Can’t believe it, right? Imperialists, highway robbery with government spooks.” Nehal glances over to the passenger seat and holds out a candy bar, a smirk glued on her face - at least she’s taken off her mask.

Clarity peers at the young girl, graciously accepting the candy. She takes a small bite, “You’re a really weird kid, Nehal.” Looking over her shoulder to the back of the van, “How’s Ward?”

Pelayo still looks a little nervous - she’s always surprised by how worried that man can look, “They’re good.”

Ward gives a nod, “One got through on the leg, just grazed. Be healed by morning.” Clarity frowns, but seems satisfied with this.

Two hours, and well on their way to the detour in Old Fresno - when ZaZa and Boris sent their all clear… That’s when Mina can finally, fully feel satisfied that there’s no team of branded monsters - monsters like herself - stalking them, no ghostly assassins. Maybe this really was a victory - maybe they really pulled it off. Had she overestimated them? No, she had cautiously estimated them, she chides herself. She didn’t make it this far without being careful.

“How did that go, travelling?”

“Better than I expected - I was still really nervous, the whole time.”

~

“When we last met, you were telling me you had been seeing someone?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did. Getting sloppy?”

“...Must have slipped out.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“...Well. It’s been going well. I got her a gift the other day. While I was out of town. The perfect thing.”

“Did she like it?”

“I haven’t shown her yet. But I know she will.”

“Why’d I have to come all the way out here? Is this where you keep your smelly little lair?” Ximena wrinkles her nose, standing out in the open lot, kicking at dirt idly.

“Oh please. Like I’d take my girlfriend to my secret lair.” Mina smirks - being with her always brings out the best. Crouching down, she brushes away some dirt and pops a key into a padlock and yanks open a rusty metal cellar door.

She scoffs, “Padlock, huh.” Mina grins smugly, leading the silvery heroine further down below. 

“For the record, my lair smells like flowers.”

“Ooo. Is that a clue?” She pokes Mina in her smug little nose

“Maybe. Come on, this way.” She grabs Ximena’s hand, tugging her along, getting far too excited.

The whole place looks like nobody’s been there in years, but that’s part of the charm - Mina’d been here just this morning. A false wood panel in a support beam yields a keypad. Playfully shielding the pad from Ximena’s eyes, Mina punches in the code, allowing a false wall to slide open.

“Just for the record, I knew that was there.” Ah, right. All those neat little extra senses she had.

“Well, thank you for humoring me. I wanted to put on a little show.” Mina leans, taking both of her hands, and squeezes them, leading her slowly into the small storage vault.

“What is this?” Ximena’s voice lowers a little, eyeing the gunmetal grey case resting on a table in the middle of the room. The name ‘PROMETHEAN’ stamped on front. There’d been more boxes, with different bits of technology or equipment, rare, valuable. Some she’d given to the good doctor Mortum to play with. The rest she’d sold to Hollow Ground at a considerable discount - a show of good faith. Clarity had been all too happy to let Mr. Manalo take it all off her hands - and the payment was still more than enough to keep the crew happy. 

Now there was just this one case.

“The lock was a little tricky…” Mina is radiant, glowing with pride as she places her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. A soft ding and a green light unlocks the case. “...really, anyone can open it now that I broke the lock... My fingers don’t actually have any prints anyway.” She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers for emphasis.

Ximena smirks, locking her left hand with Mina’s. “I like them.” She leans in and kisses a digit lightly, “Just.” A kiss. “The way.” A kiss. “They are.” And a kiss. Mina’s smile fixes in place, cheeks flushed red, her thoughts going all kinds of places then crashing, brain shutting down - until Ximena’s snorting laugh helps her recover. “So, what’s in the box?”

“A present.” 

Popping the case open slowly, there is a hiss of frosty, chilled air spilling out into the heat of the dry basement. The interior of the lid is labeled with serial numbers and barcodes - uncomfortably familiar barcodes, if Mina allowed herself to think about it. She most notably does not allow herself to think about it. Not now. She watches Ximena’s gleaming face, waiting for that moment of recognition. 

Chilled and lit by a sinister - to Mina’s reckoning - orange light, clasped in the middle of the case, three processing chips, a solid state storage device, a handful of cellulose wetware chips and the jewel, the real prize.

“How did you..?”

“Don’t ask. I told you I’d find one.” 

An innocent enough looking device. Inscrutable to almost anyone else - but not to Mina. Not to Ximena. A particular, specific protein printer, and all the pieces needed to make it work. The kind of thing that would look nestled right at home in the heart of a certain regenerator prototype. 

“I promised I would,” Mina’s voice shakes, unsteady. A lump welling in her throat as she sees the recognition, the relief on Ximena’s face. All that this means. For either of them. For both of them. All that it could mean. Infinite things. Anything. Everything.

She pulls Mina in too hard, arms around tight, squeezing, “You think we can make it work?” It’s her turn, even her voice gets weak. 

Mina sniffs, feeling her control slipping, her mask pulled down, and a tear runs down her cheek as she buries her head into Ximena’s shoulder, leaning into the hug. She tries to speak but it is hard to put any strength in her voice, “...yeah, we can make it work.”

They hold tight, hungry for two whole lives of affection, and touch, and tenderness. Starving for intimacy that had been out of reach, once for all time. Now… Now within reach. Ximena asks it again, “We can make it work?”

Mina had told her. Told her weeks ago. About the machine. About their relationship. About their whole lives. 

The answer was the same. 

“We can make it work.” 

This time, she even believes it herself.