#I’m going to finally watch a movie and not feel the weight of looming deadlines for at least a few days

[leapdayowo]

I have finally been released from the horrors (rapid fire college assignment deadlines)

[hms-chill]

The Long Way

A nice fun Liam/Spencer fic, because these boys deserve the world.

Summary: (Alternately  titled “SOMEONE GIVE LIAM A HUG” or “Stronk Farm Boyfriends”)Liam’s  just finishing up vet school, and he’s a month shy of achieving the  thing he’s been working for since he was a kid. When he gets called out  to a farm to witness a calf birth and notices something wrong,  under-researched, and curable, it’s the perfect thing to treat and  document so he can write a paper that will jump-start his career. Of  course, the fact that the calf is owned by a cute dairy farmer doesn’t  hurt, either.

Chapter one // Chapter 5 // On AO3

Chapter 6

As he drives home, Liam tries his best to process what exactly just happened. He hadn't planned to tell Spencer about needing meds; that's the kind of thing that usually gets him worried looks at best and requests to 'borrow' some at worst. But Spencer hadn't been weird about it, and that in itself feels weird. He would have known how to deal with the jokes, or the concern, but treating ADHD like it's something completely normal isn't something that Liam's used to. He's even less used to people helping him deal with it, and he's still processing that as he pulls into his parking spot and starts to move everything Spencer's sent him home with into his apartment. It takes two trips to get the various bags and boxes and baskets up, and Liam puts away milk and vegetables and dinner leftovers before he finally acknowledges the two care packages set on his kitchen floor.

He's not sure how to feel about them, and he has no idea what to expect. Some of his friends get care packages, but he's never gotten one. Spencer's feels like the safer place to start, so he settles on the floor and opens it first to find it packed full of goodies. There's a mug, and a hand lotion with a note that it's the one Spencer swears by for long days on the farm, and a little candle. The note on it says this says it relieves stress and I don't know how much I believe it, but you need all the help you can get, which is enough to startle a bit of a laugh out of Liam. There are matches in the box, too, and snack mixes and other treats packed between things, and it's so thoughtful that Liam has to just take a minute and look at it all. He can imagine Spencer putting this together, adding notes about how drinking coffee out of a mug might help Liam slow down in the morning or writing out exactly what's in the snack mix. Everything is so carefully done, and just knowing that Spencer would take the time to do something like this for him, just because he watched a few movies, is surreal.

The other care package is still there, so Liam forges ahead, opening it before he lets himself become overwhelmed by Spencer's. There's a card on top from Spencer's parents, thanking him for doing the chores and keeping Spencer healthy, and it's got their numbers on the bottom in case Liam ever needs them. He can't imagine calling them, given that parents don't tend to like him and people he needs help from often like him even less, but it's nice to know that they're an option if he's ever truly desperate. It's thoughtful that they offered, and everything else in the box is thoughtful, too. There are homemade cookies with instructions on how to heat them up so they're gooey again, and a nice water bottle with a note that they worry he's only drinking coffee because Spencer never drank enough water in school. There's a framed picture of Annie and a set of command strips to hang it, because they've been in enough apartments owned by boys his age to know that he probably hasn't decorated on his own, and enough snacks and baked goods to last him weeks (complete with instructions on how to freeze and reheat some of it), and a few pasta and sauce options because they know he doesn't have much time to cook. It's thoughtful in a way that feels refined, like it's a variant on a care package they'd have sent Spencer in school, and even that simple fact threatens to overwhelm Liam. Knowing that they think of him as even a bit like Spencer feels like a huge honor, and the fact that they'd both put something like this together without ever meeting him makes him wonder if maybe, they wouldn't dislike him as much as other parents have.

He texts Spencer his thanks, asking him to pass it on to his parents, and puts the food away in a bit of a daze. It doesn't quite sink in until he's looking around for a place to put the picture of Annie, which feels much too fancy for his apartment, but when it does, he has to sit down. Three different people put time, money, and energy into making him feel special. Just because he hung out with Spencer for a week, eating his food and watching some movies. It seems impossible; he'd known that there were people like this but could never have imagined he'd meet them.

There's nothing to do but find a place on his desk for the candle, and one above it for Annie's picture, and go to bed still trying to believe that people care about him enough to send him things. The care packages are still there as he falls asleep, and they're still there when he wakes up in the morning. They haven't faded with his dreams or disappeared overnight like some sort of magic.

The good coffee Spencer bought him is still in his cupboard, right above the mug he drinks it out of as he texts Spencer another thank you. Spencer tells him to take his time and relax with his coffee before he comes out to the farm, so Liam tries his best. He's got a library book on its second renewal sitting on his desk, so he picks that up while he has toast from Spencer's parents for breakfast. It feels like he's cheating somehow, like he's not really serious about school if he's willing to take a break like this. It feels like he can't really want to be a vet if he's going to spend his mornings reading for fun, so he sets the book aside and flips open a textbook instead.

It opens directly to a page about the importance of rest. He reads almost a full paragraph about how important it is to let animals rest between tricks, how a dog who's constantly working will learn to hate the work and their owner, before he closes the book with a deep breath. He's going to be working all day at the farm; he can take a break for breakfast.

When he's finished eating breakfast, washing his dishes, and reading a chapter of his book, he texts Spencer and packs up. He almost forgets the picnic basket, and he wonders if he should put something in it as he heads down to his car, but knowing Liam spent money on him might just make Spencer feel guilty at this point. He'll have to do something later; when he's taken his test and is doing better financially he'll have to throw Spencer a big thank you dinner. For now, he loads the picnic basket and his bag into the car, then settles in the front, turning his music up and rolling the windows down. The drive to the farm is familiar now, and with the wind in his hair and music in his ears, Liam can almost forget how stressed he is.

He knows that carrying all the shit he's dealing with isn't healthy. He's seen the stress studies on people and animals alike, and he's felt the impacts as much as any test subject. He knows the exhaustion, the headaches and the muscle tension. He knows the sleepless nights and racing heart that come with looming deadlines, and he knows the constant worry that he's simply not good enough to face whatever comes next. By this point, he could probably be used in a study like the ones he's read as an example of the consequences of long term stress. But the only way out is through, and the only thing worse than dealing with it on his own would be pushing it off onto someone else. He doesn't need guilt piled on. So he does what he can to find moments like this, when his music's loud and the wind blows through his hair to carry his fears out the window. When he finds these moments, he does his best to savor them, to sing along and let the weight of the world fall off his shoulders for a bit.

As he pulls up to the farm, rattling over the cattle gate with a grin, he expects the stress to come back. He expects it to all crash down onto him again as he parks the car, stopping his music and climbing out. As soon as he settles his bag over his shoulders, he expects the stress to come with it, but somehow, everything feels lighter here. It just feels better not to be stuck in a shitty apartment, especially on a day like this. It's gorgeous out, and maybe, if he can find a nice spot in reach of Spencer's Wi-Fi, he'll be able to study outside.

He's just starting toward the house when he hears his name, and he turns to see Spencer coming out of the barn with a grin.

"Thought I heard your car. How're you doing?"

“I’m better. I’m... I'm a lot better than last night. I’m sorry about all that.”

“Hey, no apology necessary. You just needed a hand, and I’m glad I could help out. I was thinking we could get you set up on the porch for today if you want? My mama brought some iced tea, so we can get you a glass, and there’s a nice table where I used to do my homework and a view of the pasture from there. It's not a fancy office or anything, but I thought maybe you'd prefer it.”

"Definitely better than an office," Liam says, not even trying to hide his grin. Spencer grins, too, and leads the way through the house to a wide back porch. He shows Liam the table and vanishes, reappearing with iced tea and some cookies just as Liam’s getting settled. At the cookies, Liam rolls his eyes with a smile. “Dude, you’re spoiling me.”

Spencer just laughs. “Look, I love Mama, but I don’t think she’s realized I don’t have roommates anymore. She packages cookie plates like there’s a family of ten living here; I just need your help eating them.”

“Did you used to have roommates?” Liam asks. He should be studying, but if he starts studying then Spencer might leave, and he doesn't want Spencer to go just yet. Spencer nods in answer to his question.

“I had a bunch in college. I haven’t out here, though there’s certainly room for it. But not many people want to rent this far from the university and the downtown area, and I feel like it would be weird renting to just anyone. I'm living here, and it's my childhood home and all; I don't know. It would feel sort of uncomfortable.”

Liam nods, and Spencer turns to go inside, leaving Liam to buckle down on his studying. Spencer comes and goes, refilling his iced tea and making sure Liam knows he’s nearby in case he needs to be quizzed or anything. Eventually, he brings out two full plates and asks, “is now an okay time for a lunch break, or should I leave you to it? You can tell me to go away if you want.”

“Now’s good,” Liam says, shifting things to make room as he looks up at Spencer with a grin. “Thank you so much for this, really, I... I don’t know if I could have spent another day like yesterday. My apartment isn't exactly the best place to be right now; my neighbors smoke just... so much weed, and it's just in general sort of... this is a better place for sure."

“It’s honestly not a problem. I like having someone else out here; even if we don’t talk or even interact much it’s nice to be around someone. I... I didn’t really notice until Annie, but it can get lonely out here. I don't know; maybe I should look into getting a roommate instead of dragging people out to visit me.”

Liam almost says he’s looking for a place to live next year, but he bites it back and focuses on his food instead. He can’t ask Spencer for something like that, not with his budget. Any room or space Spencer's looking to rent out would be worth so much more than what Liam could afford. Spencer might say yes anyway, but it would be out of pity, and as much as he loves it out here, Liam can’t spend a year as a pity tenant. Instead, he just ignores the comment and the conversation shifts. They talk about work and cows and movies in theaters that they both sort of know neither of them are going to make it to. Liam thanks Spencer at least three times, and each time, Spencer thanks him in return, for coming out and keeping him company.

By the third time, Spencer sets down his utensils and looks Liam in the eye, so seriously that Liam mirrors him, swallowing the food in his mouth automatically as he gets ready for Spencer to be upset. But Spencer just says, “I like spending time with you. You’re my friend, and you’re fun to hang out with. I... I don’t know who convinced you otherwise, or if you convinced yourself, but I’m being completely honest when I say that I like you. You don’t have to apologize for being part of my life, especially not when I’m the one who invited you in. And you don’t have to constantly thank me, either. It’s... you’re not some kind of problem I have to deal with or anything like that; I’m glad to spend time with you. I... I guess what I’m getting at is that I like you, like... as a person. Honestly.”

Liam’s bright red as he looks back at his food and mumbles a thank you, which feels counter intuitive to what Spencer’s just said about thanking him, but it feels like the only appropriate response. He wants to apologize, but that feels wrong, too, so instead he just says, “I’m... like I said, I’m... I’m sort of new to things like this, but, um, I... I appreciate you.”

Spencer smiles, bumping his knee against Liam’s under the table. “Hey, I appreciate you, too. I... if you have to keep studying tell me, but I was hoping to take the horses out for a long ride today, and you absolutely don’t have to, but if you want to come, I’d like the company. You don’t have to, though! I don’t want to pull you away from something more important.”

“Maybe... how long would it take? And could you wait to see how I feel about things later? I think I could come, but I... it would be a good reward when I'm done for the day, if you don’t mind waiting. I just know if I went now, I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about how much I still have to work on.”

"That sounds good; it might be cooler later anyway. We can wait and see, and then just go as long as you have time for."

“I’d like that,” Liam says, and they talk about where they’ll go as they bring the dishes inside, Liam rinsing them off as Spencer loads the dishwasher. Liam’s just starting on some of the bigger dishes, arguing with Spencer that he should be allowed to do the hand washing since Spencer got the food ready, when the doorbell rings. Spencer goes to get it, calling back to Liam that he should leave the dishes where they are. Liam ignores him at first, but when he hears Spencer invite someone in, he finishes up and starts back out to the porch to be out of the way.

He’s not fast enough. Before he can get out, Spencer’s leading two women into the kitchen, talking with them easily.

"Liam, these are my neighbors, Cat and Addy. Cat, Addy, this is Liam. He's... he's the friend I told you about who looked after me when I wasn't feeling good last week."

“Liam, it’s so good to meet you,” Addie says, coming to shake his hand with a grin. “Spencer’s told us how much you helped him out.”

“If you can get this kid to stay on bed rest for that long, you must be some kind of miracle worker,” Cat says, ruffling Spencer’s hair.

“It was nothing. I just hung out here at night, took care of the morning chores, nothing big. I used to live by a place like this and I'd help my neighbors, so it's not like it was anything too new or hard. Honestly, I’ve sort of missed it.”

"Wait, Addy, don't we have a little something for Liam?" Cat asks, and Addy nods.

"We do! It's in the gator we brought over; y'all stay put."

"I don't--" Liam protests, but she's already gone, saying something about how Spencer can come with her if he wants to see something. Cat doesn't seem the type to negotiate what he does or doesn't deserve or need, but still, he says, "Spencer and his parents both already thanked me; I don't need anything else. It wasn't a big deal, really."

“Well, we heard about everything you did, and Spencer mentioned you don’t really have family in the area, so we just wanted you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, you can call us. Addy’s little package has our contract info in it, just in case.”

“Thank you, I... you didn’t have to, really. I’m okay.” When Liam looks up again, Spencer’s leaving the room and Cat is a bit closer. She hesitates for a minute, then puts a hand on his arm, making sure she has his attention.

“I... I haven’t had any biological family since the ‘80s, but Spencer’s parents and Addy made me their family. So if there’s anything we can do to make it feel like you’ve got a family of your own, let me know, alright?”

Liam just nods, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Spencer and Addy come back in together, and Cat takes a step back with a smile as Addy hands Liam a box that he wouldn’t exactly describe as little. He’s not sure how big care packages are supposed to be; this marks his third ever. Still, it seems like a lot, but Addy won’t let him complain or return any of it. Liam tells her that Spencer and his parents have already thanked him, but Addy points out that they would have been doing the morning chores if he hadn’t, and Cat threatens to sneak the gift into his car if he won’t accept it. Only once he’s agreed to keep it, thanking them over and over, does Spencer suggest they let him study. That kicks off a round of questions about his test, followed by well wishes and another round of thank yous. Then there are reassurances that they’re glad to have met and other pleasantries before Liam is settling back out on the porch to try and process everything as he gets back to work.

His mind keeps sticking on his conversation with Cat. Somehow, she seems to know more about him than he'd told even Spencer. That should probably scare him, to know someone can read him that easily, but it doesn't. Instead, he realizes that it might make him willing to ask her for help. Of all the people who've offered him help in the past twenty four hours, she's certainly the one he'd be most likely to accept it from. He wonders briefly when the last time he would have asked for guidance or help from a 'real adult' was, and he shifts his focus to work instead of trying to think about that. If he's honest with himself, he's not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

Aside from Cat and Addy’s visit, the afternoon follows the same pattern as the morning. Spencer’s in and out while Liam studies, offering to help and refilling snacks and iced tea as needed. Liam gets in a good amount of studying, and when the words feel like they’re running together and is brain is too tired to think anymore, he doesn't push himself. Instead, he closes his book and texts Spencer to ask if he’s ready to ride.

They get the horses tacked up easily enough, Liam following Spencer’s lead as they finish up and leave the barn. Spencer urges his horse faster, through a trot and into a canter, and Liam does the same, adjusting as he learns her gate and gets used to being in the saddle again. When they get to an open field, he can tell she wants to go, so he lets her gallop ahead, looking back over his shoulder as Spencer laughs and urges his horse to join them. They race across the field, laughing and egging each other on until they reach a little stream where the horses slow and stop to drink, settling down while the boys on their backs catch their breath. Spencer grins at him, face flushed and hair blown back by the wind, looking almost carefree for the first time since Liam carried him in from the barn.

“Why do I ever do this alone? It’s so much more fun with you; you should just come out every week and exercise them with me." He seems to realize what he's asked a minute later and adds, "I mean, if you want; you don’t have to obviously. But I could get you dinner; we could maybe do picnics, at least until it gets cold.”

“That sounds like a good deal to me,” Liam says, grinning back. “I haven’t ridden in a bit, but it’s like riding a bike. Only the bike is alive, and a lot bigger.”

Spencer laughs, and Liam can’t help his smile. This Spencer, the one who’s not worried or overworked, is so, so incredible. There has to be a way to help him stay like this. He’s happy, and after a moment, Liam realizes he’s happy, too. Maybe if they do rides like this every Sunday, it’ll be a start toward a happier Spencer. He knows coming out here regularly will make him happier, and as they start up into the woods, talking and laughing, he can’t help but hope that having company will do the same for his friend.

As they ride through the back of the ranch and it feels like everything else falls away, Liam can't help but hope that Spencer gets to relax like this more often. At the very least, hopefully he'll be able to find these moments more regularly. He seems comfortable and unstressed, and he keeps crediting it to having company, which feels good. Maybe, even once he gets sick of Liam being around, he'll have learned that having company for weekly rides makes him happy. He can invite Addy or Cat or one of his friends out to ride with him, and really, just knowing that Spencer has moments like these, where his smiles come easily and he's as relaxed as he can be on the back of a horse, would be enough to make Liam happy to have known him.

On AO3

Notes:

The picture of Annie hanging over Liam's desk is brought to you by the picture of a highland cow hanging over my desk. Annie's not a highland, because they're in Texas and it's too hot, but they're both cows so close enough.

Also, I think the issue with these two is that they both assume they're a minor character in the other's story when they are in fact the love interest. Like you know how Liam was very much a piece of character development in RWRB? I think that's how he sees himself in Spencer's life, too.

--

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[areiton]

stealing our future

Square: R3 Warm and Fuzzy Feelings

Summary:  Peter knew when he left, Tony would struggle. It’s why he didn’t want to leave. He fought the idea, hard, and lost--May and Tony and Rhodey and Ned all demanding he not settle, all begging him to think about his future. He didn’t point out his future was standing front of him with an exasperated expression and a three piece suit.

For @tonystarkbingo

AO3 Link (1.4k): https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229673

~*~ 

He expects the call. Has expected it since before he left.

Rhodey doesn’t disappoint. “Can you come? He needs you.”

He looks at his books, his busy schedule and lies, “Of course. I didn't have anything planned.”

~*~

Peter knew when he left, Tony would struggle. It’s why he didn’t want to leave. He fought the idea, hard, and lost--May and Tony and Rhodey and Ned all demanding he not settle, all begging him to think about his future.

He didn’t point out his future was standing front of him with an exasperated expression and a three piece suit.

So he left, went to MIT and lost himself in school.

And Tony lost himself in loneliness.

~*~

They try to make it work, is the thing.

Long phone calls, endless texts, movie date nights. Tony flies down every weekend at first, and then every other, as Peter’s workload increases and then it’s just once a month.

It’s hard.

They knew it’d be hard, and Tony tries not to let Peter see how much he’s struggling. Because he wants this for the kid, wants him to be happy, wants him to have every opportunity.

But there’s this too--Tony lost Peter once, on an alien planet in a cloud of dust and he got Peter back, got the whole universe back--but sometimes, when he wakes up at night alone in his big bed and empty penthouse--he forgets.

Sometimes, he just wants his boy, close and in his arms, and Peter feels, still, gone, out of reach, a million miles away.

~*~

He steps out of the elevator and Peter smiles. Because this--this is home. This is everything he misses when he’s away, everything he longs for when he doesn’t say on the phone, I want to come home.

College is too important, if not to him, to everyone around him, so he keeps that desire tucked away, trapped in his throat. But it’s burning there now, and burning in his eyes and Tony is crouched beside one of the cars, hasn’t noticed him.

The bots do, DUM-E and Butterfingers rolling up to him and chirping excitedly. DUM-E’s arm bumps him, clamps on his shirt and tugs at him, until it drags a laugh from him and that--that drags Tony’s head up, up so wide startled eyes find his, and Peter smiles, soft and small and helpless.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” he says, unaccountably shy.

Tony is up and crossing the room in seconds, dragging Peter into his arms, and Peter sighs, melts into it, melts into him.

“You’re here,” Tony says, his voice rough and hoarse, and Peter closes his eyes and holds him tighter.

~*~

He takes Tony to his ridiculous too large bathroom, strips him careful, hands gentle and warm, relearning his body as he skims over tan, scarred skin. It’s gentle, soothing, and when Tony’s grip turns hard and needy, Peter shushes him.

“Rest,” he murmurs between light, butterfly kisses. “There’s time later.”

They fall into bed, still wet from the shower, skin butter soft and warm, and Peter sleeps with his head on Tony’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

~*~

The weekend is quiet.

Peter wakes Tony with a slow, lazy blowjob, mouthing at his skin until he’s restless and stirring, before he takes Tony’s cock in his mouth and hums, contentedly, pleased to finally be where he feels like he belongs. It’s agonizingly slow, savoring the weight of Tony in his mouth, the heaviness on his tongue, the bitter burst of precome.

It’s heavenly, and he comes, spills against the expensive sheet, rutting against Tony’s leg, just from Tony’s fingers twisting in his hair and the pleasure in his voice when he groans Peter’s name.

~*~

They go for a walk, brave the chill of New York November to wander through Central Park, fingers laced and aimless. Peter’s nose is red and his lips are chapped and shiny and Tony’s gaze is fixed on him, avid and hungry and besotted.

Later, they stop for coffee and Peter talks Tony into hot chocolate and licks the taste from his lips in the alley near the coffeeshop while snow drifts down around them, and it feels hushed and quiet, hidden and perfect, and he doesn’t want to go.

~*~

They argue--brief, a argument punctuated by grins and kisses and Tony’s exasperation--over dinner, an argument that ends in Peter dancing through the kitchen in Tony’s sweatshirt and nothing else, humming as he cooks. Tony watches, his eyes soft and warm, and sips his wine, and wishes that the weekend never had to end.

~*~

They don’t talk about why Peter is here, or why Rhodey and Pepper vanished after a week of nagging Tony to take a break.

They don’t talk about Peter’s classes or looming finals or the next semester or May’s plans for the holiday.

They don’t talk about the Avengers and the world that still needs heroes, despite everything they’ve both given.

They don’t talk about anything beyond the four walls that encase them and the moment they’re in.

~*~

Later, when Tony is sleepy and Peter is snoring softly against his chest, he carries the boy to his room, spreads him out against his sheets and watches him sleep.

He loves Peter.

He’s known that for a long time. But moments like this--stolen weekends and windows of time that feel like a dream and a gift--they remind him.

He loves Peter and nothing has ever felt as right as watching Peter sleeping next to him.

~*~

They spend the morning in bed. Tony fucks Peter, works him open slowly, painstakingly slow, until Peter is red faced and cursing, writhing against the sheets, butter soft around his fingers, and begging for his cock. Then he slides in, slow and steady and Peter’s voice catches in his throat, half sob, half sigh, all pleasure.

Usually, when they fuck, it’s loud, goading, all of Spiderman’s taunts turned dirty and lewed and perfect.

But today--today it’s quiet, Peter gasping near silent below him, his eyes squeezed shut, and fingers twisted with Tony’s. His little moans are punched out, high and needy and precious for their rarity and Tony doesn’t realize Peter is crying, silent sobs, until he’s coming, spilling deep in Peter as Peter tightens around him, gasps and comes, wet and messy between them.

Tony kisses his tears and Peter shakes, his silence shattering, and sobs against his chest.

~*~

“I don’t like it,” Peter whispers, and Tony’s grip on him tightens. “I miss you.”

~*~

He goes back.

Of course he goes back. There are deadlines and projects and finals and a ridiculous apartment that Tony bought for him, and--

He goes back.

He hates it, and he can see the same mirrored in Tony’s eyes, before he leaves, and his lips tighten.

~*~

The semester ends in a rush of papers and finals and no sleep, and Peter--Peter revels in it. Because if it’s over, he can go home. He does. He finishes his classes, and packs his suitcase and goes to the Tower, where he knows Tony will be waiting.

He’s there, surrounded by his bots and Christmas trees and Peter smiles and steps into his arms, and kisses him.

~*~

After--

After they fall into bed and Tony fucks him while he clings, his grip too tight and impossible to relinquish--they pad into the dining room and Peter cooks, or tries to, while Tony clings to him, pressed warm and mostly naked against his back, his fingers hooked in Peter’s boxers under the oversized sweatshirt he stole.

It’s comfortable and comforting and so painfully domestic it makes his heart squeeze.

He’s nervous, and he thinks--he shouldn’t be. He knows.

But the arguments from summer are still fresh in his mind, so he bites down his words and feeds them, and they curl on the couch, his fuzzy socked feet wrapped around Tony’s bare legs, listening to the steady sound of Tony’s heartbeat under his ear.

“I’m not going back,” he says, as Tony caresses his hair.

Tony is still, and Peter’s heart beats too fast, too loud in his chest. “You don’t have to argue with me--it’s already done. I transferred to NYU and I start in January.”

Tony stares at him and nerves beat in his chest but he cups Tony's face, holds him like he's precious.

“You don't have to--you can have anything, baby.”

Peter smiles. “I know. And what I want is this. You.  Not MIT and stolen weekends and missing you. Just this. Us together and the bots and the team sometimes, and cooking for you, waking up with you. Dragging you out of the workshop and cuddling next to you. I want you, Tony.”

Tony's hands tremble but his smile is blinding and relieved as he drags Peter into a messy kiss that tastes like forever.

[presumenothing]

once more with feeling

(or, spooky action at no distance)

belated halloween-ish fic, aka questionably-serious crackfic with a heavy side of casual morbidity and inappropriate science. also entirely unedited phonefic which i refuse to even reread before posting. beware of character death (sorry shiho) and property destruction (not sorry). working title: the ectoplasmic method. this is what happens when grad school deadlines meet the looming shadow of finals?? idk just have it anyway

Somewhere, in the cell of a singularly dismal back room –

A figure falls to slump against the wall, the handcuff on one wrist letting out the sad jingle of a clink as it takes on most of her weight.

The same somewhere, scant minutes later –

"Oh, bollocks," says a disembodied voice, two feet up and several inches to the left, with more heartfelt feeling than its owner ever really displayed in life. "This isn't even scientific at all!"

…ahem. Anyway.

The first thing that Shiho does with her newfound freedom from both matter and gravity (along with most of physics and the sciences, really, natural or otherwise) is to float back out to the main lab, and sigh a non-essential breath of relief at the absence of a tiny horde of spectral lab rats scurrying about.

Admittedly the process of doing so is rather less smooth than imagination might suggest, with more error than trial in the grander scale of things, but such is the steady march of science.

Either way, some brief confusion of force and acceleration aside, the lab proves empty of any (other) less-than-corporeal entities.

Hypothesis: either said rats were once here and had since dissipated with the pass of time (because she refuses to use such a vague phrase as move on, even setting aside the question of whether it would even – theoretically – apply to animals of questionable self-awareness), or this… ectoplasmic… existence is yet another astronomically-rare effect of the apoptoxin.

Shiho's still mulling over the question when she reaches for the coffeepot from long habit…

…only for her hand to pass right through it. Predictably enough, in hindsight.

Her eyebrow twitches.

…

……

………………

Revised hypothesis: the afterlife sucks.

The moment of decaffeinated betrayal is interrupted by the insistently loud tick of the wall clock.

Her baleful glare at it yields nothing much of use, since she hasn't had any way of reliably telling the time over the past couple days, given her spectacularly cozy accomodations.

If nothing else, it's probably going to be a couple hours until someone discovers her very dead body and alerts Gin, she thinks in no little vindication – followed by an itemised list of unprintably detailed expletives.

Because, in that moment of thought, she'd suddenly found herself elsewhere in a quantum blink, with no experience or memory of having crossed the intervening space.

And staring Gin almost in the face, no less.

Shiho definitely does not shriek as she throws herself aside, all the while cursing stupidly broken FTL teleports that didn't even have the decency to deposit her somewhere more pleasant. Like Majorca, maybe. Or even back to America.

…actually, on that thought – Shiho narrows her eyes in concentration.

Several (failed) attempts at geographically displacing herself later, she gives it up as a bad job, earmarked for further study. At the very least Gin didn't act like he'd heard any ghostly screeching that may or may not have happened, even if he also failed to display signs of the sudden chill – more's the pity – that featured so consistently in those terrible movies she'd had the misfortune of being coerced into watching by certain people one time too many.

Though she supposes that could also be due to the fact that she'd dodged with the express purpose of not having him walk through her. Not that intersecting spaces with a corridor wall had turned out to be a much more comfortable option, on the whole, but it's mostly a matter of metaphysical principle.

Either way. Shiho inches forward until she's no longer coexisting with shoddily-constructed cinderblock, all the while cheerfully ignoring whatever nefariously above-her-paygrade evil Gin is monologuing about to Vodka, over the increasingly loud click of heels.

…wait. Heels? she repeats mentally, before promptly noping back through the wall before she has to experimentally verify whether Vermouth, of all people, can see her or not.

Which is how she finds herself somewhere that looks suspiciously like Gin's dressing room, complete with shelves of overpriced hair product, full-length mirrors, and a wardrobe she assumes must be full of identical white turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

"Hm," she says, aloud, as she sets to work. All in the name of science, of course.

(Careful recollection of events, multiple attempts, and a fair assortment of choice swears later, she figures out what her previous attempts at properly haunting ghosthood had been lacking: emotion.

Fortunately, she doesn't lack for any degree of anger in this circumstance. It still takes some trying to have the conditioner bottles explode messily rather than just fall off the shelves with a series of dull thunks, but eventually she manages it.

Though she limits herself to breaking only one mirror. Just in case the bad luck accrues to her instead of Gin.

Then again, she is dead. How much worse can it get, really?)

Armed with her newfound discovery, she attempts to teleport again. A few minutes' intense concentration on the comfortable familiarity of her lab brings her back to where she started, but thinking fondly of her doctoral research lab garners her nothing but a faint headache and an impending sense of hypocrisy.

At least she confirms that her body is still where she left it.

Honestly, she's almost unsure whether to be offended or not, Shiho thinks, as she watches the slow creep of rigor mortis across her muscles.

Unbidden, the lone photo from that newspaper clipping flashes to mind –

"…oh, come on!"

Look, it's not like Shiho can deny the miniature cataclysm of feelings surrounding even the echo of that image, but really? Really? After everything else she's tried?

And why to an elementary school, of all places? Jeez.

Shiho rolls her eyes at the corridor – which stands empty, this time – and swears off shattering any more mirrors before floating off again. There's an awkward moment when she vaguely recalls something about children supposedly being more sensitive to unscientific phenomena, though that's quickly falsified by the inhabitants of the first half-dozen classrooms she passes through, teacher or student alike.

Ironically enough it's the de-aged Kudo Shinichi who does react somewhat to her presence, when she finally manages to locate his classroom – and honestly, couldn't he have at least faked his way into a higher grade? Pretend to be very unusually short for his age or something? That can't be enjoyable at all.

Shiho tries to imagine herself stuck with this bunch of seven-year-olds and can't help a shudder, which is why she almost misses one of said children leaning slightly backwards in her seat to whisper far too loudly. "Are you alright, Conan-kun? Do you need a sweater?"

"No, I'm fine," Kudo-kun demurs, rejecting the profferred garment – quite rightly too, Shiho thinks, since that's just plain asking to be a vector for germs. "Just a cold draft, that's all."

He doesn't look even once in her direction, but relaxes visibly when she finally floats back out of the classroom to observe via a window.

Huh. Interesting. Maybe it's something about having seen too many corpses?

Shiho almost discards that out of hand on grounds of Gin, who had seen easily ten times as many dead bodies, most by virtue of having put them there by his own hands.

Admittedly, now that she thinks on it, it does seem entirely possible that Gin would not notice a localised drop in temperature due to being cold-blooded to start with, anyway.

She has insufficient data, she decides, and three working guesses: either Kudo-kun has seen too many deaths, too many corpses, or he's just looped into the same cosmic joke for having taken the apoptoxin as well.

History and statistics suggest that she'll eventually run into both mass murderers and homicide officers if she hangs around him long enough. Which leaves the third category quite unverifiable, but at least it'd make more sense than some high school detective managing to be the single outlier that should not be counted in any statistic, ever.

Though even waiting out the school day in the hope of some murders happening feels like an increasingly unattractive prospect, she thinks, pulling a face at the chalkboard's worth of mind-numbingly basic math when the bell stubbornly refuses to ring the end of first period.

She didn't skip through the first half of her education just to subject herself to it in death, of all things, and besides it's about time someone found her body anyway.

Shiho contemplates the hallway ceiling for a minute before managing to rebel further against gravity until she reaches the rooftop, already preparing to move herself back to the lab once she gets her bearings straight.

Then someone behind her gasps Shiho? in a voice all too familiar, and she –

Shiho isn't actually too sure what happens, in the following minutes.

Somewhere in the glassy shards of thought left fractured by her sister's voice is a swift-rising horror that it'd all been a lie – that the bullet which killed Akemi-oneechan was one she'd made with her own hands –

And maybe she says some of this out loud, maybe she doesn't, maybe it's simply that her sister has ever been the sole person in this world who understood her (even if she'd only realised that too late), but when the unrelenting static finally clears Shiho find herself not-quite hyperventilating on the rooftop of one Teitan Elementary, head spinning from the lack of air that she doesn't even need, and the one voice she'd never thought she'd hear again.

Even through the haze she can hear onee-chan saying things like it's not your fault, never was and Shiho almost shakes her head in reflexive denial, even as her mind whirrs back to that thrice-damned photograph and whispers agreement in logic, that death by apoptoxin is instantaneous and a gunshot wound would've left a significantly different blood spatter post-mortem, which meant –

"How are you here?" she chokes out, unable and unwilling to look up and meet those eyes. "If it wasn't the APTX – "

"APT– oh, is that the drug you were working on? No," Akemi says, with a sudden vindictiveness that startles Shiho into looking up anyway. "No, it was that utter scumbag Gin who shot me, you can take my word for that."

Shiho supposes that she must look unconvinced somehow, because Akemi adds, "I'd say that you could confirm with that little detective about that, but… well…"

Her gaze follows the wave of onee-chan's hand down to a cluster of small figures in the field, one of which is barely identifiable as Edogawa Conan, from this distance. It raises another dozen questions in turn, but still Shiho persists. "But how are you still here? Why haven't you… moved on?"

"Unfinished business, I suppose you could say."

"Huh?"

Akemi-oneechan blinks at that, in some apparent surprise. "Isn't it obvious?"

Shiho shakes her head in full earnesty.

"Oh, Shiho," Akemi almost-sighs, as she floats over and – catches hold of her hands, with a bout of warmth against all logic, the first solid thing Shiho's felt since this all started. "It's you, of course, it was always you."

…her words won't work and either way she knows not what to say to that, so Shiho just stands (floats) there, gaping silently like an idiot.

Somehow Akemi-oneechan is still smiling. "Well, I mean – I did manage to track down Dai-kun by accident, and I've been keeping an eye out for anything around Conan-kun, you wouldn't believe the amount of trouble he gets into. But the only one I worried over was you, and yet I couldn't find you, no matter what I tried…"

Shiho tries – and mostly fails – to process all this, and pieces together the next logical question. "Then what about me?"

She'd thought that it'd been because of the apoptoxin, but that's obviously invalid now, even if it galls her to replace that with such a ridiculously nebulous notion as unfinished business –

"There must be something you haven't done, a wish you haven't fulfilled, or… well," Akemi pauses, and Shiho can tell just from the lilt of her tone that she's not going to like whatever follows next, "like I've always been telling you, maybe it's just that you need to live a little. Have some fun, you know!"

And Shiho surprises them both by snorting a laugh at that. "In that case, I've gotten a start on that already."

To describe Akemi-oneechan's expression as starry-eyed would not be amiss, nor her voice as a squeal. "What did you do?"

"…destroy all of Gin's hair products?"

"Really?! Oh my god, Shiho-chan, I'm so proud, I always knew you had it in you – "

.

.

.

(AO3)

listen i literally?? don’t even?? know???? i did not see this coming, no plans here only bad jokes. the semi-crack antidote to this previous fic or something i guess, except not. don’t @ me 

[tristfulmetanoia]

Hurricane

She shook off her nervousness that she was wearing as a coat, and walked across the parking lot. No doubt she had missed him, he always left by now. It was 8:28, and he typically went back to his apartment by 7:45, so she should have been safe. Well, maybe safe wasn’t the best choice of words. She was at a lesser chance of running into him, seeing him sitting at a desk, having to avert her gaze, or accidentally locking eyes. She had little to no chance of getting him out of her mind, but she knew that she would be able to avoid his physical presence. She walked into the building and sat at the nearest vacant table, avoiding a desk altogether. At least at this table, she could pretend that she didn’t see him if he happened to walk by. She knew that if he was there, and saw her, he would text her. And she, having no self-control, would text him back almost immediately. And the entire thing would just escalate to the two of them tumbling back into their usual trysts, and their usual misadventures until one of them had the nerve to ask for a definition of what they were, and then they would go back to the less-than-blissful ignorance that they found themselves in right now. She opened her bag and set up the usual layout of her things. A notebook, a pen, her laptop, her water bottle, and her coffee. She opened her laptop and logged into it, opening the file that she had spent months on. 

She shook her head, “this is why you never base any work off of someone who could be temporary in your life,” she muttered to herself. Not that it mattered, she had already turned in drafts, edited it until she felt as though she was going blind, and was nearly done.

A dramatic finale, she had decided. Both satisfactory and heart-wrenching. Almost more hurtful to the reader than anything else, because there was nobody in the world who knew how much of her own hurt was going to go into it, besides her. Once it was out there in the world, she knew that he would find it, and that he would more than likely message her to ask if it was about him. She would send him a soft, sweet response, assuring him that it wasn’t, but they would both know. They both would understand enough of the seemingly worthless details that could only refer to him, for it to ever be otherwise. He had been her muse, for most of this project. Conveniently bringing color into her life whenever she had been fading into a bunch of black and white blurs, with no real inspiration or direction for any of her looming deadlines.

She sighed and began to paint a story with her words, referencing the tumultuous nature of their relationship, although it really wasn’t that bad. The two of them seemed to have the right chemistry, both of them having all the right things that the other wanted, both of them checking all of the right boxes and bringing just the right things to the table. But neither of them was willing to take the leap into the abyss. Neither of them was willing to offer a definition, neither wanting to admit how much the other really mattered, neither of them brave enough to admit that they actually felt a sense of need for the other. Both too prideful to be the first to say it. They were both too content staying emotionally unavailable to offer the other any real piece of themselves. She stopped what she was writing and opened up a different tab, reading through what she called her “memory bank” which was where she would type up all of the memories that she didn’t ever want to forget. She had them all organized by date and feeling, but she had used a different sorting method for some. For some, she just sorted them under “J,” referencing his first initial. She clicked on the collection and the paged sprung to action, laying out multiple different files that were multiple different memories. She looked through them and opened one, smiling before she even got through the first sentence. One of her favorite memories, because she could remember it so vividly. They were in her tiny studio apartment, watching one of her guilty pleasure movies from her bed, since she didn’t have room for a couch in her apartment. They had decided to spend a little bit of time together before she was to leave for a family vacation, so she had invited him over to watch a movie. They weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the movie, though, because they were too busy laughing hysterically at one another.  One of them would say something outlandish, and the other would just bounce off of it and escalate the ridiculousness of it. 

After one of their outbursts of laughter, he had shaken his head at her. “I haven’t laughed this much in a long time,” he smiled, grabbing her hand. A first, she had wanted to pull away, but stopped herself. “Yeah,” she responded, “I’m pretty hilarious, but I’m also pretty thirsty.” She threw him a wink, moving to get off of the bed. He followed her, grabbing a water bottle as she handed it to him. “My neighbors are going to hate me,” she mumbled, “these walls are paper-thin, and we’ve been laughing all night.”  He laughed at her, offering her a shrug. “At least you’ll be on vacation soon, and then it’ll be nice and quiet in here.” They locked eyes for a minute, and she stared into them, studying all of the weight that they seemed to hold as he drank his water. Failing to find any words for a comeback, she rolled her eyes.

She smiled softly, mindlessly wishing for that laughter and closeness back. She clicked on another memory, reading through it, desperate for some tiny bit of inspiration from it.

She had met him on the steps of his apartment, bringing him coffee on the weekend. They were planning on spending the day together, going to the park and going shopping. It was almost Christmas, and she hated going shopping alone. He had greeted her with a grin and thanked her for the coffee. The day together had been a typical type of day for the two of them together, and they had ended it with dinner at his apartment. During their outing, their last trip was to the grocery store, so they had bought everything they needed for sandwiches, and a couple of bags of chips, and gone back to his apartment to eat. They watched a sitcom, and laughed at all the jokes together, occasionally making comments back and forth to one another. When the time had come for her to leave, he stood up and grabbed his own jacket, too.

“Heading out?” she had asked, wondering why he hadn’t told her he had plans. He shook his head, chuckling. “No, silly. Can I walk you out?” She nodded, smiling softly. When they got outside, he gave her a quick peck on the lips as she got into her car. She stared up at him, eyes wide, face flushed. He offered her a grin and a shrug, opening her car door for her. “I’ll text you,” he murmured as she got into the driver’s seat, grinning. “You’d better,” she said, a hint of sass in her voice, “especially after that!” he grinned as he closed her door, offering her a wave as she started to drive away. She stared out the window before putting it in Drive, studying his face before staring into his deep brown eyes, thinking about how they seemed to storm with all of the things that he held in his mind. She offered a wave, and a half-smile, putting her car into drive and heading back home, with all of her purchases in tow.

She looked through a few more memories, remembering how crazy and fun he was, before deciding that all she was doing was making herself feel sad, and closed her laptop. She thought hard. What was one thing that always seemed to grab people’s attention, about him? She sipped her coffee, oblivious to the fact that someone was walking over to her. She grabbed her pen and started to write a little note: ‘memorable trait- always noticed:’ -what? Always noticed what? 

She looked up just as he sat down, and immediately she was drawn to his deep brown eyes, that seemed to hold the entire world.

“Hey, I saw you sitting here, so I came to sit with you,” he said, grabbing her left hand, since she was still holding the pen in her right hand. She nodded, studying the flecks of color in his eyes. “That’s fine,” she mumbled, reaching for her notepad. “Look,” he said, his voice full of purpose, “let’s not do the same running back and forth nonsense anymore.” He looked at her as if to see if she was actively listening to him, which she was, before continuing; “I’m into you and you’re into me. So, lets quit the bullshit. Definition time, are you ready?” 

His eyes were fiery now, full of purpose, and she was quite literally on the edge of her seat. She nodded, cocking her head a bit to the side as she studied his face. “I’m ready,” she said softly. He smiled, squeezing her hand, “definition, we’re a thing.” “Definition, we’re dating? How serious is that? I have a friend who goes on dates with six different guys in a week,” she teased, putting down her pen. He rolled his eyes. “Definition, we’re together.” She smiled, offering a bit of sass. “Definition, exclusively?” He nodded, “definition, exclusively. No more running around, half together, half not.” his eyes seemed to storm with each word that came out of his mouth. 

She nodded, smiling at him as she started to piece together the end of her project. She grabbed her pen and finished her note: 

‘memorable trait- always noticed: the hurricane in his quiet eyes.’