#THE BUSES BARELY RUN ON FRIDAYS AND WEEKENDS

[exquisiteagony]

well my day’s plans are fucking ruined

AGAIN

[comfortmarvelimagines]

when you can’t find the quiet part 6

im baaaaackkkkkk !!!! so so so sorry that this took so long. i can’t put into words the sheer amount of shit that’s happened to me in the past few months. hope this at least partially makes up for it (i know it can’t fully, and im sorry)]

tw for near meltdown, self injurious stimming and use of the r slur

Can you please do an autistic!reader where the decathlon team has an excursion to the tower and the avengers say hi to the reader and peter and co.? then flash gets jealous and does something mean,,, some angst resolved with fluff (preferably by mama nat), if not that’s okay

Most kids loved field trips. Even the boring ones. 

Regardless of where it was, a field trip was a break to the mundanity of school. There was increased opportunity for socialising, decreased work demands (no notes to be taken!), and most likely improved lunch options to what the cafeteria typically had to offer. Add on to that the fact that Stark Industries was arguably The Coolest Place on the Planet to the nerds of Midtown and you have a perfect storm of excitement. It seemed that the field trip was all everyone was talking about. Even Peter wouldn’t shut up about how cool it was, despite the fact that he practically lived at the tower. 

You came to the conclusion that you were the only kid in the decathlon team that absolutely did not want to go. 

Field trips were a change in routine. You didn’t know the exact schedule of when things were happening, or what exactly was going to happen. For all your google street-viewing, there was only so much you could find out about what the place would look like, what was inside, whereabouts your group would be visiting. You didn’t know what the buses there would be like, who you’d sit with, what teachers would be on your bus, how many kids would be in each tour group, what time you’d stop to eat lunch, whether the buses would leave on time when it was over. There were so many unpredictabilities, and no one ever seemed to be able to answer your questions. 

Logically, you figured that Stark Industries should be alright, as far as field trips go. You’ve been there before, you know Tony and Nat and Bucky; in theory, you should be okay. You’re okay when you go there after school, and on weekends with Peter. But going there at a different time, to a different part of the building and with more people (including Flash) made you just as anxious as you would be for any other excursion. Which is why you tried everything to get out of it. Started acting ‘sick’ days beforehand, isolating yourself, not talking to anyone, hoping that your absence would be considered a normality by the time the day of the trip rolled around. Only it didn’t work, and you opened the door to an overly bubbly trio of friends bright and early on Wednesday morning. 

“Hey Y/n, you excited for the trip?” Ned, unsurprisingly, was bouncing with excitement, topped off with a garishly conspicuous Stark Industries cap. Every inch the tourist. 

Every inch the opposite of how you were feeling. 

You stood in the doorway at a complete loss. You’d fully intended to stay cooped up in your room all day in your pyjamas, watching random shit on Youtube. The message to the group chat saying that you ‘weren’t feeling well’ was already half composed and ready to send. You’d played the part perfectly, casually mentioning symptoms of illness for days in preparation. But, somehow, you’d made friends with some of the most observant and persistent people you’d ever met. Which for the most part was great, but now it had you wishing the ground would open and swallow you whole. 

You didn’t resist much as MJ marched her way over the threshold and started pulling an outfit out of your wardrobe, ushering you into the bathroom to get changed. It wouldn’t have worked. All three of them seemed to know what you were planning on doing and were prepared. By the time you’d thrown on the clothes and haphazardly cleaned yourself up, Peter and Ned had sorted out your backpack with all of the things you used to help deal with the input of bustling New York; noise cancelling headphones, a fidget cube, a bumpy tangle, a squishy dinosaur toy. Seeing as no one would be carrying books or laptops on the excursion, you knew they’d all have smaller bags, but you had your normal sized one. The size and weight and familiarity was comforting. You hoisted it over your shoulders and trudged out the door, dread settled in the depths of your stomach, right hand tapping the side of your thigh. 

***

By the time you arrived at Midtown High and saw the charter bus pulling up outside, the tapping had increased to borderline punching. Ned went to grab your wrist to pull it away, but you turned. The ache in your thigh was the only thing keeping you from running, and you couldn’t explain why. Words weren’t working by that point. The bus ride didn’t improve much; even with headphones on, you could still feel the vibration of the engine running through your toes, resonating upwards, and even the highest noise cancelling setting wasn’t enough to drown out your excited teammates and their impatient chatter. Peter had made sure that the four of you got the bench seat at the back of the bus so that you could all sit together, but you were still mad that they’d made you go. Didn’t they get it? 

Things didn’t improve upon arrival. The staff member with you on the trip was a substitute, as Mr Harrington had other school commitments on the day, and you’d never met her before. A fact that became an issue when she made you take your headphones off when the tour guide turned up, and confiscated them when you were reluctant (despite your friends’ protestations and frantic attempts and explanation). The tour guide herself was nice enough- you’d seen her in the lobby a few times on your way in and out of the tower- but it wasn’t enough to balance out the chaos of the crowded public space. You made it no further than the elevator before pressing your hands over your ears. Hoodie over your head. Eyes half closed. It felt almost cruel that the sensory room, your safe space, was in the same building yet inaccessible. 

Unbeknownst to you, Nat was well aware of the fact that you and Peter were visiting. She’d waited for FRIDAY to announce your presence before heading to the floor she knew the tour would start on, planning to ‘casually’ greet you. She knew about the bullying. She knew about the harassment that Flash gave Peter over the legitimacy of the internship, the deplorable things he’d said to you. And she fully intended to scare the crap out of Flash in the hopes of getting him to leave her kids alone, god damn it. He was the first person she spotted from down the corridor. She knew he was a dick, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Flash live streaming. Phone outstretched, voice raised. 

God, the ego of this kid. 

Your group started moving forwards as she headed towards you. She didn’t say much. 

“Hey Pete, hey Y/n”

The look on Flash’s face was priceless. 

“Y-you know the retard and friends?”

Nat stared, waiting. 

“You mean Penis has a real internship?”

It felt like your guts were fighting to explode out of your body. You pressed your nails into the palms of your hands, in the crease beneath your knuckles. The bluntness of the nails did little to help. 

“That’s enough.” 

You willed your body to stay still, not stim not scream not run.

“Does this school’s policy tolerate that kind of language?”

“Uhh-”

“Yes or no?”

“I’m only a substitute, I’m not familiar with-”

You pressed the heels of your hands to your ears, fingers still curled. It wasn’t enough to make it quiet.

“Fine. Eugene?”

Don’t want to listen don’t want to listen. Don’t scream don’t stim stay still.

“Expect there to be consequences. I know about the bullying.” 

You turned and walked back down the hallway, retracing the way you came in. Your heels dug into the floor and you walked stiffly, awkwardly, elbows locked straight at your sides in attempt to keep yourself from reverting to punching your thighs. 

Nat followed. 

As she made her way past the group, she discreetly directed the tour guide to carry on. If you did reach the point of a meltdown, which she was hoping you wouldn’t for your sake, she didn’t want an audience. 

You were headed towards an R&D lab, full of SI employees, which wasn’t a particularly good option either. She noticed your hands bouncing, slapping your thighs, walking still stiff and jilted, the effort going suppressing everything evident down to the way you breathed. You heard footsteps behind you but didn’t realise they were Nat’s until she called out. 

“Y/n”

You skipped a step, but didn’t stop. You just wanted to be alone away from everyone away from the humiliation and the teasing and the bad words and the stupid jokes you just didn’t get but everyone else did. 

“Y/n, hun, just stop for me for a second.”

You did as you were told. Your body felt like it was on fire from the tension of being still. You didn’t want Nat thinking you were weird for biting your hand, so you gnawed on your lip instead, hands slightly flapping at your sides in little spinny motions. 

“Okay, good job. Do you think we can take a minute to do some breathing?”

You shook your head no. No. You wanted, needed to scream and stim and run not breathe.

“Okay, I should’ve phrased that better,” Nat looked around, seemingly lost, at the ceiling. It was barely a second’s slip of her calm composure. She lowered herself to the floor and sat cross legged.

“Can you sit down with me?”

You let your legs give out, half crashing into the carpet. 

“Can you give your hands a shake?” she shook her hands out in front, demonstrating. 

You copied. The shake felt good, so you started properly flapping. You weren’t sure when, but at some point all self consciousness fell away and you were rocking back and forth, legs out, tension melting. 

Eventually, most of the bad energy felt like it’d left your body, Your flaps turned to light taps on your knees and your rocking was much more relaxed. Now that your breathing had evened out, you were aware of how close you were to hyperventilating before. A wave of gratitude towards Nat washed over you. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Nat asked cautiously, hand already up halfway to rub your shoulder. You shook your head. It was hard to articulate, but touch right now would probably end in you hitting Nat involuntarily. Even your clothes weren’t feeling too great, like you were hyper aware of every contact point with your skin. You were glad she asked, even though your reaction most likely wouldn’t have hurt her no matter how violent on your part. The constant assumptions and invasions of your space on a daily basis, from everyone from kids at school to medical professionals, got to a point of making you feel almost less than human. That you weren’t worth the respect, triply so if you weren’t verbal. The entire field trip experience, although not all that enjoyable, had shown you a side of Nat you hadn’t seen before. A fiercely protective, quick-witted, almost motherly side. A side that let you know you had a safe landing. A side that gave you the courage to get up off the hallway floor and face the world again.

[peter-parkner]

Empire State of Mind

This is a flipped version of Tennesee Whiskey. It never would have been dreamed up if @lizmarri on AO3 didn't ask me for another version of it lmao. You wouldn’t have to read the OG fic to understand this one since they’re companion pieces (but it'd be cooler if you did).

Harley’s bus home to Rose Hill is the last one out of Port Authority on a Friday night and it gets CANCELLED, so he’s stranded in the station.

He decides to try and find somewhere to stay for the night because no one can sleep in the dingy, perpetually piss smelling underground that is Port Authority (especially with its horrid orange subway tiling).

Growing up in small town USA, Harley’s taken aback by all the homeless people sleeping/loitering about as well. The combination of things is too much for his country heart to bear.

Harley heads to Times Square a few blocks over and tries to find a hotel. This is a tumultuous endeavor because he’s never been to NYC before and has no clue where to go.

He tries to use a GPS but gets misled in the city’s grid system of streets. Building blurs into building and Harley can’t distinguish a hotel from a place of business.

Everyone on the street just bumps into him and shoves him out of the way, sick of all the oblivious tourists. Harley might have a slight panic attack until a literal angel stops to help him out.

Peter’s on his way home and stops to help Harley out because he’s a good guy. He can’t let this poor, attractive tourist wander around like a lost puppy and offers to take him back to his apartment for the night to crash.

Peter lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with Ned and MJ. Either Ned/Peter have bunk beds, or the living room was converted into a 3rd bedroom.

Either way, they’re all broke-ass college students living in (basically) a coat closet located in the nicer end of a kind of sketchy neighborhood.

Ned and Peter go to Columbia and MJ goes to NYU. They’re all scholarship kids and living off campus is cheaper than taking out more loans for on campus housing.

At first, Ned and MJ are pissed because they barely have room for three as is, and a FOURTH PERSON??

But Harley turns on the Southern Charm™ and they relent. He also gives them $500 in cash as compensation because he’s #rich.

Harley is used to the quaint life of small town living and is fairly wealthy from the Keener Ranch. This is hella culture shock living in a potential health hazard of an apartment with three people sleeping on top of each other.

Buses to TN aren’t run as frequently as a big city route, so the next bus isn’t until Monday afternoon. The trio lets him stay the entire weekend after he gives them an additional $1K as thanks.

What started as extorting Harley for money turns into actual feelings(TM) because he’s a genuinely good guy.

Shenanigans include Peter taking Harley all over NYC to give him the full tourist experience. Hole in the wall eateries, shoplifting, hot dogs in the park, and Peter giving Harley a city makeover ensue (bye-bye cowboy hat).

Saturday night they go to a bar (because why wouldn’t they). After too much liquor and dancing that’s too suggestive to be misinterpreted, Harley and Peter realize they have a ~thing.

The next day (Sunday) Harley meets May for her and Peter’s weekly brunch. Neither of them can cook so it’s just really good take out food for three.

Harley is surprised because back home everything gets cooked from scratch. He has a big family on the ranch, but finds the quaintness of Peter and May oddly comforting. They spend the day playing Uno and watching movies.

Once Peter and Harley get home Sunday night, they chill on the apartment’s fire escape. Either there’s liquor of weed involved and ~feelings happen.

Ending = Harley gets on the bus and leaves Monday. Peter is confused and scared of how strongly he’s attracted to an essential stranger and decides to break Harley’s heart (and Peter’s) to end it for good.

Also, this way Harley wouldn’t have to take any guilt with him back to Tennessee.

Peter tells Harley that the three of them were just using him for his money. Strictly business.

Five seconds after he leaves, Peter has another crisis and dramatically hails a taxi to take him to Port Authority (no time to fiddle with the Uber app).

He still has a copy of Harley’s itinerary because Peter booked the bus for him. Harley’s bus is waylaid as it reaches street level due to Peter jumping in front of it to get the driver to stop.

Peter stops traffic dead on 42nd street in the middle of broad daylight and hops aboard to find Harley (it’s a beautiful, sunny day with mild cloud coverage).

In Crazy Rich Asians fashion, Peter proclaims how much he likes Harley while 50 passengers cheer them on. He throws his cut of the cash Harley gave them as “rent” back at Harley and says he doesn’t want any of the money - just him.

Some Chinese Auntie begs them to kiss and get it over with so she can make it to Jersey by five.

Epilogue = Peter in TN for the summer and it’s so fucking meta if you’ve read Tennessee Whiskey.

Okay, so this will probably never be written in full but….just think of it.

[maelaola]

Away and Under the Weather: Part 3

This is it. My final and, in my opinion, WORST illness-related experience abroad. It actually involves a few different illnesses and was spread out over at least a month. It was painful, exhausting, and just bizarre. Enjoy! #1 It started with the flu... It started with the flu. Nothing special, just the flu. When you live in another country AND work with children, you're going to get sick now and then. It was around this time of year (April) in 2007. I don't even remember how bad a flu it was. I probably had a fever, some body aches and a runny nose. That's usually what I get. I taught lessons through it (as usual) and it was over. I didn't need to go to the doctor until later. The flu ended but the crap in my lungs never really went away. After a week or two of wheezing and coughing, I went to get checked out. At the hospital, I was shown around by my own English-speaking nurse to see two specialists and got an x-ray of my lungs. It cost less than US$50. (I miss Korea.) I had acute bronchitis. The flu had slightly inflamed my bronchial tubes and there was a little infection. They gave me antibiotics, pain pills, something for the mucus, and anti-inflammatory medicine. Getting treated in Korea by western medicine is different than at home. Korean hospitals also treated people using eastern medicine and I took advantage of that more after this experience. Eastern medicine is about treating the delicate balance that exists in your body and allowing your body to function at its peak potential. Western medicine works more like a band aid. You're hurt here; fix here. Western medicine in Korea takes this metaphor even further. Sick? In pain? Appendages double in size? Okay! What can we do to patch you up and get you back to work? On top of that, we really do blindly trust doctors a lot. Which is fine for the complicated stuff. But in Korea, you barely even know what medicine you're taking. They give me the list but there's a lot on there and it's hard to tell the pills apart. They prepare all the pills for you and separate them by dose in these long strips of vacuum sealed plastic baggies. Swallow the cocktail and get back to work. No need to wait for the effects to kick in. I can tell you that I took my first baggie on a Wednesday night or Thursday morning. I remember that because by Friday I was calling the nurse and taking the only sick leave I ever took in 3 years in Korea. I felt a little off on Thursday. Not sick, just off. So it took me (and my head teacher/neighbor who was walking home with me) completely by surprise when I randomly puked on the street Thursday night. I barely made it to the storm drain let alone even thinking about trying to find a toilet. Living abroad, I've had my share of food poisonings so the idea that my body was rejecting something was not foreign to me. But there was no food. It was like a hangover without the bliss of being an idiot the night before. Since it wasn't food, I assumed pills and called the nurse. I stopped taking all of them since I didn't know which was which in my poison cocktail. I didn't feel any better the next day as I started to have stomach problems come out the other end. Great. And remember how I couldn't have sick days? That was especially true my first year when our numbers were already small and there were teachers fleeing the country in the middle of the night every other week. Fortunately, though, through some luck--and a lot of pity from my head teacher and principal who watched me try to teach my 4pm-7pm elementary class from a chair when I wasn't running to the bathroom--my head teacher had her second three-hour slot free and taught my 7pm-10pm middle school class. So I went home and proceeded to have my worst weekend ever. I was supposed to be at a wedding. Instead, every three hours (like clockwork!) I crawled the three feet from my bed to the bathroom and then tried crawl back, dragging what was left of my tattered stomach on the floor. Eventually that was too much and I brought a pillow and blanket into the bathroom to sleep on the floor in between sessions. I didn't leave the house until Sunday afternoon. I limped across the street to get some saltines and electrolytes with some hope that I would be better before Monday. And, surprisingly, I was. My stomach was convinced everything was out that it didn't like and it stopped trying to kill me. On Monday, I was exhausted, soar, and really cranky but I was mobile enough to go down the hill to my work. I settled in my chair to be a white-faced, native speaker in front of 15 Korean kids for 6 hours. The kids were extra nice and the next few days went fine. Although, it still amazes me that the kids never viewed this behavior as strange. I could not stand most of the time and could barely speak but I was still there. Even now in Hong Kong, I often teach while wearing a doctor's mask when I have a cough or runny nose, and I have some kids come to EVERY class in a mask. Sick? Wrap it, cover it up, take a pill. But do it at work. In this case though, the pills were the problem. I talked to my mom on Skype later and she told me that it was probably the anti-inflammatory medicine. She used to work for a doctor and patients often called and complained of stomach problems when the doctor prescribed anti-inflammatory medicine. So that was it. The weekend was more than enough to learn my lesson. The body is connected, beware of pills, listen to your mother, work somewhere with sick days, bla, bla, bla... Teacher, finishee?? Anio. I got better and started to regale my friends with gross stories of the worst weekend ever. Around midweek, I decided that I was better enough to not cancel my rafting trip for the coming weekend. It was rafting in Korea, after all, which is only slightly more intense than floating down a lazy-river. It was mostly an excuse to drink somewhere else and also to watch a traditional Korean mask performance. Rafting was scheduled for Sunday so we watched the mask dance on Saturday. It was in a very cool theatre-in-the-round, and--despite not understanding a word they were saying--it was really funny! There was an ajumma character which is always a riot and at one point a guy pretended to cut off the fake bull's penis. It was an outdoor theater, and it was really hot, so most people sat in the shaded section. About 30 of us came on the trip and showed up late so a few of us sat in the sun so we could watch from the front row. It was really bright when I first stared down at my feet so I just thought I was seeing things. They felt a little strange and warm, but so did the rest of me. And I was wearing larger flip-flops so I wasn't uncomfortable. I felt a little stupid but I turned to my friend and said it anyway, "Do my feet look bigger to you?" I'm not sure if she could see or if she was just a little worried about the question I just asked but we needed a closer look. We walked around the edge of the seating and went outside to where it was shaded and we could see better. And there they were: cankles. I grew cankles in an afternoon! There was a weird fluster next as three of my friends and I tried to figure out what to do for a case of instant-fat-feet. I lay down on the ground and elevated them, someone put a cold water bottle on them, but mostly we just poked them a lot as if we were suddenly going to able to diagnose the problem. I freaked out for a while as they seemed to get bigger in the heat. Fortunately, they grew to certain size and stopped. They didn't hurt and I could walk. I didn't go to a doctor because I was where I usually was when stuff like this happens: in a village in a foreign country. The play ended and after some shopping we all got on the buses to go back to the place we were staying. A few more people got to see my exciting new development. Most of the theories tossed around that day had to do with the bus going up and down the hills and something with altitude. I kept them elevated and took some allergy pills or something. I even went rafting the next day. (Seriously, easy rafting.) I just kept showing people my fat feet hoping someone could tell me what was happening to me. Monday I went to work, fat feet and all. I got a kick out of freaking out the kids with my cankles. (It actually freaked out the other teachers and staff more.) They were still there a week later when my parents arrived in Korea. I'm sure it was a great sight for my mother, who hadn't seen me in nine months. Because that's what you want to see when your oldest child is all alone for the first time and on the other side of the world. That she's becoming deformed. My dad made me sleep in his special airplane socks that are supposed to give you even circulation and they started to really go down. Mom cleaned my apartment which was not in an acceptable state (is it ever?). I took my first real vacation since I arrived in Korea and relaxed in Jeju-do. It took some time but they went back to normal and I was all better. Finally, we sat down together with the Internet and tried to figure out why my feet blew up. (Mom is an experienced hiker and didn't buy the 'altitude' theory.) And there, at the bottom of the list, on some medical website under possible causes for swollen feet it said, "...may be caused by anti-inflammatory medicine." So that was it. I got the flu which gave me bronchitis that led to the worst weekend of my life followed by one of the weirdest. The lesson for all this is very simple and not at all original: Stuff happens. I did what I was supposed to. I was sick so I went to the doctor. Usually that's the end. Take the pills, drink some liquids, all better. Only this time the pills poisoned me, my stomach tried to kill me, and my feet doubled in size. The good experience that came out of this was that the next time I was sick, I was really willing to try acupuncture and Korean traditional medicine. Also, I try not to suck down pills like candy. My feet are big enough already. Unfortunately, I know this is not the end. Despite Hong Kong being more western than Korea and having more resources than Buenos Aires, I know it will happen again. You get sick, you fall down; drink your fluids, pick yourself up. It's just different when you don't speak the language.

**********

Again, this is old content I wrote about nearly 10 years ago for another blog (http://laurabusan.blogspot.com/). It’s time I start writing again and bringing everything together.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Nine Nails in a Coffin

Summary: Logan is an assassin hired to kill, of all people, a preschool teacher and he has one week do to so. But with a reporter with an infectious smile getting involved, a man Logan’s sure he already killed still walking in the city, and the target himself being the epitome of kindness, it’s going to take him more than one try to get the job done. 

(aka record of the nine times Logan tried to kill Patton and the reasons why he failed)

Words: 2771

Pairings: Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety

Multichapter fic say whatttt

Read on AO3

Logan had to admit this was different than his usual job.

Usually he was adamant about never going back to places he had done previous jobs in, no matter how small the chance was that he’d be recognized. There was something—it didn’t make him quite uncomfortable—but there was something about being back after the unsavory business was over that made Logan’s skin feel tight. Rationally he knew this was impossible, but that didn’t stop him from scratching at his wrists as if he could loosen the skin like he loosened his tie.

Beyond that, this job had a payout thrice as much as his usual. Logan initially had been suspicious of that: more money meant one of two things—someone was very desperate and inexperienced, or there was an outstanding circumstance that was interfering with the accomplishment of the task. Perhaps there was a police guard waiting for him—Logan was not naïve enough to think that they had no clue of his existence, and only a fool would dare the universe to pit his ego against the brute force of the FBI profilers.

Logan was not a fool, so before he had even set foot in the town, he had demanded to know what was so special about Patton Hart.

He hadn’t expected the answer.

The wind tousled his hair, bringing a chill to his cheeks. He checked his watch for the time yet again. A strange sort of impatience settled over him, and it wasn’t like Logan to be impatient. He was calm and critical and passive and above all else planning. He was meticulous with this work, putting together all the information he needed to know about the cases before he carried out his job.

He didn’t miss the city. There were always too many people, too many prying eyes, and eavesdropping ears for his liking. He didn’t like carrying his equipment on the buses or the trains or even taxis, didn’t like the idea of people being in his personal space when he trudged down the sidewalks, didn’t like the feel of the cameras on every corner.

Unfortunately, there weren’t many jobs out in the cabins in the far-off woods where the stars shown through the foliage and the nearest neighbor was still three miles away.

And Logan was aware that his weakness was one of his greatest strengths. His hatred of the city was always overruled by his incessant need to be the best. If he had grown up in a normal life, maybe he might have grown out of it by now, maybe he would be known as that one kid whose hand was the first raised, or who corrected the teacher, who made everyone groan whenever he opened his mouth.

Logan didn’t waste time regretfully mourning the child he might have been.

As it stood, his life had left him with a need to be better than anyone else, and to prove it. A reasonable side effect was that he was completely unable to back down from a challenge.

So, he was in the city once again, a mere year after his last job here, standing albeit impatiently in the skeletal structure of an apartment building that hadn’t been finished yet. Wind danced between the gaps where the windows would one day be, the gray tarps between the sections of the rooms fluttered. White chalk and limestone dust covered the floor which bothered Logan to no end. He had no doubt he’d be long gone before someone (if they ever did) noticed he was there, but it was distasteful.

Down below the plaza was frothing with people enjoying the chilly, yet bright afternoon. It was a hub of movement, drawing people to the fast food stands around the brick area, a fountain that danced with colored lights on Friday nights, and retail shops across the streets. From where he stood Logan could see all the way to the subway exit, where the next train would start spilling out the daily commuters any second.

(Logan had tried to narrow the timing to the very second, but the trains for some reason were never consistent daily)

He leaned forward ever so slightly, focusing his sight through his scope. His lips pressed together in anticipation. His watch chimed once, alerting him to the time. A beat later passengers started escaping from the clearly marked exit.

Logan didn’t have to wait long until he saw what he was looking for: the gray cat cardigan clad clout. His distasteful clothing aside, Logan had found Patton to be rather despicable. He was an unending well of optimism and cheerfulness with absolutely no regard for his own safety. He helped old women cross the street, offered coins to the kids in the plaza so they could make a wish in the fountain, offered whatever small dollars he had to the homeless on the street (whom he knew by name and stopped to talk to most days). His day job was that of a preschool teacher during the school year and a baker during the summer, with the weekends free to help in the soup kitchen and food banks respectively.

Logan had spent weeks watching him move about, gathering intel, trying to see what the others before him hadn’t. But the more he watched the more frustrated he became. Patton Hart was…good. Despicably good and pure and kind and all the things that Logan had long since deemed he himself was not.

It made absolutely no sense for him to be on this job either. Patton was careless and reckless and passionate about the strangest of things: given free reign and no supervision, he was likely to get himself killed from running in front of a car to save a baby bird in the street. Logan was not needed here.

And yet…

Logan tracked the path that Patton was walking breathing through his mouth. He allowed his lips to pull into a tight, firm smile. Of course, Patton would be skipping over the cracks in the stone. Logan waited his finger hovering over the trigger, counting the nanoseconds as he did. He watched the crowd too, looking for movement that would suggest a some unfortunate happenstance of someone walking in the way of his shot.

Another breath.

He angled his shot by instinct (having calculated the math far too many times at this point to need to do it again; he could see when he was off now, and he was never off). He wondered ideally if Patton was aware he was about to die: aware that someone wanted him dead, and badly.

Logan wondered if anyone would ever miss him as much as the people in this world were going to miss Patton.

Then his fingered tightened and the trigger squeezed and the bullet went flying, with barely a sound to be heard.

Logan pulled back from his station watching the chaos that was bound to happen: Patton hit the ground and several people ran towards him.

But they weren’t screaming. Why weren’t they screaming? Even from up here Logan should have heard them panicking, someone should have called the police by now, and the sirens should have screamed through the city. Logan should have been halfway down the stairs and well on his way out of town.

The crowd around Patton shifted just enough that Logan had to curse.

Because there the fool was, perfectly fine with a smile so big and bright Logan could see it from up here. He held up something in his hand—for an irrational second Logan was convinced it was the bullet and that Patton had mystically caught it before it had blown out the man’s medulla. But that wasn’t the case, couldn’t be the case. Patton was normal person, an average person.

Logan watched as he handed off whatever was in his hand to a kid, who raced with a couple others over the fountain and tossed the invisible object in the water spouts.

A coin, most likely a penny.

He quickly lined up another shot, but the crowd was too thick. Logan was more likely to hit a passerby than hit Patton, and he was not a fan of a riot that would be started if he open fired on the square.

Logan rolled his tongue over his teeth, with frustrated amusement. Patton seemed completely unaware that he had just nearly been killed and all that had saved him was a bit of luck. Logan didn’t miss. He never missed.

Logan guessed he would have to do this another way then.

He always did like a bit of a challenge.

It took him thirty seconds to pack his gear into his prepared bag and another one hundred forty to get down the building. He exited the construction site on the far exit, sticking to the shadows and walking with a purpose that discouraged people from stopping him or something worse like remembering him. He twisted his watch around his wrist stopping at the far end of the plaza where Patton would inevitably walk by once, he was done talking to the homeless veteran who had the dog about joining him at the soup kitchen on Sunday. Logan leaned back against the brick building, casually reaching in his jacket pocket for the 45 Glock.

Logan was by no means someone who liked to get up close and personal with his targets. He preferred the distance shot, with ample time to remove all traces of his existence in the area like a ghost. Cornered people who knew they were on death’s doorstep tended to be so much more….emotional. As such they did unpredictable things in desperation, things Logan couldn’t account for or counter. He had learned his lesson after the first two times: keep the distance, keep them naïve.

He waited patiently for Patton to come, so he could end this and leave and never come back.

He did not expect someone else to come hurling around the corner seconds before Patton was to come—much less crash head first into him. Logan spit out a curse toppling to the ground and rolling over his bag full of weapons. His Glock spun out of his hand and his glasses disappeared into the blurry other world.

“Oh fuck,” A voice said originating from a black and indigo mass. “I’m so sorry—"

It cut off as suddenly as it had come. Logan frantically grabbed around for where his glasses could possibly have ended up. This was the worst possible moment for this to happen. He had things to do! And here he was completely defenseless on the ground like some joke of a cartoon character--

“Oh dear!” Another voice popped up, “Here you are, Kiddo!”

Logan blinked twice as his glasses were returned to his hands and his vision was restored from the blurry chaos to the stiff order of the natural world. The momentary panic had barely faded from his mind before he realized exactly who was offering him a hand to get up.

Logan felt as if someone had dumped him into an ice bath without warning. His chest frozen, his mind refused to string together his list of priorities, his own body betrayed him allowing him to remain paralyzed at the site of Patton Hart smiling down at him in that ridiculous cat hoodie.

“You had quite the spill there, kiddo!” The other man said joyously. “Are you alright?”

Logan’s jaw creaked as he worked to move it, “Fine.”

This was his chance: to kill the fool and get away and leave. It would be so easy a simple quick squeeze of the trigger. Patton would be dead before he hit the ground. Logan would be gone before anyone could react.

Where was his Glock?

That was the moment when Logan saw exactly who it was that had run into.

Logan doesn’t miss. He doesn’t. He’s notorious for his impeccable aim, his ability to mathematically calculate the wind direction, the altitude, the speed of movement of the target all in the matter of seconds. He’s got a perfect record and its longer than number of zeroes on the end of this job. What happened with Patton was a complete fluke.

So why is he staring at the face of the man he murdered one year ago.

And there was no denying it: Logan had a near perfect memory of every person he had ever taken out. He clearly remembered the chill that had gone through him when Virgil Storm looked up in the middle of that same plaza one year ago as if he could see—really see—Logan from all the way down there. Virgil had stopped the second Logan had pulled the trigger, and Logan remembered perfectly clear the vision of the purple clad young adult falling to the ground in a splattering of red matter.

He had shot Virgil Storm and had killed him.

He had gotten paid for it and never heard about it again.

From the look on Virgil’s face he knew it too.

“Everything okay there?” Patton asked again, “Do you need me to get you something? Ice? I know the owner of that café around the corner—”

“Pat!” Virgil cut him off, “It’s time to go!”

“Wha—”

“Things to do! People to greet!” Virgil shoved Patton from behind, pushing him well out of Logan’s reach. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Logan. He knew. Logan wasn’t sure why that seemed to terrify him.

It didn’t make sense. Logan’s brain tried to come to a conclusion: why Virgil was here, alive, why he had never heard that he had failed, why no one had ever demanded that be fixed, why Virgil even recognized him. He came up blank.

“It was good to meet you!” Patton yelled over his shoulder.

Logan did not go after either of them for a full minute. He sat on the ground desperately grabbing for a bit of sanity to anchor him here. Oblivious citizens walked around him talking on the phones, chatting with each other, checking their watches. Logan didn’t see his gun anywhere.

He slowly crawled to his feet, using the brick wall to steady himself when he swayed dangerously.

He was the best. He didn’t ever miss.

If anyone found out about this his perfect record would be forever stained. He refused to let that happen, refused to let his reputation be tarnished by a boy in a purple sweatshirt and another who taught preschoolers for a living. Logan had grown up learning all the basics to killing people, his family had been assassins and hitmen since they had first been established. Logan was the product of the two most legendary killers in the world.

So, there was only one thing he could do: kill both Patton Hart and Virgil Storm before anyone found out about this unfortunate set back.

Yes, that sounded adequate. Logan reached up, adjusted his tie, and started planning the next of his multiple attempts---

****

“Wait, wait, wait!” The man reached across the table and paused the audio recording, “Are you seriously telling me that Logan Codex attempted to kill Patton Hart eight different times?”

Roman blinked up at the man surprised, “Nine, actually. Which you would know if you let me finish—”

“Nine fucking times?”

“Hey, watch the language there, buddy.” Roman waved a hand good naturedly for a man who was at the other end of an interrogation table. He appeared to be more at ease than anyone else in the entire building: slumped shoulders, feet on the table, and hands that danced while he talked. He was smirking in a smug sort of way that only reporters ever seemed to have.

“Tell me again how you came to be aware of this, Mr. Prince.”

Roman leaned back on the two feet of his chair, “I thought I already told you this, Detective. That weekend was the opening for Storytime.”

The Detective stared blankly at him for a moment before Roman huffed.

“Storytime. You know, the famous play starring Thomas Sanders? I was sent by my company to cover the premier.”

“Yeah but how did you get involved with the Codex and Hart Business?”

Roman wrinkled his nose, “I was telling a story, you know.”

“I don’t have time for a story, Prince.” The Detective snarled, “I need the answers now.”

“You can’t possibly hope to understand the answers without listening to the story.” Roman snorted, almost offended at the mere suggestion. “Nothing is ever as it seems!”

“Cut the bullshit and tell me what happened.”

Roman laughed, and it filled the room with an unpleasant feeling. “Oh, but Detective!” He said carting a hand through his bangs, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Ch2

[katedoesfics]

Under Shadow: Chapter 8

Penny

“Miss Penny! Chantelle licked the crayon!”

Penny groaned. “Chantelle, that’s yucky. Take that out of your mouth. Josephine, don’t cut your hair! Lucas, I swear to Yoba…”

The children in Penny’s preschool class ran about the room wildly. It had been a long day of coloring and songs and she was only just starting to realize how exhausted she was. But at least it was Friday. She would have a whole weekend away from the chaos. A whole weekend stuck in her tiny one bedroom apartment with her mother. She would have rather worked through the whole weekend and clean up vomit then be stuck in that apartment.

She reminded herself that she loved her job. She loved the kids and their eager faces, so willing to learn and explore. But it had been a long week. Between field trips and picture day, their schedule was upside down and backwards, which only excited the children to be out of their usual routine. It made for a very, very long week.

But soon, their buses would be coming, their parents waiting outside to pick them up, and the room would be empty. And Penny would have to make her way, ever so slowly, back home for the night. Of course, she would stop at the library first. Pick up her favorite book. Sit in her favorite corner. Simply enjoy the peace and quiet. She was excited just thinking about it. Three o’clock was just twenty minutes away, but it couldn’t come soon enough.

She leaned back in her chair behind her desk and watched helplessly as they chased each other around the room, yelling and laughing. They quieted only for a moment as the lights cut out, shrouding them in darkness, and just as quickly they erupted once more.

“The lights!”

“I don’t like the dark!”

“Boo!”

Yoba did not want her to get out of this easily. Penny sighed and stood. It was pitch black in the room. Unusually dark. Something wasn’t quite right.

“What happened to the sun?”

Penny flicked on a flashlight she kept in her desk and shone it across the room. The children stood on their tip toes, peering out the window into the eerie darkness.

“Where did the sun go?” Their curious eyes turned to her as Penny joined them at the windows.

Penny searched the world beyond their window. The entire city was shrouded in an eerie, purple-gray dark haze. No lights lined the roads or marked the buildings.

“Look!” Chantelle shrieked, pointing at the window.

“What’s that?”

Penny followed their gaze to four sets of glowing eyes in the distance. They bobbed up and down in the darkness, nearing the school. The children started to scream and cry.

Penny’s heart quickened as she lowered the flashlight. Something wasn’t right. She needed to hide the children.

She spun on her heels as she heard quick footsteps coming down the empty hallway. Voices echoed off the walls. She hurried to the door, opening it slightly, watching as beams of light bounced off the walls and over the floor.

“What’s happening?” she asked the two men running down the hall. Principle Jones stopped at her side, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards him. She met his panicked gaze as his eyes darted across the hall.

“Shadow People,” he muttered, his breath on her cheek. “We’re in a lock down. Hide those kids. Not a sound, Penny. Do you understand me?”

Penny swallowed and nodded quickly as he took off down the hall. She watched as the flashlight paused and turned, flashing over her face.

“Don’t get caught, Penny,” his voice, just barely audible, begged her. “I will come back. I will protect you.”

Her heart sank as the light disappeared around the corner. She hurried back into her classroom where her children waited for her, their eyes anxious and afraid. She forced herself to smile, reassuring them that they were okay.

“Okay, boys and girls,” she said quietly. “Everything is okay, but you need to listen to me and be very quiet. We’re going to hide in the closet, just like we practiced. Do you remember?”

Their little heads nodded quietly.

Penny’s gaze shifted uneasily to the window, then back to the children. The glowing eyes were gone. The Shadow People could be anywhere. She needed to act quickly. She forced her smile and held out her hand to them.

“All right,” she breathed. “Let’s get into the closet. Quickly and quietly.”

The children obeyed and quickly piled into the closet, just as they were taught at the beginning of the school year. They sat with their knees to their chests in the darkness, hidden behind jackets and brooms, books and pillows. With no windows outside, they would be safe, if at least for a little while longer.

Penny closed the door quietly behind her and let out the breath she had been holding. Her heart thudded loudly and her hands shook, but she fought to keep her composure. She forced another smile, though it was unlikely they could even see her.

“Good job,” she said quietly. “Nice and quiet now, okay?”

She sat on the floor with them, their little hands reaching to her. She held their hands as they sat in the closet, listening and waiting.

She lost track of time quickly as they sat there in uneasy silence. She didn’t dare turn her flashlight back on. Maybe they had drifted off to sleep. The darkness had a way of fooling the body and Penny could feel herself fighting to stay awake and aware of her surroundings. She jumped at every sound, though most of them she had probably imagined.

The one sound she didn’t imagine were the screams from the classroom next door. And her children had heard it, too. They started to whimper and cry. Penny pulled them closer to her, trying desperately to keep them calm and quiet.

“Listen to me,” she urged them. “Don’t listen to anything else. I’m right here, okay? We need to be very quiet. Shh.”

They quieted and waited. The muffled screams did not last long. They seemed to quiet, one by one. Penny’s stomach knotted and tears stung her eyes. She could only imagine the worst. One by one, children dropping, silenced forever.

Penny blinked through her tears as their world fell silent once more. The Shadow People were here, in the school, and it was likely they would come to her room next. She couldn’t let them win. She couldn’t stand by and watch these children die. And she didn’t want to die. Not yet. She still had hope - hope that her life would get better. That Principle Smith would pull through for her. That they could be together.

Penny stood abruptly. She had to do something. The children whimpered and called to her.

“I will be right back,” she assured them. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. By Yoba, I promise.”

She squeezed through the closet door, closing it quickly behind her. “Lock the door, children,” she said to them. She listened with her hand on the door until she heard the familiar click of the knob being locked. She closed her eyes and prayed to Yoba that their lives would be spared.

“Keep those children safe,” she whispered into the door. She turned around and leaned on the door, letting her eyes scan the room. She could just barely make out the edges of the tables and chairs. But only one thing stood out: there were no glowing eyes. They had not come in yet. It was only a matter of time.

She sucked in a breath and pushed herself off the door. With nothing at her back, she felt exposed. Her body begged her to run, to hide, but she stood and waited, listening.

She saw their eyes first. Then she heard the door knob jiggle and turn. The door swung open silently as two pairs of eyes entered the room.

“Where are the children?” a voice like smoke hissed at her.

“G-gym,” she stuttered. “They’re in the gym waiting for their buses.”

The eyes seemed to exchange a look and scanned the room quickly before settling on her once more. Penny froze as an icy hand wrapped around her arm. She pulled back, but the hand was stronger than she expected. The grip tightened around her as the creatures murmured and hissed.

“Take her,” a voice said.

She twisted and shrieked as she felt material cover her mouth and nose. She blinked as the glowing eyes blurred and quickly disappeared.

[you-never-liked-this-sweater]

Connor Murphy X Reader (Tally Mark AU): You Can’t Hide It From Me

Word Count: 1863

Summary: Connor is someone who tries to close himself off from people. But one fateful day, Connor does what he’s been terrified to do all his life. He falls in love. And he does not exactly take it well Whenever you fall in love with someone, your wrist glows brightly, and in that moment, a tally mark appears. Tally marks vary in colour: Red meaning unrequited love; Black meaning the love is reciprocated; Blue meaning your love is platonic; and the mark will scar if your soulmate dies.

Warnings: Swearing, angst

Authors Note: Another AU because I love writing them so much! So here is a story that I wrote as a thank you for helping me hit 400 followers! I know it’s not a lot but it means so much to me. Thank you all for following me, and I hope you enjoy the story!

The amount of tally marks that people had varied. It was never something that people expected of you or tried to force you into. But you found that you longed to know what it was like to have a tally mark. One that glowed and turned black and you would just know that somebody loved you. But none of your marks were black.

You had three marks on your wrist that you had grown accustomed to seeing. They were all a bright blue, indicating the platonic love of your best friends, Evan, Jared, and Connor. You loved them with all your heart, but sometimes you wished that you would experience the other kind of love. The kind of love that made your heart race and butterflies appear in your stomach. All around you, you watched people gain red tally marks and blue tally marks. On occasion you also got to see those tally marks change; some turning black if they fell in love, others fading away completely if they fell out of love.

There were some people in your school with tally marks covering their arm, and others that had no marks at all. So, you thought of yourself as lucky to have any at all.

Tuesday morning had started out normal enough. You rolled out of bed at the sound of your alarm and got dressed, pulling on a pair of shorts and your favourite shirt. You stretched, reaching your hands up over your head, trying to wake yourself up.

Your phone went off, the familiar text tone blaring at you. You grabbed at your phone and lifted it up to your face for closer inspection.

It was Connor. ‘Sorry. Can’t drive you to school today. Something came up.’

Your brow furrowed as you typed out a quick answer, ‘You said that yesterday too. Is something wrong?’

‘No. See you at school.’

You let out a breath and stared at your phone for a moment, looking over his message. It seemed like Connor had been avoiding you since the sleepover your friends had had on Friday. Every since you had all hung out at Jared’s house, Connor had done everything he could to stay away from you besides straight up ignoring you.

When you eyes caught sight of the time in the corner of your phone screen, you swore, grabbing for your bookbag before scrambling downstairs. You barely had time for breakfast before you were all but rushed out the door to catch the bus that you didn’t usually have to catch because Connor drove you to school every day. The drive to school was quiet for the most part considering you didn’t know a lot of the people on your bus. The bus dropped you off with a few minutes to spare before the late bell rang, so you hurried to your locker, grabbed your things, and headed to your first period class which was P.E.

You hurried into the changing rooms just as the bell rang and you let out a breath of relief, switching into your mandatory gym clothes before making your way out into the gymnasium where Jared was already sitting on the bleachers. You approached him, giving a small wave, which he returned with a smile.

“Y/N, hey. Didn’t see you on the drive here this morning. Thought you were playing hooky or something,” He said jokingly, patting the seat beside him.

You frowned, slowly sitting beside Jared as you wrung your fingers together, “I…what? Connor picked you up this morning?”

“Yeah, Connor just like, skipped your house and we drove to pick up Evan like usual. I asked what was up, but he said that you weren’t coming with us today,” Jared says with a shrug, “I didn’t ask why, I just assumed you had some shit going on, y’know?”

“He told me he couldn’t pick me up today…” You said quietly, looking down at your wrist. The three blue marks stared back at you and you felt a little hurt, “Fuck, did I do something wrong last weekend?

“What do you mean? Like, at the sleepover?” He questioned, to which you nodded, “Uh…shit, no? I don’t think so? Just normal movie marathon and snacks. You passed out on the couch pretty early on and slept on Connor. He didn’t seem to mind, I don’t think? You guys were like that for a while and then half way through the night he must have bolted. I woke up at like 4am to pee and he was gone.”

“He was gone at four?” Your brow furrows, “I mean, I know I didn’t wake up until noon and he was gone when I got up, but I didn’t think he left in the middle of the night. He told me his mom came to pick him up early that morning.”

“I doubt it…” Jared said, pausing a moment before looking to you in confusion, “What the hell is going on with him?”

“I don’t know…” You said, rubbing your wrist as you thought about what had changed between you and one of your best friends.

The day seemed to drag on. Connor ignored you in class and chose to sit as far away from you as possible. During your spare and lunch, he wasn’t in any of his usual hang out spots, and you couldn’t even find him outside smoking like he usually did before fourth period. You tried texting him, but he just wasn’t answering now. You were desperate and when the end of the day rolled around, you ran out to his car and waited, knowing that he would need to come to his car to get home.

You stood there for a few minutes, leaning against the driver door as you wrung your fingers together nervously.

You caught sight of him a few minutes later. He was walking with Jared and Evan, both of which were talking to him happily. Jared was the first to catch sight of you by Connor’s car and he stiffened, appearing to say something to Connor before he grabbed Evan and the two of them headed towards their buses instead.

Connor visibly looked confused until he glanced at his car and he saw you. He visibly paled and froze where he was standing, unable to look away from you.

You started walking in his direction, “Connor-”

He instantly began walking faster, quickly passing you as he grabbed for his car door almost desperately, “I’m busy-”

“No- Connor! Fuck- stop!” You reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to stop him from running away from you again. His body went rigid as he continued to face away from you, refusing to make any sort of eye contact. Your hand loosened its grip a little as your brow furrowed, “Please just talk to me. Did I do something wrong?”

“Did you do something wrong?” Connor scoffed, sounding shocked that you would even assume that. He turned to face you, “No, fuck- of course not.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” You pressed, hoping to get an answer out of him, “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

“No! I mean yes- I-” He cringes and shakes his head, running his free hand back through his hair, “It’s me, okay? I ruin everything. I can’t stop feeling this way and I’m going to destroy this- this thing we have going on with the four of us-”

“Slow down, what are you talking about?” Your brow furrows, “Ruin everything?”

His eyes flickering over your face, worry crossing his features, “I…”

A flash caught your attention. Your eyes suddenly were drawn to the wrist of his hand you were holding, watching it glow as a tally mark was starting to burn into place.

He jerked his hand out of your grip in horror as if your touch was burning him, his other hand clamping around his wrist to shield it from you, “Shit! I knew it- I knew that I’d…Fuck!”

It took you a moment to realize what was happening. Connor loved you. He loved you and he was scared that he would ruin the friendship that you had all worked so hard to create. You weren’t sure what he was so scared about. Maybe he thought that you would hate him or assumed that you would push him away if you knew. You weren’t sure, but you knew he needed some kind of reassurance.

You carefully reached out to him, “Connor, I…”

You trailed off when you caught sight of your own arm just in time to see a fading glow. Something was different. Those three tally marks on your wrist weren’t the same. Two were still that magnificent royal blue, but the other was not.

It was solid black.

You froze, realizing what it meant as you looked back up at Connor, his body trembling as he continued to grip his wrist, hiding it from you. Again, you reached out to him, “I-”

He slapped your hand away as he whirled around to face you, his chest heaving, body trembling. His eyes brimmed with tears and his face changing into a look of anger, “Fuck off-”

“Please just listen,” You tried again, holding your hands up defensively, “Connor, I love you-”

“God,” He breathed out angrily, his face twisting into a look of pure pain, “I don’t need your pity, Y/N. I- fuck! I’ve seen your blue marks, I know, I remember, okay? ‘Best friends forever’, right? I get it. I don’t deserve to feel this way about you because you deserve so much fucking better-”

“Don’t say that,” You said quickly, taking a step towards him, “Just listen-”

Connor recoiled again, “Don’t-”

“No. You don’t.” You say, grabbing both of his wrists before he can lash out at you again, “Look at me.” He refused to meet your gaze, eyes looking anywhere else but you. “Connor. Look at me.” You said it firmer and he looked down at you. He looked so… terrified. You could feel him trembling as you gripped onto his wrists, but he wasn’t fighting you anymore. Slowly you released his wrists and touched the side of his face gently with one of your free hands, while you held out your marked wrist to him, so he could see the black tally mark for himself, “I love you.”

He stared down at the tally mark in shock for a moment before his eyes flickered to his own wrist, a matching black tally mark there as well. Before you had a moment to gauge his reaction, you were suddenly crushed to his chest as he hugged you. He breathed out roughly into your hair, “Fuck- I’m so sorry for avoiding you. I just-”

“I know,” You cut him off, hugging him to you tightly, “I get it. You were scared. But you don’t ever have to be scared of losing me, Connor because I love you and I’m not planning on going anywhere. Just… don’t scare me like that again/ Okay?”

There was a pause and then you heard him softly chuckle, his chin resting on the top of your head as he hugged you close, “Okay…”

[sequencefairy]

Poplar Street

Ichiruki. Smut. Loose college AU setting for @ichirukimonth day 4. Content warning for drug use. ~2,700 words. 

He’d texted her that morning, told her to come by after work. Rukia had readily agreed - it was Friday night, she had no other plans, Ichigo was always a good time … and anyway, who knows, maybe she’ll get off later.

[ AO3 ] 

The bus belches smoke as it pulls jerkily away from the curb. Rukia stumbles but catches herself and continues down the aisle towards the back of the bus. She settles into a window seat, to watch the city slip by. The sun is setting and on this side of town, the streets are tree-lined and the cars parked against the curb all have soft lines and nice paint. There are families on the sidewalks.

The bus turns down the main street and starts to wend its way towards downtown and the houses turn into office buildings with glass walls and shops on their first floors. Rukia has to change buses at the terminal, which, as usual, is in the roughest part of downtown. Her next bus is late, so she waits. She stands in the pool of the overhead light, hands in her pockets, ignoring the other denizens of the bus terminal at this hour.

The next bus arrives and Rukia climbs aboard, heading, once again, for the back seat. The interior lights of the bus flick off as it pulls away from the terminal and Rukia pulls out her phone, scrolling through her instagram feed while she half-listens to the automated stop announcements. She’s got a ways to go before she arrives at the stop she needs.

Ichigo lives off-campus.

His place is a tumble-down, divided-up-into-too-many-apartments, needs-a-new-roof-three-years-ago kind of a house, but he and his roommates – Chad and Renji – keep their part of it as neat as they can. The upstairs apartment houses a revolving door of people – Rukia is pretty sure there are only four names on the lease, but it always seems like there’s anywhere up to thirteen people living in the place. The bachelor apartment in the basement is occupied by one Ishida Uryuu, who keeps to himself most of the time, but once, when Rukia was sneaking out before Ichigo (or his roommates) woke up, she’d run into him getting his bike out of the garage.

Rukia flushes at bit at the memory now, sitting at the back of the bus on her way back to campus after a day spent overseeing over-excited children at the art gallery. Ishida’d looked her up and down, appraising her diaphanous blue dress and the heels she was carrying before shaking his head and heading out. Rukia smiles though, at the memory of giving his back the finger and sticking her tongue out at him before confidently heading down the sidewalk. After all, it’s not a walk of shame unless you are ashamed.

She and Ichigo aren’t a Thing, per se. They just sometimes end up in bed together, after one too many drinks down at the club on Tuesday nights – shots are $2, and one thing often leads to another – and sometimes, it also happens when they’re lonely or stressed or celebrating passing an exam or presenting a project… Rukia doesn’t like to label things. Honestly, she has better things to do. She reaches up, and pulls the stop request cord.

The bus stops between blocks, and Rukia disembarks, alone. She calls out a thank you to the driver before she steps off the bus, and then pockets her phone and heads down the block in the direction of Ichigo’s place. He’d texted her that morning, told her to come by after work. Rukia had readily agreed - it was Friday night, she had no other plans, Ichigo was always a good time … and anyway, who knows, maybe she’ll get off later. The thought of getting off puts a little spring in her step and she arrives at Ichigo’s place a little breathless.

The front door is open, as usual, and she slips in and shuts it behind her. In the hallway that connects the three apartments, there is a jungle of shoes and a bike and a scooter in pieces and other detritus of college boys. Rukia slips off her shoes just outside Ichigo’s door, and tries the knob. It’s open, and so she walks in.

Renji is in the kitchen, his hair a rope of red braided down his back while he stirs something. Ichigo looks up from the notebooks strewn across the kitchen table and Rukia watches a slow smile steal across his face.

“Hey,” Rukia says, and Renji half-turns, but Rukia is already on her way to Ichigo. Ichigo makes an aborted movement to stand but Rukia is too fast, and she pulls out the chair across from him and plops into it, before dropping her head to the table. “Why are children so loud?”

“Because no one ever taught them the usefulness of silence,” Chad’s voice makes Rukia look up.

“Naw,” Renji disagrees, “it’s ‘cause kids are actually hellspawn.”

Rukia smothers a laugh with her hand and then pokes Ichigo’s notebook with his discarded pen. “What’cha studying?”

“English Lit,” Ichigo answers, tossing his copy of Wuthering Heights across the table to her. It is dog-eared and much-loved. “But I’m done for the night. Wanna eat? Renji’s making noodles.”

“Renji is always making noodles,” Rukia grouses good-naturedly.

“Hey!” Renji protests, gesturing with the wooden spoon in his hand. “You don’t like my noodles, you can get out.”

“No one is saying they don’t like your noodles, Abarai,” Ichigo says, “which is only because they know that noodles are the only thing you can cook without setting the house on fire.”

Chad intervenes before Renji can throw the spoon in his hand at Ichigo. “I’m sure Rukia likes your noodles, Renji,” he rumbles and opens the fridge. “Can I get you a beer, Rukia?”

Rukia sneaks a glance across the table at Ichigo. He looks back at her steadily. Rukia sighs, and turns back to Chad. “Sure.”

Chad joins her and Ichigo at the table, handing both Rukia and Ichigo cans of beer before popping his open himself. “Happy Friday,” he says, and Rukia lifts her can to clink it against his.

After dinner, the four of the sprawl in the living room to watch shitty TV until Ichigo’s fingers get restless and start climbing Rukia’s thigh. Neither Renji nor Chad look up when Rukia tugs Ichigo up to his feet and pulls him down the hall to his room.

Ichigo closes the door behind them, and strips his shirt off over his head, tossing it onto the floor to join half of the rest of his wardrobe. Rukia lets him back her up, until he knocks her back onto his bed, and descends upon her, mouth hot and hands eager.

It’s quick and it’s quiet, but Rukia’s satisfied sigh makes Ichigo’s smile turn smug as he drapes an arm around her waist, and tugs her closer to him.

They wake up tangled together. Rukia reaches down behind her, and grins when she finds him, hard, against her back. She wraps her hand around him, and slowly pulls him out of sleep, letting him roll her over and pin her down. Rukia pushes back against him, and Ichigo’s hand presses down between her shoulder blades. She’s already wet, and Ichigo wastes no time, sliding inside and making her gasp into the pillow.

Ichigo pulls her back, and Rukia rises onto her elbows, head hanging down. Ichigo grips her hips, and drives into her. Rukia rests herself on one arm, the other hand busy between her own thighs. She bites her lip to keep from crying out when Ichigo’s rhythm falters and he comes with a groan before he reaches around to help her get herself off.

After, Rukia showers alone, and Ichigo hands her a cup of coffee when she pads back into the kitchen. Rukia finishes her coffee leaning on the counter while Ichigo tries not to fuck up scrambled eggs. He manages, just barely.

No one else is up when they’re finished, so Rukia leans up and kisses Ichigo as she’s leaving, slipping him some tongue for good measure and when she drops back onto her flat feet, Ichigo’s stunned look makes her smile.

“Call me,” she says, and Ichigo nods.

Ichigo texts her the week before finals.

By some miracle of providence, he has the house to himself for the entire weekend. Even the four (thirteen?) weirdos who live upstairs are going to be gone and Rukia’s fingers tremble with anticipation as she texts him back. She’s practically levitating with the thought of having an entire weekend of uninterrupted time (and very pointedly not thinking about how this probably means they are a Thing now) by the time she gets back to her dorm room.

The rest of the week feels like an age, and by the time Friday finally arrives, Rukia is this close to going mad. She cuts her last class on Friday afternoon, deciding she’ll be unable to focus on a lecture about existentialism when her mind is wholly consumed by images of Ichigo breathless beneath her and the memory of his hands on her hips.

She packs her bag in her dorm room, locks the door behind her and walks to the bus stop. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she fishes it out, reading Ichigo’s texts. She can tell by the sloppy grammar that he’s probably stoned. He’s laying out in great detail what he’s going to do to her later, punctuated by requests for her to hurry up and get there.

She texts him back once she’s on the bus, and contemplates figuring out how to take a picture of her boobs to send him, but decides the bus is not the place to do that. She sends him an older one she took when they were first deciding whether or not they wanted to be friends who fuck occasionally instead. She puts her phone away when the bus lurches to another stop and a horde of pre-gaming sophomores crowds around her.

Rukia escapes the bus a couple of stops later, and makes the same trek she has so many times before.

Ichigo is waiting for her on the stoop when she turns down his block, and he lifts a hand as she approaches. The sunset gilds his hair. Rukia’s heart lurches, and she almost wishes this was just physical, because he’s so pretty sometimes, that it hurts. She watches him smile as she gets closer.

“Yo,” she says, dropping her bags at her feet. Ichigo stands. He’s holding a roach between his fingers, and offers her the last drag. Rukia leans down and presses her lips to his hand.

She inhales, holding the sticky sweet smoke in her lungs, before exhaling it in a cloud above their heads. Ichigo stubs out the rest and picks up her bag. Rukia follows him into the house.

“You know,” Ichigo says, after they’ve put her stuff in his room and gone back outside to sit on the porch. Rukia is rolling another joint, and she picks it up to lick the paper and seal it shut. “I was thinking we’d order a pizza later.”

“Sure,” Rukia says, handing him the joint, and waiting while he lights it. Watching Ichigo smoke is always something of a turn on, and today is no different. The dying twilight paints strange shadows on his face, and he closes his eyes on that first inhale. He passes it back on his exhale.

They share the joint, smoking it down to nothing, and Rukia feels the high settle into her bones. Ichigo always gets better stuff than she can get on campus, and his preference is for a body high instead of something that goes straight to his head. Rukia feels syrupy and slow, like all her bones are melting into the concrete steps beneath her.

Ichigo stands after a while, and pulls Rukia to her feet. She’s unsteady and stumbles into him, so Ichigo wraps an arm around her waist and brings her inside. He deposits her on the couch and comes back with two beers and his phone.

Rukia picks up her beer, and gets stuck on the way the condensation feels on the glass, keeps rubbing her fingers over the edge of the label and Ichigo watches her, amused. “You’re a little stoned,” he says, leaning back.

“Like you’re not,” Rukia retorts, and Ichigo laughs.

“Here,” Ichigo says, and takes her beer. He opens it, popping the cap with his lighter. The cap pings off the ceiling and lands somewhere behind them. Rukia whoops. Ichigo opens his own beer with less fanfare and they clink the necks, before drinking.

The beer is cold, and Rukia swallows the whole neck of the bottle before putting it back down on the coffee table. She sits back, and Ichigo leans in, his beer forgotten on the table behind him.

He kisses her heavy and slow, pressing her back onto the couch, his hands trailing up her sides and then slipping under shirt. Rukia moans into his mouth when he tugs down the cups of her bra, tweaking her nipples.

“I’m gonna fuck you on this couch,” Ichigo says, into the join of her neck, and Rukia arches against him.

“Please,” she says.

Ichigo’s hands get busy with the fly of her shorts, and soon enough she’s lifting her hips to him strip them off her. He leans up over her to kiss her while he slips his hand in between her thighs. She opens for him, and he rubs against her clit; tight circles that make her breath catch. Ichigo could get her off like this, and normally she’d let him, but– “you said you were gonna fuck me,” she says, breathless.

“Yeah?” Ichigo doesn’t stop with his fingers in her cunt as he tugs on his belt and gets his own shorts off. Rukia can’t help the way her eyes stray down his body, the lean strength of him always amazes her. He’s deceptively strong, she knows, and has an immediate and burning need to get him to hike her up the wall and fuck her while holding her up with his hands beneath her thighs.

The thought makes her shudder and moan.

Ichigo pushes her back onto the couch, lines up and slides home in a fluid movement that makes Rukia’s mouth drop open. “Fuck,” he says.

“That’s the idea,” Rukia answers, and rolls her hips into his. Ichigo hisses, and begins to fuck her in earnest. Rukia’s fingers replace his on her clit.

With no one home, they have no reason to be quiet, and so Rukia isn’t. She says his name, over and over, digs her hand into his shoulder, hard, and lets him push her over the edge just ahead of his own release.

After, she shoves him off, and Ichigo lands on the floor. “Hey!”

Rukia laughs.

They order too much pizza, and eat it sitting on the floor in front of the TV, while Rukia kicks his ass at Mario Kart on Chad’s N64.

Later, they sit on Ichigo’s bed, his textbooks spread on the floor while Rukia drills him on the themes of gothic literature and rewards his correct answers by taking off her clothes. When she’s naked, she leans back, landing on his pillows and draws one hand and then the other down her body, spreading herself for him and sliding her fingers into her cunt.

Ichigo’s breath goes out of him like he’s been punched, and he watches, rapt, as she brings herself off, but doesn’t let her get all the way before he’s between her thighs with his tongue and his own hands. Rukia keens when she comes, toes curling and her hands in his hair.

In the afterglow, Ichigo shoves the books off his bed and curls around her, tracing circles into her skin. “I think I want to be more than friends who fuck occasionally,” he says, out of the blue.

Rukia smiles at him. “Okay,” she says, “we can be friends who fuck all weekend.”

“You know what I mean,” Ichigo says, and sits up. “I like you,” he says, “a lot.”

“I like you too,” Rukia says, also sitting up. “Wanna go steady, Ichigo Kurosaki?” she asks, with a wink, and Ichigo snorts, but then he smiles and oh, Rukia feels it all the way down to her toes.

“Think that’s my line,” Ichigo says, leaning in and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You want to go steady with yourself?” Rukia asks, and Ichigo groans, shoving her playfully to one side.

“You’re insufferable,” he grouses, but there’s a smile in his eyes. He pulls her up and into his lap. Rukia stares up at him, and Ichigo looks down at her. He leans in and kisses her, sweet and soft.

[your-highnessmarvel]

Lemonade ~ Chapter One

SUMMARY: Hailee, Boston born and raised, leaves in the dead of the night on a state train. Tears in her eyes, hurt in her heart, she ends up in a small town off the coast of Southern California that she knows only through her recently deceased father. She only finds shelter with a woman she barely knows; her grandmother. Hailee tries to rebuild herself despite the ruins she left behind in her other life. And then she meets Chris and finds herself, for the first time in her life, afraid.

RATING: MATURE (FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS)

WARNINGS: None for now. Maybe just language

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC

WORD COUNT: 4199

TAG LIST IS OPEN (tags are at the end of the cut)

Banner made by me. Pictures are not mine.

A/N: I know this took forever to post. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but this needed to be brought to life. My first multi part Chris Evans fic and I am soooooooo excited! As always, feedback is appreciated. OBVIOUSLY, this is AU. I KNOW Chris is from Boston and such, but for the sake of the story, he’s Californian. Also, yes, the OFC is way younger than him. But she is legal and in all cases, mature enough. I still haven’t decided if Chris is his current age or not. Will figure it out later. 

Chapter One: There’s Lemonade on the Floor like there’s Blood in our Veins

              The sun pierced through the windows of the bus, brining me back to sunny California. I tried to focus my eyes on the outside world, but the burning glare of the sun made me squint, even through my sunglasses.

              I had a terrible headache. My stomach was roaring with hunger. My mouth was dryer than the Sahara, and the lady next to me kept snoring and drooling on my shoulder.

              I held the letter in my hand, clutching it between sweaty fingers. Scrabbled across the back of the crusty white envelop was the address I was going for; a small, crap town by the name of Heaven’s Cove right off the Southern coast of California. Population around six hundred. Founded in the beginning of the twentieth century.

              I had traveled across the country to get to where I needed to be. I spent the night huddled up against the window with my overnight bag as a pillow to finally pull up at the terminal; an abandoned Deli with a sign that read Everything You Need! hanging off its hinges on the roof.

              “This is the end folks!” the driver yelled as he got out of his seat. “There’s a community bus in a half hour that goes to Heaven’s Cove, and another one in ten minutes that leaves for Hentington.”

              I grabbed onto my bag with one hand and the old letter with the other. The entirety of the bus got on its feet, shuffling out as if we were inmates arriving at our prison. My head was still stuffy from lack of sleep and proper nutrition, but I kept telling myself I would arrive at my destination in less than an hour.

              Stepping off the bus and into the Californian heat made me realize maybe my leather jacket was a bit too much. It had served its purpose in the AC of the bus, but now, barely a few seconds outside, and I was sweating.

              The rest of the passengers of the bus wandered off to the benches, waiting for their buses. I was not in the mood to sit around again. My butt was numb from the bus and my legs needed to be stretched. Besides, all I had to carry around was my backpack.

              I wandered off onto the road. The yellow sign indicated that I was walking in the right direction anyway, but I would probably walk the same amount of time it would take if I waited for the bus. So I hitched my bag tighter onto my shoulders, adjusted my sunglasses, and began walking on the dirt path beside the road.

              At one point, the bus that I should have waited for drove right passed me and that is when I realized I should have taken the bus and not walked.

              “Fuck.” I mumbled. I was beyond thirsty, more like parched, and my stomach was rumbling so loud, I’m sure my folks back at home could hear it.

              And just as I cleared the bushes and trees, a small and not abandoned deli appeared. It was more of an auto-repair, general store, gas station kind of place, but I could see snacks through the window. The building had a huge, rusty sign over the door which read Evans Everything Store. I shrugged, thinking maybe they had everything I needed, like a hot shower, Netflix, and five days of nap time.

              The interior was AC cooled, which made my burning skin feel like literal paradise, and there was a cashier at the front desk. She looked in her mid to late thirties with a head of curly blonde locks and bright blue eyes. When she smiled at me, her face lit up like a Christmas tree and she showed me a rack of shining pearly whites.

              “I’ve never seen you ‘round here,” she piped. I smiled awkwardly, looking around for an excuse to not have small talk.

              “I’m just passing through,” I mumbled. She made a sound between a grunt and a sigh.

              “You’re on foot,” she blurted out, readjusting her array of shiny necklaces around her neck. When I frowned at her and still didn’t take off my sunglasses, she giggled. “Saw you standing around out there like you’re lost. You look like the kind of girl who hasn’t seen the west coast.”

              I didn’t answer. All I wanted was a Gatorade and some chips. But that woman was too quick for her own good. “What you holding there?” she asked, gesturing to the envelop I was still carefully carrying.

              “It’s an address.” I don’t even know why I answered her. It was such a bad idea. She hopped off the stool she was sitting on, revealing she was much smaller than I expected her to be, and walked right up to me. She snatched the letter from my fingers, making me almost growl. Ignoring my obvious discomfort at her easy-going behavior, she read the address out loud.

              “That’s like a twenty-minute drive, but on foot?” she squealed. “You’re in for at least a couple hours.”

              “Thanks for the info,” I grumbled, snatching the envelop back, walking right passed her.

              “Hold on,” she grunted, rolling her eyes. She took a good look at me; unruly curls that obviously needed a wash, sunglasses to cover a massive hangover, ripped black jeans, holed chucks. “East coast,” she announced, crossing her arms over her chest.

              “Bingo,” I mumbled back, reaching into the refrigerators to fetch a blue Gatorade. “Got any chips?”

              “I’ll drive you to Nana Smitty’s,” she grumbled, but I could hear a tint of joy in her voice. I frowned, feeling the upcoming discomfort in my stomach.

              “No,” I answered sourly.

              “Uh, yes,” she said, running back behind the counter to fetch her keys. “Your shoes have holes and I have no clients.”

              “What about your boss?” I asked, but who would say no to a ride? “And what about my Gatorade?”

              She shrugged, walking behind the counter to fetch her keys. She came back grinning, her sunny blonde hair catching the light from outside. She was truly a gorgeous woman, and if I wasn’t a total bitch, maybe I would have told her. “My boss is my father, so I can deal with him later,” she grumbled, opened the front door, “and the Gatorade is on the house.” She held the door opened for me and when she saw my hesitation, she sighed, “we don’t get many visitors.”

              I decided to follow her. Not the best of ideas considering I was raised to believe strangers were psychopaths, but she looked way too nice to be hiding a knife in her car. And yet, that’s what all murder victims think.

              Her car was a beat-up Volvo that sprung to life with a metallic sound. The inside smelled like cigars and car oil but was otherwise clean and clear of any murder weapons.

              “I’m Carly, by the way,” she said, flashing me a wayward smile before slamming onto the gas. I smiled shyly, adjusting my sunglasses.

              Friends. Those were the things I shouldn’t be making.

              “Hailee,” I answered, sipping on my drink, watching the world outside pass from forest green to suburban beige.

              We drove in silence for a while. I could feel Carly wanted to know things; she kept giving me side looks and fidgeting with the wheel. What pissed me off even more was the fact that the radio stayed closed.

              “So Nana Smith, huh?” she mumbled, smirk playing on her lips. I nodded. “Related?”

              “Yes.”

              “Grand mother?”

              “Bingo.”

              Before she could ask any more, I pressed harshly on the power button of the radio and put it loud enough to assert the fact that I was not in the mood to share secrets. Carly resolved to driving in silence again.

              We passed through what seemed to be the town square. Stores lined the main lane, pubs and restaurants spewing soft music as we rolled by. It was Friday, and the weekend vibe could be felt with all the townspeople crowding the sidewalks, and the lights sprung about. The air smiled like the ocean and faintly of cigarette smoke. It was strangely comforting.

              Carly drove us off the main lane into a part of Heaven’s Cove that seemed to be the older side of town. Houses were farther apart until an entire football field could be placed between them. They were more classic versions; front porch, gated lawn, oak tree in the back.

              The Volvo came to a stop at the address indicated on the envelop I was still clutching. For a reason I still ignore, my heart burst to flames within my chest. My mouth felt crusty, even after downing an entire Gatorade. I stepped out, frowning when Carly stepped out as well.

              The house was slanted on one side, which led me to believe it had been here for at least half a century. The porch went all around the house, the gate crusty with the white paint falling to pieces. There were chairs sprawled here and there on the porch. The front door was a screen that had a hole on the bottom half, and all the windows were more milky-white than see-through.

              “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Carly.

              She turned to me with a smile and nodded almost frantically. “Yeah,” she chirped, “this is Liza’s place.” How many names did my grandmother have?

              The porch steps creaked under our feet as we made our way up. “Liza!” Carly hollered, the sound of her voice echoing within the house. “You’ve got a visitor!”

              “Coming!”

              I went from one foot to the other, holding my bag, feeling the nervousness seep deep inside my tummy. My bottom lip was trapped between my teeth, my fingers curled in tightly against my palms. When I saw a shadow emerge from the hallway and into the light of day, my heart lurched forward.

              “Carly, baby, what you doing out here?” Liza asked. She was a woman who should have looked way older than she did, yet her hair was still the fiery red as I last remember, and her green eyes were still alight and vigilant. Her mouth was pulled into a sincere smile. The only evidence of her age was the wrinkled webbing in the corners of her eyes and the brown splotches on her skin. Yet she didn’t look a day over fifty. “And who might this be?” she asked, turning to me while wedging the door opened enough to see me better.

              Carly gave me a sideways glance.

              “Hailee,” I mumbled, awkwardly smirking at my grandmother.

              Liza’s eyes grew big and her brows climbed onto her forehead. “As I live and breathe,” she grumbled under her breath. Her hand came to her chest were a pendant hung from her neck. She twirled the necklace between her fingers, her mouth opened, eyes drinking me in. “Last time I saw you,” she said with a trembling voice, “you could barely walk.”

              “I know.” What a dumb response. “I’m sorry.” Even worse.

              Liza looked between me and Carly, giving the blonde a quick smile before sighing and holding the door wide opened. “Carly, have a nice drive back,” she said sternly, “and tell your brother he needs to bring himself over here tomorrow. The pool’s been acting up again.”

              “Sure will, ma’am,” Carly chirped, jiggling her keys as she waved and stepped down the porch. I watched her spring back to her Volvo, nervousness and fear in my heart.

              “Come in,” Liza ordered, her voice strained yet hard. “And take those sunglasses off!”

              I walked in after her, taking the glasses off as asked, and drinking in the house. I barely had time to register the pictures framed on the walls and the yellow wallpaper that Liza was bombarding me. “What brings you all the way down here?” Her eyes were hard, not the calm and easy-going glance she had given me when she didn’t know who I was.

              “I need…” I trailed off, glancing up the stairs where I could see and opened door. This was where my father grew up. “I need help.” I looked away shyly, feeling the blush creep onto my cheeks.

              “Just like your mother,” Liza grumbled, throwing her hands in the air and brushing passed me and into the hallway, headed for what seemed to be the kitchen. “That woman had an ego bigger than the ocean, and she took your father away. Made sure I never saw him or you ever again.”

              I frowned. “I was born here?” I asked, timidly following her. That woman was more intimidating than any boy I had a crush on.

              “Bet she told you that you were Boston born and raised,” she grumbled back, rummaging on the counter, her back to me. The kitchen was small and, yes you guessed it, yellow. The refrigerator made a weird sound and the tap kept running, but everything else seemed cozy; round kitchen table, cushioned seats, windows that let in an impossible amount of light. To my right, an arch way led to a small living room, from which I could see more pictures on the walls.

              “I didn’t know I was born here,” I said, feeling like my head was going to implode. “My mother-“

              “-Was a bitch,” Liza interrupted. She turned back to me with a plate full of cookies and motioned for me to sit down. I did, leaving my bag on the floor, awkwardly staring up at my grandmother. “Now tell me what you need. Money? A car?”

              I sighed, scratching my head. “I needed to leave Boston,” I mumbled, staring at the rusty edge of the table. “I did…something and my mother won’t speak to me again. I needed to leave, and I found this in dad’s drawer.” I slid the envelop across the table to her, watching her eyes turn from angry to nostalgic. She swallowed hard, taking the envelop gently between her fingers.

              “He never read it,” she whispered, sliding her index along the intact edges.

              “I needed to leave,” I started, my breath coming out in puffs, eyes watering. “I didn’t know where to go. I was looking for money, anywhere I could, and then I came across it. I looked at the return address and…”

              Liza nodded, putting the envelop face down onto the table. “I sent this to him when he left,” she said quietly. The room got suddenly heavy and I wished in that moment that I could have found the words to comfort her. “You know, she didn’t even invite me to his funeral.”

              “I left everything behind in Boston,” I said slowly. “I just need a place to stay.”

              She nodded, still staring at the envelop. “Alright,” she agreed, “you can stay here as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

              “Thank you,” I sighed. She got to her feet and walked right out, leaving me awkwardly sitting there with a plate of cookies.

              “The room on top of the stairs is yours!” she hollered. “Don’t mess it up!”

                                                           ***

              After a good night’s sleep in what must have been my dad’s old room but was now converted into the guest room, I was fully recovered. I had place the few clothing items I had brought into the drawer, along with the letter. The bed was a double, sheets yellow and thin to survive the raging heat. After I spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, I decided I needed to come down for breakfast.

              The heat was scorching and heavy. Even within the house. The AC must have been broken.

              I managed to take a shower without breaking anything and changed into a red tank top and black shorts. I left my dark hair wet and untamed, pushing it behind my ears. The heat would surely dry it off in minutes.

              I came downstairs to a quiet house. The screen door let in a pool of light, the windows all opened to the sound of birds chirping. “Liza?”

              The house echoed with the sound of my voice, yet no one answered. The back door was opened, and weird sounds were coming from the yard.

              As I walked into the living room to stare out the door, I spotted a jug of lemonade on the nightstand beside the television. It was freshly made, ice still floating despite the horrible heat. My hair was already curling!

              The sound of hammering brought me back to the world outside the back screen door. Beside the glistening inground pool was a man, hunched over the mechanisms, hammering like his life depended on it.

              Was he trying to steal Liza’s pool mechanism?

              “Hey!” It was stronger than me; the need to tell someone off. With a bang, I had slid the screen door wide open and I was marching bare foot on the back porch. The metal slants were hot under my feet, the air heavy over my shoulders.

              The man jumped slightly before turning with a smile on his face. He was gently and strangely good looking. I was startled by how beautiful he was that I stopped mid-way from asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

              Standing on all his six-foot glory, he smiled again, flashing me his pearly whites. His light brown hair was messily pushed over his head, exposing those blue blue eyes and that little button nose that would make any woman swoon. The beard that shadowed his cheeks and chin made him look tougher than the soft expression in his gentle eyes.

              I was still shocked by how good looking this man was that I hadn’t noticed the way his shoulders strained against his black t-shirt nor the way his legs went on for ages under those light jeans he was adorning. He was truly a work of art.

              “Hailee, right?” he said, and my brows furrowed, feeling the familiar pinch of anger and suspicion in my tummy.

              “You must be the pool mechanism stealer, right?” I returned with sarcasm. He chuckled, the smile on his lips starting to feel more and more permanent.

              “You met my sister yesterday,” he stated, fanning his tee because of how hot he probably was under that. “Carly?”

              I nodded, still frowning harder than I ever did before. Then I remembered what Liza had asked Carly before the latter had left in her rundown Volvo.

              Tell your brother he needs to bring himself over here tomorrow. The pool’s been acting up again.

              “You’re Carly’s brother?” I asked, my voice sounding way too harsh for the entire ordeal.

              His smile got even bigger, if that was even possible. “Yes,” he said. “I’m Chris.” He stuck his hand out, but he was still slightly too far away for me to shake it, so I stood there and nodded again.

              “Nice to meet you,” I answered. I swirled on my heels and headed for inside.

              “I’ll be inside in a minute!” he called after me, and when I turned to him with yet another frown, he added, “I’ve got to fix the AC, and Liza’s probably got lemonade out for me.”

              I didn’t answer. This town was getting more and more weird by the minute, and I didn’t want to have to deal with any more of it. I had to find a place of my own, a job, and a car. I didn’t have time to dwell here, especially with Liza, who seemed to hate me and my mother.

              I went into the kitchen to prepare my breakfast. I had eggs in a plate and coffee in my mug by the time Chris waltzed in, forehead sweaty, biceps glistening. I could see him through the arch way between the kitchen and the living room, where he stood with his back to me and sipped on a cup of cold lemonade.

              “If you’re gonna stare,” he said after a sip, “might as well come in here and talk with me.”

              I rolled my eyes, yet nonetheless waddled my way back into the living room. I held my plate of eggs in one hand and my coffee in the other, settling it all on the table in the room and sitting comfortably on the couch.

              “Breakfast at this time?” he asked sarcastically before he knelt in front of the AC machine.

              “It was a long night,” I answered between bites. He smirked, unscrewing the machine, revealing the network of wires and cables underneath.

              “Heard you’re from the east coast,” he blurted absentmindedly.

              “Boston.”

              “And Liza’s your grandmother?” he asked, inspecting the wire, pulling some and unplugging more. I made a sound that agreed with him. “Carly told me your dad was Harold Smith. Apparently he owned a pawn shop here and when he met-“

              “-my mother, he ran off with her to Boston,” I interrupted. “I’ve heard the story from Liza.”

              Chris paused to analyze some wires that he held along the length of his palm. “Liza’s son has been dead for years,” he announced. “I’m sorry.”

              “Whatever,” I grumbled, sipping harshly on my coffee, trying to ignore the familiar wave of anger that always surged whenever someone mentioned the death of my father.

              “If you don’t mind me asking,” Chris said in a gentle tone, “how did he pass?”

              I rolled my eyes. Why did everyone want to know that? Why couldn’t people just be content with the fact that he’s six feet under? They always had to know why and how. “It was a disease,” I growled, “called none of your business.”

              The sigh that left his lips was heavier than the heat outside.

              My forehead had beaded with sweat and my hair was now a mess of dark curls. Chris needed to fix that AC fast.

              “And why’d you come all the way down here?” he asked.

              “You ask a lot of questions,” I grumbled, grating my fork on my plate loud enough to send the message.

              “Just making sure you’re not taking advantage of Liza,” he grumbled back, plugging in the wires he had been holding.

              The tips of my fingers twitched over the warm mug I was holding. “Excuse me?”

              He sighed again, hitching his elbow on his knee, turning a soft yet stern look towards me. Even like that, stern and sullen, he still looked good. “Look,” he said, “I’ve known Elizabeth for my entire life. She’s a good woman, but her heart is too big. And you, I’ve never even heard of you. And then you just waltz in and settle in under her roof, eating her food, living in a house she’s worked blood and sweat for. I’m just looking out for her.”

              I stood abruptly, almost knocking over my empty plate. “If you think I’m just a smoocher,” I grunted, “you can leave.”

              He stood as well, brows turned upwards, a look of remorse on his features. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he tried to apologize.

              “Yes you did,” I growled back. “Now you can leave.”

              He gestured to the AC. “I haven’t finished with it yet,” he protested.

              “Well I’m finished with you.”

              He went from foot to foot, twirling the screwdriver between his fingers. A look of guilt crossed his eyes and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

              I was fuming. Already I felt so bad for coming here unannounced and demanding help from a woman I didn’t know, and now this guy was rubbing it in my face. I didn’t need that. I didn’t need a total stranger telling me I was taking my big-hearted grandma for granted.

              “What about the lemonade?” he mumbled. I scoffed, walking roughly to where the jug was and snatching it against my chest. Droplets of the juice splashed on my bare feet as I turned and stomped back into the kitchen.

              “You don’t deserve lemonade!” I growled, feeling childish and stupid, but I was too angry to contemplate my behavior. I wondered, after, what it must have looked like for him; a twenty-two-year-old grown woman throwing a tantrum and splashing lemonade everywhere.

              “Hailee,” he started.

              “Leave!”

              I threw the lemonade into the sink, slamming the empty jug on the counter. I stared out the window, eyes strained on the now functioning pool, while I heard Chris shuffle quietly behind me. I stayed there, stupidly standing in front of the sink, clutching the edge of the counter, until I heard the sound of an engine in the front yard. I turned to face the sound. From the edge of the hall, I could see through the front door as a black pick up truck rolled out onto the street.

              A few hours later, when I had locked myself in my new and temporary room, I heard Liza come in. The front door clanged on its hinges and I listened to her waddle in, whistling and mumbling to herself. A few silent moments passed until I heard her calling my name.

              Popping my head out of my door, I hollered back, “yeah?”

              A beat passed. “Why is there lemonade all over the living room floor?”

tags: @iamthemaskhewears @void-imaginations @poerebel @ironmanlover24 @fluasch @thatcrazybookwormgeek @papi-chulo-bucky 

[breyito]

Of Friendship and Affection

This is the story I’ve been working on for the Peter & Tony Big Bang . I had the pleasure to work with the awesome @hereandnowwearealive who made gorgeous art for this fic. Go check her stuff!

Tittle: Of Friendship and Affection

Summary: After the secret is out of the bag (literally), Peter has to include his Aunt on the superhero thing. Tony is all for, especially if it means getting to see embarrassing photos of his newest protegé. Giving life advice is not something Tony is particularly good at; but fortunately, when it comes to best friends he’s had a pretty good run. (His health might not be ready for all the mini-heart attacks this kid gives him on a daily basis, though.)

Word count: 9k

Pairings/Relationships: Tony Stark&Peter Parker, Ned Leeds&Peter Parker, May Parker&Peter Parker, Michelle Jones&Peter Parker

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence

Notes: this is set after Spider-Man: Homecoming; but in between the fight with the Vulture and Happy picking Peter from school there's a two week window, where Peter has gone out many nights (in his old suit) with Ned as his back-up.

“So” Aunt May started; after all the screaming died down a bit. “Who else knows about this ‘hero-business’?” she asked. Peter knew she already suspected Mr. Stark (the date of his brand-new scholarship and the Leipzig Airport battle was too close to deny anything); she just wanted him to confirm it.

“Well…Ned and…Mr. Stark are the ones that know.” Besides Mr. Toomes, the Vulture, who had zero issues with killing me, he thought. Yeah, maybe leave that detail for later.

“Mr. Stark. Of course he knows. How else would you have a suit like that? It’s his tech, isn’t it?” at Peter’s nod, she got up and started pacing. “He is a manipulative bastard! How can he force you to-to do this just to get a scholarship!?”

“Ma-”

“I have to go to the police. Tell them what he’s doing.”

“May-”

“No, no, not the police.” Peter relaxed. Bad move. “The police won’t believe me; or Stark can buy them. The news, I have to go to the news. They will air the story-”

“Aunt May!” Peter yelled. She suddenly stopped and looked at him with wide eyes. “Aunt May, please, sit down.” She did. “Listen to me; ok? I got these powers months before meeting Tony Stark. The reason I met him at all is because I was…stopping crime and catching buses with my bare hands and people recorded it and posted those videos online. He tracked it down to me. He never forced me to do anything, okay?”

“But…but what about that retreat? He took you to Germany, didn’t he?” She asked. “He gave you that suit and made you go, right? He…he took you into a battle against the Avengers! You could have been hurt! Colonel Rhodes got paralyzed…oh my god, that could have been you!” Peter could see that May was starting to get mad again, so he quickly intervened.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a battle at all. I was just there to web feet together and ‘increase numbers’. Mr. Stark never thought Rogers would take things that far.”

“Never mind that! You are a minor. And he gave you a, a super suit and led you to battle; and then let you keep the armored suit!”

“He knew that I was never going to stop trying to help people!” May tried to say something but Peter interrupted her. “Going against a mugger, with-with a knife-”

“Knife!?” she choked out.

“-or or a gun-”

“A gun!? Peter, oh my god-!”

“-would you rather me wearing pajamas or a full Kevlar suit? A, a suit that can warm me up when it’s cold and contacts Mr. Stark immediately if things go wrong and has this amazing AI that helps me with everything I ask her to and…” he drifted off. He swallowed and looked into his aunt’s eyes. “Mr. Stark has been taking care of me. He tried to keep his distance to not give me more ideas than the ones I already have, but you can see that it didn’t work.” May snorted a little laugh. “Aunt May…he realized the second he confronted me that I wasn’t going to stop. Because I’m not. And he saw that and decided to help me and protect me.”

May stayed quiet for a long time, before she exhaled and nodded to herself; her mind resolved.

“…Aunt May?” Peter asked, nervous.

“I’m guessing you have Mr. Stark’s phone number?” she asked, standing. Peter nodded. “Well, I think it’s time he and I have a talk, about training sessions and responsibility. Come, Peter.” With that, she left the room. Peter swallowed, contemplating whether he could just go live under a bridge to avoid the humiliation of his aunt lecturing Mr. Stark.

“Peter!” May yelled from the living room, impatient.

Yeah, probably not.

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

“Mr. Stark!” Peter said, surprised, after opening the door of his apartment.

“Hello, kid.” Tony smiled at him, amused.

“What are you doing here?” the teen asked nervously, looking back at the living room, where his Aunt May was. She turned and smiled at the engineer.

“I invited him” she answered. “I thought dinner might be a good time for the three of us to talk about responsibility and your training regime in person.” She waved Tony in, and Peter just stood there, frozen for a moment; then he closed the door.

Man, this won’t be good for me, he thought, grimacing.

“Tony, you shouldn’t have bothered!” he heard May say, peaking in the bags the engineer had passed to her. “I told you I wanted to cook.”

“Exactly” Tony answered. Peter swallowed a snort. “I thought you shouldn’t come home after working all day in a hospital (I’m sure that’s very exhausting) and have to cook on top of that.” He added, with a winning smile. Smooth, Peter thought.

“Well, thank you. This Italian looks great. I didn’t know Paola’s made take out.”

“They don’t, unless it’s for me.” The engineer winked. “My mother was friends with the owner for decades. She’s known me since before I could walk.”

“That’s cute.” Aunt May said, with a glint in her eyes. “Maybe I should show you some photos of Peter before he could walk, after dinner.”

“What!? No!” yelled the teen, embarrassed.

“Oh, I’d love that.” Tony laughed. Peter huffed and left the kitchen, towards his bedroom.

He didn’t realize the other man was following him until it was too late.

“So" Tony started, looking around the teen's bedroom "that 'really old movie' uh?" he said, with a smug ass grin on his face as he walked to the desk; where the Lego Death Star sat proudly. Peter's cheeks went bright red.

"Ididn'twantyoutothinkIwasanerd." The kid muttered, looking down.

"Sorry; what was that?" said the inventor, putting his hand around his ear "I couldn't hear it because I am really old." he laughed.

"Mr. Stark!" Peter whined, face flaming red. "Stop it" he mumbled with his face buried in a pillow.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop." he chuckled.

“Uff. I didn’t want you to think I was a nerd, alright? I had just met you; my life-long hero, and you asked me to join the Avengers on a mission, and took me to Germany even though I had never been out of the country; and you gave me this crazy new suit and then we were in the middle of a fight with the other Avengers and Colonel Rhodes was on the comms with us and I had a part of a plan but it was because of this movie that most of my classmates have never seen and laugh at us because we did and…and you were all so cool and I was already the youngest person there and I didn’t want to seem like a such nerd.” Peter finishes his rant, only breathing then.

There were a few moments of silence and Peter felt his face (which had gone back to a quasi-normal in his speech) go slowly back to a tomato red.

"First of all; w-ow.” Tony said, eyes wide. “I’ve never met another person (besides myself) that could talk for two minutes without breathing before.” Then he took a deep breath “And two; you do know who you are working with, right?” he laughed “You really think that Rhodey and I are anything but nerds? We both graduated MIT (even if I started at 14). We got to watch the original Star Wars trilogy on theaters (even if we were nothing but kids). We went to see ‘Star Trek V: The Final Frontier’ on the first weekend (good god; that makes me sound so fucking old). He is a legit rocket scientist. I build robots and have been creating AIs since I was 17. If there’s something we’re never going to laugh at you for, is for being a nerd. Because so are we, kid. And we are the coolest.” He winked.

Peter didn’t know if he should be relieved, laugh hysterically or go back to bury his head in the pillow by his side.

“Hurry up, kiddo. I’m sure the food’s ready. Besides, your Aunt said she wanted to show me some pictures of you, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity.” Tony said from the doorway.

Living with his head in the pillow sounded great right about now. Just a normal Friday family dinner, right? Peter thought sarcastically, groaning into the fabric.

---{}---

The dinner went surprisingly okay, actually. Mr. Stark brought enough food to make him feel full, and it was so delicious Peter was already thinking about a midnight snack. They even had gelato!

Yes, dinner went great. Which meant that whatever happened afterwards was not going to be good for him. Peter, unfortunately, didn’t know that. So when he, after brushing his teeth and putting on his pajamas, went to say goodbye to his aunt and Mr. Stark, was completely unprepared for what he saw. May and Mr. Stark were sitting on the couch, his aunt holding open an album-his baby album and showing it to the other man.

“And here it’s the robot Richard (his father) bought him for his second birthday.” She pointed to another picture. “Ooh! We took this one because he picked the flower in the park and wouldn’t let go of it until his mother came home.” Tony had a big grin on his face and a particular shine in his eyes, looking at the pictures, thinking about how adorable the kid was, even as an squishy and drooling miniature human.

Peter froze on the threshold and then made a strangled noise so high Aunt May jumped thinking it was a mouse (he would deny until forever that the noise came from him, though).

“Aunt May!” he yelled. “How could you!?” he asked, rushing to take the sky blue monstrosity, full of incriminating and mortifying pictures of his earlier years, out of the enemy’s hands. But Tony took the damned thing from May and danced away. Cue an impromptu chase in the living room, with Peter trying his best to grab the album and the engineer laughing and twirling, looking at more and more pictures. He even cooed at them!

Aunt May looked on from the couch, amused and entertained. Peter could feel his face flaming at every turned page. Then the inventor suddenly stopped cold.

“You had an Iron Man mask?” Tony asked; eyes wide open. “And cut-off gloves painted as repulsors?” he continued, pale all of the sudden.

“…Yes?” Peter answered, confused.

“You were that kid at the expo…” Mr. Stark murmured, looking straight into Peter’s eyes. Peter didn’t understand why the engineer would look at him with such intensity over a simple mask- then he remembered, and froze again. He looked over at May, whom had a weird expression on her face.

“Um, y-yeah, I went to the 2010 expo. Uncle Ben took me.” He said, hoping Tony would understand and not say a word about the crazy robot almost killing him. “May was working and couldn’t come.”

“…Oh” said Tony. “Right.” He glanced at the nurse, and cleared his throat. “Sorry, bad memories” he said. His smile looked a bit forced, but May took care of that when she commented that neither she nor Ben could convince Peter to take off that mask for anything else than eating for two weeks. Peter gladly took the embarrassment over that dark look on Mr. Stark’s eyes.

And when the engineer rushed to leave the apartment; Peter excused himself to his bedroom and waited for him to say his goodbyes. When Tony closed the door, Peter started to climb down the wall of the building. He yelled a ‘Mr. Stark!’ and jumped, landing in front of the other man.

“Damn it, kid.” Tony muttered, with a hand on his chest. “Heart condition, remember?”

“S-sorry, Mr. Stark, but I, I couldn’t let you leave like that.” Peter said with a frown on his face.

“Like what?” the engineer asked, taking off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. “Like you didn’t almost get killed because of me before I even knew who you are?”

“That wasn’t your fault!” Peter exclaimed, offended.

“Not my-? Kid, it was my expo!” he shouted.

“Yeah, but the robots weren’t your doing! If I remember correctly, it was Hammer and Vanko and the freaking American Army that screwed up; not you.” The kid said, crossing his arms. Tony could almost physically see the stubbornness radiating out of the kid.

“Air Force.” He said. At Peter’s confused look he clarified “It was the Air Force, not the Army. Rhodey hammered the difference into me decades ago. He’ll chew your ear off if you confuse them when he’s around.”

“I get to met War Machine?” Peter said, awed. Then he cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Still. It wasn’t your fault. I was a stupid kid and didn’t run and stayed there like my gloves could take out a, a fucking robot. Ben was so mad at me. After you took off, he found me and made me promise never to tell Aunt May.” The teen looked sheepishly at the engineer. “So please don’t tell her?” Tony sighed.

“Alright, alright. This stays between us.” Peter’s smile was big and contagious, so Tony didn’t have a choice but to give him a small one back. “But I reserve the right to use this if you ever misbehave and you need a time out. I’m sure she’ll ground you for a few days.”

The betrayed look that passed the teen’s face was funny and the chocked and high ‘Mr. Stark!’ that followed was hilarious. The engineer laughed for a few moments, before he put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, opening his mouth. Before he could say anything, though, he was interrupted.

“Nice pants, Peter.” said a neighbor that was entering the building, winking at him. Peter’s face flushed for a second, but then he breathed and answered with a huge smile.

“Thanks, Nicky! They were a present and are really comfortable. I’m sure I can get you a pair to go with your ‘punk Hello Kitty’ shirt.”

“Cool!” said the woman, before waving at the pair and closing the door. When Peter turned to face Mr. Stark again, the man had a flabbergasted expression on his face.

“What?” asked the teen, feeling self-conscious.

“Nothing, just…That…did not played out the way I was expecting.” The engineer said, shaking his head. Then he put his glasses back on and started walking towards his car. He got in and before closing the door, he spoke:

“I’m glad you like the outfit I bought you.” He winked at the teen and drove away.

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

“So…she knows now.” Ned summed up. It was Monday morning, and both were sitting outside. Peter was trying to catch Ned up on everything that had happened over the weekend.

“Yeah” sighed Peter “she knows. And she’s talking to Mr. Stark almost every day now, trying to keep me from breaking ‘boundaries’.” He said, making the quotes with his fingers.

“Sweet!” Ned exclaimed, surprising Peter.

“What? Didn’t you hear me? My aunt is embarrassing me every day in front of Mr. Stark. How is that sweet?” he asked, almost offended.

“Oh, not that part. That part sucks.” Ned reassured him quickly. “I meant that now that your Aunt knows (and she’s not going to the police or threatening you to hang the webs) we can tell people!” he ended with a big smile.

“Tell people? No, of course not!” hissed Peter, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

“Why not? Dude, we’d be so popular! Everyone would love you!”

“Yeah, if they even believe me.”  

“We can show them! Get everyone in the school in the gymnasium and you can wear the suit and-”

“No, we will not tell the whole school that I’m a superhero!!” he half whispered, half yelled.

“Why not? Dude, that’s like, the most impressive thing you could do! You’d be the king of our school!”Ned kept going, full of eagerness.

“There are more important things than impressing people in high school, Ned!!”

“Like what!?” Ned asked, not seeing the issue.

“Oh, I don’t know” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm “like saving people, staying alive, keeping my identity a secret!?”

“Why on Earth would you want to keep that a secret!? It’s awesome!” Ned yelled, getting mad.

“Yes, it’s awesome, when it’s not putting the people I care about in danger!” Peter responded.

“The whole world knows who Iron Man and War Machine are! And Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes’ family are perfectly safe!”

“Safe? Do you have amnesia or something? Ms. Potts was kidnapped and experimented on not even five years ago! It was a fucking miracle that she survived! Happy got blown up; he barely made it!” Peter was getting agitated.

“Yeah, but that was years ago. That hasn’t happened since, right?” asked Ned, secured in his knowledge.

“Seriously?” Peter said, baffled. “They are rich people! They have bodyguards and-and they are public figures! If something happened to them, the world would know in a heartbeat. Besides, everyone knows that they count with Tony Stark’s protection.”

“What about Spider-Man’s protection?”

“Really, Ned? The minute people find out I’m still a teenager, they’ll lose any respect or fear of me!” Ned tried to say something, but Peter cut him off. “No, Ned. I won’t make my aunt (or you or any of my friends) a target. It’s not happening. No one else can know about this, you hear me? No one.” With that, he turned around and left. The Vulture’s threat kept repeating in his mind, eyes cold as ice and -ill you and everybody you love kill you and everybody you love kill you and everybody you love kill yo-

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

Peter couldn’t wait until the bell rang and the school day was over. It’s not like it used to be before; when the suit was new to him and he felt he had to prove something every time he put it on.

No, for once, the reason why he ached to go home had nothing to do with Spider-Man. Well, it did…but it didn’t, at the same time. He wasn’t in a rush to go to a back alley and change; he just wanted to get the hell out of the building he was currently trapped in. The fight he had with Ned this morning was going in circles in his head. They hadn’t talked to each other since their argument. They spent the whole morning ignoring the other’s presence and only speaking when it was necessary for an assignment. At lunch, Peter had walked into the cafeteria and promptly walked out when he saw Ned and MJ sitting in their usual table. Appetite gone, he only ate an apple. Peter just wanted to forget it and pretend it never happen. But he knew it wasn’t possible; because Ned was the least subtle person Peter has ever met (and that included Tony Stark) and they would have to talk about it in order to put it pass them.

Only; they have already had this discussion multiple times. And each time Peter said no. He couldn’t just give away his identity. He wouldn’t. He was terrified (had been ever since the Vulture ended behind bars; fearing that the man would try to use the information to send someone to kill him…or May, or Ned) of people finding out about it. In the two weeks following Homecoming, Ned had been there, as the guy in the chair, every time Spider-Man went patrolling. Every mugger stopped, every rape avoided, every theft thwarted, every direction Peter wasn’t sure of; Ned was on his ear (he was there when Karen wasn’t, when she couldn’t be); guiding him and providing commentary. It was so...freeing, having someone to talk to. And it grounded him, too. Ned provided options that Peter wouldn’t have thought of, tried to make him see his limitations (not that Peter always listened, but still). Peter knew that he was really, really lucky to have Ned as his friend. He trusted Ned.

But at the same time…at the same time he was terrified that Ned would just blurt it out (to Flash, or MJ, or the entire team). And then…then Peter would have to deny it (and put up with the mean jokes and the bulling) and paint Ned as a liar; or would have to come forward and prove he was Spider-Man; and paint a huge target on Aunt May, all of his friends and himself. And the thing was…Peter didn’t know what he would choose; if that happened. Because he knew, he just knew that if he denied everything; school would be hell for Ned. Flash would never stop. But if he revealed himself as Spider-Man? He would be putting everyone in danger. It might be selfish of him; but he liked his life as it was. Why did Ned feel the urge to change that?

---{}---

Finally, the bell rang and Peter left. He knew Ned had Robotics right now (and he would usually wait for him if he could); but today he escaped. He was just going to go to MJ’s to ask her about their Spanish homework and then head home. Maybe take a nap; before patrolling at night (he wasn’t even excited about being allowed to wear Mr. Stark’s suit again, not anymore).

But of course the universe couldn’t agree with him. Because the one day Peter didn’t want to think about putting on the suit; there was a robbery happening in the alley just in front of him. He knew that he was the only one able to hear what was going on, because the thieves had covered the victims’ mouths with their hands. Cursing, Peter ran and crossed the street. Then he hid behind a dumpster and dug up his suit from under his homework. With the suit on, he climbed the side of the building until he reached the roof.

The minute Peter put eyes on the situation; he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Karen” he whispered.

“Yes, Peter?” she answered instantly, like she always did.

“Text Ned. Say it’s you and that I’m trying to stop a robbery, but that there are two robbers and three kids involved. It’s urgent. I need my guy in the chair.” A minute later, the connection came live.

“[Peter]” Ned started, obviously agitated. He must have run from the shop to the computer science lab. “[What’s going on?]”

“I need you to help me think how to handle this.” He whispers. “Karen, give him visual.”

“[Got it.]” Ned said when he the live footage showed up on the screen. “[Ugh; that’s ugly.]”

“Yeah, tell me about it. These guys are obviously enjoying scaring these kids to death.” Peter hissed, watching.

“[It sure seems so. Shit, Peter!]” Ned exclaimed suddenly.

“What? What is it?”

“[One of them (the guy with the flannel shirt) has a knife out!]”

“Crap. What do I do?”

“[Why would I know? You are the superhero.]” Ned answered, a bit prickly.

“I don’t know Ned; because you probably know this suit better than I do! Is there any web I can use?” Peter asked, trying to think about the hundred of combinations.

“[You…could try to aim really well at the blade with the acid one?]”Ned suggested.

“I have acid in this suit!?” he yelped, surprised and scared.

“You have, Peter. But it is well isolated; the acid would never touch your skin.” Karen answered.

“Shit, shit, shit. Okay.” He breathed in, then out. “Can it melt…whatever metal that is?” he asked Karen.

“Certainly. That one would be combination 2-6-8.”

“Alright. Ned, give me a hand here? I want to melt the knife, not this guy’s hand.” Peter said, adjusting the web-shooter.

“[Okay. You need to aim to the right…a 43° angle, so that it will bounce on the wall and take the knife out of his hand. And then melt it. You have a three seconds window since you shoot until it starts to disintegrate the metal; so you have to put enough strength into it. It’ a one shot deal.]”

---{}---

Nothing went as planned.

One of the kids saw him in the roof and yelled his name, ruining the element of surprise completely. Peter still managed to get the knife out of the guy’s hand, but the man would have to be treated for mild chemical burns on his hand. Peter had apologized profusely as soon as the man started to scream; but the second robber didn’t seem to care when he grabbed a kid and threw her at him. Spider-Man managed to grab the child mid air and get her to the floor. Then he shielded her and the other two so they could run out of the alley and onto the street.

By then the thief already had shot at him a couple of rounds (those would surely leave bruises) and, seeing that those wouldn’t stop him, by now had part of a table in his hands. He surprised Peter with a hit that sent him to the ground and then bashed the piece of wood repeatedly against the hero’s head, until it broke. Then he kicked Peter in the middle and shoulder a few times. Seeing that the hero wouldn’t get up, the second robber grabbed the weeping man and together they started to leave.

Peter saw this and tried to shoot a web at them, but the thief still had the gun. He walked closer and aimed it at his head. The last thing Spider-Man heard before passing out was the deafening sound of the shots. Then he felt the bullets impact on his forehead and blacked out.

---{}---  

“-ter”

“[Parke-]”

“-eter”

“[…answer me, damn it!]”

“Guys?” Peter asked, disoriented. “Ned?”

“[Finally, Peter! We’ve been calling for you for a minute and a half! I can’t believe you passed out! Actually I can’t believe you are still breathing after two bullets to the head; although of course I can, because Tony Stark makes the best suits and-]”

“Ned, sto-op.” Groaned the hero; clenching at his head. “I can’t… hear…well. I’m…dizzy.”

“You have sustained a severe concussion, Peter. You also have bruised ribs, a cracked scapula and are bleeding from the head.” Karen reported, sounding worried. “Mr. Stark has been notified, though unfortunately he is in another state. He highly recommended you to hide until he can take you home.”

“Mr. Stark? No…he will be so worried…” Peter lamented, trying to get up. “Can’t I just…lie here? I’m comfy…here.”

“[No, no, no, you can’t. The police are less than five minutes away. You have to get out of there or you’ll be arrested.]” Ned explained.

Now that Peter thought about it; the ringing he was hearing wasn’t only in his head. He could hear sirens too. It was annoying, he wanted silence.

“[-it; I’m calling MJ.]” He heard Ned say, and that made him react.

“What? What for?”

“[Because you can barely stay awake right now and won’t be able to get out of there alone. Climb the building or swing away even less.]”

“But why MJ? What does she have to do with…with anything?” Peter asked, trying to get his eyes to focus.

“[Peter; you are in her street. She lives in the next edifice over.]” Ned says, really worried right now.

“No. No. She…can’t find out. I’ll-I’ll just stay on the roof of one of these buildings.”

“I very much doubt you’ll be able to climb, Peter. You should listen to Ned.”

“No! Don’t do it.” Peter refused, even as he heard the sirens coming closer. “Just…direct me towards a building that has a fire escape, alright? You’ll have to direct me, though, because I can’t see shit with blood on my eyes.” Pause. Long pause.

“[Fine. But if you get arrested, you better not spill my name.]”

“Duh; I’d never.”

“[Ok. Keep walking.]”After a few moments Peter spoke.

“Isn’t far enough?”

“No, keep walking. Keep walking. Stop. Now… jump and catch the ladder.]” Peter has to try a few times, clenching his middle with one arm; all the while letting pain filled groans escape his throat. Finally, he managed. He supported himself on the metal frame, resting his throbbing head in the cold surface for a few seconds; whishing he could just stay there until everything stopped spinning and hurting so much. “[Peter. Peter. Spider-Man!” Peter jumped and shook his head to clear it (not that it helped). “[Focus. Now go up the stairs. You need to get to the fifth floor.]”

“What? Noo…” he whined, as his body slowly, slowly moved. “Why?”

“[Because otherwise the police will see you and follow you up.]”

“Alright.” Peter whispered, still climbing. “Tell me when I can stop.”

The ascent lasted for what felt an eternity. In a corner of his mind, Peter bet Ned was biting his nails, nervous out of his mind.

“How much more? I-I can’t more, I need to rest.” Peter mumbled. The fact that he sounded sleepier every time he talked was a bad sing.

“[Just one more floor, buddy.]”

“No, no more, please. Here it’s fine. I can’t hear anyone.” His legs trembled and he fell on his knees. “I’ll…rest here for a bit.” He could feel his mind slipping away, floating somewhere.

“[Peter, don´t you dare!” the scream broke the fog on his brain. “[You have to go up another floor.]” Peter whined and Ned let out something that resembled a growl out of frustration. “[Come on, Parker, you can do it.]”

On hands and knees, Peter clumsily moved one step at a time. By the last one, his breathing was heavy and painful, and all of his limbs trembled.

“Did I do it…Is here fine?” he mumbled, before crashing. His arm was at an awkward angle under his torso, and his ribs were burning and he could feel the blood, warm and thick, spread down his face.

“[…shit, Michelle, hurry!]”

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

Peter regained consciousness slowly. His everything hurt everywhere. He tried to move, but his side strongly protested to that. So did his arm. And his back. And god, his head. He sighed and tried to touch his forehead, which seemed to be the source of the pain. His vision was a bit murky. Then he noticed the red and blue of the suit and sat up in a jump. His heartbeat was out of the charts. His ribs were hurting real bad but he ignored it, trying to find out where he was. He looked around, and saw he was in a bedroom (not his, or Ned’s, or one in the Compound). He swallowed. Then he saw the photo on the nightstand and something clicked in his brain.

“…long until he gets here?”

“Mr. Stark said an hour, hour and a half.” Ned. Ned was talking to someone.

“He’s gonna help me clean this mess up, right?” That was MJ, always practical.  Peter’s eyes widened and he touched his face again. He didn’t have his mask on. Fuck! He cursed mentally.  

He grabbed his mask that was in the pillow next to him and walked out of the bedroom. Ned and Michelle were talking in the hallway, trying to clean up a trail of blood.

“What. did. you. do. Ned?” he asked, punctuating every word. The other boy jumped, startled, but MJ just arched an eyebrow.

“I-I told you that the police was too close. And Mr. Stark was in another state. So I called MJ, like I said I would, and she helped you.”

“You are really heavy, Parker.” The girl said, huffing. “My arms are going to be so sore tomorrow.” She added.

Peter grabbed Ned’s arm and tugged him a few feet away.

“Ned” he hissed “what the hell?”

“What?” he said, breaking Peter’s grip. “The police came this close to find you. Wasn’t that what you were so desperately trying to avoid?” the other boy sarcastically asked.

“This is not better!” Peter yelled, yanking at his hair and regretting it dearly. “You didn’t have to do this! I could have-”

“What? What could you have done? You barely made it to the fifth floor. MJ had to drag you to her bedroom.”

“You could have just left me there! I would have gotten better and then-”

“And then what? You have been out for hours! You really think no one would have seen you and called the cops? Any sane person would have called the cops to arrest a vigilante passed out on their fire escape.” Ned said, annoyed.

“Apparently I’m not a sane person.” Michelle piped in, face blank. Peter ignored her.

“That was not your decision to make!”

“Actually it was, because I was the only one able to call for help.”

“You had no right to expose me like that! I’m compromised now!” Peter yelled back, raging.

“If you think this compromises you, Parker, you are more delusional than I thought.” MJ deadpanned.

“Shut it, Michelle. This doesn’t involve you. It shouldn’t involve you.” He remarked. “But because someone couldn’t keep his mouth shut-”

“It’s my job as your guy in the chair, to make sure you don’t die in a ditch!” Ned yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

“Then maybe I need another guy in the chair!” the hero screamed.

Then he put his mask on and jumped out of the window, swinging away.

Michelle and Ned watched him leave; Ned with a sense of dread and bubbling anger and Michelle definitely unimpressed.

“He could have used the door, you know.” She said, before turning around and leaving to get more cleaning products.

The blood wasn’t going to magically disappear.

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

Peter barely made it home. He was feeling dizzy all over again; and his ribs were killing him. But his back had to be the worst; he had definitely aggravated his scapula injury with the swinging. He had enough forethought to grab two especial protein bars from the kitchen (Mr. Stark had come up with them as soon as Peter told him that his metabolism was a problem); because he knew that his recovery would go faster if he was well fed and he hadn’t really eaten since breakfast. Then he locked himself in his bedroom, without even taking his suit off. He just…wanted to sleep until everything made sense again. God, the things he said to Ned…Stupid, stupid, stupid!! Parker, you are such a jerk.

---{}---

“I know it’s difficult to accept you messed up, Peter, but you have to apologize.” Said Tony; trying to not seem too exasperated. He wanted the teen to open up to him, not shut down on him. It was probing to be more and more difficult, though. Tony understood the teen angst perfectly (he went through the same things, minus the powers) but if the kid continued to be an absolute asshole, he would end up without the much needed support on those fateful years. And yeah, Tony might be a little over dramatic; but god knows he would have never survived his teenage years without Rhodey.

“Peter, you need to say sorry to Ned and Michelle. What you said was incredibly rude and unfair. They were just helping you.” May said, hoping that a miracle would happen and Peter would actually listen.

“Helping me?” A voice from inside could be heard. “Ned revealed my identity five hours after I explicitly told him not to!” Peter yelled. He was obviously pretty worked up.

“Ned didn’t have another choice, honey-” his aunt started, but Tony interrupted her. If the kid wanted to be treated like an adult, he needed to stop acting like a brat. And enabling him wouldn’t help.  

“Oh, grow up, Parker! They saved your ass!” he exclaimed loudly, ready to break the lock on the door in another minute if Peter didn’t drag his butt outside. “It’s because of them that you are not in a cell god-knows-where!”

“Oh, come on! It was only the police! I could have avoided them without help!” the teen cried out, offended.

“Really? Is that why you passed out; because you could handle it?” Tony snarled and then took a few deep breaths before talking again. “If they had caught you, it wouldn’t have just been ‘the police’. You are a super-human now, Peter. And technically…you are a vigilante. And a minor. All of that would mean that A) the police would have called someone to deal with the super-human bit and you’d probably end up dealing with Ross; and B) your aunt could have been sent to trail for negligence and would have probably lost your custody, meaning that the State would have taken you in.”

Both adults waited for an answer, but there was only silence for a long time.  Encouraged, Tony kept talking.

“We are trying to get rid of Ross, and to make the Accords more sensible, but that kind of things take time. If the cops had caught you…I would have intervened, of course, but your identity would have become public knowledge (at least to all the powerful people interested in super-humans).” Still no answer. “And you behaved like a complete jerk to your friends; considering they had to drag your heavy persona to the bedroom.” More silence. The adults looked at each other, and with a nod from May, Tony activated his watch.

Then, the sound of the window closing took them by surprise. Tony rushed to open the door; but Peter was already gone, swinging between the buildings of Queens.

Tony sighed and massaged his temples. Dealing with teenagers was the worst.

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

“You realize that if I didn’t know you are Spider-Man, I’d be seriously worried right now?” Tony said, stepping out of his suit.

“Can you please just…not?” Peter asked, balancing his legs over the edge of the building.

It was one of the tallest on the city; and he liked to sit here and watch everything unfold from the top. It was rather peaceful, if you didn’t care about the noise.

“Do what?” asked the engineer; sitting next to Peter.

“Not do this…whole ‘surrogate-dad’ thing. The ‘it’s all going to be okay in the morning; you’ll find someone else’ spiel.”

Tony chuckled, shaking his head. Kids these days, he thought. Then he winced, because damn, things like that made him feel old.

“Kid, Ned is not one of your teenage crushes. He is your best friend; your ‘guy in the chair’, right?” the genius asked, looking down. Tony had the sudden thought that he was lucky not to have problem with heights, because they were pretty up high.

“…Yeah.” Peter mumbled; shoulders dropping from the defensive position they had been in since he heard the repulsors.

“Believe me, Pete, your best friend is going to be your anchor.” Tony said, smiling. “Especially in this kind of lifestyle.”

“So you don’t believe that high school friendships end when we graduate?” the teen asked, sounding miserable.

“I know our experiences are pretty different, kiddo, but I really don’t. I mean, I was already in MIT when I met Rhodey, but I was fourteen. And despite petty fights, huge fights, betrayals and months of not seeing each other; we are still here. I’m still his pain-in-the-ass little brother and he’s still my platypus.” Peter smiled a little at that.

“It’s just…” he sighed. “It’s just, sometimes I feel like he’s jealous, you know? Like he wished he had these powers instead of me.”

“Peter…” Tony said gently, putting his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “…of course he’s jealous sometimes. He’s human. And a teen. Anyone would be at least a little envious if their best friend suddenly can do the things you wished your whole life you could do. It doesn’t mean anything. I would get so jealous whenever Jim presented a girl to his parents, or made new friends; because that’s something I was never good at. It didn’t help that I wished I could have a family like his. And he envied my mind sometimes, the first few years. He got into MIT on a scholarship, you see, and keeping his GPA was hard in between all of his classes and his Basic Training. Me, on the other hand…I rarely went to classes and still aced almost every test. He resented that and it hurt me; because kids my age (or older) in school would always do that and would beat me when I said I wouldn’t do their homework for them. But I didn’t want to lose his friendship; so I did something I had never done before. I tried to do his homework.” He laughed “Man; that did not work out the way I wanted; like, at all. He got so offended and I couldn’t see why and we fought. Badly.” He breathed in deeply, eyes far away. Peter felt guilty for making him sad, but he really wanted to hear the end of the story, so he said nothing.

>>“It was awful. Our first big argument and we didn’t talk to each other for almost a month, but it felt like so much more. At the end, Mama Rhodes had to come and force us to talk to each other. She said she was tired of Jim moping over the phone on every call and that she missed hearing me geek out about Star Trek or science with her boy over the land line. So we patched things up. He tried to include me more often with his friends and class mates (though that not always worked) and I learned not to do things for him and just offer my help and let him decide if he wanted it.”

None of them spoke for a while; Tony watching the city lights and Peter taking in and processing everything the engineer had said to him.

“And things went back to normal?” The teen asked, hopeful now.

“After a while. It took time. But our friendship became stronger because of it.” He seemed so sure about that so Peter had no choice but to believe him.

“We don’t have a Mama Rhodes, though. Aunt May doesn’t know half of it and we try to keep her out of it unless it’s super necessary.” Peter mused, thinking about all the patrols that May would skin him for (especially if she knew he didn’t have the Kevlar suit and was out on his ‘Spidey-pajamas’, as Tony liked to call them).

“But you have me!” Tony said with a grin.

“What? No, no, no Mr. Stark-”the teen startled.

“Come on kid! Put on your mask and I’ll let you surf of my back” he winked. “Otherwise, I’ll just carry you bridal style, like a damsel in distress. Bet that will get a smile out of Ned.” He laughed and got up.

Peter sighed, but picked up his mask and put it on. He did owe Ned an apology. Michelle too. And…well, surfing on Iron Man’s back seems pretty cool (he’s been trying to convince Tony of that the whole weekend, he’s not gonna say no).

“By the way, when was the last time you ate? You know you heal better when your body is nourished and my scans show that your healing rate is slower than usual. I’m pretty sure you are hungry.”

Peter’s stomach growled as in agreement, and the teen groaned. Tony could be such a dad!

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

Peter managed to convince Mr. Stark that the apology could wait until the next day; because he really needed a shower, and was famished when they got back to his apartment. Besides, Peter hoped that Ned and Michelle’s anger would wane a bit if he gave it more time.

Also, he needed the time to come up with a good apology. Ned was a great friend, but he could hold a grudge like no one else Peter knew. And it was the first time he had ever fought with MJ (he was kind of terrified of her, to be honest). He spent the whole trip to the school trying to think what to say and how to make it up to them, when he saw Michelle getting out of her parent’s car. This it’s it, he thought, you can’t postpone this, Peter. He breathed in a few times and started to walk again.

“MJ!” he called, making her stop. He caught up to her and swallowed. “I just wanted to say, thank you. For- for yesterday.” She gave him a Look and he fidgeted. “I really appreciate what you did for me and…I-I’m sorry for being…”he drifted, not sure how to continue.

“…a jerk?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. He flushed.

“Yeah, among other things. It’s just…too much all of the sudden, you know? My aunt found out the other day and now you and-” he saw MJ smile and stopped. “What?”

“Peter, do you really think I didn’t know about it? Or at least strongly suspected?”

“Wha-what? How?” Peter asked, flabbergasted.

“Well, there are a lot of things. Like you suddenly disappearing for the ‘Stark Internship Retreat’ you went to, that coincidentally matched the date Spider-Man was seen in Germany. The new suit (that it’s obviously Stark tech) that Spider-Man wore ever since, that coincides with you getting the internship. You leaving band practice and dropping out of the team; while Spider-Man is seen more and more often.” Peter’s jaw was in the floor, but Michelle just kept going. “You just showed up and asked to rejoin before we went to Washington, never made it to the competition, and Spider-Man just showing up to save the team, despite the fact that, with the exception of Germany, he was never seen outside of New York. The Ferry accident and you losing the Stark Internship and Spider-Man disappearing all at the same time. You going back to normal while Spider-Man is out of commission. Spider-Man fighting a supervillain in pijamas-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” he yelled, looking around to see if anyone was listening to her monologue. No one was, luckily. “You know me very well.” He said, still amazed. She rolled her eyes.

“More like you are really obvious, Parker. I think that anyone in this school could easily found out if they were willing to believe Spider-Man could be a teenager.”

“Okay, then.” He fidgeted. “Thank you for keeping my secret. And I’m sorry, again.”

“Who says I haven’t already told the police?” she asked, with a completely straight face. Peter felt his heart stop-“Just kidding. As long as you don’t expect me to keep saving your ass and cleaning your mess, we’re good.” With that she patted him in the arm and walked into the building.

One down, one to go, Peter thought, nervous. He swallowed and climbed the stairs.

---{}---

Ned’s apology was very anticlimactic. He wouldn’t let Peter apologize per se, cutting him off midway to talk to someone else, or walking away or sitting in a different place or changing seat partners. He went as far as putting on headphones when he saw Peter coming in the hallways and dialing the volume all the way up, knowing that the other teen couldn’t stand such loud music for long.

Peter lived with his hearth in his throat the whole day, fearing that Mr. Stark might be wrong and he had lost his best friend for being a stubborn ass.

Finally, before the last period, Ned let the other teen approach, but didn’t look at him. Peter was biting his lip not to blurt everything he wanted to say, but when Ned finally looked at him and nodded, he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I was a jerk and an idiot and I don’t know what I was thinking because you are my best friend and the only person I’d want to be my guy in the chair and I wanted to say thank you too; because you care and you looked for a way to help me because I needed it, even when I didn’t want it and please don’t hate me I just really want to go back to being friends.”

There was a tense pause and Peter could hear his heartbeat going crazier every second.

“First, I acknowledge your apology,” When Peter opened his mouth Ned lifted a finger and continued: “but I don’t accept it yet. Second, I want you to actually listen to my advice and not just brush it off.” Enthusiastic nodding “Third, and the most important thing, I want to meet the Vision.” At Peter’s expression, Ned rushed to clarify “Of course I want to see the whole Compound and meet Mr. Stark too, but the Vision is just so cool.”

When Peter saw the amused and eager expression on his friend’s face, he knew he was forgiven. So he nodded and they did their secret handshake.

“I should have known that would be your price. Fortunately, Mr. Stark agreed to take you to the Compound and give you a few hacking classes; so I guess you’ll meet Vision (and Rhodey and Happy) soon enough.”

“Sweet!” Ned said, overjoyed. “Apology accepted.” He winked.

While Ned and Peter were still waiting for the ring to go to class; the ‘spidey-sense’ activated. The hallways were beginning to fill with whispers and exclamations of shock. Everybody was watching something on their cells; watching the same stream. Peter quickly approached the closest phone and paid attention.

“In the Ridgewood Savings Bank, the situation is going from bad to worse. A few hostages have been released, but just moments ago we heard gunshots. There’s no visual for the SWAT team and the Accords Pannel are not letting the Avengers help yet. Thermal images might be able to help the police, but-”

“I have to go” said Peter to Ned. The other teen nodded, already turning and walking towards the computer lab. Peter ran to the bathroom and escaped through the window. He wouldn’t change near his school, not after what Michelle told him.

---{}---

---{}---

---{}---

“You should contact Mr. Stark, Peter.” Karen suggested, sounding insecure.

“Karen-”

“[She’s right, man. The last time we tried to do this alone it didn’t end very well.]” Ned said, as he analyzed the live footage of the suit.

“It’d be useless. The Panel won’t let him help; and if he knows I am in ‘danger’, Mr. Stark would break the Accords trying to help me. I can’t let that happen.” Peter refused.

“Peter-” the AI started.

“Guys-”

“[Alright; how about this: you go in with us as back-up, but the second something goes wrong, I call Mr. Stark. And that’s it.]” Ned said, inflexible.

“Okay, okay.” He breathed in and out a few times. “Let’s do this.” With that, he shot a web and jumped. He was inside the bank in a few seconds.

---{}---

“Crap, crap, crap, crap” muttered Ned, while he frantically tried to get back Peter’s visual, or audio, or anything. He decided to call Mr. Stark anyways.

“Mr. Sta-”

“Please tell me that red blur that entered the building three minutes ago was not Spider-Man.” The inventor said as soon as the line connected.

“…”

“Damn it, kid! What the hell were you two thinking!?”

“The news said that the Panel wouldn’t let you go; so Peter tried to help!”

“The Panel didn’t let me, because we think this is a set-up. The ‘hostages’ have no backgrounds, no names, nothing.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Mr. Stark sighed. “Okay, how is it looking in there?”

“…” Ned swallowed. “That’s the reason I called you. I lost contact with Peter and Karen 50 seconds ago.”

“And you’re just telling me this now!?” he swore in a few different languages and talked quickly with someone “I swear, teenagers are the fucking worst thing to ever happen to humanity. What the hell was I thinking? Alright, kid, I’m going in.”

“Good luck, Mr. Stark.” Ned said, mainly because he didn’t know what else to say. He’d have to look up cool phrases from like, Q or Oracle.

---{}---

Tony was getting really tired of feeling like his heart was going to burst out of his chest from worry. This was one of the reasons why he had never tried to procreate. First Harley managed to reverse-engineer his armor to ‘watch your back, since you clearly can’t do it on your own’; and now this? I swear I’m gonna ground him so bad…he paused himself right there, before he continued the thought. Damn, I do sound like a worried dad. He closed the door he had to melt to enter the building, and started walking, trying to hear Peter. The kid never shut up and he chose now to be quiet?  

Suddenly he heard a ‘clang’ to his back, and when he was turning, someone shot a device that stuck to his armor, and started to power everything down. This must be what happened to Peter. His suit isn’t equipped to deal with an EMP that can take my armor out. A brunet woman (he could have considered her beautiful, if her cruel smile wasn’t so off putting) appeared from the shadows.

“Hello, Mr. Stark. So nice of you to join us. I was hoping to avoid seeing you, but my soldiers seem unable to take on the little spider.” She said, looking furious. The man standing beside her shivered. Yeah, Tony wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.

“So you did all of this to get him?” Iron Man asked, trying to stall. The armor was rebooting, but that would take a few moments. He was also curious, trying to seize up the threat. Meanwhile, Spider-Man was on the first floor, dodging the blasts and the darts of the soldiers. Tony really needed to help him.

“Of course! It’s so blatantly obvious that your ‘Spider-Man’ is a child still. It was so easy to design a trap that would make him crawl out.” the green-clad woman gloated “He’s as strong as Captain America (some say even stronger) and has a few other abilities that we can use. After the terrible loss of our Winter Soldiers, well…we need another test subject.” Tony’s eyes widen and his mind froze for a second. “No witty come backs, Stark? This kid must really mean a lot to you.” A sick grin spread across her face “Even better. You will lose your life at the hands of this child; once we are through with his conditioning. Just as you lost your parents to the first Winter Soldier.” Her laugh was cut short when she had to get out of the way of a repulsor blast.

“Stay.the hell.away.from my kid!” Tony yelled, shooting the missiles in his shoulders at the goons that were protecting this ‘Madame Hydra’ (oh, he liked that; he was going with that for the press conference).

The ensuing chaos was utterly unavoidable and completely rewarding. Peter took advantage of the distraction he caused to trap some goons on his webs. He might not be able to use the web-shooters, but the web-fluid is powerful and not much was needed to completely cover half the men in the substance.

Meanwhile, Tony busied himself with shooting at the obviously more experienced fighters that were covering for Madame Hydra’s exit. He taked out the EMP gun first; and subsequently he shot at their knees and middle, trying to incapacitate them and not particularly caring if they lived of not after this.

Then he went after the woman. She threw a grenade at him but he slapped it to the side, towards a group of men that were trying to creep on Peter. He caught up to her when she was reaching the door; hurling her back at the centre of the building. He cuffed her hands and feet and turned around to help the kid, only to find him casually (too casually) leaning against a pillar. There were dozens of men completely covered in webs: hanging from the ceiling and other pillars, stuck to the floor or the walls and (Tony’s favorite) a huge bundle of web, people and elements (parts of guns and debriefs) just moving around, because the men inside couldn’t separate themselves from the others or from that particular piece of whatever that was poking them. When Madame Hydra started throwing insults and screeching about HYDRA’s superiority, Peter grabbed a bit of web and taped her mouth shut.

Tony just shook his head and laughed. Explaining the property damage and why exactly he went in without explicit permission to the Panel might be a problem; but at least SWAT, the NYPD and the media were going to have a good day.

Kids, the genius thought, even if they are reckless and stubborn and a pain in my ass, sometimes they have good ideas.

---{}---

After calling the SWAT team in and explaining the situation so that they would focus on the real bad guys; Tony steered Spider-Man away from where he was explaining to a few officers how many men there actually were in the bank right now (with all the webbing, they can’t really tell).

“So” Peter started, and somehow Tony knew that there was a smug smile behind his mask. “Are we ‘there’ yet?”

Tony laughed.

“Yeah, kid, we are there.” He answered, chuckling. He stretched an arm and pulled the kid to his chest, hugging him tight. Peter didn’t seem to care the hard metal of the suit; he just squeezed harder, so that Tony would feel it.

They were dirty and sweaty and hurting in places they shouldn’t be hurting; but they were whole and they were alive. Peter was safe, this fucking organization lost. And so will any other that might want to take his kid away.

Problems might still arise; with the Panel, the cops, etc. But for now it was okay.

It was enough. They deserved this.

---{}---

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---{}---

[dirtymikekidd]

One of my biggest issues..

Work... I used to be one of the best employees a company could ask for. I wasn’t the kind of person to come in late and half-ass their work. I was the one who was always smiling and ready to jump in with everything I had. I looked forward to every shift. Not because I was getting paid, but because I enjoyed everyone I worked with. My first job was technically a kitchen position at Dairy Queen back in 2009. I know everyone’s first job is fast food. But I don’t consider that my first job. Mostly because I was in a co-op class (so I went to school for half the day then I went to work.) which interfered with marching band--that was an important grade for me. I had to quit Dairy Queen when they threatened to fire me for going to a required band competition. So fast forward to December of 2011. I scored a delivery position at an pizza place called Mazzio’s. There I met who would become my fiancée later down the road. I thought I was doing decently well there until they started scheduling me less and less. Which while it sucked at the time, it helped push me to start looking at other places to possibly work. There was a few months of unemployment until I landed a food prep position at a BBQ restaurant called Charlie Dave’s. Funnily enough, one of the owners, Matt, was actually my dad’s high school bestfriend. Over the 2 years I was there, I moved up the ranks until I was the co-cook during the weekend dinner rushes. During the week I was the one who came in, got the smoker fired, meat prepped and on the grill, and then started cooking orders through the day I was there 6 of the 7 days a week. 9am-10pm. The pay was enough that I could keep gas and insurance on my truck...(most of the time at least.) Close to the end of my time there, I started listening to that voice in the back of my head. You know the one who tells you how bad you’re doing, and how much things would be better if you weren’t there. Even if someone complemented me on how well something cooked. I wouldn’t believe them. I actually did Matt and Chuck dirty by walking out on them right as a twenty top came in for dinner. I never apologized to them for it...  On some days I cut my schedule in half because I had gotten another pizza delivery job at Domino’s and I had to work both places. By the summer of 2014 I was living about an hour and a half one way from both jobs. and I couldn’t afford making the drive there and back. Especially when I had to deliver pizza on top of the drive. I quit Charlie Dave’s about two weeks before Domino’s. Neither were totally planned out. I didn’t have any money stashed away to keep myself afloat while looking for other work. I tried working as a cook at a homestyle restaurant that my girlfriend at the time’s mom managed. I didn’t last long because of that ugly voice in my head coming up again. I didn’t even make it a week before I quit. My girlfriend and I broke up and I moved back to my hometown. By this point I felt like I was at a new low. I barely wanted to get out of bed some days. By late summer of 2014, I responded to a help wanted ad for lawn mowing. Perfect I thought. I already enjoyed cutting grass at home. and I wasn’t getting paid for it. So I got hired. I thought I was doing pretty good. Well except on my first day. I managed to run a weed-eater up a customer’s bush, killing it in the process. But I was getting the hang of things. As the season was ending, my boss told me about how he owned a BBQ restaurant. Just so happened to be the only competition to Charlie Dave’s in town. He offered me a cooking position, but I couldn’t start for about a month because I had to be 21 to work there. My 21st birthday passes and I call him to let him know. Perfect. I was back to making money and being productive. February 2015 rolls around. I request off for Valentine’s weekend. I had a romantic weekend planned for my girlfriend and I. You know nice weekend away from everyone and a hotel room. But work that Friday night had other plans. The person who was supposed to be there with me decided she didn’t want to be there anymore because there wasn’t anyone really coming in. so she leaves and it was like a bunch of buses let out in front because I was instantly hit with a line of people that stretched out the door. I was one person doing the job of four. I was taking orders, making the food, running it to the tables, and clearing tables. Something that I obviously couldn’t get done on my own. But I did what I could. I even Clocked out and hour and a half passed what I normally would’ve. The next day I drove her to park at the lake. I had her close eyes before I parked so that I could pull up next to the water where I thought the scenery was beautiful. I had forgotten that she had a traumatic event with her car and water. so when she opened her eyes, all she saw was water. Panic instantly overcame her. Which was the total opposite of what I was trying to do. I had taken her there so I could propose to her. She did say yes at least. We continued our date day, making our engagement posts on all of our socials, before finally going to our hotel. The next day I was supposed to work. I walked in the door and the boss pulled me into the back office. He told me that what he had walked into the day before was completely unacceptable and that he needed my key. I was fired. I tried to explain what had happened and that I had tried calling him multiple times trying to get help. He wouldn’t listen. I gave him my key and walked out. I went from being on top of the world to wanting to drive off a bridge. All in just 24 hours... I had never been told how bad of a job I did. In a way though it was a blessing. The food was shit. And it all came cold and was “cooked” in a microwave. The blessing came a couple months later when they went out of business. It probably wasn’t karma, but I like to think it was because Fuck him. About a month later I landed a job as a closing clerk at a gas station. After I got hired I found out my manager was actually a cousin of my fiancée’s. When I started the gas station job I was told that they couldn’t keep a guy working there very long. I made that my new mission to break the streak. After about a year, all of the clerks that had been there before me had quit. I had broken the record. I also managed to get promoted from clerk to assistant manager. By the fall of 2017 though, I got involved in a he said/ she said situation. Which completely broke all of the confidence about my work quality. After two weeks of suspension, I was told i could go back to work. But I also was warned that if i said or did anything that could be taken the wrong way, I was going to be fired on the spot. I couldn’t deal with that kind of worry and constant looking over my shoulder...I quit and left. Fast forward to 2019. After almost two years of not working and hating myself, I got a job cooking at Buffalo Wild Wings. I instantly hated it. I was too worried about the quality of the food i was sending out that i actually got into it a couple times with the other guys in the kitchen. The last shift i was there, there was someone mirco-managing me and I snapped and went off on them telling them to leave the fuck alone and to worry about their own shit. Bad move. Turns out it was a district supervisor. I walked out before they could fire me. Summer passes and I’m still looking for work. I answered an ad looking for stage hands. My dream job. If I couldn’t make a living playing music, then setting stages was the next best thing. Every gig we worked, I didn’t feel like it was work. It just felt like a dream. I guess it kind of was. 2020 happened and I went from working almost every weekend to only working 4 times in the entire year. With all of the down time I started listening more and more to that voice in my head. It was sounding more and more true about how much of a shit employee I was. 2021 starts and I start to work with my fiancée at an art manufacturing company down the road from our house. It started okay.. Until the voice came back. Now I’m back to putting too much pressure on myself because I’m worried I’m going to fuck something up and get fired. Honestly at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. I loth waking up each morning. I feel trapped in an endless cycle. After not showing up for three days without calling, I found out I would be fired if I did it again. So I cut my availability in half in hopes of not being fired for leaving at noon. I don’t know what I’m doing. People there tell me I’m doing a good job. But honestly I think everything I send out is fucked up in one way of another..

[literaryfaeriecorner]

02/21/2021: Promotions, Old Friends, and Yellow School Buses

link to original post

February 21st, 2021

somehow i received a promotion at work last Friday even though i am literally probably one of the LEAST motivated people teaching at that school... fuck. so... now, instead of just being a regular-schmegular teacher, i am now the '6th grade head social studies teacher' which means that i have to run planning meetings for the social studies team, attend morning meetings discussing whole-grade growth and failings, and solutions for how we're going to get the kids to... not suck. uuuuuuggggghhhhhh!!! and this is for the rest of the year and the next!!!!

apparently, i am the 'perfect person' for this position because all of my classes have consistently performed better than the rest... but between you, me, and the entire internet, that speaks more to the abilities of my students than my own personal abilities as a teacher. i don't believe i'm a sucky teacher or anything but the fact remains that between work, grad school, delusional lovesick-related episodes, mental illness, and other varying distractions, i am not Doing The Best I Can. in fact, i'm literally in survival mode 95% of the time. the other 5% of the time, i'm in manic-as-fuck mode. so... do i really DESERVE this promotion? who even fucking knows? i like to believe, however, that i'll eventually figure out how to bullshit this new responsibility as well and no one will be the wiser. i mean, if this promotion came with a financial boost as well, i'd be more inclined to not fuck it up but, like... i'm doing more work for the same weak ass pay... i'm not as motivated with kind words and encouragement than i would be with a solid boost to my pay grade. anyway... whatever.

i was on tumblr the other day (i am fasting from all social media sites during the day for Lent but tumblr doesn't count because i literally just reblog five or six posts into the void, look at sad literature quotes, and log out just to do it all over again the next day... i am not addicted to tumblr as i am to twitter, instagram, pinterest, and linkedin... yes, linkedin. my quest to escape my job has led me down a very weird and addictive path) and i came across this post by user beetlejuices:

"isn't it all about old friends? like everything? all of it?"

and it is. i think so. i really do.

one of the things i've been conscious of in my early adulthood is that i am still chasing after the friendships i had in middle school. i wrote about this two Lents ago too. there is a memory that i remember so vividly in middle school and it reminds me constantly about how i felt so loved and appreciated and like the world couldn't go on without me if i somehow left or disappeared or went away. i think about it all the time. that is how freeing and loving and whole it is. just a simple memory of being three hours late to school (after a huge, blown out argument between parents who should've divorced years ago) and being startled by a flood of texts that starting pouring in at 7 that morning.

ashley: YOOOO where r u? they snagged all the donuts from the corner store!

alysha: you missed the bus this morning?

ashley: i bought donuts off eman 4 u... say im the best :D

kiera: U MISSED CRYSTAL'S FAT HEAD ASS SLIP DOWN THE STEPS LMAOOO

kiera: u're always here early u good?

alysha: are you coming 2 school today?

ashley: are u ok?

Christyl: don't forget we have a test in math!! where are you?

kiera: babe?

ashley: are you ok? why is ur phone off?

alysha: i just talked to ashley are u ok?

Christyl: where r u?

kiera: i just talked to ashley r u ok?

kiera: none of ur sisters r here either... u ok?

ashley: i'll call again @ lunch

alysha: pls be safe

Christyl: i'll tell the teacher you're sick and maybe you can take it tomorrow

Christyl: are you ok?

and even more messages that were sent during and inbetween classes... i thought it was a bit too late (and too time consuming) to respond to them all individually so after being signed into school three hours late, i decided to wait for all my friends at our table in the cafeteria to surprise them before explaining my mess of a morning. i was nervous because i thought they would be mad at me for some reason. but as soon as they saw me, ashley, alysha, kiera, and christyl, they came barreling towards me screaming my name. it was an entire scene. people looking at them crazy and then raising their eyebrows at me, not seeing what the big deal was. i probably looked the same exact way that i did the day before. unspectacular, bookish, awkward. they couldn't see what the big deal was. it embarrassed me but it thrilled me at the same time.

they nearly knocked me to the floor pushing each other to get to me first trying to steal the first hug. in the end, i stretched my arms out as far as i could and they all fell into them. we probably looked a mess. a tangle of brown legs, arms, frizzy hair, loose braids, and scuffed dress shoes. i remember feeling so loved and wanted. i felt bigger and grander than i was. i had stopped the world for five entire minutes and i didn't do anything. i was just existing.

i don't really talk to any of the girls anymore. i follow them on social media and i wish them happy birthday every year and we're all on each other's close friends list on insta... so i still know a few, if not all, of their secrets... but we'll probably never be as close as we were in middle school. and that's ok. i still love them as much as i did when they tackled me in the lunch room that day. i still root and cheer for them like we still spend every night after school on the phone for hours talking shit and planning presidential campaigns and gossiping about boys. i will never forget that day in the lunchroom. ever. and, like i said, it has only occurred to me now, as a young adult, that i've been chasing that kind of friendship and sisterhood since it happened.

i like to treat all my friendships as mini-romances. i remember a tweet that said, "friendships ARE romance," and i agree. i think i'm in love with all of my close friends, if not all of my friends. it's embarrassing (just a bit) but i have probably fallen in love with all of my friends at least once or twice. this is especially true for my group of college friends (at this point, they are really family). i have been in love, at least once, with all eight of them throughout our four years. i don't actually find this embarrassing like i said earlier. what's embarrassing is that this information might embarrass other people which, in turn, would thoroughly embarrass me. but the fact itself doesn't embarrass me. that is how i am. i fall in love and out of love at breakneck speeds. i think it's important to be a little bit in love with your friends.

i really enjoyed being in undergrad and planning literal dates between all eight or nine of us. and we would call it that. "what are we doing for our date next weekend?" "so who's going on the date tomorrow?" "are we cancelling the date or does the weather not matter?" (the weather always mattered.) my favorite college date was valentine's day senior year. we all went to korean-style karaoke and ordered so much food and drink we could barely stand to sing. we were all sat around the tv singing horribly to mariah carey or beyonce or rapping to nicki minaj verses. we took so many bad pictures and tone deaf videos and we kept leaning or hugging or holding each other's hands. that's another thing i love about my college family. most of us are touchy-feely people. i am a touchy-feely person. i'm southern and my mom is ridiculously gooey so one of my love languages, inevitably, is touch. i, usually, reign it in A LOT unless i have a partner but in college, i somehow discovered a whole group of people who loved to kiss each other on the cheek and hold hands and lean on other people, and lock arms. i felt at home. really.

maybe it's not only about old friends, though. maybe it's about feeling at home.

there was another post on tumblr and i think about it a lot. it's a screenshot of a tweet from twitter user @HumbleCore.

"HUGE NEWS: finally found my best friend from middle school on FB. We've both been looking for each other for over a decade. I told her I think about her whenever I play any boardgame or drive by a church. She told me she uses my name as her password at work. A perfect reunion."

when i read that the other night, i cried. i don't know why. it was heavy and ridiculous and i was worried my roommates would hear me. i don't know why i cried. at all. and even typing it out like that made me want to cry again. the feeling is not as strong or as overwhelming as it was the first time but it's still there.

i think about a best friend i had in first grade. even before i thought of ashley as my best friend (i have known Middle School Ashley since the first grade. i thought we were destined to be best friends forever and ever and ever, which is what i wrote in her middle school yearbook). his name was Malik. or Malique. my memory fails me. but anyway, i loved him like crazy. we didn't do anything without the other. we shared lunch together, we HAD to be partners on every field trip, i cried when Ms. Sanchez moved my seat from his in an effort to stop us from disrupting her lessons and i hated her for an entire week. (a very long time from a first-grade perspective.) even now, i think about him whenever i go to petting zoos or farms and when i ride on yellow school buses with my students.

Malik/Malique was my first kiss. we were hiding from Ms. Sanchez and the other chaperones so we could pet the goats one last time. while we were hiding behind a barn, he kissed me. "for good luck," he said. and then we sprinted across the farm to get back to the goats. and we pet them again before Ms. Sanchez found us and ordered us back on the big yellow school bus where we held hands for the entire hour-long ride back to school.

it's very silly to think now but in high school when i was trying to determine whether i loved my first boyfriend or not i remember thinking, "well, does he make me feel like Malik/Malique?" it's silly but sweet. at fourteen, still comparing the way he made me feel behind a barn at 5 years old to how another boy, years and years later, made me feel. it is silly but i think it's sweet.

i don't actually have any interest in finding Malik/Malique or knowing for certain what he does or how he's doing because i seriously doubt i had such an impact on his life, but i hope he's well and alive and happy because that's what i always naturally hope for when i pass petting zoos or farms or see bright yellow school buses.

so, yes. i think everything, us, our relationships, the entire world, is about old friends. all of it. every last bit of it.

i have a whole-grade data analysis, 300 pages of reading, and two mini-papers for classes to finish before tonight so i'm going to get going... i just wanted to write about old friends first.

[omgstupendousbouquetbasement]

Wildfire Smoke Brings Worst Air Quality to Portland, Seattle

Smoke pollution from wildfires raging in California and across the Pacific Northwest worsened in San Francisco, Seattle and Portland, Oregon, on Friday, giving those cities and others in the region some of the world's worst air quality.

Public health officials warned residents to keep indoors with the windows shut, to set air conditioners to run on recirculated air instead of fresh, and to use air purifiers if they had them. Meanwhile, they wrestled with whether to open "smoke shelters" for homeless people or others lacking access to clean air amid the COVID-19 pandemic and concerns about herding people indoors.

"The same population that is most vulnerable to the virus is also most vulnerable to the smoke," Seattle Mayor Jenny Durkan said during a news conference.

Winds shift

The sky turned a hazy, grayish white across the Northwest as winds that had previously pushed much of the smoke offshore shifted, bringing unhealthy levels of near-microscopic dust, soot and ash particles to Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, British Columbia. San Francisco also continued to suffer from smoke pollution; those four cities topped the list of major cities with the worst air quality Friday, according to IQAir.com, which tracks air quality around the world.

The particles are small enough that they can penetrate deep into the lungs, and health effects can include chest pain, arrhythmia and bronchitis. Those with preexisting conditions such as heart and lung disease or asthma are especially at risk.

FILE - Under darkened skies from wildfire smoke, a jogger makes his way along McCovey Cove outside Oracle Park, Sept. 9, 2020, in San Francisco.

The smoke was expected to linger through the weekend, another reminder of the vast and severe effects of climate change. In a news conference Friday, Washington Governor Jay Inslee insisted on calling the blazes "climate fires" rather than wildfires.

"This is not an act of God," Inslee said. "This has happened because we have changed the climate of the state of Washington in dramatic ways."

Seattle ordered parks, beaches and boat ramps closed through one of the last hot weekends of the summer to discourage outdoor recreation, and officials were opening a clean-air shelter Friday afternoon that can hold 77 people. The facility, which had been set up as an overflow COVID-19 care facility, is large enough to allow for social distancing, they said.

'Weather relief centers'

San Francisco officials were also opening "weather relief centers" that will stay open through the weekend, said Mary Ellen Carroll, director of the city's Department of Emergency Management. City buses were free for everyone so those who need to can reach the centers.

Much of California was covered by a thick layer of smoke being pumped into the air by dozens of raging wildfires. In San Francisco, the gray air smelled of burned wood and visibility was clouded by "very unhealthy" air, according to the Bay Area Air Quality District.

Residents were also asked to avoid activities that could further degrade the air quality, including unnecessary driving, lawn mowing and barbecuing.

Working in University Place, a Tacoma suburb, Washington state Department of Ecology spokesman Andy Wineke said the smoke had obliterated his typical view of the Olympic Mountains.

"I can barely see my neighbor," he said.

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

World’s Best Dad (Part 1)

Summary: One of the reader’s students has a problem and she confronts her father about what’s going on...

World’s Best Dad Masterlist

Pairing: single parent!Dean x kindergarten teacher!reader

Word Count: 3,500ish

Warnings: language

A/N: My second ever daddy Dean fic. Quote for this one was “It was an accident I swear!”...

You’d just sat down in the break room after spending all morning with the little tikes and your first thought was you were starving. Again. You swore today was the day you were going to ream a new one out to Mr. Winchester. Sending his little girl to school without her lunch for the third time this week...asshole. It was a good thing she wasn’t picky and ate your leftover pasta happily.

“Thanks Ms. Y/L/N,” said Gracie when she trotted back into the classroom thirty minutes later, handing over your empty tupperware.

“Gracie, your dad picks you up from school right?” you asked. She nodded and you gave her a smile before she sat down at her desk, continuing her drawing from earlier as the kids settled into some calm time after filling up.

The rest of the day was uneventful apart from one near breakdown after Tommy pulled Marcy’s hair, three minutes later playing and making up like there’d never been a problem at all. When the bell rang you had to fight the urge to hop up like the kids, Friday done with and the weekend yours. After you made sure Mr. Winchester got with the program that was.

You walked behind your class as they went out the front of the building, some to the buses, some to the walker program to meet up with their junior high buddies, the rest wandering outside and veering off to various cars parked along the street.

You watched Gracie take off with her black and pink backpack over towards a ‘67 Impala, a handsome man smiling as she ran over and he scooped her up in her arms. He spun her around and she giggled like only a child could, your anger slipping slightly. You walked over, waiting until he had her situated in the backseat and shut the door, out of earshot.

“Mr. Winchester?” you asked. He spun around and gave you a big smile.

“Hi, you must be Gracie’s teacher, Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, holding out a hand. You shook it and he looked almost a little shy. “Sorry, I know I couldn’t make the introduction day. You probably think I’m a crappy parent.”

“Pack your kid her lunch and maybe you won’t be one,” you said, surprised at how harsh that came out. He blinked a few times before scoffing.

“Excuse me?” he said, crossing his arms.

“This was the third day in a row she came to school without a lunch. I don’t mind giving mine up on occasion but if you need assistance, we have programs,” you said, Dean shaking his head to himself.

“I did pack her lunch. I put it in her bag,” said Dean, Gracie’s face popping around her father’s back in the window. “I put...shit. Fucking shit,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s helpful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. He sighed even though you could tell he was getting irritated.

“I work swing shift Wednesday through Friday. I make her lunch up Tuesday night. They called me in for overtime and I forgot to do it. It was an accident, I swear! I’m not some guy who forgets to feed his kid. I’m not the world’s best dad but it was an honest mistake,” he said, more mad at himself than you.

“Leave a note out to remind you Mr. Winchester or have your wife do it,” you said, turning to leave, hoping this issue had resolved itself. You were spun around fast though when his warm calloused hand caught your bare arm.

“Wait. Thank you for giving her your lunch,” said Dean, pulling out his wallet. 

“That’s not-”

“Yeah it is,” he said, opening it and handing you a twenty. You pushed his hand back into his wallet.

“Put it towards her college fund and we’ll call it even,” you said. He nodded and smiled, putting it away as you saw that most cars were gone now. Just a short clean up and grabbing your bag and-

“There isn’t a Mrs. Winchester,” he blurted out. “T-To make her lunch I mean.”

“I suspected as much,” you said, Dean tilting his head curiously. You looked around, finding that you were alone. “Gracie doesn’t ever draw a mom in her pictures or talk about one in her stories.”

“It’s just me and her. No one else,” said Dean, looking over his shoulder with a sad look. “I’m kind of terrified of what happens as she gets older.”

“Mr. Winchester-”

“Dean,” he said, rocking on his heels for a moment.

“Dean, she’s a bright kid. You’re doing just fine on your own,” you said, reaching out to rub his arm, knowing you shouldn’t really but he seemed lost in those few moments.

“I think most of it has to do with her favorite teacher,” said Dean. “She talks about you all the time.”

“Good things I hope,” you said, Dean chuckling. 

“Oh for sure. She accidentally called you mommy last night actually which is strange since it’s not like she’s ever had someone to call that. She got really embarrassed about it. Didn’t want to come to school and say it again in front of the other kids,” said Dean.

“How’d you get her to come then?” you asked, Dean looking around and laughing to himself. “Promise a puppy?”

“No, not a puppy. I told her I’d...give into her finally,” said Dean. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” you asked. 

“You were teaching them the difference between Mister and Misses and Miss and all that on Monday right?” he asked. You barely remembered Monday. He really was paying attention to his kid.

“Yeah. The kids were fascinated by it for some reason,” you said.

“Well you said you were Ms. Y/L/N because you weren’t married and you let it slip that you don’t have a boyfriend. So every day this week Gracie’s been asking me to...ask you out because she likes you and thinks you’ll make her daddy happy,” said Dean breaking eye contact when it got a little too real for him. “You know how kids are.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly before he found it in himself to look at you again.

“Enjoy your weekend Ms. Y/L/N and thank you again,” he said, taking a few steps back. Fuck, he was sweet and handsome? Don’t do it, don’t do it.

“Y/N. I’m Y/N,” you said. Crap, you did it.

“Have a good weekend, Y/N,” said Dean, taking one more before you opened your mouth. Might as well go all the way.

“Well?” you asked.

“Well what...” asked Dean, stopping and raising an eyebrow.

“You going to ask me out or not? You don’t seem like the lie to your daughter type,” you said. Dean rolled his eyes but the blush on his cheeks gave him away. No wonder why he’d been walking away so slowly.

“Tomorrow at seven?” he asked, a hopeful smile appearing on his face.

“Pick me up in that car of yours and you got it,” you said, pulling out your phone and handing it over. Dean gave you his and by the time you’d finished you saw the back door opening up.

“Daddy did you do it?” asked Gracie. Dean chuckled and walked back over to her door.

“Yes munchkin. How about you sleepover at Uncle Sammy’s tomorrow?” he asked and she was practically beaming. “Alright, one more minute kiddo and then we got to run to the grocery store.” Dean shut it and started walking around to the driver’s side.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, Dean smiling to himself. “I got to know how I should dress.”

“I was planning on cooking you dinner. No dress code in the Winchester household,” said Dean, opening his door. “I’ll text you tomorrow Ms. Y/L/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night Mr. Winchester,” you said, smiling to yourself as he climbed in and pulled away. “I most certainly will.”

“Hi,” you said, the door to the Winchester’s home opening before you could even knock.

“Hi, sorry I couldn’t pick you up on account of...ya know,” said Dean, dressed in a sweater and jeans. You stifled a laugh and were glad you’d gone with a nice black dress over a tee and jeans. “What? I don’t clean up nice?”

“You do but I wasn’t sure Gracie’s dad owned anything besides plaid from all her pictures,” you said, stepping inside. You saw Dean was wearing socks and you stepped out of your heels, Dean chuckling as he saw how tall you really were for the first time. “I’m not that short.”

“Every woman is short to me Ms. Y/L/N,” said Dean, guiding you down the hall.

“Are you going to call me that all night?” you asked, looking back over your shoulder. Dean looked like he was about to say something witty back but you were tripping over a pair of cleats and a soccer ball, Dean’s hand on your arm catching you.

“You okay?” he asked, helping you stand upright. You nodded and saw Dean turn to face towards the stairs. 

“Gracie!” he shouted, a pair of little footsteps running down a hall above and taking a few steps down to peek her head down.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” she said excitedly and ran down the stairs, spinning around the corner and Dean grimacing like he’d told her not to do that a million times.

“Hi Gracie,” you said, giving her a wave.

“Gracie, you said you put your soccer stuff away,” said Dean. 

“I did,” she said. Dean stepped to the side, showing the tiny sports equipment across the hall.

“Is that what we call putting everything away?” asked Dean. Gracie squinted her eyes and you instantly felt for the man. She was sweet now but ten or so years she’d be a firecracker. “Gracie...”

“Uncle Sammy will be here soon,” she whined, spinning her hips. 

“Then you better hurry up before he gets here,” said Dean, patting her on the back as she grumbled. Until she remembered you were there and saw you watching the two of them. Instantly she turned into the well behaved child you knew, happily cleaning up and putting her things away in the hall closet.

“Can you help bring down my sleeping bag daddy?” she asked. 

“Of course, munchkin,” said Dean. “One minute?” he asked, tossing Gracie over his shoulder and walking backwards.

“Go for it,” you said, Dean adjusting his grip on his daughter before barreling the two of them upstairs, her laugh echoing throughout the house. The doorbell rang and you figured that must have been her uncle.

“Hi,” you said, opening the door and then widening your eyes. “Geez, your parents feed you guys miracle grow or something as kids?”

“No but Dean did make me eat a handful of dirt when I was three,” said Sam, Dean coming down the stairs with a bag and Gracie in hand.

“I did no such thing,” said Dean with a scoff, handing off Gracie to Sam and sticking a pair of velcro sneakers on her. “You probably deserved it though.”

“I won’t ruin your date with any more embarrassing stories,” said Sam with a smile. “Not like you go on many anyways.”

“Oh take your niece and get out of here,” said Dean, Sam taking the bag from his brother. “Call me-”

“If she needs anything, I know, I know,” said Sam. 

“Thank you,” said Dean, Sam shifting Gracie to ride up on his shoulders.

“Hey it’s never a problem. Have fun you two kids!” he said, walking down the front step.

“Wait!” said Gracie. Dean stepped outside and let her give him a hug, getting a kiss on the cheek. “Night daddy!”

“Night munchkin. Be good for Uncle Sammy,” he said, waving for a moment before hoping back inside and shutting the door. “I will marry you this second if you can get her to listen to you like that all the time.”

“What a romantic proposal,” you said, walking down the clear hallway again, Dean’s hand on your back guiding you into a kitchen with a set table for two. 

“Sorry, I live in a world of ‘it’s not my room so why do I have to clean up’ all day. She doesn’t quite get that she has put away things in the rest of the house just yet,” said Dean. 

“There’s your problem,” you said, nodding when Dean picked up a bottle of wine. “You’ve got to let her know this is her house too. She’s very organized for a five year old actually.”

“Oh she knows that. If I can get ready in the morning without her trying to bust in on me once it’s a miracle,” said Dean with a laugh. 

“Eh, I think you’re doing just fine,” you said, Dean handing you a glass as you leaned against the counter.

“You think so?” he said, moving over to the oven and pulling out a dish.

“I’ve got three kids who can barely read, one who has a fascination with glue, two argue about having the blue color chair everyday even though there’s like twelve blue colored chairs...Gracie’s the one I worry about least if I’m being honest,” you said.

“What do you worry about her then?” asked Dean, waving an oven mitt over the steaming casserole dish.

“Dean, I thought this was supposed to be a date, not a parent teacher conference,” you said, tilting your head.

“Sorry,” he said shyly, moving to cut you out a piece and then one for himself. Soon he was guiding you over to the table, sitting in the seat adjacent because you could see the stack of construction paper and markers in the other one.

“She gets a little sullen sometimes, when other kids talk about their parents. Don’t get me wrong, she adores you. You’re her superhero. I think she just wishes she were like some of the other kids, ya know?” you said, digging your fork in and taking a bite. “This is really good.”

“No it’s not,” said Dean with a chuckle. “This is garbage.”

“It kind of is,” you said, smiling back.

“I’m very good at mac and cheese if that interests you,” said Dean, clearing away your plate.

“Yes, let’s make that,” you said, hopping up. Fifteen minutes later you were sat up on the counter, eating a bowl of dinosaur shaped pasta, Dean shaking his head at you. “Hot sauce dude, I swear.”

“I am not putting hot sauce in my mac and cheese,” he said before laughing to himself. “I am in my thirties and I made my date a dish meant for children. Why haven’t you run for the door yet, Y/N?”

“Excuse me but I love mac and cheese. If you had some bourbon, well then we’d-”

“Hot sauce, stovetop macaroni and bourbon. Yup, you definitely went to college,” said Dean, moving over to a cabinet so tall you wouldn’t have been able to reach without standing on a chair. He dug his hand around inside and pulled out a bottle.

“For the lady,” he said, grabbing two glasses and pouring some for the both of you.

“See? You’re getting it,” you said, Dean hopping up on the counter across from you.

“Just what am I getting?” he said with a smirk.

“A second date maybe,” you said. “Although next time I’m expecting a kid cuisine and some merlot.”

“You know what I love about you, Y/N? You’re so easy to cook for,” he said, hands toying with the hot sauce bottle next to him.

“Do I have to dare you, Winchester?” you said. “Because I know all the rules.”

“I bet you do,” said Dean, unscrewing the bottle, hesitantly pouring a few drops in before stirring it up. He shook his head at you as he took a bite, his eyes widening.

“How the Hell have I never tried that? That’s amazing,” said Dean, shoving more in his mouth. For a second you watched him, taking him in properly. How he was single you’d never understand. He was laughing and cocking his head at you, a smug smile on his face.

“Hm?” you asked, thinking you missed a question.

“Checking me out, Y/N?” asked Dean.

“Pff, no,” you said, Dean wiping his hands together and hopping off the counter. He cleaned up your dirty dishes despite your protests to help, quickly pouring some refills and holding out his hand. 

“Come on,” he said, pulling you off the counter when you slid down to the ground. He led you out of the kitchen and over to a backdoor, opening it to the cool night air and a covered porch. Dean pointed out a swinging bench that you sat on, hearing him walk away and come back a minute later with a wool blanket he put over your shoulders.

He sat down, kicking his feet so you swayed and you tucked yours up, scooting close to Dean to warm you up.

“I apologize for the crappy date,” said Dean, looking out at the starlit sky. “Sam wasn’t kidding when he said it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“This is very nice Dean,” you said. “You’re very nice. I’m surprised a good looking guy like you is single.”

“People like me. Once they hear about Gracie...off they run,” said Dean, walking his fingers on his leg. “I should be telling you what my favorite movie is and crap like that shouldn’t I?”

“It’s Die Hard but that doesn’t matter. You guys are a package deal. I understand it completely,” you said, Dean reaching his arm around your shoulders when you shivered.

“Gracie’s a little tattle tale isn’t she?” said Dean. “I wonder what other horrible parenting secrets she said about me.”

“Excuse me but I think I want to know what has been said about me first,” you said, tilting your head up, not realizing you’d rested it on his shoulder in the first place.

“Nah,” said Dean, your lips pursing at him. “You do it to! Is that a chick thing?”

“It’s a Dean Winchester must tease all the women in his life thing,” you said.

“Only the ones I like,” said Dean. He was quiet as his mind started churning and you waited for him to ask you out again. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yes?” you asked.

“I don’t think us doing this is a good idea. For Gracie’s sake,” said Dean. Well shit.

“Sure,” you said, sitting up and standing, stretching out like you were tired instead of pissed.

“I really do like you. It’s just that-”

“It’s fine Dean, really. I uh, think I’m going to head home, I’m getting tired,” you said, putting on a smile and walking back inside. Dean was silent as he followed, giving you an awkward wave as you put on your heels and walked out front to your car. 

Hopefully you never saw him ever again.

Killing Dean Winchester was on the top of your to do list. Gracie didn’t have her lunch. Again. Fuck him. Today, you were really going to let him have it.

“Mr. Winchester,” you said, walking over to him when he picked up Gracie. “Again, you sent your child to school without a lunch.”

“No he didn’t,” said Gracie, giggling to herself as she climbed in back. Dean shushed her and she laughed. “Are you in trouble daddy?”

“Yes,” he said, shutting her door and turning his attention to you. “So let me explain.”

“I’d love to hear it,” you said, crossing your arms. Dean sighed and looked timid all of a sudden.

“I screwed up okay? I shouldn’t have done that. You scared me. The last woman I let in, that made me feel like that, she cut and ran, left me with a one day old and never came back, is never coming back. She didn’t want her. I can handle getting hurt again but I don’t want Gracie...if we don’t work out, I didn’t want her to hate her favorite teacher. That was the reasoning until she came home yesterday and got so upset when I said she’d only see you at school from now on. I started thinking that I haven’t had that much stupid fun with another adult in forever. The lunch thing...I knew it’d piss you off so you couldn’t just ignore a call or-”

“Are you going to keep babbling or you go to ask me out again?” you said, dropping your hands to your sides. He looked hesitant until you pushed his arm lightly. “Come on, I want my kid cusine and wine date.”

“Would you like to have dinner with the Winchesters tonight? There’ll be a small child there but-”

“Two in fact,” you said, Dean giving you a cocky smirk.

“Cute,” he said. “See you at six?”

“See you soon Winchester.”

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

@anokhi07 @xxwinchester-22xx @charliebradbury1104 @everyday-supernatural-af @squirels-angels-and-moose @youwerelikeadream @drugpug@darkx143 @kristaparadowski @tom-is-in-my-tardis @tanithlowisabamf @smoothdogsgirl @dancingalone21 @ktrivia @demonic-meatball  @oaisara @feelmyroarrrr @cojootromuelle @gallifreyansass@fangirl1802 @itstheprincess @casgetoutofmydiddlydarnass @mogaruke@secretlyfurrydragon @perpetualabsurdity @ria132love @heycassbutt-67 @aingealcethlenn @docharleythegeekqueen  @missmotherhen@smacklesandstretch67 @ceeceewinchester  @tumblinwith-me @xfanqirlinq @heaven-is-aplaceonearthwithyou @hey-um-misha@bennyyh @acreativelydifferentlove @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @lovelife-tothefullest @under-general-asthetics @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @missdestiel67 @evyiione @jensenackesl @xxxdevine-demonsxxx  @ayeeitsemry @mac5323 @bellastellaluna @atc74 @captainemwinchester @lemonadegazeelle @nanie5  @idalinette @maximoffangel-girl @quiddy-writes @sassyspn67

[pixiealtaira]

I always forget to pack…

Pairing: Kadam

The first time Kurt stayed over for more than just night, long enough to require him packing an over-night bag (a whole week bag…he was hiding from Rachel), Kurt came sailing into Adam’s apartment with his overnight back and a carry case full of grooming needs.

Adam laughed and kissed his boyfriend and tucked it all away into cleared space in his closet and dresser and bathroom.

Three days into the stay, Kurt stomped into his living room.

“Hell and Damnation! I’m going to have to go back to the apartment and get my damned razor.  I can’t believe I forget my razor.  Why can’t I ever remember the bloody razor! Rachel’s going to see me and I don’t want to deal with her right now! I don’t freaking care about her stupid callback I have to get through midterms!” Kurt ranted as he stomped out the door still in his pajama bottoms.

When Kurt returned, red faced and sheepish, still in pajama pants but with his razor, Adam had breakfast ready and hot chocolate waiting.  He met Kurt at the door with a kiss.

“You are adorable.” Adam told him.

Adam took note of the brand of electric razor Kurt used and procured one that lived in his apartment for Kurt’s use when he stayed over.  Kurt kissed him thoroughly when he found it the next time his was over.

The first time Adam went away with Kurt, it was for a long weekend and they went to Boston. Friday had been spent hitting tourist spots, Saturday at a spa Kurt had been antsy to spend the day at…complete with haircuts and shaves. Sunday was to be spent doing more tourist stuff. Sunday night, they were heading out for a bit more formal of a dinner than they usually endured.  Kurt had packed his suit and Kurt’s suit their ties and shoes, even underclothing that wouldn’t ruin the lines.

“Dammit,” Kurt had shouted as he unpacked the suits Sunday morning to make sure he would have time to steam them if they were wrinkled.

“Darling?” Adam asked.

“I forgot dress socks. I always forget socks!” Kurt moaned.

Adam laughed.  “That is easily fixed, love.  We aren’t staying in all day.”

It wasn’t a big deal when their excursions for the day suddenly involved a stop to buy socks.

A few weeks later, Kurt headed off on his first big Vogue excursion.  He hadn’t been gone a day before Kurt called in tears.

“I forgot my cuff links and this suit needs cuff links Adam.  I’d go buy them, but I had saved and saved for the ones I bought for this trip. Why is it always cuff links I forget?”

“Oh, Darling, you’re in London first, right?”

“Yeah.” Kurt replied despondently.

“I love you.  It will be OK.  Now tell me what you have seen and what you like best so far.”

Adam listened to Kurt as Kurt described what he’d seen so far, not much other than what they saw from the cars, and what he liked best (the accents and that so much was old and thus interesting.).  Meanwhile, Adam started messaging a few people he knew through Facebook, finally managing to get his cousin to bring Kurt some good cuff links.

“Darling,” Adam said, briefly interrupting Kurt’s description of his excitement of seeing triple decker buses.  “In about twenty minutes you should head down to the lobby of your hotel.  My cousin James will be there with a surprise.”

“I’ll go down now and wait if you don’t mind me talking to you while I do.  And have you seen the phone booths? They still exist and we passed by several red ones…”

Adam leaned back and listened to Kurt chatter on and on, speaking when given a long enough break to do so, but mostly just basking in Kurt’s voice.  He missed him so.

“Oh my god! He looks just like you if you had dark hair!” Kurt exclaimed.

Kurt kept Adam on the line while he spoke quickly with Adam’s cousin, who had run over while dropping his two year olds off to daycare.  Adam heard the squeal and his sort of nieces’ laughter.

“Adam, you absolute doll of a man,” Kurt said as soon as brought the phone back up to his ear. “I love you so much.  James says they were yours anyway and you left them when he got married, so I’m to keep them?”

“Yes, I had another pair very similar so didn’t worry much about it.  I’m just glad he knew exactly where they were and was in town.”

“They’re perfect. They might even look better than the ones I left home.” Kurt said.

Adam laughed. “Somehow I doubt that, but I figured they would do and would go better with your dark grey suit than inexpensive ones from the closest department store would.”

Kurt sighed and Adam happily beamed as he recalled the smile that always graced Kurt’s face with that particular sigh.  “You take such care of me.  I do adore you.  I’d best get going now.  Since my crisis has been taken care of I’ll even have time for a shower before I need to meet Isabelle.”

Adam wondered if he’d get a thank-you call when Kurt found the dress socks with his pocket square and tie. Probably not if he was running as far behind in his day as Adam expected.

He didn’t. However, Kurt sent flowers and chocolates which showed up the next morning and then showered him with praise the next time he called.

Adam was watching Kurt as he stepped out of the shower of their hotel suite.  He still felt he wasn’t sure how they ended up where they were…in one of the hotels at Disneyland dressing for what just might be their most important moment in life.  He watched the water slip down Kurt’s back as he dried his hair and briefly considered walking over and following the drop with his lips, but he knew they didn’t have time.  

Adam stripped off his clothing and walked to the shower, just sliding the curtain shut as he heard Kurt.

“Shit!” Kurt shouted.

“Upper pocket of my shaving kit, Darling.” Adam called out.  ‘Have you seen my…”

“You’re body wash is in the caddy, second bottle in.”  Kurt called back.

Adam smiled as he washed his body quick and then his hair.

He stepped out to see Kurt sliding on the trousers for his suit.  He admired the deep grey color.

“Don’t you need to shave?” Kurt asked, turning around to watch as Adam quickly took care of his bathroom business.

“I shaved this morning. I’ll be fine until tomorrow or whenever I decide to shave again.  You hadn’t shaved for three days and still barely looked scruffy.” Adam said.

Kurt laughed. ‘I think that is why I always forget the damned razor.  Thanks for remembering to bring one, love.”

Adam smiled at Kurt through the mirror. “You brought my body wash.”

“I like everything better when you haven’t used hotel soap and thus aren’t covered in itching rashes that make you miserable and me sad.  I hate seeing you miserable like that. Hurry so we can be dressed on time.”

Adam was soon caught up to Kurt.  He detested undershirts so his white dress shirt was a heavier material that Kurt’s, however both needed cuff links.  Before Kurt could panic, Adam reached into his pant pockets and pulled out two boxes, holding matching cuff links. Kurt rewarded Adam with a kiss and let Adam fix his sleeves, before doing Adams sleeves.

Adam nearly panicked when he realized he had not packed any ties (he hated the things, really), but Kurt pulled his tie from Kurt’s bag.  He heard Kurt’s intake of breath when Kurt sat to put on his socks and shoes.

“Check your Jacket’s pocket.” Adam said.

Kurt laughed.  Adam always put dress socks in his Jacket’s pockets if they went anywhere.

“I love you. You are completely perfect.” Kurt said, watching Adam as he finished getting his coat on.  

“Because I remember to pack what you forget?” Adam asked.

“No, because you care to know what I might forget and care enough to make me not have to worry about it.” Kurt said. “You look completely fabulous.”

Adam laughed. “I love you, too and Of course I do, Darling.  You designed and made everything.  Are you ready for this?”

Kurt beamed up at Adam. “I am.  However, how did we end up here?”

“Well…I asked you to marry me while your dad and step-mom were with us in New York, and we called my family to tell them.  And everyone was home for some sort of gathering due to the fact grandad’s sports team won for the first time in like forever.” Adam explained as they exited their room and started walking hand in hand.

“And your nieces insisted if they were coming to the states they wanted to go to Disneyland.” Kurt added. “And my dad heard and Carole heard and insisted we get married at Disneyland, because then everyone would be able to get the most out of the trip.”

“And so here we are. And we get a week with everyone else before a honeymoon.”

“Maybe, but you are not getting out of a fantastic wedding night, mister.”  Kurt scolded.  He and Adam were standing at the opening to the room the wedding and reception would take place in.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Shall we? Are you sure you want to make our name Hummel-Crawford?”

Kurt laughed. “I am. It is just the exact amount of perfect pretentiousness.”

Adam laughed as well. They opened the doors and walked to where their family was gathered.

[fantastic-artemis]

Like Sunlight- Part 1 (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Requested by: Me. I am trash. 

Summary: The reader finds Newt in a bad state. Shocked by his self-deprecating words, she decides to remind him just how much he’s loved.

Word Count: 2738

Warnings: Suicidal!Newt, basically mentions of depression and loneliness. You could maybe make the argument that Newt is disassociating, but overall he’s just a sad lil babe. Let him be loved.    

Skirting the edge of an ice patch, you hurried down the alleyway, thankful that the hustle and bustle of a New York City evening was out of sight for the moment. The sounds of cars, buses, and thousands of voices and moving bodies, however, still filtered back to you, and the deep January chill sliced into your skin, making you wish you hadn’t left the house in a skirt. Your sweater partially kept the cold away, but your legs felt chilled to the bone.

This would be the last time you disregarded the weather report in favor of style.

Home was calling just then, where the only sounds would be made by you—sipping hot chocolate, turning the pages of a book, the warm silence punctuated by the crackling of a fire. You could practically feel the radiating heat, could almost touch the knitted blanket wrapped over your body. Your legs, mustered by your longing thoughts, gave a burst of energy and speed. For the moment, you let yourself forget your hard day at work, let yourself postpone all the studying. Today was Friday after all, you had a whole weekend to relax and catch up, and that much you were thankful for. You needed every bit of rest you could get.

Currently, you were juggling work and school, somehow trying to find a balance that worked wonders for your health as well as your wallet. So far, that balance had been elusive. Most of your mornings were spent at Ilvymoore College, a small wizarding school on the outskirts of New York. There, you were slowly but steadily taking all the needed courses in magical herbs, wizarding physiology, and healing to become a certified Potions Master. You had dreams of opening your own private practice, taking orders from clients and working your own hours all while doing what you loved—creating magical concoctions that healed wounds and ensnared the senses.

But, while studying for your certification, you still needed to eat.

Afternoons, as a result, were spent waitressing at the Crystalnest Cafe. Although it was an adorable little place nestled into a grove of trees in Central Park, hidden from No-Majs by a charm (They saw a grimy looking lake instead of the enchanting lights strung between the trees, the magically warmed tables and chairs that sparkled with contained spellwork), the place was constantly packed and the owner could be awful during business hours. You never got a moment off your feet, and your exhaustion showed as the week progressed. Right now though, thoughts of your warm home spurred you forward, anticipation reviving your good spirits.

You just had to make one stop first.

Newt’s apartment was only a block out of your way, and you needed to stop and get the scarf you’d left there yesterday. After helping him tend to his creatures, as you were wont to do when you had a spare hour, you had left the scarf slung over the back of the couch, forgetting it in your haste to get to work. The garment had actually been a gift from Newt himself; a blue and silver Ravenclaw scarf from Hogwarts that fit you just right. Although you had attended Ilvermorny and were a proud Thunderbird, Newt had still presented you with the scarf for Christmas, saying that your love of books and artistic habits had always reminded him of Hogwart’s house of intelligence and creativity (Although, he had added, with his characteristic crooked grin and shy eyes, You could easily be a Hufflepuff. We’re the best, you know). Newt had been so hesitant to give you the scarf, afraid that you would hate it or take it as an insult to your beloved Ilvermorny. You knew that every time you forgot it somewhere he took it as a confirmation of his fears. But in fact, you loved the scarf immensely, almost as much as you hated the thought of making Newt upset. So, despite your desire to get home, you would stop by to get the thing and assure Newt that it had been a careless mistake. You could use the extra warmth anyway.

Quickly, you climbed the stairs to Newt’s apartment and knocked on the door. Although this was only a temporary apartment, Newt had spoke of New York becoming his new home base, as he loved the city immensely, and the idea made you almost faint with relief. The possibility of your best friend returning to London had kept you awake more than a few nights. The thought made you shift uncomfortably again, remembering Queenie’s words the one time the two of you had spoken about your fears. In the warmth of the Goldstein sisters’ apartment, she had smiled her mysterious little smile, saying, Best friend, of course. But I get the feelin’ he’s a little extra on top of that, don’t you sweetie?

You didn’t want to think about that right now. You didn’t have time to. And besides, Newt was Newt. He wasn’t interested in you like that. Or in anyone, really. Not unless that person had wings or a tail and was classified as endangered by MACUSA. But that was just fine. Newt loved his creatures, and you loved that he loved them. But there might have been a part of you, a deep part that you refused to acknowledge during daylight hours, that wished he would look at you with the same amount of love he reserved for a mooncalf.  

You bounced up and down on your heels, knocking a second time. Still no answer. Not uncommon, seeing as Newt spent so much time cooped up in his suitcase. He could have been out as well, but it didn’t matter. Maybe you could sneak in and get the scarf before he saw it and avoid hurting his feelings. With only a small pang of guilt (Newt wouldn’t mind, after all, you told yourself) you pulled out your wand.

“Alohomora.”

The lock opened with a soft click. Sliding your wand into your boot once more, you slipped inside.

You had expected an empty room. Lights off, candles snuffed out, the usual clutter of books and papers and research. You had not expected to see Newt right there on the couch, sprawled in a way that suggested he didn’t much care where his long limbs rested. His legs were bowed out, one hand resting against his forehead and the other thrown out along the arm of the couch, clutching a glass of what looked like whiskey. You started. Newt didn’t drink. Ever. He hated the taste. Something was off.

“Newt?” you asked. “Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Newt’s eyes came to meet yours, and he seemed to see you for the first time. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You decided to be honest, considering you had just technically been caught breaking into his house. “I left my scarf here last night and I really wanted it back. So I thought I’d come in and grab it.” You shrugged, trying to show you hadn’t meant to be creepy. “Why didn’t you let me in? I knocked.”

Newt copied your shrug slowly, his mouth drawing to the side. There was not a trace of his usual mirth. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been able to do much of anything today.”

You nodded, though confused. Concern was rising rapidly in your chest, along with a pinch of uncertainty. Actually, more like a bucketful. “So,” you continued nervously, fiddling with your skirt. “Have you seen my scarf?”

“What? Oh,” he shook his head, eyes unfocused. “No, haven’t seen it.”

That was good, at least. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a place you may have dropped it in your haste to reach the creatures, and that’s when you saw something you’d never expected. Newt’s case, wide open in the corner.

“Newt!” you shouted, running to slam the lid shut. He barely glances your way—has been turned away the whole time, in fact. You stand there, mouth agape. Newt was never negligent with his case; those beasts were his whole life.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Newt,” you repeated, softer this time, nerves seeping into your voice. “I’m going to go down and make sure none of the creatures escaped. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay there, okay?”

He gave an absentminded nod, clearly far away from you. Somehow, you doubted he was going anywhere.

As you climbed into the suitcase, your hands shook against the ladder, sliding over the rungs and making your descent more difficult. The check of the creatures went smoothly, and by Merlin’s merciful hand none of them had escaped. Not even the niffler, who was snoozing happily in a newly-replenished pile of treasures. You stooped to pick up the earrings you’d lost last week, thinking that the case must not have been open very long. Thank all the gods for small mercies, or else you and Newt would have a very large problem on your hands. But, you remembered, whatever was going on with Newt today was no mercy, and in fact a very big problem in of itself. The vacant, sad look in his eye would not leave your mind.  

When you returned to the outside world, Newt was still sprawled on the couch. It looked as though he hadn’t moved a muscle—the glass of whiskey in his hand was still half-full, his eyes were still trained on the wall. Fiddling with the edge of your jacket, you hoped Newt would look up, say something, do anything. You were becoming very scared. Where was the the sun-bright, kind man you knew so well?

“What’s wrong, Newt?” you asked, hesitation coating your words.

For a moment, a sense of awareness came back to Newt’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and you felt a surge of hope. But then he gave a defeated shrug, eyes glazing over once more. The glass of amber liquid in his hand suddenly became much more interesting than any question you might pose.

Unrelenting, you sat down next to him, taking one of his work-calloused hands in your own. “Newt,” you repeated, more urgent this time. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Seconds passed, and you thought he was going to stay silent, refuse to answer, but then his gaze was back in your general direction. Not at you, as Newt rarely made eye contact, but directed towards you nonetheless. He shrugged again, and you noticed how lifeless his hand felt in your grip. “I just….feel like this sometimes. It’s no big deal.”

You were shocked at how different his voice sounded. Gone was the usual excitement and warmth. Instead, you could hear the force, the effort, it took for Newt just to speak these words. Newt sounded broken, and that’s what scared you more than anything.

“I can’t get any work done in this state,” he continued, sighing. “And it just makes me feel more worthless than usual.”

“What?” This time, you’re sure the shock registered on your face. He had to be playing some kind of elaborate joke because the thought of Newt Scamander feeling any less than the gift he was just wasn’t possible. “You feel worthless?”

Newt then did the most expressive thing he’d done all afternoon: raised an eyebrow. “Well, obviously,” he stated, voice taking on an uncharacteristic tone of mockery. “Look at me.” He gestured toward himself in a dismissive manner. “I’m nothing compared to my brother. The things I love are shunned by everyone else, I’m shunned by everyone else. I annoy people, I know I do, and sometimes it’s just too damn hard to not care.” He laughed a little, quietly, but the sound had no mirth. “Who would ever love me?”

“I….” You stuttered, genuinely confused by his statement. “What about Jacob? And Tina and Queenie and Credence? They love you, and so do I.” A wave of guilt rushed over you. Where had you all failed? What had you done wrong, to make him feel so alone?

Newt gazed at the floor, absently twirling the glass in his hand. “You tolerate me. Because you’re good people. But you don’t really like me, do you? How could you? You must be counting the days until I go back to London. I know you all try very hard, and I appreciate it, but how could you ever like me?”

Your hand, still cradling his limp one, tightened. “Newt….” Shock was making it hard for you to register his words. Unreal, this whole situation was unreal. You couldn’t believe what was in front of you.

“I’m not even a real person.” Newt spoke in a forceful whisper, words clouded by the tears that now collected in his eyes. “I don’t feel like a real person. I can’t function like a real person.” The hand in your grip suddenly wrenched away, grabbing a pillow and throwing it to the floor in a violent, jerking motion. The whiskey in Newt’s other hand bounced with the force, splashing over his arm. “I’m not real.”

Newt was truly beginning to scare you now. You stared, wide eyed and stiff, as he slumped back against the couch, his free hand coming to cover his face. “I want to just off myself and get it over with, save everyone else the trouble.”

And that was all you needed to snap out of your trance. A beat of silence passed before you pulled Newt into the fiercest hug of your life. He was stiff at first, surprised at the sudden contact. Soon, though, he relaxed into your body, and the glass of whiskey slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor.

With Newt’s head buried in your shoulder, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the tremors that passed through his body along with the wetness collecting around his eyes and seeping into the fabric of your shirt. All thoughts of a peaceful evening at home left your mind as you realized how badly Newt needed a friend. How so much sadness and self-hate could be leeching away inside such a brilliant and kind man, and how no one had seen, not a single one of your friends had noticed…. it dumbfounded you. But now you had seen, and you were not about to leave him on his own.

“I, for one, do like you. Very, very much. And so do the others,” you said quietly, rubbing circles into his back. “And I’m here for you. You don’t have to feel alone.”

Newt pulled away from you arms, slowly sitting up. His hair was disheveled, his face was a mess, and he looked extremely embarrassed. Though he was attempting to look composed, you could tell by the tremor in his limbs and his voice that he was still very upset.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to force a smile. “That was very unbecoming of me. Just forget everything I said.”

“Don’t be silly,” you replied, once again taking Newt’s hand and pulling him slowly into a standing position.

“What are you doing?” Newt asked, although he put up no resistance. You doubted he would have had the ability anyway. He looked tired; his rampant emotions had obviously exhausted him.

“You need rest. And I’m going to make sure you’re cared for,” you said with finality. A glance back told you that Newt looked incredibly surprised.

“But you’re so busy.” he protested. “And my creatures—”

“—will also be taken care of,” you cut in. Stopping to grab the case in your free hand, you turned back to Newt, flashing him a reassuring smile, although you felt anything but happy. Worry overcame anything else, and you wanted nothing more than to see Newt feeling well again. And to make sure he knew where he could turn in the future. “Let me take care of you, Newt. Let me help you feel better.”

Newt blinked, clearly shocked that you wanted to be near him after everything you’d just witnessed. Being Newt, he undoubtedly wanted to tell you not to bother, to go home and care for yourself, he could get along on his own. But right now, he needed someone so desperately that even his considerate instincts were being overpowered. He looked down, unwilling to meet your eyes. “If you really want to.”

“I do,” you replied, and turned to lead him down the hall.