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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

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PJO Steddie Four

One | Two | Three

I am once again posting hfjkds

Anyway! Here's the next PJO AU! We get to see some interactions between Steve and some goddesses, some more hints at El's parent, and some Steddie at the end

Stick around to the very end for a meme!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Five Weeks Before Meeting Eddie

Steve and the kids are spread out across a department store in Pennsylvania when he, Lucas, and Erica run into the most aesthetically pleasing woman any of them have ever seen. Her face is almost otherworldly, and Steve can't find any blemishes or imperfections in her dark skin. Her hair is a perfect afro, bouncy and decorated with little heart-shaped clips made of real gemstones, the kind of style Erica keeps trying for but always falls short of. She's wearing a short dress; it's orange, flows nicely around her knees, and is paired with white wedges.

The sight of her strikes all of them a little dumb, too distracted by appreciating her beauty to wonder why she seemed to show up out of nowhere. To their credit, Erica and Steve manage to avert their gazes when the woman's eyes glance over them. Lucas, however, continues to stare, his head tilted and his brows furrowed in thought before he lights up with recognition.

"Mom!" he exclaims, dropping the windbreaker in his hands. He smiles brightly as he rushes over, stopping just short of running into the woman. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, who Steve now realizes is Aphrodite, smiles at Lucas with a genuine warmth that relaxes him a little. "Hello, dear," she says, her voice clear and soothing as she cups Lucas's cheek and tilts his head up. "You're looking lively."

"I've been having a lot of fun," he tells her. Lucas then looks over his shoulder and waves Erica and Steve over. "This is Steve. He's been protecting us."

Erica rushes over ahead of Steve, not bothering to hold herself back from hugging Aphrodite's waist like Lucas. She buries her face in her mother's dress as the hug is returned. "I haven't seen you in years," Aphrodite says, pulling back enough to crouch in front of Erica and study her. "You've been growing so well."

"Do you like my hair?" Erica asks, showing a rare childish side as she gestures to her afro-puffs. "Steve helped!"

And this seems to be Steve's cue to introduce himself. When Aphrodite looks up and stands, he smiles politely and nods to her. "Hi, nice to meet you," he says, wondering if he's being too informal. The other goddesses he's met didn't seem to mind, though, and Aphrodite's smile reassures him.

"And you as well, Steve. Thank you for looking after my children all this time," she says, placing one hand on Erica's head and the other on Lucas's shoulder. "I've heard about you from the other goddesses and just had to see what the fuss was about."

"There's a fuss?" Steve asks. He's not sure it's such a good thing for the gods on Olympus to be talking about him. "All good, I hope."

"Good enough," Aphrodite says, her smile dimming slightly as she takes a deep breath. She looks down at Erica and Lucas. "Why don't you two go find something nice? It'll be a gift from me."

Lucas doesn't immediately understand what she means, but Erica does. She nods once and grabs Lucas's hand. "C'mon, I wanna look at the video games," she says, dragging him along.

Once they're out of earshot, Aphrodite looks at Steve. Her smile has become polite. "I truly am grateful that you've been taking care of them," she says, and Steve starts to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, "but I must ask that you take them back to their father."

"What? Why?" Steve asks, frowning slightly.

Aphrodite sighs and crosses her arms loosely. "Several reasons, really," she says. "You attract monsters, Steve. I mean, you are his child. Lucas and Erica were safe at home, surrounded by human children and their human father. Not to mention, your...sister."

Steve tenses, his nerves on edge with just one word. "What about my sister?" he asks, narrowing his eyes slightly. There isn't much he can do against a goddess, but he isn't scared to fight one for any of the kids, especially his sister.

"Well, I'm sure she's a very nice girl," Aphrodite starts, her voice soft and placating, but it doesn't change the anger her words incite. "But that doesn't change the danger my children are in because of her."

Knowing where this was going does nothing to quell the anger that simmers in Steve at her words. "My sister is not a danger to anybody," he says. Then he considers the words and adds, "Well, she's only a danger to the people who threaten her and her loved ones, which includes your children."

Aphrodite sighs once more, her bottom lip jutting out just slightly in what Steve knows should be a sympathetic pout, but it just comes across as patronizing. "She cannot control her powers. One slip-up, and my children ar--"

"She doesn't slip up," Steve says, interrupting Aphrodite, "El, of all people, is the most aware of herself." He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself when he feels the anger crackling under his skin. Too much more and the sky will start to cloud over with thunder and lightning. "I get your concerns, but El isn't a danger."

He looks up at Aphrodite in time to see her frown, and even that expression is beautiful on her. "It doesn't matter how self-aware she is. Slipping is inevitable, and she will face my wrath if my children are hurt. That is a promise, Steve."

If Steve has learned anything from reading myths, it's that he shouldn't anger the gods, and he especially shouldn't anger the goddesses. But now El has been threatened. His sister, one of his kids, has been threatened. So, you know, he can probably be forgiven for what he says next.

"If you touch El or any of the other kids, I swear to the gods, I will make your fit over the golden apple look like a tadpole's temper tantrum," he says, his voice low as he glares at Aphrodite.

He watches as her shoulders rise, leaning back slightly, and her expression morphs into something mixed between angry and dumbfounded. "Did you just threaten me?" she asks.

Steve sees the question for what it is: a chance to take back his words and pretend they never happened. All things considered, it's generous and unexpected from a goddess. Steve doesn't actually care, though. "Yeah, I did. Those kids are under my care, even if they are little shits most of the time. I've fought for them and almost died for them multiple times. Anything that wants to hurt one of them has to go through me, whether that's monsters or gods. So, don't threaten them, because I'd hate to fight you in front of Lucas or Erica."

In the silence that follows, bland pop music plays over the department store's speakers, reminding Steve of where they are. He really just threatened Aphrodite in the middle of Macy's. Well, at least this will be a fun story to tell later.

"Well," Aphrodite finally says, sniffing once and looking down at Steve, "your arrogance is familiar." She lets that dig about Steve's godly parent rest between them for a few seconds. "Fine. I hope neither of us will ever have to act on our threats."

"Yeah. Me, too," Steve says, that anger starting to calm to a subtle buzz.

Aphrodite nods once. "The others were right about you. You are entertaining, and I can...respect your protectiveness regarding the children. I don't like you, though."

"I'll be honest, the feeling is mutual right now."

Their gazes hold for a few more seconds before Aphrodite nods once more in acknowledgment. Steve's anger fully settles then, disappearing until the next time his emotions start to stir. "I'm going to accompany Lucas and Erica for a while and get them some new clothes. I'll send them to you when we're done," she says, turning on her heel and walking in the direction that Erica pulled Lucas before Steve can respond.

He watches her leave, a frown tugging at his lips before he sighs. That meeting didn't go great, but it definitely could have been worse. Steve turns and goes to find El, needing to reassure himself that she's safe before he can completely relax.

----

Eddie gets to see Steve's favor with the goddesses in action on the second day of driving. The kids are starting to argue more than talk, and Eddie will admit that he needs to stretch his legs, so Steve agrees that it's time to stop and find a hotel.

"Can we get one with a pool?" Max asks, having to shout from the back row of seats to make sure Steve hears her.

Steve glances at her in the rearview mirror before sighing. "Yeah, I guess we can try," he says, quickly returning his gaze to the road before clearing his throat. The kids all quiet down, and the van is silent for the first time in hours. "Uh, Hestia, if you've got the time, I'd appreciate some guidance to a place we can stay for the night. The kids would like one with a pool, but just a place where we can sleep safely would be great."

Eddie has heard plenty of demigods pray before, but he thinks this is the most casually genuine one he's ever heard. When they drive past a few exit signs without any change, Eddie starts to suggest Steve try again with a more, well, reverential tone. But then the van's blinker suddenly switches on, and the kids cheer. Steve snorts at their reaction as he follows the blinker's direction and takes the next exit ramp off the highway.

"What the fuck," Eddie mutters, staring as the blinker continues to signal the turns Steve should take until they're pulling into a hotel parking lot.

The sign in front of the building announces it as "Hearth and Home" in cursive letters. The hotel itself is four stories tall and looks like a giant cottage. A few cars are in the parking lot, and Eddie can somehow tell this place is some kind of passion project for someone who doesn't have to worry about money.

After Steve pulls into a spot outside the hotel and shuts the car off, he turns in his seat and looks at the kids. "What are the rules?" he asks, his tone firm and leaving no room for jokes.

"Don't talk to strangers," El says.

"Don't talk at all while you're checking us in and out," Will adds.

"Stick together and stay in sight," Lucas says.

"Cough twice if we sense a monster nearby," Erica says.

"No fighting," Max says, already starting to shift closer to the doors.

"And if anyone asks," Dustin starts.

"We're traveling to meet family one state over," Mike finishes.

Steve nods once and opens his door. That seems to be the signal the kids were waiting for because they immediately scramble out of their seats. Eddie hops out and walks over to Steve, watching the kids climb out as he asks, "What's up with the rules?"

"Well, I'm a young guy traveling with seven kids. Most hotels are hesitant to give me rooms, and they'll straight up lie about being full if the kids are rowdy. We also need a system in place if one of them realizes a monster is around. And saying we're meeting family tells people that we're expected to appear somewhere by a certain time, which deters anybody from trying to, you know, kidnap one of the kids," Steve explains, glancing at Eddie as he shrugs.

Eddie has to stop himself from asking what led to Steve making some of these rules. Instead, he bites his tongue and follows the group inside, sticking to Steve's side as he walks up to the front desk and the kids huddle within sight a few feet away.

"Hi, do you have any vacancies for the night?" Steve asks, flashing a charming smile at the older woman working the desk.

She looks at Steve, then Eddie, and then the kids behind them. "How many rooms would you need?" she asks.

"If you happen to have any connected rooms, we'll take them. But if not, just two is fine."

The woman nods and checks her computer, hesitating for a few seconds before saying, "We don't have any connected rooms, but one of our Executive Suites is open. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large lounge area. It's made for large groups, so two of the bedrooms have bunkbeds in them. The price, however...."

Steve smiles at her reassuringly and pulls out his wallet. He plucks a black card from one of the pockets and presents it. "Don't worry about the cost," he says, "We'll take it."

At the sight of the sleek credit card, the woman lights up and smiles brightly at Steve. Eddie finds himself thinking that money really does talk. "Of course, sir," the woman says, a suddenly respectful tone coloring her words as she takes the card. "Could I see an ID as well, please?"

As Steve pulls out his license, he looks at Eddie and asks, "Could you take the kids to get the bags from the car? I should have the key cards by the time you get back." He places his license on the desk and hands his keys to Eddie.

Eddie finds himself nodding before he can really think about it, but how can he say no to Steve's brown eyes and the tiny dimples that appear when he smiles? So, he takes the keys and starts herding kids outside.

----

As it turns out, the hotel does, in fact, have a pool, and Steve can't help his grin when the kids cheer after they get to their rooms and he tells them. What follows is a flurry of kids changing into bathing suits, Steve lending Eddie a pair of swim trunks, and making sure everyone has towels and plenty of sunscreen slathered all over them.

The pool is surprisingly large, and there's plenty of space for the kids to swim around and expend some energy. Steve drops into one of the pool chairs and closes his eyes, the plastic warm on his back without burning his skin. He hears another chair get dragged closer before someone sits on it. When Steve opens an eye to look over, Eddie has settled next to him, watching the kids with a slight frown.

Steve follows his gaze, but he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. The only thing that might catch someone's attention is El wearing her beanie in the pool, but even that could be explained as her forgetting to take it off.

"They don't have any scars," Eddie says after a moment.

Steve blinks and pushes himself up some, sitting straighter in the chair and looking at Eddie. His hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few pieces escaping to frame his face. He's not obviously muscular like Steve, and he doesn't have an 8-pack, but Steve can still see the subtle muscles in his arms and legs. And the scars. Steve can see plenty of scars littered across Eddie's chest and stomach, his arms, and one particularly nasty one just above his knee.

In that way, Steve supposes, they are similar. "I wouldn't let them get hurt," Steve says quietly, shrugging when Eddie looks at him. He scoots forward some so Eddie can get a better look at his own scars. Despite the warm weather, he still can't help goosebumps traveling up his arms as Eddie stares at him.

"What's that one from?" Eddie asks, gesturing to a large slash that reaches from Steve's shoulder to his elbow.

Steve glances down and hums softly. "Stymphalian bird feather. They're made of steel. It attacked us after we picked up Mike and Dustin. Thankfully, there was only one bird, and I managed to dodge most of the time, but I got this one when I closed in to kill it," he explains.

Eddie stares at the scar, and Steve wonders what he's imagining. Does he want to know how vicious the fight must have been? It was one of Steve's messier fights. He didn't have any training, and he barely had experience. Really, Steve had nothing but his instincts and a desperation to keep the kids safe. "What about those?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts as he leans closer to point at what's clearly a bite mark on Steve's right side.

"The lion head of a Chimera," Steve says, glancing at Eddie before pointing at a scar wrapping around his throat. He shifts until he's sitting on the edge of his chair and tilts his head to give Eddie a better view. "The snake tail was choking me at the same time. I had to use lightning on that one since it had me trapped. We ran into it almost two months ago."

Eddie scoots to the edge of his chair, and their knees are almost close enough to touch. Something starts to buzz under Steve's skin. It's not anger. He knows what that feels like. It's something else this time, something that sizzles and lingers and tries to push against his skin to break free. Steve tries not to think about it.

"And this one?" Eddie asks, pointing to a scar that's splashed across Steve's left knee like a starburst.

"That one," Steve says, getting a grin despite himself, "happened because Dustin tried to help me fight a minotaur. He made this mini-bomb without me knowing and threw it into the fight. I managed to tuck and roll, but the explosion still brushed against me. This scar is from it, too." He turns his right leg out so Eddie can see a similar scar on the inside of his calf.

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie swallow, his throat rolling, and that electric feeling gets stronger. It centers on Steve's knees, the spot where they're closest to touching. But it travels like those toys with magnetic sand when Eddie leans closer and points to the scar in the middle of his chest. It grows the longer Eddie's hand hovers there, and Steve glances down just to make sure there aren't actually sparks buzzing across his skin.

"This one?" Eddie whispers, holding Steve's gaze.

Mouth suddenly dry, Steve clears his throat. "My first fight. The, uh, snake thing that took Will," he says. "Some of the scars on my back and stomach are from that one, too."

Eddie nods, and Steve can't place his expression for a few seconds. When he finally does, he realizes it's something like adoration. He's seen it before from all the kids at some point, usually after he's fought a monster to keep them safe. But Eddie is different. Eddie's adoration is just the surface emotion. Under it, Steve can glimpse something even more intense. He almost wants to drown in whatever it is, let it surround him until he can figure out how to describe it.

"You really are metal, Stevie," Eddie says, his voice soft as he smiles at Steve.

Steve has already acknowledged that Eddie is his type, and he definitely isn't imagining the tension between them right now. Without thinking, he leans forward, a similarly soft grin tugging at his lips. But whatever he wanted to say is literally shocked out of him.

The moment he's close enough for Eddie's hand to actually touch Steve's chest, that fizzing energy bursts through. It's not strong by any means, but it's demanding attention as it zaps across Steve's chest and Eddie's fingertip. Steve jerks back, rubbing at his chest and taking a deep breath to control the crackling over his ribs.

Eddie is frozen, staring at his still outstretched hand in shock. His eyes are wide, and Steve grimaces, wanting to take his hand and check for burns but scared of shocking Eddie more.

"Sorry," he mutters, looking away and coincidentally meeting El's gaze. She's sitting on the steps leading into the pool, legs pulled up to her chest with an amused smile on her face. When she realizes that Steve is slightly panicked, though, she blinks and tilts her head. Steve subtly shrugs one shoulder, and, thankfully, she gets the message.

"Steve!" she calls, waving her hand as though she doesn't already have his attention.

It's the save Steve is desperate for, and he practically jumps up from his chair. "I'm gonna go see what El needs," he says, glancing at Eddie only to find he's already looking up at Steve.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Eddie mumbles. Steve waits until Eddie nods to speed-walk (it's still a pool, after all, and he won't set a bad example by running) over to El, urging his heart and the crackling beneath his skin to calm down.

----

Tag List!

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos, @am-i-obssed-probably, @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@estrellami-1, @fandomcartographer, @steddie-as-they-go, @cris-wants-a-word, @potato-of-the-lord, @plasticcrotches, @enigmahaze

For those who stuck around, a meme:

#steddie #steddie fic #semi divine steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #percy jackson au #the party #my writing

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butchcarmy · 7 months ago

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ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

ao3 link, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Chapter Summary: It’s his roommate’s birthday this week, and Carmy doesn’t find out until it’s a couple days away. Once he finds they’re unluckily spending their birthday alone, he makes it his mission to make their lonely day better. It’s the least he can do. Little does he know how much more he has to discover about them and about himself.

Tags: reader having trauma, carmy having trauma, toxic families, domesticity

A/N: It’s time… it’s time. I said last chapter was the longest…just kidding. THIS ONE is the longest, and it was hardest to write so far. The duo gets to have a lot of fun this chapter, though! arguably the most so far! A lot of domestic goodness and good food and shopping! Until… :)

also HUGE shoutout to @justaconsequence on tumblr for being my beta reader for this chapter! she was so kind and so helpful. this behemoth of a fic is too much for me to proofread on my own. anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy! can't wait to hear what y'all think!

Typically, by this time on Monday morning, Carmy's usually three cigarettes deep into paperwork, urgently (and poorly) calculating the sales the restaurant needs to make this week to stay afloat. Because even though it's a Sunday closing activity, he never seems to find the occasion to get around to it, and by 10 pm, he doesn't have the capacity to be crunching numbers.

Not that 8 am is much better. At least he's not dissecting the debt this morning—he's studying detergent prices.

“Why is this one, like, almost 20 dollars?” Carmy stops reading the price tags and glances over at his roommate, who's squinting at products on upper shelves. The lights are always too bright in this place. “And for such a small bottle…”

“Pre-mixed organic sulfate-free 100% vegan bleach,” Carmy reads dully.

“So stupid.” They shake their head. “Does grocery shopping ever depress you?”

“Usually,” he replies dryly. “Inflation is pretty depressing.”

“Don’t even get me started. Capitalism in general depresses me.”

“Hm, yeah. That too.” He sighs through his nose and tries to refocus. He's having a hard time processing all the numbers and letters today. “You see any unscented detergent? Somethin’ mild?”

“Um…” They crane their neck up and down, and then they crouch on the ground. They pick up a white bottle. “How's this? It's like, 8 dollars. It's not name-brand, but…”

“You know I don't care.” He kneels with them, huddling in close. They smell faintly of a sweet, yet musky perfume. He reminds himself to focus on the detergent, not the way they smell (even if it's far more interesting). “Yeah, this looks good. Thank you.”

“For your vintage denim, right?” They stand up to put the detergent in their shopping cart, which is barely separated with his stuff vs. theirs. He doesn't understand why his face grows warm at their comment, but it does.

“Uh, yeah. It is.” If the blush shows on his face, they graciously don't comment. “Although I'll admit I don't get around to washing them as much as I should.”

“You're not supposed to wash jeans that often anyway, right?” They lean their elbows onto the rickety cart as they push it, and he ambles along next to them, matching the slow, relaxed pace of their walk.

“Yeah, but I really…” The implications are clear. They fail in suppressing a laugh, and it makes him smile. “And I’m supposed to hand wash them, so.”

“Oh, so what you're saying is that you never wash them,” they tease.

“That is not at all what I'm saying.” They make an unimpressed face. “I do laundry, it's just…”

“Not often,” they supply helpfully. He tries to come up with something, but he's got nothing. “It's okay, I understand.”

“I promise I wash my clothes,” he mumbles, wilting.

“I know.” There's that new smile he's grown to recognize more clearly. It's this mischievous one they get when they’re teasing him, and it's so cute he doesn't have any room in him to get even a little irritable. “I've seen you do laundry maybe once or twice.”

“Hey,” he says, warning, and they laugh and run ahead of him, the squeaky wheels of the cart giggling alongside them.

After the night he almost burned down their apartment, he had felt different. It was like a switch being flipped, light abruptly filling up a dark room, and he's been squinting, struggling to adjust. But as he walks with them today, grocery shopping lit by blinding white fluorescents, he finds that he can see them rather clearly.

The connection between the two of them is tangible, palpable. It's workable pasta dough that's been kneaded to uniformity. The dough is malleable, clean, and when he touches it, sticky, glutenous residue doesn't cover his palms. When he catches at them peeking over their shoulder to make sure he's still following them, he chases away the urge to pull them into his arms. He throws the desire into boiling water in hopes that enough pressure will change those feelings into something more palatable. He's not sure if it's working.

Something happened when he hugged them that Saturday night. He doesn't dare name what that “something” is, but it's rising from where it's sitting at the bottom of the pot, just about to hit the surface—

“Hey, I gotta get some stuff in this aisle.” Carmy snaps out of it and follows them as they veer the cart to the left. He raises his eyes to read the categories on the sign.

“You bakin’ somethin’?” They both move out of the way for an oncoming cart.

“Yeah, was thinking about it.” They halt to a stop in front of the boxed cake mix and step back to fully peruse the shelves. He stands next to them, and they glance at him out of the corner of their eye. “You’re not judging me for getting box mix, are you?”

“Not at all,” he answers honestly. “Food is always better when made from scratch, but box mix has its uses. Besides, I’m not a baker.”

“That’s true, but I’m sure you still make an insane cake.” Carmy’s aware he can’t make them unsee his flash of a smile, but he still shrugs. “Sure, stay humble.”

“I try. What’s the occasion?”

“Ah, nothing much. It’s just my birthday.”

“Oh, okay.”

…And he's about to move on, just as casually as it came, but then the processing finishes.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” They ask confusedly.

“Is it your birthday today?”

“No, um, it’s this Thursday.” He exhales in palpable relief.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.

“Um…” Their face is twinged with guilt. “...There was never a good time to bring it up?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be getting upset.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I just feel like I should’ve known, I guess.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. I never brought it up. Um…” Their hands are fiddling with the edges of their sleeves. “I just have complicated feelings about my birthday.”

“Ah, I see. I get that.” That, he can understand. “Is it all the gifts and stuff?”

“Kinda. It’s a part of it.” They lean down to grab a box of devil’s food cake, and that makes him remember that they’re in a grocery store. Not quite the best place for a personal conversation like this. They’re being vague, but he won’t press. Not right now.

“You shouldn’t be baking for yourself on your birthday,” Carmy mutters. They smile at that, but it’s different. It’s heavy with melancholy.

“It’s alright. I’m gonna be celebrating with my friends this weekend, just not on my actual birthday.” His conflicted expression persists. “It’s okay, really. It’s just a day. It’ll be enough of a present to not have to go into work.”

“Put that back,” he blurts out. “I’ll make you a cake.”

“Don’t you work?” Their eyebrows are arched in surprise. “You really don’t—”

“I know I don’t. But I want to. I do work, yeah, but I’ll, I’ll get someone to cover me.” He’s never said those words before in his life, and now that they’re out, he can’t take them back. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t want to take them back. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” they reply quickly.

“Then let me do this. Please.” He has no idea where this courage is coming from. “I want to. I know I'm always working, but I really…” Their eyes are wide with wonder, yet watchful. It shouldn't make him falter, but it does. His heart stutters and whatever bravado briefly gripped him fades away. “I’m…probably being too pushy right now. Tell me to fuck off?”

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off for wanting to bake me a cake,” they laugh, easing his worries like they always do. “C’mon, Carm.”

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not trying to ask you to take off of work for my birthday,” they start carefully, “but I wouldn’t object to it. So, yeah. It’s a yes.”

“Okay.” He can’t help his giddy smile. There's someone saying you look stupid like this, but he’s with them, and it makes everything else silent. “Okay, good.”

“You’re…being super sweet about all this.” He doesn’t understand why—maybe it’s the way they say it—but hearing that makes his neck go hot.

“I mean…friends do stuff like this, don’t they?”

“Only the good ones.” They beam beautifully at him. He hasn’t done anything to warrant their affection, he thinks, but the feeling of their smile is so warm. He can’t resist soaking in it.

He's glad that lady luck blessed him just enough to stop their birthday from passing him by. He's been itching for an opportunity to repay them for all the bullshit they've had to take from him as of recent (although he knows if he brought it up, they would say it wasn't anything worth repaying). They deserve something good from him for once, not panic attacks and nightmares.

He just wishes he could figure out why they were going to spend their birthday alone. He knows them a lot better now, but there's still so much left shrouded. He wants to know them inside and out—he wants to learn what makes them tick, what keeps them up at night, what makes them happy. He wants to know all of it in its entirety, to fill in the gaps in the puzzle he doesn't have the pieces for.

He has some of the pieces. He understands that their relationship with their family to his—distant, strained, and difficult. Unfortunately, that’s about it. He doesn’t know any of the specifics. It’s not like he’s talked to them about his family outside of the off-handed bitter remarks, just as they have, but he finds that this fact leaves him dissatisfied.

He just hopes that they'll let him in. He's not sure if they will, but…he's gonna try. He has to. He's sick of not trying.

. . . . .

“You want to take off?” Richie’s staring at Carmy like he’s grown a second head. They're taking a smoke break in the back. “I don’t know what sort of doppelganger bullshit this is, but if you’re trying to pretend to be Carmen, you’re doing a shit job.”

“Very funny, jackass,” Carmy mutters. “I’m being serious. This Thursday.”

“All day?” Carmy grimaces, but he nods. Richie shakes his head. “You’re being weird. Really fuckin’ weird.”

“I know I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea, but—”

“Cousin, no, that’s not at all what’s goin’ on here,” Richie interrupts, and Carmy’s at a loss for words. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“What?” Carmy squints at him. “Are you being serious?”

“‘Course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” Carmy decides not to comment on that. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get you off this ship for just one fucking second?”

“As the owner of this place, you’ve tried way too many times,” he replies dryly.

“Uh, as the original co-owner of this place, you don’t listen to me enough.” Again, Carmy decides not to elaborate on that one. It’s not worth it. “Take the day off. I was running it fine before, and I’ll keep running it.”

“No, no, we’re not saying that, it was not fine,” Carmy starts, but Richie’s already flipping him off.

“Whatever, I already know, new fucking system and all that. Don’t get anxiety or whatever over it, that’s why you got Syd hustling shit your way, right?”

“Uh.” Carmy didn’t realize that Richie had even been paying attention to the new hierarchy in the restaurant, let alone respecting it in any capacity. “Yeah, she is.”

“Then it’s fine.” Richie blows smoke in his face, and Carmy swats it away with a glare. “It was fine when you came in an hour late today, wasn’t it?”

“You guys knew I wasn’t gonna come in until later,” Carmy argues, defensive (although he’s not sure if there’s actually anything to argue about).

“Exactly.” Richie sighs all of a sudden, a long one that sounds like it’s bone deep. “Carm. Let me be straight with you. You need to do this. Okay? No backing out of this one.”

“Why’re you sayin’ this? What are you sayin’?”

“It’s ‘cause of your roommate, right? This Thursday?”

“...Yeah.” Carmy pales. “How did you—?”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Richie says, grinning. “It was obvious.”

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

“You didn’t need to.” Richie flicks the ash off his cigarette. “They’re changin’ you, man. We can all see it.”

“...” Carmy can’t deny that. He doesn't have time to ponder on that right now. “Is it really okay?”

“Yeah, you could stand to have an attitude adjustment.”

“I wasn’t talking about that, asshole. I was talking about Thursday.”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it’s completely fine.” Richie claps a hand on his shoulder, solid in its grip. It makes Carmy’s eyes snap to him, mostly in confusion. “So what’s the occasion? Must be important.”

“It’s their birthday. I mean, I could just go home early that day, but—”

“Yo, if you’re gonna take off, don’t halfass it—”

“That’s not what I was gonna say. When I’m here, I can’t seem to find my way out. This place…it just has a way of trapping you in.” He doesn’t expect Richie to nod, but he does. “I know if I don’t take the whole day off, I’ll never get out of here in time. Not until it’s too late.”

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh.

“Yeah. That's it.” Richie shakes his head as smoke trails out of his mouth. “That’s just it, man. You have to make time for the things that’re important. Even the recitals where you have to listen to five year olds play twinkle twinkle little star 20 times. You can’t miss shit like this. Because once you miss it, it’s gone.”

“Rich.” Carmy wants to say something to make that haunted expression leave Richie's face, but he doesn't come up with anything in time.

“Don’t give me that look.” Richie’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to stop you from fucking shit up. They actually seem like a good person.”

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

“Yeah.” Carmy doesn’t bother hiding his smile, even though he can already sense Richie’s teasing coming from a mile away. “They’re a really good friend.”

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts.

“Don’t push it,” and for some reason he adds, “they were gonna spend it alone.”

“Huh. Sociable guy like them spending it alone?”

“I know. I didn't ask. Maybe I should've.”

“Maybe. I dunno, cousin. Everyone's got their secrets. Especially the ones that try to act like they don't have any.”

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

“Fuck right off,” Richie responds in regular Richie fashion.

“I think they're like me. Like us.” Carmy's not sure why he's saying this on a Monday afternoon at work out of all times, but the truth bursts out of him beyond his will. Richie's expression shifts into something more solemn, something recognizable. “Y'know what I mean.”

“...Yeah.” Richie claps his hand on Carmy's back again. “Shitty parents club.”

As Carmy stands there in the back, feet sore and tobacco in the air, he sees his childhood in flashes. He's five years old again and is following Mike around with scuffed sneakers and untamed hair, although he supposes that unruliness never truly changed with time. There's warm sunlight filtering through green summer leaves. He hears his mother behind him, somewhere, but maybe he doesn't.

He thinks of home, of his bedroom, and it is cold. He has homework he’s failed to complete again. It's sitting on his desk, on top of all of the other shit he can't finish. There's screaming, and he's not listening.

He blinks. He’s 30, and he hasn’t talked to his mom since Michael died.

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly.

. . . . .

When Thursday morning arrives, Carmy ends up greeting his roommate with flour in his hair and eggs sizzling on the pan.

“Um,” they say, just as Carmy goes “G'morning.” They both freeze, brief awkwardness circling between them before it dissipates with their breathless laugh.

“Good morning. I didn't think you'd actually take off,” they admit.

“I said I would,” he replies quietly, but it's not accusatory. How many times had he said he'd be home for dinner just for him to arrive when they're already asleep? He tries not to make empty promises anymore. Nonetheless, he understands their surprise. “Um, I'm almost done with breakfast. I didn't get to the coffee yet.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?” They laugh. “That's the least I can do, with you doing all of this.” They sluggishly shuffle behind him to reach down into some kitchen cabinets. “It's a special day, so I'll even make us pour overs.”

“That's true. It is special.” He peeks over his shoulder, pausing from basting the eggs in brown butter to see them setting up on the kitchen island. They gently place the hourglass-shaped glass onto the counter with a light clink. He silently switches the button on for the electric gooseneck kettle to his right. “Am I allowed to wish you a happy birthday, or should I not?”

“Hm, I don't mind. Just don't overdo it, which I doubt you will.” They pull out a bag of coarse ground coffee and a filter. As soon as they open the bag, he can smell the sweet scent of the light roast floating towards him.

“Okay. Then, happy birthday,” he says as casually as he can.

“Thanks, Carmy.” He studies their expression, searching for annoyance in their content expression, but he doesn't find any. “That's not even really what I meant by today being special, though.”

“How else did you mean it?” The eggs are done. He reaches over the hot pan to cut the heat.

“Well, y'know. I dunno if we’ve ever had a full day off together.” They're carefully scooping grounds into the filter fitted on top of the glass, creating a small hill. “I think I managed to catch you coming home early on my off days sometimes, but never a full day.”

“Huh.” Carmy has to take a minute to think about that one. “Yeah, I don't know either. I think you're right.”

“Then, like I said. It's special.” They seal up the bag of coffee grounds, and then they frown. “Shit. I forgot to turn on the kettle. Can you—”

“Already did it,” he reports, pleased, and his sense of accomplishment only doubles at their sigh of relief.

“Thank god.” There's the familiar clicking sound of the kettle reaching the perfect temperature. “Just in time, too. Can you hand it to me?”

“Yes, chef,” he says, because it always makes them laugh. Today is no exception. He slides the metallic kettle over to them.

“So what delights did you whip up over there?” They ask. They begin pouring the almost boiling water over their coffee grounds in a slow circle, gradually inching towards the middle. “It smells amazing. I want the full break-down.”

“The full break-down, got it.” On two circular plates, he's carefully placing a fried egg, thick cut bacon, and a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Uh…it's nothin’ special, just stuff we had in the fridge. We've got a, uh, brown-butter fried egg with a little paprika, sage, pepper, salt…”

“Oh, just an egg made with liquid gold, no big deal,” they imitate.

“Cut it out,” he snips back, but he's smiling and they know it. “There's honestly not much to it. This thick-cut bacon was in the back, so I cooked the rest of it. And the toast is just brioche with salted honey butter and blueberry jam.”

“Carmy. C'mon. That's nothing special to you?”

“I mean.” It's not quite nothing, he thinks. “I can make nicer breakfasts, is all.”

“That's what you said when you made me garlic bread, and that fucking blew my mind.” They set the kettle down with a thunk. The glass is full of dark coffee. Prepped next to them is their favorite glass mug alongside Carmy's. He's not sure how they knew that it was his favorite, but he doesn't question it.

“I'm just letting you know that you should wait to be really impressed.”

“Too fucking late, man.” He's turned around and placed the two breakfast platters on the kitchen island, and they gawk openly at it. “Holy fuck.”

“It's ready,” he says, surprisingly meek. He can't comprehend why anxiety's hitting him now of all times. He's served acclaimed food critics, top-security government officials, and celebrities more times than he can count. Before that audience, he never faltered, but in front of his roommate in their crumpled pajamas, his heart stutters.

“Oh, wow…” They regard the food with undeserved softness. Like a punctured balloon, his anxiety immediately begins deflating. They're staring at the food like it's a painting in a museum. “You seriously didn't have to do all of this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” He feels heat on the back of his neck. “Is…is that okay?”

“It's more than okay.” Suddenly, he notices their eyes are puffy, like they were crying. “Goddamnit, get over here.”

He only registers what's about to happen for one second before they're hugging him. Their palms are on his back, and the top of their head tucks under his chin perfectly. He makes a small, surprised noise.

“I, I'm glad you like it.” He links his arms around them, allows himself to rest his chin on their head. With their face turned to the side, their ear's pressed up against his chest, and he's instantly struck with the paranoia that they're gonna hear his rapid heartbeat.

“I haven't even taken a bite yet, and I love it.” They lean back then, arms still wrapped around him and head craned upwards to look at him. It's far too intimate for what they are, and Carmy hates how his heart beats even harder. “Thank you for doing all this. Seriously. I…”

“The breakfast's just a side thing, I'm, um, still baking you a cake.”

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

“Carmy. Carmy, Carmy, Carmy.” Their words ooze affection, but surely he's just imagining it. Their hands are crawling up his back. “God, I could just ki—”

“There's the timer,” Carmy blurts out, because his phone's ringing and so are his ears. At the sound, they let him go, and he grabs two towels to retrieve the two circular cake pans from the oven. A toothpick poked through the middle comes out clean, so he sets them on a wire rack to cool.

He needs to focus on the cakes. That's the most important thing.

“Oh my god.” They lean in close to the cake and take a deep breath. “Is this—”

“Devil's food cake, yeah.” The heat searing his face is surely from opening the oven.

“You—how did you—” Their smile is luminous with joy. “You really pay attention to every little thing, don't you?”

“Sometimes. When it counts.” He fidgets awkwardly, nails picking at the sides of his fingers. “Wanna eat by the window, or…?”

“Fuck yeah I do. Can you bring the plates over? I'll have the coffee over in just a second.”

Carmy sets up at their little table first, placing the plates just right across from one another. The morning sun casts a cozy glow through their speckled window, streaking planes of light across the floor. He patiently waits and watches them pace from the fridge to the counter, splashing cream into their mugs. Through the transparent glass, he watches the white fizzle into the dark coffee, blending into a warm brown.

“Just a tiny spoon of sugar for you, right?” They peek over their shoulder, catching his stare, and he nods. He's also not quite sure how they know that, either. They've had coffee in the morning maybe a handful of times before.

He supposes they also pay attention sometimes, when it counts.

“Alright, here we go.” They bring a mug in each hand and set them delicately down on the table. He notes that his coffee is the perfect color. “Oh, thanks for waiting. You didn't have to.”

“I, I guess so, yeah. It's just, uh, you always wait for me, so…”

“That's—that's true.” An odd tension sets in their face, but they laugh it off, and it disappears. “I guess I’m not used to it anymore.”

A part of him wants to ask further by what they meant by that, but they're already taking pictures of his food so dutifully. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he eats.

It's nice to have a solid breakfast for once. He had taken their advice from the other night and had been drinking milk with protein powder. It was nice not to feel like he was teetering the edge by lunch time, but truthfully, it was a bit unsavory. This breakfast platter is much more palatable. It also helps that his stomach pains aren't active today.

Time rolls by slowly this quiet morning, and Carmy recognizes the oddity of it immediately. It's clear to see when by this time, he's usually already done at least ten laps through the restaurant. An irritating signal in his brain is telling him that he needs to get up and do something, not sit around and eat, but for once, he doesn't want to listen.

A memory from roughly two weeks ago (or was it one week?) unearths all of sudden. He was up early, drinking shitty coffee and sinking into dissociation. Mornings were lonely, as he was usually the only one up, but not that day. His roommate came stumbling into the kitchen, awake from a restless night. They chatted before he had to head out, and he remembers wishing he had more time in the morning to spend with them.

He imagined a morning just like this one, with pajamas, food, and messy hair. He daydreamed about having all the time in the world, and he thought about getting to spend it all with them. Now he’s sitting in that moment he imagined, except that it’s real. They're across from him in their wrinkled pajamas and bedhead, contentedly mowing through their food. There's a smear of jam on the corner of their mouth. He takes a sip of his coffee, and it's perfect, just as they made it for him.

This amount of good should scare him, needs to scare him, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. He wants more than nightmares, cigarettes, and floating just above the budget. He wants this.

He tastes his coffee and reminds himself that he’s still here. The moment hasn’t passed him by.

“Is it good?” He asks quietly. It’s a rhetorical question, it always is, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from them.

“So. Fucking. Good.” They have to finish chewing before they answer. “You always knock it out of the park. If this is the prelude, I don’t know if I can handle what’s next,” they say, gesturing towards the cooling cake.

“It won’t be ready for a while yet. You have time to prepare yourself.” That makes them smile. All according to plan. “Got anything in mind for today?”

“Nothing glamorous. I was just gonna go out for a little. Go thrifting, maybe watch a movie later. Smoke a joint.” They shrug. “Just my usual sort of thing.”

“Mm.” He dusts off crumbs from the toast off his fingers on his pants. “Sounds like a good time. You still wanna go?”

“I do, yeah.” They stare at him for a moment, as if processing his words. Or just him. “Do you…wanna tag along, or…?”

Whenever they ask him if he wants to spend time together (whether it’s grocery shopping, smoking, or watching a show), they usually offer it with an air of nonchalance. Carmy’s assumed it’s been out of politeness, restraining their expression as to not put any pressure onto him. That’s the person he’s used to, not this uneasy anxiety, someone afraid to ask him to spend time with them.

It reminds him of himself in every way.

“I’d love to tag along,” he answers easily, just as they’ve always done for him. “I’ve got the whole day off, after all.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He watches their little smile double in size. “I promise to not make you watch me try on clothes for too long.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I like thrifting, y’know.” And you, he thinks to himself.

“You do? Oh, of course—” They make a contemplative noise to themself. “Vintage denim. I always wondered how you managed to have so many pairs.”

“Once you know where to look, they’re pretty easy to find. I can help you find some, if you want.”

“I’d love that. I realized the other day that I don’t have any dark wash jeans, so—actually, the truth is that I do have a pair, but they’re so fucked up and old that I never wear them anymore. Anyway, I need new jeans. Think you could find some dark wash blue jeans for me?”

“If you’re willing to hit up more than one store, then definitely,” he replies, just a smidge cocky.

“I’m willing to hit up even two more stores.” He pretends to gasp, to which they nod confidently. “Yeah. That’s right. Maybe even three.”

“We won’t need three,” Carmy promises. “I’m better than that. Probably won’t even need two, but…” He shrugs. “We’ll see what they’ve got.”

“Okay, Mr. Confident over here,” they tease. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

They head out after they both clean the kitchen and freshen up. Carmy gets the flour out of his hair and rewets his hair to revive some of his curls. He silently thanks his past self for showering the night before. With the passage of the morning cold and the rising sun, the afternoon weather’s become brisk and pleasant. However, the weather’s barely a factor in how he’s dressing.

Is this too much? Is this not enough? He’s switching shirts and pants in the mirror like he’s about to go on a date. He knows he’s not, swears to himself that he’s not, but he’s put product in his hair and cologne on his wrists and temples. It’s not a date, but he can’t fucking decide what to wear.

He sucks it up and settles on a gray sweater, light wash blue jeans, and white sneakers. From under his collar and at the bottom of his sweater peeks out a brown button up. It’s probably too much, but this is his sixth outfit change. He’s fed up with it and himself.

After adjusting the gold chain that got hidden under his collar, he steps out.

He finds them already waiting by the door in this thick knit cardigan and fitted plaid pants that makes his heart stutter. When they hear him approaching, their head snaps up from their phone, and their skin sparkles with touches of makeup.

“You look really nice.” He has no idea how he let that slip, but he’s more shocked that he didn’t stutter once.

“Ah, th—thank you,” they stammer, fingers fidgeting with the edge of their sleeve. He’s not sure if it's their makeup or their skin that’s doing the blushing. It’s nice to see them being the one tripping over their words for once. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Oh. Um.” Handsome? It echoes in his head. He instantly feels self conscious. So much for being the more suave one for once. “Thanks, uh…I just didn’t wanna wear my work clothes,” he lies in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.

“I gotcha.” He’s glad they don’t challenge him on it. “Shall we head out?”

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

They take the metro to their personal favorite shop a little up north. The metro’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday afternoon, but the crowd forces the two of them to be huddled next to each other. They’re both standing close to a pole by the window, each with one hand wrapped around the metal.

As passengers come and go, they step closer to him to move out of the way. Eventually it just gets to a point where they’re standing nearly pressed up against his chest. He tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, but he can smell the fragrance they put on, and it’s very distracting.

Luckily, the ride is short. Any longer on the train, he might’ve put an arm around their shoulder, god forbid.

“If we can’t find what I’m looking for here, maybe you can show me one of your favorite spots to go thrifting,” they say as they enter the thrift store. The interior is decorated, clean, and lovely, and unlike the metro, it’s not packed to the brim with people. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s local art framed all over the walls for sale. It oozes warmth and excitement, much like them.

“There’s a ton of shit here, so maybe we won’t need to after all.” He finds himself intaking everything at once, eyes flickering from sign to sign. “I’ve never been here before. This is really cool.”

“It’s my favorite place to find new clothes.” They trail down the racks, finger flitting between clothes. “I hope you can find something you like here, too.”

“I’m sure I will.” He’s already walking to their denim section and immediately spots some contenders. “I think I already have.”

He’s not sure if they mean to spend hours in there, but he certainly does. There’s more than just clothes to look at, although that’s what takes up most of his time. There’s dishes, furniture, cds, vinyls, books, even electronics. He goes back and forth with them, clothing articles piling up in his arms as they sit on battered couches together and peruse scratched cds. Everywhere he looks, there’s just more, more, and more.

“Okay, I’ve gotta cut myself off,” they say as they leave the furniture section. They’ve sat on nearly every chair in that place. “I already have so many clothes to try on, and that’s not even including the jeans you’ve picked out for me.”

“If it helps, some of these are mine.” Carmy flips through the layers of hanging jeans that have built up on his forearm. “If you can believe it, I even found some stuff that isn’t denim.”

“I’m not sure if I can, but seeing is believing.” They thumb through some long-sleeves he’s carrying that are seeping out from under the jeans. “I’m just glad you were able to find some stuff for yourself, too. Not that I was that worried.”

He hands them the jeans he’s found for them, all dark wash and in their size. To his surprise, they also hand him an article of clothing for him to try on.

“I thought you’d look good in this. You’ll have to show me when you try it on,” they say, and it’s innocent, completely meaningless, but as soon as Carmy agrees and rushes to hide in the changing room, he views in the mirror and sees his flushed face.

Doesn’t mean anything, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. Stop getting in over your head.

He tries on his items of choice first. The first is a dark green henley that looked better on the rack than it did him, so he puts it in the reject pile. The second is a dark blue long sleeve that fits just right. It’s cheap, too, so it’s an automatic purchase. He presumes the way to word it is that it hugs him in all the right places, but he’s not sure. The rest are jeans, of which only one he decides to buy. A bit pricey, but for the brand and year, it’s worth it (although he basically always uses this reasoning with himself).

Now, for the piece of clothing they picked out for him. It’s a dark brown t-shirt that seems like it’s just the right length. It’s a muted, yet warm brown, a bit rosey in hue. He doesn’t realize it’s a v-neck until he gets it over his head and down his shoulders.

“I’ve never worn a v-neck before,” he calls out to the room next to him.

“Oh, are you trying it on? Do you like it?” Their slightly muffled voice calls back to him.

“Um…I’m not sure,” he admits with a shaky laugh. The collar is lower than he’s used to. It dips below his collarbones, and between them dangles his chain. “Should I show you?”

“Yes! Hold on, lemme get some pants on. …Okay, I’m stepping out!”

He hears their door open alongside his. When they see him, their expression snaps into what he believes is surprise and delight. He’s sure he looks somewhat the same.

They’re wearing one of the vintage jeans he picked out for them—dark blue Levi’s. Although they’re rolled up a couple times at the bottom, it seems to fit them just right. As he stares, he’s reminded of his many pairs of Levi’s, and it’s more or less like seeing them in his clothes, which is. Which is. Uh. Yeah.

“I knew that would suit you,” they say with a grin, to which he realizes he can’t hide his blush.

“It’s not weird?”

“Not at all. It looks good.” They tilt their head to the side as they openly look him over, hip cocked. Something in their gaze is making him hot. “No pressure to buy it, of course.”

“It’s different from what I’m used to, but…” He looks down, smooths the fabric with his palm. “It’s kinda nice, something like this. Um, and what do you think about the jeans?” He needs to direct the attention off him quickly.

“Oh, I love them. The others ended up fitting not quite right on me, but that’s how it goes.” They move from side to side, almost twirling. It’s cute. “I love these, though. Just a little long, but I’m used to it.”

“That’s how it always is. I can hem them for you, if you want. I usually hem mine.”

“And he sews,” they say, seemingly to themself, but they’re looking right at him. Embarrassing. “If you don’t mind, that’d be amazing. Either way, I’m probably getting them.”

“Good. You should. They fit well.”

“Yeah?” They glance back into their fitting room, likely examining themself in the mirror, and then back at him. “Okay, then. Definitely getting them.” With that and a cheeky grin, they go back into their dressing room to try on the rest of their clothes. Carmy follows suit, grateful to hide his embarrassed face.

Carmy heads to check out with the dark blue long sleeve, a pair of jeans, and the brown v-neck. They’ve decided on the pair of jeans they showed him earlier and a little purple tank-top he wishes he got to see on them.

“Will that be all for you today?” The cashier asks him as he checks out first. Even the cashiers here are pretty nice, he finds.

“Oh, their stuff, too.” He nods to them, who’s standing right next to him.

“Carmy.” They glare at him.

“What?” He feels himself smiling.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“C’mon.” He nudges them gently with his elbow. “It’s my present to you.”

“Oh, so the present wasn’t the breakfast? Or the cake? Or helping me pick these out?”

“Why can’t it be all of them?” He decides to stop this in its tracks and takes the clothes out of their hands, sliding it onto the counter. “Just these two, and that’ll be it.”

“Just you wait until your birthday hits,” they mutter darkly, shaking their head. “Just you wait.”

“I haven’t told you my birthday.” He pauses. “Right?”

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

“You could also just, I don't know, not ask—”

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't force my hand—”

“You guys are cute together,” the cashier comments with a smile, surely a harmless, meaningless thing, but it shuts the both of them up. Carmy can already feel the impact of it on his psyche, and he decides to tuck away the surging emotions to unpack later. At least, he'll try.

“You really didn't have to get those for me,” they tell him when they're exiting the store. “But I guess I should just be saying thank you. So…thank you.”

“Sure. I mean, it would've been better if it was wrapped and stuff, but…” He shrugs. “Had to get you a real present, not just food.”

“Not just food, my ass.” That makes him laugh. “It'll be nice to have something to remind me of this day, though. That's one of the nice parts of getting gifts. Everytime I wear these clothes, I'll think of you.”

“Good. Yeah, that's…good,” he finishes lamely. He nods like their words haven't flustered him, but he's sure they can tell. They laugh, and he can tell it's because of his reaction.

“I'm sorry that the cashier said that,” they say out of nowhere.

“Why're you apologizing? It's not your fault.” Any embarrassment he was feeling before is immediately replaced with a new, more potent sort of embarrassment. He was hoping they wouldn't mention it.

“I guess that's true. I don't know, I just…” They trail off. “Just hope it didn't upset you.”

“Not at all,” he lies, and he prays they believe it.

. . . . .

The metro is less crowded on the way home. They sit comfortably next to each other and watch the city pass them by. A part of Carmy mourns the closeness they had on the way there, but the other part tells him to get it together and keep his distance.

“I'mma take a nap,” they say with a yawn. Their cardigan and bag have been tossed onto the couch. The new clothes have been thrown into the laundry machine, and there's the muffled sound of running water. “Maybe we could smoke and watch a movie later, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He peers into the fridge to check on the cake rounds. Just as he left them. “Have a good nap.”

“Thanks, Carm,” they reply sleepily. “Wouldn't be a good day if I didn't get to have a nice nap, after all.” With that, they shuffle into their room and shut the door behind them.

Carmy spends the next two hours flying around the apartment, baking, cooking, cleaning. The sun slowly sets as he goes. He keeps his body and hands moving in hopes that his head doesn't have a chance to catch up, but it manages to keep the pace. It always does.

The crumb coat's fucked up on the left, his first train of thought says. He inspects the surface, eyes following the circumference of the cake. There's a little loose crumb. With the edge of his spatula, he tucks the crumb away.

The faint smell of chocolate wafts up from the cold cake rounds. He's hunched over the kitchen island, hands reaching between dark chocolate frosting and cake. The afternoon sun casts harsh lights onto the cake, and it glistens. He genuinely can't remember the last time he's made a layered cake. He's never been much of a baker, anyhow.

You're going to disappoint them, his second train of thought interrupts, running parallel to the other one at full speed. Who do you think you are? You don't make cakes.

He leans back, inspects his work. The crumb coats are perfect.

Fuck off, he thinks back, triumphant. Look at that shit. He runs his finger along the spatula, picking up congealed crumbs and frosting. He licks it off, and it's delicious. And it tastes good, asshole. So shut the fuck up.

You're being a nuisance, the thoughts continue. Carmy's pops the crumb coats in the freezer for a quick set. They don't actually like any of this. They're just being nice to make you feel better.

They seemed happy to me, he thinks, but he's faltering. He's washing the dishes, and the sensation of the warm water feels distant. They loved the food I made.

Couldn't you tell they were lying? He doesn't understand why these thoughts are rampaging through his head now of all times. It's not unfamiliar, but it's inconvenient. Keep this up, and you'll actually be surprised when they drop you.

Without warning, a memory hits him . As his hands drip with soap, he's reminded of playing with Michael and Sugar in the summer when he was five. Or six, or seven, he's never quite sure. They were outdoors at a local park, and the heat made the metal of the playground searing hot to the touch.

He was blowing bubbles, and the sticky mixture from the bottle was getting all over his hands. In his memory, Carmy watches the way the iridescent bubbles floated away and left little circles on the surface of the plastic slide. He can't remember why he wasn't playing with the others. He can remember the sound of their laughing voices in the distance, gleeful and delighted without him. He thinks he tried to join in, but it didn't work. It often just didn't work, and it was all his fault.

The memory ends, and Carmy's finished washing the dishes.

This is working, he thinks to himself. His hands are dried out from the hot water and soap. I swear to you, it's working. So just stop. Okay?

There's no response. Good enough.

He hears the door opening as soon as he's putting the finishing touches on the cake. With a damp paper towel, he carefully swipes away stray drops of frosting that fell onto the cake stand. He thinks it's best described as if a tiramisu was turned into a devil's food cake. It's not the best cake he's ever made, but it's definitely up there in terms of looks. All the components of the cake tasted good separately, so he hopes it makes sense in his mouth as much as it did in his head.

“Have a nice nap?” He asks before he turns his head. They're standing in the hallway, bed hair hastily tied back.

“Sorta. It was okay.” Their eyes are glued onto the cake as they walk up to the island. “Is this…?”

“This is for you, yeah,” he finishes for them. They take a seat on one of the chairs at the island. “It's a, uh, devil's food cake with vanilla mascarpone cream on the inside. The outside's this coffee buttercream…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. He could mention the dutch processed cocoa powder, the expensive vanilla bean pods, or the endless sifting, but it feels too gratuitous.

“Wow…” They're still staring, as if it's not quite real to them. “I can't believe this is for me. It almost looks too pretty to eat, but you know I can't wait to tear into this.”

“We could, uh, have it now, if you, if you want,” he says hesitantly.

“I don't know if I could wait.” Their smile grows wider. “You even put candles on it?”

“We don't have to light them or anything if you don't want to,” he adds quickly.

“The candles are the fun part. I don't mind that. The song is…okay I guess, but…” They give him an expectant, excited look. “Were you gonna sing for me?”

“...Only if you wanted to,” he mumbles, suddenly stricken with embarrassment.

“Would that be okay? If I wanted that?”

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

“Okay. Then, yeah.” They pull out a lighter from their pocket. “I’d really like that.”

Carmy cuts the overhead lights before taking out his own lighter to help them light the rest of the candles. One by one, the dark room gradually illuminates until it's filled with a warm, orange glow. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows onto their smiling face and reflect into their glossy eyes.

“Ready?” He asks quietly.

“I'm ready,” they whisper.

Carmy doesn't really need to clear his throat, but he does so anyway. He can't recall the last time he sang happy birthday to anyone, let alone by himself. This is the first time he's ever sung in front of an audience, too.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. I can do this.

His voice is awkward and scratchy. He never uses it like this, has never sang for anyone in his life. His ears burn, and he hates the sound of his voice, but he reminds himself to focus on their delighted little smile and warm gaze. The room is far too quiet for his voice, making the words painfully clear.

“Happy birthday to you,” he finishes singing, voice trailing off awkwardly. He's more than ready to finish singing now. “Uh, make a wish…?”

“Right.” The two of them sit in the flickering candle light for a moment longer, the silence thick. Carmy watches their face, their eyes boring into the candles with an expression he can only describe as longing. Then, they blow out the candles with a decisive blow, and the room goes dark.

He moves to switch on the lights. When he turns back to look at them, tears are streaming down their face.

“Hey,” he says softly. He props his elbows on the counter, standing across from them and tilting his head to the side. They're not meeting his gaze, glazed eyes boring into the dripping candles. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” they whisper with a sniffle, and it sounds like a reflex. Something about them suddenly seems so much smaller. “I shouldn't be crying.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.” That makes them smile, even if it's shaky. “Was the singing too much?”

“No, it wasn't your singing,” they say with a laugh. “Your singing was lovely. It's just—I'm so happy. You made today so special.”

“Yeah?” He fights the urge to reach over and wipe their tears. “I'm glad. I wanted to make it good. I…” He hesitates. “...I didn't like the idea of you spending it alone.”

“I didn't either. And I thought I was going to have to be alone…but then you—then you took off work, and you made me breakfast, you went shopping with me—even got me clothes—and now this—” Another rush of tears gushes from their eyes, and they hastily wipe at it with their shirt.

“You've done way more for me. This is the least I could do.” Before he can stop himself, his hand is brushing hair out of their eyes. They freeze for a split second, eyes finally flickering up towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's okay,” they whisper back. “Um…” They let out a shaky sigh, the sort of trembling sound that happens after crying too much. “I feel like I should explain.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he assures them quickly, “but I…I'd like to know. If that's okay.”

“I want you to know. I, I do.” They open their mouth to keep talking, but shaky breaths continue to stifle them. It's hard to watch.

“Breathe,” he reminds them, quietly. He visibly takes in a deep breath, silently encouraging them to breathe with him. They follow suit, closing their eyes and taking a slow breath. Tears slip silently from their eyes. Gradually, their breathing becomes less of a staccato, evening out into something much more manageable.

“Thank you,” they murmur. He nods. They already sound a lot calmer. “I'm not sure where to start. I…I suppose I'll start with today.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t get a call from my parents today.”

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

“I knew they weren’t going to. But a part of me still hoped…” They stop and shake their head. “It's the first year that it's been like this.”

“What happened?”

“Uh…I went no contact with my family about a year ago.” Another pained, hollow laugh. The second piece. “I didn't even really want to—it was a complicated, shitty situation. My parents were being their usual shitty selves, and I just wanted them to apologize. It was over such a small thing, and, and I just…I don't know. I thought maybe I could fix things.” He's never seen them with such a heavy expression, etched with such weariness. “I just wanted them to apologize to me, Carm. That's all I wanted. And then they cut me off cold.”

Their voice is trembling again, and the tears are falling faster. The collar of their shirt is dark with moisture. Carmy hates that he doesn't know what to say. He hates just staring at them, silent as he tries to find the words.

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael.

“Michael never let me work in the restaurant,” he tells them. “That's why I went to culinary school. A big part of it, anyway. He just cut me off, didn't let me in no matter what I did, and it was…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “I felt insane. I was so fucking angry. I couldn't understand him. And I'm not saying that's anything like what you've been through, but…” He looks into their watchful eyes. “I'm sorry. I think I'm trying to say that I, that I understand. A little.”

“I…I appreciate that.” They give him a small, wobbly smile. He adores their smile, but seeing it through their tears twists something painfully in his chest. “He would've been lucky to have you. You're an excellent chef.”

“I am now, anyway.” He sighs. “Your family's missing out on you, too. You're…” Say it. Just say it. “You're a really wonderful person. I can't imagine…”

I can't imagine anyone looking at you and not loving what they see, he thinks suddenly, and he instantly realizes he can't say it. He can barely even comprehend that he just thought it.

He can't process this right now. This isn't the time.

“I keep trying to wrap my head around it all, wondering what I did wrong, what I could've done better… Sometimes, the conclusion I arrive at is that I must have done something to deserve this. That I just, I don't know, that maybe I'm just this permanent fuck-up, and…” They run a tired hand over their wet face, through their hair. “My parents fucked me up real good, man.”

There's something familiar about their words, and Carmy realizes it's because it sounds like him. He would've never guessed that under their easy-going smiles was a reflection of himself. He recognizes himself in their self-deprecation, the bone-deep pain. There was always a sense of sympathetic connection between the two of them, but he had no idea. He had no idea how far deep the mutual experiences went.

A part of him still can't believe that this is the truth, that this is what lies at their core, but then he remembers. He thinks about the night they were throwing up into the toilet. They were sobbing, crying into his shoulder about how much they hate themself.

“You know you didn't deserve it. Right?” Carmy's not sure when they started leaning in so close to each other. He's looking at their wet eyelashes with startling clarity. “You did all you could.”

“You don't know that.” Their words are so soft-spoken, but it still catches him off guard. “You don't know what happened.”

“You—” Irritation prickles inside him, his instincts itching to snap back, but he doesn't. He sees himself in them, and he holds back. “You're right. I don't know what happened. But I know you.” The shock is on their face as clear as day. “At least, I think I do.”

“I want to think you do, too,” they whisper. “But this—this messy bullshit is also me. I wish it wasn't. I wish you didn't have to see all this. I…don't want you to…think any less of me.”

“I don't think there's anything you could do to make me think less of you.” He doesn't resist dragging his thumb across a stray tear on their cheek. To his surprise, they lean into his touch. “Y'know when I almost burned down the apartment?”

“Oh my god.” They smile, and he feels their grinning cheek against his palm. “Yeah. Is it crazy to say I remember it fondly?”

“A little bit.” They laugh. It's quiet, but it's real. “Remember that talk we had after?”

“I do. Why?”

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” he says softly. “It won't push me away.”

They stare at him for what feels like a long time. Their eyes refill with tears, but they don't spill. With a clammy hand, they shakily place their hand on top of his hand that's still cradling their wet cheek.

“Fucking onions,” they say finally with a wet laugh. Fresh tears drip onto his thumb, and he wipes them away again. As many times as it takes. “God damnit, Carmy.”

“No one deserves to have shitty parents, let alone ones that walk out on them.” He thumbs away more tears. “You being an imperfect person like everyone else doesn't justify that.”

“There must be something more I could've done,” they whisper. “Something I did wrong.”

“Maybe. But they're your parents, not the other way around. It's not your fault.”

“I know. I know that. I do. There just has to be a reason, because—fuck—the truth would just be too fucked up.”

“...And that is?”

It takes a long, still minute before they can get their words out.

“...It’s—it's that—” Their cries are verging on sobs, increasingly more staggered and uncontrollable. “It's that s-some kids—are just—some kids have parents that will never—never love—”

They can't finish. Their sobs have overtaken their whole body. Their body's hunched over the counter, curled into themself. Carmy can't think of a time where he's ever seen them crying so hard.

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug.

They cry for a long time. Through it all, fleeting condolences pass Carmy by in his head, but they all feel too cheap, too meaningless. So all he does is hold them tight, letting them grab onto his shirt and soak the fabric on his shoulder. It's all he feels he can really do.

After a while, the tide subsides. He feels them wilting in his arms, exhausted from sobbing so violently. He doesn't actually want to let them go, but their sniffling nose sounds like it's completely stopped up.

“I'm gonna get you some tissues, ok?” He says quietly. They make a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and they pull back. He snatches up a box of tissues from the coffee table. He places it in front of them before grabbing them a glass of water.

“Thank you,” they mumble, voice scratchy. Carmy stands and watches as they blow through several tissues. The water gets downed instantaneously.

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

“...I think, deep down, I know I didn't deserve what happened. Or just having shitty parents in general.” They sigh. “It's just easier to think that I do. That I deserve it.”

“...Yeah.” That resonates with a part of him he's not quite ready to acknowledge. “You're one of the kindest people I've ever met,” he admits quietly. “If someone like you deserves a shitty hand in life, I'm fucked.”

“Carmy…” Their smile is small, but genuine. “Thank you. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, one day. I'm going to try.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.”

That makes both of them smile, even if it's bitter.

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

“No, thank you for listening. For just being there for me.” They prop their chin in their hands, their elbows resting on the counter. “Y'know, this past year, I've been trying to find a sense of joy in all this mess. Sometimes it just feels so far away, like…like any happiness is just impossible. But I think I've found it. Rather, I've already found it.”

“Yeah?” Carmy looks at them expectantly, but he never expected this—

“I found you,” they tell him.

“...” He immediately fixes his shocked expression. He's at a loss for words.

Me?

“I never found a chance to mention it, but…my parents are the reason I decided to live with you. That's why I wanted to be your roommate, even though we were strangers.” They shrug shyly. “My lease was up on my last place. I was gonna go home, but then all that stuff happened at the last minute, and…yeah. I needed to find a place to live.”

“Seriously?” They just nod. “Damn. Uh…Yeah, that's fucking crazy. I had no idea.”

“At the time, I was miserable. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I can't believe how shitty this situation is!’ Don't get me wrong, it was fucking awful, but…it led me to you, so…it wasn't really all that bad, in the end. I got lucky.”

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

“If you hadn't roomed with me, I wouldn't have been able to come back home for my brother's restaurant,” he says, mostly because he's so embarrassed that he swears his whole body's red at this point. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. “I think I'm the lucky one.”

“Can't we both be lucky?”

“I guess we can. Just doesn't seem very realistic.”

“Little too late to say that. It's already real.”

“...There's no other shoe?”

“Not that I know of. I think the other shoe's already dropped for us a while ago. Surely there's no other shoes left?”

“I hope not. I don't know if I could take another one.”

“Me neither.”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

“Fuck, oh my god—I completely forgot! Yes!”

Just as Carmy planned, the flavors go perfectly together. Even though he knew it was going to be delicious, when he takes the first bite of the cake, relief washes over him. They seem to be overjoyed, inhaling the cake at dangerous speeds.

“You're gonna hurt yourself if you eat that fast,” he observes, both amused and concerned.

“Can't talk. Need to eat this.” That makes him laugh so abruptly he nearly gets cake up his nose. “This is the best birthday cake I've ever had, both visually and taste-wise.”

“I'm glad. Like I said, I'm not really a baker, but…I make an alright cake.”

“You make a fantastic cake.” They’ve got a bit of frosting on the corner of their mouth. “It doesn't get much better than this—eating a cake made by you.”

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

“No, not that. Not just that, anyway,” they amend with a cheeky grin. “Because you're my best friend.”

You're my best friend.

…

I'm their best friend, he repeats to himself. I'm their best friend.

He thinks about crying. He won't cry, but he thinks about it.

“Oh,” he replies intelligently. “...Really?”

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

“You're my best friend too,” he blurts out, and the anxiety on their face fades away into a relieved, beautiful smile.

“Thank god. That would've been pretty awkward if you didn't…” They shake their head.

“I've never been anyone's best friend before,” he confesses.

“Seriously?” They recover from the shock quickly. “Lucky me, then.”

“I thought you established we were both the lucky ones.”

“Oh, right.” They chuckle. “Lucky both of us, then.”

Carmy thought that life would always be the same. He thought that he was fated to a routine of nausea and nightmares, never quite close enough to reach a rest point. He thought that he was okay with it being his fate, because he never knew anything else.

He thought that loneliness, cigarettes, and memories would be enough, because it always stays the same. Nothing ever changes.

Until them.

He thought he had outgrown happiness, that his body had grown accustomed to living without it. That there was no longer space in his heart to withstand the weight of joy. But as he sits here with his roommate, chatting and laughing over a cake he made for them, he finds that's not true.

His capacity for happiness had never left. It had been there all along.

And with that, something in him lets go.

Carmy sees it all at once. It starts from the beginning—he sees the first day he met them, an initially hesitant meeting gone surprisingly well. He sees the first time the two of them smoked together, deliriously laughing through shared smoke. He sees them in the mornings, messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts. He sees them in nothing but an apron. He sees them in tight black clothes that leave little to the imagination. He sees them laughing at a joke that he didn’t think was all that funny.

He sees them in his dreams, red tomato puree bleeding from their gums. He sees them holding his trembling hands in theirs, soothing him back down from the storm in his hand. He sees them comforting him through his tears. He sees them sobbing, hot tears on their cheek and his hand. He sees them heaving into the toilet, whispering that they want to know him. He sees himself, embracing them tightly in his arms.

He sees it all. He knows that he can't avoid it anymore.

Carmy is completely, undeniably in love with them, and there is absolutely nothing that he can do to make that realization disappear.

…Some things, he understands, refuse to stay the same.

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy the bear #the bear fx #my fics #alexithymia fic #GOD. IT'S FINALLY HERE. THIS ONE'S A BEAST.#ch 6 is gonna be the climax..... it's gonna happen yall. it's finally here. hahahaha #anyway this one took so long to write because it was so revealing for me... as i'm sure yall have guessed. sigh.

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alabamasweettea · 9 months ago

Text

wake up call

( no bc Barry looks so sweet in this gif I can't )

Fandom: Eternals

Pairing: Druig x mutant!reader (siphon like rogue but w/o the life force bit)

Warnings: none really

When you joined forces with the eternals - a mere mutant, but powerful nonetheless - you never expected to become close with them. Sersei in particular took a liking to you, promising to style your hair and do your makeup sometimes. The days and nights were fun, to say the least. You hung out, introduced Ikaris to the concept of smiling, et cetera.

You loved to watch them work, often crouching and sucking some of Sprite's power to hide yourself in the shadows when you weren't needed, simply watching as the troupe fought yet another stray deviant.

Ikaris was always amazing to see; twin bolts of something hotter than hot zapping straight from his eyes. It was exhilarating, to be frank. Sersei was gorgeous, as usual; her long, fluid movements perfectly calculated for each strike. The rest were not super outstanding, you supposed, though one of them stumped you.

Druig. A seemingly moody teenager type, he tended to stick to the shadows. What kind of a name was that anyway? In any case you barely knew what he could do because he never used his powers.

In fact, you barely knew anything about him, other than he liked to call you "witch" for no reason at all. It wasn't a really affectionate or even pleasing nickname, you often thought.

It was always, "Morning, witch," when he came into the kitchen only half dressed for a piece of toast; or "Need help, witch?" when you couldn't reach something on a top cupboard. Still topless, he made it a habit to press against your back intentionally as he got it for you.

Stupid eternal, you'd think as you scampered back to your room. What's wrong with getting it like a normal person?

To be fair, you deliberately chose cups on the very top shelf... maybe he felt the same weird thing in his stomach as you did when his body molded against yours. You supposed you'd never know.

You did suppose, but Ajak sent you to wake Druig up one Saturday morning, and you realized he usually woke up like clockwork at around 6, but it was 7:15 and he hadn't even gotten out of bed.

"Druig?" you asked, tapping on the door of his room. The old hinges creaked; the door was open. You walked inside with haste before stopping in your tracks.

Wh- Woah.

The man was shaped like a Greek god, all spread-eagled on his bed. Limbs hung over the side as he slumbered peacefully half on his side, half on his stomach.

Wow. Just wow.

His back was completely exposed and the sheets were pulled back, showing the curve of his hips and just a little lower. You were relieved to find he at least slept in underwear. They came down low, though, much to one part of you's delight.

He stirred, long dark eyelashes fluttering.

"Druig?" You tried again, hoping that now he was lucid enough to answer.

Nothing but a sleepy "hmm~", but it was progress.

"Druig? Love, wake up." Okay. The 'love' was completely unnecessary, but you felt proud of yourself for handling his state of undress so well. So far. You could feel some sense of propriety unraveling within you as you spent more and more time with these eternals.

You didn't want to touch him- but you did, and you were going to admit it to yourself. The wide span of his back practically called your name, and you gave in finally.

His skin was smooth, dotted all over with little freckles. You could feel the bunching of muscles as they flexed under your palm.

TWO ENDINGS FOR THIS ONE (bc i have no life apparently)

ENDING 1:

Something switched on in your mind. You couldn't move- no, you didn't want to. Everything in you suddenly wanted to stay sitting on the bed, even lie down next to him.

Then you noticed his eyes fluttering open, more golden than the sun.

Ah.

"It's unfair to use powers," You tried to remark, but your mouth wouldn't respond. You couldn't pull your hand away.

"Sorry, witch. Force of habit." He chuckled, but didn't turn it off.

This man's gonna be the death of me.

"I can hear you, you know." His eyes were of the brightest gold. They seemed to glow even brighter than before as he began to sift through your thoughts. Finally, he sat up, sleepily stretching. You had to tamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

"What are you doing here, witch?" It was said so affectionately that you nearly forgot what you were here for.

"I- Ajak sent me to wake you." You shivered under the weight of his golden gaze, mind struggling against his hold as he combed through it. No- don't let him find-

Shit.

He chuckled, moving his cheek to press against yours. A soft sigh left him as the movement had its desired effect on you: your brain went blank for a while as his own dirty thoughts wormed their way into your mind. It felt odd, but you accepted him all the same, unable to do much differently under his control.

"Oh, you," he finally said when he found what he was looking for, whispering against the shell of your ear, "You naughty, naughty witch."

ENDING 2:

The sleeping eternal stirred again, starting to come out of it. You panicked and tried to return to a respectable distance, and would have if his hand on your wrist hadn't stopped you. His fingers curled around your own hand, dragging it back to his skin.

Your fingertips settled on a spot just below his heart, watching Druig intently as his eyes fluttered open. He normally had the softest, sweetest blue eyes you'd ever seen; though right now they glowed a hungry gold in the dark room.

"Hullo," he said softly, dragging a fingertip down your burning cheek, "What are you doing here, witch? Come to kill me in my sleep?" You shook your head violently, no words forming on your tongue.

"Well, least you can do is come 'ere." And he pulled you into him.

"But Ajak-"

"Can wait. 'M sleeping."

( which ending do you like better? )

#druig x reader #druig eternals #joining another fandom woohoo #eternals fic #barry keoghan #my fics

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bokettochild · 9 months ago

Note

Hello! This doesn't really align with the format, but for day 14 can you please do something with those tile enemies (the ones in that comic with Legend thinking about the worst thing he's faced)? I can't really decide if it would be better to torment the heroes unfamiliar with that enemy or to go with the ones that have dealt with them before, or a combination...

So, this did end up with less whump and more sort of...crack vibes? it was fun to write anyways, and I hope you enjoy!

Rating: General

Wordcount: 3,443

Summary: While Legend and Wind are getting their asses beat by a gleeok (see Day 12) the rest of the chain are trying to find them, which leads to a lot of fun realizing just how awful a floor can really be. Wild's pretty sure he hates dungeons, Warriors is torn, Hyrule is resorting to the worst humor ever, and Four would just like out now, please.

(Warning for copious amounts of bad humor and some movie quotes.)

They should never have let Legend and Wind go on ahead.

Not that the skill of either of the two boys is in any doubt, but the skill of those left behind is somewhat lacking. While Hyrule manages just fine, Time is apparently much older now than he was the last time he took on a dungeon, and Warriors and Wild are not familiar with them at all. Sky lacks stamina, Twilight lacks speed, and Four lacks nothing, but he keeps getting stuck at the back of the group. It’s not fun, and it’s not very fair either, considering he’s pretty sure he could handle this if they’d just let him try. It’s just a path after all. Just floor tiles that flee from beneath their feet, but even so, that’s not the worst thing someone can find in a dungeon!

“Is there a way to skip this room?” Sky groans, not the first one to wonder, but the first to ask.

Hyrule puffs on a bit of hair falling over his eyes. “You wanna be the one to go back and look?”

The skyloftian does not and doesn’t suggest anyone else do it either.

Crushed beneath them, Four has half a mind to go himself, but he’s pretty sure that’s not even a possibility. No, because they’ve been taking the path two at a time like Wind and Legend, but rather than take off after the other two and risk getting split up, they’re waiting until everyone has converged on the islands of stable flooring in the room before moving on, and it means they’re continuously piling on top of each other to do so. So, at this very moment, he’s somehow managed to get trapped crouching beneath the captain and skyloftian as they wait for Time to bring up the rear of their party. It’s not ideal and it’s not pleasant and he’d really much rather be just about anywhere else. Again though, he can’t exactly go anywhere at the moment.

We’ll be last to get to go, Blue reasons, we should just dart on past the others and to the next island.

Blue.

It would work!

Except that we’ll still get crushed under everyone when they catch up again, so it’ll be pointless. Vio points out, which of course has the more aggressive aspect huffing, but there’s not really anything that anyone can say to deny that logic.

Aloud, Four groans. “How far off is the old man?”

“Not far,” Warriors assures, rolling his shoulders. “And since the path takes two minutes to reform, we won’t have to stay much longer after this.”

Murmurs, thanking various deity’s and spirits, rise from the group of them, and Four shuffles slightly, trying to relieve the weight on his arms while he waits until, at last, the old man’s feet touch stone and the last of the floor falls away. Then, they just have to wait two minutes (two minutes and fourteen seconds, as their leader helpfully observes) and then everyone else is moving off in pairs along the path.

Once or twice, hook-shots must be used to cover the remaining distance on time. No one wants to risk falling into the blackness below and none of them want to know what happens if you do. Legend had warned that it would probably take them back to the beginning of the dungeon, and there’s no desire for such a fate. They've finally all dried out again after dropping into the wetness that was that first room, and going back there and wandering through all the rooms again doesn’t sound pleasant, even if there won’t be any monsters left that they’d have to face to get through (hopefully). Personally, just the time it would take sounds miserable, and they want out. It was fun doing the dungeon with Legend doing the hard work and the rest of them free to mess around, especially since Legend seemed to be enjoying it so much and his own excitement was surprisingly infectious. Now though, Warriors’ wonder is beginning to fade and Legend’s not here to be strangely excited about death traps and pushing heavy things around and the like. Now it’s just them trying to catch up to the other two, who are probably still enjoying themselves while the rest of them suffer.

Earlier, every so often, they’d see a light go off in the depths of the room. It served the purpose of helping them realize just how much there was of the room, but also letting them know where the vet and sailor were. Not that the laughter and talking wasn’t something they could hear, but it echoed awfully, distorted and confusing, and they’d been unable to guess off sound alone where the two boys had gone off too. The lights have stopped coming on though, and the ones that were lit have already flickered out.

Warriors, with the use of a fire rod, has been lighting the sconces as they come to them, but the light only lasts a few precious minutes before fading, and he keeps having to relight it every time it goes out, up until it’s his turn to race along to the next stone island where the rest of them wait. Still, it’s not a lot of light, and Four is beginning to miss the actual light. He wants daylight, not magic, not fire, but sunshine that is just beginning to fade over the world, painting the sky in a dozen rich colors, all bleeding and swimming into each other so he can’t tell where one ends and another begins. He likes sunsets for that very reason; they remind him of himself.

They won’t be seeing the sun for a bit though, and he’s left sitting until nearly all the others have darted off, waiting for his turn, and then taking it as quickly as his shorter legs will carry him. He has to employ his Pegasus boots to keep up with Sky, which earns teasing, but the man really is fast, even if his stamina is shit.

“Anyone see an end ahead?” Time asks, groaning as he attempts to keep ahold of two of the younger heroes and keep them toppling over the edge of the platform. There isn’t nearly enough room on these things to support them all.

Hyrule, one of said younger heroes, takes advantage of their leader’s grip on him to lean out slightly, peering into the darkness. His eyesight is, surprisingly, the best, even in the dark, and while Four’s isn’t half bad either, he doesn’t pipe up. The traveler is more familiar with all this anyway, and he can’t provide much help himself, so he’ll leave it to ‘Rule. “I see a wall up on our right, and maybe a door?”

“Thank Ordonia,” the rancher groans. “Does the path lead up to it?”

“One more stop.”

There are a few more groans, but with an end in sight, they’re all quite eager as well.

“You’d think they’d wait up for us,” Warriors muses as they wait for Sky and Hyrule to dart off along the path towards the door, now that the path has reformed. “Or at least signal where they are.”

A few of the heroes glance at each other in the dancing light of the fire they’re gathered around, but Four is the one who answers their captain’s worry. “Maybe they got caught up in something?”

“No,” perfect brows furrow, “this is Legend, he doesn’t like splitting the group. Even if Wind didn’t, he’d have left some sign of where they went.”

“So maybe they didn’t find this door,” he shrugs, “they probably found another one. Dungeon rooms usually aren’t linear, captain, we’ll reach them with time.”

It’s some assurance to the man, and Wild too, who looks extremely uncomfortable at the moment and has since they entered the dungeon. The champion's been in awe of the place for the most part, but that was when there was light, and he looks a bit perturbed by the idea of such illy lit spaces. Four wonders why, but he doesn’t ask. He knows that many in their group aren’t keen on the dark, and considering their line of work, they have grounds. Had he gone through the same sorts of adventures they have, he’s sure he’d be wary too. As is though, it’s more just an annoyance than a thing to spark fear within him, and as they slowly move their way from floating stone to the doorway, he tries to be understanding about the wariness the others show upon reaching it.

“Vet usually peeks in first, right?” Wild asks, staring at the door like it’s a maw rather than simply an entrance.

The more dungeon savvy in their group exchange looks before Sky elects to answer. “Does it matter? Everyone has a different way of doing things.”

“’s dark in there any’ays, cub,” the rancher sighs, “ain’t nothing to see even if we did.”

“Let’s get it over with then.” Blue is definitely tired of sitting around and doing nothing, and Four blames his actions on the more aggressive aspect of himself as he snatches Warriors’ flame rod and darts through the door, brandishing the weapon in preparation for any attack that comes at him.

The room is empty.

It’s totally empty, and he can say that for sure, because the lights come on once he’s properly inside and reeal nothing more than torches and a stone floor, although there’s a door on the far side of the room, just as he’d hoped.

“Did- did the lights just come on by themselves?” When he turns, it’s to see the captain standing in the doorway, blinking against the sudden light and with one hand raised to shield his eyes. Even with that though, he can see the bright sparkle in royal blue, curiosity quickly overtaking ire once again as the captain looks about. If Four had to bet, he’d say their soldier would probably be a whizz at puzzles and dungeons too if he’d ever been given the chance, and though he’s easily surprised by the workings, he’d probably love to toy with them and learn how they do what they do, or at least watch them react to his actions. It’s sort of a shame the goddesses robbed him of the chance by giving the clever man a war to fight instead of a quest to undertake like the rest of them.

“Puzzle gods,” Four repeats. He means it as a joke, he does. He’s relatively certain there is no such deity in the hylian pantheon, although he’s heard some other kingdoms believe in trickster gods of various sorts, or so the books in Legend and Twilight’s eras say. Still, it’s funny to watch his brothers accept the explanation and even murmur it to each other whenever something starts being confusing. He’s certain he’s heard Time curse the supposed ‘puzzle gods’ a few times by now, especially when he’d had to use his hook-shot to avoid taking a dive when the floor went out from beneath him earlier.

Now though, the others all just sort of snort at his comment as they wander into the room, and it’s only once they’re all in that the true foe of the chamber reveals itself.

The floor. Again.

He’s just looking about, letting Vio and Blue take the lead as they look for patterns or words or anything to hint at the way forwards. Honestly, he’s sort of shocked Legend hardly even has to look anymore, and no doubt the vet would already have answers for them if he was here, scoffing or chuckling as he pointed out what, in hindsight, would feel painfully obvious to the less experienced heroes as they’d follow his lead. He’s not here though, and so far, they’ve yet to find any sign of where he and the sailor went. It’s a bit worrying, and that’s where his brain is focusing when all of a sudden, he feels the floor sway beneath his feet.

Like any normal person, he darts away. They just came out of a room where the floor fell away as you stepped on it, and he has no interest in collapsing through this one too. Once he’s back to the others though, he learns that that is hardly the worst risk at the moment.

No, because the floor isn’t falling down. It’s flying up.

“What the-” they have no time to say much more because that’s about when the lifted tile suddenly launches at them, spinning and all sharp edges.

“What is this?” Twilight yelps, throwing himself to the floor and narrowly avoiding the tile as it crashes into the wall, just behind where his head was but a moment before.

No answers come. Both because they’re all too busy running from the tiles that are flying, fast and sharp and spinning at all of them, and also because how does one explain floor tiles trying to kill you? Four’s seen them, yes, but not often enough to suspect them the moment he sees an empty room, and by the looks on the faces of most of his brothers, they haven’t a clue what’s going on anymore than Twilight does.

Avoiding the awful things is a nightmare. He’s darting and throwing himself down, but the tiles ricochet off of walls and mirror shields, and despite all attempts, there’s really too many tiles and too many other people to avoid being hit by anything. The only advantage is that the things seem locked on his much taller companions, so Four has at least some chance of avoiding being hit.

The same is not true of Hyrule, who’s struck first and goes down with a bitten off cry. The fact that he’s made any noise at all though is a bad sign. The traveler never makes noise when he’s hurt unless it’s very bad or very unexpected. It’s a danger, he’s said, to be loud when injured, because the smell of your blood and your own injury endangers you enough; drawing further attention to your location is never a good thing. Luckily for him, lying on the floor and gripping his arm seems to be out of the target zone for the tiles, and they fly most pointedly at the adults in the group instead.

Sky, with a hiss, has drawn the master sword and, quite shockingly, is throwing himself in the path of the blasted things, swinging till they shatter and then moving for another.

It takes maybe ten minutes for the attack to die down altogether, and when it does, everyone but the chosen hero has collapsed against the wall, panting and catching their breath and their runaway hearts from the start of it all.

“Whoever designed this place is a monster,” Time groans. “Why would you have two floor focused rooms right after each other. Just, why?”

Warriors snorts, half laughing, half something else, something strained. “Keep us on our toes?”

Their leader grabs for a bit of fallen tile and chucks it. Hitting the wall right beside no longer coiffed locks with a growl. “Not funny.”

From the floor, Hyrule gives a strangled giggle. “I thought it was.”

“Hyrule thought it was,” Warriors states, pointedly, pulling himself to his feet and looking just a bit like a spider with the motion (the man is seriously all limbs) before moving to the side of their fallen brother. “How bad?”

“I fear I’m dying,” the traveler responds, staring up at the captain with a wince. “Promise to burn my body, will you?”

The captain’s face washes over with severity. “I swear it will be done.”

“What?” The speed with which Wild flies to his feet is frankly quite impressive, but the strained laughter of the traveler is apparently enough reassurance to stop him running to his brother’s side to inspect the damamge for himself.

Warriors looks apologetic as he takes the traveler’s arm in his hands, gentle but firm, eyes warm though as they flicker up to the champion. “We jest, Wild. ‘Tis but a flesh wound. He’ll live.”

“You mock my pain,” Hyrule giggles through a wince, clearly trying to lighten the mood, at least for the captain, or maybe just trying to distract himself from the sting of the rather nasty looking gash on his arm.

Time snorts, staring on, but not moving. They can’t help anyways so there’s no point in any of them rising for the time being, and giving the traveler and their medic some space is in everyone’s best interest. “Life is pain. Anyone who tells you different is selling something.”

“Pessimistic much?” Sky observes.

“Well read, I should think,” the captain corrects, already starting to mind the injury of their brother. “I believe that one was from a book. As was my own, if anyone was wondering.”

Time nods. “I’m surprised Wind hasn’t called us on-” and then he trails off. Wind isn’t here. Wind is with Legend.

“We need to catch up to them,” Four reminds. Not that he’s particularly nervous about what they’re getting up too, but he doesn’t know how much longer they can progress through a dungeon with the group split and no idea where and when they’ll come across the others. “Can Wolfie track them?”

“You can jist ask me now, Four,” their shifter reminds, “ain’t a secret no more.”

“Anymore,” Warriors murmurs under his breath.

“No more,” Twilight hisses back, grinning.

Four ignores both of them, even as a few of the others start rolling their eyes at the grammar battle. If left unchecked, this will go on forever. “Use your nose to find them then, if you don’t mind.”

“If you can,” Sky adds, glancing warily at the rancher.

Twilight agrees, and while black magic washes over the rancher, Four takes it on himself to peek through the now opened doorway on the other side of the room. All that lies within is a chest, no doubt containing the map they’re so in need of, or some other such tool he’s shocked they’ve made it this far without.

There aren’t any monsters in here.

It’s a chest room! Monsters aren’t in chest rooms.

Most of the time. Vio corrects.

Most of the time. Red agrees, and then, We should open it!

Green?

Yeah, no harm. Let’s move quickly though, Twilight should catch their trail soon.

So, he does. He darts across the room and, sure enough, the chest contains the map they needed hours ago. Honestly, he’s kind of shocked they’ve done so well without it, but looking it over doesn’t reveal much more than what they’ve already seen. They’ve worked themselves through all three floors already, and the only rooms they haven’t been to appear to be on the right of the falling floor room. Unfortunately, there’s no guide on how to cross the floor anywhere on the map.

Coming back, the others are staring and Twilight is absent. He holds up the map, nodding back to the room. “Our prize! It’s useless by the way, we already knocked out everything except the boss chamber.”

“Boss chamber?” Warriors, again, although Wild also looks confused.

“Dungeons tend to end with a fight with a larger monster in order to reach the end and gather whatever treasure is there.” Their leader groans his words, pulling himself up again and creaking worse than an old door as he does so. “During my adventures, that treasure was usually a tool or information, although rupees and other baubles aren’t uncommon either.”

“Bet you Legend’s already collected it by now,” Sky grins.

“Means they’ve already fought the boss,” the traveler points out. “And I know they’re capable, but-”

The skyloftian nods, “you don’t like the idea of them taking it on alone when we should be with them.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he rolls up the map, tucking it into his own bag and trying for a smile to his brothers. “We’ll find them, just give Wolfie a moment more and-”

As if on cue, their shifter companion darts back in through the door, barking once to catch their attention and then moving out. The motion is repeated again, and all take the cue to rise and follow. Warriors is finished with the traveler’s arm and they’ve mostly caught their breath. Now just to face the floor a third time and reach where the other two are likely waiting for them.

Four just hopes the floor won’t do anything else crazy when they get there. Legend's talked about boss monsters that are the floor itself, and if that’s what awaits them, Four’s going to start climbing the walls. Literally.

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #lu warriors #lu wild #lu twilight #lu four #lu time #lu hyrule #lu sky #ketto writes

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for-parker · 2 years ago

Text

summary You went to Liz' party to have some fun and forget about the stress from school, instead you watch as Peter Parker, whom you've had a crush on since you were partnered on a project once, change into Spider-Man's suit right outside.

tags fem!stark!reader, cute Peter, both r kinda awkward

word count 1583

a/n idk if I love or hate this

Sitting outside of Liz's house wasn't what you had planned when you'd come here, but you also didn't know Peter Parker - aka the one you had a huge crush on - would show up.

Emptying the red cup (which was filled with some soda you'd found, you weren't looking to get drunk tonight) you dust off your jeans, ready to get back inside.

Instead you notice someone on top of the garage next to you, silently talking to themselves. With furrowed eyebrows you step back, only to watch as a certain brown haired boy looked at the mask in his hands. The mask that belonged to the Spider-Man suit he was wearing.

What the fuck.

Either he really was the one stepping in crimes in nearby neighborhoods or he was dressing up, for whatever reason. Upon closer inspection though, the suit looked more and more authentic. Your step on the gravel seemed to alert him because his head shot up and he made direct eye contact with you.

Gulping you step back, "Sorry, I didn't mean to spy on you-" you'd miscalculated the space behind you and in a split second you're falling - right into the pool because of course Liz had a huge swimming pool in her backyard.

"Woah," he says as he shoots a web at your hand, pulling you back onto stable ground. Your breathing is fast and he smiles a little shyly at you. "Uh," it was awkward - he was still crouching there in his suit as you were staring.

"You really can't tell anyone-" he starts with a panicked whisper and a few short glances at the house. Holding your hands up in mock surrender you smile, "I won't, don't worry."

He thanks you and smiles before he's looking back at all of the students partying. Deciding that this was your chance to talk to him, you speak up. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

He sighs, "Ned found out like you did and he accidentally told everyone in gym class I'm friends with Spider-Man. So…" You remembered that, after all you were in his class too.

"And now everyone's waiting for Spider-Man?" You question and he nods miserably. "That's the only reason we were invited. Cuz, you know, no one really likes me." He shrugs.

You did.

"Yeah but is Spider-Man worth a little party trick like that? I mean it's not gonna change anything, they'll probably just say you're lying or something." He considers it for a second before looking at you and taking you in. You wore some tight jeans with black boots as well as a white dress shirt.

You're pretty, he thinks.

"Yeah, you're probably right." He chuckles and presses the spider in the middle of his chest and the suit loosens. He doesn't pay you any mind when he pulls it off. His abs came into view and your jaw drops, that's what he was hiding underneath his cure flannels and polo shirts?

He pulls his normal clothes back on and then looks at you. You quickly pill yourself together and look away with red cheeks. Why'd you constantly have to embarrass yourself like this?

"You can look at me, I don't mind," he admits but his shy demeanor doesn't change. You nod hesitantly. He gives you a once-over, "You seem really familiar." Uh, oh.

So far no one figured out who your father was. When you got into Midtown it was to blend in and separate yourself from your parents' success, so with some deals here and there you weren't connected to Iron Man anymore. He and your mom decided from your birth on that you'd have to decide yourself if you wanted to be known later, so no one apart from the Avengers really knows about your existence.

You loved your dad, but it was hard being liked for who you were when everyone saw him instead.

"You remind me of Mr. Stark," he admits with a shake of his head, apologizing after. "Sorry that must be so weird-"

"No, uh… that's my dad, so…" he pales. "What?" You sigh and look up again, "I didn't wanna have friends solely because of that so we kept my… identity private."

"Makes sense…"

"You wanna get out of here?" You ask with a surge of confidence and he cocks his head. "And go where?"

Ten minutes later you're at Delmar's, sharing a sandwich he insisted on paying for.

After that a friendship between you blossoms quickly. You're constantly meeting up, usually at his place (or you went somewhere to eat unhealthy food).

Since you were friends with MJ as well, her, Peter, Ned and you became a small friend group in the following time period of two months. Your father had yet to find out and you were slightly dreading it, because he could read you like a book and it'd only be seconds until he noticed your ever growing feelings for Peter.

It was a late Saturday and Ned and MJ had just left. You were halfway through the third movie when you nearly nodded off, Peter's aunt May coming to turn the TV off, "It's late. (y/n), are you staying the night?" She asks sweetly and you turn to Peter who nods with tired eyes and a shrug of his shoulders, leaving the decision up to you.

"If that's okay with you? I'll just call my dad," she grins and sends a not so secret wink to Peter who groans and pushes you into his room. "Figured you'd wanna call Mr. Stark here and not in front of her." It was cute to you how he always made sure to address your dad so formally.

Taking out your phone you dial his number and wait for him to pick up. He does after only a few seconds. There's loud music coming from him meaning he was still working and he looks at you with furrowed brows. "Where the hell are you?"

"Uhm…" raising an eyebrow he speaks up again, "Five seconds and I know where you are anyway so just tell me now."

Peter is almost as white as a sheet and you giggle, pulling him into frame. "Hi, Mr. Stark." This time it's your dad who pales.

"What the hell? Since when are you spending time with my daughter and why didn't I know about this?" Peter stammers an apology and you just watch with amusement as he gets more and more worked up about it, his voice cracking in between his hurried words.

"I'm really sorry, sir. I swear I'm not doing anything with her or something!" His voice gets adorably high and you decide to intervene. "Can I stay the night?" This earns you another earful but when he's done he sighs, "Can't stop you anyway, can I?"

"Nope," you laugh.

"Parker, if I find out you started something with her you're minus the suit."

With a good night you hang up and fall onto your back from laughing so hard. "It's not funny," Peter whines but you just laugh harder.

"It is! Why are you so scared of him?" He looks at you like you're crazy, "Isn't that obvious? Sometimes I think he hates me," at the ridiculed glare you sent him he pouts, subconsciously or not he looked fucking adorable.

When you're done staring and pick the conversation back up,.asking for something more comfortable to sleep in, he gives you one of his shirts and you barely manage to conceal your excitement. You're awkwardly standing in the doorway, not knowing where you should be sleeping.

"Alright, you can sleep here and I'll take the couch." He suggests and you shake your head, "No, you don't have to-"

"No, but I want to. My bed is way more comfortable than the couch. I'm not letting you get back problems or something."

The argument goes on until May shouts for you two to be quiet and to just share the bed. Both with red cheeks he cleared his throat, "Would you be okay with that?" An awkward nod later and you're laying side by side in the small twin bed.

He seems deep in thought, his forehead wrinkled. The moon shines in through the window, making it easy to see all of him. His nose, his lips and his pretty eyes.

"Okay I have to get this off my chest. I really like you. I know you probably don't like me back but that's okay! Don't worry cuz I can get over this, it's just a stupid crush-" you press your lips onto his, stopping him in the middle of his sentence.

You don't know where the confidence came from, but you were thankful for it when he relaxed into the kiss and gently put one hand on the back of your head.

You part to catch your breath and sit up a little more, steadying yourself with your elbow. He does too, and softly pushes you back onto the soft mattress, hovering over you. "I hope this means you like me back?" He whispers.

"What else would it mean?" With that he leans down again and presses his lips onto yours. Your hands move up into his messy hair, and the blanket slips down a little from where it was draped over the both of you.

When you break the kiss to catch your breath you smile. His cheeks were red and his lips a little puffy.

"You're explaining this to my dad."

"You-"

#tom!peter parker x reader #tom!peter parker #tom!peter x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom!spiderman #mcu #marvel #spiderman #spiderman homecoming #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #peter parker #tony stark #stark!daughter #stark!reader

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convexicalcrow · 7 months ago

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"How's that big salmon stuff going these days?" Cub asked. He had stopped by the farm to ask him about custom fireworks, and noticed the wide, deep river that now separated his farm from xB's place.

"Oh, it's going wonderfully, Cub. See this river? They're very happy with it, I can assure you," Beef said.

"Salmon wanting a river, that's hardly a surprise," Cub said.

Beef chuckled to himself. "Well, no, though I still don't really know why they wanted it, though. Maybe it was just to look pretty. And they are fish, after all."

Cub shrugged. "Yeah, I know that feeling."

"Did I heard you'd started covering your base with skulk? How's that working out for you?" Beef said. "Not possessed again, are we?"

"Pfft, nah, it just looks better than the grass, that's all. Makes all the bright colours stand out," Cub said.

"Sure, sure," Beef said.

"Just like you're not taking orders from a fish, hey?" Cub said.

Beef laughed this time. "I guess we both know what that kind of thing's like. Not that there's anything weird going on with the salmon. I just do what I'm told, and they wanted a river, so. I got False to make me one."

"No, of course not. Nothing weird going on here," Cub said. "We just do as we're told. The rewards make it worth it."

"Yeah, something like that," Beef said.

"Anyway, about those fireworks..."

Beef crouched by the river once Cub was gone, thinking. The salmon filled the river, the only fish he could see in the water. Something about them memerised him, watching their glistening bodies move effortlessly through the water.

Who'd have thought an offhand comment would lead to this? Not Beef. But stranger things had happened, so whatever. And if it helped him and Skizz go up against Doc and his sand nonsense, well. The solidarity was nice.

This wasn't...

Something about Cub had got him thinking, though. He wasn't- possessed, was he? No, that can't be it. Possessed was what Cub was, with the skulk. Not- no, you definitely couldn't be possessed by Big Salmon. Definitely not.

And yet, the question remained at the tip of his tongue, almost daring him to ask it. Perhaps he was in too deep. But what did it matter now? Big Salmon would take care of him.

Cub felt the echoes of something in the water as he swam across. He saw the salmon and smiled, thinking nothing more of them. If Beef wanted to serve some fish, well. That was his decision to make. He wasn't any different, right? He wasn't possessed by the skulk this time. It was different. There'd be no need to call on Pix and False to splash him with every potion known to the world to cure him.

But the skulk still whispered. Cub was scared of it at first. Wardens were dangerous creatures, and he'd decided to mine straight into an ancient city. He felt that was not a random act. The skulk had drawn him in, for reasons unknown, and now he was in their thrall again.

He'd been afraid of that, to be honest. Knew all along they were lurking, waiting, lying dormant until the right moment. Perhaps now was the right moment, he thought, as he continued to spread skulk across the grass, watching it shrivel and die as the skulk took over. It spread a silent darkness across his base, one that made the base feel much more ominous.

Why was that important? Cub didn't know. Didn't question it. Continued to simply harvest all the skulk from the ancient city and spread it up here instead. As if he was bringing it to life out here. And, sure, placing it seemed fine, but he'd felt the sheer joy when he'd spread it by killing Scar. Scar had felt it too. They didn't mind killing each other for sport anyway, so it was fine. It was fun to see how far it spread.

Cub thought about Beef's river. Beef thought about the salmon. False cradled her rivers safely in her briefcase. Gem did her best to hide the horrors that lay under the water in her base. Grian had never been the same since the fishing took hold. Maybe....

Beef stared at the river. Reached down to touch the water, felt one of the salmon nip at his fingers as if it was expecting food. He offered it some meat from his farm, numb to the sight of it feeding from his hands, tearing the flesh apart.

Maybe- Maybe Cleo was right. Maybe there's something about the water this season. Or-

Cub sunk his fingers into the skulk, sighing in relief as the skulk brought him radiant calm. Yes. Yes. The skulk whispered. Cub closed his eyes. Gasped at the vision the skulk sent him of how his base will look. Smiled as Scar killed him, his life sacrificed to the skulk as it snaked out around him, spreading further and further. All would be skulk. All will be skulk. He would make sure of that.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #fanfic #cubfan135 #vintagebeef #skulk cub #big salmon #the server's haunted #esp the water #i'm sure this is fine and won't cause any problems

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spdrvyn · 11 months ago

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Hello, dear. I hope you are doing well. Might I make a Miguel x fem!reader request?

So, for context.

I had this idea today when I was sketching out someone's spidersona to practice anatomy and I couldn't find any good references for the poses I wanted to do. I just so happen to also be an aerialist so I immediately changed into some work out clothes and hung up my aerial silks onto my rig.

I was able to film myself doing the exact poses I wanted to draw on the silks to use as a reference.

This all kinda made me realize how similar aerial silks is to web swinging. And it gave me this juicy idea.

Scenario where the reader is the charismatic, flirtatious, and quippy owner of a popular, high-class nightclub in universe 2099. She is a bit more hands on than normal owners because she actually performs at her own club. The theme for the night is "superhero nite". She is the final performer of the night and is in a skin tight feminized outfit of Miguel's spiderman costume. She gives a sultry aerial silks performance on stage that includes both aerial silks and interacting with the audience (think Jessica Rabbit). Taking photos, walking across tables, giving men a run for their money. Paired with displays of extreme strength and flexibility as she weaves between the fabric silks effortlessly and gracefully.

It also just so happens that Miguel himself is there for that performance either scouting out the location or tracing a lead on a series of crimes that seem to center around this night club. So he gets to personally witness this hedonistic performance in his image. Idk I just think his reaction to it all would be juicy 🤣. Especially if the reader spots him in the crowd mid performance or after the fact and decides to approach and make a spectacle out of it.

Thank you for your time! You're really good at keeping Miguel in character and I really appreciate it.

sacred silk — MIGUEL O'HARA

☆ you're a quaint little owner on your own little stage, unfortunately your club has drawn some attention from nueva york's #1 vigilante.

tension packed. romantic. miguel is miguel. i loved this request sm! i added my own little spin to it so i hope that's okay ^_^ dividers by @/cafekitsune

Kingpin's lackeys have been scattered all around the city, not much of a problem for Miguel. The only issue being that they're planted in the most densely packed areas, markets, malls, sometimes churches when you thought he couldn't get any worse. It caused Miguel's frustrations to deepen with every single case.

At least, there was some sort of pattern in the locations of these agents. All up until this very night where Miguel found himself crouching over the glass roof of a tranquil night club.

His sharp eyes wandered over what he could find. The crowd looked young, nobody over the age of 27 in sight, there was a bartender hastily serving drinks, but the most eyecatching of them all was a rather suspicious looking old man enjoying himself a martini.

It looked... almost pathetic at this rate, however his suspicioums grew higher. This was too easy for a catch, there had to be something that he was missing in this.

"Lyla," Miguel muttered, holding his watch up close to his mouth. "What is this place exactly?"

"Can't find any records on it, I don't think that it's a registered establishment. How fun!"

Not fun. Not fun at all! The small crowd, the shady guy sitting alone at that table, the fact that this building wasn't even registered in the first place?! Crime bells were ringing in Miguel's ears.

He skittered along the edges of the roof, making sure that he isn't noticeable despite the dim lights. Soon enough, he's able to find an open panel to slip into. He digs his talons into one of the ceiling beams, which what even is the point of having a glass roof if the view is going to be obscured by these things anyway.

Miguel keeps his weight steady atop the structure, his gaze locks onto the creepy gentleman before he's blinded by the sudden flicker of the stage lights. What in the world?

When he thought that events couldn't get any weirder, you come flying down from a secret compartment in the ceiling, silk stringing your body up as you manuever and fly across the stage and club. The crowd cheers and livens up, raising their hands to which you respond by high fiving as many people as you can.

That's when he noticed something familiar about what you were wearing. The sharp geometric shapes carefully stitched into your suit, that recognizable navy blue, that straining bright red. You were wearing his colors, designed in his suit.

It's only when your feet hit the floor of stage with a resounding thud does Miguel remember why he's here in the first place, he's gotten used to seeing his face (well, his masked one) on all different kinds of merchandise. From regular to disgusting, but he's never seen something of this caliber before. He couldn't deny that he wasn't at all intrigued by your display of talent and costume.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," the breathlessness in your voice is prominent, a sign of your draining yet enamoring performance. "Do any of you want to guess who I'm dressed as?"

The crowd rallies and cheers.

"Spider-Man! Obviously!"

"Is there anyone stupid enough to not get it?"

"It's Spider-Man!"

Miguel rolls his eyes, don't get him wrong, he does want to appreciate the praise but everyone sounds like an overenthusiatic toddler. Depsite that, you feed into their firey spirits. Not before shushing them with a slight raise of your hand.

"I know you're all thinking why I decided to dress up as our beloved spider tonight," you reach for one of the silks hanging from the ceiling, resting your body atop it as you're slowly lifted from the stage again.

"Well, it's simple really. He's the hero of our city, the face of crime fighting, the face of justice." the crowd's heads follow your hanging body, your arm droops down to brush against the many hands that wish to touch yours. "He's made so many sacrifices for us, the least we could do is put on a show. All for him."

Miguel freezes for the nearly the entire duration of your heartfelt speech, he's overheard a lot of those whether it's a drunkard's rambling as he's swinging back home or on a podium and recited by a government official.

From the corner of his eye, the man that he was slowly inching towards rises from his seat and begins to slyly move through the crowd, bumping and slipping past people. When he enters through the backstage doors, all kinds of red flags are waving through the air.

The sudden blast of music nearly deafens him, but gives him a good distraction as he crawls with more fervor across the ceiling beam. He notices the small crevice to an entrance in the ceiling, presumably the one that you entered through.

It's dark and a little dusty, Miguel has to fight back a sneeze before finding yet another latch to enter through and behold, he's successfully infiltrated the backstage area!

"Lyla," he huffs. "Scan."

Bright yellow lights emerge in his vision, behind each room there's a bountiful amount of props and some people chatting with a drink in hand, it seemed like you weren't the only performer in this establishment. The thermal energy spikes when he catches sight of a man hunched behind one of the doors, supposedly with a crowbar in hand. Miguel rolls his eyes, "How dumb does he think I am?"

"Want me to run an IQ test?"

"I was being— ugh, nevermind."

Miguel shies over right next to the door, the blades hidden in his suit release with an audible shing. It cuts into the drywall without a struggle, Miguel can hear the man fall back onto the floor with a thud and a scream. He kicks his way into the room, before pouncing onto him and knocking him out cold.

"That was fast," Lyla chimes, illuminating the darkness. Miguel digs through the pockets of his coat, there's no sign of an ID, but he was carrying a shiv and a small revolver. How was this guy let in?

Miguel ties him up and makes a swift exit, before anyone could notice. This mission felt a little too easy for his liking, like a twist was going to sneak up on him at any minute now, but he wasn't going to complain about having an easy target this time.

His never ending train of thought brings him towards a building's edge later on, even deeper into the night. Waiting, thinking, contemplating. Miguel had no such thing as a spider sense, but he did have a gut and it was practically screaming at him that something was wrong.

He doesn't get any more time to let that thought marinate any further when his ears pick up on the latch of the door to the roof clicking, his head turns immediately he thinks he might strain it until he sees—

You.

Just you.

Though, you weren't wearing the same get-up when you had your show. No, you were in simply nightwear along with a flimsy pair of slippers and fuzzy socks to complete the look. That nonchalant attitude that you held during the show faded for a split second, before a small smile creeps onto your features as you raise a brow.

"Spider-Man? On my roofdeck?"

"I'll leave–"

"No!" you say it a little too loudly, reaching a hand out to him but never actually touching. You scold yourself internally for being too abrupt, before clearing your throat. "No, it's okay. Please stay."

Miguel sighs, as usual, he's going to make a decision that's going to kick him in the ass later. He gives in and decides to indulge your need for company, but the look on his face tells you to keep a distance.

You slowly walk over to the ledge that he's sitting on, leaning your body on the railing but still far enough to be comfortable.

Silence stretches out the distance between the two of you, that for once Miguel feels compelled to say something.

"There was someone suspicious at your club," he explains bluntly. "I took them out. You're welcome."

"Ah, yeah, I could tell from the webs and you know..."

"Oh."

Now, it's back to silence.

Miguel normally isn't disturbed by it, but this just made him uncomfortable. He thought that maybe you'd carry some bravado even outside your profession as a stage performer, he couldn't imagine that he'd end up talking that was so timid.

"I liked your performance," it's soft-spoken, his words fast and deliberate. "Your costume, too. It was... nice."

Even if the praise sounds like a 5th grader complimenting a painting, you found your face red and heart beating fast. Your grin returned with a "thank you". It's hard to tell exactly what Miguel's thinking under that mask, you can't even read his facial expression, but you hope that now it's less awkward.

It falls to silence again, the only difference being that there's no obligation for conversation. You and Miguel stare at the overhead view of the city from your penthouse, it gets so quiet that you swear you can hear him breathing.

He has to leave soon enough, he wished he could've stayed with you for longer because believe it or not, that's the only taste of peace he's had in a while. Your goodbyes are bittersweet, you don't know if you'll ever see him again.

When you're back on the stage again a few days later, hopping off of the platform and holding onto your silks, you're more than happy to that faint red glow coming from the glass panes on your roof.

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #x fem reader #x f!reader #x reader

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karl-raccoon-in-a-teacup · 7 months ago

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skk, "well then, how do you play darts??" yosano + lucy, "have you actually never rollerskated before?" kunikida + fukuzawa, "who's cat is that."

Oooo all good ones! Have some teen SKK because why not

"Well then, how do you play darts?" "Like any reasonable person would!" Dazai says with a huff, crossing his arms. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised a dog doesn't know how to play darts, though, so let me show you." "HEY-" Chuuya snaps, which doesn't really help Dazai's point, and he can't even stop Dazai from grabbing the dart from his hands. Dazai twirls it in his hands, smirking, and then throws it- not at the board, of course, but at the nearest Port Mafia grunt, knocking the sunglasses clean off their face. The grunt starts visibly sweating, Dazai laughs in victory, and Chuuya just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

Yosano and Lucy my beloveds... honestly Lucy friendship with the rest of the ADA would be sooooo...

"Have you actually never rollerskated before?" "Don't even think about making fun of me for it!" Lucy says, staring at the ground. "I just- never had the time for it. Yosano smiles, crouching down to help her tie her shoes. "I'm not asking to make fun of you, Lucy- I'm asking so I can help you learn." "It can't be that hard," Lucy mutters, but she lets Yosano tie her and help her to her feet anyways- her eyes going wide as she wobbles. "Oh- woah-" "Yeah, it takes some getting used to," Yosano says, slowly starting to pull her to the rink. "But you'll be a pro in no time." Lucy's not sure she believes her, since she feels more like a baby deer that's just learned how to walk, but seeing the other Agency members having a good time... well, she's willing to give it a shot, at least.

And of course Fukuzawa goes with a cat prompt

"Who's cat is that." Kunikida pauses, still holding the cat, as he slowly turns to look at the president. "We do not know, sir," he says, staring down. "Atsushi's out looking for its possible owner, now, but without a collar it's... difficult to tell." Fukuzawa stares at the cat with an intense, unreadable gaze. "And what's the plan if it's a stray?" ...Well, considering the smirk Ranpo now has, and the look Fukuzawa has, Kunikida's starting to realize exactly what's going to happen next.

#thank you so much for the prompts sibling #bsd writing #skk #bsd lucy #bsd yosano #bsd fukuzawa #bsd kunikida #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd #bungou stray dogs #raccoon writing

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steveseddie · 3 months ago

Text

wip weekend

i was tagged by @thefreakandthehair thank you so much!

Rules:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

This Weekend's WIPs:

body shots

steveddie fix it

tattooed on my heart

striking out

Snippet (from steveddie fix it):

Tightening the drawstring to secure Steve’s sweatpants around his hips, Eddie smirks. “It’s always been a fantasy of mine to get into Steve Harrington’s pants,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. Steve’s cheeks go pink. “Well, the faster you get dressed, the faster we can make that happen.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle and he pulls the hospital gown over his head quicker than he should, wincing in pain when he pulls at his bandages. “I’m kidding, Christ, don’t hurt yourself trying to get dressed, please,” Steve says with a shake of his head. Eddie gives a dismissive wave, shrugging on an old Hawkins High shirt, actually mindful of his chest and abdomen being covered in bandages this time. “Can you, um, help with the shoes? I don’t think I can bend over just yet,” Eddie says, staring uselessly at the shoes Steve left near the bed for him. “Of course, Eds,” Steve says, crouching down in front of him and sliding the sneakers on his feet. “My Prince Charming,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “The last thing I want is for you to brain yourself against your bedside table just when I’m finally allowed to take you home,” Steve deadpans. Eddie mockingly swoons.

tagging: @shares-a-vest @augustjustice @sidekick-hero if you want! and also anyone else who wants to join in on the fun!

#steddie #steddie fic #tag game #wip weekend #monse writes

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whinlatter · 2 years ago

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Hi! I love your writing think it’s phenomenal work. It’s really such a genuine and intimate depiction of Ginny. I also see you have an appreciation of Dean Thomas. I’d love to know why you think Ginny was attracted to him? What do you think their relationship was like and how did it help them for their next partners? I just think that pairing was really interesting and there’s not enough of them being friends.

❗️ Warning... big Dean & Ginny meta incoming ❗️

Firstly - thank you so so much for reading and enjoying my work (phenomenal!!! I’ll dine out on that all week - can't thank you enough).

Secondly - what great questions! This was such a fun thing to think through. Dean’s a quietly lovely character I have so much time for, despite being very underdeveloped in canon (cutting his arc to exclusively favour Neville’s? Side-eye forever). I'm definitely a paid up member of the Dean Thomas Fan Club.

Anyway….. the questions were so good I wrote this too-long meta on Ginny and Dean before going to bed because I apparently… cannot be stopped?

Why was Ginny attracted to Dean?

I think for this question it’s important to think about the timing of when Ginny and Dean became close and when they got together, and especially what Ginny was looking for during and after her relationship with King of Negging, Michael Corner. There are three weeks between the break-up with Michael and Gin getting together with Dean, so we can assume Ginny and Dean had already become close and maybe a little flirty when she was with Michael (Ginny Weasley likes to give herself a nice four-week breather between boyfriends, usually just in time to watch the early summer weather roll in. I for one respect the work rate and the consistency.)

Ginny is with Michael until late in her fourth year, until they break up after the Quidditch final in early June. Dean has his OWLs until late June (just realised Ginny dumps Michael right before his exams - this is how you get revenge on a Ravenclaw).

The events in the Department of Mysteries take place the day exams finish (cue iconic scene where Harry’s rushing up to the dormitory to grab his Cloak and save his godfather’s life and Seamus and Dean are trying to get him on the sesh, absolutely rate it, excellent from the lads). Ginny’s going out with Dean by the time she gets the train home, probably by the end of June.

Given the short turnaround time between relationships, I think it’s likely Ginny and Dean became close during the rest of the school year, where she was able to learn the following things about him (and implicitly compare him with Michael as Michael revealed himself to be, as the great prophet Ronald foresaw, ‘a bit of an idiot’):

Dean Thomas knows right from wrong (and really, really can’t stand Dolores Umbridge). In their first lesson with Umbridge, Dean is by far the person in the class who stands up to Umbridge the most after the trio (he actually comes out swinging a lot more than Ron does). He immediately subs in for Harry when Umbridge refuses to answer any more of Harry’s questions. He defends Lupin and Crouch-as-Moody when Umbridge criticises them (describing Crouch-as-Moody as a maniac but saying ‘we still learned loads’ is extremely funny - Dean's pedagogical expectations are low). Dean is an extremely enthusiastic DA member, he and Ginny often arrive at meetings or take part in dinnertime conversations about the DA together, and I think they likely became mates because they’re passionate about what the DA is trying to do. We know Gin likes a boy with a moral compass, a backbone, and a good sense of outrage in the face of injustice. (I cut this out of a much lengthier first draft of chapter one of Beasts, which had all the DA at the graduation ceremony, but this was their interaction in response to another character acting up: ‘[Ginny] feels an old rush of affection for Dean, a man who always had a good scowl in him when it mattered.’)

Dean’s a sweetheart, even if he’s a bit hopeless. Dean’s a character who is often trying to make people feel better about things and trying to give a bit of comfort – emphasis on trying, because he’s not always good at knowing exactly what to say. I think this is something Ginny would really value – she’s someone who, for all her fire, tries to comfort and support the people around her. I reckon she’s got a soft spot for a man with a heart in the right place and a chronic inability to find the right words to express it. ('“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” Dean muttered, hoisting his schoolbag onto his shoulder. “He’s just . . .” But apparently he was unable to say exactly what Seamus was, and after a slightly awkward pause followed him out of the room.' OotP, 221 - does this not sound like how Harry would try and comfort someone?) 👀

Dean is kind to the underdog. Dean is often seen hanging around with or partnering up with Neville, and in DH, we’ll also see Dean be very kind towards Luna. I think Ginny rates people who are kind to those who are socially awkward and excluded.

Relatedly... Dean loves Remus Lupin. I wrote about this a bit in this short reflection on Remus (and am writing about this at the moment so don’t want to get too spoilery if you’re reading Beasts…), but I have a feeling being Remus Lupin’s biggest fan would be a sure fire way to get a text back from Ginny Weasley.

Dean’s into sports. Like her soulmate, Ginny’s into fellow jocks (I think it's implied that Michael Corner was also on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team – three for three on Quidditch players, Ginevra, if you were on Love Island I’d say you have a type). I think she’d also be amused and endeared by Dean’s die-hard commitment to West Ham - she is Arthur Weasley’s daughter, after all, and she probably enjoys teasing him about how crap football sounds. (That bit in PS/SS where Dean’s yelling ‘send him off, ref!’ – 10/10 excellent Dean content). Also Dean does not seem threatened by Ginny’s Quidditch abilities, but instead just really wants to be on the team with her too, which is a nice change from Michael Corner, the Jack Berger of Hogwarts Quidditch. (Sorry Michael, I know you end up a gold star goodie by DH, but young Mike is a prick to our girl Gin).

Dean is a laugh. Chuckling at Ernie Macmillan in his Apparition classes, mucking about with mice in Transfiguration, getting the giggles because this Lockhart bloke has set a quiz asking students to name his ideal birthday gift: Dean is both fun and funny. That bit in GoF where Dean describes Warrington in Slytherin as a ‘big bloke who looks like a sloth’ – funny. The bit later in GoF where Dean rinses Harry for rejecting that curly-haired Hufflepuff girl who wants to go to the ball with him – also funny. Ginny Weasley likes a comedian and she also likes an audience. I think that means a big tick in the Dean Thomas column.

Dean's a creative. This is verging on headcanon territory, but I really do love the idea of Ginny finding her way back to writing in the years after Riddle and the diary. I can see her being drawn to someone who also has this gentle, expressive, artistic side to them.

Dean’s not averse to dealing in contraband Firewhiskey. If you’re a fourteen year old popular girl with a rulebreaking streak, the boy who can source you some Firewhiskey for an end of exams party from a cool kid like Harold Dingle is hot property.

Dean… er, really likes Harry. Not Gin's finest criteria for a boyfriend, but I think In GoF, the man draws Harry flying around the Horntail on his Firebolt and draws Cedric, his rival, with his head on fire. It’s not a hugely good look for Ginny, but I reckon Dean really liking Harry probably, in a strange, back-to-front kind of way, is another vote in his favour (Gin, you're messy, and I love you for it).

What was their relationship like?

I loved thinking about this question! It’s easier to write about why Ginny and Dean broke up than it is to write why they stayed together so long, and what good stuff they took from the relationship. Dean's easily bashed in Hinny fic in all sorts of different ways, and I don't think it really tallies with the really positive impression we get of him in canon. Ginny and Dean spend a lot of time together over the year - eating most of their meals together, training together, spending all of their Hogsmeade time with each other. I know it’s a teenage relationship, but this is still so much time to spend with one person. It also actually takes them quite a while to breakup, even if they’re ‘rocky’ for much longer. There's something to their relationship that must, on some level, have worked quite well. After all, it would have been a lot easier for Ginny to have dumped Dean if he was a crap boyfriend. It’s much harder to dump someone who is a good partner, but not the right partner for you.

I think that's the problem for Ginny: Dean was kind of perfect for her in lots of ways - but for the person she would have been if Riddle hadn't happened to her, and if the war hadn't happened. Their relationship was clearly based on a lot of mutual attraction and chemistry (that kiss Ron and Harry saw was intense, lads - there's a reason Harry was threatened by it, after all). I think Dean was proud as hell of Ginny, especially on the Quidditch pitch (he's so excited to tell her he's going to be on the team with her!). I think he would think she's super cool, and I like fics and headcanons about Dean that show him trying to internalise his feelings about his own dad into doing right by his girlfriend, even if that means overshooting and being overly chivalrous and over-protective with Gin. I think one of the reasons Ginny stayed in the relationship so long is because they genuinely got on, had a laugh with each other, and fancied each other, in a way that she would feel conflicted about when she still feels drawn to Harry.

Really I think it's Dean being so great that is the problem for Ginny. If she's with this really great guy and she's still feeling restless and like something's missing, she knows that means she's still not over Harry, and that means she's in trouble. I think it's why Ginny sabotages the relationship, in very understandable ways, and in the end she finds herself getting the ick over little things, and picks a fight to end it rather than come clean about being in love with someone else. (No judgement: again, messy girl representation is important).

Ultimately, I think Harry is perfect for the Ginny that actually exists, and Dean would be a good match for a hypothetical Ginny where there was no Harry, who doesn't have a family in the resistance, who doesn't have all this trauma from what happened with the diary, and who isn't shaped and forged by a childhood at war. Until DH, Dean doesn't seem to know anything about the Weasleys' involvement in the Order. We have no evidence anyone other than Harry, the Weasleys, Dumbledore and Hermione ever knew Ginny was possessed by Riddle, and I don't know that Ginny would volunteer the information to Dean. (The only reason she brings it up to Harry in OotP and again in HBP isn't because she wants emotional support for it - she only brings it up to try and help him. This is not a subject she talks openly about even with the person who knows most about what went down). This lack of knowledge about crucial parts of Ginny's life would mean huge gaps in understanding between them - not gaps that are Dean's fault, but that Ginny doesn't try to get him to bridge. Dean can't meet Ginny where she's at emotionally at the point in the series where they get together, in many ways because he's much closer to a normal teenager than she has been able to be up to that point. At the end of the day, Ginny's always going to want to be with the strange guy racing to the Department of Mysteries to rescue a loved one and fight Death Eaters on a Friday night than a nice normal guy who is planning on drinking his own weight in Firewhiskey to celebrate him finishing his Wizarding GCSEs.

How did it help them for their next partners?

I think Ginny would always speak highly of Dean, appreciate that he made her feel loved and someone a boyfriend should be proud of, and I think she would feel some guilt about what went down. I think, eventually, Dean would acknowledge that he didn’t fully understand Ginny and what she was going through, and that he couldn't have been able to meet her needs in the same way Harry could. (I do think this would take a while, though - on the way out, Dean would be understandably very bitter, even if bitterness would be quickly surpassed by the much more serious escalation in circumstances in the war for an apparent Muggleborn. Thinking about it, Dean Thomas had a terrible 1996. Man got dumped and then within three months was homeless and on the run from a murderous fascist regime trying to do him in. Like, I know this is very much not funny but… if a man I had shared a bedroom with for six years and called a friend publicly scooped my ex from me from under my nose, dumped her a few weeks later for mysterious reasons, and then I had to look at his face everywhere I looked on wanted posters, I would be a lot more mad at Harry Potter than Dean Thomas ends up being).

Ultimately, though, I think both would look back on the relationship as a sort of sweet teenage thing, with a lot of warmth and humour to it, probably some sweet confidence-boosting intimacy early on, and a bit of a lesson that you can't make someone be the right person for you. I like to think Ginny and Dean end up mates, in the end, and that she's always rooting for him to find someone great.

#and that person... is seamus #joking but not really #dean thomas #meta #beasts #this was super fun to think about thank you!#dean thomas supremacy #ginny weasley

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