#bad life choices of you friendly neighborhood charm

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Summary: Bartolomeo is your neighbor and has it really bad for you. The kind of bad where your stuff is out of place and going missing. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature, SFW chapter TW: Stalking, breaking and entering, obsessive behavior Ao3 Link: Chapter One (3,510 words)

You moved to the city about four months ago. Life had become stagnant and suffocating, especially after finishing college. You needed to get away; from overbearing parents, from your snobbish peers, from everyone. The only good connection you made in college was able to get you an archivist job in the heart of the city, and you snapped it right up. You applied for whatever apartments were in the area that you could afford, and went for the first one that became available.

That might’ve been your first mistake, really. For one thing, it was in a grittier part of town. It was also small, barely the size of two dorm rooms put together, and the neighbors below you were always yelling at each other or loudly fucking each other. But the building was clean, the rent was cheap, and the neighbor across the hall was friendly enough. A bit crass and blunt, but friendly.

His name was Bartolomeo. He was a mean-looking motherfucker by all accounts: wild green hair, septum piercing, tattoos — he was exactly the kind of person people from your hometown would have hated on appearance alone. He had an odd sort of overbite that showed his long canines like a vampire, except that all his teeth were equally sharp, and at first you’d been intimidated by both that and his impressive height. (After a few trips on the train to and from work, you noticed much stranger and much taller folks, and figured it must have just been a quirk of diverse city life).

Despite all appearances, however, Bartolomeo was nice. He held the elevator if he saw you running up, even if it was nearly shut. Some days you’d see him in the hall and he’d stop to chat for a while. One day you realized you two had been talking for almost thirty minutes, and only stopped because he’d gotten a call from his coworker asking him where the hell he was. Even running late, he still moved and talked with an aloof sort of air about him, like nothing could get to him. 

Early on, maybe a few weeks after moving in, you admitted to him that you’d never lived fully alone before, and wondered if maybe you made the right choice to live in such a rough part of town. Bartolomeo had laughed, like finding the neighborhood rough was something he’d never considered. You still remembered what he’d told you:

“People around here aren’t too big on hospitality, but they mind their own business. Don’t mess with them, they won’t mess with you.” He then smiled wide, showing off the rest of his uniquely sharp teeth. “Tell you what — since you’re so nervous about it, if anyone does mess with you, let me know. I’ll take care of ‘em for ya.”

Just the memory of how he had smiled that day brought a faint blush to your cheeks. Fine, you’d admit it: aside from being nice, Bartolomeo was also frustratingly attractive. His devil-may-care charm was hard not to be lured in by, and you couldn’t help but feel some of it rubbing off on you the more you got to chatting. He was loud and so were his friends, and the landlord rarely stuck around long if he stepped into the hallway. You definitely felt a little safer knowing he was around.

Two months ago, the troubles began.

It had been a day like any other. Average shift, average commute, about the only exciting part of the work day had been your coworker, Robin, inviting you for drinks on Friday. You came home and went to your bedroom to change into comfier clothes, but something was off. You couldn’t tell at first, but when you reached for the top drawer of your dresser to pull out some pajama pants — 

It was already open. 

Just slightly, with the edge of your pajama pants stuck in the drawer’s track. 

Now, you weren’t necessarily a meticulous person, but in general you kept your dresser pretty tidy, so it seemed odd to find it this way. Puzzled, you pulled out the pants and a loose t-shirt, frowning as you put them on. Had you been in a hurry that morning? It was possible, since you were struggling to remember what you had for breakfast. Hustling through your routine and being a bit careless with the drawer as a result wasn’t totally out of the question. You pushed down the knot in your stomach and moved on with your evening, the incident forgotten.

Or at least, it would have been forgotten, had there not been further incidents.

Another day, you had been unexpectedly called off. There had been a power outage on the block your workplace was on, and they hadn’t been able to get the emergency lights working. You spent the morning getting your laundry done and putting fresh bed sheets on the bed, and left to run extra errands. When you came back, exhausted but satisfied with your personal productivity, you went to jump into your bed for a quick nap before dinner.

You stopped just short literally jumping in when you found the comforter was already disheveled somehow. As if someone had been laying on top of it.

The frequency of problems seemed to only increase from there. You came home to find your door was unlocked, when you were nigh-obsessive on double-checking it before leaving. Your favorite t-shirt to sleep in had gone missing, and you had just put it in the hamper the night before. You had a journal in your nightstand that you didn’t write in terribly often, but with the strange things happening you felt it’d be nice to get it all documented — you opened it and found creases in a couple of the pages, like it had been clumsily closed and tossed back into the drawer.

You had convinced yourself that everything was fine. Maybe you lost your t-shirt at the laundromat. Maybe you thought you double-checked the door but you hadn’t. Maybe you were nodding off the last time you handled your journal. Maybe, maybe, maybe. At this point, the only thing you were sure of was that you were in denial that any of this was fine.

In hindsight, you really should have brought it up to Bartolomeo sooner than you did.

Drinks with Robin and a few other coworkers became a biweekly affair, lining up with payday. The weather was finally warming up after a particularly cold April, so you put on one of your frillier blouses that you were saving for such an occasion and a pair of jeans. Then you spent way too long looking for your favorite perfume. 

“Motherfucker!”

You slammed your palm against the wall in frustration. Of course. Why the fuck not? With all the other weird happenings, why wouldn’t that fall victim to the bullshit, too? Shaking the sting out of your hand, you got up from the bathroom floor and stormed off, snatching up your purse. You’d just have to hope no one noticed the blouse was a little stuffy-smelling from being put away for so long. Frustrated, you slammed the apartment door on your way out, triple-checking the lock and muttering curses the whole way.

“You good?”

Bartolomeo’s voice behind you made you jump and fumble your keys. With a deep sigh you crouched down and scooped them up, running a hand through your hair. “I’ll be fine. Just running late for payday drinks.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, and you saw him lean to one side in your peripherals. “That’s tonight. When are you guys gonna come out to my bar, huh?”

“When I’m more confident that they won’t mind the heavy metal music,” you said and stood upright, smiling and adding, “Which might be sooner than you think.”

As usual, Bartolomeo was the picture of nonchalance, leaning against his doorframe in a Cannibal Corpse t-shirt that had seen better days. He gave you a sort of half-smirk then nodded to your door. “You sure you’re okay? Sounded like you might’ve hurt yourself in there.”

“Yeah, just...” you sighed and shook your head, “kinda frustrated. I can’t find my good perfume.” You paused, remembering your conversation with him when you first moved in. “Hey, uh, Barto?”

He stood up slightly straighter at the nickname. “Yeah?”

“Can you, uh...” you paused again, twisting the strap on your purse. His suddenly intense stare made you blush and avert your eyes. “Would you mind keeping an eye on my apartment when I’m gone? Like, if you’re around, let me know if you hear or see anything?”

“Yeah, sure!” he answered with surprising eagerness, before he cleared his throat and quickly reverted to the casual tone. “I mean — can I ask why?”

You would have laughed at the outburst, had you not been trying to find the words to explain you thought someone was breaking into your apartment. “It’s just... I don’t know. Some of my stuff’s gone missing. Random things. And sometimes I come home and there’ll be something out of place, or a little off. Like... someone else has been there.”

“Oh, shit.” Bartolomeo pushed off the doorframe, the chain hanging from his belt clinking as he took a step closer. “How long’s this been goin’ on for?”

You continued avoiding his gaze. “Two months, maybe?”

“What?”

“I figured I was just forgetting things,” you said quickly. “It happens, I can be a little spacey. But... not like this. It feels different.” You finally looked at him again with a sheepish smile, your heart melting a bit at the worried look he had. “I probably should have mentioned something sooner. I’m sorry to freak you out like this.”

He shrugged, now suddenly avoiding your gaze. “At least you said somethin’ before it got any worse.��

A chill went down your spine. You didn’t want to think about what “worse” entailed.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I told ya you could come to me if anyone was messin’ with you.” He smiled, his fully-bared teeth all the more imposing as he punched one fist into the opposite palm. “I’ll keep an eye out for ya. If I catch anyone hangin’ around where they don’t belong, they’ll be shittin’ sideways for the rest of their life.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. All things considered, you felt lucky that you had such a cool neighbor.

Relief gave way to panic when your phone pinged; a reminder that you had somewhere to be. You cussed under your breath and started rushing toward the elevator, but not before turning and waving to Bartolomeo, shouting as you ran, “Thank you! I owe you one!”

“Don’t mention it!” he called and waved back, watching you turn the corner for the elevator. He leaned against the wall next to his door, shoving his hands in his pockets and listening for the soft ding of the elevator’s arrival. Once he was sure you were out of earshot, he stepped back into his apartment and shut the door, taking a deep breath.

“FUCK!”

Bartolomeo put both his hands over his face, yelling every curse word he knew. How could he have gotten so careless?! He knew he’d gotten way too comfortable with sneaking into your apartment, but two months? You’d been onto him for two months?! He groaned and dragged his hands down, wincing when one of his fingers tugged on his nose ring. No, that wasn’t right; you weren’t onto him, specifically. You only noticed the missing stuff, and whatever it was you meant by “something out of place”.

(He knew exactly what you meant by that, considering his favorite thing to do in your apartment was lie down on your bed and cuddle your pillows.)

Admittedly, part of him was relieved. You asked him for help! Sure, from the time you noticed to the time you said something had him a little concerned, and sure, it was his doing to begin with — but you weren’t aware of the second part! And, if you hadn’t said something, it would only have been a matter of time before he got caught in the act. He had time to correct that now. With you asking for help, it meant he’d be seeing you more, so he wouldn’t have to break into your apartment anymore, and he could act like it never happened!

(He was aware, on some level, that it wouldn’t be that simple. It wouldn’t be enough just to see you more. He had to be with you.)

Bartolomeo groaned again and sat down on the couch, head still in his hands. His heart had finally calmed down, having been racing just from talking to you. You were so cute, from how you fidgeted when you were nervous, to how your laugh sounded, to how you looked in that outfit (well, he thought you always looked nice in any outfit, but that was beside the point). And your eyes — what he wouldn’t give to be able to look into your eyes for more than a handful of seconds. He’d started a habit of looking at your nose when you two chatted, just to keep from turning his head away when your eyes were too much, but it only led to him fighting the insatiable urge to kiss it. He wanted to kiss your whole face, really, but if he started thinking about that, his heart rate was bound to pick up again.

All this to say, Bartolomeo had it bad for you. Real bad.

It started out innocently enough when you moved in across the hall. He thought you were cute from the start, and wanted to be nicer than usual; holding the door if he saw you coming, taking time to chat with you. But then the more he saw you, the more you two talked, the more he found himself looking forward to it. Before he knew it, he was listening for the elevator every time he could, just so he had a chance to talk to you again.

Even though it wasn’t hard to tell you lived alone, you admitting out loud that it was the first time about sent him into shock. Seriously? And in the shittiest neighborhoods you could have possibly ended up in? Something in his brain cranked up to eleven, and he was determined you needed someone looking out for you. Someone close by, who knew the area well, and had more than enough street smarts under his belt. Of course, that someone would be him. Why wouldn’t it be? And so, he came up with something to ease your worries (it was mostly true, in that at the very least the people in the building and running businesses around the neighborhood minded their own), and offered help. The relief on your face was well worth it.

Bartolomeo hadn’t intended for things to get this... intense, though.

The first time he’d broken in had been on impulse. See, the apartment building had older fire escapes, where the ladder wasn’t as compact as it really should be and about half of it hung down below the bottom landing. Most people still couldn’t reach it without significant effort, either by dragging over something to climb on or risking their neck by trying to parkour that shit.

Bartolomeo, however, was not most people. Standing at seven-foot-three, he just had to reach up and haul his own weight for a few rungs. He only did it to prove to himself that he could, in case you were ever in trouble and he needed to get in quickly without fighting with the front door.

Then, he wondered if it would take very long to get to the fourth floor, where both of you lived. He knew he wouldn’t have to worry about the tenants on the way up making a fuss; the unit on the second floor was used by the landlord for storage, and the people directly below you were always too busy arguing or fucking to notice anything.

And then it just. Happened. You weren’t home, and the window was so easy to open, and he had to know everything. How you lived, what you showered with, what sort of stuff did you keep. He had a general idea from talking to you, but he wanted, needed more.

The first time, Bartolomeo just sat on the windowsill, looking around and taking in the bedroom. You kept the floor clear, so if he felt brave enough to venture further in the room he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping and breaking something. You had a desk with a bookshelf built around it that was full of books and video games and figurines, and one of those desktop computers with the rainbow lights on the tower. Your bed was neatly made, adorned with overstuffed pillows, with a storage bench at the foot that was currently being commandeered by a collection of plushies dressed like pirates. The bed itself looked wide enough for two, though he might have to get a little creative to make it work with his taller height.

Not that. He was thinking about laying next to you. Or holding you close. Or watching you fall asleep.

(He absolutely was thinking those things. But in his bed, not yours. What could he say? He needed his California King. It wasn’t perfect, but he couldn’t afford one of the fancy custom beds that other city dwellers somehow got their hands on.)

Bartolomeo resolved that breaking in was fine, so long as he always took off his boots (couldn’t rightfully wear shoes into your apartment now, could he?) and didn’t touch anything. That way you’d never know. He stuck to that for the first handful of trips. Then one time he couldn’t resist picking up and fawning over your monkey plushie at the foot of the bed, so he decided it was okay to touch things, but he had to put them back exactly as he found them. Before he knew it, one day he was poking around the jewelry trays on your dresser, and...

He only had the top drawer open for a minute. Two, tops. Any longer and he would have gotten dizzy from how much blood was rushing downwards. He slammed it shut and made a beeline for the fire escape, nearly forgetting his boots in the process. He told himself he wouldn’t be looking in there without your permission, otherwise the temptation would be too great and he'd steal something he really shouldn’t.

(Which is why he eventually stole your shirt instead.)

Okay. So Bartolomeo let his little guilty pleasure get out of control. He just hadn’t realized how easily that happened. Now that you said something to him, he was going to ease off. He pushed up off the couch and sauntered to his room, putting his hands back in his pockets, flinching when one hand touched something he forgot he’d still had on his person. Frowning, he pulled the perfume bottle out, a slight twist in his stomach at the thought he’d frustrated you with his antics. He really hadn’t intended to keep it — honest. He only swiped it because the shirt under his pillow was starting to smell like the rest of his stuff. Not necessarily a bad thing, as it wasn’t like he was unclean (he was unkempt and dirty minded, even peed in the shower sometimes, but not unclean), but. The whole reason he took the shirt was because it smelled like you.

He turned the bottle over in his hands and sat on the edge of his bed. The label on it just said “Elegia” — why couldn’t the names of these things be simple? Fucking vanilla, or flowers, or whatever, so that he could put it back and get something similar. He supposed at least this way he could try to find another bottle online, so he could get it exact, but still... what a pain. Point being, if it had been easier to remember the name, he wouldn’t have had to take it.

...Okay, fine, Bartolomeo stole it thinking you wouldn’t notice. You had a few others, he figured it’d be fine.

With a sigh he reached under his pillows for your shirt, unable to keep from smiling when he saw it. It was light purple, with the words “Bite Me” on it in a black, drippy font. He saw you wear it on laundry day once; it took an immeasurable amount of self control not to take it as an invitation. He then uncapped the perfume and sighed again, his eyes rolling back just a bit. At least he guessed right; this was definitely the one you wore the most often. It smelled like vanilla and strawberries.

Like you.

Shaking out of his reverie, he sprayed the shirt and folded it back up under his pillows. It had been in his possession for too long for him to give it up without arousing suspicion, so he’d settle for returning the perfume.

While you were gone, of course.

[cyberpunkonline]

The Top 5 Cyberpunk City Destinations for the Hypothetical Cyberpunk Traveler

Howdy there, fellow cyber space cowboys and cowgirls! If you're itching to explore the neon-soaked, gritty landscapes of the cyberpunk universe, you're in for a wild ride. Grab your augmented reality shades and strap in because we're about to take you on a tour of the top 5 cyberpunk city destinations. Remember, folks, travel at your own risk – it's dark out there in the digital wild west.

1. Neo-Tokyo: Where Tradition Meets Technology

Picture this: neon signs so bright they make daylight jealous, streets teeming with life, and sushi that comes with a side of holographic waitstaff. Neo-Tokyo is a cyberpunk wonderland where ancient tradition dances with cutting-edge technology. But beware, occasional psychic explosions may disrupt your sushi dinner, and dodging angst-ridden teenagers on motorcycles is an Olympic sport. And who knows, you might even leave with superpowers - it's all part of the charm.

Pros:

- Blazing neon signs that could give you a sunburn at night.

- Sushi joints with holographic waitstaff for that futuristic flair.

- Robot geishas to keep you entertained and perplexed.

Cons:

- Frequent psychic explosions causing minor inconveniences.

- Be prepared to dodge motorcycles ridden by angst-ridden teenagers.

- Watch out for secret government experiments - you might develop superpowers.

2. Night City: More Glitches Than Friends

In Night City, the skyline is a mesmerizing blend of artistry and error messages, and every street corner seems to have a vendor peddling questionable cyberware upgrades. The city that never sleeps is also a place where traffic jams are so bad they make you question the existence of personal space. And don't get too comfortable – the corporations are always watching. In Night City, paranoia is your best friend.

Pros:

- A stunning skyline marred by glitches and bugs – it's art, darling.

- Street vendors selling questionable cyberware upgrades.

- A friendly, neighborhood mercenary for hire.

Cons:

- Traffic jams so bad you'll wish you had a flying car.

- Persistent rain that's acidic enough to make you question life choices.

- Corporations watching your every move – paranoia is your new best friend.

3. Mega-City One: Where Crime Never Sleeps

Welcome to Mega-City One, where the law is swift and efficient, and you'll never be short on neighbors. Living in an apartment complex the size of a city takes some getting used to, and the judicial system here has a slight tendency to be overzealous. Keep your head down and your helmet on; you might encounter a Judge who's a bit too trigger-happy.

Pros:

- The law enforcement is so efficient it's almost scary.

- A bustling population that makes New York look like a small town.

- A rich history of comic book lore to geek out over.

Cons:

- Living in a city-sized apartment complex is a claustrophobic's nightmare.

- The judicial system has a slight tendency to be overzealous.

- You might have to deal with a few Judges who are quick on the trigger.

4. Los Angeles 2049: The Art of Artificial Intelligence

Los Angeles in 2049 is a city that blurs the line between reality and dreams. Mind-bending holographic art installations are on every corner, and you might just stumble upon a Blade Runner wannabe trying to solve a rainy-day mystery. But be wary of the smog that turns breathing into a challenge, and don't be surprised if you fall in love with a replicant. In this city, your memories might not be your own.

Pros:

- Mind-bending holographic art installations on every corner.

- Blade Runner wannabes playing detective in the rain.

- A thriving underground scene where rogue AI hide and seek.

Cons:

- Smog that makes breathing an extreme sport.

- You might accidentally fall in love with a replicant.

- You'll constantly question whether your memories are real or implanted.

5. The Sprawl: Unplugging in the Information Jungle

The Sprawl stretches as far as the eye can see, a vast jungle of information and urban decay. It's a playground for hackers looking to prove their worth, and the ultimate quest is to unlock the secrets of an enigmatic AI that may hold the key to the universe. But be prepared to get lost in the labyrinthine streets, make some dystopian fashion choices, and face the possibility that the AI might want to merge your consciousness with the internet.

Pros:

- A sprawling metropolis that stretches your concept of distance.

- The ultimate challenge for hackers looking to prove their worth.

- An enigmatic artificial intelligence rumored to hold the secrets of the universe.

Cons:

- Getting lost in the endless maze of urban decay.

- Dystopian fashion choices that might make you question your taste.

- An AI that might try to merge your consciousness with the internet.

6. The Endless City: Where Faeries roam free, and violently

The Endless City from Faewave lore exists just on the Otherside of reality close to our dreams and is a biomechanical cyberpunk dream, or nightmare, filled with fantastical creatures and strange mystery. Don't be surprised if the home of Faewave changes on each visit, and expect the unexpected at all times. Anything is possible in The Endless City!

Pros:

- The city is never the same twice, so infinitely explorable!

- I hear the sex clubs are AWESOME.

- Faeries are known for giving gifts to loyal subjects.

Cons:

- It's been known for people to forget who they are if they spend too long in the city, beware.

- Unless you are a representative of one of the Great Houses, prepare to be abused.

- Hard to get to, there are many ways into the city, sometimes dependent on the individual!

Closing Thoughts for All Cities:

As you embark on your cyberpunk adventures in these mesmerizing yet perilous cities, remember one thing: travel at your own risk. It's a dark and mysterious world out there, cyber space cowboys. Whether you're chasing neon dreams, hacking into corporate secrets, or unraveling the mysteries of artificial intelligence, these cities offer an experience like no other. So grab your augmented reality shades, stay sassy, and keep your wits about you because in the mythos of cyberpunk, the line between reality and fiction blurs, and every choice could be your last. Happy travels, fellow adventurers!

- Raz

[unitpestcontrol]

The Importance of Unit Pest Control: How It Helps, Why It Matters

In our daily lives, pests can be a big problem. Imagine you just moved into a nice new apartment, or you run a successful business. Everything is great until pests show up uninvited. You can save the day with Cheapest Pest Control Service in Delhi.

Why Unit Pest Control is Important?

Think about Pooja, who lives in a lovely neighborhood. Her house was perfect until termites came along. These tiny but destructive bugs were silently eating her house, and it was in danger. This is where Unit Pest Control becomes super important.

Unit Pest Control doesn’t just protect your property; it also keeps you and your family healthy. In Pooja’s case, quick action saved her home and kept her family safe from the problems termites can cause.

What is Pest Control?

Pest control is about getting rid of pests that bother us in our homes or businesses. It includes different methods to stop pests from causing trouble. To understand why it’s so important, think about owning a busy restaurant.

Imagine you have a restaurant, and suddenly you see rats in the kitchen. That’s bad for business and your customers’ health. Pest control is what helps you keep your restaurant clean and safe.

Benefits of Unit Pest Control:

– Keeps You Healthy: Imagine a family living in a beautiful suburban home. Unbeknownst to them, a hidden cockroach infestation was causing health issues. After implementing Unit Pest Control, they noticed a significant improvement in their family’s health. Fewer allergies, fewer cases of food poisoning, and overall well-being improved as the pests were eliminated.

– Protects Your Property: Consider a scenario where a business owner operates a historic boutique hotel. One day, they discovered termite damage in the building’s wooden beams, threatening the structure’s integrity. Timely intervention by Unit Pest Control not only saved the property but also preserved its historical value.

– Saves You Money: Picture a homeowner who had been procrastinating on addressing a termite problem. After termites had caused significant structural damage, they had no choice but to invest heavily in repairs. If they had opted for regular pest control maintenance from Unit Pest Control, they could have avoided this substantial financial setback.

– Makes Life Better: Think about a restaurant owner who runs a charming café in a bustling city. The appearance of rodents was not only bad for business but also stressful for the owner. Unit Pest Control’s effective rodent removal not only restored the café’s peaceful atmosphere but also brought back delighted customers.

Best Practices in Pest Control:

– Check Regularly: Imagine a hotel manager who schedules monthly pest inspections. During one such inspection, potential bed bug infestations are detected early and treated promptly. This proactive approach not only prevented guest complaints but also maintained the hotel’s reputation for cleanliness.

– Use Safe Methods: Consider an eco-conscious business owner who values sustainability. They choose Unit Pest Control for their eco-friendly pest management practices. By using natural and non-toxic solutions, the business owner ensures a safe environment for customers and protects the local ecosystem.

– Custom Solutions: Picture a homeowner dealing with a persistent ant infestation. Unit Pest Control’s pest experts analyze the specific ant species and their behavior, tailoring a pest management plan that effectively targets the ants’ nest and eliminates the problem at its source.

– Get Help: Think about a newly opened bakery facing a sudden fruit fly infestation. Recognizing the urgency, the bakery owner sought professional assistance from Unit Pest Control. Experienced technicians arrived promptly, assessed the situation, and implemented a specialized solution, ensuring the bakery remained pest-free and open for business.

These examples enhance the understanding of the benefits and best practices in pest control, highlighting the importance of proactive and professional pest management.

To sum it up, Unit Pest Control isn’t just a service; it’s a shield that protects your home, business, and health. The stories of Pooja and the restaurant owner show how important it is to act fast. By taking care of pests, you make sure your home or business is clean and safe.

Don’t wait until pests become a big problem. Start protecting your place today. Your peace of mind and your property are worth the effort to keep pests away.

[faeryqueenwitch]

🧚🎉Fairy Festivals🎉🧚

🎉 Fairy festivals take place at crossover points in the seasons. Equinoxes and solstices are determined by the position of the Sun, but the other four festivals are celebrated when the time feels right, so the dates given below are approximate.

🎉 There are other festivals too,such as Christmas Eve,Christmas Day, and New Year’s Day. Any human festival that touches on old traditions,from Ramadan to a Japanese Flower Festival, is a fairy feast. If you celebrate these festivals and make the effort to tune into what concerns the fairies, you will draw closer to their world. If you celebrate a special meal, remember to leave a little outside afterward for the fairies

1.  🌷 Imbolic - 🌷

February 2 in the Northern Hemisphere/July 31 in the Southern Hemisphere

Imbolc means “in the belly,” and this is the time when life stirs in the belly of the earth. Frost sparkles and the pale light lingers each evening,bringing the message that spring is on the horizon. Imbolc is the delicate crossover point from winter’s depths into the New Year. It is a feast of lightness and brightness,but also a time of cleansing,to make way for the new. The Hag, who is Dark Goddess or Dark Fairy, gives way now to the Maiden, who is young and radiant.

Fairies love neatness and good housekeeping,so it is a good idea to have a late-winter sort-out,in preparation for fresh activity. While the fairies are busy coaxing snowdrops and crocuses out of the winter-hard earth,do something creative of your own,such as knitting,painting,or writing poetry. Ask the fairies to lend you a little of their magic by leaving them an offering,such as a piece of wool or a verse written just for them.

This feast is also called candlemas,sacred to St.Bridget,who was the successor to the pagan goddess Bride (pronounced “Breed”). Bride was the keeper of the sacred flame,which represents eternal life. She is the patroness of poetry,smithcraft,child birth, and healing, and is a very powerful fairy indeed. Invite her into your home by lighting as many candles as you like, in your windows and around your house. Ask her to bless your projects for the coming year,and pledge a special act of caring for the natural world in return,to seal your pact as the year waxes.

2. 🌼 Spring Equinox- 🌼

March 21 in the Northern Hemisphere/September 21 in the Southern Hemisphere

The fairies are very busy at the Spring Equinox,looking after all the flowers that are newly blooming.Scandinavian fairies become active now: the Russian cellar fairy,The Domoviyr,casts off its skin and grows a lighter one for summer; and the Russian Rusalki,or river fairies are glimpsed by lakes swollen with melted snow.

A tree planting project is a very fairy-friendly activity at this time. A seasonal blitz on the garden is also called for. While you are hard at work, digging and pulling away at dead winter twigs, it is easy to go into a kind of trance. This, coupled with the spell of the natural world around you,can create the perfect state of mind to catch a glimpse of fairies.You can be sure they are near you,helping you with their energies.Plant some seeds of your choice and, as you put them in the earth, close your eyes and make a special request for fairy help. Visualize the fairies tending your seeds,giving them their love and care. Ask out loud for the fairies to help you,and sing or hum and you plant. Touch the soft soil with your bare hands and make real contact with the earth.

Place water in a pottery or glass jug (plastic or metal is best avoided) and leave it out in the noon sunshine. Ask the fairies to bless it. Imagine them dancing around it and coming up to touch it with their glimmering fingers. Use the water to give your houseplants a special spring blessing.

The Green Man is a powerful nature spirit that has been sensed by many people. He is represented in numerous churches as the Foliate Mask (a face made up of leaves),and one theory about his presence is that the masons who fabricated him had hidden sympathies with the old nature- worship. He is making his appearance now on some new park benches and monuments. However, you can make contact with the real Green Man out alone walking through the woodland. Ancient and wise,he is watching you. Catch a glimpse of him behind tree trunks or in the lacework of budding branches. Hear his footfalls behind you as you walk. He is the very breath of Nature, and his strength is bursting forth in springtime.

3. 💐 Beltane - 💐

April 30 in the Northern Hemisphere/October 31 in the Southern Hemisphere

Of all the festivals, Beltane is the most flagrantly joyful and sensuous as Nature is bursting forth with beauty and excitement. This was the Celtic beginning of summer, and also marked an important transition for the people of Fairy, for it was the time when the Milesian Celts landed on the shores of south-west Ireland. With this, the last of the magical peoples,the Tuatha de Danann, receded from the the world of humans into the Hollow Hills and became the people of the Sidhe.

However, they and the other fairy folk have not gone very far. You will find them dancing in a bluebell wood or skipping in the sunshine,sheltered by a greening hedge. Beltane is the time when good fairies reign supreme and bad fairies retreat. Fairies are very active now and may try to steal butter,or some of the ritual fire that used to be ignited on hilltops and is still lit by modern pagans.

This is the maypole season, but instead you can always dance around a friendly tree. Link hands with friends, and you may find yourselves spontaneously re-creating the kind of things people used to to do when seeing fairies was commonplace:lingering,walking,and talking, in the open air, away from television,computers,and other modern distractions.

There are many tales of beautiful fairies marrying mortals. Such tales usually end in tragedy, for fairy and human can never truly be joined. Better to borrow some of the fairy enchantment by performing a little magic of your own! Rise early on May Day and wash your face in the dew or simply walk in it. As the rhyme says: “The fairy maid who, the first of May Goes to the fields at break of day, And walk in dew from the hawthorn tree, Will ever handsome be.”

Welsh legend tells how the hero Pwll saw the Lady Rhiannon riding past him at Beltane and, after pursuing her, he eventually won her. Rhiannon is one aspect of the Fairy Queen,riding on her white horse between the worlds. As you sit quietly outside,on a bank in the late spring dusk,listen for the sounds of her horse’s hooves,and open your eyes to the shimmer of her sea-blue cloak. When Rhiannon touches your heart, she will fill it with love and inspiration.

4. 🌹 Midsummer -  🌹

June 22 in the Northern Hemisphere/December 22 in the Southern Hemisphere

This is one of the most magical times of the year, when fairies are very active and visible, playing pranks and even, it is said, stealing away the young and beautiful to join them in the Hollow Hills. The sun is now at the height of its strength and this is an important crossover point,such as the fairies love. For at the Midsummer Solstice the sun stands still, before beginning to recede as we move into the waning half of the year.

Flowers are colorful and luxuriant, and one radiant day seems to merge into another, as late dusk meets early dawn. At no time is the natural world more inviting. Take part in it by going on quests -long walks to sacred spots,evening camping out with the minimum of equipment,to draw close to the mystery that is all around, and to the Fair Folk in particular.

The rose is possibly the most sensuous bloom of all, and at midsummer it is often at its most gorgeous. Roses in the garden are especially likely to attract fairies. Distil water from rose petals and add it to your bath, asking the fairies to lend you some of their enchantment and to help you attract love. Brew tea from rosebuds and drink it,to increase your psychic powers.Plant a rose bush with a friend, to affirm the loving bound between you and invite the fairies into your life.

St.John’s wort is a herb known to break any negative fairy enchantment and drive away depression. Pluck some on Midsummer’s Day and carry it, to keep cheerful.

Look out for water nymphs by streams, or for undines for water elementals on the seashore- or for even the Lady of the Lake herself,rising from the luminous depths.In olden times, these beings were said to have no souls. It is closer to the truth to say that they do not have human morals. Conventions often conceal or feelings, but the beauty of the water fairies opens us to our unconscious tides; see them and let yourself be transformed.

5. 🌾Lammas- 🌾

July 31 in the Northern Hemisphere/February 2 in the Southern Hemisphere

Lammas is “Loaf Mass,” a christian version of a much older festival known as Lughnasadh, or the “Feast of Lugh.” Lugh was a Celtic god,lord of the Tuatha de Danann, and his name means “bright one.” Lughnasadh is a major fairy festival, and many fairies become active during this period,such as the Russian Polevik, who kicks sleepy harvesters awake. It is also a time when fairies move about in preparation for winter,and processions of them may be seen as a line of twinkling lights moving between the hills in the countryside.

At Lammas, the fields are golden with corn and splashed with red poppies. It is hazy,lazy time of holidays and abundance,but there is an underlying theme of death,for the Corn Spirit must be sacrificed in order to reap the harvest. If you walk out into a field of ripe wheat, you may sense the anger of the nature spirits as what is to be taken from the earth,even thought that is a part of the natural cycle of life.Gather up some ears of wheat and tie them into a bunch with red thread,to make a charm for the coming winter to hang over your hearth. At the same time,pledge an act of caring for the earth,such as clearing a derelict site in your neighborhood or garden, or planting and tending a herb, as payment for what you-and all of us- take from it.

At home, bake your own bread, using the rising of the dough as a spell to ensure that everything prospers in your life. While you are kneading the bread dough, say to yourself “As this dough swells, so may my fortunes increase.” Ask for your own personal Brownie, or house fairy, to come and help your bread rise- and remember to leave some breadcrumbs outside afterward,for the fairies.

Some say that Lugh is lord of the waning year, and his dance- through the waving,whispering corn- is a dance of death. If so, it is a reminder that all things come in cycles,and that everything is united in love and beauty. Stand at the edge of a sun-kissed wheat field and see the shimmer and sway that betrays the presence of Lugh. Take a few moments to feel respect for the earth in your heart, and understand the meaning of the Wheel of Life.

6. 🍁 Autumn Equinox (Mabon) - 🍁

September 21 in the Northern Hemisphere/March 21 in the Southern Hemisphere

At the Autumn Equinox, Nature stands poised between light and dark,but darkness is gaining. The veil between this world and the Otherworld is at its thinnest, and all manner of spirit visitations are more frequent now.

The hedgerows are beaded with berries,and mist lingers in the hollows. Sometimes the wind whistles in from nowhere and tosses baring branches. On other says, the mellow sun caresses the fields with slanting fingers. It is a time for reflection, but also for industry. In days gone by, preserves would be made for winter store and the help of the Good Folk would be sought by country people.

Absorb the atmosphere of the season by going blackberrying. In Celtic countries, there may be a taboo on eating blackberries, because these belong especially to fairies. However, as long as you gather them with respect and do not denude the bramble bushes, they will hardly object. Better still,leave out some of your homemade blackberry pie or wine for them,so that they will bless you. When this month ends, leave the blackberries alone and move on. Also look out for a bramble bush that forms an arch-so much the better if it faces east/west, for that mirrors the passage of the sun. Crawl through this three times on a sunny day to be healed of physical ills, especially rheumatism and skin troubles.

At this mysterious time, pay honor to Queen Mab. Her special gift is to bring dreams and visions to birth within us. She is really one of many manifestations of the Goddess, in her autumnal guise of wise-woman and Lady of Magic, and she is linked with ancient ideas of sovereignty- for the king drew his power from the land, and Mab presided.

Preferably at the Full Moon closest to the equinox,place good-quality wine in a stemmed glass or chalice,and take it into the garden or a secluded place.Raise the glass to the Moon,say, “Mab, I honor you”and pour some of the wine onto the earth. Drink a little and say, “Mab, I drink with you,” Then return home,light a bright-green candle beside your bed,gaze at the flame and say, “Mab,give me wisdom,” Place some jasmine or rose oil on your pillow,extinguish the candle-and drift into Fairyland. This is a little ritual that you can repeat during any Full Moon if you wish.

7. 🎃 Samhain - 🎃

October 31 in the Northern Hemisphere/April 30 in the Southern Hemisphere

Samhain means “summer’s end” and is pronounced “sa-wen.” This ancient Celtic festival at the official start of the winter was later Christianized as Halloween- a time when the dead were remembered. There was always a sinister aspect to Samhain,because certain sacrifices had to be made in order to survive the coming cold weather. Animals had to be slaughtered,and some say that human sacrifice took place to propitiate the spirits. Sacrifice,however, is a corruption of nature worship,for life is hard enough as it is and all we have to do is show respect.

Barrow mounds,shrouded in mist,are particularly eerie places at Samhain. Draw close,if you dare,and sit quietly.Do you hear the strange,far-off noise of fairy music,or the sound of knocking? Maybe the mound will open for you and unearthly light will stream over the barren fields.After Samhain,the earth is given over to the powers of darkness and decay.No crops or berries may be harvested after this time,because the Phooka, a malevolent Irish Fairy,blights them. The true meaning here,of course,is that death and decay have a place in the natural order,requiring due honor and respect lest they get out of hand.

Traditionally, this is the start of the story telling season. While the wind whistles around the eaves or the mist comes down outside,gather family or friends around your hearth- preferably with a real fire burning in it. If you do not have an open hearth,substitute a collection of large,burning candles. Sit round and speak of times gone by and people who have passed over to the other side.Ask the Beloved Dead to be present, if you wish(but note that this is not a seance,and the Beloved Dead are invited,not summoned). Laugh,share funny stories,feast,and drink.

Cerridwen is the Underworld Goddess and the Fairy Hag most associated with this time. In her magic cauldron,she stirs a brew that confers inspiration and transformation. Simmer up a hearty soup of root vegetables or pumpkin, to share with friends,then light a black candle and ask Cerridwen to guide you through the darkness into the light. You will  be both safe and wise.

8.  ❄️ Yule - ❄️

December 22 in the Northern Hemisphere/June 22 in the Southern Hemisphere

Yule is the Midwinter Solstice, when the sun again appears to stand still,as it did at midsummer,but the season is poised for the return of light. Celebrations of Christ’s birth were moved to coincide with the much more ancient solstice.

As you deck your Christmas tree,remember that the evergreen is a powerful symbol of the enduring life in Nature. Of course,is has a fairy on top of it,confirming that it is a festival of the Fair Folk,who also rejoice in the sun’s rebirth. Decorating your tree is an important magical act,for the decorations are fairy charms. Each member of the family should hang at least one special charm of their own,to enable a wish to come true.

Jack Frost is an active fairy in the cold weather,painting windows with intricate lacework. In Russia he is called Father Frost,the soul of winter,covering the trees in ice. Do not shrink from the frost fairy-go out and wonder at his works and he will reward you with hope and joy,just as in Russia Father Frost brings presents for the children on New Year’s Day.

By far the best-known and most powerful fairy at Yule is Father Christmas himself. Today we know him by his robes of red and white, but in the past he also wore green and other colors. As we have seen,red is the color both of life and death, and many fairies wear red caps. The hearty red of Father Christmas is a sign that he is an Otherworld being-very much alive,but not of this earth. He is recognized all over the world, as Kris Kringle in Germany and Pere Noel in France. In Brazil he is Papa Noel,and in China Dun Che Loa. He is the essence of Yuletide mystery,joy and renewal,and like many traditional fairies, he comes in and out via the hearth.

When all is quiet on Christmas Eve, get ready to welcome Father Christmas- light a candle and look at the stars. Pledge a gift for a friend and one for the world, and ask for a special gift to answer your heart’s desire. Write your wish on a piece of paper and “post” it up the chimney if you have an open fire. If not, burn it in the candle flame. Can you hear those sleigh bells?

(Art By: IrenHorrors On Deviantart -Link)

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on—that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

Warnings: 18+, explicit, references to past non-con/rape (not between main pairing, not explicit), daddy kink, Peter in lingerie, references to gaslighting and abusive relationship (not between main pairing, not explicit). The warnings are for the story as whole, not for this chapter specifically. I’ll add more in the future, if needed.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

“He can’t do this!” Ned slammed his hands down on the counter between them, as Peter took a swig of the cheap wine he bought with the last ten bucks he had in his wallet. “He isn’t even in all of the videos, at least half of the money is rightfully yours!” He kept going, stating the obvious, but Peter just sighed and shrugged.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Ned, I’m just relaying what he told me: he’s not gonna give me anything. It’s his channel, his equipment, the money from the subscriptions goes straight to his bank account, so it’s his. It’s all his. His words, by the way.” He took another swig of wine straight from the bottle. He had been drinking from a small glass Ned offered him – he wasn’t a pirate – but it soon proved to be too small to quench his pain, so. Yeah. Pirate style it was.

“You have to sue his ass, Peter, he can’t get away with this,” MJ intervened. She was sitting next to him on a stool by the kitchen counter, so he turned to look at her with a deep frown on his face.

“Did you not hear me saying I just spent my last ten dollars on this bottle of wine? I have, like, twenty four cents left in my pocket. And that’s it. I can’t hire a lawyer, I can’t even feed myself right now!” He raised his voice a little, but quickly got himself back under control and apologized. His friends were not to blame for his predicament – they did try to warn him Beck was bad news, he didn’t want to listen. “And you know what? I don’t give a fuck. He can choke on all of it if he wants, the videos, the money, the subscribers, I don’t fucking care.” It wasn’t true, of course. Well, partially. He really didn’t care about the money, videos, subscribers, etc, but he cared about Beck. He would have given everything else up if it meant he could keep him.

Which was stupid of him, of course. But he certainly wasn’t winning any awards for being a great decision maker.

“It’s still not fair. I mean, I knew that guy was sleazy, but you’d think he’d have the decency to at least give you something, you know? You’ve been together for three years, he’s been making money off your ass for almost as long. How could he just fucking kick you out and not give you a single dime? After all the money you’ve made for him? It’s fucking sick, that guy is fucking psychopath if you ask me.” MJ’s face was turning red from anger, which made Peter smile a little. It felt good to know he was loved by someone, even if he hadn’t been the best friend to them for the past few years.

The thought made him close his eyes for a second, guilt creeping over him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d called either of them – maybe on Ned’s birthday, almost two months earlier. They used to be inseparable, the three of them; the three musketeers, as corny and lame as it sounded. For years, those two were the only family he knew, but when Beck came into his life, everything changed.

Stupid fucking Beck.

Peter used to think of him as his own personal super-hero – it did feel like he had come to save him, after all. They met when he was seventeen, he had been living in foster homes for almost seven years by then, after Ben and May passed away. At the time, he was with his fifth family, and there were so many children in that house, so many of them came and went, that their foster parents didn’t really keep tabs most of the time. It was easy to sneak out, and Peter did, often.

He met Beck on one of his night walks – and their first meeting should have raised all kinds of red flags, but for whatever reason, it didn’t. Beck slowed the car next to him, rolled down the window and asked how much Peter charged for a blowjob. Just like that. The teen gasped at first, but when he looked around for a moment, he realized he wasn’t in the most family friendly neighborhood. There were, in fact, some men and women around him who definitely looked like they were there for that, but Peter was in sweats, for crying out loud, and he definitely looked his age – or even younger than that.

His wide eyes must have given him away, because the older man quickly apologized and showed him a charming, white smile. He made up some excuse about mistaking him for someone else and the boy said it was ok. He was going to keep walking when Beck asked what his name was. Then how old he was. Then where he was going, where he ha come from.

Looking back, Peter knew he should have run. He should have left, because there was no excuse for an adult man like him to keep asking a teenager so many questions right after he basically offered him money to suck his dick. But that Peter, that 17-year-old boy, was still a bit too naive. To have such a handsome man showing interest in him – his kind, blue eyes smiling at him, warm and safe – was inebriating. He actually looked at him. And cared. At least Peter thought he did at the time. And he was so lonely back then, even that little bit of attention meant the world to him.

He should have run, but he stayed. Should have run, but got in his car. Should have run, but ended up giving him a clumsy hand job in the backseat, after just a few sweet promises whispered in his eager ears. Beck was so good with words, he could have convinced Peter to jump off a bridge that very same night if he wanted.  

They exchanged phone numbers. For weeks, they texted and called each other, until they could  meet again. By then, he was smitten. At twenty, he could see how innocent he had been, how trusting and open he was with a complete stranger. A 32 year-old stranger, at that. Ned and MJ, his only friends from school, warned him that it wasn’t okay. That it was weird for a man his age to be interested in a teenage boy, but Peter said they were wrong. He said he wasn’t just a regular kid, he had been through stuff they could only imagine. He was mature and experienced, and Beck could see that, which was why he liked him.

Looking back now, it was embarrassing how wrong he was. Beck was an illusionist. Sad thing was everyone could see the trapdoor but him.

“So what are you gonna do now?” MJ asked, fishing another bottle of wine from under the counter and placing it in front of Peter, who almost cried in gratitude.

“You mean besides crying myself to sleep for the next few months?” He wasn’t really joking. The only reason he wasn’t crying right at that moment was because he had spent almost three hours bawling his eyes out on a park bench close to their – well, Beck’s – apartment, hoping against hope that Beck would reconsider and come after him. When it became clear it wasn’t going to happen, he headed to the only place he knew he could find refuge – even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Yeah, besides that, obviously.” She opened the wine bottle and before he could take it and drink straight from it, she poured three glasses and Peter sighed, defeated.

“I have no idea.” He answered, only slightly surprised that he actually meant it. He had absolutely no clue what to do. For three years, he hadn’t had to worry about money – or anything, really. Beck took care of everything and he just assumed it would always be like that. That he would always have him by his side to take care of him.

He rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Are you going to keep doing porn?” Ned asked, a worried expression on his face. Peter remembered he hated the idea when Beck first suggested it, as soon as he turned eighteen.

People are gonna lose it, Beck said. A pretty little twink and a hot daddy? We’re going to be a hit.

And they were. Their first videos blew up quickly, people were either disgusted by the thought of them together – because of the age gap – or completely enthralled. The haters helped them get more views, and Peter soon learned that there really was no such thing as bad publicity. Beck promoted their videos on twitter, where they accumulated thousands of followers. Peter remembered that, back then, many people sent him worried messages, saying he was too young, that Beck was a predator, that he was taking advantage of him.

In retrospect, they might have been right, after all.

He wasn’t too sure about doing porn when they first started, he knew once they released the first video, there was no going back, there was no way they could ever take it down – the internet was forever. Nothing was ever truly deleted. He wanted to be a dad someday, what if his children ever saw those videos in the future? What would have Ben and May thought? What about his parents?

None of this matters, honey, Beck assured him. These kids don’t even exist yet, don’t worry about them. And your relatives, well… They’re gone, sweetie. You can’t really disappoint them anymore.

So Peter did it. And he was terrified at first, he felt so exposed, people all over the world could see him in his most vulnerable moments, all of him, in every position Beck managed to put him in, in any outfit he thought the public might like, in any setting he thought might bring in more viewers, more subscribers, more money.

Soon, just the two of them weren’t enough. Their viewers wanted to see Peter with other people – other daddies –  and Beck saw another opportunity to increase his profit. Peter was strongly against the idea at first, it felt too much like prostitution, which was where he wanted to draw the line, but, again, Beck sweet-talked him into it.

It’s nothing like prostitution, honey, he said. I’ll be there the whole time, I’ll be the one filming and directing, I’ll be the one paying the other actors, all the profits are ours. How is that anything like prostitution? It’s just like what we’ve been doing so far.

So not only there were a bunch of videos of him and Beck out there in the world, there were also lots of videos of him with other men, some of whom were old enough to be his actual dad. There was even one video in particular that he was specially embarrassed by – and sadly enough, that was the most viewed one so far. It was fucking humiliating.

At some point, Peter should have realized it became all about money for Beck – and maybe it had been like that all along, he just hadn’t noticed before. Over the last few months of their relationship, they never had sex just for fun, just for the hell of it. There were always cameras, and lights, and roles to play. Beck never said he loved him anymore. Barely touched him. Barely kissed him. He should have seen it coming. He had been too blind, or just… Didn’t want to see what was happening right before his eyes. He ignored all the signs. The voice in the back of his head telling him something was off.

But anyway, porn. Could he still do it?

“I don’t know,” he answered, finally. He looked at his best friends and sighed with a shrug. “To be honest, it was never something I enjoyed, and I don’t know if I could ever do it without him somehow involved, you know? I did it with him because I felt… Safe? I don’t want to get involved in the actual porn industry, I’ve heard some pretty fucked up stories.” Peter had heard horror stories about other boys in the industry, and even though his own story was no fairy tale, there was nothing so bad that it couldn’t get worse.

“How about Just4Fans?” MJ asked and both Peter and Ned turned to look at her in shock. “What? You guys were pretty popular, right? You won awards and shit, so there must be at least a few hundred people out there who would pay money to see some dirty pictures of you, maybe some short videos. That way you won’t need to go into professional porn and you wouldn’t need a partner, but you could still make decent money. And fast.”

Well, it actually made sense. It wasn’t like there weren’t hundreds of videos of him being fucked raw all over the internet, anyway. A few dirty pictures couldn’t hurt. And besides, it didn’t need to be forever, just until he figured something out.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he conceded, drinking the last of the wine in his glass. MJ sympathetically filled it up again and he mumbled his thanks.

“What do you think he will do now?” Ned asked carefully, and Peter shrugged for what felt like the hundredth time. There was so much he didn’t know.

“Probably keep shooting videos with his new boy-toy.” He managed to say it with a steady voice, but his eyes burned. He still couldn’t believe how… replaceable Beck thought he was.

When he noticed them interacting online a few months earlier, before the boy was even eighteen, Peter was alarmed, but when he confronted the older man about it, he said he was crazy and seeing things, picking up fights for no reason. He always twisted things in a way that, somehow, Peter was the one apologizing to him in the end.

Months later, just weeks after the kid turned eighteen, there he was – homeless, penniless and lost – meanwhile the other guy was probably getting comfortable in his bed. If Peter didn’t hate the kid, he would pity him. In a few years, he would probably meet the same fate.

“Do you think he would take the videos down if you asked?” Ned asked, and Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, right, those videos will still make him a lot of money monthly, he’d never delete them.” And Peter would have to live with the fact that he would always be just one google search away from complete humiliation and exposure. If he ever tried to get a serious job, those videos would stand in the way. If he ever managed to meet somebody decent and good, those videos would be a testament to what sort of person he was in the past. Fuck, some of them were really fucked up.

“So… Should we create fake twitter accounts to trash talk his short dick or what?” MJ was already grabbing her phone and Peter laughed halfheartedly, shaking his head.

“He’s not worth it. Karma will take care of him, I’m sure.” He drank the last of his wine and whimpered sadly. “So… Can I crash with you guys for a few days? I promise I’m not gonna overstay my welcome! I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the Just4Fans thing works out.”

“Of course you can, nerd, stay as long as you need. We’ve got your back, c’mon.” MJ got up from her stool and gestured for him to do the same. “Do you mind taking the couch?” She asked as she headed to her bedroom in the tiny apartment.

“Not at all,” he answered with a sigh of relief, then went to grab his suitcase by the door. Three years together and that was all he had to show for it. A single suitcase with a few changes of clothes, after being kicked out of the house on a cold February night. His eyes burned but he took a deep breath, blinking them rapidly to avoid the tears.  

“Then make yourself at home. Our casa es su casa.” MJ placed a pillow on the couch and handed him a thick, warm blanket.

“We’ll figure something out, okay?” Ned clasped him on the shoulder with a gentle smile on his face.

“Okay.” He sighed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his crushed chest.

He waited for his friends to go into their respective rooms, waited to hear their quiet snores, before he allowed the tears to run freely down his face, replaying everything Beck said to him when he kicked him out.

Before he knew it, he was a sobbing a little, so he buried his face in the pillow to muffle the noise, as he tried to convince himself that things were going to be okay, that he was going to be okay. But at that moment, that was hard to believe.

[britishassistant]

@emyluwinter submitted:

It's very, very bad.

I probably already need to write some specific greeting, so that you understand that this is me again. I think something like " And here you are again a freelance newspaper worker writing about the life of a Yuu reporter!!" Today you will read a rather stressful and difficult passage, an article, a mini-script? I suggest you stock up on handkerchiefs.

This day was completely different. Grimm suddenly didn't show up for breakfast, and disappeared somewhere. None of the neighbors even saw him this morning. But Yuu definitely remembered that they went to bed together. How they covered themselves with a blanket, how they turned out the lights and fell asleep after a hard day's work. Yuuken's phone hadn't been answered for several hours, which was very unlike him. Also, the cameraman did not show up for the shooting of the report. No one in the office knew what was going on, and no one knew where he was. Yuu could feel everything inside him twisting into a tight knot of tension and despair. It seemed less and less like it was just a coincidence.

- Please let it be a misunderstanding. - Yuu consoled himself with these thoughts. But their intuition literally screamed that things were very bad. Everything goes wrong.

Even the villains seem to have decided to take a sudden day off for villainy. For a couple of hours, Yuu had been trying to call Yuuken or find Grimm. But there were no traces, no notes about the abduction. All his nerves were taut as strings. Almost choking, Yuu looks in horror at the black raven feather on his desk. This is Crowley's doing. It's a lousy case scenario. Things are bad, very bad. But what did he want from them? Why suddenly now?No matter how many questions were asked in Yuu's mind, there was no answer. A few hours later, Yuu found himself in the heart of the lair of the terrible leader of the villainous league of Crowley. Their anger was boundless and Yuu literally wanted to break the neck of this restless crow, which does not want to leave him alone. - what do you want, old crow? They decided to ask the question right away and not waste time. Fearing that it will be disastrously small to provide assistance. - Oh, Yuu, I'm so glad you decided to join me tonight. Would you like some tea? - Crowley sat quietly in his large, massive, and gaudy-looking throne chair. While they themselves were sitting on a simple chair. It was as if he was doing everything he could to show how helpless and small Yuu was compared to him. - If by join, you mean that your thugs kidnapped me and dragged me here by force, almost trashing my apartment and scaring the entire neighborhood. Wouldn't you... go fuck yourself?! Why did you suddenly think to kidnap me?what do you need?!

Yuu well understood that now is not the best idea to give vent to their anger and irritation. But they were on edge all day and the stress was stronger than usual. It had all been piling up like a snowball... for so long and so painfully. - Hush, hush, baby bird, I don't think you're in a position to let your emotions run wild right now. But I'm so kind that I'd rather not notice this little outburst of anger - Crowley indifferently took a sip of amazingly expensive tea from an equally expensive cup and saucer. - What do you want? - Yuu literally gritted his teeth to get to the bottom of it.One part of them was thinking about escape options, the other was praying that nothing happened to Yuuken and Grimm and they were kidnapped by another villain from the seven, waiting for either the Prefect or the reporter to come. They may be villains. But they are not so stupid as to harm the people dear to Yuu. They might as well have tried to kidnap Divus Cruel, but they would have been brainless in the next few hours, even if they had been very lucky not to be tortured half to death by his experiments.

- I'm glad you asked! You see I am so gracious that I will tell you my beautiful plan. As you recall, you are my biological heir. This is a very responsible and serious position in which I will need to make sure that after me there will be a leader who may even surpass me. It would be such a wonderful arrangement of affairs! Yuu wanted to punch that old crow even more. Crowley continued. - And as you must understand by now, all my previous persuasions have failed. As well as the idea that you went through adversity at birth. Yuu didn't like what he was talking about with them. - That's why!For the past few months, I've patiently let you enjoy the life you're used to. Make friends and family, get a job that you like. Even get a strange pet. And I had an amazing idea!If you couldn't get through the hardships when you were still a child, then I can easily arrange it now to break you the way I need to! Crowley chuckled smugly. Meanwhile, Yuu had the feeling that he was watching some kind of nightmare that they couldn't wake up from. - break me...what..What are you talking about? - Yuu could barely whisper their question. A chill swept through his body as quickly as if they had fallen under one of Charon's freezing traps.

But it wasn't ice. This was their terror with fear. Crowley puts his hands together and leans on his desk. - Do I sound so vague to you? Oh, you seem so happy that I'm giving you this opportunity to enjoy your peaceful days as a civilian. But I decided that it was time to stop with these children's games. Crowley presses a button on the remote control and a screen with security cameras turns on behind him. Yuu's stomach clenched in shock and horror. They screamed abruptly getting up from the chair and holding their hands over their mouths in fear, they looked at the bound Yuken and Grim, worse, Crowley did not stop.... in another screen  were...their parents. They were also abducted and tied up.

Crowley went on with his plan.

- All I had to do was take everything you hold dear and brutally eliminate it in front of your eyes. As long as you're a weak cub, you can't stop it.

No wonder they talked about Crowley's monstrous reputation, Yuu almost choked on their own tears and despair.

- no...No, don't touch them!!They have nothing to do with it!! - Yuu pleaded, literally burning the old crow with his eyes.

- I told you I didn't want your money, your position, and I certainly don't want to be your heir!"!You already have 7 candidates choose one of them, why do you keep interfering and threatening me to kill my loved ones?!? - Because I'm kind enough to give you a little choice."

The Yuus recoiled from him. Again, this dirty manipulation. He's going to brainwash them, that's for sure.

- The choice is cub. You stay and I teach you as my heir, how to manage my affairs and the craft of villainy. Or ...

Yuu suppresses a ragged sigh. They didn't even notice the tears running down their cheeks and their shoulders shaking.

Crowley truly reveled in the sight and the sense of his own superiority.

- I will kill these people slowly and painfully until you learn everything, and you will see every day how your mistakes cause pain and suffering to your loved ones.

It was as if a vacuum had appeared in Yuu's head. Either way, Crowley gave them no choice. He had planned it all from the beginning.

- where...Where's the guarantee that if I stay, you won't kill them at the same time?where is the proof that they are not dead? Crowley laughed merrily, and Yuu felt helpless and weak for the first time in his life. Things are too bad, Yuu can't think of a single option for saving everyone, including myself.

- Great question!!You see, if you voluntarily stay, they guarantee me that you will not try to escape in the future and that you will be a diligent student.

Yuu thought for a second that Crowley had put an invisible noose around his neck and was pulling it tighter and tighter. Like a puppet master's collar or strings.

- If you try to escape and somehow find them in my labyrinth lair. - Crowley pressed another button on his remote control Yuu looked at the other wall and saw a reflection of himself. Terrified, their cheeks glistening with tears, as if they were lost and broken. Just like Crowley wanted.

The leader of the League of Villains gets up from his desk and takes Yuu by the shoulders and turns their face to the camera.

- Your beloved Dair Crowley and our charming reporter Yuu are on the air. Yuu stubbornly refused to look at the camera and was riveted by the eyes of his loved ones. Even through their tears, they could see that they were still fine. Yuuken played with Grim in words to pass the time. I don't think Grimm did very well, but he tried.

And his parents...

Yuu sobbed softly and barely smiled. Their father was humming a tune inaudible to their ears and kicking out a rhythm with his feet. And their mother, their kind, sweet mother, sang with him.

They were afraid, they did not know what they would do to them and whether they would live. But they sang.

Crowley was talking and talking to the camera, but they weren't listening. Yuu is too tired to be strong, too tired to be in the midst of these evil-hero fights, to be involved in these conflicts. They just wanted to live the peaceful life of a citizen, a friendly neighbor. Instead of being in their worst nightmare right now, which Yuu didn't know how to get out of.

Crowley dug his sharp nails into Yuu's cheeks very painfully,forcing them to forcibly turn their heads towards him and the camera.

- Do as I say. - Crowley whispered menacingly, as if about to kill him.

The Yuu felt that they were so brittle and broken that if Crowley pressed any more, their bones would crack just like they are now. - So my dear viewers, I will be so kind as to answer your main question!!Your favorite reporter and friendly neighbor has a unique opportunity. Stay with me as a hostage voluntarily and save your family and friends, or I'll have to persuade them with my own words ... -  Crowley's eyes darkened and Yuu for the first time was afraid for the loved ones because Crowley wasn't always such a jerk.

- in kind and gracious ways. How about holding the whole city hostage? Ah probably you are now enveloped in a beautiful fear of not knowing that if the Yuu refuse, I will kill every civilian-Crowley specifically emphasized this point.

"Every single one of them, one by one, until the Yuu eventually agree. Ask why I need it?You see, I have some plans for this naughty child..

Yuu groaned softly as Crowley's other hand, with its sharp fingers, gripped his forearm very painfully, digging its nails through his clothes into the skin and scratching it.

- a monster.. - Yuu whispered softly, no longer holding back his tears. They were literally breaking down by the second. On the other side of the screen, the Leviathan in his lair dropped all the papers from his hands and turned pale with the realization of the whole situation. Crowley decided to go the route of violence if he was tired of Yuu's refusals. And the worst scenario he could have imagined came true..

- Err?!?Azul!!The shrimp is crying!I don't like it!! Floyd said angrily, not looking up from the screen.

- What are we going to do? -  Jade looked at his boss expectantly. Azul sat down unsteadily on the arm of his chair.

- Crowley literally says to all the villains do not interfere or I will kill him.. - Azul replied softly, feeling a cold sweat break out on his skin... None of the villains knew what to do or what to do. But everyone swore to themselves that they would never bring Yuu to such tears. To such a terrible state... I will end my passage here. I want to hear your impressions, thoughts, and ideas!!Open to everything!

It's so great to hear that you like what I write!

...well.

Well.

You were right about needing tissues!! Holy hell, this is serious End Game level work!! This is definitely building up to a dramatic conclusion!!

Crowley seems to hold all the cards here! He’s got Yuu’s family and friends (and who he thinks is the Prefect’s secret identity) hostage so that the reporter can’t fight back or be saved, and he’s got Yuu so the supervillains can’t make a move unless they want Yuu’s death on their heads. It seems like all hope is lost...

...Though I notice Crowley hasn’t exactly factored in what a certain Uncle and other honorary family members on the board of the League, or the three mysterious old men who own Yuu’s apartment will have to say about this...

Or the fact that the Prefect may not be as contained as he thinks...

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter Four

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, dark themes, death of unnamed and background characters, descriptions of blood, descriptions of a dead body Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] Cross-posted to AO3

Why was it always vampires?

It seemed like the bounty lists were chalk full of them these days, more so than normal. Which was not awful for slayers. They were generally high paying jobs, considering most of them were wanted for the murder of the humans or cryptos they’d been feeding on. You just preferred to stay away from the fangs. The superhuman abilities of a well-fed vampire were difficult to match in a fight, even for seasoned slayers. While you had the training and equipment to deal with them, the bounty was not always worth the medical bills after the fact. You specialized in the kinds of bounties that were more brains than brawn. Preferring the chase over the actual fight. Today you did not have much of a choice, apparently. You’d come into the office later in the morning and arrived to find all the new non-vampiric bounties had been promptly snatched up by the early birds. Leaving you stuck with the fangs. Great.

Your target was a vampire named Qin. He was active and was not doing much of anything to cover it up. A serious threat to everyone if left unattended to. The urgency in needing to deal with someone like him had bumped his bounty up fairly high, even for the usual vampire fair. There were plenty of breadcrumbs to follow, making your afternoon much easier. He was holed up in the old industrial district during the day. Most of the old neighborhood was being retrofitted for industrial lofts and modern condos, so there would be plenty of construction sites and condemned buildings for him to hide in and a steady stream of workers to pick off for food. Sightings and intelligence had his location narrowed down to a three-block radius. The was all easy enough. Killing him would be another story.

Vampires did not have any one magic bullet weakness- they aren’t susceptible to iron or silver- making them harder to handle. Staking one through the head or heart was usually the best way to incapacitate one, until their body was burned and ashes were scattered. That required getting closer than you were comfortable with. The last thing you wanted was a fanged creature with arms reach of your neck. You really should have just taken the day off. Too bad your landlord never took a day off when it came time to collect your rent.

Starting with the largest warehouse on the southside and moving north until you got lucky, or rather unlucky, enough to run into your bounty, seemed the best course of action. And today kept proving to be an unlucky day for you. You’d barely broken into the first building when you came across two completely drained corpses left out in the open, bodies still cooling. Your bounty was here and full of fresh blood.

Well shit.

Sword drawn you continue to sneak through the abounded building. Vampires were natural predators; their sense of smell was leagues above your own. It was more than likely he already knew you were here-unless he was occupied with another victim. That must have been the case, considering he hadn’t jumped out at you yet. On high alert you continue farther into the warehouse with a white-knuckle grip on your weapon. The main body of the building is split into two storage areas, the first dark in the overcast afternoon and empty. There are signs someone’s been around, a mattress and blankets in a corner, duffle bags and a pile of dark clothes next to a tower of take-out boxes. Odd.

You drop to the floor as the crack of a gunshot splits the silence. Mind reeling you wonder what vampire needs a fucking gun. Another scan of the space confirms you’re still alone, no shooter in sight. It must have come from the next room, too loud to have been outside the building. As you approach the partition the familiar metallic sting of fresh blood reaches your nose. Vampires don’t bleed.

Three more shots ring out, definitely from the other side of the partition.

Vampire’s don’t use guns.

Another deep breath draws more of the scents in, the dust and mildew of the building, the spark of gun powder and the overwhelming musk of human. Your bounty was not alone and wasn’t with anyone friendly. It wasn’t another slayer- once a bounty gets picked up its pulled off the lists- and most slayers didn’t smell so strongly of human, so the next logical assumption was a lone hunter. Not that it would have been hard for any human to pick up on this vampire’s trail, but if it had been law enforcement to find him the building would be flooded with cops.

You truly had the worst luck today.

Odds were probably one to four against the hunter. Humans rarely stood a chance against vampires unless they caught one out in sunlight.

A loud crash, like something heavy collapsing, shakes the silence. As a slayer you’re obligated to help the human but considering all that’s gone on in the last few weeks you’re feeling much less inclined to do so.

“Come on Mando! I thought you freaks were proud warriors and all!”

Fucking hell. Kira was right, you are a Mando magnet. The vampire’s taunt is not reassuring in the slightest. You did not need a dead Mando on your hands. Creeping into the next room you’re quick to find cover behind some dust covered work benches. Surveying the space leads you to believe the Mando and Qin have been at a while. The space is trashed, boxes toppled over and crushed, shelves up ended, and bullet holes are scattered throughout the space.

The Mando’s back is to you at the moment while he and the vampire stare each other down. You don’t need to see his face to know who you’re dealing with; you’d been on the look out for this particular mop of curls since your last run-in. How was he everywhere you needed to be? Why couldn’t you shake him?

He suddenly springs into action again, drawing the spear he’d been carrying on his back, swinging it in a wide arch at the vampire. Qin’s too fast and easily dodges the attack before going in for his own, trying to get within arm’s reach. Mando doesn’t let him, blocking each attack with deadly precision. Neither gives in, pushing back against the other, jumping around the other in attempt to land a hit.

You’re hesitant to say you’re impressed by Mando, but only out of spite. He moves like a well-oiled machine, despite not having the upper hand he does not give up control of the fight to his undead opponent. This is the most dressed down you’ve seen him, baring the silver tac vest over a dark colored shirt. You can safely assume its beskar, the metal harnessed solely by the Mandalorians. Just one of the things that made then unique to other hunters. As he circles around Qin you catch sight of blood dripping down his sharp jaw, the hair just above his ear dark and matted with it. He’d taken a pretty serious hit already.

Now you really had to help him.

This was the kind of opportunity you never had when dealing with vampires. Qin’s attention was solely focused on the hunter. There was no indication from either that they’d noticed your silent arrival. You had one shot with the element of surprise, and you needed to make it count. If you could incapacitate Qin, stun him long enough for you and Mando to finish the job you could make it out of here in one piece. Mando in close to one piece.

Although there was no magic bullet for vampires, a bullet wound did still require time and energy to heal. Even though vampires and the like were technically “undead,” they still felt and registered pain to some degree, meaning bullets also provided a certain shock factor. You lose the sword, reaching for your thigh holster instead. While you were not a fan of guns, you weren’t willing to risk a fight with a vampire for your pride. You always came prepared when dealing with a bloodsucker.

Qin and Mando continue to circle each other in their tense dance. Despite the dark look in both their eyes, Qin has a smug smirk plastered across his face, probably under the impression he was going to be having a Mandalorian for lunch. Too bad you couldn’t allow it. All you needed was a clear shot. You mentally will Mando to put some distance between him and the bloodsucker, as if that would actually work.

Your breath catches in your throat as Mando sweeps his spear in another wide arc, forcing Qin back. Maybe you were lucky today after all. The moment Qin lands back on his feet, far enough away from the hunter, you jump out from your cover and take the shot, tagging Qin in the temple.

Damn good shot.

Mando jumps as Qin’s body crumples to the ground, face drawing together in confusion. That feeling akin to satisfaction returns. You could get the jump on him and a vampire. Third time would not be his charm, you are sure of it. You would not let it.

His brain catches up with the situation and he swings around, staff pointed at you as you vault over the workbench. Next comes the recognition, his jaw dropping just a bit at your sudden materialization. You’re thankful his first reaction isn’t to attack as you’re quick to re-holster your gun.

“Focus Mando,” you quip, directing your attention back to the vampire beginning to move on the floor.

“Fuck!” Qin curses, already starting to come back to it. That seemed too quick, even for a recently fed vampire.

Mando snaps into action, kicking Qin down before his spear finds its way through the vampire’s rib cage. Judging by the ear-splitting screech Qin let’s out, Mando found his mark, staking Qin where he lays. Mando does not move as you approach with sword in hand. He does not move as you bring your blade to rest on the bounty’s neck.

“You have one chance to surrender or I collect the bounty on your head, Qin.”

“You bitch!” He snarls, thrashing around the pole shoved through his torso. “Working with a Mando, that’s low- even for a slayer!”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“See you in hell one day, bitch.”

Smug even in death. Ugh. You don’t feel much as you chop his off with one swift swing. Not after you saw those two innocents on your way in. People like him were the exact reason humans called your kind monsters.

“Sunny disposition on that one,” you grumble, stepping back from Mando and the decapitated bounty. The hunter doesn’t even offer you a curtesy laugh. Stick in the mud.

“Why are you here?”

He doesn’t bother to hide the suspicion. Did he think you were following him now? That was rich.

“Doing my job. I took on the bounty for this one.” Pulling your messenger bag off, you begin to organize your supplies, “which I’d like to finish up if you have no objections.”

Mando just steps back, leaning against his staff. You can feel the weight of his gaze boring into you while you work. His eyes tracking your every move, detailing each item you pull from your clean up kit. You didn’t spot any bag of his lying around, you wonder how he had been planning on dealing with the body.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Why did you help me?”

Questions, questions.

“You let us go last time- I owed you for that at least,” you shrug. Now you were even. Well, as even as you could be with a human Mandalorian.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as you pull a few jars and a water bottle out of the bag. One contains a small collection of thistle bulbs. Mando doesn’t ask but you can see the curiosity growing as you stick the sharp plants into the vampire’s wounds.

“Vampires are weak to thistle, introduce it into the body and it halts their healing abilities. Aloe vera works too, it’s just not as flammable.

“Aloe vera and thistles?”

You chuckle, “what, did you think garlic would work?”

Mando scoffs, his sharp eye still following your hands. Next comes the burning of the body. You want to get that done as quick as possible. Thistle was not an end all weakness and even decapitated vampires could regenerate. You douse the body and head in gasoline from the water bottle.

“Light?”

Eyebrows raised you gingerly take the lighter he offers, catching the edge of Qin’s shirt with the flame. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the corpse to catch. The flames cast shadows over the Mandalorian’s face as you watch him from the corner of your eye. The air is heavy between you and not with the smell of burning flesh.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to let him kill me?”

“Why would I want that?” Had he not come to the realization that you couldn’t kill him?

“You get rid of nuisances, right? So one of you will have to kill me eventually.”

It takes all your will power to not burst out laughing. There was no way he was getting anything from an inside informant if that’s what he thought slayers did. You had this Mando pinned down about as wrong as he had you figured out. No wonder no one had been able to find a turn coat when one didn’t exist to begin with.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your info, but you need to find a different source. Trust me. As much as most slayers want to get rid of hunters, we can’t without very good reasons. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be any better than the ones we hunt.”

He quirks an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, “so what? You’re just monsters hunting other monsters?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we use the term crypto.”

“Crypto? Like cryptid?”

“Where do you think humans got the word from?”

Mando scoffs at that but doesn’t press.

“Two, most of us don’t actually qualify as cryptos. Slayers are primarily half-bloods.”

You revel in the confusion on his face. Never did you think you would find yourself completely altering a Mandalorian’s understanding of the world. This was priceless.

Why were you telling him all this?

“Half-bloods?”

“You know, half human?”

“That’s possible?”

Now you cannot hold back the laugh this time, “human genetics are surprisingly adaptable.”

A look of disgust washes over his face and your heart drops.

“I just want you to know we’re not so different… our job is to stop those who hurt or take advantage of humans, to stop those who threaten to expose us. I imagine that’s not so different from what Mandalorians want…” after all, they couldn’t want to kill you all, could they?

[simmonsofshield]

The Last Thing

Pairings: Y/N Stacy & Peter Parker

Summary: Peter is not dealing with his friend’s death very well. Loosely based on true and personal events.

Words: ~2900

Warnings: Mentions of death. Yelling. Blaming.

A/N:  AU, Peter and Gwen are friends. Y/N is Gwen’s older sister. Gwen is an Avenger and has been in all the fights instead of Peter. This is for @jbbarnesnnoble​​‘s mental health awareness challenge. I chose “How do you even begin to move on?” It won’t be a quote, but it’ll be in bold. Takes place after Endgame.

Dear Peter,

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve never been known to anyways. If you’re reading this, that means I’m either dead or in some sort of close-to-death coma, probably the former.

I’m writing this the day before I leave for Berlin. Sorry I didn’t tell you about it but Tony Stark came to me so I’m assuming it has to stay on the DL. Yeah, you read that right. Tony freaking Stark! He hasn’t told me much but I’m assuming some sort of drama with the Accords. Why he came to me and not you, I’m not sure. Maybe just because I go out more and there’s more youtube videos of me than you. Or maybe he didn’t want the “friendly neighborhood Spiderman.” He wanted someone tougher. Haha just kidding.

Anywho... back to the reason for this letter. I want you to take my place. Queens still needs someone to take care of it, and since I’m no longer around, it’s gotta be you. We were both in that lab and got bit by those radioactive spiders. Who thought making spiders radioactive was a good idea anyways? We went through all the weird hardships with these new powers together and managed without anyone finding out….except my sister. (and apparently Tony Stark.)

Speaking of Y/N, I’m putting her in your care. You are now responsible for her. I’m only kind of sorry. She’s the only one that knows about this letter.

Hopefully you don’t have to read this immediately following this impromptu trip to Berlin, or at all in 2016. Or, you know, ever. Hopefully I can grow old and retire SpiderGwen. Wait, those are two different things, let me rephrase that: hopefully I can stop saving the day around 25 and then retire when I’m old and wrinkly and burn this letter so you never have to even know it existed.

If you are reading this and made it this far, I want you to know that I believe in you. It is hard being a hero. Sometimes  you have to make tough decisions, but you’re a smart guy. I know you will be great. Better than me, probably.

You’re the best basically-brother I could ever ask for. Spiderman is destined for great things. I know it.

Gwen

Present day, May 2023

When it first happened - when half the universe was brought back - Y/N came looking for Peter immediately. After that first weird day back to school, she found him..and that was weird too. She used to only be one year older than him and Gwen, and now she was clearly 6 years older than him. She’d asked if he’d seen her in class, and he said no. She covered her mouth and started crying right there. It confused him at the time, but in hindsight, he realized she knew at that moment that Gwen was dead. Her family got the call from Nick Fury himself that night.

Besides the big bad, Thanos he thinks, there were only two casualties. “Only” two on the heroes side, when there’s usually zero. They were Gwen and Tony Stark. So not only did Peter lose his best friend, he lost his idol as well, and even though he never got to meet him, it still hurts. A little. He died bringing back the half of humanity that was blipped, a truly heroic act, but Gwen died so that that could happen. She’s hardly ever mentioned in news reports or anything.

It’s been almost two months. TWO.

Peter read the letter again. He did almost once a day. The fold creases were already very worn and the page had been stained with tears many times over. He still just couldn’t believe she was actually gone. Being brought back after getting blipped was enough to deal with but now his closest friend was dead. What was the most frustrating was that he didn’t know how. He wasn’t allowed to. SHIELD classified it and only the immediate family could know. You hadn’t told him everything, but you did say something about her getting caught in some crossfire. That’s all you were allowed to say.

He sat in the stairwell of his and Aunt May’s Queens apartment while he waited for you to arrive. He was zoned out thinking and didn’t even hear you come up the stairs.

“Peter?” he snapped back to reality and looked at you, eyes sad, “you ready?”

He nodded and stood up, shoving his hands in his shorts pockets. He trudged down the stairs and met you at the landing, then walking side by side down the rest to ground level. Exiting the complex, you put your arm around his shoulders walking the already too familiar route. What had happened was still fresh and you two had decided to visit Gwen’s grave once a week, tell her what had been going on, if anything.

The first few times were okay, but recently, Peter hadn’t been saying anything. He just kneels in front of her grave, head down, and cries. You really felt for the kid, you did. His parents died when he was 6, his uncle Ben 3 years ago (since he was blipped), and now his best friend-basically-sister. He’s only 16 and has dealt with more death than anyone at that age should. How do you even begin to move on? The gaps are big, but that doesn’t make any of them hurt less. Especially when they’re all family.

After a few minutes of silent sobs, you place your hand on his shoulder. He stands up and steps aside, so you can have your time. You look at him and give him a soft smile of thanks. He looks at you for a millisecond before looking back at the ground, wiping away stray tears.

You approach her gravestone, putting your hand on it, brushing your fingers along it and tracing the letters of her name. You speak softly, as if just to her. “Gwenny, I need help. Your help. This has been hard on Peter. You were his best friend and now he just seems like a lost puppy without you around. I know he has Ned and MJ, but a big chunk of him is missing without you here,” you cough out a sob, “I just want the old Petey back. I don’t expect it tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but I need it. I want some sort of normalcy back in my life,” your next sob comes out with a little bit of a laugh, “look at me, talking to a grave like I’m talking to an actual human. You’d totally give me crap for this.” you sigh, “It’s just-- being six years older than him now instead of just one makes it hard. We’re in such different places in our lives. He just finished his freshman year of high school, and I’m in college now...” you trail off, forgetting where you were going with it. Standing up, you give one last tap to the gravestone. “Bring him back. Oh-” You dig in your purse and pull out a charm bracelet. You crouch back down and lay it right next to the base where the grass is a little bit taller. You wear an identical one. “Mom and dad are doing fine..well, as well as you could expect. There are some rough nights, but we’re managing.”

Emotions were still running high at home. You’d lost your sister, and your parents, their youngest child. There was a lot of fighting and blaming, despite heroism being Gwen’s choice. She’d told you once that she’d been given the powers for a reason. If bad things happened and she did nothing, it was basically her fault. You never really agreed with the sentiment, but she insisted and went on helping out the people of Queens, eventually roping Peter into it.

A lot of the time the blame fell on you, your father wondering why you weren’t with Gwen and Peter the day they got bit. You take it, as it’s his way of mourning and relieving his anger. He’s looking for answers that he’ll never get. Your mom is mostly silent, save for the fights. You two usually end up drinking a bottle or two of wine before tottling off to bed, drowning your sorrows.

The walk back is silent, as usual. You were both mourning and it was always emotionally draining after a visit and hard to make conversation. You’re about 2/3 of the way back before you decide to try. “I, uh, noticed you had the letter in the stairwell.” You feel a shift and see as his hand goes to his pocket. “Pete, why?” You sigh, not in disappointment, mostly in exhaustion but a little bit of curiosity too.

He looks down, an exhale coming from his nose, “It’s the last thing I have of her.”

You let out a soft gasp. That hadn’t even crossed your mind, it was the last physical thing Gwen had touched and given - by way of you - to him. “Oh, Petey.” You run your fingers through his hair a few times before letting your arm rest limply over his shoulders. He pushes it off, stopping in his tracks and looks at you with an expression you don’t recognize. He mumbles something and you stop waking as well, leaning forward a little. “Peter?”

“Tony did this.”

“To-”

“Tony Stark! He’s the one who recruited her. He’s the one that put her on this path.” he paces back and forth in anger. “If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be a part of the Avengers and she wouldn’t be dead.”

“Peter...” you know what he’s doing. In fact, you went through and did the same thing just a couple weeks ago. “You know he’s not to blame. She’s the one who wanted to help the community, just like you,” you reasoned, “it was only a matter of time before she caught the eye of the Avengers.”

He ignored you, turning on his heels. “I need to talk to him.”

“Y-you can’t. Peter..” you stand there, stunned for a moment, “Peter.” you call out. He doesn’t respond and you quickly move from your place on the sidewalk and jog a little to try to catch up. You forgot how quickly he could walk when he was on a mission. “Peter!”

“What?!” he turns around, fire in his eyes. You actually cower a little, never hearing this tone come out of his mouth before.

“Uhm..” your voice is meek at first as you try to figure out what to say and recover from the surprise his outburst gave you, “you can’t go talk to Tony.”

“And why not?”

“He,” you swallow the lump in your throat, speaking softly not out of fear now, but to bring down the information as delicately as you could, “he died that night too. Remember?”

He blinks and there seems to be a flicker of remembrance and realization. It quickly changes back to anger and he looks you dead in the eyes, pointing. “Then it’s your fault!”

“W-what?”

“Yeah. You’re the one that let her go to Berlin. She would’ve listened to you. If you had told her no, she wouldn’t have gone. It’s your fault!” he continues pointing his finger at you, his voice rising as he talked. You hadn’t even realized you were moving until you were suddenly backed into the wall of a corner store, or maybe a restaurant, you didn’t really take the time to figure out where you were on the street.

You could feel your breath beginning to shallow the more he talked. You had no idea what was going to happen, and with him being enhanced, he was unpredictable. “Peter...” was all you could muster up, hoping just saying his name would somehow take him out of this trance he was in. It didn’t work and if you hadn’t looked down to look away from his face, you wouldn’t have noticed his other hand beginning to ball into a fist. Your eyes widened and you looked back at him, tears threatening to fall. “Peter, please.”

It didn’t phase him. “It’s your fault!” he yells and you see his fist rise and you dodge out of the way in the nick of time, now in a crouched position.

You hear his fist connect with the wall, “Fuck!” Under different circumstances, you’d be surprised and sarcastically scold him because you’ve never heard him swear, ever. At the moment though, you’re now seated against the wall, breathing hard and tears falling silently.

“Y/N?” He crouches down and puts a hand on your shoulder, which you slink away from. At this point, as if it were a movie, mother nature decided it had to rain. All you hear is the soft pattering of the rain on the sidewalk for a moment before you hear some soft whimpering. You look around, and see a few feet from you, Peter sitting and hugging his knees, head down.  

You stand up, and walk over to him, not announcing your presence in any way, and sit next to him. Taking his hand in yours, you begin inspecting his knuckles. “You’re lucky you have super strength. Otherwise that wall would have done a number on your hand. More than just some scratches and it looks like probably some bruising.” The only reply you get is some breathy sobs. “Okay,” keeping his hand in yours, you stand up and urge him up too, “let’s get you home.”

He doesn’t argue and slowly begins to walk home, with your aid. Your arm is once again around his shoulders and he doesn’t push it away this time. The whole walk back is silent, as expected. The both of you now more tired than before, physically and emotionally.

When you arrive back at Peter’s apartment, you enter, May leaving it unlocked. She’s on the couch watching tv. She turns around with a smile to greet you guys, but it quickly turns to a frown when she sees the state the two of you are in. You see her mouth open about to ask a question and you shake your head. She closes it and stands, walking over to Peter’s bedroom door and opening it for the two of you. You nod a thank you and walk in.

Peter still seems to be in a daze when you sit him down at his desk. You scan his room looking for a towel, seeing clothes and books strewn about, assuming he ‘lost’ his backpack again. “Well, I see you have a project for tomorrow,” you try to joke, despite the fact that you began picking up his clothes and putting them in the hamper in his closet. You hear a soft hmm? and look over at him. He’s looking at you, eyes red but only a little puffy.

You finally find his bath towel, halfway under his bed. Picking it up, you shake it a couple times to get any dust bunnies off and walk over to him. You can feel his eyes on you as you dry the rain off his arms and legs, but you continue. You dab off his neck and rub his hair a few times, getting as much off as you can before moving to his face. He jerks away and wipes his forehead with his arm before looking at you, as if studying you. You sit back a little, unsure, wondering what he’s going to do.

He takes a deep breath like he’s trying to gather the courage to speak to you. It takes a couple more seconds before he does. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh Peter,” you coo softly, “it’s okay.”

He slaps his hand on his desk, “No it’s not!” seeing you jump, he realized what he did, “s-sorry.” he says barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” you agree, “but you’re mourning. I’m going through the same thing at home. You know this. I can take a few angry words.”

“But I blamed you, tried to hurt you.”

You nod, “I will admit I was a little scared when you tried to hit me,” he looks down, scared to make eye contact, “but,” you use your finger to lift his chin, “I got out of the way and you didn’t. Guess I gotta thank Gwen for taking me to some of those self defense classes so I could help her train.” You say the last part with a smile.

For what you’re pretty sure is the first time that night, Peter smiles too. You use your hand and wipe away the remaining tears on his face. “There he is.”

You get up on your knees, about to stand up, when he pulls you into a hug. You let out at squeak of surprise but quickly melt into it. Then, you suddenly begin to cry.

“Y/N?” he doesn’t pull out of the hug but you can hear the concern in his voice.

You sniffle and wipe away your tears, letting out a kind of cry-laugh. “I’m just glad, that at least for tonight, you’re back to the Peter that I know. I’ve missed your smile.” You feel him hug you a little tighter.

For Avory

[imgoingtocrash]

I Want to Go

by @imgoingtocrash for @slothbeans

Rating: G

Word Count: 5,179

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker (mentioned), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (mentioned), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark (mentioned), Ben Parker & Peter Parker & Tony Stark (mentioned)

Summary:

““There he is.”

It’s Tony. Anthony Edward Stark. Mister Stark. His Mister Stark, his mentor, his friend, his could-have-been father figure if only they had more time together, if Peter hadn’t wasted it, if Tony hadn’t—

Not-dead Tony whirls around on a rolling stool, his arms propped against his knees. Peter can’t move his eyes off of the man in front of him, but he knows the space well enough to recognize where he is: the lab. Tony’s old lab at the Avengers Compound. The lab that doesn’t exist anymore. It was obliterated in the battle with Thanos and replaced with a new one that only Bruce, Doctor Cho, and Peter himself seemed to get any use out of.

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.”

Tony Stark becomes a guardian angel after his death, and his task is watching out for Peter. After a harried run-in with the Green Goblin leaves Peter on the brink between life and death, Tony and Peter get the chance to talk about Peter's recent less-than-stellar life choices that led him to this point.

Read on Ao3

My gift for the second @friendly-neighborhood-exchange​​! I hope you enjoy it! Full fic also under the cut as requested by the exchange!

Peter really should have expected something like this to happen.

There are a lot of sayings about it: burning the candle at both ends, biting off more than you can chew, too many irons in the fire…he’s got melted wax all over a heaping plate of food and—okay,  yep, this metaphor is going nowhere.

He’s a disaster lately, is what he’s getting at. And proving it by using too many turns of phrase at the same time in his head when it doesn’t really matter.

What even is his head, right now?

He doesn’t remember falling. Getting the tar kicked out of him…well, it’s more likely, but he still doesn’t actually remember it.

Everything is hazy. It’s like looking into his camera when the lens is unfocused. And everything is bright—oversensitive to his already wonky spider-senses, bright.

Is that a concussion symptom? He can’t remember that either.

“Karen?” he tries, but it comes out as a bit of a slur. The AI doesn’t respond, so he tries again. “Kare-bear, you up?”

Then he realizes his vision is certainly not being obscured by the lenses of his mask. He’s not wearing it.

Moving doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. He expected that gut-bombing feeling that comes with nausea, a pull of muscle against his spine or ribs, maybe the feeling of blood trickling down after a bullet or knife pierced something it shouldn’t have.

Instead it’s—fine. The blur of his vision clears as soon as he sits up and he’s…on the floor.

More senses come back with his eyes. The floor underneath him is cold. There’s a smell of oil and something just slightly burnt in the air, flaring his nostrils.

He’s not in an embarrassing dream where he’s naked, at least. He’s clothed in…no, that can’t be right. He hasn’t worn Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt in years. Not since…

“There he is.”

It’s Tony. Anthony Edward Stark. Mister Stark. His Mister Stark, his mentor, his friend, his could-have-been father figure if only they had more time together, if Peter hadn’t wasted it, if Tony hadn’t—

Not-dead Tony whirls around on a rolling stool, his arms propped against his knees. Peter can’t move his eyes off of the man in front of him, but he knows the space well enough to recognize where he is: the lab. Tony’s old lab at the Avengers Compound. The lab that doesn’t exist anymore. It was obliterated in the battle with Thanos and replaced with a new one that only Bruce, Doctor Cho, and Peter himself seemed to get any use out of.

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.

The older man is wearing dark jeans and t-shirt color expertly matched with the grey cardigan that completes the outfit. It’s a warm ensemble. It’s like the picture he always finds himself looking at when he visits the Stark cabin: Tony and Pepper on a hospital bed, exhausted but holding their new baby girl like she’s the only thing in the world.

Welcoming.

Loving.

Soft.

He wanted that Tony too. He wanted Tony back in any form most days, period.

Tony watches Peter examine him head to toe before continuing to speak.

“I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wake you up or not. And not that I don’t love you, kiddo, but I’m more of a hugger than a Prince Charming type.”

Tony had hugged him. In the middle of a battle to save the universe, Tony took those ten seconds and hugged him and maybe if he hadn’t there would have been more time, another way, anything but watching Tony’s light go out.

“I am so glad Morgan’s finally growing out of her Disney Princesses phase, by the way. Aren’t you?” Tony says, like it’s just another Tuesday instead of whatever day of the week it is where Peter’s seeing things and losing his goddamn mind.

“Not that her running around screaming The Next Right Thing wasn’t cute and all. It’s just like—we all have our limits and I reached mine two Disneyland vacations ago."

Tony tilts his head.

“If you and MJ ever have kids, though.” Tony whistles. “Ben’s told me stories about your obsession with Kidz Bop songs. I hate to say it, but I think you two are in for it worse than Pepper and I ever were. I mean, at least Morgan has taste.”

“Mister—Tony, I—Ben—what?”

“Oh. Yeah, shit, sorry to spring all of that on you at once. I get carried away, you know me. Here, take your seat. We have time.”

Tony rolls over the other stool with his foot, patting the leather in invitation.

Peter keeps staring.

Tony gives a put-upon sigh. “Alright, let’s get this out of the way, then. No, I’m not one of Beck’s illusions, or one of Doctor Ocavious’ serums, or—what other reality-bending bad guys have you messed with lately. Did I cover them all yet?”

“Chameleon.”

“Oh, right, yeah. He had the gall to impersonate me and Michelle. That was rough on you, I’m sure.” Tony scratches his beard. “Though your last toss up certainly wasn’t better, considering.”

“Considering?” Peter asks. Curiosity has always been his problem. Right next to talking too much, which he’s currently doing very well with.

“One thing at a time, web-head. We’re certainly going to get to that.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Hm?”

“A new nickname. For me.”

“Huh.” Tony smiles to himself. “Guess so. Nice. I really thought I’d run the gamut. You know, that fire kid pisses me off to no end, but he’s really creative with the names. Makes me really aspirational about your generation.”

“How do you know Johnny?“ Peter shakes his head. Just another thing that needs explaining. “I think I’d really like to know what’s going on now, Mister Stark.”

“Fair enough. Alright, J, let’s get metaphysical.”

“Certainly, sir,” a prim, robotic voice replies.

With a resounding clap of Tony’s hands, the room descends into darkness before a set of holograms lights up around them, depicting a map of stars that expands around their heads.

“Let’s start with the facts: some people were right and some people were wrong. I wasn’t ever a very religious guy, but that doesn’t matter so much. All I know is that this is…whatever you want to call the afterlife part. The end after the end. What comes next, and so on. Well, an extension of it. Specifically from me to you.”

“How does that work?”

Tony snorts. “That, kiddo, is one of the few things I don’t know. There’s less all-knowing after death than I thought there’d be. Thor’s people have some theories—they call it Valhalla, theorize about their god-types—but I’ve yet to meet any kind of Grand Poobah as of yet.”

“But you did. Die, I mean.”

“Yeah, I did.” Tony sighs, placing a hand on Peter’s knee. “It was a tough choice, sacrificing myself. Strange thought it was the only one and I…” He swallows. “I would have done anything it took to make sure that you and everyone else in the universe got to live. So I made that call. And I accepted that it meant I would be out of the picture for the foreseeable future.”

There are a lot of things Peter wants to say, but doesn’t. I wish you hadn’t. We weren’t worth it. I’m not worth it.

Tony clears his throat, trying to breathe levity back into the atmosphere.

“But apparently, while we’re all here waiting for the rest of our loved ones to join in…we get perks.” Tony gestures to the room around them, an exact replica down to DUM-E and U rolling around in the corners instead of where they’re currently sitting in Tony’s dusty garage.

“It turns out the end isn’t totally the end. We get to watch and wait in style—go to old haunts, see old friends and family. Sometimes lend a hand, push away a bullet or two.” He nudges Peter’s shoulder on that one. “Specifically, I was offered the very coveted position of being the spiritual watchdog for a very special Spiderling.”

“So you’ve been watching,” Peter summates. “That’s how you know about—about Morgan and Johnny and everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone.”

Tony nods. “Your Uncle Ben had the job first. Maybe he took turns with your parents, I never asked. But what I do know is that you made that excellently unflappable man…well, stressed out to no end. We can only do so much from here, and you were throwing yourself headfirst into danger every other day. Before I entered the picture as your mentor, he was worried you’d join him sooner rather than later.”

Peter looks down at his lap, guilty. He can’t deny it—after Ben’s death, Peter was determined to use his powers for good instead of flipping around the streets entertaining himself as he pleased. That meant wearing himself thin on sleep, skipping classes, and being a little less careful about avoiding rather than attacking. Every robber from bank to bike thief got their punishment. Knife wounds didn’t matter, turning his skin black and blue didn’t either. Guns, he was particularly unforgiving about.

He had already faced what he thought was the worst trauma of his life at that point. He could afford an injury or two, and May was so blindsided with grief that she let him get away with leaving blood on the bathroom sink from doing his own stitches or waking up with a black eye for long enough that he got better at covering it up.

How could he have ever considered that Ben would be watching? He doesn’t want to think about all of the scrapes Tony’s now seen him get into.

“When I came up here…well, he and Nat were my welcoming party. Those two get along like old drinking buddies, actually. Weirds me out.” Tony scrunches his nose in what is likely false distaste.

He softens, though, moving his hand from Peter’s knee to cup his cheek. It’s something Tony’s never done, but Peter feels like he’s melting. Tony’s skin is warm. His fingers are still just a little callused and scarred.

Tony must get the impression that he doesn’t like it, but before he can move away, Peter traps his hand there, bristling his smooth fingers against the still-present wrinkles of Tony's skin.

Would Ben still look exactly as Peter last remembers him? Dressed in a button down with that stupid Giants baseball cap that’s still buried in a box somewhere at May’s place? Would he be fully grey now, or would it still be that salt-and-peppering brown? Does he need his glasses here?

“He’s so proud of you. Seriously, Pete, hearing him talk about you…well, he sounds like me. Just a couple of old saps between the two of us, I guess.”

Tony is smiling, but Peter wants to see it, he wants to hear it. He wants Ben and he wants to keep Tony here and never let him go again.

Tony swipes a fallen tear from Peter’s cheek with his thumb.

“He knew I wasn’t really…satisfied with how we left things. I spent five years missing you and all I got was a hug before I…” Tony clears his throat, looking away uncomfortably.

All this time and the first snap still haunts Tony. All this time, and Peter still dreams of ash.

“He offered to look after Morgan for me instead, considering it’s a bit of an easier job. I’m hoping he can coast on easy mode until she hits her teen years.”

“I still get to see her, too—and Pepper. God, all of you in the same room at Christmas is just—“ He shakes his head reverently. “That’s my day. My perfect day. I never thought.”

“She misses you,” Peter says. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tony, but sometimes he is, and he knows that Morgan is getting old enough to forget more about her dad than she remembers. He tries to tell stories, tries to explain pictures and videos but it’s just…not the same. It’s not enough. It’s not what she deserves.

“I know. I miss her too. I can watch you guys all day, but talking to you,“ Tony shakes Peter’s shoulder. “Touching you…there’s no replacement for it. I’m watching her grow up, but I don’t get to be a part of it like I used to. It just—sucks.”

Tony sighs again, but seems to rejuvenate with it, clapping and turning the lights of the lab back on.

“But that’s not important right now. We’re here because of you.”

“Me? What—?”

“Don’t what me, Pete. The only reason you’re here with me right now is because you’re close enough to death. Your body is in a hospital bed in the compound because you were reckless, and I brought your mind here to snap you out of it before you take the final step to this side of the spiritual plane!”

It seems otherworldly, the idea of his body currently being separated from his mind. Supernatural. Definitely something he’d usually associate with Doctor Strange.

As for his possible death...he doesn’t remember it. His more recent memories seem lost in a fog, and the welcoming warmth of this place makes the loss of them feel a lot less important.

“You’ve been—god, you’ve been beating yourself up for months. Ever since Gwen Stacy died—“

“Don’t.” Peter swallows back a sudden lump in his throat. “Please, don’t.”

“You’ve been running from it for months.” Tony replies. “Peter, you’ve been running from your life for months. You broke up with Michelle when I know for a fact that you have a ring made for her in your underwear drawer, you let things fall out with Harry when you never blamed him for everything that happened with his father, you don’t go see Pepper and Morgan anymore—“

“Because they’re not safe!” Peter finds himself standing, suddenly, string-tense and angry.

Tony doesn’t look surprised at the outburst, just sad.

“Don’t you get it?! No one is safe around me! It doesn’t matter if they’re heroes or civilians! It’s my fault that Gwen died! It’s my fault that you—” Peter shakes his head. “I can’t let that happen to anyone else. I won’t.”

“Peter, it is not your fault that I used the infinity stones.”

Peter stares at the ground and thinks about all of the ways he could have changed what happened during the battle with Thanos. He could have made that sacrifice instead. Anyone else on the battlefield could have. Some of them had the power to do it and survive. But it was Tony that came up with the idea to build a gauntlet of his own into his suit, Tony that made that choice with exactly one thing on his mind.

“Pepper told me about the picture. She said that you’d spent all those years caring about me, that you only considered time travel because of me. That makes it my fault.”

“No,” Tony insists. “It was my choice. That’s it. You were an influence, yes, but not the only one. I wanted a better world for my entire family—I did it Morgan and Pepper too. I wanted the rest of the world to have their families back because I finally realized how much I treasured my own. You are not to blame for my decisions. Period.”

“That doesn’t change what happened with Gwen! With Doctor Octavious! With Beck!”

He doesn’t let Tony interrupt again.

“Every time I try and do the right thing, bad stuff happens to the people I care about. So I cut them all away and according to you, I still ended up almost dead.”

“That was the Green Goblin’s fault. He escaped the Raft and went on a revenge-fueled rampage against you. You were overwhelmed. If you had help—”

“I don’t want help!” Peter shouts. Tony is always trying to fix Peter’s problems, a habit Peter knows he shares from his attempts to constantly fix New York. Tony just can’t fix Peter—who he is, what his life does to the people he loves. It’s never going to stop. Peter’s never going to stop. Not while he’s alive and has the means to keep trying.

“Then what do you want?” Tony asks, standing up himself and taking Peter’s shoulder in his hand. “I just want to make things better, buddy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Tell me what I can do.”

Peter looks at Tony, thinking of all the mistakes he could have helped correct, every missed birthday and holiday.

“I want to stay here.”

There’s a clear beat of silence. Tony’s face morphs from empathetic softness to a hardened frown.

“Peter, no—“

“Yes! Out there I can’t stop myself from—ruining my life all the time, no matter what I do. I can’t be Spider-Man the way everyone wants me to, I can’t be Peter Parker because I am Spider-Man, and everyone is looking at me to lead Stark Industries when I don’t even work there anymore!”

Working at SI had been what he thought he was supposed to do. Go to MIT. Graduate. Work for Pepper. Fulfill the legacy. Make Tony proud. Make everyone proud. Be the smartest and Spider-Man and a good boyfriend all at the same time.

But then Gwen died and he was already struggling to fill his mentor’s shoes and he’d just—surrendered to the part of himself that always doubted, that could never reconcile Tony’s belief in him and the way he often saw himself.

“Here I could be with you and Ben and my parents,” Peter reasons. “Tony, I lost them when I was five! I could finally see them again—“

Peter grabs for Tony in an attempt to reason with him, but Tony shakes it off.

“Peter, this was supposed to be a mission to make you snap out of it. You’re teetering between dead and alive right now and you need to go back.”

“No, please,” Peter begs. “Please, Mister Stark, please. I want to go. I want to go with you. I don’t want to leave you again. Ever since you died everything’s been—everything just keeps going wrong. Maybe this is a sign. I can never make the right choices, maybe it’s time for me to—“

“No.” Tony is looking down at him, like Peter is fifteen and naive and the world would be so much simpler if only Peter would listen to Tony.

“Don’t you dare try to act like your life out there doesn’t matter, like this is the better option.” Tony shakes his head back and forth. “The point of this place is to be after your life. I know that you’ve been through a lot already, but you’re not done yet. You’re not.”

Peter buries himself into Tony’s chest, desperate. He grew taller in the last few years but here in this lab, in this place that doesn’t exist, he is the boy Tony remembers, the boy he misses getting to be.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony echoes Peter’s last words on Titan, and he knows it, he must, to still be so affected by losing Peter in the first place. He keeps Peter encased in his arms, rubbing his back over and over in a soothing gesture.

“I’m sorry things have been so hard without me. I’m sorry that you’ve missed me so much, and that I can’t be there. I’m sorry that the only way I could figure out to save the world didn’t include saving myself.”

Tony pulls away slightly, enough so that he can catch Peter’s watery gaze.

“But Peter, that is no excuse to think your life should be over. You know I have always encouraged you to be more selfish. I spent so long telling you to go after the things you wanted—the parts of a normal life that you deserve—because you are an incredible, empathic, intelligent kid. But for once I am begging you to think about other people. You have responsibilities, Pete. You have people that love you down there. You know that.”

“And think of everything that’s happened to them because of me! I—I’ve given May more grey hairs than you, I’ve put MJ in danger—I’m the reason Harry’s dad went away! Without me…without Spider-Man…maybe they’d be better. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen!”

Tony doesn’t respond to this, but Peter can read his face. He doesn’t believe Peter at all.

“Let me show you something.” It’s a complete diversion, and Tony relies on Peter’s silent surprise, leaving their loose embrace and tapping at a set of holograms in front of him until a feed appears.

It’s an alley.

Somehow, Peter knows it’s in New York. Maybe it’s all of the time he’s spent in dumpsters—both searching for old technology in his youth and getting his ass kicked into them—that allows him to recognize that.

It’s not the most interesting footage—the most activity on screen for a minute is a mangy tabby cat scampering by.

Then a masked man comes running by the camera, a leather purse in hand and darting glances behind him.

A string of familiar webbing comes on screen, followed by a lithe, masked figure whose body slams into the robber’s, knocking the man down before sticking him to the ground with a layer of webbing. The masked figure takes the purse and swings away, back toward the mouth of the alley.

“Tony, what is this?” Peter asks.

“That is Miles Morales. Fourteen. Brooklyn native. Remind you of anyone?” Tony rolls his eyes at Peter’s unamused face. “Yeah, you get it. Anyway, two months ago, Mister Morales was bit by another one of Oscorp’s freaky mutant spiders. He didn’t tell anyone, but when Spider-Man was put into a coma fighting the Green Goblin and he didn’t help…”

The clip loops again, repeating the swing and kick of Miles’ body slamming into the robber.

“He became Spider-Man.”

Tony nods. “A cheap copy, though, of course. Underoos 2.0, you might say.”

“Only you would.”

“Ouch,” Tony hums. “I’m just saying, without Spider-Man, without you, someone else is always going to step up. It might be Miles, or the Avengers, or that little group of vigilantes near Hell’s Kitchen…”

“Then you’re just proving my point, they don’t need me to—!”

Tony holds his hand up.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t still needed. You—Peter Parker, Spider-Man—are the person that knows the streets of New York’s boroughs better than anyone else. You’re the same person that helped take down Thanos and fought against Beck and the rest of his little Sinister Six friends. You’re the only Peter Parker that Michelle wants. You’re the only best friend that Ned Leeds wants. You’re the only nephew your Aunt May has. You’re Morgan’s only big brother, Petey."

The warmth that was surrounding Peter until that moment fades slightly. Here, the world that he came from seems so far away. It was easy to say he wanted to stay when the most important thing was right in front of him.

But Tony isn't the most important thing in Peter’s life. Peter's grief seemed to be important for years after. It felt heavy, all-consuming, a weight he was backpacking around on the top of all the good things because the world wouldn’t let him forget. From the murals and statues to Beck’s raging hunger for revenge, Peter felt the ache of Tony’s loss much like he had for Ben—acute and piercing his life with holes.

The thing is—Peter still grieves. All of Tony’s loved ones do. They wish he was there at birthdays and barbecues, reminisce about this story or that, tell Peter and Morgan of his love for them, his pride.

It just doesn’t hurt the same, these reminders. It doesn’t hurt as consistently. His sadness ebbs and flows, bleeds and stems, metaphors on metaphors on metaphors.

“You’re the only you that there is, kiddo," Tony continues. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything that hasn’t worked out and start realizing that you’ve done a lot of things right. You’re allowed to grieve the past, but you can’t stay here. You need to move forward. That doesn’t have to mean letting go. It means taking us with you, and continuing to make us proud, just like you have been, even when everything is going wrong.”

Tony's eyes are expectant. He wants Peter to really listen to what he's saying, to believe it.

Peter nods, even as some part of him doesn't want to. Tony is right, and Peter is old enough to admit it, to want to believe it. Tony’s death is not as fresh as Gwen’s, and still newer than the death of his uncle, but he is allowed to hold his loss as he moves on from it. He knows that. He was trying for so long, but the losses kept piling up, and he’d forgotten because it was easier to wallow in his grief than try and recover for the umpteenth time.

It’s tiring.

As if Tony can see as much in Peter’s eyes—because he has seen it all, because he knows what Peter’s gone through without him all the time—he finishes his speech.

“Peter, I know you’re doubting yourself and your abilities. I know it’s hard. But you don’t need  someone else to fix that for you—not me, or Ben, or your parents. It’s okay to miss us—you know that we miss you. But you don’t need me around to be a great hero or a good person. You’re all of those things on your own.”

Tony puts a hand on Peter’s head, pulling back his curls and looking directly into his eyes. “But if you need the assurance…you’re everything I could have hoped for and more. I love you, and I’m so proud of you, okay? No matter what.”

"I still want to stay," Peter admits, his voice quiet. There's a difference in knowing he can't and wanting. It's a childish part of himself that he's allowing to be obstinate.

Tony only smiles, though, understanding when he admits, "And some part of me wants to keep you here. But it's not your time. Not yet, okay? You have apologies to make to a very pretty girl, an aunt that would break the rules of spacetime to kick my ass if you died in your twenties, a kid that needs your mentorship…"

"What if I get him killed?" Peter asks abruptly. He hadn't even considered what mentorship would mean, in the long run. "Tony, how many times did I almost die before I turned eighteen? I did die, on an alien world. How can I promise that won't happen to him?"

"You can't," Tony chuckles. "There are no guarantees in any part of life, kid, you know that. He could get taken down by a supervillain or a car in equal measure. But one way he's fighting for the city—for the people he believes in. One way makes him the hero that he is."

Tony shrugs. "That's why I never stopped you."

"You couldn't stop me."

"That too. But that fear? That's what is going to make you better. It made me better."

Peter nods, understanding. His fear for a kid he doesn't even know is just the same as Tony's fear was for him in the beginning.

But look at what grew out of that: he and Tony freakin' Stark, standing here in the afterlife filled with love for each other, planning to continue their lifelong legacy of work to make the world a better place.

Peter would argue that alone is worth it.

Peter steps forward, bringing Tony into another hug—a final hug. "I love you."

Tony's thumb finds the back of Peter's neck, gently stroking. "I love you too, kiddo."

"You'll keep watching over me? Just in case?"

"Of course. I'll let Ben take a turn too, invite your parents into the Spidey Protection Program."

"I'd really like that." He backs up to look at Tony. "And when May gets here, could you—"

"We'll take care of her." In exchange, Tony asks, "Can you tell Pepper and Morgan—oh, and Rhodey and Happy, and don't forget Bruce—"

"I'll tell everyone that you miss them. That you're waiting."

"Such a good kid," Tony remarks, running a hand through Peter’s hair again before landing to cup his cheek again, like he’s treasuring the new gesture before it’s taken from him. "Be safe...well, as much as you can. More family vacations and less hospital visits, okay?"

"Yeah, okay,” Peter agrees, twitching up a real smile through the last of his tears. “Goodbye, Tony."

"Bye, Pete. I'll see you soon. Just—not too soon! And I want to see any future grand-babies all the time, you hear me? No absentee fathering! And—"

The world around Peter grows blurred again, taking him out the same way he came in.

The sound of Tony’s voice echoes into the beeping of a heart monitor.

The ethereal warmth fades into the reality of cold air conditioning—a scratchy hospital blanket is the only shield from the cold. A tube is uncomfortably jammed down his throat.

The life in front of him is no more enticing than it was before, with Tony. It will be weeks spent in recovery despite his healing powers, groveling at Michelle’s feet to make up for leaving her in the first place, apology after apology to his aunt for not calling. He’ll owe Morgan at least a week at the cabin, if not more treats to be exploited from his wallet later. Most importantly—at the risk of Miles Morales’ life—he has to track down a reckless kid and try to teach him to be a better hero when Peter himself is a five alarm tire fire and a half.

But there is also a lot of life still out there that he doesn’t want to forget about:

Aunt May’s one and only good recipe—sweet potato pie. She always flits around their tiny apartment covered in flour and smelling of spices, slapping his hands away from the counter with a firm, “Don’t you dare.”

MJ’s drawings from years past taped to the walls of his bedroom, her unread stacks of hardcovers littering every empty surface, and the way she always stops reading to kiss him goodnight before he goes out on patrol.

Morgan and Pepper, the cabin, the memories he wants to forget and all of the new ones he’s made there next to his little pseudo-sister that have helped make her into the kind, empathetic kid that he would do anything for in a heartbeat.

Peter still has a lot to tell all of them, the words he promised Tony he’d relay.

Peter opens his eyes.

[sachigram]

Pollen and Pocketknives

((click here to read on ao3!!))

The bell jingles as Izaya walks inside. The shop is small, quaint, filled to the brim with different kinds of flowers. The scent is sweet, and Izaya sees a few patrons wandering about, but for the most part it's very easy to spot who he came here to see.

“Welcome! I'll be right with you!” Ami calls. Izaya smiles at her pleasantly and moves towards some bright yellow flowers. He leans in and smells them, appreciating their beauty. He knows they were very well cared for.

“How can I help you today?” Ami asks as she moves towards him. She's wearing a black apron, her dark hair pulled back into a cute little ponytail. Izaya can admit to himself that she's attractive, but it only adds to the pain in his side that she's become.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd see some pretty flowers,” Izaya says. He gives her his most disarming smile and watches as her face erupts into flames, her eyes averting from his bashfully.

“Oh, I see. Are you looking for anything specific? Maybe for a special woman in your life?” She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He knows she's asking if he's single. She's not at all subtle. Izaya can certainly appreciate that.

“No, actually,” he says, and when she looks at him again, he can see hope in her gaze. “If I was, what would you suggest?”

“Well,” she says, “these are yellow pansies. Very popular for couples. They're a simple 'thinking of you' gift.”

“I'm sorry,” he says, leaning towards her playfully. “I think you misunderstood. I'm asking what you would enjoy.”

She gasps, and her face flushes once more, but she doesn't lean away from him.

“I'd have to say I'm a fan of daffodils,” she says.

“New beginnings. How fitting.”

“You know your flowers!”

“Women love flowers, don't they? One has to stay in touch with these things to make an impact. How am I doing?”

“Very well, I'd say. Um. My name is Araki Ami! Would you mind telling me yours?”

“Orihara Izaya.”

She pauses and looks at him more closely. “Orihara-san? You're...a friend of Kishitani-san's?”

“Ah, sadly. You won't hold that against me, will you? My friendship with him was hardly my idea.” Izaya's smile is nothing but charming, but he can see her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Smart girl.

“So you know Heiwajima Shizuo as well.”

“Is there anyone in this city who doesn't know him?”

“Shizuo-kun mentioned you. He said you were an awful person and that I should steer clear of you.”

“He really is the sweetest, isn't he? Really makes you wonder why people call him a monster. But then, I've seen him break bones and tear apart buildings with single punches, so perhaps I do understand his infamous reputation.”

“What's the real reason you're here, Orihara-san?”

“Right to the chase! I appreciate you not wasting both our time. To my knowledge, it's been a few weeks since you last saw Shizuo, correct? And yet, you're texting him constantly. Sending him sweets. Surely you understand my confusion, since he was under the impression you broke up with him.”

“I felt bad about being as angry as I was. He told me he never dated before. I think I was rushing him when he wasn't ready.” Ami is looking at Izaya like she can't make heads or tails of him, like she's wondering if Izaya is here as a friend to Shizuo. To save Shizuo's relationship with her.

“I see,” Izaya says. “You can be rest assured he isn't interested. In fact, you're annoying him. You're annoying me as well, since he's mostly sleeping in my bed at night.”

The implications of his words hang. She's shocked, her mouth opening before she snaps it closed again. She's fumbling for what to say.

“I— He never told me he had a—a boyfriend. I didn't—“

“Oh, don't worry about that. See, I'm not here to threaten you to leave him alone or to play the part of the jealous lover. Actually, I don't care about you at all. But Shizu-chan seems to feel badly that you're still trying so hard to make amends with him. He thinks he hurt you, which is laughable, seeing as how you're the one who told him not to contact you anymore.”

“He did hurt me,” she says, openly glaring at him now. “I thought he was leading me on—“

“Which would have been your own fault, in the end. If you thought he didn't care about you, why wouldn't you have ended it sooner? And now you're begging for him to return... It would be a romantic gesture for the ages if it weren't so pitiful!”

Izaya walks around her, towards an array of various peonies. There's no one in the little corner, and she storms after him just as he hoped she would.

“I don't know who you think you are, but Shizuo-kun can speak for himself. If he doesn't want to talk to me anymore, he can tell me so. But sending his little boyfriend here is just— It's despicable and cowardly. I didn't think he would be like that.” She's flushed and her eyes are bright in her anger. Izaya thinks she's definitely most beautiful like this.

“He's not like that,” Izaya says simply. “He doesn't know I'm here.”

“So you aren't here as a jealous boyfriend, but he doesn't know you're here?” She scoffs. “Why are you here then?”

“As a friendly patron, of course! I love supporting local shops, didn't you know? I've heard this one has been seeing a lack of customers lately since your tragic robbery. No suspects, right? But then your archaic security system is laughable.” His gaze sharpens, and he sees when understanding registers in her expression. She backs away from him, fear in her eyes for the first time since his arrival. His smile widens.

He steps towards her.

“Yes, I'd hate for it to become something regular, you know, but I'm afraid this is a city full of such things. I'd suggest upgrading your security and have someone else here with you, or at least making friends with the other shopkeepers in the area. Word gets around when a lovely woman such as yourself is working alone, defenseless, with a register full of money. Word spreads even faster when your cameras are hacked into, and your only means of getting away quickly has three flat tires.”

“Orihara-san... I think you should leave.”

“I will, I will. After I complete my purchase. I decided on some flowers after all.”

Izaya passes by some petunias, some begonias, and he settles on a few bright marigolds. They smell amazing, and they'll brighten up his apartment and catch Shizuo's attention for sure. Ami accepts his credit card with a look of pure disdain.

“I can recommend some better security systems, if you like. I also have some contacts who would gladly add this street to their area of protection— The best this city can offer, of course.” Izaya leans on the counter and he can see in her eyes she hates him. And she's petrified of him.

“You mean Yakuza,” she says, tossing his card back at him. “I'm not interested.”

“Your choice, of course. If you change your mind, contact me. I'm easy to find. I could also track down those men who so cruelly robbed you... I do love a good happy ending.”

“I'm sure you know exactly who they are.”

“What can I say?” Izaya picks up his flowers. “I'm very good at my job.”

***

By the time Shizuo arrives, Izaya is typing away on his laptop, reaching for his cup of tea that's long since gone cold. The chat-rooms are busy this evening, and Izaya has been grateful for the distraction, but he can't help the way he snaps to alertness when he hears a key in the door, the way his hands tremble ever so slightly with anticipation. He's been ignoring his phone for hours.

Shizuo must be pissed.

“I-za-ya,” Shizuo calls, tossing his shoes to the side, his hands already reaching up to undo his tie. He glares over at the couch, a scowl beginning to spread when he makes eye contact with Izaya. He pauses when he notices the vase of flowers on the counter. His eyes narrow further. “What are these?”

“Marigolds,” Izaya says, not pausing in his typing. He makes a few typos, but it's not like Shizuo is close enough to notice.

There's a moment of complete silence, but then Shizuo is stomping towards the couch, and Izaya carefully sets his laptop on the coffee table, ready when Shizuo snatches him up.

“I got a message from Ami-chan. Some bullshit about not bothering me anymore and that she's happy I have someone else.” Shizuo's eyes are dark. In all honesty, Izaya always thought Shizuo's eyes were a chocolate brown, but they're deeper than that. It can be hard to differentiate between Shizuo's iris and his pupil at times, at least when Shizuo is looking at Izaya.

“Word travels fast,” Izaya says, his breath catching when Shizuo growls at him.

“Fuck that. You went to see her. What the fuck did you say to her, flea?”

“Nothing she didn't already know,” Izaya says, keeping his eyes locked onto Shizuo's. “We had a friendly chat.”

“What did you say to her about me?”

“How conceited of you, Shizu-chan. We had better things to talk about than you.”

Shizuo bares his teeth, his pupils dilating further until he looks mad with rage, and then he's roaring loudly and shoving Izaya bodily to the wall, pinning him.

“You don't make any fucking sense,” Shizuo hisses, his hands bunching in Izaya's collar. Izaya's feet dangle above the floor. “You're the one who told me to ignore her. You said it would be better for her, that way.”

“I never said I would ignore her,” Izaya says, smiling in the face of Shizuo's rage. “She's desperate for you and your monster cock, you know? Something had to be done.”

“No, you just had to meddle in things that don't concern you!” Shizuo drops him, turns, runs his hands through his blonde hair and tugs it as he paces. “I didn't want her upset. That's all I asked of you, Izaya. I wanted her to move on!”

“And she will. She can forgive you and hate me, isn't that the best option for you?” Izaya watches Shizuo walk in circles, his fists clenching. “Why do you care so much about her?”

“She's a nice person! I just didn't like her as a girlfriend!”

“So then who cares what she thinks of you as an ex-boyfriend?”

“Not everyone has to burn a bridge entirely with someone who is no longer useful to them!” Shizuo spits, whirling back on him. Izaya stares at him before putting his hands in his pockets, averting his eyes from Shizuo's gaze and schooling his features.

“Right. In case you need to go crawling back. I didn't think of that.”

“Izaya.”

“She should be nothing to you! If anything, you should be happy you won't hear from her any longer. She was clingy and desperate, Shizu-chan, and you don't need someone like that in your life.”

Shizuo glares at him, breathing hard. He's clearly pissed beyond belief and is struggling not to bash Izaya's head in.

“You're insane,” Shizuo says at last, turning on his heel and stalking away. For a moment, Izaya is worried he's going to leave, but instead, Shizuo goes to the fridge and rifles through it, emerging with a bottle of milk.

“That's right,” Izaya says, every bit as angry as Shizuo and exhausted from trying to hold everything in. “I'm out of my mind, just like you always knew. Aren't you filled with so many regrets now?”

“Shut up, Izaya.”

“You want to know what I did? I heard from Shinra how you had someone hanging off your arm— I didn't believe it, of course. But then I saw you with her. I wanted her to be away from you, so far you'd never again think of her, but it didn't work. You cared too much. So I went to her instead. If she bothers you again, she must truly be an idiot, because my intent was very clear.”

“Izaya! Shut up!”

“And I'd do it to anyone, over and over, if they tried to take you from me. You know that, don't you? You knew that the first time you fucked me.”

There's the sound of shattering glass as Shizuo drops the bottle to the floor, the rustling of fabric as Shizuo launches himself at Izaya, who doesn't so much as blink as Shizuo tackles him to the floor and hovers over him, holding Izaya down. Izaya doesn't fear Shizuo hurting him. He wants everything Shizuo has to offer and more, no matter what it is.

“You don't know when to quit, do you? You go on and on until someone snaps! I told you to shut up! Shut up! For five goddamn minutes, Izaya, just let me think.”

“No.” Izaya's gaze never wavers. “If you want me to shut up, you'll shut me up. Let's not waste our time with the fantasy of you actually thinking.”

Shizuo's mouth crashing against Izaya's is nothing short of painful, more of a blow than an intimate gesture. Izaya hisses and bites at Shizuo's lip, opens his mouth and allows Shizuo to devour him, allows himself to be pressed down, even when his wrists start to throb and ache in Shizuo's grasp.

“You make me—so fucking—mad!” Shizuo growls, his lips brushing against Izaya's with every word. “Every time I think I'm doing better, you drag me right back down again so all I can think of is tearing you apart.”

“Who wants you better? I like you like this.”

Shizuo yanks away from Izaya's lips, snarls down at him, and Izaya feels all the thrill of stirring up a wild animal, of staring into a sharp maw and preparing to feel the teeth.

“You like knowing I could kill you any time? You like that?” Shizuo asks incredulously.

“You won't kill me,” Izaya says easily, trying and failing to pulls his arms free. “You tried for years, didn't you? You're bad at it.”

“Would you be serious? I'm not fucking around with you, Izaya!”

“Not yet,” Izaya murmurs, looking up at Shizuo through his lashes. “You're angry. Makes it all the better for the both of us, don't you think?”

Shizuo's face goes through a myriad of expressions, but then he's letting Izaya's wrists go, is scooting back and lifting his knees, curling into himself.

“I hate it. I hate knowing I can't control myself, that all I do is break shit and hurt people. I don't want to hurt you. I want to keep you safe, but I don't know how to stop myself. Everything I try never works.”

Izaya sighs softly, sits up, and considers what to say, what route to take here to calm Shizuo down. He could spin pretty words, could coddle and soothe, but Shizuo has never been easily tamed with words, and Izaya has learned to adapt. Not to mention, honesty is best here, because Shizuo can see through his lies, and always, always throws them back into his face. Izaya used to hate this. He doesn't now.

“You consider the issue as a problem to be solved, and that's why you're suffering like this.” Izaya keeps his distance for now. He wants Shizuo to at least look at him before he resumes his attempts at seduction. “You can't fix it, Shizu-chan. It doesn't work that way.”

“I'm supposed to be able to control it by now!” Shizuo lifts his head, but only to glare down at his own hands. “Nothing has changed aside from me getting even stronger.”

“Is this how you think people handle their mental issues? You think they learn some exercises and then just...don't have the issues anymore? You learn to manage, Shizu-chan! And you've been doing better, anyway. I don't see what all the fuss is about.”

“Is that what you do?” Shizuo asks, his angry gaze snapping back to Izaya's at last. “You manage being a bloodsucking pest?”

“No.” Izaya grins, crawls towards Shizuo and rests his head on Shizuo's bent knee. “I like the way I am. I like the way you are.” Izaya nuzzles into Shizuo knee, listens to Shizuo's breath hitch and then calm a bit. “I wouldn't say it if it weren't true.”

“You really are crazy,” Shizuo says, but there's no bite in his words anymore.

“Maybe I am, but you like me. I'm not trying to impress anyone else.” Izaya pushes down on Shizuo's knees until Shizuo's legs are spread out in front of him, and then Izaya is climbing into Shizuo's lap, wrapping his arms around Shizuo's neck. “I can accept anything you want to do to me. I don't think you want to kill me, so what do I care about a few bumps and bruises?”

“I do bruise you a lot...” Shizuo mumbles, but his hands are running along Izaya's thighs, gripping hard, and Izaya knows he's won already.

“I like it.” Izaya grins, tugging at Shizuo's hair playfully. “I like you hurting me because you're you, and because I'm a bit of a masochist.”

“A bit.” Shizuo huffs a laugh.

“I know what I like, Shizu-chan, and I've accepted it without therapy. Do you know how ahead of the game that makes me? Besides...” Izaya leans in, resting his forehead against Shizuo's. “Liking the bruises you leave on me hardly makes me insane. What really gets me going is pressing down on them after you've left them, imagining it's your hands still on me. I want you all the time.”

“Fuck, Izaya,” Shizuo hisses, his hands immediately moving to unzip Izaya's pants.

Izaya can manipulate everything around him, can close himself to all his emotions and his fears and never divulge a thing about himself, but he can never control how he reacts when Shizuo is pushing inside Izaya's body, giving no time to adjust before a punishing pace begins. Izaya knows Shizuo is still pissed at him, but that's fine, it's expected. Izaya crossed a line today, confronting Ami, but he meant what he said. He'd do it over and over again to anyone, anyone who dared to try and take Shizuo away from him.

“You couldn't even let me carry you to bed,” Shizuo growls into Izaya's ear, Shizuo's body pressing Izaya's into the floor. “You want me that bad, huh? All the time, you said?”

Izaya laughs breathlessly, his legs tightening around Shizuo's waist as he puts both hands on Shizuo's ass, helping Shizuo push inside as deeply as he can go.

“All the time... You really are...the worst, Shizu-chan...! Doing this to me!”

“You deserve it,” Shizuo grunts, his hips picking up the already brutal pace. “Going behind my back—you fucking—flea bastard...!”

“She was bothering you!” Izaya tries and fails to get any vehemence in his voice. He's completely malleable to Shizuo, putty in his grasp, and they both know it.

“Had to let her know...I was fucking you now?”

“Needed...to be said!” Izaya cries out when Shizuo's hand circles around Izaya's dick, pumps him in time with his deep thrusts. “Shizu—!”

“Wanna see you come, Izaya,” Shizuo murmurs, his fingers digging into Izaya's thighs, likely leaving more bruises. “Wanna see how much you love coming on my dick.”

Izaya is helpless to do anything but obey, his body seizing under Shizuo's as he comes in Shizuo's hand. He gasps between Shizuo's increasingly erratic thrusts, his eyes rolling back as Shizuo starts to unravel inside him.

“Fuck, Izayaaaaaaaaa...” Shizuo groans before collapsing onto Izaya, spent and downright companionable, now that he's sated. Shizuo kisses along Izaya's cheek, licks into his mouth and kisses him languidly. “Want me to—“

“No,” Izaya says immediately, knowing the question before it's asked. “Stay inside me. I want to feel you a little longer.”

“Love it when you say that...” Shizuo murmurs, resting his head next to Izaya's, his breathing slowly evening out as Izaya pets through Shizuo's hair.

Shizuo passes out, which will certainly keep Izaya trapped where he is for a while. Izaya sighs softly, noticing the orange and pink hues of the sunset beginning to illuminate his apartment. Izaya's legs ache from holding them open around Shizuo, but he hardly cares. Shizuo is here, with Izaya, sleeping contentedly and peacefully, and likely will be here long after he wakes up as well.

Izaya finds it easy to forget absolutely everything else, including the marigolds on his counter.

[wadey-wilson]

Hey there! What do you think of Homecoming's characterization of Peter compared to the 616 and/or Ultimate? I'm curious what you think because it seems like your a Spidey fan and I've seen mixed reviews on this subject!

okay, that’s gonna be long, so brace yourself. (i just woke up so i’m sorry for typos, alright?)

Peter Parker, Earth-616 vs Peter Parker in Spider-Man: Homecoming, an essay nobody cares about:

- teenager - he is a teenager, looks like one, and acts like one. he’s a fanboy, he eats chips upside down, he jumps on a bed whining about how he’s not a kid (poetic cinema), he loves lego, he loves old alien movies. he doesn’t even know how to spider-man yet. that batman voice to interrogate people because he doesn’t know how to interrogate people? amazing;

- bitten by the spider when he was 15 - yeps;

- brown eyes, brown hair - that’s a small and tirival thing, but nailed it (i checked and the marvel wikia says ‘hazel’ but hazel is just brown for people in love);

- raised by uncle ben and aunt may - although we don’t get the words ‘uncle ben’, we get the general idea of it when peter mentions ‘after everything that’s happened to her’ and when he talks about responsibility in CW;

- midtown high school - peter indeed attends midtown school of science and technology;

- nerdy, loveable dork - he so is. visibly academically gifted, knows answers without even paying attention, studies when he’s in that warehouse, studies when he’s in berlin to fight cap, is visibly fluent in spanish, and he’s just charming;

- flash thompson the bully - check. i saw some whiners complain about how flash isn’t a jacked asshole beating peter up, but like… do you really expect someone like that in a school for geniuses? no. i don’t even expect bullies like in the comics from 60s to be in high school now. ‘bullies’ that i met are the people who are just coolers and more popular than you and make fun of you publicly.

- outcast/loser - check. no friends to speak of except for ned, he’s rather invisible, he’s not the cool kid skater punk that sony tried to present us in the TASM movies;

- suit - now this one is really what people throw tantrums over. earth-616 does present peter parker sewing his own suit, and then making his suits, and then even have the suits made into super high-tech suits in parker industries, but let’s be damn real here - imagine that you’re a 15-year-old boy and have to sew your own suit. would it really look like that?

i’ll have people know that these suits took days and weeks to design and sew by professionals. this suit, however, looks way more realistic when in terms of making by a teenager:

in the ultimate comics, peter’s given his suit by the owner of UCW (that wrestling place), and then MJ was one to sew his suits. i have zero problems with tony stark being the one to give peter a high-tech suit, especially that the kid doesn’t even fully know how to use it. some might argue with me, but imagine you’re tony stark, and there’s this 15yo kid swinging his ass around new york in a onesie and craving to fight baddies - of course you’d give him the best suit you could come up with;

- friendly neighborhood spider-man - friendly neighborhood spider-man should be damn friendly and he is. peter parker is nice to everyone. he’s the spider-man we love in the comics. he helps old ladies, stops small crimes, he probably would be the one to hold someone’s car up when they change wheels. the TASM movies had this problem that their peter parker was a selfish asshole (and like 733456 other problems, but that’s not the topic of this essay), and you don’t see it in MCU’s peter. when everyone is busy fighting, he’s busy saying sorry and greeting a cloak, come on;

- with great power comes great responsibility - this one is also being thrown tantrum over because some people overshadow peter’s sense of responsibility with him wanting to be an avenger. and yeah, he does want to be an avenger. but the sense of responsibility is really there. he didn’t help the old lady to impress tony. he didn’t stop the ‘car thief’ to impress tony. what he did to impress tony was that one thing when he said it was his chance to prove himself and went after the arm dealers, but it started as a choice when he left ned at the party, and turned into choice afterwards, too. when tony took his suit, he easily could have just stand down, go to the homecoming, have the girl of his dreams, and just be normal. but he didn’t. he left the girl on the dance floor before the party even started, he left his group on the academic decathlon to go after the arm dealers, he left his friend and risked his already shredded social status to go see what the hell that explosion was. he didn’t have to go after vulture, but he went after him in a crappy suit, with old web-shooters, and thinking he’ll probably die. more than that, when the plane crashed, he didn’t have to save vulture. he didn’t have to keep on fighting without professional equipment and polished skills. he could’ve ran away. he didn’t.

moreover, he takes responsibility for everything that happens because of him. he saves the kids in the washington monument after they almost die because of the chitauri core he gave ned. he tries to save the people on that ferry boat after he accidentally tore it in two. he saves dalmar after his place is blown up after peter’s brawl with the robbers. go figure.

”when you can do the things that i can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you” = “with great power comes great responsibility”;

- quips and jokes - spider-man is genuinely funny. he’s not a jackass, and he knows when to stop the jokes and get serious. he was one to joke around when fighting the bank robbers, but as soon as he saw the dalmar’s place being destroyed, he hurried to help, ditching the robbers, because human lives are important. because if you can do the things that he can do, and you don’t, and people die, that’s on you. so he left the robbers and run to save lives. beside that, he’s genuinely funny, even unintentionally funny;

- nobody dies on his watch - that speaks for itself: saving the vulture. he doesn’t kill his enemies and doesn’t let them die;

- not giving up - laugh or not but it’s actually listed as one of his superpowers. did he look to you like giving up when he stepped into flames to save the guy who tried to kill him? nah;

- the avenger thing - so, as i mentioned before, people tend to throw hands about how peter’s only motor for what he’s doing is him wanting to be an avenger. and, as i explained, i disagree. but that’s whatever. in the comics, peter refuses to join the avengers because he’s better working solo. but he’s offered that when he’s older. in the MCU he’s a fanboy, he loves the avengers, they’ve been his heroes forever, of course he wants to be one of them when the fate has it that he can be one of them. who wouldn’t? in time, of course, i turns out that maybe he’s better on his own as a friendly neighborhood spidey, so things play out fine; 

some more stuff not strictly related to peter parker:

- liz allen and mj - some people (*glares at the ones who haven’t grabbed a comic in their life but act like they’ve eaten all the brains*) think that the only relationships peter’s ever been in are the ones with gwen stacy and mj. little do they know that peter’s first love interests were actually betty brant and liz allen. mj was actually the one to come as the last one in that line, introduced to him by his aunt after years of talking about ‘that cute girl from the neighborhood’ or whatever. so i’m 100% on-board with liz allen. i’m also on-board with mj not being mary jane;

- the lack of harry osborn and gwen stacy - same people also don’t realize that peter parker met harry and gwen in college;

- ned leeds - i don’t even have it in me to care about the people who whine about ned being torn out from miles morales’ comics because i truly don’t care. it’s marvel’s property, they can do whatever they want, and if they want peter parker to have a good friend in the mcu who’s actually a good representation, then they’ll have it, and i’m happy. (peter parker doesn’t have a pal in high school in the comics, but ned serves great as a second opinion and someone to lean on) (speaking of representation, i love all the chubby and color students in the movie, ugh). also ned leeds is an actual marvel character from earth-616, so get over yourselves;

plus comic references: the movie references to ultimate spider-man #42 and the oh so iconic amazing spider-man #33, and i couldn’t be happier.

that’s it, that’s what i think. peter parker from the mcu is the perfect representation of earth-616 peter parker. the changes that mcu did for the movies don’t burn your eyes, they were made to fit the year the action takes place in and to be more realistic - flash thompson, the suit, the fanboy-ing over the avengers. those are good changes. they actually help the movie and keep the story within the marvel cinematic universe without making peter parker look and feel like someone completely out of character.

[littlemarvelfics]

Walk Away

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: about 1,100

Warning: swears

A/N: Hello, hello! I’m on a roll these days guys and I’m so happy about it. This is my post for @whothehellisbella‘s reputation writing challenge! I got to go to the rep tour and a few days later I wrote this! I was so excited about this as it combines my two favorite things: Taylor Swift and Marvel. My prompt was I stay when you’re lost, and I’m scared, and you’re turning away from New Year’s Day which you can listen to HERE. Hit me with your comments and concerns and fangirling in my ask box. (GIF is mine)

“I can’t do this anymore Bucky.”

“What? Do what anymore?”

“Us,” you say simply, tears in your eyes.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. You’re the one to break the silence.

“It’s just… you’re never here. You’re always gone. Always avenging. And I get it. I really do Buck. But it’s just… it’s too hard. I want you Bucky. All of you. And I just... don’t think you feel that way about me anymore.”

Bucky is silent. You can see the tears filling his usually bright eyes. Now they just look dull. And you hate that you’re the one who made them that way.

“I’m gonna go,” you speak once more.

That seems to snap Bucky out of whatever trance he’s in and he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“No. No please don’t do this to me. You mean too much to me. I’ll do whatever it takes. Anything. You want me to quit the Avengers? Done. You want us to move somewhere else? I’ll follow your lead doll. I’ll do anything, just name it and I’ll do it if that means you’ll stay.”

“Bucky,” you whisper. “I just... can’t. This isn’t your fault and I never want you to think that. I need you to just forget about me. It’s for the best.”

“How could forgetting you be best for anyone? God, Y/N. You’re… everything to me. It kills me that you don’t see that. Just please stay. Stay and we can work on this. Don’t give up on me. You promised. You promised that you’d never give up on me,” he said quickly, his voice breaking.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I’m not giving up on you Bucky. I’m giving up on us.”

And with that, you turned and walked away from the one man you had ever truly loved.

When you got back to your apartment that night, you found one of Bucky’s shirts in your room. That was when you finally let all the tears you had been holding fall. Suddenly, you regretted walking away. But it was what was best for both of you. You couldn’t make him give up his job and you couldn’t change the fact that you wanted someone to come home to every night. But it was more than that- you were scared. You had fallen in love with him and that scared you. The man fought bad guys for a living. What would you do when he eventually got into a fight he couldn’t win? It would break you. You knew how to get through a breakup. You didn’t know what you would do if Bucky was just gone one day. At least this way you could distance yourself from him. Gripping Bucky’s shirt, you crawled into bed and cried until you drifted off to sleep.

You slept with that shirt for weeks. Until seemingly all at once, it didn’t smell like Bucky anymore. You tried to get back to normal, going about your routines, but everything was drenched in Bucky.

You walked by the coffee shop where you met him, and you just froze outside, remembering that day. You hadn’t been paying attention, although he still took the blame for the incident, and you crashed into him with your coffee. You apologized profusely, and he laughed it off, saying at least it was an iced coffee. He offered to buy you a new coffee and with a charming smile and dazzling blue eyes, you couldn’t say no. You sat in that coffee shop with him and talked for hours. That day would forever be burned in your brain as your first date with the man you thought you would spend your life with.

When you finally snapped out of your daydream you carried on down the street. Past the movie theater that played black and white movies that you two would frequent. Past the bookstore where you would spend hours browsing books, Bucky trailing behind you carrying your choices and never complaining once. Past the diner where the two of you would split a milkshake rather unevenly if Bucky had any say in it, always insisting you finished it off. It seemed you couldn’t shake Bucky no matter where you went. And so, abandoning your errands for the day, you turned and headed home.

When you walked up the stairs to your door, you were startled by what you saw.

Bucky.

Your Bucky holding a bouquet of flowers. You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off.

“No. I get to talk this time. Just give me five minutes and if you don’t like what I say then you can kick me out of here and you never have to see me again.”

You just nodded and gestured to the door, silently inviting him in.

He stepped to the side and let you unlock the door. You both walked into the apartment. Bucky handed you the flowers and you murmured a quiet “Thank you” and set them down. You gestured for him to speak.

“I’m calling bullshit. I don’t think the reason you gave me when you left was the truth.”

“Hold on a second—” you started but you were quickly cut off.

“Nope. I’m getting my five minutes in. You told me I was gone too much. I think that’s true and I was going to talk to you and to Steve about pulling back some, maybe being a friendly neighborhood Bucky Barnes for a little bit. But that’s not the point. I think you’re scared. I don’t know exactly of what. Maybe falling in love with me. Maybe of me leaving or dying. But here’s the deal doll: I’ve been around for about 100 years and I’m not going anywhere. Especially not when I have you to come back to. And to be perfectly honest I’m scared too. But I’m staying. I’ll stay when you’re lost, and I’m scared, and you’re turning away. Because it’s gonna happen. We’re both going to get lost and scared and maybe even try to walk away from each other. But I’m staying. I’m here.”

You were speechless. Bucky Barnes was a man of few words. But here he was, laying everything out. You took one look into his eyes and knew he meant every word. Without thinking of anything other than his arms around you again, you launched yourself at him. He caught you easily and you buried your face in his neck. That’s when the tears started flowing again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry that I left Bucky.”

Bucky rubbed your back in soothing circles.

“Hey hey, none of that now. We’re gonna make this work doll. I promise.”

You pulled back from his neck and looked into his eyes.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Instead of answering he pressed his lips against yours and that’s when you knew. Neither of you would ever walk away again.

[parsippanylibrarykids]

By: Miss Jen, Miss Katy, & Miss Melissa

Picture Books 

Barnett, Mac. The Wolf, the Duck, and the Mouse. ​(Grades K-2)  This clever picture book begins with a mouse that is quickly gobbled up by a wolf. Fortunately his new accomodations AKA the wolf’s stomach include a duck with kitchenware and jam. The duck states “I may have been swallowed but I have no intention of being eaten.” Award winning illustrator Jon Klassen’s artwork add to the charm of this folkloric tale. 

Colleen, Marcie. Love, Triangle.​ ​ (Grades K-2) Square and Circle have been best friends since they were first created. Triangle arrives on the scene and brings new ideas. Both Square and Circle want to be friends with Triangle which causes a split between the two buddies. This common friendship problem is resolved at the end of this geometric story.

 Daywalt, Drew. The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors. ​(Grades K-3) The origins of the classic schoolyard game are explained in hilarious detail. Will Rock, Paper, or Scissors be victorious? Rock is searching for a worthy opponent. Paper leaves the Empire of Mom’s Home Office after conquering the Computer Printer while Scissors defeats Dinosaur-Shaped Chicken Nuggets. Wacky inanimate objects come to life under the expertise of illustrator Adam Rex. Fans of Daywalt’s The Day the Crayons Quit will be equally as charmed by this book. 

Denos, Julia. Windows. ​(PreS-1) In this story, a boy of color dons a read hoodie, leashes his dog and ventures out into the twilight, where the windows are “blinking awake as the lights turn on a neighborhood of paper lanterns”. The reader gets to peer in at the small figures dancing, making dinner or throwing a party and watch as the color of the sky changes. The compositions are rendered in ink, watercolor, letterpress and digital collage. The narrative ends with a story shared and a snuggle. Readers will want to revisit this story over and over. Everyday routine turned to wonder on an evening walk filled with discovery. 

Dykman, Ame. Read the Book, Lemmings!​ (PreS-2) Another delightful collaboration by the team behind Wolfie the Bunny and Horrible Bear! Lemmings don’t jump off cliffs. It says so in the book that Foxy is reading. However, the three lemmings on the boat have not read the book and keep jumping into the water. After trying unsuccessfully to get the lemmings to read the book, Foxy realizes he is going to have to actually teach the lemmings to read before he can stop them. A funny read aloud! Children will love this book at storytime and at home. 

Jory, John and Benji Davies. Come Home Already!​ (PreS-3) The third hysterical picture book about Duck and Bear, unlikely pals. In this book, an excited Duck wants to hang out with Bear but Bear has left to go fishing for a whole week on his own. Bear is relieved to have some time alone. What will Duck do while Bear is gone? How will he survive without his best friend? 

Lamothe, Matt. ​This is How We Do It: One Day in the Lives of Seven Kids from Around the World. ​(Grades K-3) Seven children from Italy, Japan, Uganda, Russia, India, Iran, and Peru describe one day in their lives as they eat, play, and learn. An author’s note, a glossary, a map, and photographs of the families are included at the end of the book. This is an informational picture book that could be used in a social studies unit. 

Shannon, David. Bizzy Mizz Lizzie​. (Grades 1-3)  Lizzie is the busiest, buzziest bee in Hivetown. She longs to impress the Queen by winning a spelling bee contest, but she studies to the point of exhaustion on top of trying to juggle all of her other activities. When she dozes off in the middle of the competition, the only solution is rest. Lizzie finally learns to stop and smell the flowers. A book with a good message and wonderful illustrations will appeal to young readers. 

Tsurumi, Andrea. Accident! ​(PreS-2) When a little armadillo named Lola knocks a jug of red juice all over her family’s white sofa, she flees to the library to hide. But as Lola run through town, she is joined by many others who have also made a mess and want to hide at the library too, avoiding conflict. Fun and colorful illustrations are found throughout the book and children will be drawn to the intricate details. This book teaches that a mistake can happen due to thoughtlessness, carelessness or bad luck and that it is ok to call it an accident but also necessary to “make it better” and “own up to it.” 

Easy Readers 

LaReau, Kara. The Infamous Ratsos are Not Afraid. ​(Grades 1-2) Brothers Louie and Ralphie Ratso plan to clear out an abandoned lot in their neighborhood and create an arcade. The problem is that the house next to the vacant lot might be haunted. ​This is the second book in the series that began with the Geisel Honor Book, The Infamous Ratsos. 

Shea, Bob. Ballet Cat: What’s Your Favorite Favorite? ​(Grades 1-3) Ballet Cat and her cousin Goat are preparing a show for grandma and both want to prove that they are the best. Ballet Cat will come up with a fancy dance routine and Goat will perform tricks at his magic show. Which one will be her FAVORITE favorite? Terrifically fun third entry in this series. 

Snyder, Laurel. Charlie & Mouse & Grumpy. ​ (Grades K-1) This picture book/easy reader hybrid is the sequel to Charlie and Mouse. Charlie and Mouse are brothers who are spending time with their grandfather AKA Grumpy. In four short chapters, the trio discuss what it means to be “medium”, enjoy a special night while the boys’ parents go out, and choose the proper goodnight song. 

Yoon, Salina. That’s My Book! and Other Stories. ​(Grades K-1) Big Duck, Little Duck, and Porcupine are a sweet trio of friends that find the best use for books, plan a talent show, and dress like a pirate. The latest addition to the Duck, Duck, Porcupine series contains three short chapters with bold text in large speech bubbles. 

Juvenile Fiction 

Bartok, Mira. The Wonderling. ​(Grades 4-6) Number 13 is a groundling (half human/half animal) who lives in an orphanage run by Ms. Carbunkle. He is named Arthur by a fellow groundling when he saves her. The pair of new friends escape the “Home” and set off on an adventure full of danger, magic, and mystery. Fans of Erin Hunter’s Warriors series will enjoy this lengthy fantasy novel. 

Bradley, Kimberly Brubaker. The War I Finally Won. ​(Grades 4-6)  Picking up right after 2015’s Newbery Honor book The War That Saved My Life, this very worthy sequel continues the story of Ada, her brother Jamie, and their guardian Susan. Set against the backdrop of World War II (which is felt much more immediately in this novel), Ada struggles to deal with the aftermath of years of abuse by her mother. An emotional, yet rewarding book for fans of the first book or for readers who love excellent historical fiction. 

Broach, Elise. Trouble at School for Marvin & James. ​(Grades 1-2) This is the third book in the Masterpiece Adventures series featuring best friends, James and Marvin. James is a human and Marvin is a small black beetle. James decides to bring Marvin to school so he can experience James’ art class taught by beloved teacher, Mr. Chang. Mr. Change has blue hair and often quotes, “There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.” Marvin enjoys school until a sneeze separates him from James. This book is an excellent choice for new chapter-book readers. 

Clements, Andrew. The Losers Club.​ (Grades 3-6) Alec loves to read -- so much so that it gets him in trouble at school and at home. Even the head of the afterschool program at his school says he can’t just sit around by himself and read; he has to join a club. So Alec comes up with a plan to create his own reading club, which he names The Losers Club to deter other kids from joining. His bright idea backfires when it turns out to be the most popular club at school. There are tons of great books referenced throughout, and there’s a helpful list at the back of the book for bookworms who want to read them all! 

DeStefano, Lauren. The Girl with the Ghost Machine.​ (Grades 4-6) Emmaline Beaumont was 10 years old when her mother died; two years later, her father remains so consumed with grief that it’s almost as if Emmaline has lost both parents. In a desperate attempt to bring his wife back, Monsieur Beaumont tinkers with his “ghost machine” night and day. When Emmaline’s attempt to destroy the machine doesn’t go as planned, she and readers are left wondering if precious memories of loved ones are worth trading for the chance to interact with them one more time. Emmaline’s twin best friends, Oliver and Gully, represent the push and pull between hope and logic that plagues Emmaline and offers her new ways of understanding grief. Readers should be prepared for heaviness and sadness throughout. A story of loss, friendship, and resilience. 

Farrer, Maria. Me and Mister P.​ (Grades 2-5) Arthur is tired of his younger brother Liam’s behavior. He can’t even watch television with volume since it upsets his brother. Arthur decides to run away from home but he meets a friendly polar bear named Mister P. who alters his plans. Mister P. helps Arthur accept his brother’s differences. This quirky story is bibliotherapy for siblings of children with autism as well as a good read for children who like fantastical animal stories. 

Krishnaswami, Uma. Step Up to the Plate, Maria Singh. ​(Grades 3-5) Maria Singh lives with her family in Yuba City, California during WWII. Most of the community members are adha-adha (half and half) with fathers from India and mothers from Mexico. Maria’s teacher forms a softball team which Maria wants to join but she is not sure if her father will let her. Maria and her family struggle against discrimination from kids and adults. 

Middleton, Dana. Open If You Dare. ​(Grades 4-6) For Birdie and her best friends, Ally and Rose, the joy of finishing elementary school is overshadowed by their dread of summer’s end. With Rose unwillingly moving back to England, and Ally and Birdie attending different middle schools, their long, close friendship is coming to an end. In the meantime, Ally deals with problems on and off the pitcher’s mound, while Birdie follows the trail of mystery, and Rose rebels against her parents in a creative, yet destructive way. The story is set in Atlanta with well-drawn individuals from different generations. Tween issues are addressed from first crush to first steps toward independence. A rewarding chapter book. 

Morris, Chad. Mustaches for Maddie.​ (Grades 4-6) Maddie is a 12 year old girl who has a big imagination. When she is diagnosed with a brain tumor, she faces surgery and possible negative outcomes from the operation. She also faces middle school friendships and even jealous classmates with humor and bravery. Maddies loves fake mustaches so her supporters wear them. This book is based on the authors’ daughter and will appeal to readers who liked Wonder by R.J. Palacio. 

Pennypacker, Sara. Waylon! Even More Awesome​. (Grades 2-4) A Clementine series spin off which features another likeable kid. Waylon and Baxter are classmates who have to share a dog who lives in a shelter. The two boys can not be more different. While Waylon loves everything about science and following rules, Baxter is always in trouble and close to being a juvenile delinquent. When their dog, Dumpster Eddy, is going to be thrown out of the shelter he is living in, the boys come up with a plan to save him. A book about friendship, family, perseverance and hard work make this a wonderful book for reluctant readers. 

Schlitz, Laura. Princess Cora and the Crocodile. ​(Grades 1-3) Princess Cora never has a moment to play or relax as her parents, the King and Queen, are constantly training her to be perfect. She writes a desperate letter to her fairy godmother asking for help. A pet crocodile arrives the next day and he impersonates Cora so she can have a day off. Caldecott Medalist Brian Floca’s illustrations add to the humor of this story. 

Swanson, Matthew. ​The Real McCoys. ​(Grades 3-5) Moxie McCoy is a fourth grade detective who faces her biggest challenge yet in this fun chapter book. When someone kidnaps beloved school mascot Eddie the Owl, Moxie is on the case-but she is forced to solve this new mystery on her own since her best friend, and fellow detective, has moved away. Moxie finds clues and points fingers but she needs help to find the owl mascot. Enter Milton, Moxie’s smart little brother. Can the real McCoys solve the crime of the century? 

Wilson, Amy. ​The Lost Frost Girl​. (Grades 4-6) A modern day fairy tale about a girl who discovers that she is Jack Frost’s daughter. Owl is a twelve year old girl with a quirky mom, a dad she has never met, a cool best friend named Mallory and a boy who gives her weird looks at school. When she finds out that Jack Frost is her father, she is determined to meet him and delves into Jack’s wonderful and wild world of winter. She realizes she is part human/part fay and has special powers of her own. A tale of family, friendship and magic and embracing who you are meant to be. 

Zemke, Deborah. The Curse of Einstein’s Pencil. ​(Grades 2-3) This second story about Bea Garcia will appeal to fans of Judy Moody. Bea is initially excited when the smartest girl in school, Judith Einstein asks her to be a partner in the geography contest. Then Bea wonders if the secret to Judith’s intelligence is her pencil. Bea takes Judith’s pencil when it rolls on the floor but the effect on her life and friendship is not what she expected. 

Graphic Novels 

Hale, Shannon and Pham, LeUyen. Real Friends​.​ (Grades 3-6) Shannon Hale, author of the bestselling Princess in Black series, debuts her first graphic novel: a memoir of her childhood friendships from kindergarten through sixth grade. Friends, rivals, and frenemies drift in and out of Shannon’s life, but her mean older sister remains a constant menacing presence. Readers will find much to relate to: neighborhood friends who move away; the dread of finding out that all of your friends have been assigned to another teacher. Hale as an adult narrates the story with a welcome perspective, acknowledging when she herself was a bad friend or seeing the dynamics of a situation more clearly in hindsight. Fans of Raina Telgemeier will love this. 

Jamieson, Victoria. All’s Faire in Middle School​.​ (Grades 4-8) From Victoria Jamieson, who won a Newbery Honor for Roller Girl, comes another middle grade graphic novel. Imogen has been homeschooled her whole life; her world revolves around the local Renaissance Faire where her parents work. But now she’s ready for her biggest challenge: middle school. Imogen’s unconventional background makes it difficult for her to fit in, but is she willing to do what it takes to conform? Recommend to fans of Raina Telgemeier. 

Siegel, Mark. The Sand Warrior. ​ (Grades 3-5) The Five Worlds is a galaxy of five planets filled with different species. Oona Lee teams up with An Tzu, a boy from the poorest slums, and Jax Amboy, a lonely star athlete. They discover that they may be able to light five ancient beacons and save the Five Worlds. Hand this fantasy story to fans of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the Amulet series. 

Biography 

Guglielmo, Amy and Tourville, Jacqueline. Pocket Full of Colors.​ ​(Grades K-4). Mary Blair is remembered today as one of the greatest and most influential Disney animators, but at the time, her use of color was considered “too vivid, too wild.” When her all-male colleagues at Disney reject her ideas, she strikes out on her own, where she finds huge success as an illustrator and set designer following her own vision. Finally, Walt Disney himself asks her to come back; she’s the only one he will trust to design the now-classic ride It’s a Small World. Gorgeous brightly-colored illustrations evoke Blair’s distinctive style. An author’s note is included at the end of the book. 

Meltzer, Brad. I am Sacagawea. ​(Grades 1-3) Sacagawea’s story is the latest addition to the Ordinary People Change the World​ best-selling biography series. Sacagawea was the only Native American to join Lewis and Clark’s expedition. Children will learn about the traits that made Sacagawea a trailblazer and the significant contributions she made to the world. A timeline and photos are included at the back of the book. Christopher Eliopoulos’ illustrations reflect his origins in the comic industry. He recreates lively scenes from Sacagawea’s life. 

Rosenstock, Barb. Vincent Can’t Sleep. ​(Grades K-2) This picture book biography of Vincent Van Gogh explores his life especially his troubles with insomnia. He had trouble sleeping as a child, an adolescent, and as an adult in the hospital. The text is short but lyrical while the illustrations in acrylic, pen, and watercolor reflect the night sky and his iconic work, The Starry Night. An author’s note and sources are included at the end of the book. 

Nonfiction 

Burcaw, Shane. Not So Different. ​(Grades 1-3). Shane was born with a degenerative muscle disease, and he’s never been able to walk. People always seem to ask him the same ten questions, like “How do you eat?” or “Why is your head so big?” Answers to these and more are accompanied by funny photographs. Through Shane’s funny and frank stories--he once broke his expensive motorized wheelchair by using it to lift his brother to dunk a basketball--readers will learn that they’re not so different from him after all. A nice introduction to disability for younger kids. 

Burns, Loree Griffin. Life on Surtsey: Iceland’s Upstart Island​. ​(Grades 4-7) In 1963, an underwater volcano off the coast of Iceland erupted, creating a new island formed from rock and ash. Scientists realized they could use this new island to study how life takes hold in a new environment. What are the first plants to grow on the bare rock? When and how do birds, insects, and other animals arrive? The book follows a team of scientists who return to the island every year to study the changes; full-color photographs document their journey and the changing island landscape. It’s a great introduction to how scientists really work, full of details that kids will love. (On a deserted island, how do you go to the bathroom?) A glossary and bibliography are included at the end of the book. 

Chin, Jason. Grand Canyon.​ (Grades 3-5) Some may think of the Grand Canyon as just a “big hole in the ground,” but through gorgeous and detailed illustrations, Chin reveals the complex ecosystem it hosts and what it tells us about our geological past. As a father and daughter hike through the canyon, the reader learns more about what makes each level of the canyon unique. Die-cuts reveal fossils in the modern-day, and when readers turn the page, they are transported back millions of years, to what the landscape looked like when each fossil was formed. Further scientific information, an author’s note, and sources are included at the end of the book. 

Eggers, Dave. ​Her Right Foot. ​(Grades 3 and up) A beautifully illustrated book about the history of the iconic statue along with humor and interesting trivia during the first part of the book. The second part of the book talks about the statue’s feet and how the back of her right foot is actually lifted as if she is going somewhere. No one ever seems to talk about the fact that the statue of liberty is walking; she is on the move. If the statue of liberty is a symbol of freedom, if the statue of liberty has welcomed millions of immigrants to the United States, then how can she stand still? 

Harris, Chris. I’m Just No Good At Rhyming.​ (Grades 3-8) Fans of Shel Silverstein, Ogden Nash, or Jack Prelutsky will enjoy this volume of humorous poetry for kids. Lane Smith’s hilarious illustrations add to the fun.

Rose, Deborah Lee. Beauty and the Beak. ​(Grades 3-5) An Alaskan bald eagle lost most of her beak after a poacher shot her. She was unable to eat, drink, or preen without her beak. The eagle later named Beauty was sent to the care of biologist Veltkamp at a raptor center in Idaho. Since Beauty’s beak did not regenerate, Veltkamp enlisted the help of a dentist and an engineer. Together they fashioned a beak for Beauty using a 3-D printer. This nonfiction animal rescue story has similaries to stories by the Hatkoffs including Winter’s Tail. 

Roy, Katherine. How To Be An Elephant. ​(Grades 3-6) A stunning look at how a newborn elephant matures into a capable member of the herd. This book emphasizes how an infant elephant learns through her family herd an array of skills that are necessary to keep up; from learning to walk and swim right away, projecting her voice, using her nose to eat and smell and keeping cool with her large ears. Large illustrations of calves with their herd are interspersed with captivating diagrams and smaller images work well together. A carefully researched book and a must have for all elementary school collections.  

[playeroneplayertwo]

I like the pictures for these two posts, but neither HORRIFIED nor WINGSPAN will appear on this two-part list. I would, however, fully endorse Horrified as an excellent gateway--and superior (!!) alternative to Pandemic.

NOTE: Part 1 can be found here--and apologies this took a lifetime to complete.

Harbour (2015) WTF is this OOP?; Complexity 2.09/5; BGG; Mechanisms: Worker Placement, Set Collection, Variable Player Powers

I already said that, for many, worker placement is the evergreen mechanic, so I figured I'd turn two entries on this list over to it. Where Coal Baron was a slight subversion of the genre, Harbour is not. This is the prototypical game in that you place a worker, do an action, and block a space. In Harbour, believe it or not, you're working in a... harbor. You, as a small gremlin-looking fellow visiting buildings to take actions, selling goods (cows, stone, wood, fish) in order to parlay those sales into purchasing new buildings in the harbor, thereby giving you new action spaces to do new cool stuff.

Harbour is a great entry into the inherently meaner side of worker placement because you only have one worker, so it's not quite as overwhelming as games where you start with a heap o' workers, but you can most certainly block action spaces. Not only that, but the market of the game is a simple system of fluctuating prices that are affected each time a player sells something. For a small box game, Harbour includes the idea of supply/demand, so things that aren't being sold to market are worth more, while things being sold constantly tank in value. Buildings have varied and interesting special abilities, and there are a lot of buildings that will come out into play during any given game, as well as a huge host of special abilities that players will start with, making the game play slightly asymmetrical.

With its worker placement, fluctuating market prices, buying/selling, and special abilities, Harbour is an excellent small box introduction to a plethora of Euro mechanics, and the fact that all of these interesting aspects are encapsulated in such a cleap, small box is remarkable. I will say, however, that of the six games on this list, Harbour is the game I'm least likely to play because I've grown past it as a gamer. I've seen this jokingly referred to as Tiny Epic Le Havre, which feels very on the nose. That being said, it does a remarkable job of introducing a handful of popular Euro mechanics, so if this game piques your interests, it has plenty of bigger, meatier siblings out there.

For a game that I haven't touched in a long while, Harbour is probably one of the best single small box game introductions to Euro mechanics I've played.

For those meat and potato worker placement fans (light to heavy): Lords of Waterdeep, Viticulture: Essential Edition, The Gallerist

If you enjoyed the market-based buying/selling/producing bits: Clans of Caledonia

Valley of the Kings (2014) Try it and get the deluxe edition; Complexity 2.19/5; BGG; Mechanisms: Card Drafting, Deck Building, Hand Management, Set Collection

It was inevitable that I include deck building on here. For me, deck building is like the junk food of mechanics. When I first encountered deck building, it was all I wanted to do. There is something driving and compulsive about it. You have the feeling that all you have are options, with infinite combos laid out at your feet. I wanted to try every theme and variation possible. For a little bit, the hobby seemed to be exploding with deck builders of all stripes, with variations popping up everywhere.

Things have cooled now, and it seems deck building has found a more comfortable passenger seat behind (or partnered alongside) other mechanics in mid+ weight Euros, and I think that pairing it with additional mechanics in bigger games actually brings the mechanic to life. Deck building is the idea that all players will start with a small deck of very basic and underpowered cards--generally consisting of cards of different currencies, like attack and some kind of purchasing currency--that you'll use to either buy or defeat other cards, adding them to your deck and thereby increasing the strength of purchasing or fighting, as well as the abilities available to you.

It's a simple idea, but boy is it like Pringles when you first play it. We have a lot of deck builders, and a bunch more that we've since parted ways with. The problem is that many feel a bit themeless and similar, begging the question: If you've played one deck builder, have you played them all?

I would argue no. That being said, if you've played one, you've played... most. Dominion, Marvel: Legendary, Star Realms, Aeon's End, Hero Realms, Nightfall, Paperback, Eminent Domain, Core Worlds, Ascension, Marvel Dicemasters (not deck but dice pool builder), Shadowrun: Crossfire/Dragonfire, and Thunderstone all feel pretty sorta similar. Granted, they each bring a little teeny bit of something different, but if you didn't like one of these, you probably won't like most/any of them.

Valley of the kings subverts a lot of the classic expectations of a deck builder. First of all, the market is spatially interesting. Not just a flat row of cards that randomly come out, these cards form a pyramid, and you're only able to purchase cards on the bottom row. For the first time, maybe it would behoove you not to buy a decent card on the bottom, because once you do, the card above it will "fall" down and become available to the next player. But maybe you should do it anyway, because there are plenty of cards that let you slightly manipulate the arrangement of the pyramid, anyway. More interesting than the pyramid, however, is the end game scoring. Most cards are not worth flat rate points, but rather points based on how many you were able to squirrel away. And by "squirrel away," I mean you'll literally need to start removing them from your deck, one at a time, and adding them to your "tomb" (errr, thematically-named scoring pile) in order to score. Great cards in your deck or hand at the end of the game are worth nothin'. Timing is everything. If you realize that the other player is burying way more cards than you and accelerating the speed of the game, you really need to get on your horse and get those cards into your tomb, otherwise you're going to be out a lot of points. But by removing the cards from your deck, you will become less powerful. So... when do you do it?

Tough choices are the queen in great games, and for a tiny box that is not expensive, this game packs a lot of difficult, interesting decisions.

For excellent straight-up deck builders to get you shufflin' everyday: Legendary Encounters: Alien and Arctic Scavengers

If you want a little bit of deck building in your slightly heavier Euros: Great Western Trail (most Alexander Pfister, really), Orléans (not deck, but pool building), Time of Crisis, Newton, Concordia, Founders of Gloomhaven, Undaunted: Normandy/North Africa

Welcome To... $20ish depending on the day; Complexity 1.82/5; BGG; Mechanisms: Roll & Write, Bingo, Pattern Building

Roll and write games are like the little subgenre that could. So small, so simple, and so popular. For the past few years, roll and writes have fought for a place at the table, and at this point, I think they've done it. Heck, they even have entries that are skewing heavier in weight (Welcome to Dino World). That being said, lightness permeates most roll and writes, and that's not a bad thing. Light doesn't necessarily translate to SLIGHT.

Roll and writes are games where players begin with the same, or very similar, starting sheets of paper, at which point some randomizing thingy like dice (see: roll and write) or cards are used to present variable restrictions or requirements that players must work on accomplishing. As you draw or write or fill-in boxes on your little paper, your sheet will begin to look quite different from everyone else's. At the end of the game, you'll calculate scores and the highest wins. Yay.

Roll and writes have a great tactile nature, which for some reason is easier to teach than more abstract ideas you'd find in an equally light game. Being able to draw routes or write down numbers or shade specific areas feels oddly familiar, which makes roll and write games very family friendly. They also generally have a small footprint, small box, and low price tag, without sacrificing replayability. We have a few roll and writes, and I can say that they all seem to have high replayability--if roll and writes are your thing. I've read plenty from people who don't seem to like roll and writes, but the myriad options that clever designers have managed to get into these tiny games are remarkable. In Railroad Ink, you will roll dice that show sections of track, and slowly you will draw tracks on tiny dry erase boards, working to score specific features before your turns run out. In the aforementioned Welcome to Dino World, you'll be building dinosaur pens, powering electric fences, building features for your park, and trying to prevent the dinos from busting out and devouring people your score.

But what about Welcome To...? This game is a small, card-driven roll and write where you flip three double-sided cards so you'll be showing a trio of pairs baring number on one side and a feature on the back of another card, forcing you to choose one and add it to your map of a minute subdivision. Your working to meet end game objectives for points, as well as build specific features, like parks, to make sure you have the best neighborhood around.

Welcome To... brings the simple gameplay and high replayability along with a charming theme and low price tag. I could always play Welcome To..., and it does everything without falling into a roll and write pitfall of being too vaguely mathy or themeless. We've played with family who have not moved beyond Scrabble, and they loved it. And we've played it more than our fair share at the end of the night with a cool adult beverage in hand.

Roll more and write more, too: The Cartographers, Railroad Ink, Silver & Gold, On Tour, Imperial Settlers: Roll and Write

I want something a smidge heavier than that Welcome To... game: Welcome to New Las Vegas!

If you just want a taste of this because it sounds a little juvenile: Get the app for Ganz Schon Clever, which technically may be my most played game ever considering how you just want to get a higher score. You can do better. No, you can do better! Play again! No, now!

***

SORRY this took so long to complete. The problem with taking a long time to write about some games is that now a handful are hard to get. Go figure. Check your local store, older games have plenty of life.

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads December 2020

Well its only 23 days till Christmas Day where has the year gone? What frightening is that this months Amazon First Reads are due for release on 1 January 2021. For me and other Amazon Prime Members it’s time to take our pick of this months Amazon First Reads. So if your an Amazon Prime member don’t forget to get your free First Reads Book.

This months choices are:

Domestic Suspense

Lie, Lie Again by Stacy Wise Pages: 366, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: For three women with so much to hide, there’s no such thing as a little white lie…

All three women who live at 1054 Mockingbird Lane have secrets…and with a body at the bottom of their apartment building’s staircase, those secrets need to stay buried.

Sylvia Webb has a plan. And a potential Mr. Right. He’s sweet, simple, and dependably clueless about what she’s up to. The only thing unpredictable about him is his needy ex-girlfriend, who is this close to shattering Sylvia’s dreams. But Sylvia’s not going to let that happen.

Riki McFarlan has a good career and an amazing boyfriend who wants to settle down. If only she didn’t have feelings for her neighbor—who happens to be her close friend’s husband. With everything going so right, why is Riki flirting with something so wrong, so…dangerous?

Embry Taylor is as devoted to her children as she is to her husband, who’s a bartender by night, an aspiring actor by day. She is his biggest fan. But with his career not taking off and tensions high, even sweet Embry has something she’s desperate to keep hidden.

Lies, secrets, and revenge. For three neighbors with stakes so high, someone is headed for a downfall.

Thriller

Bloodline by Jess Lourey, Pages: 347, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: Perfect town. Perfect homes. Perfect families. It’s enough to drive some women mad…

In a tale inspired by real events, pregnant journalist Joan Harken is cautiously excited to follow her fiancé back to his Minnesota hometown. After spending a childhood on the move and chasing the screams and swirls of news-rich city life, she’s eager to settle down. Lilydale’s motto, “Come Home Forever,” couldn’t be more inviting.

And yet, something is off in the picture-perfect village.

The friendliness borders on intrusive. Joan can’t shake the feeling that every move she makes is being tracked. An archaic organization still seems to hold the town in thrall. So does the sinister secret of a little boy who vanished decades ago. And unless Joan is imagining things, a frighteningly familiar figure from her past is on watch in the shadows.

Her fiancé tells her she’s being paranoid. He might be right. Then again, she might have moved to the deadliest small town on earth.

Suspense

Sweet Water by Cara Reinard, Pages: 363, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: What did her son do in the woods last night? Does a mother really want to know?

It’s what Sarah Ellsworth dreamed of. Marriage to her childhood sweetheart, Martin. Living in a historic mansion in Pennsylvania’s most exclusive borough. And Finn, a teenage son with so much promise. Until…A call for help in the middle of the night leads Sarah and Martin to the woods, where they find Finn, injured, dazed, and weeping near his girlfriend’s dead body. Convinced he’s innocent, Sarah and Martin agree to protect their son at any cost and not report the crime.

But there are things Sarah finds hard to reconcile: a cover-up by Martin’s family that’s so unnervingly cold-blooded. Finn’s lies to the authorities are too comfortable, too proficient, not to arouse her suspicions. Even the secrets of the old house she lives in seem to be connected to the incident. As each troubling event unfolds, Sarah must decide how far she’ll go to save her perfect life.

Book Club Fiction

Confessions of a Bookseller by Elizabeth Green, Pages: 483, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: A heartening and uproariously funny novel of high hopes, bad choices, book love, and one woman’s best—and worst—intentions.

Without question, Fawn Birchill knows that her used bookstore is the heart of West Philadelphia, a cornerstone of culture for a community that, for the past twenty years, has found the quirkiness absolutely charming. When an amicable young indie bookseller invades her block, Fawn is convinced that his cushy couches, impressive selection, coffee bar, and knowledgeable staff are a neighborhood blight. Misguided yet blindly resilient, Fawn readies for battle.

But as she wages her war, Fawn is forced to reflect on a few unavoidable truths: the tribulations of online dating, a strained relationship with her family, and a devoted if not always law-abiding intern—not to mention what to do about a pen pal with whom she hasn’t been entirely honest and the litany of repairs her aging store requires.

Through emails, journal entries, combative online reviews, texts, and tweets, Fawn plans her next move. Now it’s time for her to dig deep and use every trick at her disposal if she’s to reclaim her beloved business—and her life.

Romantic Comedy

<The> Marriage Code by Brooke Burroughs, Pages: 379, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: In Brooke Burroughs’s endearing debut novel set in vibrant India, enemies turned allies encounter obstacles in an unexpected multicultural romance only to discover that in the end, love is love.

Emma has always lived her life according to a plan. But after turning down her boyfriend’s proposal, everything starts to crumble. In an effort to save the one thing she cares about—her job—she must recruit her colleague, Rishi, to be on her development team…only she may or may not have received the position he was promised. (She did.)

Rishi cannot believe that he got passed over for promotion. To make matters worse, not only does his job require him to return home to Bangalore with his nemesis, Emma, but his parents now expect him to choose a bride and get married. So, when Emma makes him an offer—join her team, and she’ll write an algorithm to find him the perfect bride—he reluctantly accepts.

Neither of them expect her marriage code to work so well—or to fall for one another—which leads Emma and Rishi to wonder if leaving fate up to formulas is really an equation for lasting love.

Historical Fiction

A Splendid Ruin by Megan Chance, Pages: 347, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: A mesmerizing novel of dark family secrets and a young woman’s rise and revenge set against the backdrop of the devastating 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

The eve of destruction. After her mother’s death, penniless May Kimble lives a lonely life until an aunt she didn’t know existed summons her to San Francisco. There she’s welcomed into the wealthy Sullivan family and their social circle.

Initially overwhelmed by the opulence of her new life, May soon senses that dark mysteries lurk in the shadows of the Sullivan mansion. Her glamorous cousin often disappears in the night. Her aunt wanders about in a laudanum fog. And a maid keeps hinting that May is in danger. Trapped by betrayal, madness, and murder, May stands to lose everything, including her freedom, at the hands of those she trusts most.

Then, on an early April morning, San Francisco comes tumbling down. Out of the smoldering ruins, May embarks on a harrowing road to reclaim what is hers. This tragic twist of fate, along with the help of an intrepid and charismatic journalist, puts vengeance within May’s reach. But will she take it?

Biographical Fiction

Your Story, My Story by Connie Palmen, Pages: 201, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: From the award-winning author of The Friendship comes a shattering, brilliantly inventive novel based on the volatile true love story of literary icons Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

In 1963 Sylvia Plath took her own life in her London flat. Her death was the culmination of a brief, brilliant life lived in the shadow of clinical depression—a condition exacerbated by her tempestuous relationship with mercurial poet Ted Hughes. The ensuing years saw Plath rise to martyr status while Hughes was cast as the cause of her suicide, his infidelity at the heart of her demise.

For decades, Hughes never bore witness to the truth of their marriage—one buried beneath a mudslide of apocryphal stories, gossip, sensationalism, and myth. Until now.

In this mesmerizing fictional work, Connie Palmen tells his side of the story, previously untold, delivered in Ted Hughes’s own uncompromising voice. A brutal and lyrical confessional, Your Story, My Story paints an indelible picture of their seven-year relationship—the soaring highs and profound lows of star-crossed soul mates bedeviled by their personal demons. It will forever change the way we think about these two literary icons.

Children’s Picture Book

Scooper and Dumper by Lindsay Ward, Pages: 40, Publication Date: 1 January 2021

Synopsis: Introducing two new vehicles who work together no matter what!

The best of friends, Scooper the front loader and Dumper the snowplow take care of their town in all kinds of weather. One day a snowstorm hits, and the big city needs their help to clear the roads. Each of them must be brave in their own way to get the job done.

This wintry adventure spotlights the ideas of individual strengths, teamwork, and friendship in a vehicle buddy story that boys and girls alike will love.

*** Which book will you choose? I have no idea which book I’ll choose as there a couple of books that interest me this month. ***

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