#for like a month before my schedule is decimated again

[kozzax]

ok so the post isn't gonna come out today?

or tomorrow, probably, or. really necessarily anytime this week?

ive gotten just. incredibly busy lately and I'm so very sorry about that but. for the next week or two it's gonna be even more radio silent from me than usual on here. 'm awful sorry schools just kicking my ass and you know how it is.

the good news is that I'm not forgetting the projects I'm working on and the Second I can I'm sitting down and just getting started Immediately because it's been far far too long since I was able to Do Anything that I was genuinely excited to do!!

it might be a while but once I'm back on my feet there are so many things I want to do and post and create. the rendog variants post should be out around Thursday, if all goes well.

thanks for sticking with me despite this whole mess ^w^

[neverdoingmuch]

Wait cql lawyer/law school AU

i got you my pal dont worry!!

law school, im gonna be honest and say i know like nothing about law or law school so pls ignore any inconsistencies or inaccuracies

lwj goes to law school and he is definitely the top student in his class. they’ve been there for like a month and everyone already knows he’s gonna be the best

his one and only competition is this dude called wei wuxian but lwj isn’t particularly worried about him

so far they’re still in the stage of the course where they do the fun things to sucker people into doing the class for the semester so there’s been some practise debates and arguments and stuff in their tutorial classes

wei wuxian has that Charisma and like yeah all of his arguments are perfect but also he has an amazing smile and people are like yes i can trust him 

(he’s definitely the sort to be like hm, the easy way to argue this case would be to quote some laws and use precedence to justify this but that’s boring)

lwj is also good at that sort of stuff because his arguments are perfect and everything is so perfectly researched that there should be no ground at all for someone to lodge a counterargument

(wei wuxian manages somehow and it makes lwj so mad)

but that’s whatever lwj thinks,, a lot of people join law thinking it’s gonna be like the tv shows and books and then get completely blindsided when it comes to the rote learning part or like the actual laws 

and for all of wwx’s confidence, lwj hasn’t actually seen wwx so much as touch the textbook/s and he always studies in the law library so he knows that wwx has probably never even been there bc he hasn’t seen him even once (why’s he looking? bc he needs to see which books wwx uses to study,, bc there has to be something going on there,, obviously)

then they do their first like proper written assignment and lwj and wwx tie for the highest scores and now lwj has a Rival and he refuses to lose to someone who thinks that putting a ‘-us’ sound at the end of a word makes it latin (did wwx say habeas corpus and then point at a soft drink and go  sprite-us can-us,,, maybe,,,,)

anyway! lwj and wwx are kinda rivals for the top spot and it’s one of those situations where one test lwj wins by a point but then the next test wwx gets full marks and they just keep exchanging the top spot in class

and this whole time wwx is like The Worst to have in class. he’s always interrupting to ask questions or just straight up not listening and spends the class doodling pictures of rabbits (they’re cute but wwx is terrible and he’s not allowed to make cute drawings)

so after a few months the most horrible thing happens.... they get put together in a project and lwj is like ugh. internally of course but his face is also saying ugh

the first time wwx and lwj get together to work on the project, lwj is prepared with a proper list of tasks to do all nicely split up between the two of them and a schedule for when they should get certain parts done by. 

needless to say, lwj does not expect wwx to be ready, but wwx is definitely on top of things

he rocks up and is like yeah let’s do this, this and this and have them done by this time - basically proposing to do everything that lwj has already written down

and lwj is pleasantly surprised and is like hm maybe i misjudged wwx and decides to like re-evaluate his opinion on him

in doing so he realises that when he’d never seen wwx studying, it wasn’t an exaggeration at all. he’s never seen wwx so much as touch a textbook or spend more than a minute on a laptop doing something that wasn’t minesweeper or solitaire

but wwx is also making all of their deadlines and even adds extra information and resources to their document that could be useful elsewhere and sometimes he shows up to their study sessions and he looks absolutely exhausted

eventually lwj manages to get the truth out and wwx is just like yeah it’s easier to get worse grades than a genius but if you both study and you still get lower grades, it’s not easy,, for jc or for me

so wwx usually studies at night when his brother is asleep and lwj is like that’s bad, you can’t keep that up and just when wwx is about to go off at him lwj is like you can come study at my place

and thus begins the wonderful time where everything is alright and lwj falls in love with wwx

they work really well together and wwx is strangely considerate and nice? when he finds out lwj likes rabbits, he goes out and buys bunny post-it notes for lwj and starts to always bring him a doodle of bunnies every time he comes over. he always gets his work done on time, early even, and his work is always so brilliant and every time wwx smiles at him, lwj feels warm inside etc etc

for a long while lwj is like yes (: this is friendship (: bc he’s never had a crush before but then on the day they submit their project wwx is like hey,, the two of us make a great team,, we should always work together,, now and next year and even when we graduate,, i want to help the innocent people who need our help and i think i’d like it a lot if you joined me and lwj has his oh moment

they get a perfect score on the project of course and even after it finishes, wwx keeps coming over to lwj’s place to study or just hang out and lwj is just falling more and more for wwx each day

they’re best friends now and everyone gets used to seeing them work together on projects and then turn around to try and decimate each other when they’re working one on one and lwj thinks that he might just be the happiest he’s ever been

but then one day wwx doesn’t show up to class. it shouldn’t be strange but wwx has never missed class even once and he ends up hearing from lxc who heard from jgy that wwx was caught sabotaging some other student’s work (the other student was jzxun, who had a fondness for playing devil’s advocate and other than wwx once telling him that his argument was shit, wwx never spoke to him or seemed to know who he was but lwj is a bit too angry to remember that)

he manages to find wwx outside of his dorms as he’s moving out and he’s just like why did you do that? and wwx is like oh y’know,, bc he’s not really sure what’s happening himself,, one second he was at the top of his class and the next he was being brought before a board and being told that he was being expelled but he’s not going to tell lwj that bc lwj would definitely try and stand up for him and then they’d both get expelled

but lwj is furious and just spits out well if our dreams meant so little to you then maybe it’s a good thing you failed now,, bc his mother was a lawyer who took all these little jobs that helped people who actually needed the help and lwj was looking forward to doing that with wwx and he doesn’t even seem to care that now they can’t do that 

wwx flinches and then smiles at him and just cheerily says, that’s me and leaves. he doesn’t look back and lwj doesn’t chase after him.

lwj doesn’t see him again for years (you can do 13 or 5 or however long you feel like)

lwj is a fully licensed lawyer and he’s working for the family company and he spends half of his time working on cases and uses the rest of his time to do like outreach programs where he goes and visits schools and runs sessions on what it’s like to be a lawyer, how to apply, and to provide assistance to any students who decide to study law at uni

and then at one of these programs he meets this kid, wen yuan, who is ridiculously bright and enthusiastic and has a smile that seems oddly familiar

at the end of the second session he comes up to lwj and is like mr. lan, is your name lan wangji? and lwj just says yes, expecting the kid to be a fan of one of his cases or something but then wen yuan is like oh wow! i thought i recognised you from my dad’s photo!

and lwj isn’t expecting much but he asks what the photo looks like and wen yuan pulls out this photo from his pocket and lwj immediately recognises it,, it’s the only photo he has of him and wwx

your father is wei ying? lwj asks him and wen yuan is like yes, hesitates, and then asks, would you like to see him?

and that’s how lwj finds himself following wen yuan to some dinky little office that has a plaque outside that reads wen and wei

(wen ning is the nicest and sweetest person ever and lots of people underestimate him but then he’s an absolute monster on court. he gets up and completely decimates the opponent and then at the end is like (: it was so nice to meet you!! i am baby!! and all that,, you know our boy)

anyway they walk in and wwx turns to greet wen yuan but then he sees lwj and is like woah! you! and he’s not sure whether to hide or go and hug lwj so he just gives him a fist bump,, like a bro,, and immediately wants to shrivel up and die

anyway they get the reunion stuff out of the way, swelling music, tender wrist holding, lots of staring, lwj silently declaring his wholehearted love for wwx and refusing to believe rumours about him again even though he doesn’t actually know what happened, you know how it goes

from wwx’s side of things,, after he got kicked out he went to some small uni. good in its own right but not known for their law program and ended up specialising in family law

the first case he ever won was for the wens to have the right to keep custody of a-yuan and the first case wen ning ever won was to let wwx adopt a-yuan bc i’m soft like that

so wwx has just been kinda vibing,, being a single dad, living with the wens and helping to make that difference he always promised he would

now this isn’t gonna be some au where lwj goes oh my! i must give up my high salary job and work with wwx! bc lwj has been doing good stuff at his current job and for all of his family’s stuffiness, they run a fair and just company 

but! he does end up helping wwx when wwx gets a letter with a bunch of information about the jins and how they’re actually super corrupt and evil (big surprise,,) and how wwx was maybe definitely framed bc he was doing some casual work on the side and stumbled across some bad shit on the jins back in uni

lwj ends up being the one to take the case officially but wwx is definitely the guy leading it and so lwj ends up spending most of his time at the wen-wei office

lwj definitely bonds with wen yuan, who also wants to go into law, and writes him recommendation letters and helps him edit his applications and stuff

(and one day wen yuan is like leaving you was the hardest thing dad ever did and i dont think you appreciated how much he cared about you. he really did think that he annoyed you ‘til the end and lwj is like no! he didn’t! and wen yuan is like yeah i know but you gotta tell him and lwj really does mean to but the time is never right or something like that but also wen yuan is all but calling lwj dad at this point)

anyway they end up going to court, side by side, working as a team just as they promised to do and just as they finish their final day on the case, ended with the jury ruling jgy guilty and wwx’s reputation all but saved, wwx turns around and flings himself at lwj

is he crying? is he laughing? a bit of both tbh but wwx ends up confessing right then and there, still on record and everything (is that how that works??? idk! let’s say it does)

and what can lwj do but make out with him?

did a news crew come in to film the results of this massive court case just to end up with five minutes of wangxian kissing?? maybe! but when it played on tv it meant wwx and lwj didnt have to actually tell anyone they got together

(and does lwj eventually pop the question using wwx’s bad latinification? yes and wwx is too busy laughing to accept at first but he does and they end up being the worst possible tutors for wen yuan as he goes through law school bc they keep being all gross and lovey-dovey and acting like law school is the most romantic place in the world)

[otterbagel]

The Reunion (Part 1) Simon x Reader

Reader makes a rash decision, one that has long lasting consequences.

(Notes: There are two parts to this! Next part should be out next week. I'll probably start spacing out my posts after this so I don't get burnt out like last time. Also, didn't get to edit this one as much as I should've; the whole thing ended up pretty long and would take a long time everytime I tried to edit it. Can't believe it took me this long to finish one about Simon!!!)

"Hey, this is quite the unusual find, you gotta admit."

   Your eyebrow raised without hesitation, your eyes looking down to check your shoes. "Not really," you remarked softly, eyes going back up to meet the object of the discussion: a PL600 android.

   The salesman, who had uncomfortably started hounding you for the sale after you had curiously drifted towards the humanoid, was gesturing towards it flippantly with a toothy grin. "At this price?! Tell me, no, tell me where you found one this cheap— in this good a condition?"

   Your mouth automatically frowned. The arms were covered by a dark undershirt that made most of the skin unseeable— any damage not on the face and hands wouldn't be factored into the buying purchase. You had a feeling this clothing choice was intentional.

   "Just three hundred bucks!" The seller's round face turned into your line of sight. You quickly looked away out of discomfort.

   Your eyes landed onto the android's clear blue ones. You hadn't looked very closely at any androids before, despite walking amongst them nearly every day. Did they all look this lifelike? 

   Maybe you were looking way too into it. 

   You swallowed, aggressively fumbling for your wallet with a grunt of annoyance. "Okay, fine. Three hundred."

   With a pleased noise, the seller took off with your card, waving it in the air between two of his fingers. 

   You crossed your arms beside the android, who didn't seem to take any notice of what had just transpired. 

…

   Reality had begun to hit you like a truck on the way home.

   By the time you opened the door to your tiny house, you realized just how big of a rash decision you had just made.

   The android stood behind you quietly and without complaint as you released the door handle, letting the door softly bang against the wall. You stared dumbly into your own house, coat hanging limply from one of your dangling arms as you searched your brain for a solution. 

   You frowned, shaking your head rapidly. "I have no room for this."

   "Excuse me—"

   You jumped at the android's sudden intrusion into your own self reprimand, a small noise of fright escaping you before you could even begin to think of holding it back.

   "—would you like me to get started?"

   "Uh, yeah yeah yeah, uh… do whatever you want," you waved it off awkwardly, holding a hand to your chest as you attempted to catch your breath. You hurried inside, embarrassed of the whole situation. 

   You sat down on the couch as the android closed the door and walked past you and into the kitchen.

   Without turning it on, you stared at the TV as your fingertips rubbed against your face in nervousness.

   That had been such an impulse buy. You couldn't believe you had done that.

   The faucet turned on for a moment. You think you had put a cup in there, but there wasn't much else to clean.

   It seemed to be working properly. The guy who sold it was certainly odd and abrasive, but all in all it was a pretty good deal. Usually they were more than twice as much; newer models so expensive that the thought of you owning one was impossible. Even if it had some cosmetic damages, that was a small issue compared to its functionality.

   Trying to ignore the strange new entity in the house, you flipped on the TV. It was the news.

   There was some story about a recent fire that had decimated a small apartment building on the outskirts of Detroit. The police said it likely had something to do with Red Ice, although most evidence would probably be destroyed.

   The android had finished whatever it was doing in the kitchen and had quietly begun watching the TV from the archway. 

   You looked at it as it parted its lips in preparation to speak. "Are you a fan of the news?"

   "Sort of," you chuckled, looking back to the screen. "I work at a newstation— not this one, but I like checking it out from time to time."

   The android nodded, continuing to watch the screen as it held its hands politely behind its back.

   You looked it over, getting that feeling of nervousness again. "W-what's your name?" You blurted out quietly and without any grace.

   It blinked at you, the LED spinning blue for a second. "My previous owners named me Simon. Would you like to change my name?"

   You shook your head to yourself. "Do you like your name?"

   It squinted at you in confusion before returning to its natural, composed look. "It's good," it responded.

   Although you tried to maintain a jovial body language, you weren't doing a good job. "Great! Si… Simon is a great name," you chirped out awkwardly.

   "Thank you," Simon replied, giving a small head bow.

   You turned your head away from it as you felt your face grow warm with embarrassment. 

   What on Earth was happening to you?

   

…

   You had been having a strange dream about work when you heard someone calling your name.

   "...huh…?" you called out groggily.

   Your name again. "...I think you're going to be late for work at this rate…"

   Your eyes fluttered open. Simon was fiddling with his hands as he held them in front of his chest, eyes moving between you and the clock beside the bed.

   It said 8:32.

   The comforter was flung nearly off the bed as you jumped up in a panic. "Oh geez, yeah I'm gonna be late…" Random clothes filled your arms that you grabbed from your drawers as you prepared to go to work. "Thanks for waking me."

   Simon quietly made his way over to you as you tried finding a pair of socks. "I didn't hear you walking around this morning," he said with a chuckle. "And where you stayed up later than usual last night… I figured…"

   A laugh escaped you as you headed off towards the bathroom to get ready.

   He had been living here… maybe three months? It had seemed like a much longer time than that. In that amount of time, things had definitely changed between you two.

   Despite it being his intended purpose, it felt strange to have someone doing all your housework for you. It became an odd ritual pretty quickly: once you got home, you would work on chores together. Not that there were many— that was one of the perks of having a small house— but it just made you feel better about the whole thing.

   The whole process was a bit cathartic for you; away from the hustle and bustle of the busy, stressful life at the newstation and into a warm, domestic one.

   You hurried to the front door to slip on your shoes, Simon leaving his spot on the couch to see you off. 

   "I think I'll make it on time," you joked as you looked up at him. "Thanks again."

   "No problem…" he responded quietly, struggling to retain eye contact with you.

   As you rose to your feet, he gave you a brief hug. Your face immediately began to burn bright red.

   "Have… have a good day at work…" he stuttered out before walking in quick strides to the kitchen.

   You were still frozen in place by the time he exited your vision. "Y-you too…" you blurted out before fumbling out the door, realizing your linguistic blunder before you had even closed the door.

   As you headed down the street, you let your hands touch your heated face. 

…

   You had nearly run home out of excitement.

   It had been such a small thing, but the prospects of your future career had your mind going nuts.

   After fumbling to get the key in the door and tossing it open, you slung your coat off your arms in a fluid motion. "Simon! Simon! You won't believe it!"

   He was sitting on the couch— like he usually had been over the past year— engaged in some overly dramatic show you weren't particularly fond of. His eyes were wide at your sudden entrance. "Yes?"

   You let the door make its way closed before you kicked it shut behind you, holding your arms out. "They said they liked my article!"

   Simon stared for a moment before his LED flashed in excitement. "THE article?" He sat up on the edge of his seat, smiling at you as he was filled with a wave of positive energy.

   "Yeah!" You nodded. "Not to get you too excited, but they're showing it to some of the higher ups, but it looks like I might get my own schedule slot soon!"

   "Oh wow!" He exclaimed, rising to his feet and taking you into his arms to lift you up for a split second. "I knew it would happen! I'm so proud!"

   You erupted into a fit of giggles as he held you, almost enjoying his praise as much as your own success. "Thanks Simon, I couldn't have done it without you."

   He released you, letting his hands rest against your sides. "That's not true," he responded quietly, his face red as he looked to the side.

   With a warm smile, you nodded to him. "Yes," you drawed out for effect. "You even came up with the idea. And, not to mention, the moral support."

   He stepped back a little, crossing his arms as he attempted to hide his expression of happiness. "You're too kind."

   The TV played in the silence, Simon fiddling with the edge of one of his sleeves as he pulled it down.

   Your mind raced as you looked at his hand, debating on bringing it up right now when the mood was so light.

   "They mentioned… uh... increasing my pay," you began, watching his expression for any hint of distress. "I thought that maybe… we could finally… you know… get that fixed…"

   His hands trailed along his sleeve as he nodded to himself, seemingly lost in thought. "Yeah," he responded. "That would be nice… but it would be so expensive… are you sure?"

   It had taken a few weeks to first see it, and even longer for you to see the full extent of the damage, but your initial thoughts had been correct. The long sleeves had been put on him for a reason, and it had seemed as though it had gradually become a personal choice as well.

   His forearms and biceps had a lot of physical damage, certainly from his previous owners. 

   Luckily, it had been almost purely cosmetic. Aside from a few light dents and scratches to his actual body, it was just a matter of getting the covering fixed. As of now, the white sheen of his android body was always visible underneath his sleeves.

   You wrung your hands together out of nervousness. "I just know how you said that you wanted it fixed," you took in a sharp inhale. "It won't be a problem to actually do, I've already been saving for a while…"

   He smiled, rushing in to hug you again. You, a bit caught off guard this time, was frozen in place.

   "I'd like to put the past behind me," he said as you finally came to and hugged him back, albeit still in a bit of a shock. "I think this is the first step."

   As you embraced, you couldn't help but feel a pang of excitement and anxiety.

[shijiujun]

I’m here with a zombie apocalypse (think Resident Evil level) + ABO danmei! I’m not usually a fan of ABOs tbh and I picked up this book for the zombie part and was surprised by the ABO part, but this one was a good nice balance between both. Surviving the zombie apocalypse still takes centre stage while the ABO part is more of a subplot/backdrop, but it’s cool all the same haha

Written by the author who wrote Swallowing the Sea (Tun Hai) & Breaking the Clouds (Po Yun)!

- Part of Min’s ‘Why You Should Read’ Series -

Summary:

In a world that has been overrun by a virus that turns people into zombies, Si Nan wakes up with no memory of who he is and what he’s doing in this rescue camp, only that he’s an omega that is scheduled to be air-lifted out of an affected zone to a safe sanctuary, where omegas are prized individuals meant to be protected so they can give birth and contribute to a new population, which has been decimated with attacking zombies globally. 

He’s not sure who he is and what he was supposed to be doing, but his instincts tell him to not go along with these people, and he flees into the crowd of attacking zombies. Much to everyone’s surprise, he has strong combat abilities (despite being an omega) and manages to escape from the team and also the zombies.

He chances upon Zhou Rong, Captain of the 118 Retrieval Special Unit and his team during another zombie attack in a nearby city, and joins them out after his escape route is blocked. Si Nan hides his omega scent with suppressants he finds in a supermarket, and unbeknownst to him, he has actually met Zhou Rong before when they were both much younger in a different setting, before zombies were even a thing. Zhou Rong leads a team of beta soldiers, which die one after the other as they flee, leaving the team down to its last bullet and six members.

Si Nan decides to follow them for a while, and due to his skilled fighting prowess, he gains the trust of this team and the civilians they’re protecting. Zhou Rong also takes a liking to him, and so does another team member Yan Hao, while Si Nan mistakenly thinks that Zhou Rong and Yan Hao are a couple together instead. As they flee from one city to another trying to get back to the 118 base, they realize the situation and virus is worser than they thought. They have to fight to survive while also figure out who Si Nan is, and why he’s a wanted individual by authorities from another country.

*A pretty accurate representation of a zombie apocalypse I have to say, I had Resident Evil flashbacks when I was reading this, people start dying right off the bat, but nothing hurts more than 2ha so I only teared up at minor character deaths

Read:

Novel (Online) | Novel (Print) - December 2020 Print | Novel Translations 

Characters:

1. 司南 Si Nan - Amazing pouty and fierce mix-blood blond-haired omega who has amnesia and doesn’t even know his own name. He sees some product in a convenience store where he meets Zhou Rong for the first time that has the words 司南 on it and decides that his name for now. Combat specialist and can take out a lot of zombies just on his own - he’s also immune to the zombie virus but they don’t know this until much later. He doesn’t go with the shady troop that rescued him initially, but with Zhou Rong because he’s intrigued by how brash and kind and a bit dumb this Captain is. Masquerades as a beta with the help of suppressants

He has a stepbrother (an alpha) who tortured him for many years due to Si Nan’s special condition and the mystery surrounding his childhood with his scientist mother and dead-but-terribly-revived father. Said stepbrother also wants to mate with him because he ‘loves’ him but is just insane af. 

Si Nan actually met Zhou Rong when they were much younger before this whole zombie thing came along, and Si Nan actually pretended to be a helpless participant of the competition they were in and lets Zhou Rong help him, only to steal away the prize at the very last moment. He liked Zhou Rong a lot then, but due to him being taken hostage technically by his stepbrother and also his allegiance to a Western state (he’s mixed blood, stepbrother is American-ish) they were unable to be together. 

He’s compassionate, but doesn’t show mercy to anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Like Zhou Rong, he wants to save everyone they possibly can, but they’re not dumb enough to think they can save everyone. As he travels with Zhou Rong and his team and other civilians, he starts to remember little things about himself and is caught by his stepbrother again midway through the novel, and just as he despairs that no one will ever save a monster like him, Zhou Rong turns up to do just that.

2. 周戎 Zhou Rong - Extremely confident, brash but handsome and strategic alpha Captain of the 118 unit, a special unit which was sent out a few months prior to the start of the book to clear out regions of civilians, but they lose touch with a major city and headquarters, and are forced to find ways to return to big HQ amidst unusual bursts of zombie attacks and a new strain of zombies who were infected without being bitten. Masquerades as a beta, like the rest of his team.

He loses a lot of his team along the way, and has to carry the burden of killing them before they turn at their requests, and also promising to find their families and take care of them for his dead team members. He wants to save everyone, but also knows that with dwindling supply to food, medicine etc. they can only choose their battles along the way. 

Takes a huge liking to strong Si Nan, unknowing that he’s the boy he met and fell in love with when they were younger. Because of the competition then, despite Si Nan winning over him, he decides to openly court Si Nan after the competition, and brings flowers to go see him, only to see Si Nan being given a temporary claiming bite on the back of his neck by another man (the stepbrother). Dejected and devastated, his first budding love kind of ended there, and from then on he openly disses omegas as he thinks that Si Nan basically seduced him to deceive him, and that all the affection they shared during the days of the competition in the wild were fake.

After the truth about Si Nan is out, he does a 180 hahahaha, and Si Nan forgives him XD 

3. 颜豪 Yan Hao - Another alpha-hiding-as-a-beta team member of Zhou Rong’s unit. After Si Nan saves him twice, he falls in love with Si Nan, not knowing that Si Nan thinks that Zhou Rong and himself are together. His feelings after are known to Si Nan, but Zhou Rong and he openly (and hilariously) fight for Si Nan’s affections. Zhou Rong is way more direct than Yan Hao is though, and Si Nan obviously likes Zhou Rong much more than he does Yan Hao, so naturally he was kicked out of the competition hahaha. He’s very sporting about it though!

Other Things I Like in the Novel:

Zhou Rong calls himself Rong-ge, asks everyone to call him that, he takes on the brotherly protector role in the team and amongst the civilians he rescued - Tells Si Nan to call for Rong-ge whenever he’s in danger and he’ll turn up - So there’s a part where Si Nan is bombarded with his memories while he’s about to be kidnapped by his stepbrother and also chased down by incoming hordes of zombies, and he yells out for Rong-ge, and Rong-ge really turns up ;-;

Si Nan is pouty and glowering all the time, a bit cold and aloof at other times, but he’s always drawn to Zhou Rong’s warmth

After they confirm their feelings for each other and spend his heat together, they are literally inseparable, like forever holding hands and looking out for each other like they go from flirty at 20% to 200% as a couple midway through the novel

Si Nan kicks ass, all the time! He’s super good at fighting

Zhou Rong promises to get Si Nan a huge rock as an engagement ring but he spends all his check on the families of his dead team members at the end of the novel, and Si Nan teases him, “So what are you going to use to afford my ring now huh?” Also, they’re just recovering from the zombie apocalypse so the commercialisation of marriages will once again have to wait, but Zhou Rong literally does turn up with a bigass ridiculous diamond ring (from where they raided a diamond ring story during a mission) and presents it to him

Yan Hao always teases Si Nan for how he thought him and Zhou Rong were together, because both men are always rough-housing and fighting like actual brothers than lovers XD

Yan Hao tells Zhou Rong that they should compete fairly for SI Nan’s affections, and Zhou Rong rolls his eyes and grabs Si Nan over and kisses him full on on the lips while Yan Hao splutters in defeat

The novel depicts deaths and helplessness really, really well. LIke seriously, I almost couldn’t finish it but it’s actually a pretty nice novel that doesn’t focus entirely on the doom and gloom of the apocalypse

[tenderlyrenjun]

[9:15 am]

(feat. Mark)

You barge into Renjun’s private study, pushing the classificatory Azure Dragon emblem on the push plate so violently that the doors clammor deafeningly against the walls they hit. The force, even quicker, drives the doors to shut before the head guard, Mark, can follow you in, even with his vampiric speed. Surprisingly, the doors remain intact, likely due to the fiberglass material. But Mark still enters, half a second after you, bowing apologetically to Renjun who reads a sales and revenue report.

“What the hell is this?” you demand, waving a letter with Jaemin’s government seal stamped prominently contrasted against the black-inked characters and tinted white parchment.

Renjun gives you a momentary look until returning to his deep red wine and business report. And neither of you spare a glance at Mark, who immediately assesses the entire room, looking underneath the desk, leaning against the wall to scan the garden outside through the curtains, taking out his ear piece to listen for the slightest of movements, etc. etc. 

“I don’t know,” Renjun answers, eyes glossing over the drop in profit, trying to figure out where it comes from.

Every couple of decades, the two of you obtain successive internships at your various companies, under the guise of nepotism, usually to oversee any errors or the general income. And with Renjun having suggested attending college a few months back, this internship with your tech company seemed to just fit the whole college students persona, particularly your A accompanying that computer class Renjun asked you to take. Plus, he wanted to review why the stocks have been going down, especially since your companies are privately owned and you two, the owners, are well-hidden from the public. The only people, prior to your new reemergence into the 21st century, who saw you were other ancient vampires and the members of your coven - Kun, Aurora, Mark, Jiu, Woosung, in addition to the security detail turned and operated by Mark.

“It’s Jaemin’s signature,” you state obviously, crinkling the parchment louder in the air before pulling it in front of you again to reread the message.

“Mhmm,” Renjun hums, already having gathered that, simultaneous with Mark’s reaction: a whispered Oh.

Both you and Renjun turn to Mark, who finished surveying the area. Your vampire hearings amplified the exclamation, so you two raise matching eyebrows. 

“Sorry,” Mark excuses himself formally, then resumes the composure of a head guard again: shoulders squared, head up, position alert. He stares blankly at the wall but receives challenging stares ordering a real answer. “I just,” he concedes to his founders, “thought it was something more zealous, or, even, outrageous, like an ex-lover or something.”

You eyebrow raises further, and Renjun closes his file, setting his feet firmly on the ground. It is ... entertaining when vampires make passing comments about your intense relationship - even Jaemin mentioned that he had not seen either of you separated in all 700 years that you three have been friends. Scarcely anyone knows about Renjun’s earlier indiscretion, and you would like to keep it this way, especially if the future unfolds as Doyoung’s right hand predicts it to. The thought paints an intense stare on your face that almost scares Mark.

“We’re both two and a half millennia old,” Renjun reveals, something he rarely admits to people and something that Mark largely underestimated, given by the way his eyes widen and body stiffens. Renjun turns to you, smirking. “Do people always assume that we are first loves?” You glare at him, not wanting to answer, especially after the incident Mark unintentionally brought up. Renjun drops the corners of his lips, right, then reclines in his chaise longue, resuming his casual position crossing his ankle over his knee. “Not that it matters, of course, because you are my only love.”

“And you are my last,” you respond equally. 

“What did Jaemin sign?” Mark interjects, not wanting to be caught in yet another lover’s ... to be honest, he cannot describe the intensity; he just knows that he does not want to be in the middle of it again.

“A declaration of war,” you announce, tossing the opened envelope into Renjun’s lap. 

Renjun slowly sits up again, then closes his file and chugs the last of his blood, in case of a surprise attack. Younger vampires ... they tend to be more dramatic, and he would not hold it against them if they waited for this exact moment to make a move and jump all three of you at once. So, he needs the last of the blood to have more than enough strength to fight them off.

“Against who though?” Mark asks, making sure to emphasize his presence. Sometimes, you and Renjun slip into that fabled telepathy supposedly shared by Mates (it is fake; you two just know each other well), and as head guard, he needs the information to make a protection plan for the entire coven.

But to his surprise, you answer, “I don’t know,” and rub your forehead. You walk toward Renjun, rereading the message over his shoulder. “Some faction in North America, I assume, based on all the tensions both politically and economically - what with one Lee clans slaughtering an entire town to occupy it.” You sigh, then realize how callous the sentence sounded and look up at Mark, who shared that surname in his mortal life. “Sorry, Mark.”

“Not a problem,” he amends, “Likely no relation.” He triangulates in front of Renjun to watch your back in case a vampire appears from the large mirror at your blind spot. “Was it one of the newer factions?”

Still standing, you exhale loudly through your entire chest (to give yourself a pause to think, to remember), then step a bit further from Renjun, mimicking Mark’s protocol: creating a triangle position amongst the three of you. You would honestly love to sit with Renjun, like all those nights lounging on a couch, studying or watching TV, but the both of you need to be as alert as Mark always is, if not more; the responsibility of protecting your newly rebuilt coven weighing heavily. It took centuries after the last war just to be able to trust other vampires into your hours, and even more decades to do extremely thorough background checks on those who live with you now. At the beginning of the war, assassins infiltrated your manor at your weakest point and Renjun had to rescue you from Yeon’s kidnapping and extortion attempt (possibly even murder, if Renjun had been too late). That was when you lost Xiaojun, Mark’s predecessor who was sire bonded to you. Then, more spies, from all sides, from all covens, absolutely decimated your numbers until only you and Renjun remained. Renjun, too, barely managed during the war, to keep you safe. Luckily, his special compulsion ability was able to order vampires away, undermining their sire bonds to defy their traitorous leaders. He currently keeps this gift secret, only using it when necessary (or as a party trick with his closest friends), though it does still come out subconsciously, hence why his first impressions are always so great.

You sigh again. “Newer vampires don’t know just how many of us there are, or how long we have been around. Aurora is barely 35, and prior to joining us, she was not aware of Jaemin or the Laws. So, of course they have to be a new faction. An arrogant new faction, likely affiliated with one of the Italian clans who want ultimate power again and for the capital to return to Volterra [Italy] again.”

“Rumor has it that Jaemin’s Mate even returned to Korea after drifting through North America,” Renjun gossips. You are always surprised to hear about Jaemin’s Mate, because while he has not been off the compound in 90 years, his Mate is scarcely ever with him. It reminds you how horrible that century without Renjun was; you cannot fathom wanting to be separated for more than a few days. “Perhaps there is some benefit to his Mate having been gone; Jaemin might have more to say than what he send.”

“What did Jaemin want?” Mark asks, as the only person in the room who has not read the letter.

“For us to pledge allegiance,” Renjun answers before you do, also recalling that darkest time when you perfected your poison techniques on treasonists. He deadpans and crumples the letter into a ball, feeling your anger rise with Jaemin’s words. You give Renjun a look, Jaemin cannnot be serious, right? But Renjun shakes his head, unsure; Jaemin is a fan of loyalty, even more than you, so neither of you know what this invitation means - you will have to schedule another meeting with him.

“Does he not remember our commitment to neutrality?” you seethe, balling your hands into fists like the ball, shaking your head with Renjun but in disbelief. 

“Does he want to absorb us as well?” Mark asks more realitistcally than you. “Our vampires are highly trained and over half possess special abilities, so -”

“Jaemin is not Doyoung,” you seethe again, interrupting Mark before he can accuse Jaemin of one of the highest crimes (passed into law by Jaemin himself): stalking vampires into a coven. It rose into law after one New Year in the early 19th century when too many newly turned 20-year olds emerged as vampires. Covens grew; entire high school classrooms slaughtered; police stations were at an all time high for corruption as leaders bribed them to turn the other way. The law had been coming for a long time, especially since this is how Doyoung acquired all of his member. Doyoung only recruited leaders with special abilities; hence his left hand atrium, a vampire with subjective precognition born under a chancellor following the Dark Ages, and his right hand (Jeno) atrium, a prince, a former East Palace in the years preceding the Dark Ages, with the ability to recognize any relationship and induce one, though only if he is present. But that holiday was the final deciding factor.

“No,” Renjun agrees, his voice rising to command the room. “But do not forget, love. We wanted Doyoung to rule as well.” You share a lot of qualities with Doyoung, hence why you are old friends, but Jaemin is the current leader and a good one at that too.

“Not at the cost of war.”

“So what do we do?” Mark asks, looking between the two of you for a direction before he creates a plan. “How do we avoid the war?”

Renjun glances at the letter. Jaemin was very firm and strict. So he sighs, resigning in doubt.

“We don’t.”

[yukiwrites]

Now, and Forever

Thank you so much for the support as always, @breeachuu !! i can't believe this is really the end of Wolfie's adventures! ToT) Thank you for sticking with me for so long! I'll miss the goodest boyo...

Summary: The alarming news that arrived the night of Wolfram and Dimitri's wedding was just as unexpected. There were signs of a new war brewing in the horizon, so they had to take up arms one last time...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

__________________________

By the time Wolfram woke up from their first night as a married couple, the inner circle of the palace sat in disbelief at the conference room.

Wide-eyed, the half manakete tiptoed to his seat beside Dimitri’s, who had his head down under his laced hands. Sensing his husband, Dimitri lifted his face, showing the hardened expression.

“What’s going on?” Wolfie asked tentatively, glancing at the people in the room: Byleth, Seteth, Gilbert, Dedue, and most of their original classmates from the Blue Lions House sat around the table.

Byleth pointed to the letter that sat at the center of the round table. “This letter arrived during the night,” she explained, then lingered her gaze on Wolfie’s. “It’s from Hubert.”

“What?!” Wolfram gasped, jumping out of his seat to pick the letter up. “But he’s-”

“Dead, indeed. By my own hand.” Dimitri spoke in a deep voice. “Yet, it seems that he had that letter ready to be sent right as the war ended, though it was misplaced for a full year until it found its way to us.”

Gilbert sighed deeply. “According to the person who brought it, the original carrier was one of his coworkers at the palace. There was only a short letter attached to it, saying to take it to the winner of the war no matter what.”

“I wonder what happened to the person Hubert entrusted the letter to…” Annette fidgeted on her seat. “What if they got caught up in the battle and…” her voice trailed off as the outcome seemed obvious.

Wolfie’s pupils shook as he lowered the letter. “But if what he’s saying here is the truth… We’re on a really tight schedule, right? If this was supposed to be sent one year ago…”

Dimitri sighed beside his husband. “Indeed. We must set out to this Shambhala place with haste.”

“And the children of the goddess mentioned here…” Wolfram glanced at Seteth and Byleth, then back to the letter.

“Yes.” Byleth nodded, making all eyes turn to her. “After the goddess granted me her power, I started recovering her memories little by little, especially in these past few months. If any of you have any questions about this, I’ll probably be able to answer them; but my plan for the church in the future does include this knowledge…”

“It will be a drastic change to what’s been believed up until now, so it will require some time…” Seteth added with a hand on his chin.

“Well, at least that letter found us all in the same place, huh?” Annette tried to lighten up the mood. “If it had arrived any earlier or later, it would’ve taken a long time to gather everyone together again!”

“Annie, we’re here for the royal wedding…” Mercedes nudged her younger friend, giggling when she blushed and hid her face under her hands.

“Ah, um, sorry about that! Not saying that it’s good that we discovered a new enemy during your honeymoon or anything but- I’m-”

“Heehee, it’s okay, Annette! We’re fine.” Wolfram smiled brightly, dispersing some of the strained atmosphere of the room. “Besides, I also think it’s lucky.” He crossed his arms, smiling proudly. “My entire family is here, too, and boy can they fight! My Father’s been itching for a fight since a while ago so I’m sure they’ll all go with us, too.”

“Will that be alright? I wouldn’t want to drag them into another war…” Dimitri looked up with worry, though Wolfie replied by sitting back down and smiling.

“It’s okay. It’ll actually be harder to tell them not to come, nyahaha…”

“Half a dozen dragons fighting by our side… Now I almost pity those who slither in the dark.” Gilbert chuckled darkly. The thought of such a sight sent shivers down everyone’s spines; they couldn’t even fathom the amount of power they had by their side now.

“Well, I don’t.” Wolfram pouted, snapping his finger on top of the letter. “Do you think I should call Mother here? She might not know the whole situation here and stuff, but she is, like, almost three thousand years old…”

Everyone but Byleth and Seteth sputtered. “Three thousand-” a collective voice choked as all eyes turned to Wolfie.

“Ah,” he scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Didn’t I mention?”

They all stared, befuddled, at their King’s consort, with varying degrees of surprise.

Dedue closed his eyes, then was the first one to move. “... I’ll summon her here.”

“Ah, thank you, Dedue.” Dimitri recovered his composure. He had heard from Wolfram that his mother was a kind of ancient being, but he had no idea of HOW ancient she was.

He now felt too humbled to even be in her presence, but that had to wait.

For now, they had a war council to run, a year after the end of the last war.

If what the letter said was true, those who slither in the dark was an ancient organization set upon decimating the children of the goddess and any who worship them. Monica, or rather, Kronya, and Tomas/Solon were known members of it, though the man who went by ‘Thales’, who only Byleth met briefly before Jeralt’s death, had taken the place of an influential person no one ever expected: Volkhard von Arundel, Dimitri’s uncle by marriage.

They had dealt a decisive blow against those who slither in the dark during the past war without realizing, as the letter explained. Hubert even snarked, saying that although the Empire had lost that battle against the Alliance and the Kingdom, they cheered inwardly at the death of such a repugnable being.

“That also may be the reason why there hasn’t been an attack from them in the past year.” Byleth added as they discussed the contents.

“If they were busy regrouping after losing so many key members… It makes sense.” Sylvain pitched in, checking the map attached to the letter. “This place’s right south of Hilda’s territory, isn’t it? Good thing she and Caspar are staying here for the time being, huh?”

“See, I told you!” Annette puffed her cheeks to her former classmate, earning a few chuckles all around even amidst all the tension of the looming threat.

“OH!!!” Wolfram exclaimed out of nowhere. “Oh, oh! Now I remember!” he jumped out of his seat, placing both hands on the table. “I don’t think I told anyone, but during that battle in Derdriu, I felt something strange oozing from the enemies… And then, when we got into Enbarr-”

Dimitri interrupted, with a hand on his chin in thought. “You mentioned that something stank, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah! I felt that there was something familiar about them, but I never made the connection until now. So those were the people infiltrated into the imperial forces… those who slither in the dark.”

“You could smell them?” Felix asked in disbelief, frowning deeply.

Wolfram scratched his nose awkwardly.

“We have better senses than humans,” he said in a small voice, fixing his gaze on the door.

Frowning even more, Felix looked from the consort to the door and, for a moment, nothing happened.

However, soon Dedue opened the door, bringing Nidra with him.

Since she had been brought at such short notice, she wore a veil around her head to hide her ears, though she lifted it once the door closed behind them.

Those inside gawked at the sight of her, now with the knowledge of being in the presence of a being older than time itself.

Blinking, Nidra tilted her head to the side at the strange atmosphere before making her way to Wolfram. “I was told something concerning had happened.”

Wolfie nodded, glancing between Dimitri and Nidra. “Yeah, the truth is…”

Once filled in the details, Nidra took the letter and the map. “This pull I feel… around here,” she pointed to a place near the Monastery: it was Zanado, the Red Canyon, where the former archbishop and strongest of the children of the goddess, Rhea, now resided. “Does it have anything to do with this enemy?”

“Oh, wow! You can feel her from here, Mother? I could only feel it when we arrived at the mountains…”

The classmates exchanged glances around the table, confused. Only Seteth silently gasped in surprise, remembering the talk he and Wolfram had had in his office, over a year ago.

“Aheem, um- yeah she’s on our side, so it’s okay.” Wolfie waved both hands as if to dismiss the topic in a hurry.

“Very well,” Nidra put the map back on the table. “These… enemies, according to this letter, somehow resemble those who once tried to use Lady Tiki in their evil plan to conquer the world. If we had more time, perhaps she would’ve been able to infer her insight on this.”

‘Lady Tiki?!’ the classmates thought at the same time. Was it someone more incredible than the woman who lived almost three millenia standing right in front of them?! They were even afraid to ask.

“I’m afraid my forte is not strategy, as that spot is already taken by a dear friend of mine. However, I will do what I can to help this cause.” Nidra concluded, gracefully sitting down beside Wolfram. “It is, after all, a personal matter now,” she smiled, though the pressure exuding from it made the classmates freeze in their spots.

Perhaps it was true that they should pity their enemies.

_______

It would be for the best not to attract too much attention as they moved, so only a handful of people were aware of the true danger. It would do more harm than good to alert the entire population of a danger that might or might not surface in the near future.

Thus, the newly-married King and his consort set out to the Monastery -- officially, that is -- alongside the Archbishop and her consort, bringing quite a few soldiers as escorts with them.

Hilda sent an express messenger to her brother back at their territory to check if there’s been any activity around that area in the past few months, though nothing in particular popped up.

They weren’t called ‘those who slither in the dark’ for nothing, apparently.

Even in his letter Hubert mused how difficult it had been to pinpoint the whereabouts of Shambhala since they had been very careful with the types of magic they used. He had to follow their lines of supplies through espionage, but that was beside the point.

What mattered was that the headquarters was finally within their grasp, even if it wasn’t during the exact time they were supposed to know about it.

When the former classmates from other houses and the rest of Wolfie’s family had been told about the campaign, their readiness to jump back into battle was inspiring and staggering at the same time.

Even the peace-loving Dorothea immediately jumped into the bandwagon, surprising Wolfram into giving her a big hug.

There was no way of knowing the extent of the enemy forces, so although they left with a considerable number of troops under the guise of an escort, there was no shortage of worry. Even if their leaders had been eliminated, new ones would surely surface, so that wasn’t enough to let their guards down.

According to Byleth, they had been the ones who slaughtered the children of the goddess and made weapons out of their bones and crests stones out of their hearts, not to mention how they had experimented on Lysithea during her childhood or how they had kidnapped Flayn for her blood.

They had to be more careful than ever when dealing with such unscrupulous people.

“Yuck, and I thought no one could out-awful the grimleal.” Cynthia made a sour expression one night after the march. “How’re you feeling, Rammy? Are you okay?”

“Hm… I don’t think I am, actually.” Wolfram confessed as they sat near a random tent. “You know, the first mission I had to go to was… was to deal with something these guys did in a tiny village.” He shivered, holding himself as if to warm his arms from the chill. “It was horrible. I kept thinking about what you and Big Brother told me just so I wouldn’t be a crying mess for weeks.” He leaned on Cynthia’s shoulder as she scooted closer.

“Don’t worry, Rammy. Big Sis here is gonna kick their butts so hard I’ll turn them inside out.” She clenched her fist decidedly. “I’ll probably dust off my dragonstone for this.”

“Whoa, Sis, but what about your pegasus?” Wolfie gasped in surprise.

“Well, my arm in human form isn’t as strong as my,” she mimicked biting the air, “jaws in dragon form.” She grinned. “And I’m ready to fill my belly with baddies.”

“W-wait, what if they give you indigestion!” Wolfie finally laughed, making Cynthia sag her shoulders in relief.

“No amount of baddies could make MY belly upset! Not the greatest hero that ever lived, Cynthia, the pegasus-riding dragon!” She struck a pose, receiving applause from a giggling Wolfie.

Content, the big sister patted her younger brother’s head.

_____

Despite being cheered up by Cynthia, Wolfie still worried as they marched, to the point that he was unable to sleep sometimes.

Dimitri, as one with a light sleep, noticed when his husband tossed and turned in bed. “Wolfram…”

“Ah, did I wake you? I’m sorry, Dimitri.” Wolfie slapped both hands over his mouth. “I’m just so nervous about it all,” he scooted closer, hiding in Dimitri’s embrace. “I keep remembering Remire village…”

Dimitri softly hugged his husband back, digging his face into his thin neck. “Indeed, that was a terrible experience for me as well, at the time. But we will put an end to all of that suffering, now once and for all.”

“Put an end to the suffering…” Wolfie mused. “I hadn’t thought about that. I was so focused on all the evil they did and how strong they must be, I wasn’t looking ahead!”

Chuckling, Dimitri kissed Wolfram’s forehead. “To think the student would become the teacher,” he smiled. “You were the one who taught me to think of the good I could make, so I’ve been taking it to heart.”

“Mhm,” Wolfie grinned, feeling pride well up inside his chest. “Thanks for reminding me of it, Dimitri. I think I can finally have a good night’s sleep, thinking of the good we can do.”

“That’s good.” Dimitri nodded, bringing Wolfie closer into his arms. “The weather gets warmer the further we get from Faerghus, but…”

“Of course, I’m not trading your hugs for anything, not even if it’s too hot!” Wolfie giggled, rubbing his face on his husband’s strong chest.

Under loving giggles and soft embraces, the rulers of the Unified Fódlan fell asleep in one another’s arms on the eve of their arrival.

_____

The entrance to Shambhala was within a mountain, under many strange and familiar contraptions -- they resembled those who lifted them downwards to the Holy Tomb. The air was still and hard to breathe the deeper they went, but under the eerie lights embedded on the walls and the constant flow of dark mages, there could be no doubt about it: they really were in the heart of the enemy.

Byleth took the charge as she had always had, though this time her Sword of the Creator shone brighter than ever, ready to soak up all the blood its owner had spilled to create it. There were Demonic Beasts and Titanuses blocking their path left and right, but with the collective might of mages and dragons, they, too, fell like dominoes to the Kingdom’s might.

There were many traps to be disarmed as they swooped in, some that they had never seen the power of -- like the Javelins of Light, that had decimated Zanado a millenia ago. Though they all equally fell to the Kingdom army due the incompetence of the organization's new leaders.

Once they descended some dozen floors, never stopping with killing everything in sight, they arrived at a room with oval compartments around the walls.

There were eleven of them, with the biggest one menacingly standing in the middle.

Cautious, Byleth asked Yuri and Ashe to approach, as the stealthiest ones in the team, but the moment they took the first step into the room, smoke rose up from the tubes connecting to the compartments.

“Archwind!” Henry shouted immediately, dissipating the dangerous-looking smoke into nothing.

It revealed that the doors to the compartments opened upwards, one by one, revealing dead-looking people inside.

They were grey as ash and the putrid smell that filled the room told the army that something that defiled even Death stood in front of them.

“Seiros…” the man in the middle, who towered over even Dedue at almost 3 meters tall, grunted in a guttural, animal-like voice. He took a whip-looking thing from his waist, immediately whipping it ahead -- straight in Byleth’s direction.

She blocked it with her Sword of the Creator, noticing that that was no whip: it looked exactly like her sword, though it was bathed in black.

“You’re…” she widened her eyes in surprise. “Nemesis!”

“What?!” the army gasped in surprise behind the Professor.

“Then those ten are…” Dimitri’s words trailed off as the 10 Elites each brandished a shadow copy of their original Relics. “Quick, to arms! Do not let them gather their strength!”

“I’ll keep Nemesis occupied! Defeat the others!” Byleth rushed ahead.

Although the room was enormous, it didn’t fit all of the units they had brought, especially not the draconic ones in their original forms. Due to that, Wolfie’s family had to fight in their human forms, though they were no weaker than before -- Nidra especially, who had perfect control over her dragonstone to allow it to give her the strength equivalent to her dragonic form without completely transforming. She fought with her fists.

By her side, Henry cackled maniacally, loving that new side of his wife.

The battle against the revived 10 Elites was over embarrassingly fast, though no one dared to mention it aloud. Perhaps it was because they had just been resurrected, or just because the Kingdom army was just that strong.

One thing was for certain: the moment the last of the ten fell, Byleth’s sword managed to wound and then kill Nemesis, as if he had been protected by magic that connected all of them to him.

“Humph,” Byleth whipped her sword back into its original shape. “It was good that we were informed of this place when we did. I think those who slither in the dark wouldn’t unleash this threat until this age was over, so we managed to protect future generations.”

“We saved the future of not only one, but TWO worlds!” Cynthia threw her elbows back in a pose. “Now I can rub that in Owain’s face, mwahaha…!”

No one truly heard, or simply ignored, her words as they all came to terms with the victory.

“Was this the last floor? Did we really do it?” Someone asked.

“I can’t believe there was so much hidden underground,” another person mused, though, by far, the most common reaction was a shout to the sky.

“We won!!!” They cheered.

It was a mission that ended as quickly as it arrived, though it was by no means easy on their hearts. To be thrown into another war right after being able to stand after the last one made the soldiers’ hearts waver.

Yet, now it was all over.

“I’ll have to make sure there weren’t more of these around the land,” Byleth mused to herself as Seteth wiped the blood out of her face with the worry of a very concerned husband.

“That this place existed at all is already unimaginable enough… But true, we shouldn’t overlook that possibility.”

On the other side of the room, Wolfie hugged all of his family and his husband in turns. “We did it!! Thank you so much, everyone! I don’t think we could’ve ended this so fast without you.”

“Of course you couldn’t! Not without the duo heroes, Cynthia!” Both Cyn and Cynthia struck an ‘x’ pose as petals magically exploded behind them.

“Nyahaha…” a glint shone in Henry’s eyes as he helped flaunter his daughters’ antics.

His heart full, Wolfram’s nose itched with tears. “Thank you so much, really, thank you… Now we can truly, finally be at peace.”

Dimitri slid one hand to Wolfie’s waist. “Indeed. Your help was invaluable, mother-in-law, father-in-law.” He bowed.

“Wow! This makes me feel so old!” Henry giggled, waving his hand to Dimitri’s bow. “It’s fine, I’ve been wanting to spill some blood for a while… hey, be sure to call on me if you need something killed, alright? There’s not much fun- aack, owowow, Ni-Ni!”

Pulling her husband’s ear, Nidra sighed. “Pay him no mind, Dimitri.”

Dimitri blinked, then laughed as warmth enveloped his chest.

It would take a bit of getting used to to finally accept that he now had a family -- and a really big and diverse one at that.

Yet, whenever he held Wolfram’s hands in his, he couldn’t help but accept that reality readily. Truly, only bright days waited ahead of them.

The party dissolved little by little as they returned home.

Hilda and Caspar stayed at the former Alliance to visit her home and tell them the good news of their victory. There was also another set of good news that would visit them in a few weeks’ time, the first of many, many new members of their little family.

Dorothea returned to Enbarr to be with her husband, Ferdinand, and help him rule over his domain. She brought him the news of what Thales had done as Arundel in the Wrym territory, and the both of them wondered if they had ever met the real Arundel at some point in their lives or if those who slither in the dark had truly been infiltrated so deep into the Empire for that long.

Byleth and Seteth headed back to the Monastery, though first they stopped by Zanado to tell Rhea of everything that had happened. They didn’t call on her before since she was still recuperating after five years of torture at the only place she had called home since ancient times, but now that Nemesis had been defeated once and for all, she deserved to know the truth. Rhea weeped for her mother and brethren for the first time in centuries, somehow managing to let go of a lot of resentment and attachments, which stabilized her aura considerably.

Now, Nidra wouldn’t be able to sense her from Faerghus like before.

As the new Archbishop, Byleth would spread the truth of what actually happened at the creation of the Church of Seiros, though she would be doing that over the centuries with Seteth by her side.

Dedue and Mercedes finally went on their trip to Duscur, though Dimitri said that if they wanted to take permanent residence there, he would do his utmost to bring the land back to fruition. Dedue was conflicted at first, since he wanted to serve Dimitri for the rest of his life, but the prospect of rebuilding his land beside the one he loved moved his heart like never before. Besides, it was only a week of travel between Duscur and Fhirdiad, so they could see each other any time.

Cyn and Ingrid established a new Pegasus Order in Fódlan, based on the one from Ylisse. Even though Cyn’s pegasus looked different from the others, it was by no means weaker or slower, so it was easily accepted into the group at the barn.

Claude, now crowned King of Almyra, would sometimes visit Fhirdiad in diplomatic missions, so his promise with Wolfie was fulfilled now that they could meet whenever they wanted. As Cyn was Wolfie’s personal guard, she and Claude saw a lot of each other whenever he visited, and there were some glances…

Cynthia, Meliodas and their spouses moved into their family’s castle, bringing new life into it even after Wolfie and Cyn’s departure.

Surprisingly, the one who visited the most was Henry and not Nidra, though he liked to study Fódlan’s magic more often than not -- it was said that the innate magic he learned could decimate a few dozen armies, though that wasn’t put to practice. … Yet, anyway.

Nidra learned how to braid her hair around her ears from Dorothea, so now she didn’t need to walk around with the veil anymore. She divided her time between visiting Robin in her detached palace and Wolfie in his, so she was by no means staying still, though she still relished in taking naps under the oak tree in the garden.

Wolfram and Dimitri, years later, would decide to adopt a child to be the heir to the throne, though first and foremost they would treat him like their own son before he was to be the next king.

Family was, after all, everything that mattered.

Now, and forever.

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

[dreamlover31]

Broken Promises

Hello my dearies, thank you for all of your comments and support throughout this comeback of mine lol

And now here's the third and final installment of my mini drama...my apologies since this took me a while to post this

Tagging: @madpanda75 @dreila03 @laceybellerain @melsquared79 @southern-magnolia @glimmerglittergirl @xemopeachx @misssirenlove @tropes-and-tales @thatesqcrush @sweetsummertime99 @imjustreallynosy @amirightcounselor @rampantmuses​ @youreverycolor​

Two pink lines...what should have been caused for great joy, instead has brought upon nothing but anguish and despair. After the incident at the apartment, you had packed up your belongings and moved into your sister’s place in Soho; leaving behind the man who had all but decimated your heart. Though the time was brief, being held hostage by your fiance’s mistress was a real wake up call, the wool that had been pulled over your eyes that day; and it revealed a very ugly truth, that Rafael Barba was nothing more than a vile creature who had taken your love for granted and threw it back in your face, however, when you revealed the pregnancy it was merely a ploy to get Sophie to drop her guard so that he could take the opportunity to take her out of the equation.

A few days after the incident, you had started feeling nauseous and had some weird cravings for pickles and garlic knots, and that was when the gears turned in your head; so one day when your sister was at work, you trekked down to the bodega down the street from her apartment where you had purchased 3 different types of pregnancy tests. Upon your return, you anxiously awaited the results as you sat on the edge of the tub, after a few minutes, you peered down at the stick and your heart dropped.

Later that day, your sister Rebecca returned home from work where she found you on the couch curled up in a blanket; eyes shrink wrapped in tears. She set her things on the coffee table and wrapped an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder soothingly until your tears had subsided and that was when you revealed the reason for your distress.

Meanwhile, Rafael painstakingly went about his life, despite protests from Liv and the others, in his mind it made sense to keep himself busy, that way he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality that he had lost the love of his life...and her confession of becoming an expectant mother. After the Sophie fiasco, Rafael was desperately trying to contact Charlotte, he had lost track of the many phone calls and text messages he sent her; although he couldn’t blame her...he had violated her trust in an unforgivable manner and as much as he wanted to just make everything that happened disappear, there was no way that he could reclaim the life he once had.

Rafael was sitting in his office reviewing one of his case files when his phone beeped, his emerald irises widened when he saw the message… it was the last person he expected to hear from...Charlotte.

We need to talk...meet me at the coffee shop down the street from my OB’s office

Alright...I’m on my way

Charlotte scheduled an appointment with her doctor once she had time to collect her thoughts, as she was sitting on top of the examination table, her mind drifted back to the conversation she had with Rebecca the night before...as hard as it would be, if it turned out that she was indeed pregnant, she would have to notify Rafael. At that moment, her doctor entered the room with the test results in hand, with a soft smile, she confirmed what Charlotte already knew and now it was time to have an unpleasant conversation with the man who betrayed her; as she exited the building, Charlotte texted Rafael and began making her way to the coffee shop. The front door chimed as Rafael stepped inside the establishment, his eyes scanned the enclosure for Charlotte until he saw her in the back corner, slowly, he padded towards the table where she had a coffee already waiting for him. They barely looked at one another as the world around them continued to function in its normal capacity, the tension surrounding them was so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Charlotte lightly tapped her fingers on the container housing her chamomile tea as she thought of the best way to approach the subject...finally, it was Rafael who ultimately broke the awkward silence.

“I would ask how you are doing but…”

“Then don’t” Charlotte snapped all the while maintaining her composure without breaking down into tears again, she breathed through her nose and exhaled a deep breath then blurted out:

“It’s official...I’m pregnant and your the father”

Rafael blinked as he took a moment to process the huge bombshell that was just dropped on him, although he had his suspicions, receiving actual confirmation made everything all the more real. While his first instincts were to reach out and hold Charlotte’s hand and comfort her, he knew that she would rebuff his advances, with a heavy sigh, he continued:

“Charlotte...I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make up for everything that has happened, but I just want you to know that whatever you decide...I will respect your wishes”

Charlotte replied, "Well look at you...the great Rafael Barba playing the martyr"

The venom in her voice caused Rafael to inwardly cringe while on the outside his face took on a wounded appearance.

Charlotte sighed, "I'm sorry Rafael...that was unfair of me"

"It was well deserved believe me"

She looked out the window for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts while Rafael looked on, carefully gauging her mood. Finally, she spoke:

“Look...I don’t know where we go from here...all I know is that I do want you to be a part of our child’s life and we’ll figure it out as we go along with regards to visitation and support”

Her words were like a dagger to Rafael’s heart, granted that she was willing to let him see their child, a part of him hoped that she would consider the possibility of raising their little bundle of joy together; and yet the more realistic side of him understood that once a trust has been breached, it could take a long time to rebuild or worst case scenario, one can never regain that trust. He frowned but nodded his head in agreement, upon exiting the coffee shop, they both decided that Charlotte would update Rafael on the baby’s development and went their separate ways.

6 months later…

Charlotte stares idly at the monitor as the doctor ran the ultrasound wand along her abdomen, waiting to catch a glimpse of the tiny life growing inside her, today was the day that she would find out the gender of her baby. The doctor adjusted the image on the screen to where a little grey jelly bean came into view, as she pointed out how the baby was developing on schedule, Charlotte became overwhelmed with emotion; tears began to prick in her eyes as she sniffled. 

“Charlotte..are you ready to know what you are having”

“Yes, please”

The doctor clicked a few more buttons and a more clearer picture came into focus

“Congratulations Charlotte...you’re having a healthy baby girl”

The floodgates opened as tears streamed down her face, the amount of joy and love that she felt for the tiny human being inside her was astounding; at that point the doctor excused herself so she could print out the ultrasound pictures. During this moment of solitude, Charlotte’s happiness was quickly foreshadowed by the fact that this beautiful child was created out of the love that she once shared with Rafael, the man that she was set to wed before it was revealed that he had been unfaithful to her but as much as she wanted to hate him for the rest of her life...there was a part of her that still loved him and missed him very much. She quickly wiped her eyes as the doctor re-entered the room, she was handed the ultrasound pictures before gathering her belongings and leaving the examination room. She was then escorted down the hall to the reception desk, as she was finishing up with the receptionist, a familiar figure was sitting patiently in the waiting room. Upon entering, Charlotte was greeted with a smiling tall, sandy haired gentleman.

“You ready to go Charlotte”

“Ready when you are Sonny”

Sonny smiled as the two of them made their way out of the building, he helped her into his car that was parked along the sidewalk and as soon as he was in the driver’s seat; he started the ignition and drove off. A few months prior, Sonny had ran into you while grocery shopping at the local market, the two of you exchanged pleasantries and even agreed to meet up for lunch later on that week and ever since then, Sonny was like a Godsend. Whenever you were feeling overwhelmed or you just needed someone to talk to, he would always be there. He even invited you over to his place a couple of times where he would share with you the many culinary delights from mama Carisi and cuddle up on the couch and binge watched on various movies involving tragic romances. Sonny meandered down the streets of downtown Manhattan while Charlotte looked out the passenger window watching the buildings pass by, her mind a jumbled mess with everything that has happened, she finds herself in one hell of a moral dilemma. It was almost as if Sonny could read her mind because when they came to traffic light, he looked over to her and asked:

“Is everything ok?”

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte replied, “I don’t know Sonny...how can you miss someone who dismantled everything you once knew to be true...who you gave your heart and soul to, only to have it torn apart…”

He frowned as he put the car in gear and continued driving towards her apartment, “I know what Barba did was inexcusable…but I’ve seen him in the office and he puts up a good front but deep down I know he misses you terribly and would give his soul to be with you again”

Charlotte smiled softly, knowing that Rafael still cared for her brought some comfort, but the underlying question was that if she reunited with Rafael...how does she know that she can trust him again. The car came to a stop outside her apartment building, and they began their ascent up the elevator then as they reached her floor, they strolled down the hall towards her door; Charlotte settled down on the couch while Carisi prepared dinner. The aroma of cooked pasta and oregano filled the room, after chowing down on their exquisite feast, Charlotte and Carisi planted themselves on the couch and browsed through Netflix until they decided on a romantic comedy with Jude Law and Julia Roberts. 

They were well into the movie when there was a knock at the door, Sonny got up and looked through the peephole and then opened the door a crack where in his line of sight he was welcomed by  his colleague in a three piece suit; the well rounded and sassy ADA known as Rafael Barba. The two men nodded at one another upon entry, Charlotte carefully sat up and stood in the middle of the living room, there was a moment of awkward silence before Sonny spoke:

“Well I’m going to run down to the store real quick, we ran out of milk”

And with that, Sonny grabbed his coat and left, Rafael and Charlotte looked at each other with weariness in each other’s eyes, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rafael broke the ice:

“How are you feeling?”

“For the most part, I feel tired and gross”

Rafael snorted, “If you don’t mind me saying...I think you are still the most beautiful woman to ever walk this Earth”

Charlotte blushed at his words, she forgot that he could be pretty charming when he wanted to be, she fiddled with her fingers as she sat back down on the couch. Rafael soon joined her but kept his distance.

“Listen...the reason I came over was to tell you that I’m happy for you and Carisi”

Charlotte furrowed her brows, “Excuse me”

“He’s a good man...and I know that he’ll take care of you the way you deserve to be...and I think we can make this whole co-parenting situation work as long as there is an open communication with one another”

Charlotte grinned and began giggling, at the same time, Rafael looked on with puzzlement.

“Did I miss something?”

Once she sobered up, she replied, “Rafael...I’m not dating Sonny, we’re just friends”

“But everyone at the precinct has been saying how close you both have gotten and that it was only a matter of time before…”

“Look Rafael...these last six months have been hard and as much as I want to hate you with every fiber of my being, I’ve come to realize that I still love you and I miss you so much”

Rafael gazed upon Charlotte’s face, slowly he brought up his hand and cradled her face, his thumb caressed her cheek as she leaned into his touch. He pulled himself closer to her until their faces were inches apart, he gave her a hesitant kiss on her lips but from there it gained momentum. All those months apart, the longing and need spilled out into the fiery, passionate kisses but then they reluctantly broke the kiss in need for air; their eyes connected for a brief moment until Rafael spoke again:

“I love you Charlotte...and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you...if you’ll have me”

Charlotte desperately wanted to believe him, and while she was unsure as to what the future held for them, all she knew was that she couldn't imagine a life without Rafael in it.

“We have some work to do, but I am willing to give us another try”

[buzzdixonwriter]

COMPARE & CONTRAST: Birth Of A Nation vs Gone With The Wind vs The General

TRIGGER WARNING:   Talking about race in American culture and movies, so some readers may want to brace themselves (looking at you, wypipo).

. . .

Confining “classic films” to movies that: Demonstrate technical expertise, and Influenced other films and creators

-- we have three (and only three) movies about the American Civil War we can safely put in the classic bin.

Before we go further, let’s restate the obvious: A film’s impact in the medium of motion pictures is separate from its impact on the culture as a whole.

Case in point: Leni Riefenstahl’s The Triumph Of The Will is a perfect textbook example of how to stage massive crowd scenes for maximum visual impact, and how to promote individuals and ideas in purely cinematic terms.

It also contributed mightily to the Nazis’ rise to power, their subsequent wars of conquest, and the deaths directly and indirectly of tens of millions of human beings.

It’s important to know The Triumph Of The Will exists and why it’s important in film and cultural and political history, but you need never subject yourself to its vile hate mongering.

With that in mind, let us proceed.

. . . 

Here are the three bona fide classic movies about the American Civil War:

The Birth Of A Nation (1915)

Gone With The Wind (1939) 

The General (1926)

They are all problematic for the same reason: They embrace the “lost cause” myth of Southern white supremacists.

The Birth Of A Nation is by far the worst offender of the trio, helping to restart the Ku Klux Klan and promulgate jim crow for decades to come.

Director D.W. Griffith was a Southern boy, Kentucky born with a father who served as a colonel in the Confederate army (Kentucky, a border slave state, tried to stay neutral at the beginning of the Civil War, then leaned heavily towards secession, but by 1862 threw its lot in with the Union).

Griffith bought into the lost cause myth heavily, and The Birth Of A Nation explicitly states African-Americans are fit only for slavery, becoming a murderous / rapacious mob once freed, and the Ku Klux Klan were gallant heroes attempting to turn this tide.

Griffith tries to have it both ways, depicting Abraham Lincoln as a thoughtful and compassionate leader who would have treated the South better had he survived (ignoring the fact Andrew Johnson did everything in his power to prevent the Union from holding the South accountable, and that Lincoln’s assassin was a Southerner who killed him in revenge after the war ended).

There can be no denying Griffith’s enormous talents as a film maker (again, separating thematic content from the technical expertise).  While the Hollywood publicity machine was quick to claim The Birth Of A Nation was the first feature length film (i.e., 65 minutes or more), the truth is the Australians, the Chinese, the English, the French, the Italians, the Japanese, and the Russians all made feature films long before Griffith, and Griffith wasn’t even the first American to make a feature but was preceded by at least a half a dozen other film makers.

What Griffith was, however, was a master synthesis of all the techniques that preceded him.  Griffith made movies better than anyone else of his era, and his best films are still eminently watchable to this day.

That’s what makes The Birth Of A Nation so harmful and destructive:  Like the Riefenstahl film, it seduced common audiences into complacency while stirring the worst people to action.

It’s a film whose final cost is not measured in dollars but in innocent blood and tears.

Griffith wasn’t stupid, and while he might have felt personally immune to the criticism of his racist attitudes, he was savvy enough to recognize publicly embracing them would not serve his career well.  He followed The Birth Of A Nation with Intolerance, an epic that jumps around in its story lines like a Tarantino film, and in later movies displayed a far gentler albeit still patronizing attitude towards African-Americans.

But the damage was done, the lost cause myth cemented into not just the Southern psyche but white America in general.

Like The Triumph Of The Will, I would never recommend The Birth Of A Nation as a “must see” film to anyone.  If you’re a film historian and you want to subject yourself to this cancer, that’s your choice, but if you’re a student of film there’s nothing Griffith did technically or artistically in this movie that he didn’t do better in his later efforts, and other film makers have since emulated his innovations and built upon them.

. . . 

For many decades Gone With The Wind was celebrated as the pinnacle of American film making, but once the romantic blinders were removed we see it for what it is:  An over long, over blown epic that promulgates what we now recognize as white supremacy, classism, and rape culture.

And while it uses every technical trick in the book, it doesn’t use them as well as Orson Welles did a year later with Citizen Kane.

Gone With The Wind is really two movies:  A well made Civil War epic and its lackluster Reconstruction sequel.

They should have ended the movie with “As God is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again!”  (Seriously.  The only two memorable scenes in the second half other than “I don’t give a damn” both center around Scarlett O’Hara’s dresses.)

Again, let’s emphasize that a technically well made movie does not excuse bad intentions in thematic content.

Gone With The Wind is a rip-roaring bodice-ripping historical novel, admittedly well research and well written by Margaret Mitchell.

She isn’t necessarily writing from a conscious desire to spread the message of white supremacy, but as a Southern gal who grew up in the midst of the lost cause myth, she ends up breathing that message into every line of the book.

The movie version can’t escape that, nor does it try to.  There’s a brief scene early on where both Mitchell and the later film makers prefigure the lost cause myth where Rhett Butler explains to the good ol’ boys at the Tara cotillion that they’re about to be brutally decimated by the Union in a war of attrition, but both author and film makers side with the good ol’ boys and support their God given right to throw away their lives and destroy their homes in an attempt to keep enslaving millions of innocent people.

That last part in bold never gets mentioned, does it?  As others have observed, Gone With The Wind isn’t antagonistic towards African-Americans, rather it treats them as if they don’t exist other that walking / talking props among the scenery.

In that regard, Gone With The Wind is on par with The Fountainhead or Atlas Shrugged (only with a far superior writing style).  The protagonists of all three books are narcissistic sociopaths who will lie / cheat / steal / blow up buildings because the common folk -- the people who actually put in the grunt labor to make things work -- are nothing but slaves there for the elites’ entitlements, and God (or market forces, take your pick) help them if they ever raise their heads or voices -- much less their hands -- in protest.

Oh, but doesn’t it look gorgeous?  As those beautiful rich Technicolor gowns and sets and matte paintings.  All those balls and dances.  All those smoldering looks.  All those flames as Atlanta burns…

There’s the true hero of the story:  William Tecumseh Sherman.  The mofo cut the Confederacy in half, destroying lines of supply and communication, obliterating any rebels who dared to stand up to him, shortening the war by several months, and freeing tens of thousands of enslaved people in the process.

None of which would have been necessary if a few greedy bastards such as the O’Haras had lived Christian enough lives to say, “Y’know, maybe the way we’re treating these people is wrong…”

Gone With The Wind proved insanely popular, on a scale with The Birth Of A Nation a generation earlier, and once again it made it easier for mainstream middle American whites to turn a blind eye to injustices still being perpetuated on African-Americans of that day.  

And it kept playing again and again, one of the very few non-Disney movies to enjoy a substantial re-release schedule, popping up about once every seven years in theaters until the arrival of first cable then VHS.

And it’s still popular, still a steady seller in DVD and BluRay.

That’s in no small part to the skill of both Mitchell and the film makers in hiding the most egregiously problematic elements of the story under a think patina of romanticism.  It became a cultural touchstone that everyone knew and everyone could reference, from political cartoons to Carol Burnett skits.

But it’s still racist and white supremacist, saying African-Americans exist only to serve whites.

It’s still classist, saying not all whites are worthy of what the upper class hogs for itself.

It’s still about rape culture, saying all Scarlett needed was one good rape by Rhett Butler to set her straight.

Is it a product of its era?

Absolutely. The same way over the counter heroin at your friendly neighborhood drug store was a product of its era.  The same way cocaine laced Coca-Cola was a product of its era.

Just because it wasn’t recognized as a bad idea then means we should still circulate it now.

Compared to The Birth Of A Nation, Gone With The Wind is a far less hate filled work, and one that inspires less immediate harm.

It has inspired harm over several generations by making it easy to overlook the real harm it represents in favor of a romantic antebellum fantasy.

If someone wants to see a film that represents the Hollywood studio system at the height of its creative power, I’d recommend Casablanca or The Wizard Of Oz.

I’d put Gone With The Wind way down on that list, and I’d caution it with caveats, but I would say it represents a good example of the old Hollywood system firing on all eight cylinders.

At least for the first half of the film.

. . . 

In most ways, Buster Keaton’s The General is the least problematic of these three films.

In another, it’s as bad as Gone With The Wind.

The good thing about The General is that modern audiences can easily enjoy it.

Buster Keaton chasing after a stolen steam locomotive?  What’s not to love?

It’s one of his best comedies and if it’s not the very best, I’d hate to live on the difference.

It certainly lacks the overt racism of The Birth Of A Nation. 

In fact, it almost lacks any race at all.

And ironically, that’s what makes it a problem.

In researching this post, I re-watched The General, something I wasn’t willing to do for The Birth Of A Nation or Gone With The Wind.

I re-watched it looking for African-American faces anywhere in the film.

I think I found four.

Two porters lugging a trunk in an early scene at a train station, possibly two small children with their backs turned to the camera at the edge of a crowd about ten minutes later.

That’s it.

In a movie about one of the most crucial events in American history, an event entirely predicated on the issue of the enslavement of millions of African-Americans…that’s it.

Four faces.

Total screen time: Less than a minute.

If critics can justifiably lambast Gone With The Wind for sailing over the bloodied backs of millions of enslaved African-Americans to focus on the luxury liner S.S. Scarlett O’Hara, what can they say about a Civil War movie that almost succeeds in eradicating those enslaved humans from the story?

Paradoxically, this makes The General the safest of these movies to show an unsuspecting audience.

The Civil War is boiled down to the dark uniform army fighting the light uniform army; why they were fighting is never explored in detail.

But the lost cause myth was so prevalent at that point that Keaton and company didn’t need to discuss the causes of the war.

Audiences – even those completely ignorant of U.S. history -- automatically assume the light uniform army are the good guys simply because Buster is on their side.

Buster would never do anything bad, would he?

Of course not!

And so -- =poof!= -- millions of people erased from history.

Top that, Thanos.

To be honest, I don’t know how a modern audience should react to that, in particular an African-American audience.

Disappointment at being culturally short changed again?

Relief at being spared the most egregious stereotyping and white supremacy apologies?

Or just plain enjoy Buster chasing after a stolen locomotive?

The General’s cultural weightlessness helps it become a great film.

It’s a purely cinematic endeavor, with the intertitles used primarily to explain the spies’ and military leaders’ plans and motives, not tell us what Buster is thinking and doing.

For a guy called “the great stone face” Buster could be awfully expressive with his body language, and he needs title cards the least of all the performers in this movie

. . .

So where does that leave us, as a 21st century audience in a 21st century culture?

We can neither deny nor ignore the impact of these three films.  Even The Birth Of A Nation, as vile and as hateful as it is, influenced the country and the countries attitudes for a century.

Gone With The Wind feels like something we’ve outgrown, something some audience members can look back on with fondness, but not anything we can fully embrace again.

The General can still make us laugh, and in this case the sin of omission seems far less than the others’ sins of commission.

Learn from the past.

Do better in the future.

    © Buzz Dixon

[popculturebuffet]

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 3: Imperial (NXM #121-126)

To me all you happy people! And welcome back to my X-Citing look at Morrison’s Masterwork on Marvel’s Merry Mutants!  Part One is HERE, Part Two is HERE if you feel like it. 

If not... to catch you up on last time....

All Caught up? Good. Join me under the cut as our heroes head into this old woman’s hedd to see what’s wrong and fight off an alien army while horribly ill. 

Silent, Psychic Rescue in Process:

So we pick up not long after we left off: Thanks to Beast waking up from his bat induced coma, the X-Men now know Charles is trapped in Cassandra’s body and she pulled a Freaky Friday on him, with marginally less bullets. 

And thus we get this issue. This one was part of Nuff Said, an incredibly clever theme month by Marvel and one I wish they’d try and do again at some point in some form. 

The gimmick was simple but amazing: Every issue would be mostly silent, with at most some dialouge at the start and finish to bookend it. So far i’ve only read two issues of this, this one and the X-Statix one, but it is a genuinely great idea. I do think forcing it on the entire line was a bit much, but as I said I do wish they’d do this again just make it optional: have some books opt in or do some annuals with the theme. It’s just a fun break from the usual and with this issue resulted in one of the best single issues of x-men period. 

Naturally given the name, which is cleverly displayed on a sign the x-men have because of course they do, it’s exaclty that: Emma and Jean after readying themselves (Jean kisses Scott goodbye and Emma downs a bottle of jack because why not do an alchol before doing delecate mental surgery), head in. 

Inside they find horrific old lady head doors, stone ol dlady heads around a tower that shoot lasers, and said doors also bite and puke weird goop because it’s Grant Morrison. This is his chance to just go full balls out weird.. and given last time involved skin flake golemns.. and this isn’t even the weirdest he’s done. As mentioned last time he once had a supervillian run for president using a super LSD Bike that made everyone high. 

And just to prove he can reach that level of weirndess we find charles alone, naked and with an overenlarged brain.. before he transitions Jean to a field of sperm. 

Yeah... but this DOES have a point.. as it turns out it’s a meaphorical transition into his gestation as a baby.. and how he had a twin. Yeah turns out Cassandra was not lying he did try to kill her.. but as you can probably tell by the fact she’s a genocidal sociopath, she lied by omission to screw with Hank: In the womb she tried strangling Charles to death with his own umbilical cord..only for him to use baby’s first psonic blast to send her reeling and his mom tumbling down the stairs and well.. you can probably guess the rest. Yeah.. Cassandra’s entire origin story is concentrated 

And I love it. The sheer audacity is nice and everything but what makes it really work for me is the simple concept: An evil version of charles, one almost born at the same time whose every bit as evil as he is good.. granted there’s a TON of Morally Grey in Charles Xavier ESPECIALLY post decimation and even more so now with Krakoa. But he’s sitll at his heart a well meaning person, while Cassandra at her heart is a racist genocidal nightmare. She is pure evil, with enough personality to not make her boring.. and more importanlty all the power charles has but NONE of his restraint. Part of what makes Charles noble is he only uses his powers when necessary. Cassandra.. has no such restraint and will happily mentally snap necks all day. 

So with this our heroine’s leave and we end on the iconic line “Professor Xavier killed his twin sister in the womb. We Really ought to talk. 

This issue is an utter classic. It finally explains Cassandra a bit while still leaving a ton of questions, Frank Quitely is at his best here, and he and morrison are incrediby good at non verbal storyteling. The result is surreal, unsettling and awesome. Check it out. Seriously seek this one out it’s worth the trip. It’s so famous it was homaged with a spirtual sequel in the recent Giant Size X-Men one shots. It’s excellent stuff

Imperial:

So with our first issue we open with things going terrible on that flag ship Cassandra took off on with Lilandra, empress of the Shiar and Xavier’s space wife. She’s revealed herself, is ravaging the ship and mind rapes a the helmsman into crashing it, so with no other options Lilandra sends Smasher, not the one from the avengers run earlier version, to earth to send a warning to the X-Men. 

At the School things are actually going well for a second. In an intresting move the school is changing things up with no officla timetable.. which I think means there’s no rigid class schedule and you can just do them as you please or as necessary for your power. The plan’s the same, they just want to learn from each other in building mutant society and the future. It’s ideas like this that are the bedrock of the current run and were sadly never fully realized here.. but I don’t blame this run for that. Morrison had 2-3 years and it was cut short early, leading to a rather disapointing ending we’ll get to. They never had a chance to really dig in because they were kicked out by morons and then their whole grand design was undone until Hickman un-undid it in 2019. And even then some of this like the idea of mutant culture and what not hasn’t been picked up on yet. I do mean YET, as given the sheer NUMBER of x books touching on all sorts of subjects, it’s only a matter of if not when. 

As for who’s behind this it’s a combination of Jean and Charles: Jean is using charles notes and is going at full tilt. Scott is concerned though.. both about her since she went Phoenix and Logan told him about it and because these plans may alarm the humans. ON the former Jean just brushes him off which is not right.. given what happened with the phoenix force copy of jean, which granted had her personality, memories and powers and Jean later got a set of her memories so it might as well of been and only MAYBE the genocide is something Jean wouldn’t of done under the same circumstances, he’s understandably concerned. He lost her to it last time and it did weird shit to poor Rachel, who hif you don’t know is their daughter from an alternate timeline... because the Summer’s family tree is a WAKING NIGHTMARE. Thankfully I don’t have to untangle it because there’s a handy chart right here to do it for me that was recently released in X-Men Legends, a new series featuring legendary x creators telling stories in the cracks... and given we’re getitng storys by the simosons and peter motherfucking david, yeah good stuff.

And why yes there are more than one clone in this tree and several alternate timelines. , not to mention several clones and a sexy cat lady, it’s complicated is understnading it and i’m not sure what properly states it honestly. Also if your wondering about Adam there he’s the genetic son of Cyclops mom and the ma Shiar empreror who killed her for not sleeping with him through. Again it’s complicate REALLY feels like understatement. 

Point is he DOES have a right to be worried about the thing that lead to her being cocooned for a while and left their daughter in the future at the time of this... just in case you needed a reminder after that wonderful clusterfuck of a chart up above athe x-men are really fucking weird. 

So Jean brushing that off is not okay. She does however call him out on the second one and rightfully so: This isn’t some dominate the humans manifesto: this is simply changing the course of the future and how they teach their students to create a better one instead of adhering to human norms to try and appease “the republicans’, as jean puts it.. which has only gotten MORE RELEVANT, 20 years on: Attempts to appease the norms of society and things “just because that’s how it’s been” have never been a good thing. It’s why the very writer of this comic took several decades to properly identify themselves as non binary because people were too stuck int heir ways to try and see if there really were just two genders. Fighting against the grain, finding new ways to express things that have always been there... it’s what humanity needs to do and certainly what comes after us would need to do. i’ts how we get better as a race. If something’s not working we change it, quickly or slowly. And given Scott’s huge amount of emotoinal repression lately.. I can see why she’d see the former complaint as just him being a dick as opposed to the genuine concern it is. 

Short Version: Jean Grey is fucking awesome and while he’d be the last to write her for decades, no one did it better than Grant and no one has since.  Hopefully Gerry Duggan can clear that bar. 

After this fight we get a fuller verson of what happened both at the end of issue 120 and in the big reveal last issue: Turns out Hank awoke because Charles piloted his body like a truck and needed it revealed fast. Hank’s regained control of his body and facilities by now, but in a twist of irony he helpfully points out, had Cassandra not gone a needlessly cruel and sociopathic tangent and had Beak beat Beast into a coma, Charles wouldn’t of had a body. 

As for Charles in cass’ body he’s now in a tub of goo created by it. 

It acts as a shield as well as melding him with Cerebra so he can talk to jean telepathically as his thoughts are very weak.

Thanks to this and her psychic Jaunt, Jean now knows just what the hell cassandra is: She really is Charles twin sister. As for how the hell she surivied outside of the womb and how Charles never knew, she created herself a clone body using his cells and didn’t fully manifest till now. And while she has plenty of intellegence, at an emotional level she’s fully convinced, much like an infant that only she and charles are real and thus destroying him means gaining domance over her world. So in short she’s both utterly insane and now has an interstellar empire at her fingertips. 

And the news SOMEHOW get sworse: She booby trapped her body and charles only has days before he’s vegatable, having put every psychological disease possible in there, and she’s probably responsible for their colds and the u-men. So in short their pretty scrwed but at the very least Charles plans to try to flip things, use the fact their now public (a clear tactic to weaken them) to share his manefesto, his last will and testiment if you would. 

Scott meanwhile figures since their sick a healer might be a good idea and goes solo to fetch Xorn... who just sorta disappeared after the annual and didn’t return till his arc. 

We get an utterly touching scene after this: With Logan staying on his hobbit like toes in case of another attack, Jean goes to talk to hank. Hank is still throughly traumatized from the attack, fearing Cassandra is right and he’ll just keep devlovling until he ends up in a metamoprhisis type situation. I mean it’s not ALL bad hank,.. I mean going through that guarantees a musical about you. 

But Jean reassures him: It’s okay to be afraid of her, they all are.. but as she puts it...

It’s a really powerful inspiring scene... and really afirms how well Morrison writes Jean from the previous arc onward. She’s confident, powerful.. but also caring and compassionate. Here hank’s at his lowest, disparing that this might get worse.. and she reaffirms that htis evolution is an upgrade.. he may not be the same.. but that’s okay. He’s better. It really speaks to the core message of the X-Men as a whole and why they’ve stuck around all this time: It’s not just okay your diffrent.. it’s WONDERFUL. Your wonderful for being you. Whatever meataphor you read into it, it’s at it’s core a message that no matter who hunts you or trys to shame you for what you are, they are wrong and you are wonderful. And you are not alone... your people are out there.. and they will go through hell to protect you. It’s moments like this that remind me despite the bad parts, the accidnetal transphobic metaphor last time, a subplot with Hank coming up, the affair storyline and Planet X, just.. Planet X.. this run is special to me for a reason. It has heart, character and truly gets how the x-men should work, what makes them great... while making something NEW AND FRESH from it’s bones. Pushing envelopes, chanigng things for good and shaking things the hell up after far too much stagnation. It’s just pure good comicy goodness and i’m proud to finally be talking about it after having always wanted to. 

So as we end the issue Scott grabs Xorn, whose been at a budist temple all this time, and Smasher arrives to warn earth... but his warning missed his intended target. 

Well at least he got to Hellcow’s coven.. maybe she can call in Man Eating Cow and the Chick Fill A Super Cows.. thought hey might not help. Their parent company IS pretty homophobic.. I doubt their high on mutants either. 

Testament Emma and Jean talk over things how i’ts going etc, with Emma unsuprisingly annoyed with most of the students and Jean optimsitc.

But Emma soon has bigger issues to deal with: TEEN ANGST!

Yeah 4/5 of the Cuckoos are upset Esme has a boyfriend. Their concerns in part are because without her their apparently powerless.. which given one will die and another will leave and they’ll be left with three is just factually not true, and either Morrison changed his mind later, or more likely their simply exagerating like teens do. Emma points out it’s pointless to fight this...

So... their in a domestically abusive relationship rife with sexual tension? Are you sure your not htinking of Sam and Diane, Ross and Rachel, Garfiled and Odie perhaps?

Meanwhile Angel’s sulking in a tree talking about how all the kids are stupid and she dosen’t fit in. That sort of thing. Wolverine naturally has a tactful and understandable response to this:

It’s here Angel goes from understandable, a bit hard edged and obnoxious becuase of a very rough life.. and just becomes annoying.  I do get what Grant was trying to do: he was trying to play with Wolverine’s habit of taking sassy teens under his wing by giving him a more hardscrabble one with a harder life pre-xaviers.. not that Jubilee’s was easy, but I get what he was going for.. he just dosen’t succeed. Instead of a realistic version of a teen sidekick she just comes off as an obnoxious brat whose rude to everyone including her one friend Logan and her later boyfriend.  It dosen’t help that ONCE AGAIN, Morrison flew directly into unfortunate implications without meaning to, by having the only major POC character (Bishop guest stars later and there are two significant characters during the Riot at Xaviers arc but both aren’t relevant before or after), be an abused teen with gross fly based powers and a teen pregnancy subplot. Seriously this isn’t even the LAST time Morrison shoves their foot in their mouth like this in this run. While I do like this run a lot, it’s still 20 years old and it’s still going to have a bunch of bits that have aged like harvarti left on a sidewalk, and handing out unfortnuate implications like their candy is tied for the biggest with their handling of Magneto when he finally shows up in person. It’s THAT bad a take on the character that it’s up there with accidental racisim and transphobia. 

So moving on from.. that we get Jean comforting the professor before meeting the press, giving a throughly lovely speech about how Charles got his powers 30 years ago and despite seeing the worst in humanity, used his telepathy to allow him to see past it and see deep down just how scared and alone we all felt. So she takes them into a psychic conference room and we get a very interesting exchange. 

It’s an interesting parallel to how real world disinfranchised groups, how it takes time.. but soon being a POC or LBGTQ+ goes from unrightfully perscuted to celebrated. How a group starts with hates whipsers on the fringe of things but grows to be accepted, like it always SHOULD have been. Take representation of Trans people in the media. It started with Trans people being almost entirely punchlines and sources of fucking horendous “DID DEY USED TO BE A MAN.” storylines and hurtful jabs at people who had transitioned, treating them as a sideshow instead of you know as fucking human beings. But now coming out as what you always were ont he inside is celebrated. Sure the right are dicks about it but they always will be: but most media gladly celebrates when someone comes out as trans. Same with being gay, or bi or pan or polamorus or nonbinary.  Hell I admire grant for showing i’ts not even 100% perfect once you are popular: you still have to grapple both with people wanting to copot your culture and those who still don’t understand you trying to speak for you. 

She also gets the standard question calling the X-Men an army, shoots it down with the normal global peacekeeping operation stuff.. then we get this bitch. 

Who quickly realizes she’s outclassed by Emma Frost, professional that bitch. And while Jean is understandbly going to have to erase that.. I can’t blame her for snapping her.

Just to tear this shit down.: The privacy thing is not something she’s doing. All she’s doing is spcyhic teleconfrencing, you harpy. They fight greek gods and monsters to protect your sorry ass and the last one.. just makes me absolutely livid and feels so much like a real world comment i’m suprised there isn’t a fox news logo next to her bigoted head. 

Trouble follows them everywhere they go.. because their mutants. They can’t help it. A LOT of shit like the demons, aliens, and gods and what not, I do not know if they actually did fight the greek gods but i’m not going to say for sure they did not, the norse gods defintely, not sure on greek. But the point is allt his stuff HAPPENS TO THEM half the time, or is a consequence of trying to PROTECT PEOPLE. I’m so nettled by this because this is how the marvel unvierse acts all the fucking time towards ALL super powered peoples. Mutants esepcailly but they blame the heroes and what not for being chased and harassed by guys in costumes or alien invasions or all the stuff they FIGHT. Sure sometimes they caused it but it’s either because of a monsterous person with a grudge or just because their powerful and some douche took an intrest. I’m just.. so fucking tired of asshole civlians in comics. It’s realisitc I know but it’s just hard to stomach after so many have turned their back on so many for such DUMB reasons. 

Jean recovers well pointing out the genocide and how 16 million people, 16 million possible einsteinss or mozarts are just GONE, and that their trying to focus on the future. She also brings up autistic savants who can talk to atoms and while I don’t like the use of the savant thing, as it brings to mind stuff like rainman I very badly want to see this autistic kid who can talk to atoms as someone on the spectrum myself. Also I just want the crew of HIckma’ns books in general to pour over this because there are a lot of intresting powers and personalities only MENTIONED we never saw proper that could be great characters. Just saying. 

Jean cocludes her speech to the world, including Logan whose wisely getting hammered at anearbye bar.. while Hank finds out what’s going on with their sickness.. nanonscopic sentnels in the blood. 

But while the press confrence ends well with Jean having won over the press.. things go sideways as not only is it clear Esme’s boyfriend is in fact something sinister.. but Jean falls over due to the nano snetinels, and senses Scott being taken in tibet, taken down by a group of the Shiar’s imperial guard.. picutre the legion of superheroes but blindly loyal to the goverment and far more likely to get killed. And the rest are preparing to attacking including Gladiator who if you don’t know him, has all the powers of superman as long as he retains his confidence. 

And it turns out Esme’s boyfriend is an advanced Scout, the shapeshifting amoeba blob thing Stuff, a new addition by morrison and good on him. And the Imperial Guard are here but with one goal

 Superdestroyer

On the Ship we find out both wha’ts going on with Scott and Xorn, they’ve been taken and why the shiar are attempting mutant genocide: Cassandra is puppeting ALL of them, has convinced them the mutants are infected and since Lilandra is a puppet, Scott’s words fall on deaf ears. 

Meanwhile Wolverine ambushes one of the squads, kiling one named Dinosaurer via claw to the brain, while Emma has had a dome thing put over her head and isn’t transforming into diamond to counter it because...

But the Cuckoos fight back, taking out oracle before easily handling stuff since his brain is fairly simple.. and given he’s racist against solid people and unlike the others reveling in the genocide just a tad.. yeah what he deserves. So now with a living weapon the Cuckoos make peace with Angel as they need all the help they can get. 

Jean ushers the press into the panic room, not happy about it but not having anothe roption for their saftey. Hank tells her to self distruct crebra if cassandra get sclose and goes off to join the fight and let off some steam over the situation. Hank easily routes two of them, and one , Manta tries to just fly right ot jtean wince their TK proof. How does that go?

Jean gets to saftey after that, not that she needs it and hank is quickly taken down by a batch of Superguardians.. only for Wolverine to arrive in the Sknitt of time and chop them up.. oh and as one of the puts it...

Bad. Ass. I also like the addition of the flight patch, a nod to the Legion, who the Imperial Guard were based on as those kids used flight rings. 

But while Logan and Hank easily tag team these assholes...

The SHiar call in the big guns.. Gladiator.. and I wasn’t kidding abotu the superman thing. While Logan TRIES to talk him out of it, the murders only confirm Cassandra’s bullshit and Gladiator breaks into the panic room throwing hank and wolverin’e before them having utterly decimated them off panel. I mean Wolvie is a badass.. but even he has limits. I also like recontecullizing the guard as a whole here.. showing just how TERRIFYING they SHOULD be as enimies to the x-men. Yes our heroes did win.. but barely and only till Gladiator showed up. In most cases thier clearly holding back out of affection but here hteir just at errifying unstoppable force, and also apparently used to doing genocides like this. It takes what was a cheesy shout out to David Cockrums other big artistic work, and makes it horrifying and it is AWESOME. I admit to not having liked this arc as much for the longest time but this reread, the sheer teror and hopleessness as an interstellar superman easily cuts through our mighty mutants like tissue... it’s awesome. 

Thankfully one of the Guard found smasher.. and thus the truth comes out so our heroes are given a stay of execution with Gladiator clearly horrified at what he almost did and our heroes now so sick they can barely move and Hank can’t think them out of this. 

Thankfully he dosen’t has to as back in space, Cyclops tires of it and points out something Xorn, not being as experinced nor having delt with the guard ahd thought of: G-Type, the glowly guy about to execute them, is made of solar energy.. and xorn can manipulate that thanks to his star brain. He does, they take out the rest.. and prepare to go save the day.

Losers: PIcking up shortly before where we left off we see Cassandra murder Lilandra’s advisor who figured out what she was just as our heroes escape.. and as Cassandra is having Lilnadra order all of the shiar ships to immolate themselves. 

WIth Lilandra not being any use, Cass tries to psychically force her to commit sucidie but jumping off a space ledge but Xorn saves her. Cass tries another turn at mentally breaking an x-man, pointing out all scott’s recent flaws, his increased repression his faling marriage and while it gets him to stop it dosen’t quite work as well as it did on hank, likely because at his heart Hank is simply a more emotive person. Though his REAL reason for stalling is he can’t kill charles.. which he muses just as the ship blows up real good. 

Meanwhile back at Campus the kids initaiate their plan, having Angel break in and take a dna sample. She also finds beak naked in a tank and decides eh why not and brings him with her. This ends up paying off as Beak suggests the obvious to get emma free.. just force the space guy they have over in the corner to do it. They do and it works

Back in the mansion our heroes prepare for Casssandra... but Jean and Logan object to saving her body, pointing out that getting hank to repair it is exactly what she wants, and that Jean feels she can save charles without uit, with Hank being understandably doubtful given their current condition.. but Jean’s real plan is to put charles in her head and it’s already too far in actoin to stop now: she’s been saving his memories as they flaked off and if she dosen’t do this now there will be no charles left. 

Hank evacuates the civlians to teh danger room, and has an encounter with trish who tries to apologize and get him back.. only for him to rightfully regjecter her..a and then goes a step further by capping it off with:

Yeah on it’s own it’s not TERRIBLE. Still very dated to claim your gay just to spite someone, but for the time it was acceptable and compared to some of Morrison’s other gaffes in the run it’s minor at best. But it leads into a rather annoying subplot we’ll naturally get to that’s a much bigger issue, so i’ll save talking about it in full for when it comes up again. 

Jean manages to shove Chuck into her head, but is naturally leaking a bit and barely holding it or him together and may of overestimated herself just a tad.. while on the lawn Cassandra easily takes out the guards. That said the scene of Jean taking Chuck into her head is REALLY damn awesome. Jean is the arc MVP by a mile and Hank is pretty dang good competition. 

All Hell: We open the final issue of the arc with Scott and Xorn escaping the spaceship using some teleport tubes taking Arakai and Lilandra with them. 

We open with Cassadra utterly humilating gladiator while the kid team prepares to fight her despite you know, the 8 billion to 1 odds against them. 

Jean, despite hte discknes and trying to keep an old man in her brain marches out , prepared to fight, for the kids sake. For the world’s sake. But Logan’s easily taken out and with Jean barely holding it together.. the kids prepare to fight.. likely being slaughtered even if they mean well.. onlyf or help to finally arrive with Scott and Xorn glowy porting in. We get a really sweet , short moment with scott and jean...

Scott not knowing the situation tries to have Xorn heal charles first but since Cassandra’s body is dead and unoccupied that’s a no go.. he’s still usefult hough, curing Jean of her nanosentital sickness and moving on to Scott and Hank while there’s still time. 

We find out more about cassandra: She’s a murrmadi, a bodyless parasite.. eseetinally the dark first test a person faces... she just stuck around because she was one for a telepath.. the world’s STRONGEST telepath. But really other than that part the rest just feels like stuff we alreayd heard LAST TIME, mildly repaackaged and seems enitrley like filler to pad the issue out. 

So while Jean takes cerebra, both to keep it away from Cassandra’s plans of mutant genocide and for whatever she has planned, Scott, Hank and Xorn prepare to hold the line.. and as Jean mentions.. emma’s still out in the wild. 

So we get our climactic showdown.. logan, hank and xorn veruss cassandra, with Cassandra trying to do eveyrthing she can, tear them down mentally, throw out the students with our heroes fighting back best they can. It’s good stuff.  

Eventaully Cassandra gets to Jean.. but she’s already inacted her plan, putting a piece of Xavier’s mind in EVERY mutant, and giving Cassandra one ohell ofa reason you suck speech. 

It’s an incapsulation of what i said earlier and what the runs about: alone we are weak but together.. we just might make it. More on that as we go. But thanks to Cass naturally going fo rcerberba.. she accidently restores charles and is left bodyless.

Emma finishes the fight with her own brilliant gambit, presending cassandra her body.. but it’s actually stuff , reprogrammed into a sentient brain for her to inhabit and leaving her trapped, with Charles hoping t teach the now mentally reset Cassandra.  So Cassandra is beat, the virus is stopped, and our heroes have one.. but naturally for this run.. there’s one last suprise in store. 

Charles can walk again.. and going forward will be a far more active member of the team. The team is complete, Cassandra is beaten, and the future.. is bright. 

Final Thoughts:

This arc is a mixed bag.. it has really good scenes with the first and last issues being the standouts, with the former being an utter classic with an intresting gimick and the latter being a rousing climax with tons of awesome moments, with some good mometns scattered throughout.

But that’s the arc’s issue.. it has good moments and ideas.. but they don’t quite work togehter. The idea of teh Shiar Imperial Guard nearly doing a genocide is good, but the Shiar are such flat characters.. it’s really hard to care. They just don’t have enough connection to the x-men to really have the betryal sting but aren’t callous enough for genocide protocols to maeks sense. It’s a good idea, I still support it being terrifying.. but not enough is done with it and it feels liek Grant is more concerned with throwing weirdos at the x-men than actually saying something. 

The biggest issue however is the art. While inconsitant art is an issue as they’d rotate artists.. but in previous arcs it was usually pretty evenly split but here it’s sloppy: Quitely does the first issue, van Sciver the second.. and the worst of the three Igor Kordey does most of the art. I gave him the beinfit of the doubt last time.. but this time not so much. His art is muddy and tries to be stylized but comes off confusing,ugly and not great. He’s probably a lovely guy but given he’s up against two legendary artists, his lack of style comapred to both shows badly.  And given the arc is alreayd a bit overly complicated, it makes things WORSE by giving us muddled art in a very complex storyline. The flip flopping art makes a fairly intricate story very hard to follow. It’s easily why this arc didn’t grab me in the past and even seeing some better moments, it’s not the series best. It’s not the worst either, Planet X easily takes that ground despite having far better art. It’s an incredibly muddled incredibly long feeling arc and really needed to be compressed by one or two issues but instead is just hard to get through. It’s owrth it for the rest of the runa nd the good moments within but all in all easily one of the weakest points in the series. 

Next Month on New X-Men:The X-Men soak in the new world order, and we meet fantomex, dust and the last surivivors of genosha. 

Next on this blog:Green Eggs and Ham is back!

If you enjoyed this review PLEASE join my patreon. The end of hte month is coming and I need eveyr cent I can get so join at patreon.com/popculturebuffet and i’ll see you at the next rainbow. 

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home. 

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld​ AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think! 

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Happy Birthday, Tony Stark

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: ~11k Notes: Tony’s birthday is an important holiday in my life - so I decided to celebrate with this cute little fic. @stark-bb supplied the beauty for the end & I’m really happy with the way it turned out. Happy Birthday, Tony - this is how 50 should have gone for you!  Warnings: endgame fix-it (kind of), NSFW stuff, hurt/comfort, insecure!Tony Summary: 

It's Tony Stark's birthday - which means there's tons of reasons to celebrate. Check out his relationship with Peter over the course of two birthday's.

For his 50th, Peter goes all out - but is it really the night that Tony wanted?

Or, the one where Peter plans a party and all Tony wants is his love instead.

Read it on A03 here

In retrospect, after Thanos, actually getting to 50 was a miraculous thing.

It took him and Bruce 6 months to figure out how to bring everyone back after the snap. The easiest part of it all was going back in time to collect all of the stones – despite a couple of little hiccups, the job was well done. The gauntlet Tony constructed could easily be coined as one of his greatest technological masterpieces – and when Cara Danvers came back looking for Nick Fury, their answer to who would yield it was nicely answered.

There wasn’t much time between the stones being used and the gauntlet being stolen right out from under their grasp. With the total annihilation of Avenger’s tower, it didn’t seem all that surprising that they were all of the sudden looking down into the abyss of a full-on war. There were so many of Thanos’ troops that for the first little bit of the battle – it didn’t seem like they were going to get anywhere close to winning.

Then, the portals opened up and every single person Tony could remember ever hearing about or seeing stepped through. His eyes caught and kept Peter’s when Cara pulled him out of the ditch with the gauntlet held tightly in his arms. There were so many other things that were important in that moment – the world was on the cusp of decimation once again – yet, he couldn’t break the eye contact. He didn’t want to.

Pulling Peter into his arms the second he could felt like the most natural thing in the world – when the kid dusted in them not that long ago, the world felt a little less special. Now, the scale shifted back to normal. The picture of him and Peter they took when he put together his ‘internship’ was one of the biggest catalysts in his adamancy in figuring out how to solve the time travel issue and put things back to right.

He didn’t plan to press the kiss against his cheek – the adrenaline of battle and finally succeeding made it easy to override the thinking portion of his choice of actions. Peter melted into him and it suddenly felt more than okay. The mumbled “this is nice” drove home the point and Tony let himself have that – the embrace, the comfort, even the solace that came from having Peter back again.

The rage of battle swept them away from each other and for a while, Tony was focused on being the perfect distraction for Cara – her final move of sweeping and engaging just enough to get the stones off of Thanos and onto the gauntlet the single greatest in Avenger history. Watching Thanos drift away into nothingness felt more satisfying than Tony cared to admit – and when he fell to his knees, it was from being overwhelmed that maybe, just maybe, they saved the world for good.

Aftermath in the face of a tragedy that only half of the population remembered was a little weird. It took a lot of explaining to the ones they lost for everyone to make sense of the missing time – of the life that got put on hold because of a crazy vendetta. Tony tried hard to document the progress he and Bruce made through the construction of the time machine and their ideas about the stones so he could explain to anyone that asked. Though – it was unsurprising that Peter was the only one that even wanted to know.

So – Tony explained it to him. They talked through the schematics he initially drew up when solving the irregular blip that Bruce initially couldn’t. Peter’s questions were educated and the things he inferred before Tony could tell him were some that even Bruce did not conclude. He can’t help but be impressed by the kid’s true intelligence. Tony spent so much time trying to protect him, he never took the time to pay the closet attention to him as a person – to the extremely smart and talented individually Peter absolutely was.

In the end, the boy left with a much clearer understanding of the ins and outs of the journey to get him back. It appeased him a grand total of two days before Peter came knocking again. His excuse didn’t seem nearly as sound this time. He kept listening for May to come through the door even though he knew she was working the overnight shift – Tony could see it for what it was, a plea for distraction, for the company of another human being that wasn’t going to ask questions or wonder out loud about things that shouldn’t be spoken about ever again.

It quickly became a routine between them – Peter showing up later into the night with a feeble excuse to come in and spend time with Tony. Tony didn’t spend any time pretending, though – each time it happened, he opened the door and let Peter come in without worrying about the muttered excuse thrown his way.

Dealing with shit was a personal thing, the understanding of that was something Tony knew very intimately.

His own special way of dealing pulled him away from Pepper – their relationship crumbling at the seams when Tony refused to give up the suit. After everything, he felt it to be too big of a compromise – he loved her, but some things were bigger than ultimatums and their inevitable consequences. Losing half of the population made that pretty clear.

And though Tony hated to admit it, he came to rely on the kid’s presence – their late night tv binges one of the only things that chased the nightmares away. Despite seeing him on an almost daily basis now, Tony still dreamt about the way Peter faded from his arms, the impossible to hold feeling of dust running through his hands the worst part of it all. He figured they would stop when the world started to spin the right way again – yet, he couldn’t escape them. It took a lot more brain bytes than he originally thought to push away the few reasons he could come up with as to why that actually was.

No matter how much he didn’t want to think about it, letting Peter in all of those nights ago set the course for them. Tony couldn’t deny that he learned to heal a little more every single time Peter came through the door – the ease in their conversation slowly but surely becoming something that Tony couldn’t live without. They forged a closeness with every night that past – one that Tony quickly had to put in a safe category. There were so many times he found himself wanting to reach across the couch and grip Peter’s hand in his own. So quickly, Peter became a steady source of comfort.

Sooner rather than later, the Avengers were suiting back up – the idea of instituting regular rounds and patrolling schedules winning without question when Steve brought it up. If they were going to deal with entities like Thanos ever again, the need to be better prepared reigned supreme. Luckily, the rest of the group recognized his and Peter’s familiarity and always paired them up. It felt nice to work with him and Tony absorbed every single second of it. They were constantly learning together and when the time came to actually fight, they’d be prepared – some of their tag team moves way more than enough to truly debilitate an opponent.

Of course, being patrol partners meant dealing with the times that things turned to shit. Though there weren’t big time things forcing all of the Avenger’s to assemble, they still dealt with things that were dangerous. Peter, no matter how many times Tony shouted at him about keeping it on the safer side, refused to ignore intuition – even if it led him astray nine times out of ten. It was extremely frustrating, and the only downfall Tony could find with being back to saving the world so soon after the last time.

Things got interesting when Peter almost died taking down Mysterio. It took them a few minutes longer than they expected to get across the pond and into a position where they could help – so Peter handled a lot of it on his own. Tony was glad they spent all the time they did training – some of the moves Friday showed him were truly impressive and genuinely lifesaving. It felt shitty to find Peter broken and bloody – there was no mistaking the pure intensity of the battle that raged before him.

Tony pushed aside all of his personal feelings and helped solve the problem – the best thing he could do for Peter was get things under control, there wouldn’t be any need for the younger man to have to fight so hard after that. It took the two of them and some well-planned drop-ins from Steve and Natasha to put everything to rest. When things were finally over, Peter slumped over against Tony and howled, the tears just as much from frustration as exhaustion and pain. He didn’t let Tony detach the entire time Dr. Cho took a look at him – he stayed by his side and talked him through what happened – tried to keep him calm when a bone was reset and his body temperature worked off the sedative before it could actually numb anything.

It felt hard to separate Peter from the thoughts of caring, and protection, and on the weakest of days – love. He figured the idea of being a father figure wouldn’t be too bad. Tony wanted to believe that Peter leaned on him the way he would May or Happy. There were signs, though – signs that said the younger man’s feelings were way deeper than either wanted to think about at the moment. For the sake of allowing independence and growth, Tony didn’t pursue the obvious.

That mindset didn’t last very long  – Peter had a way of being pretty persuasive. His 49th birthday crept toward them without anyone really noticing. Everyone was trying to figure out what post-Thanos meant – and the simplicity of a birthday didn’t seem to be on the forefront of people’s minds. It didn’t matter, anyway – the older he got, the more meaningless birthdays seemed to be. The world continued to spin and need protecting and want things regardless of birthdays.

When the day came, it surprised him to see candles sticking out of a big pile of Belgian waffles that morning – a smiling Peter and Bruce carrying the plate over to him. He shook his head and blew out the candles, the cheesiness of it just that – cheesy – but also very thoughtful and way more than he wanted or imagined. The waffles tasted just a little bit better that morning, too – which was quite the feat, because Tony loved waffles; absolutely fucking loved them.

The rest of the day past in a haze of bowling in the alley in the SI building, eating disgustingly shitty food, and good company. Bruce begged out after the third game and left Peter and Tony alone to duke out games four and five. Peter’s incredible strength worked against him in the end, Tony grabbed both the games and the overall win count for the day. It wouldn’t have hurt his feelings if Peter let him win, either – it felt good to feel good for once.

Heading back to the penthouse, Tony wasn’t surprised when Peter followed him up. From the beginning, Tony made sure to keep May in the loop – and at this point, as long as Peter was somewhere safe, she didn’t seem to mind. Peter probably took more advantage of that little giving piece of her, but Tony wasn’t one to complain when it benefitted him just as much. He watched the kid go straight to the fridge, the massive quantity of junk food they consumed just hours earlier obviously not enough.

“What do you want to do for dinner, Tony? Your fridge is kind of empty,” Peter said after a couple of minutes of leaning over and looking, then stepping away – like if he looked enough times, things would show up eventually. Grinning, Tony sank into one of the stools tucked into the kitchen island, his fingers knitting together.

“I hadn’t thought about it – I’ve eaten more today than I usually do in a week. Want me to order something? I bet we can get that Vietnamese place you like to deliver out here,” Tony mumbled in reply. He brought a finger to his glasses and tapped into Friday’s interface. “Can you order the usual, doll?”

Peter stood on the other side of the island across from him, his cheeks flushed. “You didn’t have to do that. I found an egg in there,” he remarked, his thumb hiking over his shoulder towards the fridge. “It’s your birthday – we should be doing what you want.” Peter tried for a serious look in his direction but failed at the last second – the soft ‘for Tony’ smile he’d come to be very familiar with over the last few months spreading across his lips. He leaned down onto his forearms, the two of them closer than ever now.

“We’ve done enough, Pete. Let me be an old man for the rest of the night, huh? Besides, we’re almost done with The Sopranos – I’m ready to see how it all ends.” Tony wasn’t lying, either – there wasn’t anything else he’d rather do. The thought of getting dressed to go out or partying the night away made his head spin. After all of the bull shit of the life he led, sitting around with takeout and good company didn’t seem all that bad.

The boy seemed to understand, the softness in his eyes answer enough. He shrugged his shoulders and pushed away from the island – Tony watched as he went over to the bar on the other side of the room and grabbed a small rock glass. Without much effort, he poured two fingers worth of whiskey into it and walked back across the room, the glass being passed to Tony before he could even understand what happened.

“You’re going to need that, then,” Peter finally uttered, his face breaking out into a smile. Tony watched the grin grow and internally documented all of the lines and grooves that played across the boy’s face. Peter must have noticed because his smile grew a little bigger. “Want to go hangout in the lab until the food gets here?” The question was shy, despite what felt like millions of hours they spent there together already.

Slamming back the liquid in the glass, Tony let the burn clear his head – his mind in all sorts of places it probably shouldn’t be. He caught Peter’s eye and nodded, his own grin slipping across reluctant lips. “It’s funny that you even need to ask.” Tony got up then, his neck swiveling to crack the stiff joints. “Shall we?” he asked, his head tilting when Peter didn’t move or even say anything.

He didn’t expect the clumsy hands Peter answered with, the boy grabbing his hips a little too tight, the strength in his arms bringing Tony against his chest. Tony let out a breath, his secret wants and desires coming to life before him – his brain shortcutting with the responsible thoughts that tried to break through the haze. His arms wrapped around Peter’s shoulders on their own accord, Tony losing the fight against himself with every passing second.

“Pete – “ Tony tried, his arms opposing his words, the muscles in his shoulders, chest, and biceps tensing and clenching, every fiber of his being wanting to be that much closer. Peter tilting his head until they were looking eye to eye stopped him in his tracks, though – the boy’s eyes bright with many things unreadable, except for one. Slamming his own shut, Tony pulled in a long breath, the look too much.

Then, lips were on his, and all thoughts ceased to exist for the few seconds that clumsiness turned into the hottest thing he’d ever felt. Peter’s hands moved from his hips to frame his face, the tightness of them bringing their lips closer together – Tony tilting his head at the very last second to stop their noses from colliding painfully. He sunk into it and forgot for a second what he needed to do when they broke apart.

The soft moan leaving Peter’s lips when the kiss broke made him press back in for another couple of chaste pecks – Tony hoping more than anything that it was enough to engrain the taste of Peter onto the surface of his skin. Dipping his head, Tony pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closing.

“You figured out what I really wanted,” Tony whispered, a laugh leaving his lips at the sound of the words in his own ears. Up until that point, he hadn’t allowed himself to even think like that. With Peter in his arms – it was easy, though. Like their embrace on the battlefield, Tony couldn’t help what his lips did this close to Peter’s person.

“You’re just a couple months too early,” he managed to get out, the few seconds of hesitation before doing so just enough to soak this intimacy in a little bit longer. “You know we have to wait.” Peter’s head became a little heavier against his own for a second, then he felt the slightest of nods – the boy way smarter than Tony ever gave him credit for. Pulling back, he put a bit of space between them, the only point of contact now his hand on Peter’s cheek.

While his thumb brushed the sharp bone there, Peter leaned into the touch – his eyes shut, the storm inside them kept under control by the lids covering them. Tony let himself look his fill until Peter was the one pulling away – the saddest little smile on his lips. “I know – I just – I couldn’t wait. I – Tony, you’re everything.” The words were earnest and if this were anyone else, he wouldn’t have even given thought to believing him. Peter constantly showed how much respect he deserved, so Tony gave it to him.

“Save that for later, okay? We’ll make your 18th one to remember.”

“Okay. Happy birthday, Mr. Stark.”

----

And boy did they – even a year later, Tony can still remember the entire day they turned into a week rather vividly.

He told Peter to pack a bag and let May know they were staying in the city for the week. For the first time in almost two months, Tony was finally letting him stay over again. He knew if he gave either of them any opportunity to give into temptation, they would – and this seemed like too important of a thing to screw up before it could officially be a thing. He didn’t want to give anyone – including the person who trusted Tony to be a good part of Peter’s life – the ability to question anything between them.

The second Peter walked through the door; the boy was on him – Tony barely able to get his glasses off his face before they were kissing. It didn’t make it past the necking stage, of course – Tony had too many plans to lose his shit on the couch in his front room – but it was nice to finally let himself touch and feel, to give into the want that so obviously coursed through them both. He let Peter squirm against him until he let out a satisfied huff and finally came up for air. “Happy birthday, Petey,” Tony mumbled against his forehead.

Coney Island took up the rest of the day – Tony laughing and smiling harder than he could remember, especially since Thanos. The ride on the Cyclone threw them into each other and when they got off, Tony wrapped Peter in his arm and steered them back towards the line, the two of them riding the coaster two more times before moving on. Peter insisted they finish the day at the aquarium – the boy totally obsessed with the penguins and otters.

When they got back to the penthouse, Tony led Peter into the bedroom, straight past the bed, and into the attached bathroom. He pushed him down until he was sitting on the edge of the tub and went about putting the necessary stuff for a bath in it. While the water ran, Tony took Peter’s clothes off one article at a time, his lips following behind caressing the newly exposed skin. Getting down to his boxers, Tony had him stand up and pulled them very slowly down Peter’s legs, the tips of his fingers tracing the same path as the fabric.

He stayed on his knees and lavished the skin on the inside of Peter’s left knee, then nosed his way up his right thigh – his lips landing on his hip, eyes looking up. “Get in the tub,” he mumbled, his eyebrows raising in invitation. Peter didn’t waste any time complying with the request – a soft sigh leaving his lips when he sank into the warm water.

Stepping back, Tony started the actual part of the bath that was for Peter. He slipped the buttons out of the slots on the vest he was wearing and let it hit the ground. The shirt came next, his fingers slow in the way they moved from one button to the next. A light shimmy had the button down flowing off his shoulders to join the vest on the floor. Kicking off his shoes, he hobbled about for a second to get the socks off – then straightened back out with sexiness written on his face once again.

Peter’s eyes were glued to his every move, Tony happy to see red trail down his cheeks, neck, and onto his chest with each new piece of clothing that came off. The boy was fisting himself under the water, Tony could tell by the wave and ripple of it. Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, Tony made quick work of his belt and the button on his slacks, the pants falling without much effort after that. His black boxer briefs stayed on for a second, Tony taking a couple of steps closer to the tub until he could lean down and press a kiss against Peter’s lips.

While they kissed, Tony pulled his underwear off, a little groan slipping out between them when his erection finally hit the coolness of the air around them. “Shift forward a little, babe,” Tony muttered, his body sinking easily into the water with the newly made space. Peter moved back and settled between his legs without any prompting, Tony’s chest now toasty from the combination of water and the boy’s warm skin. Wrapping his arms around him, Tony pulled him even further back – his cock trapped perfectly between his own stomach and Peter’s back.

Touching his lips to Peter’s neck, Tony let himself relax into the warm water and the sound embrace – the boy in front of him doing the same thing if the sagging weight against his chest was anything to go by. “Did you have a good birthday?” he spoke the words right beside Peter’s ear – the gust of breath having the desired effect as goosebumps launched themselves across his skin.

His head fell back against Tony’s shoulder, Peter’s hands moving until they were gripping the older man’s across his stomach. “It’s been great. This is the best part, though – finally getting to spend this kind of time with you.” It was obvious Peter meant each of those words, too; his voice took on such authentic tone when he was talking to Tony. “I love you, Tony. I have for a while.”

Though he suspected, Tony didn’t think he would hear those words for a long time. He forgot how mature Peter could be when he really put his mind to things. Tony moved his arms until he could cup Peter’s cheek, the boy shifting a little bit to look over his shoulder – their eyes meeting. “I love you too, Pete. I’m the worst possible choice for you, but I’m also incessantly selfish. You can have whatever you want from me.” Tony capped his words off with a soft kiss, his lips lingering just because they could.

“I just want you, Tony. I thought for a long time that I wanted to save the world, be a hero – and yeah, I still want that – but I want this, too. Simplicity. Your arms around me. I’m young, I know – I also know what I want, so don’t try and talk me out of it.” Peter practically huffed out, his last couple of words sounding a bit petulant. They made Tony’s heart jolt, regardless – the weight of them surprisingly heavy.

Who was he to dictate any of that part of Peter’s life? Tony did lots of questionable things in his youth – more than a few of them without thinking about it as thoroughly as Peter seemed to. There were no regrets in the pacing of their relationship and how very natural it occurred, so what was there to really hold him back? There were times Tony was selfish about much lesser things and at this point in his life, why hold now? Smiling to himself, Tony relaxed even further into the porcelain of the tub.

“I’m not going to try and talk you out of anything. It might suck for a little while – telling everyone and explaining ourselves, but I’m with you.”

That was about a year ago and while Tony was right – it was a hassle to constantly answer questions and defend a thing that felt so natural to them – things were also too good to really be that upset about it. They went about telling the team first, these people fought with them on a constant basis and needed to understand the decision they made. It took a bit of talking Steve from the tizzy he spun up and a few well placed “I know exactly how you feels” to get everyone to calm down enough to talk to Peter about it.

The old guy of the group grabbed Peter’s shoulder, Steve’s eyes seemingly trying to stare right into his soul. “He’s old, Pete,” Steve started – the rest of the group breaking out into varying degrees of laughter around them. Tony prickled for a second, his pride a little hurt from the implication – but what could he really do? When compared to Peter, he was old – generations older, in fact.

Peter’s hand grabbed Steve’s and dislodged it, usually soft brown eyes serious, his gaze just as sharp. “So are you.” Tony watched him bite into his bottom lip and unsuccessfully trying to stop laughter from bubbling in his chest. “I don’t care. I’m old enough to understand all of your concerns and appreciate them – but I am politely ignoring everything you guys have to say. I want this. He didn’t talk me into it, he didn’t groom me,” Peter stopped then, his eyes trailing over to Rhodey who spoke the traitorous words earlier. “He’s just my person, you know?”

After hearing that, Tony figured no one could stand between them. Not even May – who surprisingly didn’t seem shocked or upset about the situation. She glared at Tony for a long minute, then pulled him into her arms. “If you hurt him, I’ll do the same – got it?” she whispered, the arms “hugging” him tightening ever so slightly.

“Noted,” Tony replied instantly, his hands patting her back lightly. He caught the look Peter and May shared when they pulled away and had to try very hard not to burst out laughing in her face. They were both stubborn, the older man instantly understanding where Peter got it from. Wrapping his arm around Peter, Tony pressed a kiss to the side of his head, the boy relaxing into him.

“The hardest part is over,” he mumbled into Peter’s hair, the hand on his shoulder bringing him more tightly against his chest.

----

Despite being with one of the most caring humans on the planet, Tony’s 50th birthday loomed over him. For whatever reason, it felt like a big one. The age difference between him and Peter never played a part for either of them – yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about how glaring it actually was. Sometimes when he picked Peter up from HIGH SCHOOL, he felt incredibly old – and the closer his birthday got, the more ridiculous it seemed to be picking someone up from secondary school.

He didn’t give a shit about it – not for him, at least. The older person in the scenario always got the better end of the deal. Peter was loving and kind, young to the point where some of the shit he pulled out of his ass to refer to was adorably offensive. No – he didn’t really get what Peter saw in him. At least – lately. Maybe that mid-life crisis was finally sneaking up on him – the idea of that laughable after some of the crazy stuff that went on his life.

In the last couple of weeks, Tony felt some of his self-worth starting to diminish a little bit. Which was literally silly – Peter touched him, kissed him – practically worshipped him on a nightly basis. Feelings weren’t always rational, though. Every time Peter mentioned the big party he was planning for the occasion, Tony felt himself curl in a little bit – his affinity for not hurting Peter seemingly the only thing keeping him from shouting about how little he wanted to attend a party celebrating his old ass.

Peter flourished, though – so he didn’t stop him, not even when his heart started to race when his young boyfriend talked about all of the Avengers and their travel plans to meet at the complex. It was nice that they all wanted to come back and celebrate – he just hated the fact that they were celebrating such a long milestone on Tony’s account. He told himself to grin and bear it, though – it couldn’t possibly be that bad.

And since Peter was really wrapped up in all of the planning, he didn’t get the subtle hints that Tony tried to make. His “maybe it can be just you and me” wasn’t said early enough and when he thought to bring it up – his mind went to all of the plans Peter made; the way his caring, so very loving boyfriend thought every little thing out.

The night of, Tony went through the motions – he donned the suit (because let’s face it, Tony looked damn good in a custom Gucci suit.) The barber Peter paid to come in and clean them up did a good job on his facial hair and the slight trim of the longer strands on the top of his head made him feel the slightest bit better. Whenever Peter caught his eyes in the mirror, Tony could genuinely smile back.

They walked in together hand-in-hand, which Tony still felt a little giddy about. He milled around and did the right amount of small talk – his chest feeling a little warmer with each hug he got from his Avenger family. Tony did all the right things until he found an out, the anxiety that was building starting to clutch at him, the shininess of the night a little too bright for his tastes.

Walking into the lab, Tony breathed a sigh of relief, his muscles unclenching for the first time all night. He slipped off his jacket and got to work on a couple of modifications to the nanotech he was implementing into the suit – the response time still a little slow for his liking. For the first time the entire night, Tony felt the weight lift off of his chest. He got so zoned into what he was doing, he didn’t see Peter walk into the lab – or really acknowledge his presence until a hand was on his shoulder.

“I thought I might find you here. What happened?” His voice was soft – though, Tony also sensed the slightest bit of tension sitting under the surface of those words.

He bought himself some time by swiping across the holoscreen, his work dropping down into the folder to be pulled out at a later time. “It got a little crowded in there.” He mumbled with a shrug, his eyes nowhere near meeting Peter’s. “I got an idea and kind of had to run with it.” That excuse almost as lame as the first one.

Peter’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, the boy’s strength keeping him against his chest – forcing him to give up some attention. “What’s really wrong, though? You’ve been a little off lately.”

So, he did notice. Clenching his eyes shut, Tony gave in a little, his body leaning into Peter, letting the younger man take a bit of his weight. “I’m just old – I didn’t want to celebrate that. But, I didn’t have the heart to say anything.” He felt deflated as the words left his lips – the strain of it finally climbing its way down and off his heart. “I’ve been having a moment and I love the hell out of you for doing what you did. I’ve been doubting why you’d want me and it’s so obvious, isn’t it?” Tony leaned his head against Peter’s, so much defeat within him.

For a man that saved the world, he didn’t feel very strong in that moment. Being in Peter’s arms made him vulnerable and, in that moment, he couldn’t find a way to stop the avalanche tumbling him down the cliff. A couple tears streamed down his cheeks before Tony could even think to stop them. Peter’s thumb was there in an instant, mopping them up without a second thought.

“It is – but that’s okay. I should have noticed – I mean, I did, but I was excited. You did say you wanted it to be just you and me. Can we start that now? I’ve got a pretty decent idea,” Peter whispered, the leverage of his hands on Tony’s face bringing their eyes level. “I love you, Tony – today is about you, not me.” Peter let the words sit between them for a second, the boy giving him time to say no if he really wanted.

Instead of answering, Tony closed the space between them, Peter’s lips warm against his own. Tony gripped the side of Peter’s suit jacket and simply let himself go – the younger man taking control of the kiss without a single problem. Tipping his head to the side, a soft gasp left his mouth when Peter took advantage of the position and started to press his tongue in deeper. The tangle of heat there absolutely delicious.

He felt himself being pushed back, his feet moving on their own accord until the edge of the lab table hit his lower back, another moan leaving his lips. With the kiss broken, Peter put a little bit of space between them and went right for Tony’s belt – his nimble fingers getting the thing undone and his button open within seconds. The innocent Peter from a year ago did not exist – the younger man had no problems pushing his pants and boxer briefs down enough to get access to his cock. Lips wrapping around him pulled a “fuck” from deep within him, his control ticking down to nothing.

“Pete – “ Tony grumbled, his hand camping out on his boyfriend’s shoulder, fingers digging into the suit jacket there. Peter worked him over effortlessly, the boy’s tongue trailing down his length as the swallowed him whole. The tip of his dick hit the back of Peter’s throat time and time again – his hips pressing in that last little inch when the other’s hands reached back and used his ass cheeks to pull him forward. The tears in Peter’s eyes welled, but he pulled him deeper anyway – his mouth stretching obscenely.

The gulping sensation of Peter’s throat restricting against his already pulsing length brought him to the edge embarrassingly quick. He moved his fingers up Peter’s neck into his hair, his grip tight after a particularly delicious suck from the tip of his cock all the way down to the root – Peter’s cute little nose dirtily pressed into the nest of well-trimmed pubes. “Oh god – Pete. I’m going to cum. You’ve got to stop. Pete!” Tony spoke helplessly, his free hand scabbling at the table behind him.

Tossing his head back, Tony felt the snap of too much arousal in his gut – his hips pressing forward totally out of his control. “Pete, fuck!” He let out a series of groans with every hard suck against the head of his cock, Peter obviously very keen on milking him for all that he was worth. Tony forced himself to loosen the grip in Peter’s hair, a soft wince leaving his lips when a couple strands of hair caught between his fingers. Desperate for the feel of those spit slick lips against his own, Tony pulled Peter up off his knees and slammed their mouths together.

“What about you?” Tony mumbled against his lips a couple of minutes later, the taste of himself on Peter’s tongue almost enough to get him ready to go again. His fingers were desperate to get their hands on Peter’s skin – the older man hoping for just a little bit more.

Peter grabbed Tony’s hand and pressed it against the crotch of his pants – the wetness there apparent, the suits pants totally ruined by the mess he made. “I think we should head upstairs and see where the rest of the night takes us.” He grinned and gave Tony another kiss, his hands greedy in the way they helped him get his pants up – in the way he pulled Tony out of the lab and into the elevator.

Surprisingly, Peter didn’t try anything in the elevator – he kept Tony against his chest, arms slung tightly around him. “I love you,” the boy mumbled against the shell of his ear, the ride long enough for the intense zing to cool off a bit – the softness of his words perfect for the moment.

“I love you, too.”

That was just the calm before the storm.

Tony followed with hungry eyes as Peter started to take off his clothes the second they hit the penthouse – his bow tie hitting Tony’s cheek before the older man could process what was even happening. Eyes wide, Tony didn’t hesitate to stay on Peter’s heals and try to touch the newly revealed skin with hungry fingertips.

Getting into the bedroom, Tony expected to find a naked Peter in his bed – instead, the naked man was standing at the edge, an expectant look on his face. “Come here,” he beckoned, his long fingers hypnotizing enough to draw Tony in right away. His feet carried him over there – skintight with excitement of what was to come. “Get on the bed, Tony.” Peter’s grin was too good to ignore, so he complied immediately.

Lithe hands made quick work of his shoes and socks – Tony moving up a little further on the mattress when his feet were bare. Peter continued his exploration by moving to the button on is pants and pulling them and his underwear down his legs without hesitation. Soft fingertips explored the soles of his feet, nails running over the arches. “I love how strong your legs are. You’re not the tallest guy – but you’ve got these legs that carry so much weight.” Tony slammed his eyes closed, his brain not able to take the words and the sight of Peter all at once.

The younger man peppered kisses up his legs, over the ticklish part of his knees and across the long length of his thighs – his skin pebbling with the physical sign of arousal. Peter moved up after that, his fingers getting Tony’s buttons open without much effort – the boy touching the newly exposed skin with reverence – eyes glued to Tony’s. “Your stomach is my favorite. You’re stacked – there’s so much muscle there. And then you’ve got this slight little swell here,” Peter moved his hands to run over the littlest bit of stomach Tony hadn’t been able to get rid of over the years. “Reminds me that you’re human, you know?” He let his tongue swirl across the skin there.

A soft touch to his face had him blinking his eyes open, Peter’s face wide open – the heat there, totally encompassed by the lightness the other was trying so hard to portray. Tony nodded his head then, a little smile playing on his lips. Peter returned it, his exploring fingers moving once against to his chest – his nipples pebbling with their attention. “It’s hard to forget sometimes, too,” Tony whispered, chest coming up off the bed to press into Peter’s touch.

A couple minutes later, Peter urged him to turn over – his teasing touches starting up the second his flesh was on display. The younger man’s fingers pressed into the muscles of his shoulders and back, the touch just as soothing as it was arousing. He made a trail from the back of Tony’s neck down to the valley of his lower back with tongue, teeth, and lips – each nip and lick taking him apart inch by inch.

Stopping at his ass, Peter grabbed a cheek in each of his hands. “This is my favorite, though. You’ve taken to wearing those tight slacks and it’s a total tease. I want to take you apart, but then, I want to see your ass clench and flex in those pants,too. It’s distracting, Tony. And I think you know that.” Peter emphasized each of his words with sharp bites to each round globe – the stimulation of the skin there causing Tony to groan, his muscles clenching.

“I like the way you look at me,” Tony managed to groan out, his hips pressing back to get more of Peter’s touch, anything and everything the younger man could give him. Peter rewarded him with another stinging bite on the meat of his right ass cheek. “Fuck, Pete – “ his words felt a little slurred, each one dripping out with any consent of his own.

“I know – and that’s what makes it hotter. Your ass is kind of forbidden. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve had it over the last year,” Peter drove his point home with a not so subtle yank of Tony’s cheeks apart – the air hitting him cool, a sudden chill rushing over his already tender skin.

Fingers pressing against his hole brought Tony to mere whimpers – Peter was right, he didn’t usually do a lot of time in this position, the vulnerability usually making him uncomfortable. There was something in the way Peter was handling him that made him want to give in and let Peter take and give and bring them both to their fucking knees, though. The other seemed to take his noises as a good sign and got to work.

Despite being 50 years old, Tony never got used to the feeling of a tongue in, around, or up his asshole. A laugh fell from his lips – the feeling their foreign and overwhelming, his gut filling with shame and heat all at once. Peter wasn’t discouraged by anything and went to town – his tongue tracing Tony’s rim before pressing in, the tip absolutely devastating in the way it plunged and caressed. The looser he started to feel, the more Peter doubled his efforts.

Soon, fingers were joining Peter’s tongue, the rhythmic press of blunt fingers and a warm tongue a complete mixture of sensations and stimulus – the feeling absolutely fucking perfect. He didn’t feel old when he gave his cock a little thought – the length was raging, the hardness there throbbing with needy want. It felt good – Peter made him feel good. Groaning at a spectacularly good press of Peter’s fingers, Tony bit into the pillow below him – Peter made him feel so fucking good.

“Pete – I need you to fuck me, please. Show me. Show me how much you want me. Need it – need you, baby.” He couldn’t explain what he said or how he said it or even if it made sense; his brain was running on want, adrenaline, and the dopamine that made being delirious feel like the warmest hug – like it was the most exquisite thing in the entire world. His breaths were coming in pants, Peter’s last few thrusts glancing his prostate deliciously.

He felt the younger man move behind him, the bed shifting with his weight. Tony heard the drawer open and let out a sigh of relief – Peter’s weight draping over him the best feeling of the night. “I’ll take care of you, Tony,” Peter said, the words skating across his skin – Pete’s fingers already working the lube into him, the fingers there not nearly enough.

The party a few floors below them probably heard the loud groan Tony let slip from within him when Peter bottomed out. The stretch of not being all that used to the fullness inside him made all of his limbs break out in what felt like waves of fire – his brain stuck between the pleasure-pain of the feeling. The fact that Peter didn’t give him any time to think about it before bottoming out completely helped and the leering blaze of pain that tried to stick around went straight out the window – the heat in his core pooling once again.

Kisses against his neck and the hands running down his sides relaxed him enough to let Peter move – the younger man’s cock thick, his length the perfect combination of inches and girth. For such a young person, Peter kept amazing control over himself – his strokes long and lazy, the best part coming from the exquisite roll of his hips when bottoming out; his prostate getting a gentle nudge with each one. Tony didn’t do anything other than squirm below him – his mind was everywhere, filled with nothing but the things Peter was doing to him.

“You feel amazing, Tony. Fucking amazing,” Peter babbled, the boy’s strokes picking up without either of them noticing – the pace natural, the steady climb of their love making slowly getting to the ultimate crescendo. “I don’t know how you can do this for as long as you do – I want to cum already. I’m going to coat your insides so that every time you even think about not being enough – you’ll remember the way it felt to have me pulse everything I have so deep inside of you. Fuck. I’m so close – “

Tony shouted – Peter’s words and the increase of pace getting him from hot to completely bothered in no time at all. The other’s weight pressed him against the mattress, every thrust brushing his cock against the soft sheets below him. His eyes were clenched tightly, Tony determined to let his mind and body wander – Peter’s guiding hands the only thing that mattered in that moment. “I love you, Pete,” Tony choked out, his head turning to catch Peter’s glance over his shoulder. When they caught eyes, the look in Peter’s tossed him over the edge – the younger man’s mouthed ‘I love you, too’ way, way, way too much for him to handle.

Peter miraculously held on for another handful of strokes, the younger man keeping his promise – his overused hole clenching with every pulse he could feel. The repeated Tony played in his head like a mantra – Peter’s voice the only one he wanted to hear say his name for the rest of his life.

----

When the immediate fatigue of orgasming within the inch of his life wore off, Tony coerced Peter into the shower – the younger man still covered in sweat and lube. The stayed wrapped around each other trading kisses back and forth – Peter continuing his trend of taking care of Tony; the young man surprisingly thorough in the way he ran his fingers through long locks and scrubbed the dirt, grim, and cum off his skin.

The last couple of hours were exactly what he was looking for – and Tony told Peter so more than a few times between getting out of bed and finishing up in the shower. His boyfriend simply kissed him, the boy obviously not looking for any sort of praise. After all they did for each other, thank you’s were a little meaningless – both men more than capable of expressing their gratitude in many different ways.

Pulling on a pair of sleep pants, Tony got back into bed on Peter’s instruction. The younger man walked out of the room for a couple of minutes – Tony laying back against the mattress, the feeling of contentment lingering in his mind for the first time in a while. There were many things Peter did for him – but this, the never-ending feeling of comfort, that’s what Tony liked the most. Being the 50-year-old man that he was, having a person that could bring him that was the best birthday present Tony hoped to continue to keep on getting.

The snick of Peter’s bare feet on the floor brought him out of his thoughts – the younger man carrying a box with him when Tony sat up to watch him walk back into the room. “I know you said no presents, but I think you’re going to like this one. I only spent money on one part of it – and it wasn’t that much, so don’t be upset, okay? I’m 99% sure you’re going to really like this.” Watching Peter babble about it made up for the fact that his boyfriend once again ignored his wishes (though, the longer they were together, the longer Tony figured Peter did that on purpose – because it was a fun game between them.)

Tony reached out to Peter, his fingers beckoning the younger man into bed. “I won’t be upset – just come sit with me while I open it.” He didn’t care how needy he seemed – today was his birthday and Peter was hell bent on catering to him. Peter didn’t disagree, anyway, he easily slid into the bed next to Tony, the box still in his hands.

“So, I guess I should explain this a little bit before you open it,” Peter started, his fingers playing with the bow on top of the box. “You’re always talking about how you miss everyone – and how it would be a lot easier if you had tangible memories of things. I know you’ve got all the technology in the world and could make that happen if you really wanted to. I mean – you still use Friday to watch me sometimes, you can’t even deny that.” He chuckled then, his face a little red from nervousness – the emotion easily read on his face.

“Anyway – I wanted you to see that people love and miss you, too. That, despite what you might think, the world would not be the same with you and the 50 years you’ve been kicking around it.” Then and only then did Peter let go of the box – his eyes flitting back and forth between Tony and whatever was in the damn thing.

Taking a deep breath, Tony pulled the top off, his head tilting when he saw what looked like a photo album sitting there. He peeked up, but Peter’s eyes were staring at the album in the box, the expression on his face unreadable. Tony took a deep breath and dug in, his curiosity winning out over any other emotion that was vying for his attention.

Opening it, Tony’s breath caught – the cover page was one of the professional photos they got done a couple months ago. The smile on both of their faces was stunning, the love written there obvious. A few of those photos were in frames around the room. In big letters it said, ‘To Tony Stark’ and under the picture the words ‘from the people who love you’ were written there.

He flipped the first page and almost lost it – the collection of him and Rhodey during college making him want to cringe and rush back up to the party all at once. His hair cut during that time of his life wasn’t the greatest – an instant regret for the party in the back look he tried to pull off for a little while washing over him. On the far side of the page, a note was written.

Happy birthday, old man!

When Peter brought this up, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to embarrass the hell out of you. College is where you changed my life and it’ll always be one of my favorite times in life. Thanks for the memories, Tones – I love you, brother.

Rhodey

Tony glanced up, a few tears streaming down his face freely. Peter shook his head, his eyes moving back to the album in Tony’s hands. “You’re just getting started – keep going.”

He didn’t have anything left in him to argue – so he turned the page, his heart warming up a little further. The shots of him and Bruce in the lab were some he’d never seen before. There were a couple of more recent photos in there, too. The combination of Bruce and the Hulk still something that made Tony laugh to this very day – the symbiosis between the two entities just another thing to add to the long list of things that changed over the years.

Tony,

There’s too much to say and not enough space to say it. Learning and progressing and creating with you over the years is why I am the way that I am. We saved the world together, brother – that’s the ultimate bond. Thankful for you and your arrogantly brilliant ass.

Happy birthday, Tony – enjoy it.

Love you,

Bruce

There were so many pages filled to the brim with photos of him with various people – Happy, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, Thor, even Wanda and Vision. They each wrote individual notes and recalled shared memories and little thoughts and blurbs about his progressive old age and the notedly selfless way Tony could care about people. It was overwhelming – each new page eye opening, his perspective of himself and the relationship he had with these people progressively changing. This was how people saw him? He spent so much of his youth having people slander his name – it almost didn’t make sense that people could feel this kind of way about him.

When he got to the last couple of pages, Tony couldn’t stand it – he reached over and pulled Peter to him, his face settling into the safe confines of the other’s neck. “I can’t believe that you did this, baby. It’s – the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” Tony spoke the words so reverently, his entire being still a little bit in awe of what he’d seen – of the kind words that some of the best people he knew wrote about him, each one way more than he ever could have expected.

Peter wrapped his arms around him and held him close – the younger man pressing kisses against his hair and forehead every few moments. “You’re still not done yet,” the younger man reminded him – Tony pulling back to find a soft look on Peter’s face. “I think you might like these last couple the best.”

Suddenly spurred on by Peter’s words, Tony shifted his attention back to the photo album in his hand, eager fingers turning the page to find pictures of himself. The look on his face in every single one of them radiated love and excitement and pure happiness. He didn’t usually like pictures of just him – no matter how much Peter begged, he didn’t even send the man he loved selfies. Yet, he couldn’t peal his eyes away from these. Lifting them, he looked questioningly at Peter. “What are these from, even?”

Chuckling, Peter reached over and let his fingers brush across the ones within reach, the ‘for Tony only’ smile pulling his lips wide. “I took these, actually. When we first started dating, I got into the habit of snapping a picture of you when you looked happy. Then, it became a thing to catch those looks whenever I could. You’d be surprised by the number of pictures I had to choose from.” Peter spoke the words with pride, the creepiness of them not even registering with the younger man. Tony grabbed his hand and pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles – his eyes alight.

“I’m not surprised by anything that you do, Peter Parker. They’re beautiful – I didn’t know I could look like this,” Tony remarked, his voice carrying all of the awe that he felt. It warmed his heart to know that Peter was the one making him look like that – they were good for each other, but it was nice to get a real example of it.

The thought of what could come next had Tony moving on – the apprehension making his fingers tremble as he turned the page. And man did it completely knock the wind from him. The last page was a collection of pictures of him and Peter – some he’d seen before and a few he hadn’t, the candid nature of them making it seem like they were taken by other people. His chin dropped a little, the evidence that Peter felt the same way right there on the page. Some of these pictures were old – a couple of them obviously before they got together.

Reaching over, Tony grabbed Peter’s hands and tangled their fingers together – he would probably need the added strength to read the long note there. Peter’s words always had a way of bringing him to his knees, he doubted this would be any different. The other’s hand gave his a squeeze, Tony diving in the very next second.

Hey you,

When I first started this, I never thought I’d get to learn so much about you. I especially loved your college hairstyle – totally my favorite.

I know there’s not a lot you can give a person that is both a genius and a millionaire – but I figured memories are priceless and the easiest thing I could give  you. Not just memories between you and I, either. We’re just starting our journey.

I guess what I’m trying to say with all of this is – there’s nothing wrong with the years you’ve lived. They have given so many people things that are priceless. Friendship, love, mentorship, knowledge. All of those things are important. You are a manifestation of each one and that is the person I get to love on a daily basis.

Every single one of your years will always matter, Tony. I’m forever grateful that you want to spend the ones you fought so hard to get with me. That’s not something that I take for granted. You teach me things I’ll never be able to learn from anyone else. You care for me in a way that is devoted and careful – like I’m the most precious piece of china you’ve ever been given. And the way you love me, Tony, it’s something that is unexplainable and completely mind-blowing. You give yourself so fiercely – it just takes a little while to truly understand what that means.

You’re my hero, Tony. And I don’t think I’m the only one that feels that way.

I love you.

& I happen to think that’s inevitable.

Happy birthday, Tony

The tears were falling freely now – the day taking a completely different turn than he expected. Between the tenderness, spectacular sex, and this insanely heartfelt gift, Tony was out of his mind with feelings he couldn’t classify. He never liked his birthday. Whether it was a reminder of how lonely he was or a big spectacle for the people that wanted something from him – it never seemed to be the occasion that others could make out of their own special days. Though it didn’t change his opinion about the day in general, Tony wasn’t afraid to admit that the day with Peter by his side was substantially better.

He didn’t hesitate to use both hands to palm Peter’s cheeks and seal their lips together. His wet face made the kiss a little messy – but neither of them seemed to care. Feeling Peter give into it, Tony tilted his head and deepened the kiss, the closeness just right for the situation. “I love you, Pete. This is – I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Leaning their foreheads together, Peter rubbed his nose against Tony’s, his eyes closing as he leaned into the connection between them. “I love you, Tony. I’m going to take care of you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then?” Tony asked immediately, the words tumbling out on their own accord.

“Yeah, baby. Forever.” Peter answered, his lips finding Tony’s again.

“Happy birthday, Tony Stark.”

[writingawaymylife]

Dance Around - Jump Forward Part 1

I’m back! And this time with an entirely new obsession. 

Death Stranding has become one of my favorite games at the moment, and I’m really loving (most) of the characters. Higgs is probably my favorite, just because he is so, personally, fascinating. He is also voiced by Troy Baker, who, if you don’t know, if an exceptionally talented voice actor who played Joel in The Last of Us.

I got this entire story from an ask that @dirty-higgs-confessions had gotten a week or so back, it was meant to be more a humorous idea, but I’ve always loved my angst.

Also! Please help me out with this! If there’s something that seems off (especially with Higgs’ character), go ahead and tell me! I really want to write him properly, and while I’m going to be writing a lot for him because of that, any help is always appreciated :)

Please Enjoy - Dance Around - Jump Forward Part 1

Warnings - Swearing, Higgs

Words - 3461 (10 google doc pages)

          The Death Stranding left most people with a type of pain indescribable. Everything that kept people going in life - everything that people held dear - was ripped away in the blink of an eye. Snap. Boom. Explosion after explosion decimated the world to nothing but a foreign wasteland. Warping it into some alien planet and forcing the people inhabiting it to adapt without a moments notice. Then, before anyone could even begin to unwrap the baggage they were given, humanity began to tear at the seams. People became distant, cold - hiding away from the world that had turned its back on them as well. 

The people that were born after the Stranding? They didn’t have it any better either. Parents who were unable to deal with their own mental health, weren’t able to give their children what they needed to flourish. The people who tried to keep everything together and tied with a neat bow crumbled as well, until only a few scrambled to keep the pieces in the same box.

Vulnerability had become a weakness. Caring for people risked more weight to be added to one’s shoulders. Emotions were buried somewhere deep and desolate, covered in chains and locks. Sealed shut in a place no one would be able to reach. 

In the end, feeling nothing was easier than the dawning realization that followed when coming to the sudden, and harsh, realization that everything was eventually going to crumble to dust. 

It was bleak, depressing, but to most of all, it was the only way to survive. 

Emotions were unreliable. They didn’t help people to survive. If anything - they were the reason for countless, and avoidable, deaths. Sentiment and heroism only served to cloud their judgment, and left them vulnerable to more pain than what they had already experienced  - more than ever they needed or deserved.

(Y/N) was taught this as soon as they could understand words, the ideologies were pounded into their mind until it became a mantra they repeated over and over again, often when even the mere thought of becoming something more than a passerby - a stranger to all - crossed their minds. 

Though it was lonely it was also safe. They had learned the repercussions of having connections long ago.

That’s why when Higgs came into their life, they had tried to damnedest to not let the craving for the attention, for that bloody connection, get in the way of the logical choice. He was nothing more than another passerby, bound to leave one way or another. 

The occurrence of their connection was unplanned - just a mere result. (Y/N) had just very thoroughly taught a camp of Homo Demens that they weren’t one to be fucked with. No one was dead, but to say (Y/N) went easy on them would be a laughable. Higgs had appeared, ready to make an example of them, when, for some peculiar reason he couldn’t quite point out if asked, he had changed his mind. 

They were entertaining, didn’t blink an eye when he tried to scare them, only gave him a blank stare before continuing to walk passed him. Whatever threats he threw their way, (Y/N) would just clench their jaw and continue on with whatever they were doing.  They hadn’t even blinked an eye when he summoned some BTs, only a tilt of the head before looking him dead in the eye and challenging him. 

“Do it.” They had said it casually, as if they weren’t asking him to feed them to BTs. As if they weren’t asking him to do the one thing everybody fears the most. 

From then on he made it his mission to bother them, drive them up the wall whenever he decided he was bored and needed some sustenance. (Y/N) had almost throttled him for the number of times he had said just the right nerve to get them furious. Higgs seemed to enjoy the red hot rage he initiated whenever he spoke. 

They danced around each other, thinly veiled threats and insults thrown both ways at every possibly turn. 

Neither knew when those insults slowly became warm and endearing, - hell, (Y/N) didn’t know how Stalker, a nickname they gave him after he found them for the fifteenth time that month, stopped being thrown in hopes of him leave them alone. 

Soon those dances - those shared moments and conversations turned into something more. Something that became convoluted yet oh so simple as the months rolled by.

If (Y/N) had to pin the true emergence of these feelings, or whatever they thought they were, to one time, it would be when he appeared in their shelter. Zapping in without a moments notice, leaning against the kitchen island with his hands gripping the countertop. He looked weary. Shoulders didn’t hold nearly as much of the strength and arrogant cockiness that they always held. The bags under his eyes seemed darker, heavier. The smile on his face, one that made (Y/N) to feel far too many emotions for them to process, was fleeting and distant. He looked like a ghost of his true self.  

His teases didn’t hold nearly as much mirth to them, either He looked… conflicted. Like something dark and heavy was weighing on his mind, encircling it in a cloud he just couldn’t shake off. Hell, even when he called them “darlin’”, it seemed to come out with less of an expectation for some threat or insult to be thrown back, and more… (Y/N) stopped that train of thought before it could go any further.

“The fuck are you doing here, Stalker?” Their words came out harsh, but more out of playing the act than actually trying to be hostile. Higgs gave a soft, flat chuckle and a shake of his head. He gave a quick grin, though forced, and throw a jab their way, again, forcefully. 

“Oh, nothing really,” He started, hands falling from the counter and sliding into his pockets. “Just came to see how my favourite ball of joy was doing, Darlin’.” He gave a quick wink, but it only took a few seconds before (Y/N) could see the smile was growing heavy on him. They would have thrown something back had it not been for the way his eyes left theirs to navigate the house. It was if he knew that they could sense something was wrong, and couldn’t bare to see the realization kick into their eyes.

There was silence for a few minutes. Not tense, but definitely not comfortable either. (Y/N) realized he wasn’t going to explain why he was actually here, not anytime soon. It was a mystery, just like the rest of him. An enigma that (Y/N) had a hard time not finding fascinating. They always wondered what thoughts went trailing through his head. What he was thinking in those moments when the two talked. 

What he was thinking when he decided to cause tragedy after tragedy.

There was a tinge of frustration in their chest when they realized that he was just going to stay quiet. At this point, however, they knew they shouldn’t have been surprised. Higgs had a near phobia of vulnerability, a fear that they couldn’t blame him for having. Not when they felt the exact same way. He was definitely not going to be telling them anything even relatively emotional anytime soon, not without prying his walls open with selfish claws. Though (Y/N) wanted to ask, it was obvious that interrogating wasn’t going to do anything other than push him away.

On top of it all, for some reason, a part of them would much rather have been welcomed a look inside his mind on his own time. Given a key to roam the wings of his mind instead of forcing themselves in. He was a strong man, no doubt. But they could tell that he could breakdown so easily if someone was given the right route to the safe where he kept his emotions.

(Y/N) gave him a soft smile as they walked past him into the kitchen. They made sure to give his shoulder to lightest of nudges with theirs. “How about a drink?”

Things changed after that. Though, not entirely for the worse. 

Including the numerous times he would blip into their life on the road, there were the nights when he would appear in (Y/N)’s bunker. Often in an array of different moods, sometimes he would be like the first time he came, and other times seemed to be because he actually just… missed them - though both knew he would never say that. 

It turned into a schedule eventually. Every second weekend, if not every single one, for a night of just talking. Discussing anything that came to mind and sharing stupid stories and theories. (Y/N) would be lying if they said that those nights weren’t their favourite. It made their weeks just a little more tolerable. 

Now, (Y/N) was never one for believing in permanent bonds with people. People came and went - that was that. They had learned enough about that from their times out in this nearly dystopian world. But with each time they talked to Higgs, the strand between them seemed to grow stronger. Intertwining and making it more difficult for them to be apart the longer they were together.

Though neither of the two admitted it, though neither believed the other truly felt the same, the connection they had created seemed unbreakable. 

Then…

Then everything came crashing down. 

Quick and harsh. A whirlwind of events that had everything (Y/N) had built with Higgs slowly fall apart. 

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t “deal” with me anymore!?” (Y/N)’s voice rang out through the shelter. Arms opened in exasperation, eyes wide with confusion and thinly veiled fear.

“Exactly what it means, Darlin’.” His mask was on. Voice muffled from the thick plastic and chiralium mask. They couldn’t remember the last time he wore that around them, or bring up anytime when he wore it inside (Y/N)’s bunker.  “I’ve got more important problems.”  His shoulders moved up in a jagged shrug. It felt so casual, as if he hadn’t just broken their heart in seconds like it was nothing.

As if everything the two had built was nothing.

As if (Y/N) was nothing. 

Finally, the emotions were coming to the surface. Among the toxic brew of shock, anger, resentment, and fear, there was this sickening - overwhelmingly painful emergence of fucking love. Strong and potent and they were amazed this was the first time they had genuinely, truly noticed it.

“So-so what? You’re just going to act like we don’t have anything between us? Like this was nothing more than a way to pass the fucking time!?” (Y/N)’s voice was getting louder, and it took everything in them to not let that crack at the end become something worse. They were not going to meltdown now. 

There was a thick silence in the air, and (Y/N) could have sworn his shoulders tensed just slightly before he straightened to his full height and took a step forward, menacingly, as if hoping to intimidate the only person who had never once been scared of him. 

“Oh?” His head tilted and the chuckle he let out was most definitely condescending. (Y/N) could almost feel the kind of grin he had on his face. The one he used just before he said something stupid.  “And just what did you think this was?” He was mocking them now. A deep, resounding chuckle filled the new found emptiness as he shook his head. “You didn’t truly think that I, Higgs, the particle of God that permeates all of existence would feel sentiment towards you? A half-decent porter with attachment issues?”

There was no way to stop the shuddering breath that escaped after that.

“... Fuck…” (Y/N) hissed under their breath, cursing the tears that were slipping from their traitors of eyes. They looked down, unable to look at that mask anymore, and pinched the bridge of their nose. They hoped this wasn’t true. That Higgs was panicking and running away or-or trying to protect them in some pathetic and dreadful way. 

It was all too much to handle, and the pain growing in their chest turned into what they imagined placing hot coal on top of their heart would feel like. Boiling the blood in their veins as they looked up with what must have been the sourest look they had given him. 

There was no way they were going to let him treat them like this, no way they were going to believe these disgusting lies when the past two months had been something utterly different from any other time in their relationship.  They took a step forward, looking up at him with a jutted chin and clenched jaw, challenging him.

“So. What now? Are you going to kill me?” (Y/N) took another shaky step forward. “Let my body rot and necrotize? Cause a voidout because that’s what fucking terrorists do?”

Higgs froze at that. Shoulders tightening up yet again, like iron coils twisting just before they were about to snap. 

The question hung in the air.

“If I’m of no use to you anymore, it would only make sense, wouldn’t it?”

(Y/N) was about to let a small laugh out, a sigh of relief, after he didn’t reply. They opened their mouth, about to explain to him just what he did and how stupid it was for him to push away the only person who cared so much for him, but he jumped before they could. Black specks chiralium hanging in the air. A second later the sound of him jumping back into existence appeared. He was behind them now, threateningly close as an arm wrapped around their waist and pressed them against him. His breath ghosted their neck as he let out a breathy chuckle. His composure was back and in full force, and for once - just this once, (Y/N) felt a cold shiver run up their spine.

“You would like to think that, wouldn’t you, Darlin’? His arm tightened as if showing that it would be so easy to end them right then and there. “But… here’s the thing, Sugar. Those DOOMs that you’ve been trying to keep quiet this entire time? They’ll come in handy one day. And when they do, I’ll be right there to use them up.”

Then…

Then he disappeared. 

(Y/N) stood in that spot for what felt like hours. Flatlined, numb. 

It took weeks before they were able to get out of the shelter. 

“Thank you. So much.” The Engineers’ hologram gave a kind smile and a wave. Checking over the body achingly heavy supplies (Y/N) had just lugged all the way from the Distribution Center South of Lake Knot City. They were just appreciative of the truck they had gotten. It would have never been capable of doing so with out it, admittedly. They were no Sam Porter - though, at this point, that man was most definitely not human. 

“No problem, man. Just doing my job.” (Y/N) tried to sound nice, giving a tight smile before he fizzled out of existence and (Y/N)’s rating came up. In all honesty, however, their mind was elsewhere. Thinking of someone who for the past month continued to find his way into their train of thoughts.

Higgs

(Y/N) missed him so much. It felt like another part of their heart had been torn off. It should have been just another name to add to the list of people they lost, should have just given them another reason why you never get attached. What shouldn’t have been happening was the bone marrow deep aching like a part of them had been torn away from them. It brought back painful memories, ones they had sealed in a part of their mind, buried in the deepest grave possible. 

It was an ache that almost made them concerned enough to go to a doctor. Deep and hallow, and there was no fucking way to ignore it. Booze, cigarettes, weed - whatever they could get their hands on, the feelings wouldn’t go away. It was so stupid to fall down that hole when (Y/N) and Higgs hadn’t even been a thing - hell, they hadn’t even discussed if they were friends or not. 

The self pity and debilitating heartbreak lasted three or so weeks before (Y/N) forced themselves into a shower. Shucking on clean clothing and the white porter suit and getting back to doing orders again. 

It felt nice. Being clear-headed (to some degree) and having fresh air to help them think more level headedly (just barely). But even thinking his name caused a lump in their throat. 

They should have been relieved to have him gone. He was a fucking terrorist. He killed people just to make a stupid statement.  He didn’t even blink while doing so either, just did it. Along with that? If someone found out (Y/N) had known him, and willingly hung out with him, and had not said anything to authorities, (Y/N) would have been in a world of trouble. 

Even with all this, they couldn’t help but still miss him and his stupid smile. It almost disgusted them, to care about someone like that, though emotions honestly had a mind of their own, it was still something (Y/N) should have controlled, just like they had with everyone else. 

They kicked a rock on their way back to the truck. Head shaking and staring up at the clear blue sky with a harsh and resentful glare. 

“Common, (Y/N). Out of anyone you’ve gotten attached to, the terrorist - a bloody monster - shouldn’t be one of them. He’s hurt people, he’s probably continuing to hurt people as you give yourself this pathetic pep talk!” They didn’t even realize they had finished the sentence with a yell as they jumped into their black truck. They looked up at the rearview window, into their own eyes with the same cold glare. “You really are a fool, you know that? How about next time you go fuck a MULE?” A groan left their lips as tears started prickling at their eyes, and eventually, they had to look away, proceeding to lightly bump their forehead against the steering wheel as light sobs racked their bodies. 

They really did love him… There was no other way to look at this. (Y/N) loved him with their entire being, and there was no way to get rid of these emotions. 

That night, as (Y/N) fell asleep in their disheveled bed without even trying to get their clothes off, they had their first dream in months. 

It started black. Pitch black with no sound, no anything. But (Y/N) knew they were conscious to some degree. Floating in a void that brought back memories they didn’t want to think about. 

The sounds appeared first. Soft waves crashing against the sand followed by the crying of seagulls and the distant rumbling of a storm. Next was a smell. Ozone with a hint of rotting corpses and the churning saltiness of a polluted sea. 

After the gag reflex disappears, sight brought all the puzzle pieces together. 

(Y/N) was on the Beach. Or, at least a Beach. 

Beached Whales littered the Beach ahead of them, and when squinting and peaking through them, (Y/N) could see the ocean licking at the sand. 

Awe. 

That’s what they felt. Incomprehensible awe at the sight before them. It was all so real. Vivid and hauntingly beautiful. (Y/N) didn’t know whether to be scared or excited over the prospect of actually seeing this. 

The anxiety seemed to rear its head quite quickly afterwards. The tiny voice in the back of their head tried to explain that this might very well be theirs. That they had died for some reason. And with that came the panic of realizing that they would then be necrotizing - that they would cause a voidout. 

A hand landing softly on their shoulder, eliciting indignant squawk that (Y/N) would have been more than embarrassed at, had they not just been scared out of their skin and clean pants.

“What the fuck?” The shout stopped when they turned around. Ending with a gasp as they took a quick step back and looked over the person in front of them. 

What the fuck indeed. 

There was a silence in the air for a second, before the woman gave a soft, comforting smile. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid. I just came to talk.”

[mysweetestcreature]

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 1: Had Me from Hello

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat <3)

***

Masterlist

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Wednesday, September 3, 2008

        The car parks right at the entrance of the school, where some students are gathered around making conversation and trying to out-do the other in who’s had the most exotic vacation, while others swarm through the doors on a mission to get back into the flow of the semester. Harry eyes the building up and down from the window cautiously. Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to be attending Ashwood Prep this year, especially considering the fact he received a hefty amount of scholarship money when he had gotten accepted. It’s just that being the new kid at a K12 school might as well be like getting thrown into open water when all one knows is how to backstroke. 

        “I could drive around the block again, if you’d like?” Harry snorts at the suggestion as he turns back to his mum. “I can just feel anxiety coming off your aura,” she adds, circling her hand just around the side of his head. Over the last few months, she’s been very interested in trying to read his aura, whatever that means (he isn’t sure how this obsession started, but he’ll admit that she’s getting quite good).

        “Mum...” he whines, shrinking further into the leather of his seat as he covers his face from any overly curious eyes that may find him and his mother a little too interesting. 

        Anne feigns offense and lets out a dramatic huff. “Not even a day in high school, and he’s already ashamed to be seen with me.” 

        Both remain silent for the time being, and only the chatter from outside fills the void of unsaid between them. It’s when Harry takes the chance and subtly tries to take a peek at her from the corner of his eye, does he find her doing the exact same. They burst into giggles, and Harry shakes his head as he sits up. Once he’s recovered, his gaze falls back towards the window, where the number of students has decreased in just a matter of minutes. 

        “’m nervous,” he admits despondently a few seconds later. 

        A hand falls over his, squeezing it tight as its thumb pads over his skin to calm him. “And that’s completely normal, but, darling –– it’s going to be alright. I know this because I know you, and you’re never one to back down. Besides, I think you look quite handsome in your uniform.” He’s dressed in black dress pants topped off with a white polo, a cool-toned dark blue cardigan and a black tie with school’s emblem printed in the middle. 

        As Harry lets the rest of Anne’s words sink in, he thinks about how he’d been in this position not even two years ago. A year and eight months ago, to be exact, he’d moved from his childhood home in Holmes Chapel in England to New Jersey. Anne had received a stellar job opportunity as marketing head at a consumer goods company, and Harry and his sister, Gemma, felt like that had to support her in this new chapter of her life. Unfortunately, that included leaving behind their friends, family, and all that they’ve ever known. So, in mid-January, he’d been the new kid to insert himself into the seventh-grade at JW Middle School. For the most part, everyone in his year had been kind enough, sans those few jerks who made fun of the way he talked and yelled ‘bloody hell’ whenever they’d see him in the halls or at lunch, but even that only lasted for a month. Other than that, he felt as though he’d really tried to make the best out of their situation.

        Now here he is again, in nearly an identical position as the last. It’s a lot better now, he supposes. For starters, he’s starting school on the first day, so he’s sure there are going to be at least a dozen new students like him. By now, he’s also used to living in Jersey (loves it, his mum would say), even knows all the best diners within a thirty-mile radius of his house and where to get the freshest bagels on a Saturday morning. 

        The eighth grade had even been immensely enjoyable for him, he had made a lot of friends, had his first kiss, and he even graduated salutatorian of the class, only falling a thousandth of a decimal behind Andrea Chung. 

        “You know what? You’re right, mum. I can so do this,” he affirms himself. 

        “Hey, I didn’t say to be cocky,” Anne teases, pinching his cheeks before she unlocks the doors. “Now, get out of my car. I have a meeting in less than an hour, and I still need to stop for coffee. Love you!” 

        Harry lets his feet fall onto the sidewalk toes first, and pulls the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. Ashwood Prep looks even bigger now that he’s stood on the ground. Everyone is dressed in their uniforms, but of course there are those who obviously chose to customize theirs. He looks to his left, and swallows hard as Anne’s Mercedes merges onto the main road. “This is it,” he tells himself. This is where he’ll be spending the next four years of his life. 

        Suddenly, he feels something knock into his back, causing him to stumble a few steps forward. 

        “Oof!” 

        Before he can catch a glimpse and ask if whoever it was is okay, a figure manages to dodge his eyes as she speeds off up the stairs. 

        “I’m so sorry!” the girl yells back at him, but all he can really make out is the side of her face and a silver and pink checkered scrunchie that holds her hair back in a half do style. “But I have to get these ready before Pattern A or else Mr. N is totally gonna be on my back about it!” Her echo sounds panicked as she disappears into the building, and even the students still remaining towards the entrance part a path for her to pass. 

        “You’re fine!” he shouts after her. 

***

        “You’ll find that your locker assignments and schedules are laid out for you in alphabetical order,” the homeroom teacher, Mr. Bartolome says in his most unenthusiastic tone. “If you have any questions...ask each other.” Harry heads towards the back in search of his last name, until he finds it at a desk right by the window, its position is in perfect view of the entire room. There are some small things he notices, like how the walls have barely a scratch on them and how the floors are so we'll polished that even the slightest of movements elicits a squeak.

        Just as he takes his seat, a voice booms from beside him. “Excuse me!” His head leads the rest of his body as he pivots on his heel. A girl with magnificent auburn hair tied back in a high ponytail and freckles that dance across her face almost perfectly stares inquisitively at him. “You’re new, right? I’m Zoey” 

        “Oh, uh...yeah. I’m Harry,” he replies with a polite nod. As he sits down, he can feel Zoey’s eyes scan him up and down. 

        “Wait!” she gasps, her mouth falling open. “Are you...are you from England?” She looks at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to say that he’s related to the Queen or Churchill or something just as outrageous as that.

        He nods before speaking. “Cheshire,” he replies, but she stares at him blankly. “It’s North from London.” 

        “Oh,” she tries to hide her disappointment. “Well, if you need help with anything, you can always ask me.” 

        “Thanks,” he offers her a tight-lipped grin. She sends him a wink in return before turning to her friend seated to her other side.

        Harry takes the opportunity to look down at the gridded schedule laid out before him. Thank god he’d looked over his schedule ahead a time when it was posted online because it had taken him about an hour to fully comprehend, and if he’s being honest, Mr. Bartolome kind of scares him. The school works on a 6-day cycle, and each class is referred to as a ‘pattern’ rather than a ‘period’. Each day, one subject drops, and the one that had dropped the day before is added in at the beginning. He looks up at the board, where Mr. Bartolome has written an outline of how today is going to work out. Day 1, it says in green marker, followed by the order of classes. Harry looks back down at his schedule, and his eyes linger on his Pattern A. 

***

        His first class of the day just happens to be his favorite subject. Harry isn’t sure what it is, but he loves reading and learning about the past and drawing maps of how the past has contributed and affected the present. It might be because his grandad had been a university history professor at Oxford and would tell Harry tales from World War 2 in place of the usual bedtime stores (that’s not to say that Harry isn’t well versed in fairytales, of course). 

        Luckily there hadn’t been assigned seating, so Harry was able to snag a table in the third row when he had first come in. The seats are now slowly filling up as the rest of the class staggers in a few tired looking students at a time, and the teacher makes it a point to note that it’s the first day...the first class of the day nonetheless! Harry recognizes a few from homeroom, like the boy who had dared asked Mr. Bartolome a question, and Zoey, who flirtatiously waves at him with before being forced into the back by a few of her friends. 

        Their teacher pushes out of his chair and heads to the whiteboard. He takes a dry erase marker in his hand, and in big letters writes what looks to be his name, but Harry can barely make it out without squinting his eyes.  

        “Welcome to US History Honors!” he exclaims. “As I’ve just written in my embarrisingly horrendous handwriting...which is why we’re definitely using PowerPoint, so I don’t get a billion emails about what’s written, don’t worry...I’m Mr. Noone!” 

        Mr. Noone walks over to the door, but just as he’s about to shut it to start the lesson, someone calls out to him from the hall. “Wait! I’m here, I’m here!” Everyone watches as the elderly man lets out a knowing sigh, shoulders falling in defeat, but it’s followed by a genuine chuckle as the final student speeds into the room. 

        “Sorry, Mr. N!” she says, still trying to catch her breath. Harry immediately eyes the same pink and grey scrunchie that had knocked into him earlier. “But I had to wait for these to cool before packing them up or else all the sugar would fall off!” In her hands is a medium-sized Tupperware, and he recognizes the faint yet alluring scent of freshly baked treats.

        “Earl grey short bread?” Mr. Noone cocks a brow at her as he finally shuts the door. “I don’t accept tardiness for just any average cookie.”

        The girl shakes her head animatedly. “I’m insulted that you even have to ask that question!” Mr. Noone strolls towards his desk with his hands behind his back, then peaks over the top of the container. A pleased expression dances across his face as his fingers fish for a scrumptious cookie to bite in to, and he’s even more ecstatic as the shortbread touches his palate. 

        “You did good, kid. Now find a seat before I write you up for loitering,” he threatens lightly, and the girl lets out a little huff as she turns around.  

        And that’s when Harry finally sees her face. 

        His stomach flips over, and he’s left in that awkward position of will he or won’t he see this morning’s breakfast again (and he’d eaten a hefty meal). Her eyes have a glimmer to them, like a star on top of a Christmas tree or better yet, the real ones he watches from his bedroom window when he can’t fall asleep. He’s so in awe that he stops breathing when those sparkling eyes land on the empty seat right beside him. Whatever amusement he’d been feeling when he’d first sat down is now replaced with something else. It’s like heat that creeps up to his neck originating from the base of his spine. 

        The closer she gets, the sweatier his palms become, so bad that he has trouble keeping his pen firm in his grasp. “Hi, I’m Y/n!” she says as she stops in front of him, a warm smile embedded on her lips and a warmth that seems to radiate off her so naturally. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit here?” 

        “Y-yeah, I mean, no! I mean, of course. It’s...it’s all yours.” What was that?! Jesus Christ, Harry. It’s like you’ve never talked to a girl before! She giggles as he trips over his words, but thanks him graciously before sliding into the seat and getting herself comfortable. He tenses at her presence being so close to him and he couldn’t tell you why. “Harry,” he blurts out like vomit. 

        “What?” She looks up from digging through her bag.

        He bites on the inside of his cheek, suddenly feeling conscious under this self-imposed pressure. “My name’s Harry,” and he shyly repeats before turning back to the board.

        Y/n tilts her head at him, and the soft smile returns to her face. “Nice to meet you, Harry.” 

        At that, he’s finally able to breathe normally. He steals a couple glances at her as she sets everything down on their table, and he notices how her lips quirk to the side as she sets everything down with such precision. A printed Beatles-themed pencil case catches his eye, and he smiles to himself as he thinks fondly to all the times his grandad had played their records over and over. 

        “I love the Beatles,” he says almost as a whisper, but she picks up on it and perks up immediately. 

        “They’re my favorite band and all I listen to most days.” She picks up the pouch and twirls it in her hands. “My dad brought this back when he visited London a few years ago. I’ve never been, but hopefully one day!” There’s hope in her voice as she stares sheepishly at the print.

        “Alright!” Their conversation is cut short as Mr. Noone chews up his last bit of cookie. “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s start class!” A projection screen starts to pull down over the whiteboard, followed by a slowly brightening white light. “While we’re waiting for this to load, I want you to take a good look at who you’re sitting next to because you’ll be partnering up for various projects and presentations over the course of the year.” 

***

        After class, Harry sits back as he watches a bulk of his classmates file out of the room en route to their next destination. As their voices carry out into the halls, it’s just him and a few others left, including Y/n, who appears to be taking her sweet time packing everything up in her bag.   

        “So,” the “o” carries out longer than he’d anticipated. He scratches the back of his neck as he searches for something, anything, he can say to her, so she doesn’t think he’s a complete and utter fool for not being able to speak without fumbling over his own tongue. “I’m not really sure where my next class is.” 

        “Oh!” Her eyes grow wide as she zips up her backpack. “I could help you, if you’d like?” And gosh, does his chest pound when she leans in close and takes a peek at his schedule in front of him on the table. “You’re actually just on the second floor!” she exclaims, pointing up towards the ceiling. “I’m like ninety-seven percent sure it’s the third door on the right if you take the stairs right outside this room.” 

        Harry takes a quick mental note of her instructions before pushing out of his chair. “Thank you,” he starts, and both of them head towards the door, with her leading the way.

        Just as she takes one step outside, she suddenly turns around, and Harry nearly crashes into her. “I’ll be back for my Tupperware, Mr. N! There’s no way I’m letting you swipe another one from under my nose!” The old man waves her off and mutters something under his breath that Harry thinks might have been a “whatever you say”. Y/n looks up at him, and signals for them to continue into the hall. 

        “He’s a real sweetheart,” she says as they climb up the stairs.  

        “Who?” 

        “Mr. Noone,” she explains. “I think you’ll really like him! His classes are pretty chill for the most part and he’s super understanding, too. Like last year I had the flu for about a week and a half since my brother had gotten me sick because his whole kindergarten class had come down with for some strange reason, and Mr. N was the only teacher who didn’t have me make up any work.” 

        “Yeah?” he smiles at her. 

        She promptly shakes her head in confirmation. “Yeah! He just gave me this mini test with all the material I’d missed, and he even gave me a study guide to study off to help me with it!” Her face falls into a small frown when they stop in front Harry’s next class. “Oh, well I guess this is you.” She digs her foot into the marbled floor as she peeks into the room. “It was nice talking to you, Harry! I’ll see you around!” she says with a more upbeat tone. 

        “Bye, and thanks again for helping me get to class. It probably cut down the anxiety time by at least two minutes,” he confesses, a slight blush spreading around the area of his nose. She smiles before heading her own way, and he doesn’t know why he feels this sudden decline in his mood as she grows further and further. He just stands there, watching her walk down the corridor while the rest of the students laze into the classroom. Just as he’s about to head in, he chances one last look in her direction, and it’s just in time see her looking over her shoulder. 

***

        Harry’s managed to make himself a new friend in Debate class. His name is Max, and he’d been a transfer student from JW the year before Harry had started attending. They bonded over that, as well as a mutual love for movies made during the Classical Hollywood period (they’ve even made plans to watch a Hitchcock film this weekend), and even how they live in the same neighborhood –– a few streets apart, to be more specific!

        “I think it’s cool that you have an accent,” Max says to him as they stop at Harry’s locker before heading to lunch. Harry empties out his books from his first three classes. It’s no wonder his back had been aching, he’d forgotten to take out his US Politics textbook, and he doesn’t even have that class today. He’d had a free (also with Max) before this, and he’d managed to finish up all the readings and homework for history and biology that are all due tomorrow. He likes to be efficient with his time, especially when the teachers start putting on a heftier workload. “Did you see how all those girls freaked when you introduced yourself? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it!”

        “Everyone has an accent, mate. It’s just mine sounds a lot different from yours.” Everyone in Debate had freaked over the way he spoke, and as Max had pointed out, it had garnered a lot of attention from some of the girls in class. 

        “No need to get all technical with me. You have a gift, my friend. Use it wisely.” Harry shuts his locker, and the two continue towards the cafeteria. This morning, Anne had packed him his favorite roast beef and swiss on rye, a tradition on the first day of school that they’ve kept since he was small. Although, Max had been going on about how amazing the food here was, which is hard to believe that any school lunch can be anything but subpar, so he may have to test that out, as well. On the way there, they turn into a hallway, and are immediately hit with a sweet-smelling aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar.

        Harry stops just outside the door, humming happily to himself as he pictures whatever magic is happening on the other side. “Kitchen?” He points in its direction with his thumb.

        “Home economics room,” his friend smirks. “A friend spends a hell of a lot of time in there. She’s a really good baker, I can’t even count how many of her lemon bars I’ve had since I started going here.” 

***

        Y/n is late for lunch, but it’s really not her fault! She got caught up in decorating a cake with fondant roses and fancy piping that she been working on all period long because she wanted to impress Miss Genevra with a new technique that she had learned at a baking seminar she’d taken over the summer. And it turned out nearly perfect (there was one flower that looked a tad lopsided, but only Y/n fussed over it), and the flavor was just as impressive. 

        All that aside, she now only has about ten minutes left to buy lunch and scarf it all down before her Pattern J starts, and she still has to stop by her locker to get her art kit and sketchbook, not to mention she has to make time to hound Mr. N for her Tupperware back, or else her dad will throw another fit. 

        So, she quickly grabs a Snapple and a basket of chicken tenders from the hot rack, then brings it all to the cashier. A woman, about forty years old sits on her stool, and smiles at Y/n as she approaches. “Hi, Layla!” Y/n greets her, handing her over a crisp ten-dollar bill. “How was your trip to Ecuador? I’m sure Benny and Sammy loved it!” Benny and Sammy are Layla’s twin boys that Y/n babysits from time to time when Layla and her partner go out for a date night. They’re about her brother’s age, so Mason is always so happy when she brings him along to their house for an impromptu playdate. 

        Layla smiles, handing back her change of four dollars and fifty cents. “They did! Thanks for asking, sweetheart.” She stares down at her watch, then gives the young girl a knowing look. “Now you better finish that up before your next class. I think I saw Maxxie sitting somewhere in the back.”

        “Oh, thanks for the heads up! And by the way...” Y/n looks into her bag and pulls out a stack of fudge bars neatly wrapped in tin foil. “The boys’ favorite! Made fresh today.”  

        “Ah! You’re just an angel, aren’t you?” Layla gushes before sending her on her way. 

        Y/n searches for Maxxie’s mop of dirty blonde hair as she maneuvers around all the busy tables. They’d met a few years ago, and she considers him to be one of her best friends. He’d texted her earlier saying he’d be bringing a friend to sit with them at lunch, and that he was totally cute and had a smile that would surely make her weak at the knees. Think Zach Anderson, but 100x better, his message had read. She smiles widely when she sees him. 

        “So, last night I saw this movie made in like the 40s and I totally got this ince-” She cover his eyes with her hands and does her best to bite back the erupting giggles.

        “Guess who?” 

        “Well, you smell strongly of vanilla and...” He takes a long whiff through his nose. “...and...is that orange zest?”

        “Lemon, but close enough, I guess.” Y/n takes the empty seat on his right. Maxxie leans in for a hug, and only then does she notice the familiar company. 

        “Hey, you! I was beginning to think you’d drowned in a tub of frosting or something,” he jokes, picking something out of her hair before settling back. He turns to his left. “This is-”

        “Harry,” she says it like it’s a dream. Gosh! When she’d met him earlier, she did everything she could to stay with it, when all she really wanted to do was scream into a pillow about how unrealistically green his eyes are. Instead, she thinks she might have overshared some details with a complete stranger because regardless of how cute she thinks he is –– and that’s very much –– she doesn’t know one thing about him besides his name. 

        “Y/n, hi,” Harry replies just as whimsically. They hold eye contact for a while, but as Y/n feels the heat begin to rise from her neck to her cheeks, she soon turns away and begins to pick at her chicken, while Harry bites his lips inward and looks down into his lap to check his phone. 

        The boy in between them looks back and forth between the two. His eyebrows rise to his forehead and his mouth parts slightly in confusion. 

        “So... I’m guessing you’ve met?”

***

[lunalechuza]

Before the end... Update!

So we are entering the last month of 2020... My monthly illustrations will be coming to an end by the upcoming year, but I do have other things planned! While I'm still juggling work and school, I'll be trying to complete the following before the new year: Update Commissions Menu +updating template +updating options We're still sticking with the café theme, but I'll look into making a more simplified theme as well. This, however, may be after the new year. Winter YCH It'll be much simpler than the autumn YCH, and therefore much cheaper than the last. But that should also mean it'll be quicker to finish! Commissions I'm so thankful for the patience you guys have. I'm barely getting other projects done as it is and I just want to thank you all again for that patience. It's the sole reason why I haven't been advertising commissions lately, I need to prioritize the ones that have been waiting first!!

Now as far as plans go for the new year... I'll be getting a new work schedule and so I'm hoping that helps with organizing my time to make sure these goals flow easier. Streaming Saturday night streaming! We're likely to have some gameplay before art, all depending how the day goes, but I'll be updating that via twitter. Streaming will be starting anytime between 8-10PM EST, and sure to last until midnight. Prepping the shop! New and old items coming back potentially! But I would need to probably set up a kickstarter of sorts. After all, sticker paper and fabric aren't cheap,, These will be featured on Etsy primarily~ Projects So while the monthly illustrations will be ending, that doesn't mean I don't have any other goals and plans! I'll be searching for some 'zines to sign up for, maybe enter some contests- but primarily zines. I'll be giving more attention to the projects I've been putting on hold for the past forever. I really want to make art as my main source of income, but until I get to that goal -and decimate my student loans- it'll all still be a little slow. But my goodness, I want to reach that goal. Patreon And now the big one! There will be changes to the tier list. Since I've been enlightened with a few things and ideas, majority of the tiers will be getting updates in rewards and offers. I hope that when updating these items, the tiers won't reset themselves. ;v; In the event that it does, I do hope I will continue to have your support,, Rewards include discounts, raw files, and a more clean update on how rewards are distributed.

And that should be all! Thank you all for your time in reading and for being patient with me. I really hope with this work schedule, things will be different and more productive. I am, of course, active on other sites. But for more updates, I suggest following me on twitter! ⭑.⭑.Twitch.⭑.⭑.Etsy.⭑.⭑.tumblr.⭑.⭑Discord Server!.⭑.⭑Picarto.⭑.⭑ Have a great day/night! -Luna

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 12

Read on AO3

Read chapter eleven (NSFW)

Title: Conflicted

Words: 3800

Summary: Sometimes getting answers only leads to more confusion.

ST Rambles: Okay FIRST - please go back and read the kiss with Nicki Minaj's "The Night is Still Young" playing. I don't know why, but it just works and it's what fueled this chapter.

Here's what could have been. I hurt myself in not letting it end with this, but I thought it was too much too fast. 

And this was probably very jarring and not what you might have expected after last chapter, but I promise it was necessary. When I read, I love chapters that focus on developing relationships and not necessarily directly relate to the plot. They serve a very important purpose to me.

Tell me what you think, fight for what you believe in, and give yourself some grace. This world is crazy, and we're all taking it a day at a time.

(Masterlist)

The glass was cold against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine while you looked out into space. One of the dwindling perks of being Kylo Ren’s appointed medic was the expanse of glass offering an impossible view of the galaxy, and you didn’t know if you’d ever get to enjoy it again after leaving tomorrow night, so you deemed it obligatory to take it all in while you were still here – career and otherwise.

A star flew past, disappearing in the distance. After you’d showered and disposed of your decimated uniform that night, Talia caught you before you could sneak away in silence. It was unnecessary, but she apologized for filing the report. It was an act of camaraderie – your pact of secrecy – even if it fell to pieces before it ever got a chance to fully form. Remembering the genuine concern in her eyes – red rimmed with tears – before you left the med bay made your heart fall. The only thing that made your temporary dismissal – courtesy of Kylo Ren – endurable was the fact that you hadn’t roped anyone into your downfall. It would’ve killed you to know that your own malpractice had caused anyone else suffering.

The continuous strip of lighting atop the room indicated it was near midnight. Ever since you’d come back to the quarters it had been impossible to sleep, your mind not staying quiet long enough to allow any rest. A second couldn’t pass without an anxious thought passing through, making your heart drop and your head dizzy.

At the forefront of these thoughts was your impending return to Starkiller, or at least what was waiting for you when you got back. It had been nearly two months since you’d left Robbie in that bar – blacked out and alone – and the idea of confronting him upon your return pitted your stomach with black dread. The thought of seeing him again, knowing that he’d groped at you and stolen your sense of comfort and security, trickled icy adrenaline into your veins. The probability of him being there when the Command Shuttle landed was extremely high, and it made you sick imagining stepping off the ship and being greeted by the one person you wished to avoid above all.

Robbie hadn’t physically hurt you, no, but what made your skin crawl when thinking back to that uncomfortable night was how opposite he was from what you’d thought. When you’d met him and when he’d comforted you, he seemed like a good guy, someone you could see making you happy. When he took off that uniform, though, he was a stranger, a blight in your memory. His ability to exist so separately within himself seemed like it should be impossible – like there wasn’t a real person behind that mask before you gave it a name.

At least Kylo Ren had the decency to stay relatively consistent in his identity. As much as you wanted there to be someone behind that mask – someone you once swore was beyond it – his recent act of punishment enlightened you to the truth: Kylo Ren did not care about anyone but himself, and to think differently was to be a fool. It felt like a dream – all those times you thought you’d seen a person within him, someone you felt real – however reluctant – feelings for, but after numerous attempts at trying to convince yourself you’d imagined it all, you accepted the fact that there was too much tangible evidence for you to have conjured it all up.

There was of course the letter with his handwriting etched into the envelope; the deep indented ink was still stowed away in your nightstand, greeting you every night when going to stow your watch away. The existence of that person – fleeting as he may be – was further confirmed with the pair of socks you’d obtained from his uniform; they were currently shoved into the back of your drawer, hidden away in an effort to keep you from accidentally slipping them on when you wanted to remember how you’d come to own them. There was one thing, though, that proved beyond any doubt in your mind that this person was real: the lingering memory of his touch.

No matter what he’d done to you in that assessment room – no matter the way you dizzied at the site of water running red at your feet, no matter the way your face stung just at the memory of his hand cracking across your cheek, no matter the bruises currently settling into your throat – you could not deny how your skin flourished for the feel of his own. Regardless of your last interaction with him, the thought of his nearness still warranted the flush of your cheeks and a glittering of your spine.

But that had to be the end all be all of it; you could only yearn for his touch, needing to completely forget about the elusive person you could prove the existence of, but was permanently and infuriatingly out of reach. It was a losing game to hold out for the transitory lapses in Kylo Ren’s guard, something he’d been fortifying for years before you’d met him. And, although you wanted to be the one person who could break down those inveterate barriers, you could recognize the inevitable waste of time it would be to try.

“You’re conflicted,” Kylo Ren said, his hidden voice eliciting no more than a slight skip in your heart.

Not turning away from the stars, you sighed against the glass, a small mist of fog spreading under your breath. “I can’t imagine why,” there was little care in your voice; you’d grown tired of reacting in any way towards him, only fueling his intentions when you had.

His footsteps, softer without his boots, shuffled closer, stopping before entering your periphery. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, more a request than a command.

What was his game here? An incredulous huff left your nose, fogging the glass again. “You don’t need me to tell you anything, I remember the headache from the last time you went digging through my head.”

A patrolling TIE-fighter came and left the view before you. “Would you prefer that over telling me yourself?” A slight edge rose in his tone, betraying the restraint in his words.

Why was he acting like this? Had he forgotten three days ago? Did he not hear the damage he’d done to your larynx? “Of course I wouldn’t prefer that, but what choice do I have?”

Taking one last look at the star-speckled abyss, catching sight of two concurrent shooting stars, you turned to him. He was in his underclothes, long sleeves and long pants to compensate for the constant winter of the quarters. His hair looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower – which was probable based on his nonsensical schedule. It was a rarity for him to be in the quarters at the same time as you, an even rarer occurrence for him to acknowledge your presence when he was.

His expression offered more life than yours did, his face flecked with the cast of stars in the darkened room. His hands weren’t balled into fists, hanging in a relaxed – if not, cautious – position at his sides. He looked completely… normal. For once. Without the exclusion of a shirt or the inclusion of his usual over-the-top uniform, it was as if he were completely human, neither an angel nor a demon standing in front of you.

“That’s what you’ve failed to understand this entire time,” his unmasked eyes were trained on the stars as he spoke, his voice contemplative. “you do have choices. You just keep making the wrong ones.” With this, his stare came over to yours, meeting your eyes in the barely lit room.

There was one particular choice he was alluding to, and there was no point trying to convince him to see your side. Crossing your arms, your back fell against the window. “I’m not apologizing for saving that man’s life. I did what I had to, and if that costs me my career, then so be it.”

It was still difficult to accept your own words. Half of the reason you kept saying them was to convince yourself they were true, but they haunted you more than you wanted to admit, keeping you from sleep, adding to that pitting dread day by day. Saying them, putting up a brave front, was easier than acknowledging the uncertainty they incited.

“I’m not asking you to apologize,” he absently traced a finger along the piano’s frame beside him. “Just as you said, you were following an oath you made when you entered into the First Order. You were doing what you thought was right.” The light cast over his face rippled as his brow twitched up.

As confused as his present demeanor was making you, the rampant honesty was too much to shy away from. “If you don’t think I did anything wrong, then why –,”

“I didn’t say you didn’t do anything wrong. I said you did what you thought was right. I’m not ignorant to the fact that your actions saved him,” his hand smoothed over the maroon finish, the reflected galaxy gliding over his skin while he did. “I was impressed that you thought so fast on your feet – your passion for healing and helping isn’t lost on me.”

In an effort to find the words to articulate the blatant confusion he was causing you, your mouth formed the start of many words, all falling to cessation before escaping. His casualness only intensified your need for an explanation. “But – if you – why did you dowse me in blood and crack my windpipe in half?”

The blunt summary of the punishment prompted him to face you, his eyes more pointed than before. “The two events are unrelated,” he said, taking a step forward, a crease forming over his brow. “I couldn’t care less that you took the blood, that doesn’t affect me; that blood is replaced as it expires.”

It was a feat ignoring the mounting fire forming within your chest, threatening to dowse your tone in poison. With a steadying breath, you spoke. “How are they – what do you mean they don’t correlate? I stole the blood, I got caught, you found out, you got mad. Is that not what happened?”

“You left out one key part,” his eyes pinned you in place. “The one thing you’ve refused to do. Something that would have prevented the majority of your suffering – you don’t respect me.”

He took another step towards you, leaving just a few feet of distance. Off the piano’s glossy finish, another star glided through space, falling out of view behind his staggering frame. Testing his patience, the truth formed ready at your lips. “I was forced into this. You forced me to follow you across the galaxy like some trained pet, and you want me to respect you just because you tell me? Because you expect it?”

A sharp exhale, one that had been building for some time, left his nose, his fingers ringing each other below his waist – his temper was wearing thin. “I didn’t have to keep Hux from scheduling your execution.” He took one step closer, leaving only inches between you, the heat of his dwindling temper whispering over your frozen skin.

It was like talking to a wall trying to get your point across. “I didn’t ask you to,” you said. “That’s what I’m saying – I never wanted this. I never asked to be here, but you refuse to appoint someone else. Why? What makes me so fascinating, Commander? Why don’t you just fire me? It would be better for everyone.”

These words were much easier to accept – you so obviously didn’t belong with the other appointed care providers, and you knew your skills were barely up to par with them either. Him choosing you out of the blue made no sense; you were good at your job, but the Elite wanted someone who could be perfect, someone they could bend to their will. It was the smart decision to let you go, even if the thought tore through your insides.

The muscle under his eye twitched, his face leaning down to yours, his breath warming over your nose. His eyes burned with that same raw emotion from before, again proving the existence of that unattainable person behind them. “I –,” he started, pausing before he continued. “You -,” he attempted again, words seemingly evading him.

He was so close, the stars reflecting into his wide pupils. When had he ever been at a loss for words? “I what?” Looking between his lips – the dim light of the galaxy contouring them in its abstractness – and his eyes, you yearned for that impossible more you knew to be just out of reach; its presence growing more visible behind his auburn as the seconds passed, taunting you with its closeness. “Why can’t you just say it and get -”

“I trust – you.” His sentence was broken and fragmented, his breath to match as the admission winded him; the three syllables came at all differing volumes, the first booming, his volume faltering as the following two met it. His tone was indicative of an obvious discomfort in his acknowledgment of their veracity, like he had adopted your practice of saying them until he believed them. With his words came his hands, placed at either side of your head, tightened into pale fists.

Unbidden and without thinking, the first thought that came to mind left your mouth in an incredulous breath. “Why?”

The thoughtlessness of the question made you recoil into yourself, leaving you to observe the steady expression Kylo Ren was regarding you with, an unreadable scrutiny fogging his eyes. The seconds he held you there felt like hours, his eyes never leaving yours, his brow narrowing ever so slightly as he looked through you. With a quiet huff of breath, he pushed off the wall and turned away. “Nothing you aren’t already aware of.” He said, sitting to face you on the piano bench.

Out of his proximity, you could breathe, trying hard not to clue him in on the fact you’d lost the ability to begin with. Studying you, he began again. “Like you mentioned before, when I was – how did you put it – digging around in your head,” he stared back out into space, “I saw you that first night you were assigned to me.”

Taking a step forward, you waited intently for him to continue, not wanting to interrupt his admission. His throat bobbed while he gathered his thoughts, his stare still trained on the glass, stars streaking across his black clothing like water droplets. “When you figured out you were late for the Command Shuttle, and while RB-6745 was trying to console you,” his nose twitched at the acknowledgement of the stormtrooper, “you were worried.” He looked over to you, holding you in his stare, searching for something you weren’t aware of.

When you didn’t speak up, keeping his gaze in the dark silence, he continued. “Not about yourself or getting in trouble,” his attention fell back behind you before he went on. “You were only focused on the scenario that you wouldn’t be there in the case that I would… require your assistance.” He swallowed, looking back to you, carrying new weight behind his eyes.

He had no reason to be telling you all of this, but the fact that he was taunted that connection once more, like he was real, like that unattainable person was present for the time being. Another star fell, racing across the piano behind his shoulders.

Suddenly, you understood his earlier loss for words – they were important words. They were true words. And just as you didn’t know how to accept that you were on the precipice of losing your career, he didn’t know how to accept the fact that you cared for him. The night was filled with hard truths that neither of you wanted to acknowledge, knowing that as soon as you did they would lead to an unknown neither of you were prepared to understand.

In an attempt to express your words fully, you reached out to his shoulder, squeezing it in your grip, feeling his muscles flex beneath your hand. His eyes hadn’t left yours on your way over to him, and you kept them in yours, a silent vow of thanks. “That’s my job, Commander.” Chewing your cheek for a minute, considering your next move, you sat next to him on the bench, feeling him stiffen and then relax after a few seconds.

Staring out into the galaxy, his warmth on your skin - it felt right. The connection you felt could only be compared to friendship in this moment, no feelings of romance adulterating the trust that had been vocalized. It was similar to the moment of camaraderie you shared with Talia – but this was deeper, not only a promise of protection, but one of respect.

“Why did you tell me this? Any of it?” Keeping your focus on the galaxy, your periphery watched for any reaction to the question.

Two stars flashed across the glass expanse, lighting the room for half a second before he replied. “You’re worried about your career,” he took a deep breath, “and you’re accepting defeat.” He looked over to you, your eyes still trained on the stars. “You think you aren’t worthy of the position. You are,” he said. “You deserve to be here.”

Wrapped in enveloping darkness, his face was only half lit from the stars when you turned to him, pouring your eyes into his. The last thing you expected from Kylo Ren was a compliment, but for him – the root of your doubt – to confide in you that he believed your position was deserved? It was nearly inconceivable. It gave you the validation you had been starved for, doubting your place since you’d gotten the assignment. Unknowingly, he had gifted you the affirmation you didn’t realize you had needed, one that brought you to accept your purpose in the position, rekindling a flame you’d been neglecting since the beginning.

Peppering over his face – lips, nose, eyes – you frantically searched for any indication of the usual hidden intentions he kept. There was nothing. No narrowed eyes, no malevolence quirking his lips, no tightened jaw quivering with restraint – nothing. It frenzied you, the fact his words were stripped of innuendo, their meaning completely unadulterated and true. In a moment of deep appreciation, you took his face in your hands, stopping momentarily to trace his cheekbones with your thumbs. Having already searched his eyes for fallacy, you didn’t have to keep looking into them, but you did, admiring the stars showering through his pupils. Eventually, pulling him towards you, your lips pressed into his with a newfound fervor, sparks flooding down to your fingers and toes as something new bloomed in the night.

He met you there, his own hands locking you to him, their size dwarfing your skull. His tongue slid onto yours, deepening the kiss, losing yourselves in the connection, seemingly joining the stars beyond. The intensity charging between you rivaled the sun, your mouths colliding into each other, a fusion of two atoms of opposite charges, making the other whole. With his hands gripping into your hair, a small moan – inspired by shock and need – faltered into Kylo’s mouth, its hesitant resonance lost under the harsh breath leaving his nose. At this, his hands fell down to your hips and tugged you closer to him, wanting you nearer, guiding you with their strength.

The overwhelming connection was suffocating, flooding your lungs with hunger and urgency, petrifying your chest with the realization of the power building within you to clutch that person within him, to pull him into permanency. And it scared you, knowing that if you went further – if you were to pursue this rush of intimacy molding your mouth to his – you would not be able to come back from it; if you were to let yourself fall into this more, there was a promise of no return, leaving you to burn for a man who you knew could never feel the same – could never burn the same – as you did for him.

In this storm of revelation, you forced yourself to break away from him, resting your forehead to his, eyes shut and hiding from the intensity residing in his, knowing it would evaporate your resolve. “Can we just – can we just sit here for a minute,” you breathed, your lips buzzing from the broken connection.

For a moment, he only held you there, his thumbs digging into your hips, his breath mingling with yours. Without a word, and with an inhale laced in finality, his touch left you – his warmth following suit – and he stood, peering into the celestial shower beyond the glass.

In the absence of his touch, you were collateral damage; standing apart from you, even just a few feet, Kylo Ren had not only nullified that terrifying promise, but he had proved you right: the person residing behind his burning auburn eyes would only ever be ephemeral in their existence. The night had brought another hard truth upon you, the stars seeming to stop racing altogether as it did.

“The Command Shuttle will depart at twenty-two hundred tomorrow night,” he said, his voice now infuriatingly vacant. “It would be wise to get some rest, officer.”

While he walked ahead towards the stars, his hands balled into fists at his sides, straining with white as he peered out into space. Watching them flex and relax for a minute enlightened you to your statuesque posture, not yet having left the broken moment in time. With a swallow, you pushed off from the bench and started back to your room. As you did, though, you remembered what had earlier brought you to seek solace in the stars, the storm of returning to Starkiller and facing Robbie emptying the air from your lungs.

“The day after we landed,” Kylo said, his voice echoing through the shadowed room, your stride halting as it did, “I instructed Captain Phasma to demote him.”

If his intentions were to soothe the sudden anxiety he’d sensed in you, he’d failed completely – the information only frayed your nerves that much more, allowing one last torturous glimpse at that elusive notion of more you knew was too temporary to trust. As you stood there, once more flayed by Kylo Ren, hot tears threatened to spill over.

“Goodnight, Commander Ren.” The words left your mouth with a falter, your heart ripping from your chest, every hard truth the night revealed weighing it down until it left you completely.

Crawling into bed, limbs limp with emotional exhaustion, your chest bled for what it had earlier ran from – that promise of no return was now a mirage of the past, never to be offered again.