#he is in fact an adult he is just a little raccoon boy living in a tree with his family :)

[whumpitisthen]

To hang an animal

Tw for gore, it doesn't actually happen but theres lots of graphic descriptions in this, enough to put a warning up here too — for further tws check tags :3

@whumpsday asked to be tagged!

Upon wandering into this newly carved out burrow in the pleasant critter village, its wandering ends when it lays eyes upon the little thing. Sitting on his bed, scrambling the pillows around, he is chatting with his sibling happily as it watches him. Their belongings are scattered across the floor carelessly, evidence of their recent change of circumstances; still chaotic, yet warm and filled with new life, new opportunities. The smell of a new home was always intriguing, but not quite as attractive as the lush, black and white striped tail swishing in the air excitedly, the large, pointy ears twitching as they poke out from under the duvet or the whimsical, adorable voice giggling with childish purity.

His smile innocent, his mind none the wiser to an evil aura shaping just in the doorway leading to their cosy new bedroom. It has been watching for a while, observing the hybrid boy's ears perk up at every creak in the floorboards. He seems unsettled. What an observant creature — he doesn't know it yet, but his body has already picked up on the warning signs emanating from the being lusting after desperation and despair.

From the shadows, without hesitation, it strides through the door like it belongs, like the room is its and the mammoth oak this nest was built in is its very own property. Time seems to freeze around the boy, locking gaze with it as the world turns grey and his sister turns to mist. A darkness cloaks the corners of his vision that are not enveloped by its presence, deemed unimportant by the creature; and so it blocks out everything but itself from his sight.

A tall, slender figure is before the raccoon boy, one that so calmly and with purpose walks towards him that he doesn't even realise how impossible it is that it's in his home. It feels so dangerous, yet so unassuming. Like waking up with a second brain; feeling nothing out of the ordinary right up until one turns and sees another head grown from one's own body.

He has never seen the creature before, but it feels awful familiar when it sits next to him onto the soft bed, leering down at him from much too high. Like a lost, long forgotten brother showing up again and living with him like he was never even gone. Like the very bed the boy sits on has always belonged to it, and he merely borrowed the space while it was unoccupied. His brows crease in worry, but he doesn't run, doesn't yell in surprise at its sudden appearance. He scoots a little further away wordlessly when it focuses its undivided attention on him to make space for it, curling up just a bit, pinning those adorable ears that look too large for his head backwards onto his dark auburn hair. It feels his core shiver with proximity and its own resonates in turn with excitement.

"Hi," — it greets him simply. Harmless. Casual. Unnervingly so.

"He - , Hello..." — he mumbles out a pathetic reply. It can tell he feels guilty already. He feels like he is the one out of place. He doesn't belong here; not here, truly, but it's not his own fault he caught the eye of a malicious being. Nevertheless, it isn't here to make friends, but to have some fun.

"How is the moving going? Do you like your new room?" — it inquires like they know each other, like they are friends, with ill intent. Its modest, polite yet friendly words summon in him conflicting feelings. The calm before the storm, where he can smell the rain and see the swirling darkness of clouds in the sky, though has no choice but to wait until lightning strikes him.

"Uh, yeah... I do," — he sheepishly confesses, and the weight of this small confession is akin to divulging the whereabouts of a beloved to a serial murderer. The boulder hanging from his heart has his skin reeking of guilt, though he himself isn't sure why he feels that way. He says no more; he knows it's not his place to talk. He is in the thing's own corner of reality — what it wants will happen however twisted and confusing. His very soul knows to behave in the presence of the owner of his current world; a world in which questions about its name and species, and queries about how and why it had gotten in here were a waste of time, and therefore illogical to be brought to existence at all.

"I am glad. It would be terribly unfortunate if you had spent all this time finding your own little corner to hide away in, only for it to be less than satisfactory for you," — it lilts in a kind tone, dripping vanilla and honey onto the scuffed up floorboards with each syllable. He never looks up at it, focused solely on the ground under his feet, making himself as small and harmless as he can. A submissive thing, truly. Already growing ready to be shown his place. It licks its lips and tastes fear. — "I have been searching for you."

He is clearly awfully uncomfortable, wringing his fingers together and bouncing his bestial little legs. He must not be used to such height differences; at least, not under pleasant circumstances. It is certain the small vermin hasn't met many kind giants. To judge others, the point of departure is always oneself — and it itself isn't known to pass up the opportunity to crush the bones of sweet things like him.

He knows he is in trouble, though there is no earthly reason for him to feel that way. The creature's whims mould his psyche like the experienced, callous hands of a baker fold dough. — "I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't know. 'Was just..." — he trails off, unsure of what he was even doing a moment ago. His brain must feel fuzzy, just like those twitchy ears. It takes the opportunity to lower him an inch into its web.

"You were just getting ready for bed, I know. Getting nice and comfortable, warming the blankets, grabbing pillows. It is very soft, isn't it?" — it quizzes him more, keeping up his sense of discomfort with ease. It pushes on the mattress, feeling the layers of bedding give under its hand with no issue. It truly was wonderfully cushy, all snowy cotton and silk and duckling feathers, with a thin layer of his own fur already covering the top of it all. Delicate, just like the paws hanging off the side of the mattress. He nods, taking hold of the thin sheet covering the top half of his bed in one fist and kneading his anxiety into the material. Its wide smile unsettles him greatly, as does the angle from which it beams down on him. As does the awful faux-kindness in its pleasantly quiet voice. It reminds him of an old teacher he had; it has a very similar way of talking. He was a sweet old man, however, not a being three times his size, coated in fuzz and shadow, leering at him with that constant grin.

"Mhm. Very soft. I should know, as this is my bed."

That catches him off guard, eyes flying all the way up to meet its own drilling into his skull. That, too, is a lie, obviously so. In the real world, that is. If he even thought to doubt the creature for a single second, he would realise immediately that that simply cannot be true — from the simple fact that it's much too large to fit into this bed. However, he is stuck in a dream woven from the ever growing lust of the demon infecting his mind, and in dreams like this one, the dreamer does not have control of his own thoughts. Tangled in the silky cocoon of nightmares, he will simply experience what it wants him to, and what it merely wants him to feel at the moment is churning horror in his stomach at having wronged it somehow. Such a mundane mistake, to claim a bed that does not belong to him by mistake, and what a delicious expression it has brought onto his face.

It watches his throat work on swallowing down the frozen clot of blood caught in it. — "I didn't, I'm so sorry, I didn't know...! I, I really didn't—"

"I don't want your frantic, empty apologies and pretext," — it cuts him off so swiftly the blade of its hiss cuts into his core, shaking him. It loves watching him dwell in his absolute lack of power; so used to living under the heels and adapting to the whims of all around him. It needs to only evoke a long familiar feeling of deep inadequacy in him, then pull his attention along on a leash like a pup. It says no more, watching him intently for a response in deadly silence, suffocating him efficiently. The drought on his tongue sticks the muscle to the roof of his mouth. Perspiration pearls on his face as a delightful gift to the eyes of the being. They stare at each other, each expecting something from the other.

Finally, the tall silhouette leans just a tad closer to the boy, smiling at him sweetly, pushing him more. His neck disappears between his shoulders, turning his head downward again in shame and sheer terror. A silent little whimper only it could hear escapes him through his snout-nose, those dark brown, near black irises blink rapidly as they stare at the wooden floor. It gets a wonderful idea, planning to take full advantage of his frozen still state.

"Are you always this sweet when you get yourself into trouble? I can tell it happens often," — it prods him more looking for a reaction, curious how long until he breaks under the steady pressure of its presence, — "you always make mistakes like this. Mess up and bear the consequences, yet do it again the next time. An annoying little critter, truly."

It touches him fondly, but he flinches like it had hit him. He is skittish, starting to panic more with every word that slithers out from between its teeth, more still the closer it leans to him, sounding so condescending and sympathetic it makes his skin crawl with a thousand insects. It wants to push him until he reaches the edge, and see how long it can balance him on that blade between shaken but controlled and wild, unreasonable panic.

It continues easing him into the bubbling tar, slowly sticking his fur into it with care with each caress across his shivering skin. — "I can see the cogs turning in that little head. You are thinking of ways to get out of this. 'How could I appease it just long enough to escape and never return?' It's written all over your face, you might as well just tell me out loud."

"I really didn't mean to —"

"Hush," — it whispers into his ear with such lust and excitement and danger and intensity and so many other horrible attributes that all the air leaves his lungs in a single shrill gasp as if it itself crushed it out of him. That smile is even wider, and makes the order sound so much worse, like he is one single word away from sending it into a sadistic, unstoppable fit of violence enacted upon him. The proximity has those long lashes sticking to each other, locking his eyelids together. — "I've told you I don't care. I have also told you you can't wriggle your way out of this. Do you know what happens now?" — murmurs the dangerous voice of the creature against his skin. It listens to the sharp gasps of a woodland creature trying not to cry, lungs working overtime to inhale air and exhale all the putrid smoke of dread filling them. He shakes his head no, too afraid to trust his voice to make it past his lips. It's adorable, just the sweetest view. He makes it want to rip into him with everything he does.

"Yes, you do," — it encourages sinisterly, — "what happens now is what happens each time you fail to behave adequately, and bring onto yourself the wrath of those much more powerful than you." — It can almost taste his delightful sorrow. He is unconsciously, ever so slowly pulling in the opposite direction, finding it harder and harder to stay still when attacked so directly and perversely from the side. — "Like me."

One too many inches too far, and it slides right up against him once more, holding him gently with a hand encompassing his shoulder first, than sliding languidly down his side all the way to his waist, where it is so apparent how much larger it is when its fingers reach far more than halfway across his whole belly that his legs almost cross over each other in fluster. He whimpers again as he feels it so close to himself now, as he feels it breathe and warm him, as he feels it vibrate with the way it purrs these awful words to him, — "go on. You know what happens well. I want to hear you say it; I want to know all those other times caught trapped between a wall and a rusted blade taught you something after all."

His lip wobbles at a memory — whether a true or a false one created by it, he remembers all the same: the hand wrapped tight around his throat, the wall he was pinned to so effortlessly, the blade held so, so close to his eye, the figure towering over him with a horrible glint in their eyes threatening with a smile on their face the way they will destroy the fragile little orb if he shows his face around that side of the village again. What he feels right now is far too familiar to what he felt then, squeezing his throat savagely.

With great difficulty and a pang of childish shame, he forces out his answer, — "Kh-, Consequences?"

He can hear its lips pull back to reveal far too many sharp teeth in an awful grin. — "That's right. Consequences."

He wants to say so many things. How he would leave right now and it would never have to see him again if it'd let him. How he doesn't need to be punished, because he already understands what he did wrong perfectly and doesn't need to be taught a lesson. How truly, horribly, desperately sorry he is, a million times over. No sound escapes him however, his voice frozen behind his Adam's apple. He is too scared to say anything. It's for the better anyway; he would only annoy it more with his pleading. It finds his terrified silence much more entertaining.

"What do you think I will do to you now, little one?" — it muses to the boy, holding him ever closer, leaning against him and suffocating him with its face lowering into view, taking up every little corner of his vision, — "what kind of consequences should I make you suffer through for something like this? How much should I hurt you? Hm?"

It squeezes him a little, jostles him, rouses his tense muscles and returns some life to them. Ruffles his hair in a friendly gesture, combing through it slowly right after to feel through each soft, fluffy lock of hybrid hair, and to disregard more the boy's personal space. It acts so nonchalant and casual that it almost scares him more than it would if it was angry. It makes him feel like its entire purpose in the world is to bring harm to people like him. Like this is nothing out of the ordinary for it.

The movement did nothing to unlock his words; all it really achieved was to remind him of his ability to move and run and escape like the slippery wild little thing he is. Coupled with the anticipation of his judgement and punishment, his flesh quivers incessantly like the hooves of a newly birthed fawn. In that, the being only finds more joy.

"Do you know what I do to little creatures like you? Ones with such lovely fur, and gorgeous hair... Shiny, beautiful eyes." — It keeps running invasive hands across his body like he is an object. Decoration. It leans in again, finding those eyes blown wide and clouded in mist, pulling on his hair just enough to make him look up at it. It wears a scary expression now, full of malice and danger, and he swallows harshly as he witnesses its quickly darkening eyes, and the downright demonic growl of a voice that whispers to him, — "I take a freshly sharpened knife to their skin, and peel it right off."

Its hand holding him close lets up to demonstrate each line it would cut along, pulling those sharp nails along his flesh slowly. The poor thing doesn't even breathe, — "You have to have the animal hanging, stretched out open wide," — it explains matter-of-factly to the ball of anxiety at its side, not missing the word 'animal' used to describe him, truly feeling like nothing but prey to this carnivorous being, — "Then, I cut along the shiny fur, tearing it from the flesh bit by bit. All along the the stomach, up the torso to the neck — for some animals, its better to cut along the hind legs up to their tails, and then pull the flesh out of their skin by folding it over their whole body and peeling it off whole backwards, effectively turning them inside out! Isn't that fascinating?" — It does not wait for an answer, and so it gets nothing more than a nauseous expression, — "Slicing it carefully, meticulously, slowly off of your flesh, folding it until it parts enough to pull off in one piece. I make warm, soft little pelts out of adorable critters like you. There have been times when I was careful enough that they would survive a couple days after." — it pauses, tilting its head at his captivating, alluring reactions, voice having returned to a more human shade, its mouth pulling back anew with giddy excitement, — "I wonder if you would live to suffer through all that."

The boy shakes his head, almost not believing what he's hearing. It wants to make him into a carpet? To, to maim him to certain death? His mouth is open, shaking the gasps leaving him. — "No, no, you, y-you don't have to —!"

It grins again, and he has grown to dislike its smile more than anything he ever has in his life, — "Oh, don't be like that. You're acting like this is such an inconceivable, unlikely thing to expect. I mean, you must have noticed by now."

His confusion is obvious, so it simply looks away from him for the first time since it revealed itself, to look down at the bed that now belongs to it. His gaze follows it, and he screams so loud as he springs away from the bedding it nearly makes even the creature jump. Now he is truly panicking, and it knows it has managed to break him beyond the point it had been looking for.

What was pristine clean, white linen sheets and silk is no longer; replaced with the skin of countless hybrids, just like the boy. They are grotesque, bloodied, matted fur and feathers. It sticks to the touch, and the small thing can't catch his breath anymore. He was sitting on the remains of countless corpses, the twisted pelts of his own kind. The longer he stares, the worse it becomes — he spots a few fingers, bones, even eyeballs and a whole leg dangling off the side, and it truly is unlikely he hadn't noticed until then — but, of course, he hadn't really been sitting on something so horrid up until the creature decided it fit to change his circumstances once again to terrorise him more.

"No, no, no, no, I won't, you can't! I, I, I, I'll leave, I'll leave right now, please forgive me!" — His frantic begging brings warmth to it, a special kind only the truly desperate cries of its prey manage to emanate.

"You cannot run from your own mistakes, little critter," — it sings hauntingly, ominously. He just keeps backing further and further away, eyes darting to the window, to the pelts, to the demon watching him. He will surely bolt in just a few seconds, — "And even if you can... No one has ever escaped me before," — it adds with a knowing smile.

However, logic and reason take no part in animal instinct.

With a lung filled with terror he scrambles to the side suddenly, expectedly, sending his little body through the open window to the outside. He then grabs onto the bark of the massive tree giving home to a civilisation of things like him with thin little limbs, and starts climbing it masterfully, if not clumsily, to get away from it. No thought makes it through his brain aside from wild, nonsensical ideas of distance leading to safety from the threat.

The threat smiles wide at the prospect, standing from its throne of gore.

It walks to the same window, changing with each step it takes. Ripping and stretching of skin is heard as it morphs into something different, inconceivable, monstrous. Its nails grow to claws, then talons. Its fingers gain more digits, bending along with its arms in new directions. Muscle mass grows inexplicably, bones protrude from the chest as a second ribcage forms over its torso like armour. Its skin stretches across nothing but bones and muscle, a void black colour. Horns, a tail, and by the time it reaches the curtains dancing adrift, the being accusing the hybrid boy of lacking humanity and value now becomes something so far removed from anything human it circles around into something cursedly divine.

It makes its way out of the bedroom in no time, tearing apart the very wall of the tree for it, signalling to the boy scaling the humongous trunk its arrival with a broken, rotted cackle. It allows its form to grow ever larger still, — almost like the hunt has activated something in it, something that made it bring out what certainly could only be its true form. A form for tearing innocent little things like him apart.

The fearful boy only takes one glance behind him to check if it is following him, only to cry out at the terrifying form of it gaining on him with its many limbs escaping from that awful body. He picks up the pace, though he thought he could not run any faster, and flies upwards with all feet and hands smashing against familiar branches and nooks, launching himself higher and higher. The concern barely coalesces in his mind that he does not know what he will do once he reaches the top of this tree, however long that will take.

He has no time to think it through, able to now feel the trembles of the thing chasing after him vibrating the oak he clings onto. The sky blinds him as it shines between the pristine green leaves of the tree crown, the sunlight reflecting off of the tears streaming down his face. His nails splinter apart against the rough wooden surface in his haste. His clothes tear on twigs, caught on them for a second; just long enough for the monster chasing him to nearly reach his tail with a clawed hand.

Another larger branch is passed in a flash, and suddenly, escape seems impossible as his paw slips and he has to catch himself, dangling like an ornament above the being's terrible jaw. In a moment of desperation, and true, pure panic, with no better ideas, when the time comes he lets go of the branch, letting his body fall past the monster's. Expecting to be caught by a leaf or falling to his death, the only thing he didn't expect was to be thrust against the trunk of the tree with such force his guts squish inside him like goo. As he looks down, the upside down face of the creature grins back, panting with exhaustion and thrill. A massive talon brushes against his throat. It was maybe three times his height when they were sitting next to each other; now, it is at least ten times as big, dwarfing him in comparison. Truly like a mouse in the paws of a lion.

His lungs are unable to expand enough to draw in a single full breath. It can feel his tiny heart smashing against his ribcage furiously. He is frozen still once again, stunned from the sudden capture, and the smash against his back.

"A wild, frantic little pest… If you cannot outrun me on your home turf, how do you expect to fare against me on the duff, or my own domain?" — it laughs, its voice grinding against his ears terribly, its words hurtful, yet its voice filled with amusement, — "silly thing, silly, silly little thing…"

Its hand pushes on him, causing the boy to cry out, crushed between it and the tree. Hanging upside down like this doesn't help his terror either, clutching onto the claws that crush him with vigour, yepling, kicking, twisting helplessly as tears wash his face in streams. It watches him, tiltings its head this way and that, experimentally pushing on him, and then letting go swiftly when it feels his ribs cracking. It lets him slip an inch, then another, causing its tail to wrap around its hand tightly.

It decides with time that he must pass out soon if left like this for much longer — the exhaustion, panic, fear of death or worse, lack of air, gasping and feet- up osition will inevitably become too much. As a last jolt to him, it lift him away from the tree and flips him in the air with one hand, greatly entertained by the scream of terror and look of daze. — "If you have nothing more to say…"

"I, I-I, please. Please, please don't hurt me, please, I'll leave, I won't ever come back — or, just, just don't skin me, please! Mercy!" — he sobs, holding his head, curling against its thumb holding his chin up with its sharp end, pinning those ears flat against his head once more, — "I'll do anything, anything at all, please, please. Have mercy, just one chance!"

His sobbing, his helplessness, his twitching in its hand, his submission — it greatly pleases it. With a tightening of its grip, it shushes him gently, a whimper ending his pleading satisfyingly as the air leaves him. — "Mmm… What are you offering me, little one? You think what you may give values more than your lovely fur? More than the taste of your flesh?" — it purrs to him, its growl reverberating through his body, its teeth far too near for him to open his eyes and face a tunnel to his quite possible acidic end. The new threat of not only being skinned, but eaten only has him sobbing harder, hoping its only that; a threat, not a promise, not yet.

"Anything, anything, anything at all, I swear! Please, just, just one chance. I-I will prove myself, I will! Please. I beg of you! Aagh —" — he keens when he is silenced again.

"Be more specific, now. You'll give me ideas," — it murmurs, giving hope to him, playing with the boy's emotions like a cat playing with broken winged bird, — "you don't know what you are begging for, love."

He surely doesn't, because if he did, he would have been relieved to know he might only be eaten, as opposed to skinned, or indebted to it for life. Instead, he clutches at the little hope of surviving this encounter at all with all he has, — "Y-You can do anything you want to me. After —"

"I can do whatever I want to you currently, too. Don't tempt me."

"Ghghn —, yes, yes, I'm sorry. But, but I can help, I can be of use, to, to you! I can do more, I can, I can," — he seems to break a little, pausing to catch his breath, whining, — "J-Just don't kill me, please… I don't want to die. I can't, I can't be skinned, I can't die like this…"

He runs out of energy halfway through his words, going limp in its hand. It's almost as if he has knowingly given his body over already, becoming putty in its claws to mold. — "Poor, stupid, sweet little thing… you have no concept of what you have done."

With that, it shifts, and the world shifts, and he is blinded for a moment. He feels like he is falling for a second, then like he is floating for another, and suddenly, he is back in his room, like nothing happened. The window is open, letting in cool air. The bed is no longer filled with gore. The creature is no longer quite as monstrous as a second ago.

He looks around like he has already died. Like he thinks he was killed, and is now stuck in limbo. His pale, sickly complexion and his wide, terrified eyes land on the monster again, only moving to shakily lift his arms and hug himself tightly. It stands before him with its arms behind it, smiling at him fondly. He says nothing, forced to comprehend too much at once.

It steps to him languidly, gently, like it hadn't done anything more than that at all. Like it hadn't almost crushed him in its grasp just a second ago. Like it isn't planning on skinning him. It takes his chin and lifts it, bowing its torso down to look deep into those red, horror-filled crystal orbs, — "would you truly do anything to avoid punishment? To avoid death?"

Slowly, reluctantly, he nods. His lungs barely move.

"Would you offer your services to me so freely, so passionately, just for that?"

He nods again. He feels like he is in some form of dream. If only he knew.

"Would you offer your body? Your mind?"

He nods. The creature smiles kindly, sinisterly.

"Silly boy."

It backs off finally, letting him breathe and relax with a last ruffle of his hair, jostling his ears. A shudder runs through him that is so violent, he grips at his chest to feel his heart beating. He doesn't know if he will ever be able to move his body from that spot again; he feels wholly burdened by certain death. Small, tiny whimpers escape him, but he is no longer crying. His throat must be tensed so tight, dried out with fear.

It walks to his bedroom door, opening it. It pauses in the doorway with one hand on the door handle to turn to him once more, — "I will see you again soon, sweet thing. Sleep well."

The door closes behind it, and his world regains its colour. The birds chirp once more, his bed is as comfortable and clean as it was before, the blur of his nightmare fades. His sister continues where she left off, saying something about a guy she saw at the market with an obnoxiously red hat, but pauses swiftly when she sees his expression. She assumes he is feeling sick. She assumes right, though has no idea just how right she is. She comes over to provide a bucket, in case it's needed, and is grabbed by the boy so fiercely, she can't help questioning him. She receives only violent sobbing, a kind so awful she had never heard his brother make before.

The creature will return again, with tasks. It will return and he will regret ever agreeing to give his survitude to it, and will try to escape or refuse, and then it will force him to do whatever it wants him to do anyway, worse than before. The chance to so thoroughly ruin the hybrid boy's life offred to it by himself leaves the honey sweet taste of lust on its lips.

It watches him cry for a while, then truly departs, wandering along the branches of the gorgeous oak. If anyone else sees it, they know better than to bring attention to themselves, and leave it to its lonesome.

It will return to him when he least expects it, in his worst moment. Then, it can truly have fun.

Those tags about catching a tiny whumpee trying to escape up a tree were wonderful. Would you ever write that?

you know what i didnt even think of that perhaps i will write it

[weaselle]

I like knowing the nature of a place.

I’m getting ready to move after a stint back in my childhood home, and I’m realizing that for me a big part of feeling at home is knowing the Nature of the place.

Here, I have a deep knowledge of the surrounding nature. I know the water, as the house water is all supplied from a well. I know the clayish soil, having pulled tree stumps out of it, grown gardens in it, dug trenches and set foundations in it, sat in it making little mud castles as a child. I’ve tasted it even.

I know the fat little squirrel that knows us also. I know the 3 mocking bird pairs who’s territories converge near here. Or did until recently, when a pair of california scrub jays moved in after a several year hiatus (we lost the willow tree and it became less desirable jay real estate) and now the mocking bird territories are in a state of disarray. I’m excited to see the scrub jays, those clever little corvid bastards, because it means we might actually get to eat some cherries this season. The mocking birds sort of tend to fight more over nesting sites, but the jays will see the cherries coming in and declare all three trees a no-fly zone for other birds -- and boy do they enforce it. Which means instead of every bird in the area eating some of our cherries before we can get any, we get what the two jays can’t eat, which usually works out to about half the crop.

I know the fire ants that patrol areas with water, harvesting the other insects that are drawn to it, the drowned bees, any injured insects, and so forth. I know where the yellow jackets tend to nest, and which plants the bumble bees prefer -- we keep a hedge of those flowers specifically for them because while honey bees are still numerous here (helped no doubt by the six bee boxes in the yard of the house across the field) the fat fuzzy bumble bees used to be a lot more numerous here than they are now. I know where the lizards hang out and what kind of spiders I’m likely to see, and if I wanted to find some salamander burrows on this block I know what to look for. And I know the local possum posse stopped using the north side fence as an autumn path once the walnut tree died, and now in fall they use the south side fence where the guava trees offer them a foraging opportunity. 

I know the raccoon clan. Well, I know of the raccoon clan. After years of jostling for territory with each other, we and the raccoons worked out some boundaries which, like, five or six generations later are just now starting to be contested.

We did things like get geese to protect our ducks from the raccoons and we stopped having outside cats with their outside food, so we turned into a less reward / more risk territory for them and tradition became sticking to the far edges of the yard. But now the waterfowl have been gone for years there’s no more dog and we’ve been dumping the parrot’s half eaten mix of nuts and seeds out there so that what he doesn’t like doesn’t go to waste. I don’t think my mother has caught on to how much that has been slowly changing the local biosphere.

It used to be her mother’s bird, and she has a lot of emotions about Joker (who still occasionally laughs grandma’s laugh or coughs her cough) which results in her offering him quite a banquet to pick from. So his leftovers are a significant resource she’s pouring into this little biome.

I think the raccoons are becoming interested (tracks right up to the edge of the house, three feet from where the bird seed sits). The pairs of birds more or less doubled, and it may be a big part of why the jays are back. The squirrel solved the problem of getting into the elevated dish recently, instead of just picking from what the birds scatter. Which is definitely why he’s so fat and glossy and I predict he’ll have to start fighting harder for this territory soon. The seed dish draws little birds in, but the hawks that would hunt at it like a watering hole have stayed away so far. Except for one newly adult hawk that studied the situation for a couple weeks from the old pine but couldn’t figure out how to exploit it when we responded by moving the bird seed pedestal to under the low hanging branches of a small tree. She finally got sick of the squirrel screaming at her to get out of his pine tree and left. Which is good news for the squirrel because silencing that delicious little alarm probably would have been step one for any intelligent hawk deciding to make this her hunting spot. Honestly imo tho this particular ecological niche would probably benefit from a hawk’s attention. 

We live under a hill, and I know which side of the hill the coyotes stick to, and which side the mountain lion prefers. And I can conjecture a few other mountain lion territories, centering on the smattering of hills off that direction, because it’s been generations of cougars up there and we spot a cub with whoever is currently Queen of This Hill every few years. Sadly, most of them don’t survive, based on both the statistics and the fact that while we catch glimpses of mom and small cubs semi-regularly, we’ve never once seen any in the close to one year old range, when they would be nearly adult sized but still accompanying their mother. Which doesn’t mean there have been none, but does imply that they are rare. And of course there are the years she’ll be spotted with two cubs for a while, but then only with one cub for a while after that.

They coyotes don’t come down unless times are tough or maybe if they are very bored and want to tease the dogs, but every now and then one does wander a couple blocks down our little street that dead-ends halfway up the hill, and slinks across the tree line that separates our front yard from the small field across our driveway. Years ago they used to come along more regularly, but there’s more people these days and the jackrabbits have pretty much disappeared, so now they mostly just come down the other side where the cow pasture is if the cows aren’t going up the hill soon enough for them during calving season. Pretty sure Queen Cougar goes over there whenever she feels like it and tries her luck at a calf now and then too.

I know the deer that come down and wander the neighborhood. They used to swing through our back yard until I engineered the fence between us and our neighbor to discourage them. The neighbors and my parents didn’t want the deer in their gardens but no matter how high they put the wire the deer were trying to go over it and damaging the top of the fencing which meant there was a chance they were injuring themselves. None of us want that. When it got brought to my attention one visit, I went and looked at it and solved it right away. Wood was too expensive, so they were just topping the existing fence with like 6 feet of wire grid. But the deer are coming through dusk/dawn and midnight, and they already have eyes that aren’t built for detail, and this is wire the thickness of a fat toothpick... so I went out to the bamboo patch and got some bamboo as thick as the butt of a pool stick and wove a line of it along the top of the wire. Light weight enough to not bend the wire, and something to smell, big enough to see. End of problem. One mamma deer has figured out how to get through from the other side, and she keeps a fawn in our neighbors yard almost every year.

Anyway, I just automatically tend to learn this sort of thing when I move into  a place, but I haven’t stayed anywhere long enough to get this level of knowledge about anywhere else, and being back here is making me realize how important it is to me. Observing and understanding my surrounding natural setting is, well, natural, and I won’t feel like my new place is home until I start to learn the biome there.

[babysizedfics]

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 5: A Little Reconciliation

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Roman mollycoddles his brother, Patton makes a suggestion, Logan is perceptive, and Virgil is brave.

Chapter word count: 8,500

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warning: This chapter addresses (and resolves) some negative self-talk with regards to age regression, as well as alluding to cyberbullying. Please proceed with caution if you are sensitive to either of these topics.

Also, there is some swearing at the start - what else would you expect from adult Roman and Virgil?

oOo

Roman marched up the stairs armed with cookies, milk, and fierce determination.

The events of the previous day had left him wallowing in regret all night, and he was tired of it. No matter how much his caregivers had both made a significant dent in the cloud of guilt that fogged his mind, he could not stop replaying his own laughter in his head. He had been awful to Virgil the day before, and Roman had known he could not truly feel at ease until he had apologised to him properly and earned his little brother’s forgiveness.

He had been prepared to partake in all manner of valiant acts to prove his loyalty; he was willing to slay the Dragon Witch in Virgil’s name, to erect a statue in his likeness and honour, even to let Virgil get the first pick on movie nights for a whole month.

He had said as much to Virgil in the kitchen that morning. In response, Virgil had nodded, said “It’s cool,” and then left the room.

It’s cool?! Roman was quite frankly appalled by the lack of dramatic flair. Where were the tears? The arguments? The emotionally-overwhelmed collapse into Roman’s waiting arms? It had not gone as he had rehearsed in the mirror at all.

When Roman complained about this to Logan, the logical side had; 1) asked why Roman wanted Virgil to cry, yell, and/or faint, 2) reminded him that Virgil had forgiven him and had clearly done so in whatever way he deemed fit, and 3) told Roman to stop being so dramatic.

Needless to say, Roman was no longer on speaking terms with Logan.

Never one to give up in the face of a challenge, Roman had found Virgil in the living room and apologised again (an abridged version of his speech this time around). He received a small smile and thumbs up in return before Virgil went back to scrolling on his phone silently.

Once again, Roman was surprised. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be forgiven, but it had been far too easy. It was not satisfying. And so he continued to apologise throughout the morning whenever he saw Virgil - which incidentally happened a lot since Roman sought him out constantly.

It was around the fourth apology that Virgil had stopped smiling and nodding and instead simply rolled his eyes or walked past Roman without a word. Roman was wont to call it rude, but he couldn’t really comment on it given his behaviour a day before. The logical conclusion was that Roman’s courageous offers were simply not pleasing to Virgil.

Upon review, Roman begrudgingly accepted that Virgil wouldn’t necessarily care much about an imaginary monster being defeated for the hundredth time, or for a statue of himself given how self-conscious he was. As for the movie nights, Roman didn’t necessarily mind that he would still have the first pick on the films, so that really wasn’t worth complaining about. He realised he had to make his repentance more personal.

And what was more personal to Virgil than his littlespace? The boy adored it when Logan and Patton took care of him so (against all instincts) Roman resolved to prove himself through caregiving. As uncomfortable as it had made him when he had attempted caregiving all those weeks ago, it seemed the most effective course of action. And wouldn’t the fact that Virgil knew he didn’t enjoy it just prove Roman’s point even more? That he was willing to go above and beyond to show Virgil how much he cared about him, despite his own discomfort!

He had waited for Logan to disappear from the kitchen to load some cookies onto a tray, along with one of Virgil’s sippy cups full to the brim with almond milk. Now, standing outside Virgil’s room, Roman smothered the inkling of dread in his stomach and rapped on the door heartily.

‘Oh, Virgil,’ he sang, ‘Will you grant me entry to your kingdom?’

There was quiet for a moment and then, muffled through the wood: ‘Only if you promise not to apologise again.’

‘Damn…’ Roman whispered to himself, taking a moment to reconsider his plan. Well, he could still practice it without technically apologising. Years of improv work hadn’t exactly taught him nothing of adapting to unexpected situations. ‘All right, I promise,’ he yelled back confidently.

‘Fine,’ Virgil groaned and Roman lowered the door handle with his hip, being careful not to jostle the tray in his hands too much.

‘Greetings, Grumpy Space Princess!’ Roman called as he waltzed into the room with a wide grin.

Virgil was lying upside down on his bed with his head hanging off of the end, his Nintendo Switch held up in front of him. ‘What’s up, Princess Bubble-head?’

Roman smiled, appreciative that Virgil was a truly worthy opponent when it came to the Great Nickname Games. Though he did not let himself dwell on that for long and internally shook himself into his role, taking heavy inspiration from Patton.

‘Nothing much, kiddo,’ he said gleefully. ‘Just thought you might want a little snack!’

‘Kiddo?’ Virgil repeated, slowly lowering the game console from his eyes. Though they were upside down, Roman clearly noted the suspicion on Virgil’s features.

Roman continued smiling regardless, walking over to the bed. ‘How’s milk and cookies sound, Vee?’

‘But we haven’t had lunch yet.’

‘Yeah, don’t tell Logan,’ Roman whispered with a conspiratorial wink

‘Is this a trick?’ Virgil immediately asked. He squinted at Roman in suspicion. ‘What did you put in the cookies?’

‘Absolutely nothing and I resent the question,’ Roman couldn’t help but gasp in offence. As if he would stoop so low as to… what, poison Virgil? He had half a mind to turn back and eat the cookies himself. If only he weren’t utterly desperate for Virgil’s forgiveness.

‘Right, no, yeah,’ Virgil hurriedly backtracked, seeming humbled. ‘Sorry.’ Then the younger side sat up and spun his butt on the bed so that he faced Roman with his legs crossed. ‘Do you wanna…’ He indicated the other side of the bed in invitation.

Roman beamed. Clearly, this was the go-ahead for his plan.

‘Thanks, Stormcloud!’ He settled onto the bed beside Virgil, placing the tray in front of them both.

‘Thanks yourself for the cookies,’ Virgil smiled meekly. His gaze trailed over to the sippy cup on the tray and his eyebrows furrowed a little.

‘Anything wrong, sw-sport?’ Roman asked, cursing himself for chickening out at the last second. He had meant to call Virgil “sweetheart” as Patton so often did. Though while he was no stranger to using the nickname during courtships, it felt strange to call Virgil by it. Still, he had a role to fill and forgiveness to earn, so he couldn’t afford another slip-up like that again.

‘Nah, it’s cool,’ Virgil muttered and reached for the sippy cup. His movements seemed halted and his eyes briefly darted between the cup and Roman for a second before he sheepishly sipped at it.

Those words again: It’s cool. They infuriated Roman! But he took a steadying breath and pushed his irritation down. He had a baby to coax out, and anger would surely be counterproductive.

He reached forward for one of the cookies and snapped it in half, then held one piece up in front of Virgil with a smile.

Virgil frowned and lowered his sippy cup from his lips. ‘You wanna share one?’

‘No, silly!’ Roman giggled, putting all of the energy he usually observed in Papa Patton into his tone. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Ready for what?’

‘Here comes the cookie train!’ Roman sang, slowly pushing the cookie forward towards Virgil’s mouth. ‘Chugga chugga choo choo!’

Virgil’s eyes widened and his free hand flew up to grab Roman’s wrist before he had a chance to press the cookie to his lips. ‘I can feed myself!’

‘Oh…’ So apparently that technique wasn’t the way to go about it. ‘Apologies,’ Roman said. He pulled the cookie piece back and shoved it between his lips.

Virgil sighed quietly and reached for the other half of the cookie. He threw it into his mouth and munched on it as he pulled his Switch into his lap, resuming the game.

Meanwhile, Roman chewed thoughtfully. Perhaps Virgil wasn’t up for a baby headspace but would rather be a young child who was still able to feed himself. Though it was uncommon for him to be in a comparatively older regressed headspace, it wasn’t unheard of. And if Virgil was not comfortable with Roman feeding him, it didn’t automatically have to be the end of his plan. But what could Roman do to make it easier? What exactly was it that Patton did differently to be able to make Virgil regress in an instant?

Roman thought back to all the times he had witnessed it happening, quickly noticing a pattern. Patton always complimented Virgil (usually by calling him “cute” or “pretty” or “my little sweet and sour dumpling”) and touched him in some way (either with a nose boop or gentle tickles or head strokes). Roman would be a fool not to apply this knowledge, and a prince was no fool.

He decided to go about a subtle route, not wanting to startle Virgil again as that would probably hinder his regression.

‘Oh, that looks like a cute game,’ Roman said casually, pointing at the console balanced on Virgil’s knee.

‘You don’t know this one?’ Virgil asked, sounding surprised. He played with one hand as his other gripped the sippy cup.

Roman leaned closer, observing the colourful, animalistic characters who walked aimlessly around what appeared to be an island resort.

‘Ohh, is this the one with the capitalist raccoon who forces you to labour all day then takes all of your money?’

Virgil snorted. ‘He’s a tanuki, not a racoon. But yeah, essentially,’ he shrugged and tipped the sippy cup up to his lips.

Roman scooted closer on the mattress, trying to initiate casual contact. His thigh brushed Virgil’s and the other didn’t seem to mind it. With an internal hurrah, Roman initiated part two of his plan B.

‘Aw, is that you?’ he asked in a slight baby-talk voice, pointing at the chibi character on the screen. They had lilac hair and were sporting a rather intricate gothic dress. (For such a basic character design Roman was massively impressed by the attention to detail on the costume. He resolved to investigate it later as he had a job to do at the present moment.)

‘Mhm,’ Virgil hummed through a mouthful of milk then swallowed, ‘that’s me.’ He twiddled the joystick so that the character did a little spin.

‘Adorable!’ Roman gushed, and it was only half put-on (the game really did look sweet). Then he turned to Virgil, glad that their faces were mere inches apart. It would surely create intimacy and trust between them and hence spur on Virgil’s headspace. ‘But y’know what’s even more adorable?’

‘What?’ Virgil questioned, turning to look at Roman then freezing. A faint look of worry graced his features, though Roman assumed he was simply nervous about regressing around Roman alone. ‘What are you -’

‘This little Virgil right here!’ Roman smiled and wiggled his fingers over Virgil’s side.

Virgil broke into muffled titters. ‘S-stop,’ he stuttered, unable to get through the word without laughing. ‘R-Ro-ho-man!’

‘Aw, listen to your little giggles,’ Roman cooed, pushing an adoring tone past the strange heaviness in his chest. He just didn’t feel right doing this. But it had to be right, Virgil was laughing and smiling and had always enjoyed it whenever Patton did the exact same.

So Roman continued. He forced his own small laugh and doubled down on the tickling, jiggling his hand quicker over Virgil’s ribs. The boy squeaked and dropped his sippy cup to the mattress. (The cup was non-spill, gladly.)

‘No-ho m-more,’ Virgil pleaded through his giggles and pushed on Roman’s wrist firmly.

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’ On a whim, Roman went to poke Virgil’s nose with his free hand. Twice the contact probably meant twice the likelihood of regressing, going by his logic.

At the very same moment that his finger pushed forward, though, he must have unwittingly hit a sensitive spot on Virgil’s ribs because the younger side’s face unexpectedly lurched forward with a gasp. Roman’s finger ended up poking Virgil’s eye.

‘Ow!’ Virgil whined, shoving Roman’s hands away harshly. ‘What the heck, Ro?!’ He raised a hand to cover his assaulted eye while the other stared at Roman in shock.

Roman was stunned for a moment, feeling suddenly small. He had messed up again. He had hurt Virgil. Again! He just wanted their caregivers to make it better like they always did, but this was Roman’s mistake. He couldn’t always rely upon Patton and Logan when he accidentally hurt his brother. He had to learn to do it alone.

‘Shit, I -’ Roman clicked his mouth shut and shook his head. (Back into character, goddamnit!) ‘Oh, poor baby,’ he pouted in sympathy.

Virgil only looked more indignant, his hand lowering from his eye which was, thankfully, uninjured. ‘What?’

‘Don’t worry little, uh, guy.’ Roman winced at his phrasing. ‘Uncle Roman will kiss it better!’

Roman started leaning forward, his hands held out in a placating manner - though they trembled slightly.

‘Stop!’ Virgil yelled, placing his hands firmly on Roman’s shoulders and keeping him at arm’s length.

A glimmer of relief flickered in Roman’s chest.

‘What are you doing?’ Virgil asked clearly, his expression a mix of confusion, irritation, and concern.

‘I - I’m trying to kiss your boo-boo better, kiddo.’ Roman attempted to smile, though even he had to admit his acting was no longer up to scratch. He was feeling jittery. This wasn’t right!

Virgil’s eyebrows raised and he offered no further response. How on Earth did he master those nuanced expressions so well? Roman almost wanted to ask for tips.

‘Fine,’ Roman sighed, throwing his arms up into the air as he dropped the act. ‘I kinda thought maybe I could babysit you for a while.’ Despite his words, he knew the pout on his face must not have commanded much respect.

‘I…’ Virgil paused, blinking slowly. ‘Princey, you hate caregiving,’ he burst out, incredulous. ‘I thought we established that weeks ago. And anyway you’re shit at it.’

‘Charming,’ Roman grunted, crossing his arms and diverting his gaze to the mattress. He didn’t need to be good at caregiving, he didn’t even necessarily want to be good at caregiving, but he would be damned if he actually admitted to being bad at something.

‘Why are you babying me all of a sudden?’ Virgil’s voice was softer now.

‘I just wanted to make up for yesterday!’ Roman cracked, though he was conscious to not outright yell, knowing Virgil’s sensitivity to loud noises would not do him any favours. ‘I want to prove to you that I’m sorry about what I did, but you barely acknowledged my other apologies,’ he explained, annoyance seeping into his tone. Virgil’s eyes dropped to his lap. ‘And you obviously didn’t care for my other ideas for acts of chivalry, so -’ he flailed his arms around in frustration ‘- I’m making do!’

The silence in the room somehow rang louder than Roman’s outburst, and he felt a knot of embarrassment start to clench his stomach.

Before it had time to grow any bigger, Virgil spoke up: ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What?’ Roman frowned and looked back up to him. Virgil looked horribly guilty. ‘No, I think you’re confused. I’m here so that I can apologise.’

‘Yeah, I got that.’ Virgil’s lips pulled into a small smile, then it dropped again. ‘Listen… I’m sorry for being kind of flippant earlier.’ He looked down, shrugging his shoulders up to his neck and holding them there. ‘I do forgive you, I just -’ he paused and Roman noted his cheeks had turned rosy. ‘I just didn’t want us to make such a big deal out of what happened, y’know?’

‘Oh…’ Roman breathed. This type of forgiveness was unexpected (not unlike anything else that had happened that day, so really shouldn’t he have expected it to be unexpected?) but nonetheless acceptable. If Virgil truly did forgive him then that should have been enough for Roman.

‘I mean thank you for apologising. Like, twenty times,’ Virgil said hastily, clearly noticing Roman’s surprise. ‘I do appreciate it - even if I never want to experience “Uncle Roman” ever again in my life.’ He looked back up at Roman shyly, ‘But can we please just pretend it didn’t happen?’

‘Uh, yeah. Sure. It - it’s cool,’ Roman replied with a weak nod, distracted by the persistent emptiness in his chest. 

Virgil bumped their knees together amiably then went back to his game.

After a minute or so of the controller clicking and the cutesy music blaring from the small speaker, Roman realised he was still unsettled by the situation. He communicated this to Virgil in the most effective way he knew how: by groaning loudly and forlornly.

‘What is it?’ Virgil asked in his most dramatic, long-suffering whine. It was a little teasing quirk they had picked up together that was entirely well-intended. The familiarity of it made Roman feel somewhat better about admitting the issue.

‘It’s just this niggling feeling, you know?’ he asked, fully aware that Virgil did not know. ‘I have to do something. I have the rich blue blood of a prince, for heaven’s sake.’ His eyes wandered around the room as if looking for a solution to his lament. ‘If I cannot defeat a villain in your honour or commit some other brave, valiant act of -’

He paused abruptly as his eyes settled on something. A stuffed raccoon lay abandoned on the floor by Virgil’s bed, torn in two. Roman was sure he remembered Virgil naming it Meeko, after his beloved character from Pocahontas.

‘Dear Zeus, I believe I have it!’ Roman cried triumphantly.

Virgil startled at the sudden noise and Roman turned to him with an apologetic smile. The emo only looked vaguely miffed.

‘Glad you’ve reached a solution, but do you think you could have a dramatic epiphany elsewhere?’ Virgil mumbled, eyes flitting back to his screen. ‘I have debts to pay here.’

Normally it would have annoyed him to be pushed aside for no more than a video game, but luckily for Virgil, Roman had a new job to do. He just needed to sneak Meeko out unnoticed.

‘I thought you said you paid off your debts last week,’ Roman said easily, subtly dropping his leg over the edge of the bed.

‘Yeah, but now I have more,’ Virgil shrugged, unaware of Roman’s movements. ‘It’s kind of a constant in this game.’

Roman hooked his socked toes around one half of the plush on the floor and silently dragged it closer. ‘Doesn’t living in constant debt stress you out though?’ He hooked his toes around the other piece of the toy, looking carefully out of the corner of his eye.

‘It’s actually super chill. You, like, go fishing and catch bugs and stuff.’ Virgil carried on talking, though Roman’s attention was quite preoccupied. ‘And you meet these animals and invite them to your island. You’d like them, they’re really sassy.’

‘Uhuh, uhuh,’ Roman hummed noncommittally, slowly inching his hand down to grab the stuffie pieces and trying to act as if he was just itching his leg.

‘You plant flowers and craft furniture and stuff. Then there’s this cool museum.’

Roman hurriedly stuffed the plushie pieces inside his jacket, masking the movement with a cough. He hazarded a glance to Virgil, glad to see that he was completely enraptured by the game, seemingly unaware of anything that was not pixelated.

‘You can design your own clothes too, look.’ Virgil pushed the screen in front of Roman and showed that his character was now wearing an in-game replication of his signature purple and black patched hoodie.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s brilliant,’ he whispered, partly impressed by the game, though mostly impressed by the incredible idea that just popped into his head.

‘You should totally get the game. We could play together,’ Virgil said, smiling when he brought the console back to his lap.

‘I would like that,’ Roman said sincerely. ‘Though for now, I must be off.’

He rose from the bed, being careful to keep his left arm clutched tightly to his side to avoid dropping the toy and ruining his plan. He was ready to go and settle down to hours of work, but the child in him begged him to do one last thing before he left.

‘Still brothers?’ he asked hesitantly.

Virgil immediately looked up from the screen, his expression soft around the edges. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly with a smile. ‘Still brothers.’

‘Yes!’ Roman cheered, punching the air with his right hand. It was followed by a huff of amusement from Virgil. ‘Love you, Virge,’ Roman said offhandedly as he turned away, ready to leave at that.

‘Uh, yeah,’ Virgil mumbled.

Roman paused on his way out. He knew Virgil fairly well, having spent so much time around him during the previous few months, and so he liked to think he had a fairly decent amalgamation of the varying tones of Virgil’s mumbles and what they meant. The wheezy ones showed distress, the stunted ones showed annoyance, the lowest ones showed reluctant happiness. This particular brand of mumble, quiet and high-pitched, projected Virgil’s embarrassment. And honestly what kind of big brother would Roman be if he missed such a harmless opportunity for teasing?

He spun back around with a smirk which only grew wider when Virgil saw it and groaned.

‘Say it,’ Roman insisted, holding back a laugh.

‘Go ‘way,’ Virgil whined, pulling his console up to cover his face, though Roman could still spy the blush peeking from behind it.

‘Aww, come on.’ Roman stepped closer to the bed, giggling when Virgil brought the Switch so close to his face that it touched his nose. ‘You said it yesterday,’ Roman sing-songed, kneeling down right in front of Virgil on the bed.

‘Then you shouldn’t need to hear it again,’ Virgil grumbled.

‘Oh, but I’ve forgotten what the pure adoration in your voice sounded like,’ Roman teased, reaching forward to lower the gadget from Virgil���s face. He bit his tongue in amusement when Virgil glared at him past bright pink cheeks. ‘How did you say it? “Wuvoo, Wo-Wo”?’

‘You’re no longer welcome in my kingdom.’

Roman shrugged, still being careful to keep his left arm secure over the stuffed racoon in his jacket. He swivelled his legs to plop down onto the bed.

‘Not leaving until you say it,’ he proclaimed proudly.

Virgil growled (adorably) and dropped the console to the bed, crossing his arms. An unintelligible mumble left his lips.

‘Hm, what was that?’ Roman asked with a giddy smile. He held his ear forward with his free hand. ‘I couldn’t quite hear -’

‘I love you, you weirdo!’ Virgil said loudly, seemingly agitated, though Roman knew there was no real heat behind it (he was well-versed in recognising Virgil’s playful irritation versus his real, leave-me-alone-right-now-or-suffer irritation). ‘Now get out of my room.’

Roman stood and bowed regally, ‘As you wish, Princess Bitter-cup.’

Something small and soft was hurled at his head.

‘Wow,’ Roman chuckled, picking up the tiny giraffe stuffie from the floor with his free hand and chucking it back onto Virgil’s toy pile. ‘Even when you’re a bitch you’re adorable.’

The pout on Virgil’s face was not a dangerous one so Roman winked. He sauntered off towards the door, finally satisfied that the guilty fog in his head had blown away. ‘See you later, lil bro.’

‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, big bro,’ Virgil responded sarcastically behind him.

Roman gasped, turning back around in the open doorway. ‘Umm, rude much - Ahh!’ He had to hurriedly jump back into the hallway to avoid being hit in the face by the door, which had suddenly slammed shut.

Waiting a moment for his heart to stop beating so hard from the spike of adrenaline, Roman heard muffled laughter coming from the bedroom. He scoffed and shook his head.

One of their house rules was to not use their metaphysical powers in the mindscape unless entirely unavoidable. Logan reserved his powers for actual emergencies, such as when the kitchen had set on fire. Patton only stretched the rules a little by using his powers to clean parts of the house that were difficult to reach or otherwise highly inconvenient. Roman used his powers only for absolute dire needs, such as summoning medical aid after an arduous adventure in the imagination (though on one occasion he had summoned puppies for desperately-needed snuggles). And Virgil, coming from years of living with the Other sides who used no such rule in their establishment, respected the rule for the most part, though renounced it on occasion in favour of performing relatively harmless pranks.

Roman could have tattled on him to Logan, though they had only just reconciled, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been the wisest decision. Plus, the next few hours of his time were decidedly booked.

He made his way down the hallway, already drawing up designs in his head. Being so inspired by his ingenious ideas, he almost bumped right into Logan at the top of the stairs.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Roman muttered, wondering how many more times he would utter that word that day. 

When Roman looked up, he was unsurprised to see that Patton stood right beside Logan. The two had been almost inseparable for the past two weeks when they weren’t caring for Roman and Virgil, and Roman was absolutely enamoured by their adorable attempts at keeping their budding relationship on the subtle side. They were obviously failing miserably.

What he was surprised to see, however, was a very large cardboard box huddled in both of Logan’s arms. ‘What’s in the box, specs?’

Logan and Patton looked at each other with unreadable expressions, then turned back to Roman and spoke simultaneously:

‘Stationery.’

‘What box?’

The two looked back at each other with wide eyes. Roman frowned, mind reeling with what two people in a new relationship could possibly buy together, have delivered in discreet packaging, and not want to tell - actually yeah, he didn’t want to think about that. 

‘Well, that was disturbing.’ Roman cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he hurried past them. ‘Forget I asked,’ he called back.

He had no time to worry about their stumbled defences. His sewing machine awaited!

oOo

Later that afternoon, Logan readjusted his position on the couch and crossed his legs with a sigh. He was feeling unusually restless. 

Patton and he had efficiently hidden their package some hours previously, thankful that Virgil did not witness their secrecy. It was all for his benefit, though the anxious side could be suspicious at the best of times. They could not afford for his defences to be raised any higher than they were already bound to be for the conversation they had planned.

As Logan waited, he breathed evenly, hoping to dispel his nerves before the other two joined him. Patton had left the room a minute previously to fetch Virgil for the chat.

There was no use in feeling nervous about it, Logan knew. It was only a conversation and truly there was nothing threatening about that. Still, the idea that Virgil could be upset by it disturbed Logan somewhat. He could not predict how the regressor would react to what they had to say. Though, as he so often said to Virgil, unpredictability should not be cause for worry. He took a steadying breath and uncrossed his legs.

Within a few moments, the door to the living room eased open and Patton stepped into the room with a quick nervous smile at Logan. After he had entered, Virgil shuffled in behind him, scratching at his hoodie sleeves and chewing his lip. Logan crossed his legs again.

‘Virgil, have a seat,’ Logan said gently, indicating the spot beside him on the couch. Patton had settled in the armchair.

Virgil’s eyes darted between both of them and the seat in quick succession.

‘You are not in trouble,’ Logan said, hoping that his smile was reassuring.

With a shaky sigh, Virgil perched on the end of the couch. He had sat as far from Logan as he possibly could.

‘Patton said you, uh, you wanted to talk about something?’ Virgil muttered.

‘Yes,’ Logan said. He internally made a note to talk to Patton about open-ended requests and how they could exacerbate Virgil’s anxiety, though pushed the matter aside for now. He carefully angled his body toward Virgil, trying to use more engaging body language as he could sense Virgil might try to close himself off. ‘We need to talk about your recent bathroom issues.’

As predicted, Virgil wrapped his arms tightly around himself and sunk further into the couch. Though he didn’t try to leave (for which Logan was grateful). ‘Oh.’

‘You are aware that Patton spoke to me about you two’s discussion, are you not?’

The question was met with a slight nod from Virgil. Logan did not miss the tremble in his fingers which clawed at his hoodie sleeves.

‘Virgil, I’d like to remind you that neither Patton nor I are in any way angry or disappointed with you,’ Logan said, knowing that Virgil’s anxiety must have been wreaking havoc in his mind.

‘Absolutely not,’ Patton agreed fervently. ‘We love you so much, Stormcloud. This doesn’t change that.’

‘Okay.’ Virgil did not meet either of their gazes. ‘Can I leave now?’

Logan sighed, knowing the conversation was bound to be difficult given Virgil’s attitude. ‘That wasn’t what we wanted to talk about.’

Virgil slumped in defeat.

‘I told Logan about everything you said to me yesterday,’ Patton started gently, ‘and we think we might have a solution to -’

‘You can fix it?’ Virgil asked, finally raising his gaze from his lap to look at Logan pleadingly.

Guilt flooded the logical side. It was not often Virgil felt hopeful about anything. In fact, Logan and the others had been trying to convince him to accept more optimism into his thought process, though unfortunately in this situation it had to be shot down.

‘Not exactly.’ At the look of hurt in Virgil’s eyes, Logan had to contain a wince. ‘You cannot always fix something,’ he explained. ‘Sometimes, the situation is unavoidable and the only option is to adapt.’

 ‘Adapt?’ Virgil echoed uncertainly.

Logan’s eyes inched over to Patton. They had agreed it might be more agreeable for Virgil to hear the suggestion from his lips.

‘Sweetheart,’ Patton said gently, ‘how would you feel if whenever you regressed you wore a diaper?’

‘No!’ Virgil immediately yelled, his voice cracking.

Logan shared a quick, bewildered look with Patton.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ Virgil rambled frantically, his hands fisting in the cushion beneath him. Logan was shocked by the abject horror on the younger side’s face. ‘No, I can’t! I can’t, no, no -’

‘Honey, honey, stop. It’s all right,’ Patton hurried to soothe him, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘It’s completely okay if you don’t want to wear one.’

Patton was correct. It would have been completely acceptable had Virgil not wanted to try diapers. But - Logan noted with curiosity - Virgil had not said he didn’t want to. He had said he can’t. The small slip-up suggested that (even if only on a subconscious level) Virgil perceived the concept as unattainable, as opposed to undesirable. Logan felt an obligation to investigate further.

‘Why?’ he asked simply.

‘Logan,’ Patton whispered sharply, sending him a reprimanding look.

‘I won’t have any more accidents, I promise!’

Both caregivers looked back at Virgil in surprise.

‘Virgil,’ Logan said carefully, wary of the panic in Virgil’s eyes, ‘we understand that you do not do it on purpose, hence the term “accident”. We all know now that when you are regressed you cannot control it. Now I am sorry, but you simply cannot keep that promise.’

Virgil squirmed in place, his whole posture tense and alert. ‘Th-then I won’t regress anymore.’

Patton gasped, and Logan could hardly blame him. Though Logan had been prepared for Virgil to turn down the idea, the intensity of his reaction was entirely unforeseen.

‘Why would you say that, Virgil?’ Patton whispered, sounding heartbroken.

Virgil was trembling. He clearly had no answer. Though Logan was not convinced he would be able to reply even if he did have one.

‘Your regression is not voluntary.’ Logan spoke in a calm, low voice. ‘You have no say in whether it happens or not. You yourself told us this.’ He frowned in confusion. Virgil’s reaction was so fraught that it seemed to be inflicting his capacity for rational thinking.

To his vague relief, Virgil did appear to have gotten through the worst of his panic, though he still glanced between Patton and Logan nervously. ‘I can hide in my room,’ he suggested shakily. ‘I won’t bother you anymore, I’m sorry for burdening you, I -’

‘Stop,’ Logan said firmly. He could not bear to listen to the anxiety-driven drivel any longer. ‘I want you to take a deep breath.’

Virgil did just that, and the result was instantaneous. As he exhaled, his shoulders dropped from his neck and his hands eased their grip on the couch.

‘Good, keep going,’ Logan murmured, sharing a concerned look with Patton as Virgil took another shaky breath. When Logan had deemed it safe to do so, he continued.

‘We do not want you to hide in your room,’ he said clearly, being cautious to keep his tone gentle. ‘You do not need to hide your regression from us. You are not a burden.’

Virgil bit his lip but did not protest.

‘You could never be a burden,’ Patton said softly. By the jitteriness of his fingertips, Logan could tell that Patton was eager to reach out and hold Virgil, though he held back. ‘Please don’t hide this part of yourself again, sweetheart. You don’t need to.’

Even as his silence persisted, Virgil gave a stiff nod.

Now that Virgil had calmed down, for the most part, Logan launched into his investigation.

‘Could you perhaps explain why you are so adamantly against the idea of using diapers?’ It was met with bewildered looks of varying intensity from both of the others, so Logan elaborated, ‘In no circumstance would we ever force you into doing something against your will. That is not my intention for this conversation. I would merely like to examine your thought process surrounding the concept.’

Virgil looked imploringly to Patton, though was only met with an apologetic smile and nod.

‘Virgil,’ Logan called softly and was hurt to see the look of betrayal that turned onto him. ‘Please.’

He insisted on holding Virgil’s gaze until the younger side looked away with a sigh.

‘I just…’ Virgil pulled his knees up to his chest in a defensive pose. ‘It’s just weird,’ he mumbled.

Good, they could at least get somewhere with that.

‘Sweetie, it’s not -’

Logan held his hand up, silencing Patton. Though the reassurance was well-intended, Logan believed that simply disparaging Virgil’s views would be ineffective. They had to address the root cause of the issue.

‘And why is it weird?’ Logan prompted.

Virgil’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Logan with wide eyes, apparently (unreasonably) taken aback by the simple question.

‘I-I dunno,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Adults shouldn’t need -’

‘Some adults require incontinence products.’ Logan nipped that train of thought in the bud right away. ‘It is beyond their control, and yet you would call it weird?’

‘N-no!’ Virgil hurriedly defended. ‘No, of course not. That’s not - I meant I shouldn’t need… those.’

Logan muffled the growing satisfaction in his chest as they inched closer to the crux of the problem. ‘And why is it weird for you specifically and not those other adults?’

Virgil’s arms squeezed around his legs, pulling them tighter against his chest. ‘Because it’s, um, not a medical issue?’ he asked quietly, seeming more uncertain of his own argument with each passing second.

‘That is unimportant,’ Logan said. ‘Regardless of the cause, you are still unable to control your bladder on occasion.’

The tension in Virgil’s posture was painfully visible, as was the growing flush to his cheeks.

‘So, I will ask you again.’ Logan scooted himself slightly closer to Virgil on the couch, hoping that the closeness would bring Virgil some kind of comfort. He did not move away. ‘Why would it be weird for you to wear diapers if it is not weird for anyone else to do the same?’

Virgil blinked quickly and opened his mouth. Then he shut it, blinked, looked to his knees, opened his mouth, and shut it again. After a repeat of this cycle, he groaned quietly and buried his face against his knees.

‘You cannot think of an answer because it is an incorrect statement,’ Logan said. Looking at Virgil’s hunched form, he realised that being proven right was not nearly as satisfactory when it caused such distress to someone he loved. ‘I can assure you that your worries surrounding this matter are unfounded.’

‘He’s right, Virgil,’ Patton added. ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed about this, it’s all right.’

Virgil shook his head, though his face was still concealed by his knees. ‘Is not.’

‘It is,’ Logan insisted. ‘Your mental state regresses to that of a toddler’s, so why should we expect every aspect of your physical state to be any different? A toddler cannot be expected to have such a high command over their body.’

‘But I should,’ Virgil argued weakly into his jeans.

‘Not when you’re regressed, sweetheart,’ Patton said. ‘You’re just a baby, you can’t -’

‘I’m not a baby, I’m a pervert!’ Virgil shouted, his head snapping up from his knees fiercely.

Logan’s breath rushed from his lungs, his stomach lurching at such intense self-deprecation coming from the person he had come to see as his child.

‘Stormcloud…’ Patton whispered, sounding close to tears.

Virgil beat him to it. His “sweater paws” (that had been a highly useful vocab card) scrubbed harshly at the tears that fell to his cheeks. The image made Logan’s heart sink.

‘I’m a freak,’ Virgil mumbled into his sleeve. ‘I’m just gross and messed up and attention-seeking and…’ His voice had become squeaky and broken before he trailed off.

‘Baby, no, no, no,’ Patton cooed sadly and rushed to his side at break-neck speed. Squeezing in to sit between the regressor and the armrest, Patton wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and pulled him to lean against his side. ‘Virgil, honey, none of that is true. None of it.’

Virgil sniffled as Patton kissed his head.

Following Patton’s lead, Logan closed the distance between them on the couch. He placed one hand on Virgil’s knee and squeezed while his other settled on Patton’s forearm gently.

‘Please understand that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your regression or with how your body reacts to it,’ Logan pleaded, feeling strangely helpless. He had been so certain that Virgil knew his regression was valid. What had changed to make him spout this nonsense? ‘As you have informed us and as I have ascertained from my own research, age regression is by its very nature entirely non-sexual.’

Virgil nodded against Patton’s shoulder.

‘It is and always has been a natural state for you,’ Logan went on, sure that Virgil was aware of this already.

As suspected, Virgil nodded again.

Logan frowned. Where could this all have been coming from? ‘And you are aware that it is highly beneficial to your emotional wellbeing.’

‘Yeah,’ Virgil said, his voice wet and choked.

‘And you enjoy it!’ Patton said, injecting joy into his words. Logan saw how his arms tightened around Virgil’s form. ‘That’s as good a reason as any.’

Once more, Virgil nodded.

Logan considered why Virgil might have had such a sudden change of heart towards his view of age regression. It was, of course, possible that he had simply kept these views hidden up until that moment, though they had addressed his insecurities surrounding the matter on multiple occasions over the past three months. With a heavy heart, Logan realised that if these opinions had not originated from Virgil himself, they had to have originated elsewhere and been figuratively drilled into him.

‘Who called you those words, Virgil?’ Logan asked delicately. 

Virgil angled his head further into Patton’s shoulder in avoidance.

It was an unusual experience, watching the realisation dawn on Patton’s face. His eyes lost their joyful sparkle and his concerned expression melted into one of pure indignation and - most uncharacteristically - rage. The moral side pushed gently at Virgil’s shoulders, getting him to sit upright to reveal his face.

‘Who was it?’ Patton asked, his voice shaking with what Logan suspected was carefully concealed anger.

Virgil hunched in his seat and met Logan’s eyes for a split second before hurriedly looking down at his knees. ‘No one.’

‘Falsehood,’ Logan said sternly. He did not want to make Virgil anxious at all by prying, but he could not afford for this topic of conversation to be shrugged off so easily. ‘Who was it?’

With a deep, shaky sigh, Virgil rested his chin on his knees and muttered, ‘I mean no one I know.’

Patton sent a confused look to Logan over the head of purple hair.

‘Could you please elaborate?’ Logan asked.

A moment of silence passed, and just as Logan was preparing to ask again, Virgil inhaled sharply, paused, and then spoke.

‘A couple weeks ago I made a Tumblr post about my regression.’ Virgil’s voice was quiet enough that Logan had to strain to hear it. ‘About how I wasn’t ashamed of it anymore and - and about you guys,’ Virgil said. He tugged at a strand of his hair harshly.

Logan reached out and smoothed his fingers over Virgil’s hand, convincing him to release the hair. Their hands both dropped to the couch cushion, remaining joined at Logan’s insistence. He understood where the conversation was heading. ‘I am aware that there is an anonymous question function on Tumblr.’

Virgil’s fingers twitched against Logan’s palm. ‘S-someone kept sending asks saying it was just a… a fetish and telling me I was sick and weird and -’ he cut off with an audible gulp, ‘and a bunch of other stuff.’

‘They’re wrong,’ Patton stated without room for argument. Logan saw the muscle in his jaw jumping. ‘They - I can’t believe someone would -’ His voice was incredibly strained and it strangled his words so much that Patton seemed to almost gag over them. He blew out a harsh breath, the sound something akin to a hiss. ‘This is ridiculous.’

Patton was shaking with the effort to contain his reaction and looked about ready to burst. Glancing down, Logan realised with a hint of concern that Virgil was looking at Patton in surprise and, unfortunately, appeared to be nervous.

‘Patton,’ Logan said, ‘I want you to take a moment to -’

‘No, Logan!’ Patton whispered harshly, red in the face. He snatched his arm off from Virgil then clenched his fists in his lap. ‘They’re bullies. Horrible, mean, cruel bullies. I just don’t understand why!’ he broke into a shout. Virgil flinched and leaned into Logan’s side. ‘Why the hell would someone want to - I mean, how could - To our baby!’

Logan was in full agreement to everything that Patton was saying (even if most of it had to be read between the lines since he seemed so enraged that he could hardly get a full sentence out). But - Logan noted, seeing that Virgil was staring at his lap in shame - this was neither the time nor the place to display aggression. 

‘Patton,’ Logan said more firmly, ‘I understand you are angry, but please be wary of the sensitivity of this situation. I am sure Virgil would appreciate calm right now.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Virgil sounded feeble at best.

‘Angry?’ Patton repeated incredulously, actually looking at Logan in shock. ‘I - I’m not angry, I’m just…’ He went silent, the fire dissipating from his eyes and being replaced by uncertainty. Then he whispered, all heat faded from his tone, ‘I’m not angry.’

Logan nodded slowly. It was evident Patton was having trouble identifying his negative emotions, though Logan did not feel it right to divert the purpose of the conversation. He would have to delay the talk with Patton until after they had resolved Virgil’s issue, especially since he suspected Virgil would not open up so readily a second time.

‘Now, Virgil,’ Logan said. He looked at Patton pointedly, conveying that they had to get back to the task at hand. Patton nodded, the tension finally dispelling from his form. ‘These strangers online do not see how this coping mechanism helps you.’ Logan squeezed the younger side’s fingers slightly, earning his attention through a hesitant glance. ‘Their opinions are uninformed and therefore worthless.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetie,’ Patton breathed. He was curled into himself slightly, clearly embarrassed by his loss of control. ‘I didn’t mean to - these people are clearly very damaged,’ he said the word as if it were a substitute for harsher language, ‘and, for whatever reason, they only wanted to hurt you.’ He cautiously wrapped his arm back around Virgil’s shoulders. ‘Those kinds of people don’t have any authority over you or your regression.’

‘I guess not,’ Virgil said. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, melting into Patton’s touch.

Logan sighed in faint relief, glad that Virgil no longer seemed intimidated by Patton’s outburst. ‘It is a futile task in pandering to these idiots’ prejudices. Your regression makes you happy and so it is indisputably perfect.’

The words earned him a soft smile from Virgil and Logan felt his own expression soften at the sight.

‘Thank you,’ Virgil said with finality.

‘Though,’ Logan started, something still eating away at him, ‘it remains unclear how these bullies made you feel bad about needing diapers specifically.’

Virgil bit his lip, then looked back at the floor. ‘I - I wanted to try them a while ago,’ he whispered.

From the look on Patton’s face, it seemed Logan was not alone in his surprise.

‘It was just so scary whenever I had an accident!’ Virgil quickly defended. ‘I - I didn’t know what else to do. I was stupid and -’

‘Try again,’ Patton interrupted with a squeeze on Virgil’s shoulder.

‘I was dumb and -’

‘Again.’

‘I… was uninformed and didn’t know how to buy them. So I made a post asking for advice.’ Virgil rushed through the words as if wanting them to be over as soon as possible. ‘Then there was a bunch of asks saying it was disgusting and pathetic and hilarious and -’

‘Imbeciles,’ Logan growled loudly, though took a steadying breath and left it at that. He would absolutely be having a chat with Patton later so they could release their frustrations in private, away from Virgil.

‘None of that is true,’ Patton said softly. ‘Do you remember what Logan said about toddlers not being expected to have such a high level of bodily control?’

Virgil nodded.

‘You aren’t aware of yourself when you’re regressed, so you have to trust us when we tell you that when you’re in that headspace you really are a toddler.’ Patton said it slowly and deliberately, not giving Virgil a chance to dispute the words.

Virgil looked up at Logan, seeking confirmation.

‘It was astonishing to experience at first,’ Logan said, ‘but I cannot deny it. It truly is remarkable. And wonderful,’ he added truthfully.

Patton nodded enthusiastically and guided Virgil’s head to look back at him with gentle fingers. ‘As surprising as it was, we can tell it’s very real and natural.’ Patton kissed Virgil’s head. ‘There is absolutely nothing about your regression or your body that’s wrong in any way. Do you understand that now?’

Virgil stalled for a few seconds, though when he finally spoke, Logan could hear it was sincere. ‘Yeah. I think so.’

‘And I’m so proud of you for trying to help yourself, honey.’ Patton pulled Virgil into a tighter hug. ‘I’m sorry we weren’t there to look after you back then.’

‘But you are now… right?’ Virgil pulled away from Patton and peered shyly between both of them.

‘Of course we are,’ Patton replied instantly.

Logan felt a swell of pride and love overtake him. ‘We always will be.’

Virgil hid a smile behind his sweater paw.

‘Kiddo… can you maybe turn off the anonymous option on your blog?’ Patton asked hesitantly, reaching out to card his fingers through the length of Virgil’s hair. ‘I don’t wanna control what you do but it really worries me that these strangers could make you feel so bad about yourself.’

‘Already did,’ Virgil mumbled.

Logan saw that the tip of Virgil’s thumb had found its way to his lips. He was not surprised that Virgil appeared to be slipping into his regression; it had been a distressing conversation for him.

‘Clever boy,’ Patton praised, lightly pinching Virgil’s cheek. He must have noticed the slip too.

A shy smile wormed its way onto Virgil’s features.

Patton gasped dramatically. ‘Oh my, there’s suddenly an adorable baby in the room! Where did he come from?’

The thumb that had rested on Virgil’s lips now pressed between them. Logan recognised the light blush on Virgil’s cheeks as indicative of his impending infantile headspace.

‘Before you regress completely,’ Logan said quickly, wanting to be concise lest he miss the remaining moments of Virgil’s adult mindset. ‘Will you please reconsider our suggestion? We have already purchased some diapers for you as a precautionary measure and I think it will be a good idea for you to wear one today.’

‘I think so too, sweetheart,’ Patton added softly. ‘Just to see how it feels.’ 

Virgil hummed, though it might have been a muffled whimper.

‘There is no pressure to agree at all. Similarly, if you do attempt it but dislike it then there is no need to continue.’ Logan hoped to reassure any of Virgil’s doubts that might have been inhibiting what was clearly curiosity, perhaps even desire. ‘Though I believe it will at the very least be worth a try.’

Virgil genuinely seemed to consider it.

‘Remember, we’re only doing this to help you feel safe, Stormcloud,’ Patton whispered, running his knuckle against Virgil’s cheek.

Logan gently took hold of Virgil’s hand and eased it away from his mouth so that his thumb left his lips. Virgil pouted at him, though Logan ignored it in favour of asking, ‘What would you like to do, Virgil?’

To Logan’s astonishment, he nodded.

‘Try,’ Virgil said, his voice babyish and muted.

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Next chapter

NOTE: Massive thanks to my friend Duckie for reading over the first draft of this chapter, giving me notes and cheering me on, it wouldn’t be the same without her! You can find her adorable age dreaming tumblr here: @duckies-little-pond​ 🐣💛

[wincore]

archenemies | huang renjun

pairing: renjun x reader

words: 8.8k

genre: ‘bad boy’!au, fluff

warnings: language, some juvenile activities, huang “fight me” renjun, he’s way too aries for this to be good

a/n: move aside it’s my emotional support bad boy fic

There are people who are lucky and people who have met Huang Renjun. 

Every day is a reminder of all your mistakes, all the sins you’ve committed to have to deal with him. You’ve forgotten what began all the biting comments and burning quarrels, but you’re not going to lose to some quick-tempered punk. In all honesty, however, you’d prefer to never think of him again.

Huang Renjun is just a cog in the machine that controls your life and you’re going to best ignore him till someone upstairs decides to fix that machine. (You wish it were that easy.)

You eye the bruise on your knee with a sour taste in your mouth. It’s a darker shade of purple now, the blues mingling amidst only enhancing the size of it. You sigh heavily and crouch to retie your shoelaces. You’re going to have to slow down now, and not jump over the steps of a ragged staircase. There are few reasons to pass through the playground, when you can take a safer albeit longer way to the subway station.

It’s the shorter way, yes, but there’s more. Is it because of the lack of overenthusiastic students and the loud buzz? Is it because you can walk down the thick metal railing feeling free, arms stretched? Or perhaps, the most important of all—the illegal murals on the walls starting from your school. The art gets removed every time and not two weeks later, there’s a new one. If anything’s more cheerful in colour in this city, you’d gladly pay a pretty penny to see it.

You stand in front of the latest in the collection, eyes studying every stroke of paint. It’s a wolf, made with different colours of the rainbow and with a star gently held in its mouth. You swear its eyes move with the way they stare back at you, deep and alive. You wonder what this criminal artist sees in their head to create things so raw, so full of feeling. You’re always sad when they get painted over.

You take a picture of it on your phone to remember. Your first picture dates to about two years ago, when you accidentally stumbled into the backside of the school buildings. It was the mural of a trophy, more specifically the one your school awarded for academics each year. Except the trophy was made of branches intertwined far too loose and it held a rotting apple instead of a live golden one, greens faded to brown. The single piece of writing was in black—‘here lies our youth’. You had scoffed at it then. Undoubtedly, some sort of edgy loser had spilled ink on those walls. But you had to admit, the mural was unspeakably pretty and you took the picture for your own amusement.

The school, of course, had it removed at soon as they could but you still look at it on your phone once in a while. The look on your principal’s face was glorious when a new one showed up right beside the front gate. A withering rose with thorns made of silver, and a raccoon gazing at it with its head at a slight angle. It made no sense, of course. All of these have been abstract, almost hard to find meaning in but you felt a dash of impertinence in that piece of art. It was meant to piss them off.

And of course, the art continued blossoming. Over the months, they got better and better; every new piece held a different meaning. It became a sort of game for you, to find each work and photograph it before it was criticized by disgruntled police officers and hastily removed. Adults find no importance in these kinds of things; it’s too bright, too attention-seeking and too honest.

You tread carefully along the side of the street now, aware of your aching knee and curse yourself for being so frivolous in movement. Except you aren’t as careful as you think you are, and you bump rather harshly into a lean figure when you were looking elsewhere.

“Sorry! I really am,” the words tumble out of your mouth before you can recognize the boy. But when you do, you grimace, a familiar bitter taste on your tongue. “Renjun. Hi.”

Renjun glares at you as he massages the shoulder you had so carelessly rammed into. The white bones on his dark jacket sleeves and the skull on the back look painted, although you think Renjun couldn’t have made something remotely aesthetic. You await the biting comment he usually sends your way, but he quickly turns away after shooting you another scowl.

“Well, okay,” you tell yourself. “That’s new.”

If it wasn’t clear before, Huang Renjun isn’t the nicest of people you’ve met. With a flaring temper and sharp tongue, he’s on your list of people to avoid, but you cross paths quite literally way too many times. Of course, his entire group of friends is on your list of people to avoid, but it’s Renjun who seems to be fated to run into you every goddamn time. You’ve been assigned to do projects with him at least six times by some sort of treachery, and for all the years you’ve known him, his seat is almost always behind yours. It’s torturous, really. Renjun would be much more pleasant to face if he wasn’t glaring holes into the back of your head all the time.

You pull the vague memory of a shy new boy from middle school and shove it aside—no way can you relate the past and present. At school, he’s only a troubled student, not the type to sugar-coat words and with no restraint on words, he often pisses off people he shouldn’t be pissing off. Honesty is a good feature but not on people like him. Only the bravest of teachers take a liking to him, and the rest of the students are a little in awe of him. I wish I could be that honest, you’d heard one of your friends say. That way, I wouldn’t be afraid of the world. He was mistaken; there’s no one on earth born without fear. Needless to say, your peers like to romanticize him as some sort of cool, tough guy with mystery on his fingertips. You think he secretly likes the reputation. The only times Renjun’s softened is around his band of troublemakers.

You don’t trust reputations but you think Renjun is at least six times worse than what everyone thinks of him. (And you speak from experience.)

You have to admit, though, that you might be a little at fault here. You’ve accidentally spilled hydrochloric acid on him in the chemistry lab and smeared his neck with an obnoxious green in art before, but you don’t think that’s reason enough for Renjun to hate you. Regrettably, there are more cases of misfired actions and you’d rather not dwell on them.  

If luck has anything to do in the universe, it loves to mess with you when you’re around Renjun. It’s miraculously always him the victim, and you, an unwitting culprit. Bad luck doesn’t even begin to describe what has bound the two of you. At least, that’s how it began. It’s not like you’re trying to be annoying; the circumstances provide the paint for your already messy canvas and Renjun is left more and more pissed at you at the end of every encounter. You’d feel sorry for him if he weren’t such a prick.

The times you’re not accidentally messing with Renjun, he’s the one with offhanded comments that make your blood boil. You don’t know if it’s payback but it ends up with the two of you neck-deep in hatred for each other yet again. Sometimes, you enjoy the misery you unintentionally give him, like that one time the stray cat you were holding launched itself at Renjun and he ended up with more scratches than what was good (although, he isn’t exactly a stranger to injuries) and of course, the glorious times you were the cause of Renjun’s detention. Sometimes even those aren’t enough to shut his quick mouth and honestly, you’re giving up on ever having an actual conversation with him without being at each other’s throats.

You shake your head for thinking about him for this long. Any thought lasting longer than three minutes about Renjun is a curse.

“(name)!”

Chenle waves at you from a few metres away. It’s always good to see him and you smile; the kid’s a ball of positivity. It’s much better than running into Renjun anyway, for whom you’d have to grit your teeth and brace for another jab, trying not to start another bout of bickering with him. In fact, you find the contrast between Chenle (someone you’ve only ever talked with comfortably and an occasional angel) and Renjun (literally the Devil’s advocate) so sharp that you find it hard to believe they’re friends. The only thing they seem to have in common is living at the dorms, as non-native students.

“Hi!” Chenle greets you from a few feet away as he jogs up to you. “Have you seen Renjun?”

You furrow your eyebrows. You wonder why someone as nice as Chenle would follow around a mean grouch like Renjun.

“Yeah, I just passed him,” you answer, a little piqued by Chenle’s rapid flurry of expressions. Something’s obviously not right.

“Thanks,” he says with a slight bow before he takes off in the other direction.

Now, given your history of unfortunate circumstances with Renjun, you shouldn’t be following Chenle. You shouldn’t. But of course, you’d take this chance to snoop around on Renjun, just watch him speechless as he can’t come up with any response at all. Information, secrets—they give you the upper hand. You’re being petty, sure. It’s good for your health.

You follow the loud footsteps at a safe distance, starting to wonder if it’s worth it. You almost walk into Renjun’s view and scramble back behind the wall. He’s sitting on one of the swings while Chenle pants beside him, trying to catch his breath.

“I told you to stop following me around. You look like some lost puppy.” You hear Renjun click his tongue.

“You’re so mean,” Chenle says with a pout, “Wait, doesn’t that mean I’m cute? Like a puppy? Never mind, don’t you wanna know how far the investigation is going?”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Renjun responds, looking down at his hands.

Chenle smiles, radiant as ever. “It’s no biggie!”

Renjun laughs, a sound foreign to you. “You’re acting like I said ‘thank you’.”

“Didn’t you?” Chenle grins. “Anyway, you have to be careful for the next week. They’re going to increase patrols near school.”

Renjun scoffs. “Like they’ll ever catch me.”

You narrow your eyes. From all the rumours you’ve heard, Renjun is no stranger to delinquency and other things illegal for high school students. But they’ve only been rumours. This is your chance to get some dirt on him, and you’re certainly not missing it.

Chenle presses his lips together, a flash of worry passing through him.

“Be careful anyway, okay?” he says.

Renjun snaps his head to the side, an annoyed sound leaving his lips. He looks nothing but bothered by the conversation.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

You let out a breath, annoyed with how ungrateful Renjun is. Of course, you don’t expect better from a no-good sociopath, or whatever the hell he pretends to be. You never realized how twisted your ties with Renjun has been this far. You can paint no other picture except of a demon every time you think of him.

“Now scram,” Renjun huffs.

Chenle looks like a kicked puppy and you almost march over to Renjun to reproach him. There is nothing he does that doesn’t get on your nerves. But you maintain your position; it’s not worth wasting your time over.

The twitch of your foot, however, brings you to the boys’ attention. You retreat your head and look forward, your body getting still. Half of you is terrified of Renjun finding you and the other half simply doesn’t care, in fact wanting to shove some choice words at him in case he does find you.

As fate would have it, Renjun emerges from behind the wall and you hit your head back against it. Your heartbeat evens out quick and you face him, not wanting to look stupid. He’s pissed off—you can tell by the knitted brows and bitter twist of his lips.

“I knew you were annoying but eavesdropping?” Renjun rebukes, “Congratulations on getting to a whole new level of weirdo.”

Your ears turn red and you click your tongue. “Whatever.”

“You should stop being so interested in me. Seriously.”

“Me? Interested in you? If anything, you’re the one way too interested in me.”

“I’m not the one eavesdropping.” Renjun stands up straighter, fists clenched. Your cheeks colour.

“And I’m not the one picking fights every day at lunch.”

Your hostilities aren’t unknown to the school, who look partly afraid and partly entertained with your jabs and arguments. You’ve figured they’re more afraid of Renjun and his cold face than they’re afraid of your fights. If only they didn’t think he’s cooler than he actually is. You could roll your eyes.

“You guys sound like children,” Chenle butts in.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Renjun scowls.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” you warn.

“And who are you to tell me that?”

“A decent human being.”

“God, talking to you drains me of energy.” Renjun turns his head to the side, his frown never leaving.

“Looking at you drains me of energy,” you grumble.

With one last look of repugnance, you turn around to make your way back to where you were headed in the first place.

“I don’t know why you hang out with him, Chenle,” you say before you start walking off.

You can see Renjun tense up out of the corner of your eye. For a moment, you think he’ll yell an insult back at you but only the gentle breeze fills your surroundings. You like having the last word, but no part of this exchange was satisfying. You should’ve just gone your way.

The conversation you overheard leaves your mind as quickly as it entered. Soon, you’re on the subway home with a larger basket of reasons to avoid Huang Renjun.

As if high school wasn’t dull enough, being unable to skip class makes your sleepless body worse. The can of coffee you got at the vending machine offers no aid, and when you finally blink at the silhouette of escape, you seize it. You’ve never thought of skipping class as explicitly bad. It’s not good but neither is it an awful thing to do considering the condition of the present-day education system. You’d call it a necessary evil.

At least, that’s the excuse you use for yourself every time. You’ve only been caught once, and that’s because you fell asleep under the bleachers. Detention isn’t new, but it doesn’t put you in good books. You care for your future, and the inconvenience you cause others (unlike some others you know). It’s just that there are certain habits that you can’t help.

You’ve decided to be more careful, of course. You don’t want your mother getting any more upset with you nor do you want to spend more time at school through detention. There’s a prettier world outside these drudging walls.

Somehow, you sneak your way out to the back of the school building. The painting has been removed long since you first saw it, but the place has a sense of mystery to it. You’re drawn in, an optimistic explorer to lands that call. You shake yourself to prevent your imagination from wandering.

The weeds grow unkempt here, in the narrow gaps between walls and there’s messy graffiti (vaguely phallic and highly inappropriate) here and there. It’s not pretty but it’s fun walking through here, better than dozing off in class anyway.

The clicking sound grabs your attention. The thought of anyone else being here doesn’t make you very comfortable, but what could they do? There’s no way they’d land you in trouble without facing the same fate. You shrug and take slow, daunting steps towards the source. You might as well figure out who’s there.

You peek out from behind the concrete wall, only able to see a figure in a dark blue hoodie. Only a moment later, though, your eyes inevitably trail to the artwork on the wall.

It’s half done—without an outline or final touches. The strokes of paint make up what looks like a dragon skeleton, its wings spread out and a hollow look in its eyes. Even so, it’s funny to find it smiling. What stands out, though, is the burst of colour it’s made of. And without any prompt, you know it’s him—the mystery juvenile artist of your town. Why did he have to paint it here, where most people would never see it?

You step out from behind the wall, forgetting your hideout. It’s not like you’ll ever give away this artist’s identity, the only person who has the guts to make this place colourful. You’re about to call out when he turns and you freeze, your face morphing into disbelief.

“It’s you?!” you exclaim. This has to be a joke—what on earth is going on?

Renjun yelps at your appearance, dropping the spray can as he stumbles backward. He stands there horrified, eyes wider than usual and mouth apart in a stagnant pose.

“You’re following me again!” Renjun seems to have found words.

“I’m not following you, you dimwit,” you snapped. “I just happened to be here.”

“At least make up something more elaborate.” He takes a step towards you, still standing on the raised concrete between the walls.

You glare at him. “It’s true. I don’t care what you’re up to. But you’re the guy who’s been making these?”

You point to the painted wall, not wanting to believe a demon made something beautiful.

“And what if I am?” he snarls and steps off onto the ground in front of you. You’d be afraid of the look on his face, but you’ve seen it often.

“I could report you,” you say, almost smiling. You’ve wanted to see him squirm for a long time now.

You turn heel and walk inside, but Renjun runs after you, stopping only when you turn.

“What?” you ask, your smile smug.

He grabs your arm hastily before he pushes you against the wall, his hand gripping your shoulder too tight. There’s no doubt he’s learnt how to intimidate people. There are streaks of blue and yellow on the web of his thumb and parts of his wrists. The corridor is silent without lingering students, almost eerie without the buzz.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone.” He’s looking at you intensely, almost frantic. Of course, holding secrets takes courage.

You laugh, and he furrows his eyebrows, his frown deepening.

“What are you going to give me in return?”

Renjun scowls. He’s about to answer when you’re interrupted by a rather shrill yet familiar voice.

“No making out in the hallways!” your history teacher scolds. “I can’t believe you’re skipping class for this. I would say detention but I’m in a good mood. Jesus Christ, I know you’re young but there’s a time and place for everything.”

He leaves, his grumbling fading out soon but the two of you are frozen. You can see the red that’s flushed Renjun’s skin and you wonder if you look the same. His eyes are wide, his hand still in place against your shoulder. In his haste, Renjun had left no space between the two of you; in fact, if he were to dip his head a little lower, he’d have his lips brushing against yours.

Your cheeks flare up at the thought and you shove Renjun off you.

“That was- we weren’t- that didn’t happen,” you say quickly, your voice a pitch higher.

“That didn’t happen,” Renjun agrees, still flustered, the pink bathing his face and neck.

There’s an awkward silence before Renjun speaks again, a warning tone lacing his words.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“You could add a ‘please’, at least.” The look on his face is way too enjoyable. You wait for him to realize you mean it and the look progresses into something even more fun.

“Don’t tell anyone…pl…uh, please.”

Renjun turns a few shades redder. Life just got far more splendid.

Renjun sighs enough times for Jaemin to take notice. The last thing he wants is for Jaemin to mother him but he needs some answer to his problem (you) too. He could kick the telephone pole beside him right now, but there’s no point in hurting himself. He slumps back against the wall.

“So did you finally ask (name) out? I heard rumours of you two…you know,” Jaemin grins, his tone more than teasing.

“Why the fuck would I ask (name) out?” Renjun tries his best to get his disgust across to Jaemin, though the warmth in his cheeks probably gives his embarrassment away.

“I mean, you’re always talking about them.”

“Because they make my life hell! And I’m not always talking about…them.”

Jaemin laughs and Renjun wants to kick him instead. Jeno breaks into a short laugh beside him but quickly recomposes himself at the glare Renjun sends his way. Have his friends always been this annoying? Donghyuck is thankfully absent and Yangyang’s probably hanging out at the bike garage. His friends like to add salt to cuts and wounds. And Renjun’s only used to the physical kind.

He sighs again, toning down the thoughts. If he thinks, he thinks of you and your ways of making him miserable. The smug look on your face had made Renjun want to set fire to something, preferably you.

“You guys don’t understand,” Renjun whines, “I literally got threatened to be reported to the police. By someone who hates me and will probably do it.”

Jaemin and Jeno exchange a look and it irks Renjun all the more.

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Jeno says, “Or that (name) will do it.”

“Just talk it out,” Jaemin adds.

That’s nice and all but Renjun thinks they’ve completely missed the point. He’s dealing with the root of all his miseries and he sees no easy solution to this. For all he knows, you could be a demon launched directly from hell to make him pay for his crimes. Renjun shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think that way.

“Whatever,” Renjun sighs, “I’ll figure it out.”

It’s easier to get to solutions when it’s other people’s problems.

Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows and Renjun shoves him playfully, a smile falling into place.

You raise an eyebrow. You made a face when Renjun approached you as you left school but now that he’s piqued your interest, you relax against the wall. There’s no one around at this time in the park.

“You’re really making a deal?” You grin, hoping it gets on Renjun’s nerves.

“Yes,” he responds through clenched teeth. “Just don’t say something too outrageous.”

You press your finger to your lips, squinting your eyes to think. Renjun taps his foot impatiently and you almost consider whacking him across the head to stop the noise. There is no way you’d ever get along with him.

“Be my date for prom.”

“What?!” Renjun sputters.

You burst into a fit of laughter; the look on his face is far more enjoyable than anything you’ve seen so far this year. You like Renjun owing you.

“I’m kidding. I don’t have anything in mind,” you say, “I’ll let you know when I do.”

Renjun groans, drooping his shoulders. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re awful?”

“Multiple people actu—wait, I’m awful?! You’re the one with mean comments, little graffiti man.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps. “You’ve been making me miserable ever since I came here—oh, don’t make that face, it’s true!”

You cross your arms and try ignoring Renjun’s look of disdain. After a moment of hesitation, you sigh.

“I never meant to,” you say, voice softer.

Renjun blanks out for a moment and you use it to get back to the dilemma at hand.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you clarify, “But…you have to show me how you make the murals.”

Renjun frowns. “I don’t like that.”

“The alternative is agreeing to do whatever I say whenever I want till either of us dies.”

Renjun throws his head back, a sigh escaping his lips. “Fine. I’ll take you to the next place I work on. You better keep your end of the deal.”

“Of course.”

You smile. As much as you hate to believe the one person you admired for their creations turned out to be a demon, you’re curious. You might as well make the most of this situation while it lasts.

You won’t admit you lost sleep on a Friday night because you were excited to see Renjun spray paint a wall. It’s almost embarrassing, considering the history you have with him but you can’t deny what’s standing so clear in front you. The art you’ve saved in your precious folder in your gallery, its secrets will be laid open soon.

“You know, I heard this place is haunted,” you hum.

Renjun freezes in his path, and you almost bump into him. He turns around with distress across his face, eyebrows knit together.

“Don’t say that,” he says a little too quickly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re afraid of ghosts?”

“No,” he starts, “Yes. A little bit. Whatever. This place is not haunted.”

You giggle. You didn’t expect Renjun of all people to have that look on his face. You know he’s not a tough guy (or, you refused to acknowledge he could be) but wouldn’t the school love to see him like this. He’s always come off as a little detached, uncaring of the world around him and he’s got scratches and bruises on him like he really doesn’t care which fight he’s picking. Of course the school got to talking about him—the foreign student with a mean temper and a rare smile. (“It gives him a rare charm! His laugh sounds so dreamy…” You rolled your eyes at your friends. “No. He’s just mean. And says mean things. You know. Like a mean person.”)

No one comes into this part of the subway station at night. The line is closed off during these hours, and you wonder how Renjun found out the hidden entrance. It's not easy to search over unchanging walls. The tunnel lights barely work, but the warm glow shoos away any unnerving feeling to leave empty spaces. It’s strange to not see platforms bustling with people; this one offering painted seats and large advertisements to no one now.

“What’re you going to make today?” you ask, making sure to not fall behind.

“Something simple,” he responds, taking the cans out of his satchel. “Maybe a remake of Starry Night.”

That does not classify as simple in your books, but you shrug, taking a seat by one of the tunnel walls.

Watching Renjun work is far different from staring at final products. The way his hands move in a fluid motion, the way he sprays the lines and curves with precision, the way he fills out the spaces with colour—you wish you could record all of it too. The clicking of the cans every time he shakes them is oddly satisfying, so are the full colours that transform the wall. His focus is trained and you maintain your silence, not wanting to break the encased time. You want to say you’re impressed, say it’s breath-taking to watch what he’s doing. But words don’t come easy at the cost of pride.

You tilt your head to focus on the large bruise-like mark on his hand. You thought it was paint, then a bruise but you can’t quite figure it out.

“What’s that?” you ask, tapping your own hand.

“A birthmark.” Renjun pauses momentarily to answer before turning back to his work.

You wonder how you never noticed that before. It’s like a little nebula, fitting for a boy who paints the sky with such adoration.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there but when you check your watch, time’s almost over. A little less than an hour left, you notify Renjun.

You never realized the importance of finishing touches. Neither did you ever think you’d find Van Gogh on subway walls.

An overused painting but there are Renjun’s touches to it—small tweaks in the colour and shape. There are still whirling clouds, bright stars and a sweet crescent moon. The village, though dark, somewhat adds meaning to the comfort of the lights from the houses. You shouldn’t forget why something was painted, Renjun had remarked as you were making your way here. This Starry Night holds no mourning, however.

“It’s lovely,” you say, finally. “I can’t believe you made this in a subway tunnel.”

Renjun looks up from organizing the spray cans back into the satchel. There’s a faint glow across his cheeks and he turns back to his bag quickly. His voice is unsteady when he speaks. “Thanks.”

You take your time searching for an angle with enough lighting to photograph it. Renjun looks at you dubiously at first but he steps aside with an indecipherable expression, his lips twitching at the corners.

The footsteps catch your attention. You share a look with Renjun, a cautious one when they get closer and you immediately move to stand near him.

“If that’s a police officer, I think we’re both going to jail,” you whisper.

“Or if it’s a ghost, I don’t think I’ll know what to do.”

“You seriously think it’s a ghost?!”

Renjun can’t answer for a figure comes into view, who most certainly belongs to higher authorities you’re not supposed to upset. Instead of saying anything, you share a look with Renjun and the two of you take off running. The adrenaline has already spiked into your veins as you follow your companion, who unquestionably knows his ways around these tunnels. You hear shouts from someone who’s most likely a patrolling guard but you keep running till an exit appears and you get out into the fresh summer air. You only feel the breeze for a moment before you have to break into a sprint again. You can tell dawn is on its way with the glint of the sky.

You can still hear trouble behind you as you leave the area and somewhere into your escape, Renjun takes a hold of your hand to keep you from tripping.

You reach the school dorms out of breath, sweat coating your skin and muscles throbbing. The two of you breathe heavily before a smile creeps onto your face and you laugh (or rather, wheeze) despite your lungs aching. Renjun looks at you incredulously and smiles back, the moment almost delicate. There’s a brief second when the two of you realize your hands are still clasped in each other’s and you let go with a start. You’ll brush this under the carpet too, of course.

“I hate running,” Renjun says in between huffs, bent over with his palms on his knees. “But the look on your face…I can’t stop thinking of it.”

Renjun breaks into laughter, the dimple on his cheek showing and making his features all the more pleasant.

You shake your head at him, deciding to let this one slide.

“I’ll treat you to breakfast at Red’s,” you say, unsure why you’re doing this. You don’t have to, but you feel like you should. It’s not every day you see the flicks of an artist’s wrists.

“Shouldn’t you get home? You live pretty far,” he says.

“It’s only a ten-minute subway ride,” you shrug, “How do you know I live far anyway? Does this mean you’re the one stalking me? Hm?”

“You’ve said you live far before, dumbass,” Renjun replies, his ears turning red.

You grin at him, hoping Red’s has opened for breakfast.

And just like that, you find you’ve both cast aside your differences. Everyone who knows you are in awe when you and Renjun simply shrug at the idea of being partners for a project. Only Jeno and Jaemin look smug when you laugh at what Renjun says, while Donghyuck and some of your friends leave teasing remarks. Your accidents have decreased by a decent amount and Renjun no longer glares holes into the back of your head in Calculus and Geography. In fact, you’ve been having civil conversations (save for light insults and jokes like between friends) and although something has changed, it doesn’t feel odd at all, like this was meant to be.

You don’t miss any opportunity to trail behind Renjun every time he comes up with something new to paint. It’s not like he keeps it secretive enough from you and although he acts annoyed, you think he’s glad to not venture into creepy, abandoned places alone. He’s a little bit of a coward, but a brave artist nonetheless. You’re lucky that more often than not, it’s a clean getaway (though Chenle’s snooping around the police station helps). Somewhere along the way, you shoved off your unnecessary hatred for Renjun. The night never ages when you’re together.

You sit atop the ledge of an apartment rooftop with Renjun beside you. There’s a bunch of obsolete items stashed around the small space—an old vending machine, partly broken flower vases, a rusted bicycle and more—some entertained by the overgrown vines cradling them. Renjun’s finished painting the floor of the roof, a sunflower field with vague meaning and a tiny Moomin hiding in between. This building will be gone soon and no one would find this one easily, yet he painted here. You don’t understand why he works on things that don’t last.

The building is too short for you to view the skyline; it’s quite dazzling to look at during night-time but it’s morning now. Thus, you only have the sky’s pink clouds and Renjun to keep your company interesting enough.

“I mean, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought this way,” Renjun continues rambling, “If the universe doesn’t give a shit about you anyway—why shouldn’t you do whatever the hell you want? Our lives are too small when you compare it to stars and planets. And even they don’t matter in the end!”

“Optimistic nihilism is not an excuse to wreak havoc, Renjun,” you sigh. The breeze is finally picking up on the rooftop. Empty apartment buildings are hard to find these days. Of course, you’ve only learnt that because of Renjun.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’re an angel, you know?”

You feign a shocked expression, hand flying over your heart. “But you’re the one in black, Mr. Huang Renjun. And I’m the one in a white sweatshirt, looking as angelic as I can be.”

Renjun drops his head to rest his cheek against his palm, the look of distaste across his face.

“You have no idea how miserable you made me all these years,” he huffs. “I remember when you dropped the pottery mud on me in sixth grade—you ruined my figurine and I never got to wear that shirt again!”

“Why do you remember what I did to you in sixth grade?”

“You expect me to forget tha—you don’t look very apologetic either.” He narrows his eyes at you.

“I swear I never meant to do any of that!” you defend, shaking your head profusely, “Maybe a little sometimes. But mostly never.”

Renjun breathes out, a defeated sigh tumbling out. He turns back to the sunflowers on the roof, a brief flash of respite passing his features. The following moments are coloured with silence and you lean back onto your arms. You can see the beautifully simple tattoo of Saturn on his left wrist peeking out of his sleeve. Renjun doesn’t like showing it to people often, and it’s not very easy to spot it either with his love for jackets and long sleeves. He said he wasn’t really thinking when he got it, just thought it was pretty. You think it’s just like him.

If you were to reach out right now, you could run your thumb over the ink, feel the skin. Your face turns warm. This is not supposed to be the feeling you get. You must not think the words, or you’ll accept them for reality.

You’ve started thinking this lately, but Renjun isn’t a bad person. He might be too honest for his own good but he has a strong sense of right and wrong, something your class is not wrong for admiring. He’s said he wants to be brave one of these passing days, (“I don’t want to run all the time. Just from the cops maybe. And anyone with a weapon.” “Glad to know you’re not going to jail any time soon.” “Don’t look so disappointed.”). You think he already is brave for being true to himself. He’s not always impulsive either, and he’s surprisingly kind often. He’s clever with his words, not just annoying. You realize you’ve seen only a shadow of him before. You feel guilty for having been so harsh.

“It’s funny,” he says, a small smile on his face, “People who know usually question me why I do this first. You haven’t questioned me yet.”

“Why do you do this?”

“I don’t know.” Renjun shrugs. “I just wanted to shove my feelings somewhere, I guess. You know. Choose your own sin, that kinda thing.”

“That’s nice,” you say, your smile mirroring his. “You don’t have to show off, Mr. Artist.”

Renjun laughs, his eyes twinkling with the stars. He doesn’t have to look like that. You look away for fear of delving deeper, something unknown gripping you. There’s an uncomfortable feeling choking you, its dark hands constricting around your neck. This isn’t good. You must not think the words, the feelings or they will become reality.

You get up suddenly.

“You think I can jump across to the opposite building?” It’s no use. The red must have started blossoming over your neck and ears already. No matter; you have to run away from this feeling somehow.

“What the fuck?”

“Treat me to ice-cream if I succeed,” you say, the adrenaline rushing in. Much better than whatever the hell had gripped you. The gap’s not that large; if you get enough momentum, you can leap onto the building’s ledge. You can run away.

Renjun stands up in haste.

“Did you get hit on the head?” He takes a step towards you. “Why the hell do you think this is a good idea?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try.”

Before you can step on the ledge, however, Renjun’s hand shoots to grip your wrist, the touch burning your skin.

“Don’t.”

Oh, you definitely know what this feeling is. You’re not sure what the outcome will be, especially when a mere touch to the wrist can bloom red all across your skin, free so many butterflies in your chest and stomach. You’re almost ashamed of yourself, yet a voice inside you is smug; it was bound to happen. Renjun pulls you down off the ledge and lets go.

“Oh, well. The last one to reach the ground treats ice-cream!” you declare before you rush to the door at lightning speed, and swing it open to exit. You don’t want your feelings written all over your face for him to read.

“No- what?! That’s cheating!” Renjun scrambles behind you, his voice full of annoyance, but a different kind than before. You wish it hadn’t changed, but you’re also not quite complaining.

Renjun hates this feeling more than he’s ever hated you. In fact, he can’t remember the feeling of hating you anymore. He wonders if it’s okay to have these thoughts about you.

Renjun spots your figure on the couch by yourself. Jaemin’s parties have two kinds of people—people drunk out of their minds and people only here by peer compulsion. He can’t say he’s ever seen you at parties before, maybe once or twice, not that he’s cared—he only wanted to avoid you then. He fidgets with the yellow sleeves of his sweatshirt; he doesn’t usually wear something this bright but he’ll blame you once more. He wishes you hadn’t been so elusive lately; a part of him feels weary without you and a part curses him for that.

Renjun’s heart leaps to his chest when he sits beside you, only to be greeted with a sweet smile and flushed cheeks. Stop looking at me like that, he wishes he could think the words into existence. There are scores of emotions tangled up inside him with no way to untie the multicoloured knots. It takes a while to calm his heartbeat, and even then, it’s unnatural.  He might as well tell you at this point—tell you that he likes you, that he’s wanted you more than he’s ever wanted anyone. He read somewhere that summer is a good time to let out your feelings although he can’t be sure of the credibility of the article.

You’ve always been a problem for him, this stupid, annoying problem he wanted to get rid of as soon as he could. And yet, you’ve given him the sweetest picture of all. He doesn’t usually play this game—in fact, he’s never done anything like this before. He feels embarrassed every time he drifts past his daydream, wanting you to kiss him, caress his cheek and run your fingers through his hair. These thoughts feel more illicit than anything he’s ever done. Renjun feels weak in the head when you tug at his sleeve.

“Hi,” you greet, still smiling. Renjun desperately wishes you wouldn’t look at him like that.

Just confess, the voice inside his head tells him. Get it out of your system.

“Hey.”

However, the words halt on his tongue. This is the voice he’s been saying no to ever since you looked at him with wonder, with stars tugging your smile by those subway walls.

He needs to swallow his pride to confess— but just what is he doing? This is not what was supposed to happen, this is not something he’d ever imagine a few months ago. He’s practised the words, but he can’t look you in the eye. He can’t tell you, oh no. It’s easier to run away.

You tilt your head, your gaze soft and Renjun feels a sigh leave his mouth.

“I like you,” he blurts out. “Yes. I, uh, l-like you. That’s what I meant to say- what I’ve been meaning to say. For a while.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, “That’s very sweet of you.”

You burst into a fit of giggles. Renjun is only slightly baffled as he examines your condition. Out of all the ways he’d imagined you reacting to his confession, this was not one of them.

“Are you- are you drunk?!” he asks, the realization dawning upon him. You reek of alcohol, he finds with a sniff.

“What? No. Go back to being sweet. What were you saying again?”

Renjun places his face in his hands and groans. Not only did his horribly timed confession go unheard, but also he’ll undoubtedly have to carry your drunk ass back home. He definitely does not want your family finding him with you in this state.

“How much did you drink?” Renjun asks with a grimace, helping you up.

“Renjun. You’re adorable,” you say, wrapping your arms around his torso. He freezes immediately, resisting an urge to push you off him. This is strange, the feeling is strange. Renjun’s cheeks have risen a few degrees, his chest blooming with electricity and his ears will blow steam if he doesn’t do anything soon.

“We need to get you home,” he says, the syllables distinct.

“How could I go home?” you whine, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

Renjun resists another urge to smack you over the head. His heartbeat is frantic at this point, and he wants nothing more than the sweet relief of death to free himself from you. Besides alcohol, he can smell strawberries, possibly from your shampoo, and a dash of fabric softener. You’re warm and comfortable, annoyingly so. If you stay like this, he might not be able to bear the thought of you moving away from him.

Of course, Jeno has to find the two of you like this, your head in the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around him as his own balance you. In the middle of the living room, you look like young lovers who have forgotten the rest of the room, the world. There are people all around, yet no one cares.

Better Jeno than the others, Renjun thinks when he meets his friend’s eyes, although Jeno can be equally teasing.

“Help me get them home,” Renjun says, pulling you apart and holding you steady. You let out a complaint that he ignores.

“You could take them to the dorms,” Jeno offers. “It’s nearby.”

“What?!” Renjun didn’t realize his pitch could rise that high. “Can’t they…stay here?”

“The rooms are occupied. Besides, your roommate’s on vacation, right? You can take the top bunk,” Jeno suppresses an amused smile. Renjun hates him looking so smug.

“Okay,” he says, “I’ll…do…that.”

“Need help sneaking (name) in?” Jeno has a teasing lilt to his voice.

“No, I’m good,” Renjun responds quickly. Jeno won’t let him live, will he?

In the end, with much difficulty, Renjun actually manages to sneak you in and with even more difficulty, he gets you to sit on the bed.

“I like you like this,” you say with a laugh. “I wish you’d always be this nice. And loving. And nice. Everyone would love you more. Not as cool guy Renjun. But sweet guy Renjun. I love sweet guy Renjun.”

Renjun sighs heavily. “If I gave all my love away like that, do you think people would care about me for me?”

He shakes his head. There’s no way he’s having a coherent conversation with you right now.

“I would,” you respond, your voice meek.

Renjun ignores your answer; you must be too drunk to think right now. With a hurried goodbye, he turns off the lights and clutches his heart tighter to bed.

You clear your throat, trying desperately to distract yourself from certain memories of last night and the fact that you’re currently in the school dorms, likely in Renjun’s room.

The afternoon has bled well into wisps of the evening, and you look around more nervous than ever. You remember clinging onto Renjun a little too tight, your hands around his waist—it’s the first time you’ve touched him save for the occasional swatting at his hands or punches to the shoulder. What would the school think of you two warmed up so close to each other like that—what would Renjun think of your stupid drunk self holding on to him like that?

Or even worse, what if you said something? What if you let slip something important at a time when words don’t mean as much?

The door opens and you flinch, turning your head to find the object of your afflictions. Renjun blinks for a moment or two before he sits beside you. He’s wearing a thin jacket; it’s not cold outside but he prefers those anyway. There are a gash and a bruise on his cheek and you wonder which obviously larger and stronger opponent he pissed off again.

“I thought you’d never wake,” Renjun says, nodding to emphasize. “That’s my bed, by the way.”

“Who’d you get into a fight with?” You shift closer, narrowing your eyes.

Renjun sighs, making a face. “Some idiot. Why does that matter?”

“Hold that tongue of yours for once,” you chide.

He heaves a noise of annoyance. “What are you, my mom? I let you sleep here all of last night and most of today—and the first thing you do is complain. I could’ve left you at Jaemin’s house, you know?”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about—you have no control over what you say sometimes,” you state, an old feeling bubbling up. “You pick a fight with everyone.”

“No. Everyone picks a fight with me and they do that because they hate the truth.” He pauses to let his frown show in his eyes. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t tell people to stop being rude to waitresses or tell the other kids to stop whining about not doing anything? They know the truth too.”

“When will you realize there are things more important than the truth?” Your voice is louder already. But you don’t think you mean the words; they’re just cowardly, from a person too afraid to lay their feelings out in the open.

“So you’ve decided to be this way then,” he says, scowling already. This is an old scene alright.

“I’m just telling you what might help—God, never mind,” you say, standing up quickly, “This what I hate about you. You’re just- there are just so many things I hate about you.”

No, you don’t mean any of this but habits die slow.

Renjun looks up at you silently. The sunlight makes its way to his cheek, caressing it with golden hues. His hair brushes against his browbone, the sun apparent in the brownish loose strands. The gash on his cheek is unbecoming but if anything, it highlights the rosy hues of his lips and nose. You’ve never been this infuriated yet fascinated with someone before. Your hands twitch, head still clouded with unfamiliar thoughts and a hangover. You wish you hadn’t snuck a look at his lips.

“Go on then,” he whispers, eyes flickering down for barely a moment, “Tell me what you hate about me.”

Do you take the risk? You hold the fragile thread against your thumb, a small tug required to snap it off.

You pull him up by the lapels of his jacket into a kiss, his lips rough against yours. The force of your pull sends the two of you stumbling backward three steps before your lower back hits the side of the study desk. You hold your position, your shaking hands bunching up the cloth you tightly hold.

When he doesn't respond, you feel a tremor of panic—maybe you shouldn't have been so hasty, maybe you figured wrong. You pull away with a start, an apology popping up on your lips and warmth across your face. But in the brief stretch of a moment, Renjun slides one arm around your waist and the other against the table for balance, his torso relaxing as he pushes against your lips again to further the kiss.

When you pull away, Renjun’s face is a sweet shade of pink. He looks embarrassed for a moment before he furrows his eyebrows, lips curving to a frown.

“You shouldn’t go around crashing your lips onto other people’s,” he scolds.

Your face flushes hot and you stumble over words to excuse yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, “I should have asked.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mumbles. “You’re lucky I wanted to kiss you the moment I entered this room.”

You feel another rush of warmth to your cheeks. Renjun is no different, face splashed pink from his words and your actions.

Renjun dips his head and you press your lips against his in another kiss, this one much calmer as a promise, the feeling already getting familiar. Maybe fate had different plans all along and the two of you misunderstood. Or perhaps, you’ve fallen into something fate forgot to acknowledge, perhaps fate grew tired.

Renjun pulls away first, lips parting into an open smile. Your heart swells, all the contempt inside driven out.

“I was wrong,” you confess, “I was wrong about you- about a lot of things, actually.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same boat,” he says softly.

You bury your head against his neck again, the smell of summer wind and green tea hand cream wafting in. You can’t quite describe it but you’ve grown used it, the scent and the warmth. You’ve grown used to Renjun as a person now and not as the bane of your existence.

“You know, I actually wouldn’t mind,” Renjun says.

“What?”

“Going to prom with you.”

You laugh. He looks away bashfully, the dimple appearing once more and you know right then you’ve been wrong in cursing fate—this is a gift that took time, one you unwrapped late. He’s only occasionally timid, not looking to pick a fight and you want to cherish moments like these. You don’t have to say things to mean them with him; you don’t have to hold his hand to feel warmth. Whatever had been set up for you, the two of you have finished it and as your mother says, only once in a blue moon does fate betray its course.

[spacesuitsforemergency]

The Rise Of Iron Maiden

Chapter 4: Failure to Launch

Word Count: 2.9k

Originally Requested by: @amateurwriterbigdreamer

Previous Chapter: We’re in the Endgame Now

Next Chapter: The Return Of Iron Maiden

A/N: this chapters kinda slow, but I gotta fill the plot. Next chapters gonna be pretty Tye heavy (mostly from his POV)

“Wrah!” Nebula stood up, putting her hands in a fighting stance.

“You don't need to do that. Because uh... you're just holding position.” Tony mimicked a football goalpost with his hands as she flicked a paper football towards him. “Oh yeah, that was close.”

“I would like to try again.”

You and Tye watched from the front of the ship, both of you previously watching the stars. Both of you are silent, neither of you wanting to talk. You were still too shaken up from the events of nearly last month. Nebula had attempted to fly you back to Earth, but the Milano broke down and now you were floating in space, hopeless.

“Fair game. Good sport. Have fun?” Your dad asked Nebula.

“It was...fun.” She nodded slowly.

“Tye, Y/N, wanna play?” Tony looked over to the two kids.

“I’m good.” Tye mumbled.

“Hey, come on.” Your dad urged. “It’s fun. Right, Nebula?”

“It is fun.” She nodded, face deadpanned. Tye sighed, but eventually joined them.

“Y/N?” Your dad offered.

“Um...I’m tired, I’m gonna go sleep for a little bit.” You give him a small smile as if to say you were okay, before retreating to the back of the ship towards the bedrooms.

You lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You think about everyone at home, and the frustration of not knowing who was still alive. Were Eduardo, Jaime, Peter, Quill, Drax, Mantis and Doctor Strange still alive? Or did they die? Would they ever come back? Could you bring them back?

Usually Eduardo was there to tell you you were overthinking and to calm you down, but he was gone. He turned to dust in your hands, and you couldn’t do anything about it. You hated it when you couldn’t control something, much like your father. If you couldn’t protect the ones you loved, you felt useless. You felt guilty, believing it was your fault that Eduardo, Jaime and Peter were gone. You were even guilty about the Guardians of the Galaxy, even though you barely knew them.

You looked over at your pile of armor on the floor. You dragged yourself out of bed, sitting against it. You clicked a button on your helmet, and waited for it to light up.

“This thing on?” You ask nobody in particular, then let it scan you. “Alright. Hey mom. Uh...sorry for not listening to dad. Again. I should be down on Earth, I’m sorry I’m worrying you. Dad makes you do that enough already.” You chuckle softly. “Um...it’s day 22, just floating in space. The blue meanie tried to fly us back. You’d like her, she’s very practical. It’s only her, me, dad, and Tye left. He doesn’t talk much-well, not that he did before. He’s pretty broken over Jaime. Peters gone too, poor kid. Aunt Mays gonna kill him. Um...I lost Eduardo. He just...turned into dust. I couldn’t do anything about it...I really miss him, mom. I won’t miss him much longer though, in fact, I might see him in the next...48 hours of oxygen. It won’t last long with four people on here though. I didn’t think I’d die like this, it’s so pathetic.” You scoff and shake your head. “I thought I’d die saving people. I want to die saving people, that’s how I’ve always wanted to go but...nope. I’m gonna die because this piece of junk broke down in the middle of the universe. So uh...I’m gonna go play some paper football with the two grumps and dad. I’m really sorry, mom. All you do is put up with our shit, and tell us when to stop. I should’ve listened this time.” You go to turn it off, quickly saying, “I love you.”

You fall back against the bed, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. The low oxygen levels are already effecting you, which meant your dad and friend were both feeling them too. You wanted to go join them, but you couldn’t move your whole body enough to do so. You lied there, staring at your Iron Maiden suit. The suit you used to save people, but you couldn’t even save yourself. You failed Eduardo. Jaime. Peter. Quill. Drax. Mantis. Doctor Strange. And who knows who else.

You feel yourself being lifted off the ground, and you look up to see Nebula. She was mostly machine, so the lack of oxygen wasn’t effecting her as bad as you. She carried you over to a couch that she had dragged into the control room, facing the window. Your dad was sitting in the middle, Tye beside him. Nebula sat you on his other side, then left.

Tony gathered enough strength to lift his arms, resting them around the two kids’ shoulders and pulling them closer to him. He wanted to comfort them, but he couldn’t speak. You all stared out at the stars, awaiting your deaths.

•

A bright light pierced your brain, making you cringe as you wake up. You open your eyes and blink until they adjust. You see a woman outside of the ship, looking in. You weakly shake your dads leg, trying to alert him. His hand rests atop of yours to tell you he’s okay, as he slowly sits up a little.

“Who’s that?” Tye mumbles, half asleep.

“Not sure, kid.” Tony replied. You pass out again, not able to hold consciousness. You wake up again when someone shakes you awake, opening your eyes to see your dads best friend, Rhodey.

“Y/N? Hey, think you can stand?” He asked softly. You nod, and he helps you to your feet you lean on him as he walks you down the ramp to outside.

“Is mom...?” You breathe out, still blinking away black spots in your vision.

“Y/N! Tony!” You hear her yell from somewhere, before Rhodey can even open his mouth. “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

Your mom practically crashed into you, holding you tightly to her. You fall into her, not having the strength to stand any longer. Your dad walks by himself over to his two girls, hugging them tightly. Back in space, he truly thought those would be his last moment, so he was eternally grateful that he got to live long enough to hold them both again.

Tye watched the scene from where Natasha was helping him stand, feeling alone. His mother was in a different dimension than him, and Tye felt like she probably didn’t even miss him.

“Nat?” He breathed out.

“What’s up?” She asked, looking down at the exhausted boy.

“You have food that isn’t freeze dried and in a silver bag, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, come on.” She chuckled, helping him walk towards the Compound.

“Don’t you two ever do that again.” Pepper began to cry.

“No promises.” Tony kissed each of his girls on top of the head, as Steve approached you guys. “Couldn’t stop him, Cap.”

“Neither could I.” Steve nodded.

“I lost the kids. Peter. Jaime. Eduardo.” Tony shook his head, guilt washing over him once again.

“Tony, we all lost.”

You’re brought into the compound, each immediately given an IV and some food. You and Tye eat like animals, not having any rations for the past couple of days. You watch a holographic screen listing the heroes that disappeared in the Decimation; Wanda Maximoff, Nick Fury, Jaime Reyes, Bucky Barnes, Peter Quill, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, T’Challa, Eduardo Dorado Jr...

“It’s been 23 days since Thanos came to Earth.” Rhodey announced.

“World governments are in pieces. The parts that are still working are trying to take a census. And it looks like he did... he did exactly what he said he was gonna do. Thanos wiped out fifty percent, of all living creatures.” Natasha paced slowly in front of the holographs.

“Where is he?” You ask timidly, still nervous about him.

“We don't know. He just opened a portal and walked through.” Bruce Banner said slowly, trying to not scare the kids even more than they already were.

“What's wrong with him?” Tony asked, motioning to Thor, who was staring into space.

“Oh, he's pissed. He thinks he failed. Which of course he did, but you know there's a lot of that's going around, ain't there?” A talking raccoon spoke up from behind you.

“Honestly, until this exact second, I thought you were a Build-A-Bear.” Your dad pointed at him.

“You’re with him, kid? Really?” The raccoon looked at Tye.

“You know a talking raccoon?” You asked Tye, staring at the raccoon.

“He’s not a-.”

“I’m not a raccoon!” It snapped at you. “Why do you humies keep saying that?”

“We've been hunting Thanos for three weeks now. Deep Space scans, and satellites, and we got nothing. Tony, Y/N, Tye, you fought him.” Steve interrupted.

“Who told you that? I didn't fight him.” Tony scoffed. “No, he wiped my face with a planet while the Bleecker Street Magician gave away the store. Nearly killed my daughter, and Tye. One hit away from it, in fact. That's what happened. There was no fight.”

“Okay.”

“He was unbeatable.” Tye shook his head, and you agreed.

“Did he give you any clues, any coordinates, anything?” Captain America asked.

“Pfft! I saw this coming a few years back. I had a vision. I didn't wanna believe it. Thought I was dreaming.” Tony said.

“Dad, calm down.”

“Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus.”

“And I needed you. As in past tense. That trumps what you need. It's too late buddy. Sorry. You know what I need?” Your dad stood up, slapping things off a table. Everyone winced from the sudden noise. “I need to shave. And I believe I remember telling all youse-“

Tony lunges at Steve, but Rhodey stepped between them and held your dad back.

“Alive and otherwise what we needed was a suit of armor around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not-that's what we needed!” Tony yelled at Steve.

“Well, that didn't work out, did it?” Steve kept his composure, only angering your father even more.

“I said, "we'd lose". You said, "We'll do that together too." And guess what, Cap? We lost. And you weren't there. But that's what we do, right? Our best work after the fact? We're the Avengers, we're the Avengers. Not the Prevengers.”

“Dad! Stop!” You shout at him, your head spinning.

“You know what, honey? The adults are talking, alright?” Your dad said, with a little more venom than he intended.

“Mr. Stark you made your point just-“ Tye started.

“Nah, nah. Here's my point. You know what?” Tony turned back to glare at Captain America.

“Tony, you’re sick.” Rhodey insisted, trying to get him to sit back down.

“I got nothing for you, Cap! I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust. Liar.” Tony slowly walked up to Steve, getting right in his face. You all tensed when Tony ripped his arc reactor out of his chest, smacking it into Steve’s hand. “Here, take this. You find him, and you put that on. You hide.”

“Dad!” You shout when he suddenly falls to the ground.

“Tony!” Steve reached down to help his old friend up.

“I’m fine. I...” Your dad trails off, falling unconsciously to the floor. You try to get up, but Natasha pushes you back down by your shoulders.

“Get him to a room. Call Pepper.” Natasha ordered the men, before turning back to you two. “He’ll be fine, Y/N. Just needs to rest. So do you.”

“Not tired.” You shook your head stubbornly.

“Nebula, Rocket, think you can handle watching them for a moment?” She asked the two aliens, sitting on the wall behind you.

“Yes.” Nebula nodded.

“Sure.” The raccoon, or, Rocket shrugged.

Natasha gave you a reassuring smile before turning to help the other bring your father to a room.

“Sorry about your friend, kid.” Rocket hopped down and rounded the couch you and Tye were on to face him.

“Yeah. Sorry about the others.” Tye nodded, expression not changing at all. Your eyes drifted back to the screen, watching more and more names and pictures appear onscreen.

“Where are you going?” You hear Natasha ask someone.

“To kill Thanos.” The lady that flew you home stated simply as they emerged from the hallway.

“Hey, you know, we usually work as a team here, and between you and I, morale's a little fragile.” Nat mumbled.

“We realize up there is more your territory, but this is our fight too.” Steve nodded.

“You even know where he is?” Rhodey joined them.

“I know people who might.” The lady said, blank faced.

“Don't bother. I can tell you where Thanos is. Thanos spent a long time trying to perfect me. And when he worked, he talked about his great plan. Even disassembled, I wanted to please him. I'd ask "where would we go once his plan was complete?". His answer was always the same: "To the Garden." Nebula stood up, walking over to them.

“That's cute, Thanos has a retirement plan.” Rhodey joked, earning small smiles from you and Tye. He smiled back, glad to bring the two kids joy, even for a moment.

“So where is he?” Steve asked, and the adults walked over to a round table. You and Tye joined them, regaining enough strength to stand. You still leaned on Rhodey, which he happily let you do.

“When Thanos snapped his fingers, Earth became ground zero for a power surge of ridiculously cosmic proportions. No one's ever seen anything like it... Until two days ago.” Rocket showed a hologram of a planet, with a shockwave visibly traversing the surface. “On this planet.”

“Thanos is there.” Nebula added.

“He used the Stones again.” Natasha muttered.

“Hey, hey, hey. We'd be going in short-handed, you know.” Bruce piped up.

“Look, he's still got the stones, so...” Rhodey said.

“So let's get him... Use them to bring everyone back.” The lady told you.

“Just like that?” Tye raises an eyebrow in disapproval.

“Just like like.” Steve nodded.

“Even if there's a small chance that we can undo this... I mean we owe it to everyone who's not in this room to try.” Natasha tried to convince everyone. You looked down, feeling the guilt from letting your friends die in the pit of your stomach.

“If we do this, how do we know it's gonna end any differently than it did before?” Bruce asked.

“Because before, you didn't have me.” The lady crossed her arms.

“Hey, new girl, everyone here is about that superhero life. And if you don't mind my asking, where the hell have you been all this time?” Rhodey put a hand on his hip, making sure to balance so you wouldn’t fall.

“There are a lot of other planets in the universe. And unfortunately, they didn't have you guys.” The lady narrowed her eyes at Rhodey.

Thor walked out of the shadows, towards the lady. They stand in front of each other as if challenging the other. Thor holds out his hand, and Stormbreaker flies into his hand. Then they both grin at each other.

“I like this one.” Thor said.

“Let’s go get this son of a bitch.” You growl.

“Like hell you’re going!” Natasha laughed.

“No way, kids.” Steve shook his head. “Adults only on this one.”

“Would you quit treating us like children?” You glare at them.

“We probably got more punches in on Thanos than all of you combined.” Tye said venomously.

“First of all, not possible.” Natasha said. “Second of all, you are not coming. Tony and Pepper would go into cardiac arrest if you came along.”

You and Tye exchange looks, looking to the floor in compliance.

“Look, we know you’re hurting. But going at him all malnourished and seeking revenge is not the way to do it.” Rhodey told you guys.

“You’ll stay here with Tony and Pepper, okay?” Natasha asked. “Rest. Let us take care of this.”

“...okay.” You sigh.

“Thank you.” She pulled both of you into a hug. You melted into it, Tye tensed up.

You hugged each of the remaining Avengers, even Thor let you hug him, though he didn’t hug back. You and Tye stood and watched at they boarded the now fixed Milano, then watched them take off. You stood there for a little bit after, staring at the dark sky.

“Tye?” You whisper after a long stretch of silence.

“Yeah?”

“You think they can do it?” You ask

Tye hesitates. You’re scared, he’s scared, and both of you just want even a glimpse of hope. He debates what to tell you, what he truly thought or what he knew you wanted to hear.

“...no.”

You nod slowly, agreeing with him. A single tear falls down your face, dropping onto the paved pathway.

“I miss them, too.” Tye took a shaky breath, fighting his own tear ducts. He never cried, let alone in front of anyone.

“I’m sorry you lost Jaime.” You turn to him. “I know how much he meant to you. Eduardo too.”

“I’m sorry you lost Peter. You guys are as close as Jaime and I are. And I’m sorry you lost Eduardo, too.” Tye quickly blinked away tears.

“Can you believe they’re all gone?” You ask.

“No.” He shook his head. “I wish it could just be a month ago. When we were on that one mission.”

“The one where Jaime and Peter accidentally broke into Scott Lang’s house?” You giggle.

“How do you accidentally break in?” Tye laughed, shaking his head. “They’re truly idiots.”

“But they’re our idiots.” You nod, smiling sadly at the sky.

[whitecatindisguise]

Give Him A Chance To Mend 2

To tell you the truth, I wanted it to be a fluff chapter. My mind had a different idea, so we start up with angst/whump at the beginning, before the fluff comes in.

And let me just say, I completely adore both Hector and Varian, and I can totally see them bonding over animals.

Anyway, enjoy~

------

Chapter 2: When Can We Do This Again?

It’s been two weeks since Adira and Hector decided to move in with Varian and his dad. Quirin and his son finally stopped freaking out at every sound coming from the house whenever they were together, adjusting to the fact now there were four people living in the house. 

The former Brotherhood members adjusted to the new life quicker than expected. Adira was always willing to help out the villagers in menial tasks, whether it was fixing the broken roof or simple collecting of crops. Hector, obviously, was quickly recognised as an animal person, and was often called for when the villagers needed help. He also served as a kind of scarecrow, scaring away wild animals before they can damage the crops. Although, he was generally seen talking them out, instead of actual scaring. It didn’t matter, really, as long as the village was safe. 

Varian himself was… trying. With Andrew sent away, far from the boy, he could finally relax and focus on healing, both physically and mentally. While his visible injuries healed rather fast, the wounds inflicted to his mind refused to do so, leaving scars that didn’t want to heal. Not once Quirin, Adira and Hector were woken up in the middle of the night, was it either by anxious Ruddiger or cries of the boy. 

Usually it was fairly easy to calm down the terrified alchemist, after he woke up from another dreadful nightmare. Sometimes, however, they spent the better half of the night, consoling the trembling boy. These were the times Quirin could see how broken his son really was, how the man who pretended to be his friend hurt him, if only to satisfy his own desire of justice. 

These were the times the man held Varian in a warm embrace for hours, whispering soothing words, feeling his small frame trembling under the pressure of his past. 

And these were the times both Adira and Hector hated how much time it took to travel to the Dark Kingdom and back to Corona. Hated, how long it took them to find the trail. Hated, how late they were to find their nephew. And hated, how long the boy was subjected to Andrew’s twisted ideas. 

It was the morning after exceptionally vivid nightmare. It took the three of the adults and at least fifteen minutes of constant shaking and calling, before the boy finally woke up, sweat-covered and wide-eyed. His breaths were short, whole frame trembling from the night visions. He didn’t speak of what he saw, and he didn’t need to. None of them fell asleep that night.

Hector was strolling through the village, his bearcats trailing behind. Villagers claimed before they moved in, wild animals almost every night threatened the village, stealing the cattle, destroying crops, scaring people half-to-death. Truth be told, Hector couldn’t fathom how much of it was true. Since he and Adira started living in Old Corona, he’d seen maybe two or three wolves. The only ‘wild’ animal he saw on the daily basis, was the little raccoon his nephew kept as a pet. Clever little thing, he must admit. 

Speaking of which, his trained eyes spotted the blur of grey on one of the apple trees. The raccoon snatched two apples from the branch, before climbing down and setting on Varian’s shoulders. The boy looked up from the book he was reading, seated under the tree, and smiled gratefully. 

“Thanks, bud.” He ruffled the raccoon’s head and the animal bumped against it, craving for affection. 

“You trained him well.” Hector spoke up, approaching the boy. Varian startled for a moment, relaxing when he saw his uncle. 

“I didn’t exactly train him.” He replied, smiling sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. Hector rose an eyebrow, surprised. 

“You can’t expect me to believe you didn’t teach him to do that.” The man crossed his arms and looked at the raccoon, happily munching on his apple. 

“I didn’t.” Varian repeated and shrugged. “I always shared food with him and took care of him. I guess he just learned to do the same for me.”

As if to confirm the statement, Ruddiger chittered and pawed at the boy’s cheek. Varian laughed at his uncle’s surprised gaze.

“He always does that when he tries to comfort me.” He petted the animal gently. “I guess, we just learned to understand each other without words.”

“Interesting.” Hector hummed and grabbed his chin in deep thought. So his nephew didn’t train the raccoon in any way, and still, the animal acted like a well-trained dog of some sort. 

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the most peculiar sound he’d ever heard. It sounded like… well, he didn’t know what it reminded him of, but he could feel the vibrations behind the sound. His green eyes looked for the source, and he was shocked to see it came from his bearcats.

The two, usually wild and aggressive if not put into place by the man, laid curled up against the boy, one of them unceremoniously showing its belly, which the alchemist was rubbing with a smile on his face. never before had Hector seen them acting like that. 

“What… what are they doing?” He breathed out in shock, mouth agape. Varian turned to meet his uncle’s eyes and cocked his head in question.

“Um… I do believe it’s called purring.” He said, stopping scratching, only to earn a playful pat in the hand, claws hidden. He chuckled and resumed his previous actions. “And this one just loves belly-rubs, don’t you?” 

The bearcat barked in response, a content smile on its face. Hector stood frozen, wondering what has happened to his animals. 

“What did you do?” He questioned. Blue eyes stared at him in confusion.

“Nothing? I think they saw how I pet Ruddiger and got jealous.” Varian answered. 

The raccoon in question jumped down from his shoulders and positioned itself against the other bearcat, both animals sighing in content and continued purring. Hector must have stared for too long, because Varian looked at his in puzzlement again. 

“You want to..?” The alchemist asked and it took the man a moment to realise he was asking if he wanted to pet the animals. The wild and dangerous animals he trained himself. The same animals which laid sprawled on the grass, looking like simple pets. 

“You shouldn’t spoil them too much.” He grunted, stepping closer and sitting down next to the boy. His hand hovered over the other bearcat, finally gently falling on its fur, moving gently. The purring intensified and it startled Hector and caused Varian to chuckle at his expression. 

“You never did that before, did you?” The boy asked as Hector once again slowly moved his hand against the fur.

“Not really. They don’t act that way around me.” He replied truthfully, a small smile creeping up his lips. “It’s nice, though. I never noticed how soft it was. The fur, I mean.”

Varian nodded and picked up his book again, one hand still rubbing the bearcat’s belly. They sat for few more minutes, before Hector got an idea.

“Have you ever ridden a rhino?” 

Turned out Varian never rode a rhino. He knew the basics of riding a horse, so at least he knew how to sit in the saddle. It took few minutes for the boy to adjust to the rhythm of the animal. Ruddiger sat on the alchemist’s shoulders, the bearcats running along. Hector sat behind his nephew, his arms securing him in place, making sure he won’t fall off. 

The man could sense the exact moment Varian finally got a hang of the riding. His shoulders relaxed and his grip on the man’s arms loosened. He took a deep breath, before turning his head slightly to face his uncle. 

“Can it go faster?” He asked and Hector grinned. 

With a quick ‘Hold on tight’ he clicked his tongue an the rhino shot forward. He could hear a gasp of surprise, before Varian laughed. They ran through the forest, trees and rocks swishing by. The boy spread his hands and laughed, enjoying the wind pulling on his hair. 

It was two hours later, when they finally got back, both grinning, adrenaline pumping in their veins. Hector got down first, Varian jumping down soon after. His legs wobbled and he swayed, the man steadying him quickly. 

“That was fun.” The boy smiled brightly at his uncle, pushing away and this time, he managed to stay on his feet. 

“It was.” Hector replied and patted the rhino. It growled and went towards the stables, where it slept. 

“I… thank you. I really needed that.” Varian scratched his neck and looked away. “Can we do this again?” He asked, eyes looked up to him, sparkling, a smile on the boy’s face. 

“Anytime you want, nephew.” Hector smiled back. He was probably getting too soft. But he didn’t mind that at all.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 6: Girl of Ash

The hardest thing about all of this was locking up the shop and going home each night. Such a simple thing to anyone still living on their loop, but for someone who still had their memories, for him in particular, each night it was a struggle to get into his car and drive back to his home, instead of bolting for the town line. He wanted to go. He'd wanted to drive out there and cross the line every night since he got his memories back. Some nights he even thought he would finally break down and do it. But he fought that temptation. Over and over again, always the same routine, his stomach always in knots by the time he pulled up to his house…it was nearly unbearable.

He was the Dark One. His instinct was to test the Curse, to see if maybe it had weakened enough to make a single exception and let him through the border to go and find Baelfire. Fortunately, his brains always managed to overrule that instinct. His instinct was to test the Curse, but his mind reminded him that there was no need. He knew this Curse. He'd spent so much of his life focusing on it that he probably knew more about it than the woman who had foolishly cast it for him. He knew that while there were small signs of weakness in it now that the Savior had arrived, the weakness he needed was too big to be considered small. Which meant he was still trapped here. He could drive out there, try and cross the town line, but he knew he'd fail. He'd have car trouble, or an accident, or get some important call last minute to summon him back. Silly as something like that seemed, even though he had his memories, he was confident that the Curse would keep him here. Just like it seemed to be keeping Emma Swan here.

She'd been in town now for nearly two weeks. Aside from the original series of events she'd brought with her-his memories, time moving, David's awakening-things had been rather dull for the last few weeks. Emma had moved in with none other than her mother not long ago, and they were still working on settling in. The poor girl had slept in her car long enough after being kicked out of Granny's. He was happy to see that she'd chosen to move in with Mary Margaret. He was sure something would come of that someday, but for now, it just seemed to be two women, who appeared to be the same age, living as roommates. Other than the fact that she had no idea who she was really living with, it seemed to be a good arrangement. But of course, Mary Margaret wasn't the only one who was having difficulty remembering things.

He didn't need Dove to get an update on David Nolan, just a trip to Granny's. The whole damn town knew about him and talked about it constantly. He'd woken up, but he had no memories. Nothing. The town talked on and on about how his wife went to his bedside every day at visiting hours with stacks, heaps of pictures in an effort to jog his memory. So far, nothing. It was amnesia, the doctors claimed. He wasn't so sure. His theory was that it was a part of the Curse Regina hadn't planned for. She'd meant for him to spend his entire life in that coma, frozen in time, and therefore hadn't thought to give him memories. But now that he was awake and walking around, he certainly didn't have memories of before and no life to speak of here. He couldn't think of a worse fate. But fortunately, the doctors and Mary Margaret had befriended him and were providing him support. He cared little for any of it other than Mary Margaret being there for him.

It could be good. It could be excellent. He wasn't willing to say it was part of the Curse breaking, but he certainly believed it could help the Curse break. After all, the last time David and Mary Margaret had been together in Storybrooke, their love had woken each other up. If it had worked then, it could work again. And who knew what two more people, two adults, his own grandparents, supporting Henry, could do for the good of breaking the Curse. It was potentially a life-changing development, but one that was in its infancy. Only time would tell if it went anywhere.

There had been a few more minor incidents between Emma and Regina, as it could be expected, but nothing major or catastrophic. Archie and Mary Margaret were helping Emma to find safe times to meet with Henry, but he was nearly certain that Regina knew anyway. For a town that contained an entire realm, plus a few others from distant realms, it was the epitome of a small town. If he knew that Emma and Henry were spending time together without needing to be told by Dove, he assumed Regina knew. Why she was still allowing it, that was the real question?

But a question to solved later, not until after the Curse broke, and she regretted that decision. It would happen, he assured himself. The day would come, sometime soon, when the Curse wasn't just weakened but broken, and then he'd get back to his Baelfire. How…he wasn't entirely sure, but he'd get to him. In the Enchanted Forest, he'd measured his time left in decades, then years, then months, now there was the possibility that he was down to days. He just had to remember that.

And so he did, as he pocketed his gun at the end of the day, grabbed his car keys, checked for any other messages from Dove, then walked out to the front of the shop. Resigned to go home, he flipped the sign to "closed," turned off the lights, left the shop, and-

Paused.

As he turned to lock the door, he thought he might have heard something. Something around back? A scuffle?

He smirked a little as he turned his attention back to the door and locked it. It wouldn't be the first time a couple of raccoons got into a fight in that back alley. That was probably all he was hearing.

Until he got halfway down the street to his car and heard the sound of glass breaking. Not glass bottles toppling over or hitting a trash can. It was the sound of a window shattering. Irritated enough from the day, he sighed as he turned around, part of him already expecting the sight that met him. Someone had just closed the side door to his shop after entering. The small rectangular window by the handle had been broken. A break-in. Though he had false memories of them happening when he was a younger man, he knew that he'd never once had one of those in all his time here in Storybrooke. Everyone was too afraid of him to attempt such a silly thing.

He was tired and irritated, and so he removed his phone from his pocket, content to call 911 and sit in his car until the police handled it and he pressed so many charges it made the thief's head spin. But fucking 911! All he got was an answering service at the station, a recorded voice that told him to stay on the line for emergencies. A ridiculous notion. One would think if he was calling 911, it was a fucking emergency! Unless, of course, the Evil Queen was having a literal fucking emergency of her own, and the sheriff was too busy to do his damn job.

He'd been irritated before; now, he was downright angry. He left a curt message for the sheriff to get to his shop when he was not otherwise engaged and checked the gun in his pocket before hobbling around to the back door. He checked the windows as he went. There was a shadow moving around inside but no sounds that he could hear. It was one person. A rather large individual to be such a skilled cat burglar. Fortunately for him, he knew every inch of his shop, every place the floors creaked, everywhere the door squeaked.

Gun out, he let himself in quietly through the back door. His eyes swept over the familiar space finding every appropriate shadow. No motion whatsoever. He ventured further into the store, careful with every cane and footfall. At the threshold to the showroom, he glanced around. More familiar shadows, but one small motion that didn't belong. He smirked as he took in the sight before him. It wasn't a large burglar, just a pregnant woman, one who was so absorbed in his safe she didn't appear to even notice he was there. Ashley Boyd, formerly known as Ella, famously known as Cinderella. He pocketed the gun, finding no real threat as he watched her eye his property. His heart hitched when he remembered that he'd stored the dagger in that safe, but then calmed again when he realized that the safe also contained the contract she'd signed to give her baby away for adoption. An adoption that was never finalized, something Mr. Gold had always put off in the Curse. Coincidence…he doubted it. Just as he doubted that the girl breaking into his store now wasn't a coincidence. Someone was off their loop, and given the possibilities, this was the best situation of them all.

"A precious debt from a woman of ash will find the boy of fire…"

He'd spent so much time in the Enchanted Forest focusing on the Seer's prophecy he could practically hear it now. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of it. Wasn't this an interesting and yet highly anticipated turn of events?

"Ashley. What are you doing?" he questioned, startling the girl so that she jumped to face him.

He expected her to cower. She hadn't been much of anything back home, a little slip of a thing so in need of her Prince to save her. It would have been in her character for the girl to beg, maybe even plead and explain her presence. But he'd forgotten that no one here was who they'd been before. And instead, she only grit her teeth together the closer he got.

"Changing my life!" she shouted.

He watched her arm move up as if to slap him, but the blow never came. Instead, his eyes exploded in pain as she sprayed something into them that burned. He stumbled backward into his shelves, screaming as he tried to get it out. But he'd dropped his cane, and pain roared to life in his shattered ankle. He heard items tumble around him as he tried to catch his weight, but his leg gave out instead. Over the pain in his eyes, there was the sensation of tumbling forward and then-

[mariasrainer]

pepperony week: day 6

just a little oneshot written to celebrate pepperony week 2019! the prompt for the day was endgame fix-it. I truly hope it’s at least tolerable!

READ ON AO3.

“How do you think she will react to it all?”

“Oh, probably as anxiously as you could expect from a 5 years old.” Pepper replied, “But you know as well as I do that she will do great. She’s the smartest kid I know.”

Tony smiled at this. Of course she would. This was his Maguna they were talking about. There is no way she would be anything but perfect, which included her first day at school,  a normal, perfectly ordinary school — for their standards at least. Her security was their number one priority after all. 

After the final battle against Thanos and his army of minions, the world was finally at peace, and so was, in slow, careful steps, Tony Stark. He hadn't forgotten everything that had happened, still had nightmares about the mad titan as they called him. But as it had almost been a year since they had fought against Thanos, things started to settle down, and he was healing — therapy, self-forgiveness and support from the people in your life can do wonders when you’re ready for it. 

One could say they were all making progress. The world was still rebuilding itself, there were people who lost things and people they could never replace despite them reversing the snap and the economy worldwide was still trying to find a solid ground to be what it once was. But they were all moving forward. The Starks played an important part in trying to help the world rebuild itself from the ashes those five years of crisis had created, but they still lived in their secluded and modest home by the lake in upstate New York.   

The most important part for them, though, was the fact that they didn’t need to fight anymore. Tony could finally rest. Actually rest, not being held down by the weight of his guilt like he was in the five years mid-snap. For once in his life, he actually felt at peace and like he could breathe. That was the very reason why he left the Avengers business once and for all. He still helped the young heroes, like the boy he loved like a son, Peter Parker, and the ones still there, such as Romanoff, Sam Wilson and Rhodey, with tech and such stuff. Both Tony and Shuri provided all the help they needed with technology, but that was as far as Tony’s work with the superheroes went now. He was actually okay with it, as impossible as that might sound to some. 

He wanted to be able to see his daughter grow into a wonderful person and he wanted to be there for Peter, Harley, Rhodey, Happy and of course, he wanted to grow old by Pepper Potts' side. He once promised her he would try not to die before they were at least in their 70s and he couldn’t possibly break that promise. So, he didn’t just go and wielded the gauntlet created by himself, Bruce and that raccoon alien guy and died, not when they could all simply go back in time and save his self-sacrificial ass — there was no way his wife would accept it. And that was exactly why, after all was said and done and he thought he was gonna die, the people alive post-battle assembled to get him and Nat back in the game. Kinda. 

It all worked out just fine. He was alive, so was Natasha and the universe was free of any imminent threat for now — hopefully for a long time. So that was pretty much why he and Pepper were casually talking about how it was to drop their daughter on the first day of school as they drove back home.

“I know, Pep. She is perfect. Never really doubted she would be anything less. But the kids…” he trailed off, “What if they– What if they bully her? I mean, she’s our daughter, we’re not exactly common people and she’s never interacted with so many kids her age before, honey. We only had that one neighbor who had a kid. What was her name again?”

“The kid? It was Meredith.” Pepper smirked at her husband’s inability to remember names.

“Yes! God, who names their kid Meredith? What were they, Grey’s Anatomy fans?”

Pepper had to laugh at that. He was ridiculous. She loved him.

“Honey,” she started as they stopped by a red light, “I’m actually surprised you know the name of Grey’s Anatomy characters.” Pepper teased her husband. “May I remind you, you picked our daughter’s name and I know it’s not solely because of my uncle, but also because you’re the biggest Arthurian legend nerd I know. So why are you judging?”

He couldn’t help but smile. She knew him way too well.

“Okay, you win, but I’m right. Besides, Morgan is a much better name and you can’t argue with me on that one or else I’ll record this and show Morgan. Won’t be pretty.”

“Uh-huh, right. Aren’t we losing the track of this conversation?” 

“Right. Morgan, school, bullying,” Tony recapitulated, “I guess we should ask her how it went over dinner, huh?”

“That's what I was gonna say, honey.” Pepper looked over at him smiling. 

He was definitely much better at the whole talking-about-important-stuff thing now that they had Morgan. So was Pepper if she was being honest. 

“Love that after all these years I can still read your mind, Potts.” he kissed her carefully on the cheek and she smiled as they proceeded on the way home.

                                                    ____________________________

Later that day, right after dinner, the Stark-Potts household was filled with Morgan's delightful laughter as her Dad chased after her because she didn't want to go take a bath; she wanted to watch Moana for the millionth time that week. There were no arguments with her Mom though.

Pepper couldn't help but find the moment funny from where she sat on the couch reviewing a spreadsheet and waiting for them to stop it. And despite being slightly annoyed, she just thought the two of them were way too cute. 

"'Kay, you win." Morgan said lying on the couch, her head on her Mom's lap. "But can we watch Moana after bath, please? Pretty please, Daddy? Promise I'll behave."

"Alright, Alpha Female. This time," he was panting on the floor, "I'll let you have this. What do you say, Pep?" 

She looked at both of them from her spot on the couch and retorted, "Fine. You can have it… But…" she trailed off, looking serious. 

"What?" two pairs of big brown eyes stared at her.

"I'm just teasing. Let's go get this bath started, you little monster." Morgan ran upstairs giggling.

"Don't run like that or you'll break all your teeth, squirt!" yelled Tony. 

She actually quit running, for Pepper and Tony's amusement.

After getting their daughter's bath ready and leaving her under F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s supervision, they were talking about a bunch of random things as they cleaned the slightly messy kitchen — they could cook a decent meal, but they always left a mess behind.

It was part of their daily routine now. Doing domestic chores could be very therapeutic, they realized, and together it could be even better.

Pepper was finishing drying off the plates when Tony's arms found their way around her waist and his head dropped on her right shoulder. She couldn't help but let her own head rest against his and run her fingers through his hair. These peaceful, quiet domestic moments between just the two of them were not as rare as they used to be before Morgan, when they were barely ever home, but they still treasured them the same way they used to before everything changed. For better, but changed nonetheless. They were the same people, in a lot of ways, but completely different in so many others, yet the one thing that didn't change were these quiet moments of intimacy and what they meant for the two of them.

"After we watch Moana for the millionth time this week," his hands found their way under her sweater and caressed the bare skin of her waist, "we should totally explore a different kind of ocean, you know."

Pepper snorted at her husband's awful innuendo.

"I am serious, Pep." He was grinning as he lifted his head to leave kisses on her neck, "I would love to know more about your depths."

This time he snorted, "Alright, that was really awful."

She was about to reply when they heard a tiny voice by the kitchen's door making them both untangle themselves from each other.

"Why is Daddy going to explore your depths, Mommy?" Morgan's big, innocent brown eyes were focused on her parents. She had finished her bath and was wearing the cutest blue pajamas.

They didn't know what to say. At all.

"Ah– Well, baby, you see, Daddy was just making a joke." Pepper tried.

"Oh."

She kept staring at them and looked downright confused as she continued, "But I want to explore this ocean, too! Like Moana did."

"Maguna," Tony started, "Honey, you see, that was an adult joke… For an adult-only kind or exploring. You can explore all the oceans you want when you're older." He winced. "When you're much older. Like, when you're 40."

"When I'm old like you?" Morgan frowned, still puzzled. 

"Uh… Yeah."

"Okay."

Pepper was trying so hard to keep herself from laughing during the entire awkward situation, but when Tony's expression went from worried to offended as he realized what their daughter implied, she couldn't help but just let it go and found herself out of breath from laughing.

"Is Mommy okay?" the kid whispered at her father, "She looks like a pepper."

"Might as well be one." He rolled his eyes at his wife's reaction, but smiled because she was damn cute when she was like this. 

She stopped laughing eventually and just smiled right back at him. God, he loved her.

"Moana, Daddy?" the tiny one looked up at him, pleading with her eyes and the small hands on his legs asking for attention.

"Right! Let's do it. I love Moana!"

The little girl went ahead of her parents to the living room, leaving them behind amused and smirking.

Pepper intertwined her partner's fingers with her own and got close enough to his face so that she could kiss his lips softly, resting her forehead against his. They opened their eyes, seeing everything they needed in that one gaze. 

The pair pulled away a few seconds later, still smiling.

"Let's go watch that film so we can explore other waters later, shall we, Mr. Stark?" she winked teasingly at him.

"As you wish, Mrs. Potts." 

And he followed her.

[lurafita]

Petvengers Chapter 4

Read chapter 1 here: Chappy 1

Read chapter 2 here: Chappy 2

Read chapter 3 here: Chappy 3

 Bruce/Hulk

If anyone were ever to ask Peter, what it had been like the very first time he met Dr. Bruce Banner face to face, he would tell them that he was the embodiment of sophisticated professionalism, and not at all embarrassing.

If they were to ask anyone else that had been present at the time, however, they would tell a quite different story.

 - (about 2 years ago) -

“I'm really not sure about this, Tony.”

Bruce said, as he was led through the halls of the tower's common floor, by the far too excited engineer.

Tony just grinned.

“Relax, Brucie Bear. I'm telling you, you are going to love the kid. Fair warning though, he can talk. Like, boy, can he talk. If he starts rambling, don't try to get a word in edgewise, just let him get it all out. He will run out of oxygen at some point, and that's when you seize the opportunity to get the conversation back on track. Because, believe me, Pete will somehow manage to totally derail the topic. Like yesterday, when he came over after school, he started out telling me about his and his friend Ted's AP chemistry project, and suddenly we are in a deep, philosophical discussion about the representation of real life issues in children's cartoons. By the way, you should absolutely watch more cartoons in your free time. Some are surprisingly deep. Did you know that Sailor Moon was way ahead of the curve on LGBTQ relationships? And considering the time period in which it first aired, that's saying a lot. And Captain Planet was actually taking on AIDS hysteria in 1992. Not to mention the fact that in Steven Universe, child heroes have to deal with trauma, instead of things just getting swept under the table. Really, this stuff is more educational than you might think.”

Bruce side eyed his friend.

“So the kid goes off on a tangent suddenly and just keeps going, huh? Completely disregarding the topic you were just talking about right before, huh? Wonder where he gets this from. This sounds in no way familiar. At all.”

Tony either didn't catch the sarcasm, or ignored it, and nodded.

“Beats me. Can't be his aunt, that woman is scarily on point. She never let's you forget, or talk your way around anything. She is just like Pepper in that regard. I think its the Italian blood in May.”

Before the billionaire had the chance to get lost in that particular line of thought, Bruce cut in.

“Look, Tony, I'm not worried about whether or not I will like Peter. From all the proud dad raving you have been doing since I got back, I already know that he is a great kid.”

 (“Excuse you! I do not rave! Least of all proud dad like!”)

“I'm far more concerned about the kind of impact standing in a room with the man who turns into a giant, green rage monster at the drop of a hat, will have on a 15 year old. I'm really not looking forward to watching the kid run away in a panic.”

Tony scoffed.

“Oh please. If you turned Hulk at 'the drop of a hat', my tower would have crumbled years ago. Also, the kid is a superhero. He fought a maniac with alien weapons and a metallic bird suit. I'm gonna eat my 1.500,00 $ Italian leather shoes, if the Hulk scares Pete even a tiny, little bit.”

Bruce would have balked at the money that Tony spent on footwear, but at this moment, the two men stepped right into the living room. They were greeted by the sight of Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Colonel Rhodes, and one brown haired teenager. Which might have been a normal enough scene, if said teenager wasn't sitting cross legged on the ceiling, clutching a bag of marshmallows to his chest and alternating between stuffing one into his mouth, and trying to convince both Steve and Bucky that it counted as a healthy snack, since it was blackberry flavored.

And even though Bruce wasn't 'that kind of Doctor' he couldn't help but clear his throat.

“Actually, since the manufacturers have most likely resorted to using artificial flavors and food coloring, you probably have about the same health benefits from those, as if you just ate the sugar straight out of the container.”

Everyone turned to look at the two newcomers, and as the adults all smiled and stepped forward to welcome their friend, a wide eyed Peter lost his grip on both the bag of marshmallows and the ceiling, and fell to the ground in a heap. Before anyone could start panicking though, he was back up and with a kind of chocked off, high pitched scream/gasp, pointed his finger right at Bruce, and exclaimed “Don't move!” Then he ran out of the room.

And while Bruce had mentally prepared himself for just such a reaction, it still left him feeling rather disheartened. A quick glance around at the other people in the room showed three very confused Avengers (they had evidently not expected that reaction out of the boy), one Air force Colonel who was trying very hard not to laugh, and a grinning Tony Stark.

“So, should I be getting you some water to wash your ridiculously expensive shoes down with?”

Bruce asked the billionaire with a dispassionate sigh, but Tony was completely unconcerned.

“Just wait for it.”

They didn't need to wait even a second more after Tony had spoken, as Peter came running back into the room, arms overloaded with books, stacks of papers, and what looked like posters, which he all dumped onto the nearby couch table. Then the teen was suddenly right in front of Bruce and vigorously shaking his hand.

“Oh my god, Dr Banner, this is such an honor. You are like my favorite scientist ever! (Tony's indignant “Hey!” went ignored) I have read every one of your published papers and my friend may have hacked into your old university and found some of your papers that you didn’t publish, and now I realize that that’s not something I should tell you probably, please don’t sue us, but can you please sign everything I own and oh my god I’m shaking your hand and I’m never gonna wash that again ever. And can I get a photo, oh my god Ned is gonna be sooooo jealous!”

All the while Peter had been holding his phone in his other hand, blindly dialed a number and waited for the other person to take the call. Then he pressed the phone excitedly to his ear.

“Ned! Ned! You will never believe who I'm talking to right now! Think of the greatest scientist you know!... Okay, the greatest scientist you know who is currently alive... EXACTLY! (Once again, Tony's “It's like I'm invisible”, was ignored) Dude, I'm looking right at him. I'M SHAKING HIS HAND! … No, I'm not being a creepy fanboy... No, I have not yet let go of his hand...”

Rhodey laughed, Tony was jealously grumbling under his breath, Steve fondly shook his head, Bucky smirked, Natasha examined the impressive pile of things the teenager had brought for Bruce to sign, Peter continued shaking the scientists hand, while staring at him with awe-filled eyes and all but screaming into his phone, and Bruce... Bruce smiled.

 - (back to the present) -

It was one of the rare, lazy, late afternoons on a weekday, that found most of the Avengers hanging out on the newly built terrace behind the tower. The strangling hold that the high temperatures of summer had held over New York city for the last few days, was finally ebbing away and Peter had seized the opportunity to take Hope for an extended walk. (Steve had declined Peter's invitation to tag along. Colonel, Bucky and him had risen early as ever, and already run a few miles) He had also somehow managed to ensnare Bruce in a discussion about something that had gone over the collective heads of everyone around (Tony was still stuck in a board meeting that Pepper had dragged him to), and the dark haired scientist had seemingly unwittingly followed the teen and dog out of the tower.

The two super soldiers had curled up together in the porch swing, Bucky carefully keeping track of Arthur's progress, as the little raccoon tried scaling the garden table that held the snack food. Steve with a sketch pad in his lap, drawing the image of Eames the cockatoo, hopping around said table while chanting “Posh tosser, bloody wanker”, and occasionally dropping down a blueberry to Colonel, who was happily waving his tail at the treats.

Sam, for some reason, found his bird's antics endlessly funny, and was filming the whole thing with his phone.

Clint and Laura had spread a brightly colored blanket over the grass and were having a picnic with Nathaniel and Lila, while Natasha was showing Cooper some easy self-defense moves a few feet away.

When Hope's familiar barking and running feet were heard, the assembled group knew that Bruce and Peter had gotten back from their walk. The over eager Pitbull ran out on the terrace, greeting everyone in turn with happy licks and a wagging tail (he jumped first into the laps of the two super soldiers, let himself be scratched behind the ears, then ran right at Sam, nearly forcing the man to lose the grip on his phone when he licked him right across the face, then launched his furry body onto the blanket with Laura, Clint, Lila and Nathaniel, and patiently waited until all had pet him at least once, and finally trotted over to Cooper and Natasha to join in on their play fight.)

This had been expected.

What was not expected was watching Peter come walking out to the terrace, carrying a huge tortoise (about 25 to 30 inches in length), and grinning widely when setting the reptile down on the grass. Bruce was following close behind the teen, his face a curious mix of shell shocked and confused.

Peter straightened up from his crouch and addressed everyone, while Colonel and Arthur (who was riding on the dogs back), came over to examine the new, slowly moving animal.

“Everyone, meet Bruce's new friend, Speedy Gonzales!"

“She is a 33 year old Sulcata Tortoise. Sulcata Tortoises can live up to 70 years and above, and weigh up to 120 pounds. Speedy isn't that big yet, though. She did grow a bit too big for her previous owner, and the guy was too cheap to invest in a bigger terrarium, because she needs hot temperatures to stay healthy. She will be okay to roam freely during the summer, but we will have to turn one of the guest rooms into a heated enclosure for her when it gets colder.”

The still completely baffled looking Dr. Banner turned to face his friends and coworkers (the Barton's and Natasha had come closer to inspect the newest addition to their home).

“...I don't even know how that happened. … We were talking about the latest research on cross-species genetic transfers, and all of a sudden I'm standing in an animal shelter and signing adoption papers for a tortoise. … I didn't even know shelters had tortoises...”

Sam, Bucky and Steve, who had already been victims of Peter's crusade against a pet-less existence, held up their glasses in a silent salute to the doctor. Natasha proudly nodded at Peter's accomplishment, and he respectfully bowed to his Sensei. Eames had landed on Speedy's massive back, and was seemingly taunting Arthur from his perch. The little raccoon shot the bird a nasty look, and climbed up into Lila's embrace. Cooper and Clint both seemed fascinated with the size of the tortoise, while Hope jumped between the father and son to get back rubs. Nathaniel laughed happily as his mother helped him feed a banana to the reptile.

Speedy Gonzales brought honor to her species, by patiently tolerating the chaos all around her, and chomping down on the yellow fruit.

-

 Bonus: The Hulk!

"Uff!"

Spiderman shook himself free of the last remaining dust particles from the pile of debris he had dug himself out of, only a few minutes ago. All around him were the webbed up enormous bodies of the mutated rats. Some of them were twitching against their spidery cocoon, trying to get out of their bindings. Peter had done his best not to kill any of them, knowing that the animals had been victims of the illegal experimentation of the deranged Professor Stollack.

It wasn't everyday that a hoard of wild, three feet tall, rabid rats tried to take over Brooklyn. The whole team had been called in for some extreme pest control.

While Black Widow and Captain America had gone in search of the perpetrator behind this particular madness, Iron Man, Hulk, Falcon, Hawkeye, Thor, the Winter Soldier, Antman, the Wasp and Spiderman had taken to the streets and taken care of the mutated and very dangerous vermin.

Peter really felt sorry for the rats. While they weren't exactly among his favorite animals, they weren't evil. No animal was. And they didn't deserve to be experimented on and used like this, for one madman's twisted plans. He really hoped they could be returned to their original forms, and not have to be mercy killed.

/"Widow and me have taken the Professor and his underlings into custody. Everyone alright? Status report!"/ Came the Captain's voice over the comms that kept the team connected during battles.

/"I'm good, so is Feather-head."/ It was impossible to miss the smirk in Bucky's voice.

/"You won't be good for much longer if you keep it up with the nicknames, Frosty."/ As long as those two still argued, they were okay.

/"I'm fine, though Legolas might need to be checked for rabies. One of those things got a bite out of him."/ Peter would be way more worried, if Tony wasn't laughing as he said it.

/"My pants, guys, don't worry. No skin was breached. Mighty Mouse over there tore a fucking hole in my pants."/ Came Clint's answer.

/"His ass region, to be more specific. If anyone was wondering, Robin Hood is wearing Paw Patrol undies today."/

/"Look, Nathaniel likes the show, okay? How about we move things along?"/

/"Paw Patrol is cool. Call me when you watch it! I will bring Cassie!"/ Scott's joyful voice sounded.

/"Cassie only watches to keep you company, you know? By the way, Antman and I are both fine."/ Trust The Wasp to keep things under control.

/"I do not know this 'Paw Patrol', but I will gladly join you and your son for a viewing, if it is impressive enough for you to decorate yourself with."/ Fighting alongside the God of Thunder would never be not cool.

/"I'm okay, and I'm totally joining you for Paw Patrol. Got a bunch of the rats webbed up. Maybe Bruce can find a way to turn them back to normal. You know, once he has turned back to normal."/ Peter finally chimed in.

/"Speaking of, does anyone have eyes on the Hulk?"/ It was sadly impossible to equip the green guy with an earwig.

Spidey took a careful look around himself.

/"He was with me for most of the fight... Wait! I see him!"/

He had spotted the big guy a little ways away from his position, seemingly crouched over something. The part-time Avenger and full-time vigilante quickly swung his way to the Hulk.

/"Just... be careful, Spidey."/ Steve's cautious warning almost made Peter roll his eyes. He knew the team worried about his easy and unconcerned interactions with Hulk, and he couldn't really fault them. After all, the Hulk was the embodiment of Dr. Banner's uncontrolled anger, and was therefore, dangerous. But Peter's Spidey-sense never went off when he was around the big guy, or rather, it never went off because of the big guy, so Peter didn't worry. He knew though, that Tony was probably already on his way to them, just in case.

He landed beside the hulking giant.

"Hey buddy! You okay? Something wrong?"

The Hulk looked at him, and then slowly turned, so that Peter was able to see what was before him. The teenaged vigilante paled behind the mask.

On the ground before them laid the remains of what must have been a carton box. One of the pieces was large enough to read the handwritten 'Free to a good home', scribbled on it. Some of the carton pieces were drenched in red. And tiny bones could be seen among them.

Hulk's grumbling voice thankfully pulled him away from the grizzly scene.

"The evil mice were eating them... Hulk was too late to save the others."

Then Hulk turned further, and revealed a small, softly mewling kitten in his palm. The giant, green hand, made the little kitten look even tinier than it probably was. And Peter's heart just melted.

"I'm really sorry, bud, but you managed to safe this one! That's great! You are a hero! Do you mind if I took it for a minute? Make sure it isn't hurt anywhere?"

The Hulk grunted his agreement, and with a gentleness few would ever associate with the big guy, handed the little kitten over. Neither of the two turned around when Iron Man landed just a couple of steps behind them.

"Hey there, big guy. Spidey. You both good? You know, because you might want to let the team know that you are both good. So that the team doesn't worry."

Instead of answering his adoptive father, Peter addressed Hulk.

"She looks fine to me. But we might want to let a doctor check up on her. Just to make sure nothing is broken."

He placed the little kitten carefully back into his green friend's big hand, and the little fluff ball immediately curled up and started purring. Peter pat Hulk's shoulder in congratulation.

"She likes you!"

Iron Man had come closer.

 "Is that a cat?"

Hulk smiled.

"Hulk likes her, too. She is tiny... Like Bug-boy. Hulk likes Bug-boy."

"You know, big guy, I don't even mind you calling me that. I like you, too."

 "No, seriously, where did the cat come from?"

"Puny Banner is a doctor."

"Well, I was thinking more along the line of a veterinarian, but Bruce should be able to tell if anything was wrong with her. Especially with the equipment at the tower. And if all else fails, there is still Helen. She is the best doctor ever."

 "Okay, one, Bruce would throw in that he is 'not that kind of doctor', right about now. And two, what is the deal with the cat?"

Hulk grunted.

"Hulk will go now. So that puny Banner can take care of her. Bug-boy tell puny Banner that Hulk is keeping her."

Peter nodded enthusiastically.

"Great! What do you want to name her?"

 "Am I invisible to you people? What the hell is the deal with the cat?"

Hulk looked down at the purring kitten in his palm, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Little Smash."

Peter grinned.

"That's a great name!"

 "Seriously, am I invisible? Did I die without noticing and am roaming the streets as a ghost now? Were those rats magic? Is this a curse?"

When the Hulk shrank back into his other half, Bruce found himself even more confused than he usually was after a transformation. Beside him, Peter, in his Spiderman suit, was trying to calm down a comically panicking Tony, who was still in his Iron Man armor, and apparently convinced that he had been turned into an astral projection of himself.

He was standing in the middle of a street in Brooklyn (in only his thankfully very stretchy pants), there were big, twitching web cocoons some feet away from them on the ground, and in his hands was a sleeping little kitten, purring up a storm.

Peter paused long enough from reassuring Tony that he was, indeed, both visible and audible, and definitely not a ghost, to quickly address the confused Bruce.

"That's Little Smash! She is Hulk's! He said to take good care of her! Oh, and she might need an x-ray."

Then he was back at pointedly not ignoring Tony.

Bruce looked down at the sleeping kitten in his hands and sighed.

Oh well,... at least she was cute.

[she-is-tim]

Neighbours AU part 3  Apologies

Lucas is a young, exhausted musician who just tries to relax, while Eliott is the overexcited, dubstep loving artist who lives next door.

Aka Lucas confronts his annoying neighbour who turns out to be gorgeous

Part 1, Part 2

Tuesday 16:34

Two days passed since Sunday and Lucas was still not over Eliott. He had high hopes and for that he got hit hard by the ground. He was glad, that his neighbour didn’t try to contact him since or that he haven’t seen him. It would be hard to sand face to face, knowing that he has a girlfriend, knowing that Lucas had false expectations from him. Everything was just a mess right now, he couldn’t touch the piano ever since.

His phone started buzzing like crazy on the coffee table, he was laying on the couch, his right leg touching the floor. He reached for his phone and picked up the call. 

“Hello.” he mumbled. His voice was a bit cracked, not from crying, that would be a stupid thing to do, but because he just got home from work and was talking all day.

“Dude! Hey!” Basile screamed from the other side, Lucas had to keep the phone away from his ear in order to not go deaf. 

“Basile... What do you want?” he asked with a tired voice, he was really not in the mood to listen to his friend’s bullshit. 

“Listen here, there’s gonna be a big party tomorrow night. Yann said you’re not working on Thursday, so you should come too.” he said with a lot of excitement in his voice. “It’s gonna be fun.”

“Bas, you know that I hate going to parties.” 

“You can’t just sit at home and snuggle on the couch, crying after some guy.” he said now seriously, this was unusual from Basile. “That guy doesn’t deserve you.” Lucas smiled a little hearing his silly friend being so nice to him. 

“Okay, I’ll go.” he said.

“YES! Okay, we’ll be meeting at Yann’s tomorrow around 19:00, okay? We’re gonna get so wasted!” he said excitedly, speaking so fast, Lucas barely catched the time. Then Basile just hung up.

Lucas put his phone back to the coffee table and looked at the ceiling. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to go to a party. He haven’t been in any since high school,but hanging out with the gang was always a lot of fun. Besides, he has to forget Eliott, since he’s a lost case anyways.

He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, but he noticed something on the floor, in front of the door. He walked there and picked up a carefully folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and his heart skipped a beat. It was a drawing, the paper was split in the middle by a line that was supposed to represent the wall, on the right side there was a raccoon, a sad one actually, looking at the wall nervously, while on the left side was a cute hedgehog sitting at a piano, playing some nice melodies. There were two words on the bottom of the paper. Forgive me

Lucas was staring at it for long minutes before he could move to the kitchen. He put the paper on the counter and turned on the kettle. He kept glancing over where the drawing was. He knew Eliott draws himself as a raccoon, they talked about it on saturday, but he couldn’t get over the fact that he drew him as a hedgehog. When the water got hot, he poured some in a mug, making himself a nice mint and strawberry tea. He left the kitchen, not looking at the drawing this time and flopped down on the couch, turning on his tv, watching some stupid comedy on Netflix.

Tuesday 19:17

He slipped the drawing under the door for Lucas hours ago and he still had no idea what the boy was thinking of it. He was too scared to talk to him, so he tried his best, approaching him by the ony thing he was good at: art. He was thinking about Lucas’ spirit animal since he stepped into his apartment, but this morning he just woke up to the thought that Lucas must be a grumpy hedgehog. His back is spikey, getting scared easily, but actually the most adorable animal that exists. 

Lucille left on Monday, early in the morning, so he was alone ever since. He got better, but he still couldn’t touch his phone or go near his laptop. He was afraid of social interactions for a long time after his anxiety attacks. It wasn’t easy, especially since he should be working on his project. The deadline was coming closer each day. He couldn’t let this chance to slip away because of his stupid mind.

He walked around in the living room, thinking about Lucas. His smell was already gone, which made Eliott feel much more lonely than he used to be. Knowing that the person he desires is right next to you, but you can’t reach him is a really painful thing to think about. His phone dragged him out of these angsty thoughts when it pinged. He reached for it with shaking hands, just to check the message, he didn’t wanted to reply.

From Lucille:  We’re going out tomorrow, 20:00, wear something nice

Fuck.

Wednesday 19:56

The party was loud, it was hosted by one of their high school friend, Alexandre. Lucas noticed a lot of familiar faces, like Emma, Daphné, Imane. The music was bursting so loud, Lucas’ chest was shaking from it, or maybe it was the booze starting to kick in. They had a couple drinks at Yann’s place before they came, just to set the mood for the party.

The living room was emptied to be a perfect dance floor, Lucas was chilling on the couch that was pushed to the wall in the corner, drinking some beer. People seem to have fun, they were yelling, dancing, kissing...

Arthur, Yann and Basile was talking to Alex, who was really happy that they boys came. This party was like a high school reunion, which kinda made Lucas feel better. He liked his high school years, even if it was hard at first. When he accepted his own sexuality, coming out to all of his friends, he got so much support that he was never expecting. It was overwhelming, making him extremely happy. 

Now he was back, but felt like he didn’t belong here. He was a quiet musician, an exhausted adult who never went out to have fun, make out with someone he will never gonna meet again or have one night stands. He wanted love, a significant other by his side and his thoughts went back to saturday, when he was with Eliott. Fuck!

He shook his head and chugged his beer, going for another one in the kitchen. He’s going to get wasted and have fun, not thinking about his neighbour tonight.

Two hours later Lucas was very, very drunk, dancing in the middle of the living room like there’s no tomorrow. He took off his hoodie, leaving it on the couch like 40 minutes ago, now he was only wearing a navy blue shirt and dark grey jeans. Somewhere along the lines he started pressing his body to a really nice looking guy, he wasn’t even close to Eliott’s beauty, but he seemed to like the closeness of Lucas and that was more than enough for him. He wrapped his arms around him, rocking his hips, while rubbing their chest together. 

The guy slid his arms on Lucas’ waist, pulling him closer and kissing his neck a few times. The alcohol hit his head so much, he barely could feel the lips touching his skin. His body was hot, his mind went blank and he just wanted to forget. 

They didn’t needed more than ten minutes to end up making out on the couch, ignoring all the people around them. No one really gave a fuck, since basically everyone was doing the same somewhere in the house. Lucas was too drunk to think straight, so he just went with the flow, letting the guy to kiss him wildly, rubbing their crotch together. 

Things escalated quickly, he didn’t remember when the guy took off his shirt, but his eyes popped open when he started to unzipp his jeans. Lucas grabbed the guy’s hand, trying to stop him, but he was too drunk and too weak.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re gonna enjoy it.” he whispered into his ears. Lucas shivered and tried to resist, but his mind was too dizzy.

He closed his eyes, when he heard a noise, a body landing on the floor. He looked into the direction and he saw Eliott, holding Lucas’ shirt he probably picked up from the floor and looking at the guy, who was sitting on the floor. Some of the guests looked at them, being interested in the drama.

“Don’t touch him!” Eliott hissed, clenching his fist so much, his veins popped out.

Lucas sat up, holding his head, cause he was still pretty drunk. He grabbed Eliott’s arm, softly squeezing it. 

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled, even though he didn’t actually care. It made him happy that Eliott was here and he saved him from this random guy.

Eliott now looked at him, his eyes softened and knelt down, stroking Lucas’ face. His touch was like electricity, waking up his mind from the dizziness all those beer caused. 

“Let’s get you home.” he said softly, giving Lucas his shirt back. 

A couple hard moments later Eliott finally reached his goal to get Lucas stand up from the couch. He wrapped his arm around his waist, gently helping him to walk out of the house. Thankfully they didn’t meet any of Lucas’ friends, so he could go out without anyone bothering them. He walked to the road, calling for a taxi, while Lucas was squatting on the sidewalk, looking like he’s gonna throw up. After he gave the address, he walked back to Lucas just in time, he was stroking his back as he threw up everything on the grass. 

Long moments later Lucas seemed to be in a better condition, Eliott gave him a bottle of water. He washed his mouth first and then chugged up the rest of the bottle. They taxi arrived, so they hopped in on the backseat. Eliott told the driver their address and pulled Lucas to his side, making sure that he’s okay. 

Thrusday 10:35

Lucas woke up with a terrible headache, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in his bed, wearing only boxers, smelling like mens bathroom. He barely remembered anything that happened last night, his memories were fuzzy. He got up, putting on a hoodie he stole from Yann ages ago, that was long and cozy. He walked to the bathroom, looking into the mirror, his face looked terrible, his hair was all over the place. He sighed and washed his face, brushed his teeth. Then he heard the noise from the kitchen. He stepped out of the bathroom and walked there, shocked at the sight of a very fresh, good looking Eliott.

The tall boy was wearing white jeans, a black shirt and a black hoodie, he was making breakfast apparently, humming something. Lucas tried to slowly approach him, but Eliott heard the steps of his naked feet, looking at him with a big, bright smile. Lucas could swear that it was brighter than the sun itself.

“Good morning. I’m making breakfast.” he said happily.

“That’s really nice of you.” that is all he could say, his head was hurting too much to have a full conversation about last night. Also his heart apparently decided to beat as fast as it just could when he smelled Eliott’s cologne. It was basically torture having such a beautiful person here, in his kitchen. 

He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured some fresh coffee in it. Looks like Eliott thought about everything. He put in some sugar and started drinking, while watching Eliott stading by the stove. His chest felt warm by the thought of having breakfast with Eliott. 

A few minutes later the omlette was served on two plates, Eliott put it down on the table, smiling at Lucas softly. He couldn’t help, but smile back. Whatever happened last night, he was happy that it happened, otherwise Eliott wouldn’t be here, being kind, gentle, making breakfast for him. 

“Take this as my apologize. I really wanted to come on Sunday, but... I had a problem.” he explained shorty, looking at Lucas, hoping for any signs of forgiveness. 

This reminded Lucas of the moment when he saw that girl kissing Eliott in the doorway and then walking inside his apartment. He shook his head and put down the mug. 

“I’ll take your apology.” he said softly, sitting down at the table. Trying to be friends with Eliott was still better than not having any contact with him at all. He was happy around this person, his presence just made Lucas feel like life isn’t that bad at all. 

[ferritin4]

Titans Together (3K Gen Jon Kent/Damian Wayne)

Here’s a thing I’ve never posted on here: DC comics fic! I’m one of those people that’s been reading comics since I was a kid, but never in a viciously completionist way. Then, as an adult, I went back and read the runs of things that were recommended or appealed to me, like, among many other things (buncha Batman, the Grayson run even though yes it kinda sucked, all of the new Midnighter before it got canceled), Super Sons. Which is hilarious, and the art is fabulous, and the characters are just perfect. Strong rec.

Like many people, I’m totally here for aged-up Jon Kent/Damian Wayne -- it’s like if Clark/Bruce were both more dramatic and less weird and awful about/to each other -- and I, personally, have a headcanon that Damian, though short now, really ought to grow up to be like 6′4″ and massive. Because his dad’s the tallest in the Batfam and very big, and his mom’s both tall and built for a woman. He has to be a low-grade celebrity at college: Bruce Wayne's son and a prodigy in every subject, a super intense giant scary ripped antisocial multimillionaire 21-year-old who's already halfway through his PhD and wears suits to class. 

And then I want Jon Kent to come visit him at Princeton and be a total fucking hayseed like, "Oh, whoa, wow! That building is so cool looking! What kind of style did you say it was, Dami?" in farm boy jeans and a Carhartt jacket and everyone is like whaaaat the fuuuuck

And that is this fic. (Yes. The art history is made up. That is intentional.)

—

Princeton was huge. Wow.

—

Jon didn’t expect it to be small — he had lived in Metropolis forever as a kid and he’d toured a couple colleges in Gotham, even. He knew Princeton wasn’t gonna be like, the size of Garden City Community College or something, but gosh. It was really, really big.

The administrative offices were right at the main entrance, and that was a good thing, because Jon needed a map, and some directions, and maybe a nametag?

“No, honey,” the woman at the desk said. Her desk plaque read Moira Reed and she looked kind of like his mom’s oldest cousin. “You don’t need a name tag, you just need to show me your ID and sign in so we know you’re on campus. Are you a prospective student?” she asked, taking his driver’s license. “Since you’re eighteen, you don’t need a guardian with you, but I would like an emergency contact, just in case.”

“Oh, sure,” Jon said. “And, no, I’m just visiting a friend who goes here. I live in Kansas,” he added, which — was probably super obvious from the whole Kansas state driver’s license thing. Duh. “You can, uh, tell, I guess. Thank you,” he said, taking it back.

She chuckled. “No worries. Do you need directions to their dorm? Or do they live off campus nearby?”

“No, thank you. He lives in grad student housing, I think?” Jon said. “But I do need directions to —” Jon pulled out his notebook “— Waterstone Hall? For ‘Art History 466’?”

Moira had a map, and a Sharpie, and a very, very patient smile, and Jon thanked her like five times before she kicked him out and told him to enjoy his class.

—

“Good lord,” an older woman’s voice said to Moira as Jon left the office. “Wasn’t he just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“They have manners in Kansas!” Moira said, laughing. “Maybe he should teach a class.”

—

Waterstone Hall was a beautiful brick building with small, well-kept classrooms with sky-blue walls and new whiteboards. Jon poked his head into a couple of empty rooms before he found 343B.

The seats were angled like a movie theater, pretty steep, and Jon picked a seat about halfway back, on the aisle in case anybody needed him to move. There were maybe twenty students already there, but he didn’t know how many were supposed to come. Class didn’t start for — five more minutes, according to the super fancy old analog clock on the wall.

Everybody was pretty dressed up, except Jon. Did they dress up for class at Princeton? Maybe; maybe it was like private school except without uniforms. The kid next to him was wearing a sweater vest over a collared white button-down shirt, and the girl directly in front of him was wearing some kind of dark blue fancy-looking shirt and pearls.

Jon shrugged off his jacket and put his notebook on the desk in front of him. His flannel had a collar, but he didn’t think that really counted for anything at Princeton.

Somebody was looking at him.

“Hi,” Jon said to the sweater vest kid, who was staring at him like he could see straight through Jon’s head.

“Who are you?” Sweater Vest said. Not, like, meanly. More like Jon was a raccoon or something that had wandered into the classroom.

Or something. Jon didn’t know if they had a lot of raccoons in New Jersey.

“I’m Jon,” Jon said. “I’m just visiting a friend, and I thought I’d sit in on class. Don’t worry,” he added, smiling, “I won’t try to lead discussion group or anything.”

“This class doesn’t have a discussion group,” Sweater Vest said, still staring. “You’re visiting a friend? Who goes here? And they told you to come to this class?”

The girl in front of them swiveled around. “No,” she said. “They must have meant a different class.”

“Art History 466?” Jon said. Maybe he was in the wrong room and this was some — but what class would be bad to sit in on?

Sweater Vest’s stare got, if possible, even more bug-eyed.

“Your friend is an asshole,” he said. “You gotta get out of here, kid, I’m not joking. Just… go to a coffeeshop for an hour or something, seriously, you have like sixty seconds before —”

“Shh!” the girl in front of them hissed suddenly, and oh hey, class was about to start.

—

The online course catalog had had a little description of the class and then links to a bunch of weekly readings, all posted and numbered and dated, and then, right under the all-caps, fancy bold lettering for ART HISTORY 466, it had said Instructor of Record: Damian Wayne.

—

Most of Jon’s classes at community college were hands-on. He was there mostly to learn how to do upkeep on the farm and maintenance on the equipment. Jon wasn’t a bad student — he always did his homework — but he liked the chance to move around while he learned.

His mom liked to say that Jon could sit still for about forty-five seconds, if he tried really hard.

He folded his hands in his lap and tried, as hard as he could, to hold still.

Damian was wearing a suit, of course — he had started wearing suits every day, like his dad, when he turned sixteen and went to college, and maybe that was why everybody was dressed up, maybe class had a dress code. If anyone would make their college class have a dress code, it would totally be Damian, a PhD student who still showed up to teach art history in a ridiculously fancy suit that made him look just like his dad.

Jon had been glad when Damian got taller than him, and even gladder when Damian had finally filled out. It made him look so much more like Bruce, so much less like Talia, and that, well. Jon didn’t need to be the world’s greatest anything to know how important that was to Damian.

Damian still had her sharp features, her olive skin, her cruel streak, of course, but it sure put Jon’s heart at ease to know Damian didn’t have to look in the mirror each morning and see only her face.

Damian put his bag down on the big desk at the front and started taking out some papers, as Jon bit his lip and tried to modulate his breathing so he sounded like everyone else in class, so he wasn’t forgetting to take a breath for too long, because he could forget, easy, when he was distracted, but Damian would totally notice and Jon didn’t want him to figure it out early, he wanted to him to notice when —

Damian looked up and over the class, just a quick, dismissive glance, and Jon could practically hear the gravel crunching as his eyes ground to a halt on Jon.

Sweater Vest stopped breathing; the girl in front of them sucked in in a huge rush of air. No one had been talking, but now no one was moving, just a roomful of terrified, pounding hearts, and oh my God, Damian, Jon thought fondly, you total freaking lunatic.

Jon smiled. Damian’s eyebrow quirked, very slightly, and he looked away, going back to his papers.

Sweater Vest breathed out, slow and shaky.

Class began.

It was interesting. They were mostly talking about German and French weaving and some wall paintings — murals, duh, right — but from like, 900CE. There was a projector and Damian had put up a couple pictures of the big murals so they could look at them while he talked.

Damian knew his stuff. It wasn’t shocking; he’d written like four books about this that Jon knew of, and anyway, Damian had known more than anyone else about pretty much everything for like, the duration of Jon’s entire life.

“The repeating patterns you see here became more geometrically constrained starting around 955CE,” Damian was saying. “They also became more consistent both intra- and inter-artist. Ms. Braxton,” he said, fixing his eyes on a small, dark-skinned girl in the second row, “why is that?”

“Uh,” she said. “Is it because of the access to, uh, horsehair —”

“No,” he said. “Mr. Kendry?”

Mr. Kendry was a tall, lanky boy with pale skin and paler hair who was sitting five seats over from Jon. He had a fancy leather jacket on in class, which Jon had always thought was rude — weren’t you supposed to take your coat off inside?

“Because of the invention of higher mathematics,” Mr. Kendry said, shooting Ms. Braxton a disdainful look.

“In 955CE?” Damian said musingly. “What a charmingly Eurocentric perspective.”

“What?” Mr. Kendry said, wary.

“Who exactly invented the mathematics you’re discussing?” Damian said.

“I, uh,” Mr. Kendry babbled. “I’m not sure. This is art history, I mean, I didn’t —”

“Congratulations,” Damian said, in a voice like ice. “You’ve managed to put forth a single sentence, misleading at best, and yet you cannot even explain your own thought processes, much less provide any facts to back up your very incorrect theory.”

Jon leaned over to Sweater Vest, who flinched away from him, then took a breath and leaned back in.

“Do people do the reading for this class?” Jon whispered.

“What?” Sweater Vest whispered back. “Yeah, of —”

“Kent,” Damian snapped, “do you have something to add?”

Clothing rustled against seats; papers shifted under fingertips as twenty pairs of eyes slowly turned to stare at Jon.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon said. “I just thought that you had said that that kind of geometry wasn’t really introduced until like fifty years after this.”

“I had said?” Damian asked, locking onto him. “When did I say that?”

It was a real question. Jon could tell — of course he could tell, like, it had only been eight years. Sometimes Damian asked rhetorical questions so he could go on and on about whatever point he was trying to make and sometimes he asked real questions that he wanted an answer to. He just wasn’t super good at making those two things sound different.

“In the reading?” Jon said. “Um, on page,” he flipped through his notebook, “fourteen? You said that, uh, the use of repeating patterns got better starting in the mid-900s, but that, then, on page twenty-one, you said that people had tried to introduce new kinds of math like, a bunch of times but nobody really paid any attention until King Rasbin IV and he didn’t start being king until 1005. I had to look that up, you didn’t say when he was king from,” Jon said, looking back up to meet Damian’s eyes.

The classroom was silent as a grave. Jon could hear each timid, careful breath from each student, the beat of every heart.

Damian was silent, too, which was way weirder. Come on, Jon thought. Did Damian really think he’d show up to Damian’s class and not even have done the reading? Damian had literally written the textbook.

“So it sounds like the art stuff got better before they really accepted the math stuff,” Jon added, in case he’d been confusing, not to Damian — who definitely knew what he meant to say; he almost always did — but to everyone else, who all still looked like Jon had turned them to stone.

Damian’s gaze shifted slightly, less hard and more impatient, and oh shit, Jon knew that look. Damn it.

“Um,” Jon said, scratching at his hair. That was all he knew about anything, Damian, geez. Call on someone else.

Keep talking, Damian’s expression said. Come on, Kent. You’re almost there.

He knew that look.

“Maybe, did the artists — oh! Were they trying to figure it out?” Jon said. “Like, maybe they were trying to make up this kind of geometry on their own, but King Rasbin, you said he liked this art style, he had a bunch of people painting his palace, so maybe, did he hear about the new math stuff and then go to his artists and say, like, ‘guys, this is like what you’re trying to do? But better, so you should try this instead?’”

The left side of Damian’s mouth twitched up; his brows found a distinctly satisfied tilt. Jon grinned.

“King Rasbin IV,” Damian said mildly. “King Rasbin was a powerless puppet ruler who was killed at fifteen. Otherwise, yes.”

The room, collectively, breathed out.

“Cool,” Jon said. Damian raised both eyebrows. “Not the puppet king thing,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “The art thing! Cool that it was so popular that the artists convinced everyone to pay attention to the new math stuff.”

“Yes. Although in most academic circles it’s still considered a theory without clear evidence,” Damian told him.

“Oh,” Jon said.

“Don’t worry, I have a paper under review which will address that deficit,”  Damian said, flashing just a hint of teeth. “Unsurprisingly, some people aren’t very good at gathering evidence.”

Jon laughed.

“Don’t laugh at him!” Sweater Vest whispered furiously.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Damian said. Sweater Vest’s head snapped up.

“Yes,” Sweater Vest said weakly.

“In 1132CE, following the death of King Rasbin V, Guillaume Res wrote a treatise on the new bascura technique,” Damian said. “What were its immediate and long-term implications for palace artworks?”

Sweater Vest opened his mouth, then closed it.

Damian turned to his desk and started rifling through the papers. Sweater Vest looked like he was going to throw up.

“Mr. Mitchell, I will give you five seconds to produce something resembling a coherent, informed answer,” Damian pulled a packet of papers out of the pile, “before I discard your midterm paper and give you a zero.”

“Uh,” Sweater Vest said.

“Five,” Damian said. “Four.”

“If you don’t know, just guess something!” Jon whispered.

“Shut up, Kent,” Damian said, agate-hard. “You’re not allowed to help him. Three.”

“Aaauuuhh? I, um,” Sweater Vest said.

“Two,” Damian said. “One.”

“What’s the point of this? He obviously doesn’t know!” Jon said.

“You’re right,” Damian said, “he doesn’t.” He dropped the paper into the trash can by the desk. “Moving on.”

“Geez,” Jon muttered when Damian turned his back to them to advance the slideshow.

“You need to shut up, for real,” Sweater Vest told him, “before Wayne comes up here and stabs you.”

“Pff,” Jon said, just loud enough to carry. “Stab me? He could try.”

Damian’s spine straightened, briefly, but he just pushed a button and a new painting came up on the projector screen.

—

“Dismissed,” Damian said, finally, and the room burst into a rush of noise, closing books and scraping chairs.

“Thanks,” Sweater Vest said to Jon, not at all sarcastically.

“Huh?” Jon said.

“You distracted him for a while,” Sweater Vest said. “Thanks.”

“Uh, okay,” Jon said, and then, “you’re welcome,” because that’s what you said when somebody said thank you.

“Yep,” Sweater Vest said, standing up. “Now flee while you can.”

Jon didn’t, though; he was planning to wait until everyone was gone to go down to the front, but about half the students were still there when Damian snapped his bag shut and said, “Is something amiss? Did one of our fathers send you?”

Nobody else was near him. Nobody else would have heard him. He wasn’t talking to anyone else.

Jon got up and collected his jacket and notebook and walked down to the board as fast as he could without raising suspicion, or at least eyebrows.

“No, of course not,” Jon said, coming up behind Damian. He almost leaned on the desk next to where Damian was standing, but then he’d be like, one foot away from Damian and everyone else was giving them a good ten foot clearance, easy.

Definitely because of Damian, not because of Jon. Jon stopped a few feet away and put his hands in his pockets.

Damian shot him a look.

“If something bad was happening, I would call you,” Jon said. “I was just in the area because my friend Leah from home is moving to an apartment in Trenton to live near her mom, so —”

“Most people just say, ‘I was in the neighborhood,’” Damian said.

“Okay, fine,” Jon said. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Damian turned to face him, frowning. “Then what’s wrong with you, Kent? You’re not normally this standoffish.”

“What?” Jon said. “I’m not — you are, and anyway, all your students are still here! I don’t wanna be like, ‘hey buddy!’ and then you have to explain why you have some random kid who doesn’t even go here showing up and being weird.”

“Did you hit your head on the flight here? I don’t explain my interpersonal interactions to my undergraduates,” Damian said.

“Oh,” Jon said, feeling slightly silly. “Right.”

“Did you truly think I cared about them?” Damian said snidely. “I haven’t gotten that soft in my old age.”

“You’re not that old,” Jon said.

“Old enough,” Damian said, haughty, and Jon said, “I’ve seen you older,” because he was never ever letting Damian live down the time he got turned into a tiny little eighty-year-old man.

Damian narrowed his eyes and gave him a look that could cut glass.

“Anyway,” Jon said, “hey buddy! I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by,” and then, while Damian was still disoriented by being super mad at him, he stepped in for hug.

Somebody dropped a whole armful of books.

“Gah!” Damian said. “This is not what I was encouraging you —”

Jon patted him on the back and let him go. “Are you done? I’m starving.”

“Of course you are,” Damian said. “Fine. Come on, the chefs at the dining hall should be preparing my dinner. They’ll make you an extra serving if we catch them early enough.”

“I can just eat normal cafeteria food, or whatever,” Jon said.

“You could eat garbage off the ground,” Damian said. “I can’t. Let’s go.”

—

NOW THERE IS A SEQUEL! Did you want that? Well, I did.

[thiccymama-blog]

Jeff the Killers backstory but I'm rewriting it to make it correct

Alright before I get a bunch of triggered people, understand that I saw this was a big complaint of the Creepypasta community. I just wanted to rewrite it. Please just enjoy it.

One of the earliest memories they shared together was playing with the cat. Liu and Jeff had a cat growing up. It was a grey tabby that didnt live to long, Lui doesnt know what happened, but the cat was dead in the backyard one morning.

Its throat was slit and blood coated its soft fur. Its eyes were gone, later to be found in the cereal box.

This continued to happen after that. Cats in the neighborhood would disappear and then reappear dead in the Woods backyard. Jeff seemed nonchalant about it, saying it was probably a raccoon or something.

His parents were mortified and tried to find out who did it. They kept insisting that there was a dog or some animal going around killing the cats.

Lui didnt think so, but he didnt say anything.

The reputation they had in their small town blew up. No one wanted them there and they saw no reason they should stay, Jeffery and Lui's dad got a new job and they needed to move anyways.

The two brothers had very different reactions to moving, Lui wanted a fresh start but didnt want to leave all his friends behind. Jeff however didnt mind. In fact, he never seemed to care unless it was directly affecting him.

They moved to a larger town on the outskirts of a forest. Their mom and dad seemed to have rekindled their loveless marriage once they began to move un. Talks of dates and nights out on the town were all they talked about. Lui was happy about this, his parents have always had such a rocky relationship and seeing them like this made his heart explode with happiness.

One thing that made the boys equally nervous was the prospect of going to a new school. The reality of it seemed to finally catch up with Jeff, due to him being snappy and immediately going to his room once he was done packing to break stuff.

The morning of their first day was the start.

Their mom cooked them breakfast, smiling and wishing them luck on the way out. Lui replied enthusiastically, but Jeff grumbled and started ahead.

Lui looked nervously at his brother as they started the walk to school, he cleared his throat, "So, how are you liking the new house?"

"Its a house. What do you want me to say about it?" Jeff replies staring straight ahead.

Lui wanted to talk more, but the aura that was coming off of his brother made him shut up.

During the day, Lui was quick to make friends. He was a fairly attractive kid with a good GPA so it made sense. Jeff on the other hand was blatantly ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him other than the teachers who he charmed fairly easily.

Lui began to finally feel relief when lunch time rolled around. He had people to sit with and that was all he wanted. Lui sat next to a pretty blonde girl and had a polite conversation.

Jeff on the other hand... well, he wasnt liking all the attempts people were taking to get him to talk.

"Do you think you're some kind of hot shot? Going around and being nice to the new kids? Do you want a fucking medal?" Jeff demanded the SBO who sat there and looked down at her hands. "No one likes you, nor the idea of being your friend. I don't want you to talk to me, look at me or even associate yourself with me ever again, you hear me cunt? You could cut yourself for all I care." He hissed at her.

She moved her brown hair back and scanned him. "I was trying to be nice, I thought you would appreciate it... you didnt have to be so rude."

Jeff moved his black hair back in frustration, "Obviously I dont, there's nothing for me to appreciate, my family just moved into a hillbillies dumpster and now some freckle faced fuck with muffin top is trying to talk to me. What the fuck is there to appreciate?"

He was satisfied as tears welled in her eyes. She didnt reply and walked away, leaving Jeff alone with his sandwich.

After school, Lui was in a chipper mood, walking with a spring in his step while Jeff stalked behind him.

"How was your first day?" Lui finally asked him.

Jeff shrugged and continued walking behind him.

A short while later they came across two kids walking down the street. Lui greeted them, but they seemed hostile after walking past Jeff.

"Did you take something from my pockey?" One of the kids demanded, grabbing Jeff by the front of his shirt.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jeff lied easily. "I just brushed against-"

"Put my brother down!" Lui yelled.

"Or what?" The one holding Jeff asked.

Lui started towards him, "Just please put him d-"

A scream rang out as the kid holding Jeff let go and instead clutched his stomach. Lui could faintly see the glow of metal in the sunlight.

Jeff immediately began to run towards their house, leaving Lui. The other boy feverishly dialed the police.

Lui sat with the bleeding boy until the cops showed up. He had a big choice to make, sell out his brother or take the blame. He didnt want to go to jail, but the idea of Jeff in jail made him upset so he took the blame.

"I'm sorry officer, he just has my brother by the scruff of the neck and I was afraid for his life so I... i stabbed him."

He other kid provided no reliable information as he was on his phone facing the opposite direction talking to his girlfriend.

Their parents were informed later that Lui was going to jail. Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. He wasnt going to jail. Not yet.

Jeff's parents were devastated and couldnt believe it.

The woman in the area organized a party for the Woods, a sort of pity party where they would all eat and support each other. It was a kind gester for Jeff's mom, seeing as she was the kind if person who needed to vent her problems rather than hold them in.

The weekend came fast, Jeff doing the minimum in school and going home to plan on which cats in the neighborhood he could get first.

Of course he'd be more careful this time, keep them in the woods rather than his backyard.

But his plans were cut short by his mother proclaiming that he'd be joining her at the mourning session. He saw no point. Lui wasnt dead and his dad didnt have to go, so why did he have to go?

"There's a cute girl who lives there... she's really nice, a 4.0 student and she's on the track team. You should meet her." His mom tried to bargain.

"Like I want to go meet some girl," Jeffery scoffed, "you should really just go by yourself."

She shook her head, "You're coming. You never get out of the house, Jeff. I'm honestly a little worried about you."

The arguement ended an hour later with Jeff letting out a heated "fine" and stalked off to his room to go get dressed.

To spite his mother he wore a white sweater and black pants. She wanted him to wear something nice, she had said so as he stomped up the stairs. But he pretended not to hear her.

The group started at three o'clock, his mom yelled for him around 2:55.

When he arrived he was pleasantly shocked to see the SBO who had tried to befriend him open the door. She also looked shocked but let them in nonetheless. There were plenty of parents in the living room, all giving his their condolences.

God, how Jeff hated Mormons. They find a reason to celebrate everything.

"Kaylee, why dont you go outside with Jeff and the kids?" A mom suggested the girl with freckles.

"I uh, I would love too."

So she lead him outside. He had his shoulders slouched and a cold look on his face.

"So how was your week?" She tentatively asked him.

"Shitty."

She recoiled at the word. He found himself enjoying taunting her.

There were a couple other kids their age there. Jeff decided to take a stab at making friends and flying under the radar, so he made small talk and charmed the lot of them.

Freckle faced seemed weirded out.

After finishing a particularly funny story about him and his brother, Jeff decided to leave the group and search for a bathroom. An idea crossed him mind. An awful idea.

"Say, Kaylee, you wouldn't mind showing me where the bathroom is, would you?"

She looked up to him shakily, "I would love to."

She took him back inside where he went into to the bathroom and grabbed a small scoop of the liquid kind unfortunately, he would have much rather preferred the dry version as it's easier to mix with drinks.

He left shortly after, the living room lively with people who had no idea what he was about to do.

Normally he didnt like being this compulsive but the idea of people writhing in pain delighted him.

He sneaked into the kitchen. No one. He slowly lifted the lid off of the drink dispenser and went to pour it in.

"What are you doing?" Kaylee demanded from the hallway.

He turned around quickly and split the bleach on himself.

"Nothing, I'm doing nothing!" He said hastily.

Kaylee ran into the kitchen and out the lid back on the drinks, one of the boys from outside following close behind her.

"What's going on?" He asked.

(Gore warning)

"He was trying to put something in the drinks, but he spilts it on himself."

Jeff began to panic, backing up close to the lit oven. "I did nothing of the sort!" He yelled in retaliation.

The adults had yet to realize what was going on. Brandon began to close in on him and Jeff backed up more onto the oven and suddenly it was very hot.

Too hot.

The front of his sweater was on fire.

The first thing the three teens did was scream. Kaylee tried to put it out with the liquid dispenser but it fell and spilt all over the kitchen floor.

Soon flames began to spread as Jeff flailed around.

The room was slit with flames and Kaylle was shouting "Stop, Drop and roll!" Repeatedly but Jeff paid her no mind.

He couldn't breath and he couldnt take off the sweater. He watched in a sick sort of panic infested fascination as it spread to his skin, making it red.

He looked up and saw adults rushing over with water to out it out, but it was too late, Jeff was gone.

He was gone for a couple of weeks. Coming in and out if existence. He finally woke to bandages all over his arms and his legs.

Doctors and family were in the room, including Lui who looked like he was worried sick.

After explaining that he passed put after the burns and such, he was then told that some of his skin was beyond repair. He asked them what they meant.

They carefully took off his bandages and his skin was patched baby pink, white and his normal skin tone.

"Oh." Was all he said at first. "Its oddly beautiful."

The doctor and his family looked relieved to hear him say that.

He went home a few weeks later. The details on what happened that night were blotchy seeing as Brandon passed out and hit his head and Kaylee was vague on details.

(Gore warning)

"He he he! I'm so beautiful..." Jeff's mom heard, waking up form her slumber.

She saw a light in the hall and got up to investigate on why Jeff was up so late and whispering. She opened the bathroom door and looked horrified.

He had slit his cheeks wide open in a grotesque smile.

He snapped his head towards her as she walked in, "I'm beautiful." Was all he said.

His mom didnt say anything, only started in shock. He walked over to her and placed his hand gently on her cheek.

"Do you want to be beautiful?"

That was when she screamed. Her husband and Lui rushing to her aid, but the knife through her stomach killed her.

They saw Jeff in the bathroom, covered in his own blood and his mothers.

His father wasn't quick to react, but Jeff was and soon his father's blood decorated his body as well.

Lui took off down the hall to his room, but was stopped by Jeff tackling him.

"You'll be beautiful too, maybe prettier than me. We can only hope though!"

Kind of sucked, but I spent forever writing it. I realized I spelt liu's name wrong but i honestly dont want to go back and correct it.

[casino-lights]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊 do those for Sasha or die by my sword

I finally did all of these! I hope you like the ending 😌

Send me a 🖊 and a character and I’ll give you a random fact about them!

🖊 Sasha’s childhood nickname is Sass. Mary May gave it to her while babysitting her, and it stuck among her family and friends. Staci still calls her Sass even as adults. 

🖊 Her favorite soda is raspberry cola. It only comes around in the summer so she always buys a couple cases to last her through the fall. 

🖊 Her father used to give her his badge and a wooden toy gun he whittled for her and let her run around pretending to be the sheriff. He always played the bad guy she arrested. When he sees her now, with her own badge and a very real gun, he remembers the sight of her running around wearing his hat and making siren noises, and he smiles. 

🖊 It’s probably obvious, but Sasha’s favorite color is yellow. It reminds her of daffodils, her favorite flower. Also, the only thing she remembers of her mother is a yellow purse.

🖊 One of her favorite songs is “You and I” by Ingrid Michaelson. She can often be found humming or singing it while she’s doing things.

🖊 She’s left-handed!

🖊 She has a teddy bear from her parents, and she keeps it in her room. Whitehorse spent nearly an hour scrubbing the blood out of its fur before giving it to her after she was orphaned.

🖊 Staci was not her prom date - it was another boy she had a crush on at the time. They dated for a week before the infatuation faded and they decided to split up.

🖊 She originally thought about dating Staci, but changed her mind at the last second and decided to try being friends with benefits instead.

🖊 She stood between Staci and some bullies a few times when they were in elementary school. Though she was tiny and two years younger than them, she screamed loud enough and threw enough rocks at them to scare them off. Staci always bought her a milkshake afterwards as his way of saying thank you.

🖊 For the longest time, she just didn’t understand sarcasm. Staci would say something sarcastic and Sasha would take it at face value. Once she finally started understanding that he wasn’t serious, she herself was able to throw some pretty pointed jokes right back at him.

🖊 She didn’t learn to drive until she was 21. She was too nervous to get on the roads - especially with local teens pretending to be Clutch Nixon.

🖊 She originally wanted to be a vet when she grew up. But as soon as she realized that vets have to put animals to sleep too, she ditched that dream.

🖊 She doesn’t like to have her nails painted. The polish always inevitably chips and flakes and she doesn’t like that, so she just doesn’t paint her nails.

🖊 She celebrates Christmas at Staci’s house and Hanukah with her dad!

🖊 Following up on the last one, she makes really good sugar cookies. She’s terrible at decorating them, though; she doesn’t have the patience for that.

🖊 She cried when she saw herself in her deputy’s uniform for the first time. She was so proud of herself and she knew Whitehorse was proud of her too.

🖊 She has a small phobia of bugs, particularly grasshoppers. It started when she found one in her hair once - it didn’t want to be there either, trust me.

🖊 She didn’t get her first phone until she was 16. Whitehorse is old-fashioned and Sasha could just visit her friends whenever she wanted to, so she didn’t really have a need for one.

🖊 She has a small scar on her knee from where she fell and raked her leg hard across some gravel when she was a child.

🖊 She gives excellent shoulder and neck rubs. She can get her little thumbs right into a person’s tension points. She knows from memory where all of Staci’s are.

🖊 Her favorite thing about being a deputy is helping people. It may seem obvious, but her favorite calls are ones where she has to get a cat out of a tree or a raccoon’s face out of a yogurt cup.

🖊 She names her first child Alex, after Staci’s father. He died when Staci was young, just like her own parents, but Staci was actually old enough to remember his father, so Sasha asked his permission to name their son after his dad. He tearfully said yes.

🖊 She likes to sketch in her spare time! She has several notebooks full of her sketches of places in and around Hope County, including the F.A.N.G. Center, the statue of Joseph on Angel’s Peak, and the view of Fall’s End on the horizon.

🖊 She always wears a small crystal necklace - rose quartz. It’s said to bring love, both self-love and love from others.

🖊 The finger thing she does with Staci - where she wraps her first two fingers around his - is something they did once when they were teenagers. They were on a swing set together and they tried to see if they could reach each other. They got as far as holding each other’s first two fingers, and they spent the next couple minutes swinging in tandem like that. They started doing that instead of holding hands or having a secret handshake, and it stuck into their adulthood.

🖊 When Staci and Earl die in the car crash after the bombs fall, she loses all of her will to live. The part of her that died that day never healed, and her last breath was spent calling for her father.

[queertazsecretsanta]

A gift for @infernal-violinist, created by @jocelyncade!

Title: Chamomile 

Summary: Angus McDonald was hard at work last night during a stakeout, but unfortunately, fate doesn’t seem to want to let him get his paperwork done the next day.  Tag: Angus McDonald, Sick Fic, Taakitz as Ango’s Dads, Auntie Lup and Uncle Barry, Blupjeans, Taakitz

The rain buffeted heavily on the windshields around Angus, tucked betwixt the parked cars as he was.

The sound was almost deafening, but he could still make out the gruff voices of the two men mere meters from his hiding place.

“We’ll gather ‘t all up and meet 5 miles south of Refuge, got it?”

“Yes Boss.”

Their brows slick with water, Angus was confident he wouldn’t be spotted, between the frequent wiping, and blinking, and not looking for a small eleven year old boy behind a car.

He pulled out a notebook, shielding it the best he could from the inclement weather, and taking as many notes as he could. Shorthand - disguised as schoolwork, no one would look at a child’s math homework and expect it to be a code hiding the plans for these despicable men. 

Angus eyed the warehouse behind them. Could he make it inside? Surely they were hiding some choice evidence in there. Just maybe…

He waited. And waited, until a little past 2AM, for the guard to switch out. The new one, jumpy, angry at the pouring rain, didn’t think twice about scaring off what must have been a raccoon fight, and definitely not a well-placed minor illusion in the alleyway. Best to scare them away, right sir? Can’t have them be attracting any attention.

Angus creeped, quiet as a mouse, channeling every roguish tip Mrs. Carey had thought to teach him, as he approached the heavy door. 

“Damn…” He swore under his breath. Locked.

Looking around to ensure the guard wasn’t on his way, he quickly step up another illusion, this one louder and longer. A car crash would be perfect, just the sound of one - to cover up the sound of a quick cast of Knock.

The screeching of tires and crashing of metal and fibreglass echoed loudly over the comparably quiet CLACK of the spell, and the latch let him inside easily.

Shutting the door behind him, and reaching up to lock the door behind him, (if it was unlocked they’d become suspicious, after all) he quickly took cover behind some unfortunately damp crates. The roof, tattered and worn, was no protection from the elements, even inside. A light rainfall splattered atop his cap, and his clothes getting somehow even damper than before.

A short patrol passed him right after he hid, perfect timing. He studied their movements.

To be frank, Angus wasn’t sure what they were doing, just that they were moving very large trucks in and out and a warehouse that didn’t belong to them. But reports didn’t show an increase of drugs, or any kind of weapon or contraband in the area. Quite the opposite, actually. There was less on the streets than was to be expected, even with the increased levels of social services in the city. It was strange, to say the least. Though, who better to be on a strange case, than a strange little boy?

He watched the patrol pattern once more. They seemed to ignore the small boxes. Examining the one he hid behind right now, he could conclude that they seemed to be empty. 

What were they guarding??

A rustle from beside him startled him. A large crate, larger than himself was the only thing to his right. 

No..? Angus tiptoed over, shining a flashlight into the holes in the crate and-

A soft whispering into his Stone of Farspeech, quiet as he could possibly be without alerting the patrol.

Within minutes, he was on the tail side of a raid. 

No one expected fireballs from behind when the militia came at them from the front. 

No sooner than they had arrived, had they suppressed the gang of thugs. 

Angus pried the lid off his previously examined crate, reaching inside, and helping a tall dryad stand up from her crouched position.

Achoo!

“Gesundheit, kid.” Said a lilting voice by his bedside, holding out a tissue. 

“Thanks Auntie Lup.” Angus said gratefully, blowing his nose as hard as he could, leaving him dizzy, with spots in his vision. 

“Oogh.” He groaned, his head spinning. 

Lup placed the back of her hand against his forehead, frowning. 

“Still running a fever… At least it’s not as bad as last night, Taako was full on freakin’.”

Angus didn’t say anything to that. It was his fault he got sick, he didn’t take care of himself after his late night stakeout for the case.

Why should they be worried when he made this mistake himself. 

“It’s ok, I feel much better already, I’m sure this will pass soon enough.”

“At least you’re on Candlenights Vacation. Knowing you, you’d be freaking out for missing class, nerd.”

“I’m still missing my tutoring sessions.”

“You need a tutor?! I guess you aren’t such a giant nerd after all.”

Angus raised his eyebrow, giving her a pointed look.

“Obviously you’re the tutor, kid.” She laughed, ruffling his hair. “I’ll grab you some lunch. Any requests?”

“Something warm.”

“Vague as hell, Angus, thanks so much.” She winked, closing the door gently behind her.

Angus slumped back into his absolute mountain of pillows. A half dozen was far too many for a little boy, but at times like these, when he felt particularly ‘bleh’, he was grateful for the comfort. 

He felt much worse than he let on. There was no point in getting fussed over - after all, Auntie Lup, Uncle Barry and Kravitz were incredibly busy, and Taako… Taako does what he wants, so it was hard for Angus to gauge how ‘busy’ he was at any given moment. But he knew that Taako had better things to do than worry. Like Magic Day. Just because he was sick didn’t mean Magic Day had to be cancelled. 

Angus sunk even lower into the mess of pillows.

At the very least, he had done something good last night. It didn’t take a boy detective to imagine what kind of plants they wanted to make the dryad grow.

Eventually, the comfort of the feather-stuffed bedspread got the better of Angus, and he let his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

A slow rumbling echoed through the small of his back. The soft warmth of fur on the skin beneath his hiked up pajama shirt didn’t help rouse him from sleep, rather trying to keep him well and firmly under the veil of a good nap.

But even the little furball that is Charon, Taako and Kravitz’ Siberian baby of a cat, could keep him from eavesdropping.

“-it’s probably Pneumonia, if I’m readin’ him right.”

“Well shit. Was it the fuckin’ stakeout or what? There’s gotta be some fucking labor laws or something about a kid being out in the rain for that long.” Taako sounded worried, which Angus knew he was more often than he let on.

“Well it sure didn’t help, but nah he was already sick yesterday. Just exacerbated those symptoms. I’ll check him over once he’s awake to see if he’s viral or not.”

“Kay, cool. Anything I can do?”

“Fluids… Let him cough, manage the fever. Basic stuff. If he gets worse, call me.”

Taako said nothing in response to that. 

“Oh, and lots of rest. He’s got to relax. None of that detective shit, school can take a break. It’s not like it’s going anywhere for him.”

“Is magic ok?”

“Nah, he should keep all his energies up.”

“Damn. Alright, thanks Merle. I’ll wait here until he’s awake and give you a shout.”

Angus laid still, keeping his breathing as even as he could. It wasn’t too hard. Charon hadn’t moved and was still vibrating rhythmically.

“I know you’re up, Ango.”

Angus shifted slightly. “How could you tell, sir?”

“You snore.”

Angus grumbled softly, pushing Charon off his back. He sauntered over to the pillows and settled in there.

Angus sat up, adjusted his pajamas and squinted at Taako, unsure of where his glasses were. 

“You feeling ok?”

“Yes.”

“No bullshit, Agnes, you’re pretty fucked up.”

“I feel like crap.”

“There you go. You cold?”

“A bit. Did Auntie Lup make lunch yet?”

“Hoo boy, lunch was hours ago my man. You were out.”

“Oh. I could have sworn it was just a moment or two.”

“She did, but she made a ton of stew. We can heat it back up.”

“Is she really that worried about me?”

“Hm?” Taako seemed confused. 

“Auntie Lup over cooks when she’s worried about something. You do the same thing with baking, right?”

“I forgot you notice shit like that… Yeah kid, she is worried. I am too, but you already figured that out right? But you’ll be fine. You got a crack team of overbearing adults and Merle who sort of knows what he’s doing. You’ll be fine.” He repeated the last phrase quietly, not quite to convince just Angus of the fact.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” Angus stifled a cough.

“Let it out bro, don’t hide it.”

Angus nodded, standing up, and pulling a blanket around his shoulders.

“Can Merle check me out now? I want to know if I should take antibiotics or not.”

And they headed downstairs.

The stew was awesome, as per the norm, and warmed Angus up quite a bit.

He was slowly feeling, not better, but more comfortable.

Merle determined it was viral, which meant it wasn’t as severe. Angus felt relieved at that, he didn’t want this to impede him any more than it was going to already.

Taako grabbed a large blanket and wrapped it around Angus, leading him to the living room.

“You tired, kid?”

“Not really. Can we watch something?”

“That’s the plan.”

Angus was nestled into the corner of a couch, wrapped in the plush fabric, feeling warmer than ever.

Taako set up Fantasy Netflix and put on one of Angus’ favorite picks; the TV adaption of Caleb Cleveland, Kid Cop.

It didn’t hold up to the novels, but it was solid on it’s own. He liked having it on in the background while he did paperwork. Or, while he dozed off, only half paying attention to the screen, while several episodes played through.

A distant sound, like paper tearing, interrupted Angus’ hazy musings.

Auntie Lup, Uncle Barry and Kravitz, slightly scuffed from work came to join them in the living room.

A gentle hair ruffle from Auntie Lup was happily received, and Barry gave him a smile, letting him have his space. They sat down on the loveseat on the other side of the room, Barry leaning onto Lup’s shoulder and sighing peacefully. Kravitz, meanwhile, brought Angus and Taako drinks. Something fancy, with a garnish of spiralled orange peel for Taako, who exchanged a kiss for it, and tea for Angus, a soothing chamomile lightly sweetened with honey. He gratefully accepted it, sipping slowly, and softly blowing on the hot surface.

Surrounded by his family, Angus relented. He would be better soon. He may as well stop worrying about everything he was missing, and focus on where he was right now.

Warm. Safe. Happy.

And he remained those three things as he quietly fell asleep on the couch, not even waking while he was carried back up to his bedroom.

[theycallhim-thewintersoldier]

anyway I fixed the ending of that movie, or at least the one half of it.

Pepper didn’t like the wreath of flowers. They were too lively, too bright. Ivy might have looked nicer. Tony would have suggested laurels and she’d have shaken her head at him.

If he was there to suggest them. 

She can’t image he cares much where he is.

It was strange after so long, with some of her relatives and Happy being their only guests to suddenly have a full house of all these people she used to know, used to be friends with. In better days she and Maria would get coffee at five, or six in the morning on their way to their respective jobs but it was New York City and they were never the only ones there.

Sometimes, rarely, and uannounced, Natasha would join them.

Natasha Romanov  who went from competition who speaks Latin to ally to friend in less time than it took her to learn most newcomer’s names. Natasha who smiled when she found out that she was moving to New York with Tony.

Sometimes she misses that anonymous constant buzz and chaos of the city but the quiet is better for Morgan, and she feels far safer, and she feels far more confidant in Morgan’s safety too and that’s the most important thing. 

Morgan....

Everyone looked at her with so much pity that it almost made her angry. Pepper’s own grief was acknowledged by the guests--

by the mourners. 

by the family.

--but no one really knew what to say to Morgan, what to do with her. She couldn’t help but think of Barton’s children and how they’re coping. They had been so lucky to avoid anything like this and Pepper wants to talk to Laura about how...how did she approach this the first time a pet died, a grandparent took sick, how do you tell a child that someone is never coming back?

Her daughter wasn’t even crying, just standing there quiet and still and thoughtful like any of the adults. 

it broke her heart.

The lilies of the wreath at least looked nice against the burden they were to float out with, the black and the blue and the silver, even if they wouldn’t have fit the--

It wasn’t up to her. She hates funerals. She’s been to too many of them, but none thank God had been recent and she debated for so long about letting Morgan come today until she decided to ask her

“If you don’t want to come, or if you want to leave at any point, let me know.” 

If she told Morgan she couldn’t come then she would have regretted it for the rest of her life. No funeral would ever be easy but Pepper hadn’t been to one until she was twenty five and it wrecked her for weeks. 

They’re lucky, they can afford the best child therapists in the country for Morgan if she needs it, and it’s Pepper’s opinion that every kid could probably benefit from a visit or two. 

And she knows it she’s a Cinderella story, even if she hates to think of it like that becuase she did work her way up to being Tony’s assistant and she earned the CEO role and has full confidence--as does the board--that even if Tony had been utterly indifferent to her she would have still earned it. 

She’s not sure if she’s holding Morgan’s hand for her sake or her own, but when her daughter’s grip loosens she lets go without squeezing it. It would be unfair to take any kind of support from her when she’s only just old enough to understand what’s going on. 

None of this is made easier by the fact that she can see Clint and Laura crying; Rodgers--she never did get to first name basis with him, always wary of his presence becuase it never meant anything good

I don’t want him in my house...-- she can’t work out in her mind if Tony would be alright with that or not. Oh, she knows he’d say “it’s your house, you’re in charge,” but still...

Rodgers was crying too. Stone-faced like the soldier he still was in his head but fresh and half-dry tear trails went down his face. Maria must have noticed too becuase Pepper caught her trying to make eye contact with her, but Rhodey passed between their sightline and almost startled her.

“How are you holding up?”

“All things considered? We’re functioning,” she smiled for him. It almost felt honest.

“I can’t believe he’s not here. It’s not...” he doesn’t have to explain to Stark’s wife why it doesn’t seem right. Pepper wasn’t part of the team but she was part of the family. 

“I know.”

They stand aside and watch as the Bartons finally lead their kids away from the dock. Lyla was crying softly into a tissue. Little Nat looked like he was about to throw up. Rodgers’ friend, the one that Pepper absolutely was not going to let into Tony’s home (if he’s here or not, technically her house or not, absolutely not), was cringing as if trying to keep from full-on sobbing.

Pepper had offered the team help on finding any whereabouts of Natasha’s family. Of course the team, but it didn’t feel like enough. Now watching Laura put Natasha’s necklace on Lyla, Pepper can’t believe she didn’t think of it before: aside from the team, Natasha had her own family even if she wasn’t related to them by blood. 

When they walked past them on the way up to the house, Morgan reached out to hug Lyla, and then Nat. Pepper had managed to keep from crying so far, but she can’t hold it back now. Over the heads of the mourners she could see the wreath now sinking into the water, Natasha’s stinger cuffs and SHEILD badge falling to rest. Originally her necklace was there too, the one Lyla had chosen, the arrow to remind Tasha of them as if she could have forgotten. ‘To point you home’ was what Laura told Pepper was Lyla’s reasoning on the arrow symbol. That, and Lyla’s parents were both ace archers. Lyla had taken the necklace off the wreath and clutched it with a yelp just as she was about to set it in the water.

“Have they told you anything yet?”

“They’re going to amputate his right arm most likely, but they’re more worried about keeping him stable.”

“He’s stable?” Rhodey asked with genuine joy.

“As of eight hours ago; and...just barely. Dr. Pym and recommended the team; they’re the best biomedical--”

“Yeah that’s what Dr. Strange said.”

“Is that really his name?”

“Apparently, according to the spider-boy. Have you seen him yet?”

“They didn’t want non-family in the room,”

“Come on, before....you know, the two of you basically adopted the kid.”

Pepper grins a little.

“I said Peter was our son and May was my sister.”

“They bought it?”

“They were patching up multiple, actual, outer space aliens. They were trying to keep a man’s heart beating that could already not beat on it’s own. I didn’t think they were about to run background checks on us."

“Has Tony said anything yet?”

“Mumbling a little this morning, I told him if he was trying to crack a joke then save his energy; but I don’t think he was coherent at all.”

“Jokes are good. Is Morgan...?”

“Doing better than I thought,” she sniffles slightly, pulls herself together even if the tears don’t stop falling “She said that if they take his arm, he won’t be able to pick her up anymore. She doesn’t really...Nat hasn’t sunken in yet, but she’s shaken up, scared.”

“And you?”

“I don’t--I feel guilty. All this grief and I’m just---happy we’re okay.”

Rhodey’s quiet for a moment. He’s been to enough funerals of servicemen and enough funerals of friends and family to understand what she means.

“We’re down one level headed member here. Without Nat, it’s just us now acting as the voice of reason for these idiots.”

“Rhodey...”

“I shouldn’t be joking around,”

“There are aliens. Actual aliens. A god. And the royal family of Wakanda. In my backyard with me right now. Nothing...i don’t know what joking sounds like anymore.”

“Don’t forget the talking raccoon.”

“I am actively trying to forget the talking raccoon.”

[gwiiyeoweo]

Prompto learns the intricacies of living with a god.

Pairing: Prompto/Noctis Rating: T

Surprisingly, having a god as a roommate wasn’t too complicated. Noctis seemed content to sit on the couch and play video games or borrow Prompto’s phone to play King’s Knight (until one day when Noctis pulled out his own smartphone from seemingly out of nowhere). Which was great, especially on days when he was swamped with homework or had to study for an exam; he’d hate to leave Noct just hangin’ like that. Sometimes Noctis poked his nose around in Prompto’s study material or borrowed library books, but not usually without commentary — especially when it came to the Cosmogony texts, or anything relating to the Astrals, for that matter.

“Really?” Noctis nearly spat out his drink one night, the night Prompto learned gods could get drunk. In one hand he held a volume of the Cosmogony, in the other was a can of cheap beer.

“Listen, it says here that Bahamut, and I quote, ‘handpicked a pious maiden and bestowed upon her the power of the Stars and his trident.’Bullshit.” He looked up from the offending text and squinted at Prompto, traces of pink dusting his cheeks. “Listen, Prom. Listen,” his words came in a slur. “Bahamut. Bahamut’s a little bitch, y’hear me? And, and a fuuuhh — a fuckboy.”

Noctis rolled his eyes and slammed his beer down on the table. “‘Bestow his trident,’ huh? Yeah, he gave her his trident alright.”

Prompto choked on his poptart, eyes bulging out his sockets as he coughed out cheap cherry filling and crumbs. “No w-way, man.”

“Yes way. Bahamut got around back in th’ day. It said somewhere, that us Astrals don’t show up around y’humans a lot. Yeah? Well, Bahamut, my man. Nuh-uh, not ‘im.” Noctis tossed his head back and threw his arm up, laughing into the back of his hand. “He would make himself look like, like a sex god, you shoulda seen it. Like a damn twelve-pack and Fabio hair and everything, the whole package. It was ridiculous.”

Noctis lifted his head just enough to share a deadly serious look with Prompto. “Between you and me? I think the only reason he’s stuck in that, uh, that Crystal is ‘cause he’s too sex’d out.”

Afterwards, Noctis fell onto his side and cuddled the Cosmogony into his chest, silent for the rest of the night, save for the occasional soft snore, leaving Prompto alone to process his emotional and mental turmoil on his very new, very disturbing piece of information.

And that was one concern that had quickly come up — the problem of sleeping accommodations. Sometimes Noctis would just stay up until Prompto fell asleep, would wait until the boy slapped on his chocobo pyjamas and crawled into bed. On those nights, Noctis would just smile sweetly and tuck him in, pat him on the chest a couple times, turn the light off, and leave the bedroom. Prompto would strain his ears to hear the tell-tale click of the front door. Sometimes he heard Noctis leave the apartment, sometimes he didn’t. In the morning when Prompto woke up, the god would be waiting in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. He never asked about what Noctis did on the nights that he left.

On other nights, Noctis would fall asleep on the couch; and not wanting to disturb him, Prompto would tiptoe around the living space and switch off the lights after carefully draping a blanket over him. But like always, Noctis would be waiting for him with his coffee once morning came around.

So when two weeks passed and Prompto had let the guilt and curiosity break off the final chip, he finally got the guts to ask Noctis. “What do you do when I sleep?”

On the floor, Noctis was hunched over. His hands stilled, and he looked up from the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle he was working on, a photographic rendition of the Citadel. “I sleep. Like you.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you leave.”

“Sometimes I go for a walk. Then I go to sleep,” Noctis shrugged, turning his attention back to the puzzle, “You could say I go ‘back’ to the Noctis ‘tree,’ or to the stars, or whatever. Then I come back in the morning.” He ran his fingers through a small pile of pieces, when his brows quickly came together in a frown. In one swift motion, he stood from the puzzle and flopped onto the couch, where Prompto was studying. “Prompto, I told you. I’m here to stay. If you’re worried that I might just ditch you —”

Prompto shot up a defensive hand. “No! It’s not — well, sometimes I still wonder if this is all a dream and that you’re just like, some hallucination or something. But that’s not really why I’m asking.”

“Okay, so?”

“Well, sure the couch is nice, but it kinda hurts my back after sleeping on it for so long. And, like, I dunno how this ” — he gestured with his hands at Noctis — “really works, or if you even get stiff shoulders from sleeping on a couch, but… My bed’s, uh, a lot more comfortable. So, you could… Maybe, join me instead.” Oh boy, he could feel the heat creeping up his neck and his cheeks.

“You’re asking me to sleep with you?” Noctis asked, lips curling into a sly grin.

“Not like sex! But, well, basically? I mean, not like I wouldn’t want to! Like, Noct, you’re totally hot, with this whole dark and mysterious cool vibe going on, but uh. Just, I mean, I totally see you as my bud. But it’s not like we could get something more going on later — and how would an Astral and a human even do this dating thing anyway — and does that, did that even happen before? I, I mean Bahamut was going around banging everyone, like you said, and I’m not slut-shaming any gods or I might get electrocuted or something but… I, uh.” Prompto covered his face with both his hands. “I’ll just shut up now.”

He knew this was a bad idea. Oh gods, he just wanted to sink into the couch and let it eat him. Hell, he’d even be okay with Bahamut striking him down right here and now for blasphemy or whatever.

Noctis, however, took it in stride and laughed it off. “Sure, Prom,” he said, reaching over to pat the poor guy on his shoulder.

And just like that, it was done. Prompto felt the shift in weight on the couch, and he peeked through his fingers to see Noctis back on the floor, working on his 1000-piece puzzle.

That night — and for most nights thereafter — once Prompto packed up his textbooks for tomorrow and threw on his cactuar PJs, Noctis slinked through the door in a pair of black boxers and a loose tee, climbed into a bed that seemed to fit two people just right. Somewhere along the way Prompto discovered he liked being the big spoon and that Noctis had no problem tucking himself in between his arms.

(Prompto did have to wonder, though, how and where Noctis got all his clothes when he never went shopping.)

“Hey, Noct.”

“M’yea?” he answered through a mouthful of pizza. Apparently Astrals didn’t need to eat, but Noctis could still enjoy flavors and spices and textures. He had quickly developed a habit of picking bits and pieces from Prompto’s food, or digging around the fridge for some cold meats or half-eaten leftovers that were a touch too ripe. Which worked perfectly, actually. Prompto wasn’t a starving college student, as he had a government stipend as well as a decent sum gifted from his parents to tide him over. Thing was, his budget was meant for himself, and himself only; he couldn’t really spend funds on feeding an extra mouth. So the fact that it was impossible for Noctis to starve definitely came as a plus.

“How come you look like that?” Prompto kept his eyes on the screen of his laptop, fingers typing away on his keyboard, only stopping when he realized that maybe his words weren’t the best choice. “I mean, like, my age. Some people said you were a little kid, or an older guy.”

‘Or a dilf,’ he thought to himself. Many of the posts that claimed Noctis as an older man, definitely did not leave out their biases and chose descriptions like “hot dad” or “daddy Noctis.” But the Noctis who was with him now, in the flesh and in his apartment, was scavenging his fridge with a half-eaten slice of pizza hanging from his mouth like some backstreet raccoon. And his looks barely passed as a young adult. There was still some softness of youth cushioning his features, a fairly slim but lean physique that girls would absolutely gush over. With his long eyelashes and smooth skin, he was the picture-perfect “pretty boy” Prompto had seen and heard his high school classmates squeal about way back then.

But, as Prompto paused to glance at Noctis, he could kinda see it — the whole “daddy Noctis.” He imagined an older Noct, the baby fat melted away to reveal sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut mythril, and maybe a trimmed beard to add some age. Would older Noctis have longer hair? Or maybe a cropped hairstyle? Noctis would probably keep his lean muscle, but maybe broader shoulders or something. What were even the requirements to be “daddy” anyway? Obviously it didn’t include having an actual kid though. (Did… Did Astrals even have children? Could they?)

“Well,” Noctis said, shutting the fridge door with his hip, each hand holding cartons of two-week old takeout, “I pick whatever floats their boat.” He set them on the kitchen counter and picked the lids off, leaning his face down to sniff the contents. He wrinkled his nose at one of the leftovers but chose to stick a fork in it anyway, twirling the cold noodles around before taking a bite.

“Dude, I don’t know how you do that,” Prompto gagged. “Or why, even.” He supposed it was his fault for not eating them sooner, for letting them go rancid. But that’s just one of the perks of having an ancient deity for a roommate, he justified. In the same way Noctis didn’t have to eat, he didn’t get sick from eating expired food bordering on mold and fungi. What would otherwise go into the trash or down the drain, went straight into the god’s stomach. Recycling at its best.

“If you’re talking about the food,” Noctis said, after swallowing down the slippery noodles, “It’s not that bad. Does taste kinda funky though, like artisanal cheese or something.” He swirled his fork, the carton making a distinct sound of something disgustingly wet and thick. “There might be some mold though, unless that’s just fuzzy cilantro.”

Prompto was pretty sure there was a blasphemy law or something out there, that strictly forbade people from offering gods old-ass food and moldy noodles. He learned last week to not think about it, however, and to let Noct eat what he wanted.

“But if you’re asking why I’m a twenty-something-year-old, it made the most sense.” Noctis tossed the empty carton into the trash and pointed his fork at Prompto. “Figured you’d want someone around the same age. I’m ninety-nine percent sure you wished for a friend, not a little brother or a dad.”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “Fair enough. I guess it’d get kinda old having to stop for old ladies that want to squish your baby cheeks.” Prompto paused, remembering the posts of people drooling over middle-aged Noctis. “Or crushing on hot dad Noct.”

That managed to pique Noctis’ interest, however, and his fork stopped mid-air on its way to the second carton. “Hot what who?”

Prompto realized then and there that Noctis did not, in fact, realize how badly people were thirsting for him.

“Oh, man, Noct buddy. The thirst out there is real .” Prompto laughed and pulled up a new tab, clicking on a link he bookmarked long ago. He scrolled through a few pages as Noct made his way to stand behind Prompto and look over his shoulder. The blonde stopped at a juicy string of replies and posts, angling the laptop screen so they could both see. “Your fans are so wild, my guy.”

   > I hope all the gods are as handsome, if only i saw him shirtless lol         > Omg ur not the only one. If i knew he looked like a hot piece of tall dark and gorgeous, i would’ve been soooooo much more specific with my wish. ;P

Some of the posts were a little more flattering. Others, less so.

   > do u guys think that if i wished hard enough, he’d sit on my face         > honestly? I don’t know if i want to pound that sweet ass or get rekt by him                > y not both? ;D

Prompto wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Noctis took it… Pretty well. In fact, they spent a good few hours bonding and laughing over the sheer thirst of these people. At some point in the night, they even came up with a drinking game.

“I mean, technically, this one mentions ‘daddy,’ ‘bondage,’ and ‘babies.’ So that’s what? Half a beer?”

Which quickly became a bad idea. Prompto was sure his liver was going to fail on him by his umpteenth bottle. Noctis — and damn him, and his stupid Astral powers — seemed to be unaffected despite having just as many drinks. He was cheating, using magic or whatever, to flush the alcohol out of his system, and Prompto whined as he was guided into the bedroom. This was so unfair. He was never going to have a drinking contest with Noctis ever again.

Unceremoniously, he was dropped onto his bed, and a pillow bounced off the mattress. “Ugh, ‘eyy, I’m delicate goods, y’knoooow,” Prompto groaned, rolling onto his side and burying his face into the blanket. It wasn’t a soft landing, and it probably would have actually hurt if not for the alcohol numbing his systems.

“Yeah? Pretty sure those posters would be more than happy to be thrown into bed by yours truly.” Noctis picked up the pillow and gently tossed it at Prompto’s head.

“Pfft. And now what?” Prompto pulled the pillow off his face and tucked it under his head. “You’re gonna ravish me, oh Mister Noctis?” he said, with half-lidded eyes, though his wiggling eyebrows killed whatever attempt of seduction he was aiming for.

Noctis snorted and crawled into bed, shoving Prompto to make space. “Pretty sure you said you’d rather do the ravishing, oh Mister Prompto.”

“Mmm, too tired to do any ravishing.”

“Then stop talking and get some sleep.”

“Okay-dokay,” he said, a pinch too chipper. ”G’night, oh Mister Noctis.”

Noctis placed a chaste kiss on his nose. “Night, nerd.”

It was winter break when Prompto would finally introduce Noctis to his acquaintances. (He had gotten an A on that research paper; not because of his stellar writing, but because Noctis insisted on meeting the professor himself, and that was a whole story for another day.) The Amicitias were having a potluck, and Gladio had invited Prompto and Ignis. It went without saying that Prompto was freaking the fuck out, when he read the text.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” He had been pacing back and forth, hands rubbing nervously at his face, for a good while now. “I'm invited to the Amicitia's. The house of the Shield. This is, like, huge!”

Noctis was on his bed, sitting up against the headboard when he swiped through Prompto's phone, reading the text that had gotten him so riled up. “Uh-huh. That's what it says,” he said, not impressed at all. “It's just a little party and some food.”

“Noct!” Prompto swirled around and stomped over to Noctis, clamping his hands on the other's shoulders. He looked at him dead in the eye, with all the seriousness of a soldier marching towards his death. “The Shield. They're like, almost royalty .”

Noctis shrugged, expression remaining bored. “So? Your parents are in Niflheim's Council. You're basically in the same boat as that Gladio guy, even if you keep calling yourself a pleb. Which, you know, you're really not.”

Prompto just gave an indignant shriek as he fell over Noctis’ legs and buried his face into the blanket. “It's not the same,” he groaned.

Noctis may have a point about their social classes being not so different, but it's not like a god could understand the struggles of lowly humans. Back in Niflheim, it wasn't as if Prompto was even well-known; he was just the kid of some government officials. The Amicitia family had this prestigious pedigree and a noble, gallant history to boot. If anything, Prompto really was a pleb in comparison.

Noctis drew his legs from underneath Prompto and laid on his side, parallel to the other. He gave a few sympathetic pats on his back but rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “You're really freaking out about this, huh?”

Prompto wordlessly nodded, face still glued to his bed.

“You can pass, you know. That's totally an option, in case you forgot.”

Prompto finally lifted his face to stare at Noctis, a stubborn frown pulling on his lips. “No way. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” He rolled onto his back and sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Gladio's pretty cool, but I guess the issue is with everyone else that's gonna be there. Everyone knows I'm a Niff, and well.” He waved his hands in the air, letting the implications speak for him.

“And Lucis is still on edge with Niflheim,” Noctis finished for him. “I know. I've seen the way people look at you.”

The sneers, the whispers, those eyes. But it wasn't as bad as it used to be, when Prompto was alone. Noctis’ presence itself was comforting, filled a hole in his life that had been there before he even arrived in Insomnia, but it also provided another form of relief. Walking the streets alone left him too vulnerable to the baleful stares and whispered curses. But with Noctis, who looked every inch a pure-blooded Lucian, walking side by side and laughing over shared drinks or stealing fries, it made all of them second-guess themselves. He could tell by the confused or surprised expressions, and he sometimes caught the weird looks they gave. It filled him with a sense of gleeful vindication.

(Noctis had easily caught on — or rather, he had known from the start. On their first outing together, he had made damn sure to be as touchy-feely as possible or laugh just a tad too loud at bad jokes, he had admitted to Prompto.)

Noctis looked at the message again, skimming over the short three lines of text. “You know,” he said, his eyebrows perking up, “I can come with. He said you could bring a friend along.”

“What?” Prompto shot up, and he reached over to snatch his phone back from Noct's clutches. He furrowed his eyebrows, read the text message twice over. “You're right. Oh! You, uh, you'd really be okay with coming with me?”

“Duh. It's a potluck. I'm always up for food.”

They spent three days looking up party foods, mostly at Prompto’s frantic insistence: “Dude, I can’t be the one guy who just brings the crappy off-brand chips and shitty dip.” Finally, Noctis took matters into his own hands and decided for Prompto, one hand dragging the blonde out for grocery shopping, the other pulling up a lasagna recipe on his phone.

“Ugghhh. Can’t you just use your magic and just, magically make some kind of one-food-satisfies-all sort of thing?” Prompto groaned, reading the label on a jar of tomato sauce. He tossed two in the shopping cart, then threw in another just in case.

“Technically, I could.” Noctis pushed the cart along, grabbing a few bottles of dried spices. “But you never filled out the ‘Stellarian Make-A-Wish Form’ and that takes four to six business days to get to me. And we definitely have less than four days to get this thing cooked up.”

“What. I didn’t know I had to sign forms! And business days? Dude, you’re right here.”

“Sorry, Noctis the Stellarian isn’t here right now. Please call again during normal business hours or leave a message after the beep.” Noctis walked off, leaving the cart behind. He never even said beep.

“Nooooooct!”

They had managed to make two large pans of lasagna, and it tasted pretty damn good in Prompto’s opinion. (Noctis’ opinion didn’t count, since he could eat practically anything, aside from his aversion to vegetables.) Better yet, they had managed to keep the kitchen intact, only burning one mitten and two hand towels. With the food out of the way, the only thing left was what the fuck was he going to wear.

Prompto was going to be late, and oh gods, his anxiety was spiking. He never asked Gladio if the dress code was casual or formal wear, and he wasn’t going to take his chances with guessing ugly sweater party. He rummaged through his dressers and tossed shirts and pants all over the bed and floor, only pausing to press a shirt against his chest and stand in front of the mirror every few minutes. He should have been out ten minutes ago, but here he was freaking out over what sweater to wear, and he was pretty sure being late would make for bad first impressions. It was a vicious cycle.

Noctis stood by the bedroom door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, when he rolled his eyes and sighed. He stepped through the whirlwind of clothes scattered all over the place, and stooped to pick up a long-sleeved shirt. Wordlessly, he shoved it in Prompto’s hands and manhandled the blonde out of the way, pulling out a pair of black slacks from the dresser. “Go, change. Now,” he ordered.

“Yeah, but —”

“Chill, Prom. It’s not like you’re meeting the King of Lucis or anything. So just change already.”

Noctis was a filthy liar.

Surprisingly, they made it to the Amicitia manor with three minutes to spare. Prompto had expected security checks or battle-hardened guards standing watch from lookout towers, maybe a couple black guard dogs too. So when he pressed a finger to the intercom and offered his name and reason for visitation, he was taken back when the gates opened only seconds after, with no vicious attack dog or security uniform in sight. Noctis looked a little too smug, who had listened to Prompto’s over speculation and frenzied rants, and sauntered right on in.

Prompto followed at his heels, and was greeted by cheery instrumental music and all sorts of tantalizing aromas, a blend of spices he’s never smelled before. He zeroed in on the long tables topped with food, some brought in tupperware or actual plates. It was reassuring to see aluminum trays lining the tables; he and Noctis brought in their lasagna in aluminum pans, too, and he had worried that maybe they should have splurged on those ceramic pans instead. They managed to find an empty spot for their dishes, though Noctis had to subtly rearrange a few plates around to make room for the tight fit.

“Hey, Prompto!” That gruff voice was unmistakable, but so was the hand that clamped itself on Prompto’s shoulder, nearly jostling him. “Good to see you made it.”

“Oh, hey, Gladio. Thanks for inviting me,” Prompto chirped, as if he hadn’t been rattled with anxiety and stress for nearly a week. He waved a hand over Noctis. “I brought a friend with me, if that’s cool.”

“Nah, you’re good. I did say you could bring one,” he said to Prompto, before turning his attention to Noctis. “I’m Gladiolus, but call me Gladio.”

“Noctis. Just Noct’s good. You’re Clarus’ son, yeah?”

“Yep, son of the Shield and all that.” Gladio paused a moment, an amused smile ghosting over his lips. “Noctis, like… the Stellarian?”

“Noctis, exactly like the Stellarian,” Noctis replied, ignoring the way Prompto coughed.

“Huh. Bet you get teased about that a lot.”

“You get used to it,” he said with a wry grin, throwing a sidelong glance to his friend.

It was mostly smooth sailing from there, despite Prompto’s prior apprehension but according to Noctis’ reassurances — which came in comforting whispers and light hand squeezes. However, they didn’t seem to escape the hawk-ish gaze of one Ignis Scientia, who gave them a knowing look and a tilt of the lips over the rim of his wine glass. Even Gladio the musclehead noticed, nudging Prompto with his elbow and blowing a low whistle. It wasn’t like they were trying to be inconspicuous anyway; having been caught, Noctis laughed and gave them a full view of a smack of lips on a freckled cheek, at the price of Prompto’s flushed embarrassment.

Prompto still wasn’t sure what was going on between them, and Noctis gave no indication of his own. It had been casual flirting here, an offhand comment there, and somehow it turned into little shared kisses on the cheek or forehead. What he did know, however, was that he enjoyed it and wanted to see where things would take them. It was a little awkward to be caught sharing their affections, especially when he himself was still trying to process his own feelings about them, but it filled him with a tingly warmth all the same.

And it was almost enough to ignore a familiar, unsettling gaze that bore through the back of his skull. No matter how many cups of eggnog he downed, Prompto would always know what that sort of look was; he had been on the receiving end of it for far too long to not know. It was the judgmental stare of a stuck-up noble, the prejudice of a narrow mind — or in this case, the animosity of a Crownsguard official. Having had enough and feeling his confidence bolstered by the buzz of alcohol, Prompto turned to see who was glaring daggers at him, to find who the burning gaze belonged to. The uniform screamed Crownsguard, his face the same stern expression of a military man ready to snap and bark, and Prompto had immediately turned back around the second he saw that scowl. Okay, so maybe he regretted looking just a little.

But he managed to get on, because out of sight, out of mind and all that, yeah? He could still feel the little pin pricks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood at guard, could feel the barb wired glances given his way, but as the hour wore on, he managed to relax until the perpetual stare melted like the ice in his punch, into nothing but a distant reminder. The man had seemed satisfied to just shoot scowls at Prompto, which he was able to fare with and mostly ignore, and nothing had happened so far. Not to mention he was in the Amicitia household, so surely he was safe. No one would want to start a fight in the Shield’s home, right?

Wrong.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Prompto had returned to the punch bowl to refill his drink, leaving Noctis to carry on with Ignis and Gladio. And yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea, to present himself vulnerable as a lone target.

Prompto set his cup on the table and turned to stand face-to-face with the Crownsguard who had been shooting metaphorical knives at him for the past hour-ish. And maybe it was the liquid courage that was in the punch and eggnog that had Prompto puffing out his chest, but damn it , he was at a party and enjoying himself for once! He really did not need some asshole bursting his bubble.

“I’m getting punch, what does it look like?” Prompto huffed, gesturing to the very obvious bright red of the glass bowl.

“Sure you’re not planning on poisoning us, Niff?” The Crownsguard scoffed, eyes narrowing in suspicion and scorn. “Wouldn’t doubt it if you poisoned the food either.”

Okay. This was guy was hella rude. Their lasagna was actually good — he and Noct worked very hard on that, for his information.

He opened his mouth in protest, to point out they suffered a burnt mitten to get the damn pan out of the oven, to point out all the hard work and mess that had gone into it, until Noctis came over, planting himself between Prompto and the asshat Crownsguard.

“You got issues with my lasagna?” Noctis crossed his arms across his chest, his chin tilted up. Prompto couldn’t see, but he was pretty sure there was a scowl on his face. He also couldn’t help the vindictive glee in his chest.

“I got issues with the Niff here, not you, kid. He doesn’t belong here.”

“Sure he does. He got an invitation from the Amicitia over there,” he said, motioning a hand to Gladio, who was looking in their direction with concern, ready to intervene. “And besides, you got an issue with Prompto, you got an issue with me.”

“Look, kid. You’re better off not hanging around Niffs —”

“I’m not a kid,” Noctis practically growled. Though Noct was technically right, Prompto figured his looks… Kinda barely passed as an adult though.

“And I can do what I want, so don’t you tell me what to do.” Noctis jabbed a sharp finger into the Crownsguard chest. At this point, Gladio and some other man — ‘ Oh shit, is that Clarus Amicitia ?!’ Prompto silently screamed — were making their way over. But they would be too slow.

“Watch yourself, kid, or you'll be seeing stars,” the Crownsguard hissed. His shoulders tensed, and Prompto could see the faint lines of muscle tightening. This was so not good. He could feel the stare and attention focused on them, the worried murmurs and hushed whispers. He wished he had refilled his glass so he had punch to swallow down all this tension he was surely going to choke on.

“Oh, yeah?” Noctis snarled, bristling like an angry cat, Prompto imagined, with his curled up fingers and stiff white knuckles. He saw Noctis’ head twitch, jerk ever so slightly to his left, when Prompto caught a glimpse of a foreboding smirk. He followed Noctis’ line of sight, and it took every ounce of steel willpower to not scream.

Because standing right there was King Regis Lucis Fucking Caelum.

Prompto felt his eyes bulge from his skull, as the blood drained from his face to be replaced with ice cold water. Oh, Six. He was breathing, right? In, out? He could barely hear the rush of blood in his ears, too busy internally screaming into the void and all that.

‘ Chill, he said! You’re not gonna meet the King of Lucis, he said. It’s gonna be fun, he said!’ Whoever told him gods didn’t lie needed to go check themself.

He barely caught onto Noctis, too busy freaking out over literal royalty over there to stop him when he heard That Tone in his voice.

“Well, guess what?” Noctis had dropped his knees slightly. And with all the fury of a burning star, he slammed his fist up into the Crownsguard’s jaw in a brutal uppercut before either of them had time to blink. Prompto was pretty sure there was a kungfu movie with a similar title. Fist of the — South? West? — Star or something. It was over as quickly as it had started, and the body dropped in a skin-crawling thump.

“ Twinkle twinkle, motherfucker .”

Noctis shook his wrist, grimacing lightly from the impact. But it was quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin when he turned his gaze back to King Regis, who looked pretty damn chill despite witnessing someone knock out his Crownsguard, as opposed to the panic rising in Prompto’s own chest.

“Hey, Reggie. Long time no see,” Noctis all but laughed, who was way too calm about all of this.  

A flash of confusion and irritation passed over the King’s face, but it quickly melted into shocked realization then mild exasperation. Prompto was still too stunned to think of anything, but he could have sworn there was a hint of fondness in the man’s eyes.

By the time Gladio kneeled beside the Crownsguard, Clarus moved in on Noctis, taking long strides with a definite purpose. Prompto almost threw an arm out to shield Noctis behind him, to point out that the Crownsguard was being an ass and Noctis was just defending him so could he please just —

“Clarus, stand down. It’s alright,” King Regis ordered. Clarus stopped dead in his tracks, hand left in mid-air as he was just about to grab Noctis. Regis ignored the unconscious guard and walked up to the Astral, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Nearly twenty years, Noctis, and not a single hello. I must say, you know how to make an entrance.”

Prompto briefly remembered his first meeting with Noct’s shoe. Yeah, that had been an entrance alright.

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” Noctis shrugged and glanced over at Prompto, then past him at the tables behind. “Want to try our lasagna?” he asked the King.

“If I did not know any better, I would leap at the opportunity. But having past experiences with your cooking, I do think I prefer living. I’ve a kingdom to run, after all.”

“Hey!” Noctis interjected, smiling.

Still, the two laughed as if they had been old friends, ignoring the confused and slightly terrified faces around them. But knowing Noctis’ long, longhistory, Prompto didn’t doubt they truly had a bond.

He didn’t notice the King’s attention on him until Noctis nudged him on the shoulder. “Eh? What?”

“Prompto Argentum, was it?” King Regis asked.

“U-uh, yeah!” he stammered, feeling the pressure of the King’s gaze. Then he quickly added, “Your Majesty.” He couldn’t believe he was talking to the King, not to mention he even remembered Prompto’s name. And also not to mention, he was still not over the fact he had shaken his hand all those months ago, on the day he first arrived in Insomnia.

“I would love to hear how you met dear Noctis over here, whenever you’d be willing.”

“Noct? Um, yeah! Totally! Er, Your Grace.”

King Regis chuckled, deep and warm, and merely nodded. “Now, let’s try that lasagna, hm? You, too, Clarus! If I die of food poisoning, we die together.”

“Your Majesty, please,” the Shield sighed.

Prompto never really figured how it happened or when it all started. But one snowy morning, when he woke up to Noct's sleeping face and terrible bed hair, he was suddenly struck with a revelation.

‘Huh. I love this man,’ he thought. It was weird. He expected metaphorical fireworks and the heavy beating of his heart with that dizzying blood rush, waited for it with silent expectancy and any minute now .

But nothing came.

Two minutes, then five minutes. Ten. Nothing. Instead, he was left with the soft knowledge of his feelings, the gentle warmth that settled in his stomach as he watched Noctis and the slow rise of his chest with each steady breath. And this warmth, it was nothing new; it had been there for well over a year now, when his loneliness was replaced by this bright little star. And not even a month ago, Gladio and Ignis had referred to Prompto as their friend .

There were no grand explosions, no sparks of passion and heated kisses stolen between short, frenzied breaths. It had come silently. Like the slow rise of the morning’s light streaming in through the window, like the lazy snowfall covering Insomnia, settling so gently that he wouldn’t know how much had piled up unless he drew back the curtains and looked out into the heart of the city.

Prompto closed his eyes and smiled into his pillow, snuggling a bit closer to his favorite little star, and drifted back to sleep, falling to the comfort of knowing everything would work out, that everything already had. And Noctis, still deep in his sleep, responded to the shift and threw a cold leg over Prompto’s, eliciting a quiet breathy laugh.

Yeah, everything would be just fine.

Bonus

“So, you look pretty good. Older, but still good.” Noctis said over the rim of his glass.

Regis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and to fall back to his younger years of bantering and snickering, to the days of his youth spent with the Astral. “Yes. Well, ageing does that to mortals, Noctis. I would like to say the same to you, except you’ve gotten… Younger.”

He almost hadn’t recognized Noctis, when he watched the younger man knock his Crownsguard off his feet. He had felt the flames of angry retribution and indignation ignite, until that age-old smirk caught him off guard, when he recognized that smile, that specific tilt of the lips, but he couldn’t place it — not until he saw that set of steel-blue eyes that seemed to hide all the world’s stars behind them.

After all those years, Regis never expected to see him again. Ever. And especially not in Clarus’ home. Yet here they were again, sitting by the fireplace with plates of lasagna and glasses of champagne, basking in each other’s company as they had done in what seemed like a lifetime ago. (The lasagna was, surprisingly, quite good.)

“You were an older man, back in my youth. I almost failed to recognize you.”

Noctis was a bit taller, back then, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and age lines that looked to add wisdom around his eyes. Regis, being but a boy back then, had looked up to the god, for when his own father was absent in his royal duties as King. For when he had wished for a father, someone who could actually spare more than ten minutes a day for his son.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Daddy Noct,’” Noctis snorted. “Apparently that’s what I’m called nowadays, when I look like that. Y'know, you never actually called me dad.”

Young Regis had never gotten over that strange pride-ego-dignity trinity that teenage boys tended to have, and refused to call Noctis any version of the word “father” despite his wish being just that. They both knew he had been the closest thing to what a father should actually be, but those times were gone; however, Regis now saw a dear old friend instead. Plus, it'd just be downright weird for a grown man to call a younger one his dad.

“As I am aware.” Regis earned an incredulous look, to which he responded, “I know how to use the internet, Noctis.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird hearing that from you,” Noctis mumbled around his fork. He looked to the fireplace, the flames dancing in the dark of his eyes. “Time sure flies, huh, Reggie? You used to be so small. Now look at you.” He gently placed his fork down, lightly clinking against the ceramic, meeting his gaze with Regis’. “You grew into a fine king.”

They let a comfortable silence fall over them, save for the crackle of wood and the cheery music playing in the distance. Clarus had made sure the two could get their own little space, away from the rest of the party.

Finally, Regis spoke up again. “I never properly thanked you for granting my wishes.”

“Don’t mention it. All I did was get the ball rolling. You’re the one who pushed it to the finish line. Now look.” Noctis nodded over behind them, where Ignis was trying (and failing) to teach Prompto a proper waltz. “You finally got peace for your kingdom, even after the mess your father left behind.”

“Still. If it weren’t for your hand in all this—”

“Reggie, stop, you’ll make me blush,” he said wryly. “But, uh, sorry that it took so long. Had a hard time coming to a compromise. Don’t tell him I told you, but” — Noctis leaned in, and Regis mimicked the gesture — “I had a little argument with Bahamut. He kept insisting that Lucis wipe Niflheim out first, declare war and all that. Heck, that’s part of why Shiva’s doing her thing over there still, to soften them up and make the fight easier. It’s kinda hard to convince the god of war to not go to war, you know?”

“Ah. So Bahamut.”

“Yep.”

It was Regis’ turn to gaze into the fireplace. “I suppose you were right along,” he said after a brief moment. He turned to look back at Noctis in the eye and smiled with all the kingly grace he could muster.

“Bahamut is indeed, as you had put it, a fuckboy.”