#i thought its the same when it was described that ned pressed his face to the rock and descended

[ihaveastorminme]

OMG OMG OMG DID NED TAKE THE SAME WAY OUT THE CASTLE IN AGOT with littlefinger THAT SANSA TOOK LATER WHEN SHE ESCAPED AFTER THE PURPLE WEDDING?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!

🥹

[ptergwen]

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

-

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team. 

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

-

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

[spideymarvelws]

one true love.

Dark!Peter Parker x Dark!GN!Reader

Main Masterlist

Summary : Peter will go threw everything to keep you safe, protected and most importantly always his. He saw you as the person he observed and watched for the past few months, the sweet, kind girl that stopped to pet stray dogs or smiled at everyone who needed it. But somethings he never took notice of, some things that would’ve made him love you even more.

Warnings : THIS IS A DARK FIC! I am not responsible for your media consumption but if any of these topics or just dark fics on a whole trigger you please do not read! cursing, murders, blood, violence, mention of sexual assault, death, stalking, graphic description of a dead body, homicide, fluffy if you squint, use of guns and knifes.

A/n : If any description throughout the one shot does not pertain to a gender neutral reader please let me know :-) also if i missed anything in the warnings.

Word Count : 1.8k

...

The definition of love is something that never stays constant as its experienced from person to person. Even to that very being, the meaning changes every year, month, day even hour, from what that individual may feel in that moment. In some cases, it may be the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to someone, changing there life in ways they could never even imagine. 

In other cases, it could break a person whole, bit by bit, tearing down at who they once were. Emotions like guilt and regret, jealously and remorse running through there veins, thinking that love is only made to destroy the ones foolish enough to believe it exists.

Then you have the rare case of love at first sight.

Now, some may argue that this concept that only seems to show up in movies and TV shows is complete bullshit, that it doesn’t exist.

“You can’t look at someone and automatically know they’re the one for you,” Ned said to him one day, pulling his head out of his chemistry book,“What if they’re an awful person? What if they do something constantly that you don’t like? Seriously, looking at someone and knowing there the one is just basing It of there’s looks or something,”

Peter didn’t respond, afraid that he might lash out at the only friend he’s managed to keep throughout the years. He thought about the last statement a lot, wondering if all he ever really felt was the physical attraction.

But no, that pull you feel when you look at someone for the fist time, watching there movements with whatever tasks they’re doing at the moment, even if it’s nothing at all. Falling entranced with there every gesture, taking in every curve and colour, memorising every feature.

It wasn’t just looking at their appearance, it was taking note of how they moved, how they acted, how they laughed, god there laugh is like music to your ears. It was watching and observing, that’s what Ned missed in his little speech.

Then of course you have the people who don’t believe in love, which was something he could understand.

Before he saw you.

For Peter, love was not a strong enough word to describe what he felt for his one true love. The way you made his heart stop with one smile, his face red with one touch, his hands sweat with one word. In your eyes, he found his entire world.

And he destined for you to be his.

The countess nights he spent dreaming of you, laying besides him. He longed to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to mark you with his love. He shocked himself with the self control he had to maintain around you especially when it came to the people you hung out with.

The amount of times he wanted to run out of hiding and crack the skull of some idiot who decided to talk to you or dare even look at you in any suggestive matter. The thought make him gag every time, but he’d like to think that you already knew that he was looking over you, that you belonged to him. That’s why you never took any of them on, that’s why you turned them down.

He couldn’t blame them for trying, but they had no chance since they would be gone the next day.

Which is why he hoped you could forgive him for what he did, for what he had to do.

The body laid in the back seat, wrapped tightly in a bag. There was no blood spilled, sadly, only the indents of his hands on the base of his neck. 

It was fun, watching the life drain from his eyes as he listed off every bad thing he’s ever done, mainly to you, but he threw in a few more ex’s just to spice things up a bit more. Maybe he shouldn’t have killed him, maybe he should’ve just let him walk free with the threats he shoved down his throat.

But then he had to call you a bitch, from that point he knew his life would just be a waste of oxygen.

Peter let out a chuckle at the memory, at the fake confidence he showed, struggling in his hold. It truly was a sight to behold, one that made his realise why he enjoyed being Spiderman so much. 

Seeing people suffer for there terrible mistakes and knowing that he had the power to punish them.

The drive was long and quiet, one of his hands was on top the steering wheel, tapping to an imaginary beat while the other settled on the arm rest. The streets were rather empty at this hour to Peter’s surprise, making him smirk that he would get away with the murder.

Maybe he could’ve stolen a better car.

But he was doing everyone a favour and he was keeping you safe.

He took a right into a dense forest, his car moving with with the bumps on the course road. When he felt like he was deep enough down the path, he hit the breaks, cringing at the squeaking noise it made.

Regardless, the exited the vehicle, opening the trunk to grab a shovel. He knew that there were a number of more efficient ways to get rid of the body, one that could’ve used his position in the avengers to his advantage, but his old techniques started to grow repetitive. 

It didn’t take him as long as he thought though, the hole he dug was around eight feet deep and hopefully the right size to fit the body. Dropping the shovel to the floor, he walked back to the car not to worried about his surroundings knowing that no one ever visited this part of the forest. 

He grabbed the body from the back seat, throwing it over his shoulder carrying it to the hole and tossing it inside without care. He smiled at the bag as he filled the hole a quarter of the way.

“Time to find an animal now shall we?” He whispered to himself, pulling out the hunters knife from the back of his pants along with a flash light, “Just incase,”

As he walked threw the trees and bushes, keeping look out for any movements he heard a gun shot cut threw the air. He gripped his knife, walking carefully towards the noise. 

Oh how he was sorry for the poor lad that decided to be here this night, but he had too do what had to be done.

Suddenly he was sent back by a force jumping on his back. He fell to the floor with a thud, his body forcefully turned over with a gun pointed directly between his eyes.

“Y/n?” He froze, his breath becoming heavier at how close your face was to his. Now he understood why his spider senses didn’t alert him, because you weren’t a threat to him, you could never be.

“Peter,” you whispered, lowering your gun, scrambling off of his body much to his dismay, “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” He asked back, still shocked at you proximity to him, talking with him, breathing the same air as him.

“You answer first,” you said quickly.

“No you,” Peter said back, crossing his arms.

“I-,” you started, but looked down, trying to hide your bashfulness, but it only drew attention to the blood dripping from your hair.

“Baby,” Peter whispered, walking up to you to grab your face, any sense of self control left his body after seeing the state you were in, “What happened,”

Peter thought it was some attack on you and judging by the amount of blood covering your skin, you had to defend yourself. He expected you to look up with the innocent eyes he’s studied for so long, finally getting a chance to get a closer look.

But instead, you raised your head with a sinister smile gracing your feature, you stepped out of his embrace, taking his hand in yours.

“Let me show you,” you whispered, in an almost sultry voice sending shivers down his spine.

You pulled him to a tree, taking the flashlight held in his fingers and pointed the light to the base of the trunk. Peter stared confused at the sight, walking forward slightly to inspect the slumped body. It was tied down tightly with rope around the waist and mouth, cutting threw the skin deeply showing signs of struggle. There was multiple stab wounds in the stomach, words carved in there legs that he couldn’t make out with the dirt and blood covering them. He did however notice his name on her forehead and the bullet wound in the middle. 

The streaks of blond in the hair falling in front of the face told him that this body belonged to Gwen Stacy.

“When she started talking to you I could see how uncomfortable she made you,” you started, looking to the floor while playing with the dirt with the sole of your shoe, “I- I didn’t like how close she got to you, and- and since she bothered you too I- I thought we were doing us both a favour,”

Peter stood back up, looking back at you. He wondered how somebody so insane could hide it so well. Even with the evidence painted over you, he still saw you as incapable of ever doing anything like this.

The thought made him laugh loudly, walking up to you and grabbing your face.

“I fucking love you,” he laughed more, making you smile brightly as he put his forehead against yours, “You’re perfect I swear,”

You laughed along with him, putting away your gun in your pack pocket, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’ve- I’ve so long for this,” you giggled, pressing your nose into his neck, basking in his sick scent, “But, what are you doing here?”

Peter giggled as well, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “Same reason at you my love,”

Your eyes widened, you placed your hand on his cheek, bringing his lips back into yours. It was longer and sloppier than the first, both of you getting use to the movements but also desperate for the feeling.

Peter backed you up against another tree, pressing his body against yours, his deluded mind not reregistering how fucked up the situation was, but he loved every second. His lips moved down to your neck, sucking and bitting at the skin, drawing out delicious moans from your mouth.

“Fuck,” you sputtered, biting your lip and tangling your fingers in his hair, both of you not paying mind to the blood, sweat and dirt, “I’ve- I’ve wanted this for so long Peter,”

“Me too baby,” he said, tightening his hold on your waist, “Me too, now how about we hide these bodies together hmm?” He tickled your sides lightly, grinning at the giggle you let out, “Then I’m gonna take you home and make up for lost time,”

...

--->Interested in more? check out my other Dark!Peter fic<---

Hearts, reblogs and comments always appreciated 🥰

Taglist: @jadegill​ @joyleenl​ @ietss

[whumphoarder]

Do you know any good fics where Peter is disoriented from either being hurt or sick?

Oof, you’re in luck. Delirious Peter is one of my faves so I’ve got a truly absurd amount:

Elevator Freeway by @awesomesockes & @whumphoarder

Delirious and bleeding out from a gunshot wound, Peter struggles to describe his location to a very worried Tony.

Fevers, Bananas, & Math Lessons by @whumphoarder

Peter has the flu at the lake house and, in his confused state, thinks it's time to head to school. Morgan and Tony play along.

Every spider has its day (but today is not that day) by @frostysunflowers

"Peter, it’s very important that you stay awake."

"Really? Oh, okay, Karen, whatever you say."

"I have informed Mister Stark of your condition and location. He is en route and will be with you soon."

"Mister Stark?"

"He is approximately two minutes away."

"Oh...Why?"

or

Peter finds himself facing off with an unlikely foe.

you heal me like the light of day by @searchingforstarss

Peter tries to hide a stab wound and an infection-fuelled fever is never any fun. Also, it turns out that Beck is still lurking in Peter's mind much more than anyone realised.

stitch and stitches by @searchingforstarss

Peter bleeds out in a guinea pig enclosure at Morgan’s sixth birthday party.

beam me up, mr. chewbacca by @iron--spider

(Peter’s lack of sleep and self-preservation gets him into major trouble on a mission)

don't go, my darling (don't leave me behind) by @madasthesea

After Peter gets accidently drugged, he confuses Tony for Ben while in a precarious situation.

Condiments can't play doctor by 14million_constellations

“Are you on the mayonnaise clinic?”

That gets Tony to look up instantly. Peter stares at him with genuine interest, the fever flushed high on his cheeks. “What?”

“The… the Mayo Clinic. Online. My friend told me about it.”

Tony shakes his head in amusement. “Nope. Not on the mayonnaise clinic… or even WebMD for that matter. I’m texting Bruce. Who is an actual doctor by the way.”

(Or, Peter with food poisoning)

Think too hard by @builder051

A migraine hits unexpectedly, and Peter doesn't want to worry his aunt. He settles on calling the next-best person to help...

too bad (but it’s the life you lead) by jessicagoddamnjones

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

Peter nodded.

“Jesus, kid—“ he stopped and spun around, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders. ”Would you please just talk to me? I—I know that what happened is scary. Believe me, I almost shit my pants, but you’re safe now. You’re with me. Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

I think you don’t have a choice, Peter thought. “No,” he said.

(Or, Peter getting absolutely whammied and having no memory of what happened)

For Pete's Sake! by @kitcat992

Maybe he’d feel better if he closed his eyes, just for a second. It was too dark to see anything clearly anyway, and he’d be able to concentrate better without seeing how fast the ground was coming up to meet him.

A rush of wind sent goosebumps across his skin before two strong hands gripped his shoulders tightly, keeping him upright and from nose-diving straight into the alleyway cement.

Peter snapped his eyes open, blinking a couple times to clear his vision. Everything was blurry. Was that…?

“...ice cream man!?”

(Or, Peter gets a serious head injury)

flushed away by synebee

“I’m dying,” he decides, flushing the toilet and resting his forehead against the rim. He feels disgusting. “I’m dying, I’m gonna die. Spider-Man dies to ravioli.”

“Should I alert Boss?” Friday chirps, and Peter groans, waving a hand uselessly.

“No, m’fine,” he grumbles. “WebMD will save me.”

or: peter gets food poisoning & tony takes care of him.

Scaredy Cat by @sallyidss

Tony gets a call from Peter one night asking for help because he’s being followed in the street by someone or something dangerous. Tony hops into his suit and heads out to rescue Peter. When he arrives, he discovers that the “danger” isn’t exactly what he was expecting, and Peter learns that certain recreational pastimes don’t have quite the same effect on him that they do on most people.

Wrap Me Up And Hold Me Close by @spider-man-stan

In which Peter Parker comes up with some ~creative~ coping mechanisms (for a fever-induced nightmare), the likes of which Tony Stark hasn't seen before.

Focus by happybeans

"Stay with me," Mr. Stark says. "We've been taken—you're the only one who can get us out of here."

------------

Or, Tony Stark talks a drugged-up Spider-Man through a kidnapping escape.

Flying High by @blondsak & @seek-rest

“I think Coach Wilson is ready to get started.”

Peter glances over to the man who, contrary to what Ned said looked bored out of his mind. Peter wonders if Michelle was going to watch him during tryouts - only to wonder if that would be worse, considering his inability to focus when she was around.

He sneaks a glance towards her, only to see her eyes widen - his senses screaming at him a second too late as he hears someone call out, “Watch out!”

Peter doesn’t even get a chance to see what he should watch out for when everything around him turns to black.

mind games. by @seek-rest

Peter can immediately tell something is wrong, his senses dialed up so wildly that he can’t focus on anything, barely feeling like he’s moving forward on the sidewalk as he tries to reach the Tower.

Laughing. Yelling. Crying. Screaming. Talking. It all mixes together in an awful cacophony of sounds, so loud that he’s convinced that his ears are bleeding as he walks forward.

5 Times Peter Fell, and Tony caught him. And the 1 Time Tony didn’t. by eva7673  [chap 2: Cloud Fall]

“I feel like I’m falling.” The words trickled out of Peter’s mouth before they’d really even formed, but Tony understood them. Peter was sure. Because the next moment those hands were pressing down a little harder, a solid weight on his shoulder and chest. Grounding him. “You’re not.”

Follow the Pipes by @midsommersolstice

Tony wakes up at the bottom of a bomb shelter with a concussed Peter next to him, their only means of escape being a hatch 40 feet directly above them.

Chemical Delirium by @midsommersolstice

“Fri, bring the lights up. Now,” he ordered. The lights rose and Tony’s anxiety rose with it. There were large damp patches over Peter's light blue t-shirt where he had sweat through it and his skin was flushed a dark pink.

------Or------

Peter arrives late to Tony's lab and begins to exhibit some alarming symptoms.

to infinity and beyond by Trickster88

“Ben.”

The word freezes Tony in place, and his gaze darts back to Peter’s face. His brow is scrunched, frown turning down the edges of his lips, but his eyes are open. His eyes are open and he’s staring straight at Tony.

But then he says it again. “Ben.”

[smolbeandrabbles]

Come What May - Ned Kendall x Reader (Beautiful Kate)

Soulmate!AU

GIF CREDIT: X 

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

Author’s Note: For @severalmiles​‘s Mendo Nation Secret Santa - I know you’ve already read this, but I still wanted to tag you and thank you for letting me post it on here of New Year! 😁💜

Alright guys, this is it! Your last fic of 2020! And it’s my very first Soulmate!AU

I hope you enjoy - I got a little creative with the whole AU idea..!

@mandy23b​ - thank you so much for your Soulmate discussions with me, they were SO helpful 💕 Now you get to read mine! 😁

Disclaimer: Beautiful Kate characters not mine / it is my own Soulmate!AU idea / lyrics not mine / gif not mine

Premise: Soulmates are rare; and to have one you need to meet a specific set of criteria. Ned Kendall does. The Soulmate trend is known in the media as ‘New Years Day Phenomena’, and the end of year is far approaching... 

Words: 8380

Warnings: sexual content (but not too explicit) / Swearing / Drinking / AU (obviously!)

______

Never knew I could feel like this, Like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss; Every day I love you more and more.

Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring; But I love you until the end of time.

Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day.

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste It all revolves around you.

And there's no mountain too high, No river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side, Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide, But I love you Until the end of time.

Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day.

--

There's glitter on the floor after the party Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before…

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi I can tell that it's going to be a long road I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

Don't read the last page But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or you're making mistakes I want your midnights But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you And I will hold on to you

---

The only noise in the room was the scratching of pen to paper, the clock ticking the seconds of the day away - and, as it was late evening, there were precious few of those left. The still burning cigarette lay regretfully forgotten in the ash tray as his writing hurried across the page. The final draft of his latest novel was due in a few weeks, but he was hardly bothered by that now - something was pulling his attention and it was infinitely more pressing. Ned ran a hand through his hair: it was like writing while possessed, that was the only way he could describe it. When he’d look back the morning after and hardly remember a word of it. And the writing calibre too… so far removed from the trashy smut he seemed to be pretty into these days. They sold copies; he wasn’t bothered by that… but this kind of blacked-out writing often made its way into novels of its own. His darker, more serious work; and hopefully not the kind that his family would be embarrassed reading. He flipped another page and continued - always the same… it always started the same. Soulmates. Usually Ned Kendall scoffed at such a word. It was banded around far too often, and made everyone far too excitable. But it was a rarity to actually have one. Someone out there hardcoded into you, someone made just for you. But he’d heard the news reports - the ‘miracle’ of it all. Seeing the same person all your life; compelled to do everything you could to make them real by any medium necessary. Until you finally found them. It was known as the New Year’s Day Phenomena - because all the reports of this ever happening around the world occurred on New Year’s Day. Everyone seemed to find each other on this magical clock strikes midnight evening. New Year, New Beginnings. The beginning of forever, it seemed. Ned Kendall was sceptical. This wasn’t like those soulmate universes he’d read before, countdown clocks embedded in your skin… timer running out when you met, or first words exchanged tattooed on your wrist… In those universes everyone had a soulmate. In the world he was living in, they were rare. And when a new couple appeared, they were treated like celebrities. The problem was, ever since he could remember, Ned had dreamed of the same woman. At first she scared him, she haunted him, like she was there in his veins and he couldn’t get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he covered her with other women, no matter how many times he thought they might be the one and would laugh in the face of the whole notion of a Soulmate, these relationships always fell apart. And she was always there in the back of his head. Even when Ned was sleeping with them, it was her he got flashes of. It was almost like she was real, like if he imagined hard enough, he could reach out and touch her… and yet she always remained just out of his grasp. So he wrote her. Ned poured her into every single one of his novels, somewhere. Even if she was a bit part character with no dialogue, her image was there. She had been his main character a few times: when he got this urge, as he had right now, and a force he couldn’t explain compelled him to write her in such a way. She was the worst muse he’d ever had. And what Ned Kendall hated most of all was that he was falling for her. And hard - for this past few months she’d been nearly his every waking thought. Pages and pages, and reams and reams of writing covered his apartment and it was all her. And what scared him most was the year was ending. It was nearly New Year. He’d spoken quietly with Sally about this a few times. Because he didn’t want to believe it, because it felt crazy and Ned needed her to set him straight. To let him know that he was crazy, because Sally definitely would. Instead she looked at him, amazed, and then laughed: “Oh my god, Ned… Do you… Do you have a Soulmate?” “Sally, stop, it’s not funny!” “You! Part of New Year’s Day Phenomena!?” She cleared her throat, trying to act serious as she apologised, “Of course the most disbelieving person in the world on Soulmates would have one…” “This is so stupid. There’s no way, I’m just a writer and she’s…” “Ned. I know you’re just a writer - but all the tells are there. Aren’t you excited? You’re going to meet the person you’re meant to be with. And you know what she looks like already… Finding her will be so easy..!” He exhaled, tipping his head and body back to look at the sky; “What if I don’t like her-!?” “What part of Soulmates don’t you get, you were made for each other!” “What if she doesn’t like me?” Sally sighed, “Then she’s crazy.” “With how fucked up my life’s been?” “Geez…” She shook her head at him, and placed her hand over his, “Just give her a chance… Ned. Whoever she is.” He quirked his eyebrow at her, with a smile, “It doesn’t exactly sound like I’m going to have a choice-!”

 Usually the holiday didn’t mean a thing to him, it was just another year. Maybe he’d go to a bar, swallow all his sorrow with an expensive tab and take someone home. But something was changing. It wasn’t just the way she looked anymore; he was so used to flashes of her body, her face, her smile, those pretty eyes, the kind of person who - if Ned was totally honest - had walked straight out of his fantasy. But he was starting to get a feel for her personality and the way she sounded; her laugh, her voice, the way she flirted, her tells when she was shy or bending the truth just a little. And the closer the end of the year was, the stronger her presence became: now when he dreamed her he could feel her touch, how it felt to hold her, to run his fingers through her hair… He didn’t even know her name, but Ned knew what it felt like to pin her beneath him, heartbeat flush with his… He shook that thought away and dropped his pen, leaning back in his chair. This was all getting a little too much. This woman was driving him insane. Ned swallowed hard, and looked to the clock. He had but one conclusion for the whole thing, and how much it all scared him. He was exhibiting every sign of a crazy person, so utterly paranoid and obsessed with the thought of finding his ‘Soulmate’. What if she was just a muse his thoughts had dreamed up? What if she didn’t even exist…? Was it all too real for that? Could Ned bear to find out the truth. But Ned had all the tells; even when whining ‘give me a breaaak’ as previous girlfriends had forced him to watch these ‘romantic’ interviews, he’d been listening. And this was what happened, everything got stronger and you became more fixated with them until you finally found them. 31st December into January 1st. 

He couldn’t risk it; Ned just couldn’t risk the excitement that rushed through him becoming anguish and devastation. Ned Kendall would be staying in this New Year’s Eve. He didn’t even want to stay up to welcome in the New Year.

***

Soulmates - wasn’t that everyone’s dream? To find the one person they were destined to be with. You had always found the prospect to be exciting whenever you’d heard talk of it. Every time those interviews came up on TV - you believed in the idea of pre-destined partners and kindred spirits… two halves of a whole, before you’d become aware that you had your own. And you still believed in that notion even for people that didn’t have visions like yours. Afterall, didn’t most people end up with that one person. How could that not have hinted at something meant to be? Yours was just a little clearer than everyone else’s. You knew who that person would be. Even if you didn’t know the how, or the when, or the where… or even the why you? At first you hadn’t even really put two and two together, his was simply a face that had occurred to you in dreams. But one that you had latched onto and interested you. Intelligent, mischievous blue eyes, a little smirk that hinted at exactly what he was thinking, dark curls that you just wanted to run your fingers through, his cheek bones were accented but he wasn’t overly skinny. He had one of those faces that told a story, and every so often when you’d get flashes of him you could see all those troubled emotions. He must have been a fan of dark colours; at least, that’s always what he was wearing… but you liked that, because it just brought out the blue in his eyes even more. And that was what you focused on most when you drew him. Your apartment and your artist’s studio were covered in drawings, paintings, sketches of pieces of a man you’d never known. And you really meant pieces; sometimes you would just get his hands, the kind of motions as if he were explaining something to you (and he was left-handed, by the way he held a pen) you might get nothing else, but you knew they belonged to him. At first he was simply a muse, and your best friend used to laugh - when you said you had no idea how he popped into your head - that you must have just been drawing your perfect man. You couldn’t say she was that far off, but you could have done something similar without the need for his image in your head… and it was the emotional depth of the pieces that had you wondering exactly who he was. Maybe he was a face you knew, maybe he lived around here or you’d seen him on your travels to work - and yet when you started actively looking for him, he was still nowhere to be found. You weren’t one to dare to hope to believe in him being your Soulmate. Your clientele always asked about the works, but none were for sale. Sometimes you thought you’d put them up in the hope that someone would recognise him, and tell you who he was. Or that he might just up and walk in here one day: like he truly had just walked out of your dreams. But you always liked having the familiarity of his presence around, and drawing him just came so naturally to you. There was a particular centre piece - almost life-size - of him sitting at a desk. A vision; with the light pouring through the window behind him and hitting all his features just right. He was adsorbed in the papers in front of him, all handwritten; you wondered if they were letters - perhaps love letters. You liked to imagine that they were. That either he was writing them, or reading those words from the heart of the person who loved him the most. You got visions of him pouring over paper like this often, and he always looked so relaxed… it was when he looked his best to you. When you thought he most looked like himself; if you even knew what that meant. How could you know? Even when you felt like you did. Whenever clients asked who he was, and why he was so special (after you’d told them the piece wasn’t for sale) you would always give a bashful laugh and look to the painting: “Oh, I… I don’t know. I just dream about him. He comes to me in dreams…” Almost all of them got wide-eyed and then turned to you - knowing the stories everyone was becoming obsessed with - “A Soulmate!?” You would always shrug, because you simply didn’t know. “Well, perhaps. But I don’t think so.” Besides, you knew as well as they all did - you had to more than just envision your Soulmate. You should be able to feel them, to know their touch, to hear their voice. This man had been coming to you in dreams day and night, and you’d never got anything physical from him - just his body. Whether in still images or kinetic energy. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time for anything more, or maybe you were just insane for believing that something so rare could really happen to you.

 As this year started to trail off, things began to change. And it made you too excited - you made him your every waking thought - because somehow that heightened the experience. And sometimes you weren’t all that sure these dreams were dreams; waking up surrounded by sketching paper and drawings you hadn’t ever remembered doing yourself. All of this guy… and sometimes a little more risqué than you’d ever display. Sitting there trying to recall the why - were you having sex dreams about him now? You knew sometimes you felt him pinning your wrists back, how he’d bite his lip and the distinctive way he called you a ‘good girl’. You knew how it felt to entwine your fingers with his now, and the warmth of his body as he embraced you. Sometimes you would get his distinct scent and you’d spent far more time than you’d ever care to admit in department stores trying to find whatever brand of cologne he used, to no avail. His voice really got you though, that beautiful Australian twang had just a touch of way out there - not a natural city boy. You realised you were quickly falling in love with him. And you hoped against hope that this wasn’t just your mind overthinking it, or playing tricks on you. That this was the real deal. That whoever this man was, he was really your Soulmate. And perhaps, with New Year fast approaching - this would be the year you met him. Still, sitting over a cup of coffee with your friend, in front of yet another painting you were mid-way through, you voiced your concerns. She only rolled her eyes, “Girl! Have you seen your face-! LOOK how happy you are!” “But, shit-! What if they’ve all been right?! What if he is my Soulmate!? Am I crazy, tell me I’m crazy!?” “Girl. He’s EVERYWHERE in all your artwork. No, you aren’t. We gotta FIND this guy.” “But what if I’m wrong!?” There was something scary about the whole thing too, and how foolish you’d feel if you were so sure that you’d find him, and it turned out this wasn’t what you felt it was. “Stop thinking you’re wrong, and start thinking about HOW you’re going to find him. It’s all New Year’s right!? You gotta be out there looking! You’ve gotta take fate into your own hands.” She pulled out her phone, “I’m going to find out where all the big parties are - with the way you draw him, I’m sure he’d be up for getting into some trouble at one of those.” She had a point, he didn’t exactly look like the stay at home with a cup of tea type. Maybe he’d stay at home for other reasons though… You felt a gentle heat stir in your stomach on that thought alone and had to curse yourself. “...What if he doesn’t like me? Or… I don’t like him.” “You’re worrying again!” She looked up from her phone when you didn’t respond; you were starting to look a little disheartened as you stared at the floor, fingertips tapping your knees. She wasn’t about to let you spiral on something that was so exciting, and so important. New Year was just around the corner and she was determined to make sure that you got the opportunity to meet this guy, and have the best night of your life. “He’s a looker, I’ll give him that…” She raised her eyes back to your painting and then around the room, making you turn back, smile on your face at how right she was, “but if this Soulmate of yours doesn’t treat you right after all this, I’m gonna kick his ASS!”  

***

It was the week of New Year and you almost couldn’t sleep these days. You’d spent most of the holiday with your family, but you just couldn’t ever get comfortable. Couldn’t ever shake the feeling that something huge was coming. This felt bigger than just your brain playing tricks on you though, it felt like your body and soul were being dragged towards a force that you had no way of resisting. And there was no way you even wanted to fight it, you just let it carry you. Heck, you knew that you’d spent most of your time distracted, and were glad that everyone else was so relaxed and you didn’t have a client deadline to adhere to, because if you thought you were being driven crazy by him before… When you were able to quiet everything for just a moment and slow the world down to concentrate, you began to formulate a plan. No-one had ever been specific enough on whether it was New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, or that funny moment of Midnight when a New Year officially came. Your friend had the good idea of scouring New Year’s parties - if it was meant to happen you weren’t going to find him cooped up in your house, that was for sure. And you had the little list she’d painstakingly laid out with a walking route, so you caught all the bars in the most populous area of town. But you still had no real idea of how this was going to work; would it be like a chance encounter? Would neither of you have any idea until you finally beheld each other for the first time? So your aimless wandering would still lead you to him - just like fate? Or would this feeling inside you that kept building just guide you straight to him - like a homing beacon that only got stronger as you got nearer? You didn’t know. And you wondered how he was feeling, wherever he was in the world right now. Was he just across town? Was he elsewhere in the same country? Was he halfway around the world..? The only thing you hoped, was that he was just as excited as you were to finally meet. To finally find the person you belonged with. You’d got it wrong plenty of times before… so you had to admit, you were ready to get it right. 

  ***

It was gone 11pm on December 31st and Ned Kendall was still sitting at home slow sipping a drink, finding it surprisingly easy to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of his head. Whoever she was, she wouldn’t meet him tonight and - in his opinion - she’d be a lot better for it. Why the hell had whatever it was that decided to allocate people Soulmates, decided to stick this poor woman with him. ‘She musta done something really wrong somewhere along the line!’ Ned took another sip. If she was out there looking for him, she would be disappointed, Ned knew; but she could move on. In fact he wasn’t even sure how that worked… had anyone ever ignored this call before? Did the bond just break if he did? No-one had ever talked about that… His phone buzzed, and at first Ned thought it was an ignorable text, but it was a call. And it was from his editor. He’d finished his master draft by now, and he’d let his editor know he was ready to hand it in, but Ned had said there was no rush and he’d simply drop it in next time he passed the office. Besides, it wasn’t due until mid-January, so he was ahead of schedule. ‘What the hell…?’ Knowing he couldn’t exactly not pick up, Ned answered. “Hello?” “Yo. Ned, I’m in town! Get the fuck down to Campari’s now, and give me your draft.” Ned glanced at the clock again, sounding a little incensed; “On New Year’s Eve?!” “YES. NOW.” “But-” “No buts, except yours, get it down here, N O W.” “Are you fucking-” What was the rush? There was surely no need for this? Okay, so his editor wanted the manuscript in person, fine, but it was New Year. Everyone had better things to be doing than worrying about work! Ned sighed, knowing that arguing would get him nowhere, given how persistent his editor was; “Okay…” “Okay! See you soon!” Ned groaned as he hung up and ran his hands through his hair; looked like he wasn’t about to get away with staying in all night after all. He stood and picked up his manuscript. How likely was it this thing was about to get lost in a bar somewhere-!? At least he had copies. Ned was determined to keep his eyes on nothing and no-one for too long; just drop the draft with his editor and get out of there. No loitering. No chance for this Soulmate thing to come off. Although the second he stepped out of his apartment the uneasy feeling he’d been able to keep at bay up until now hit him full force. “Aw man…” Ned shuddered, as if some invisible presence was watching him. He could do this… He could do this and still save this poor woman from the fate of him. He rushed to the bar, and although it was crowded, his editor was looking for him and waved him over. Ned didn’t trail his eyeline anywhere else and almost immediately dumped the manuscript on the bar. “Couldn’t you have waited like 2 days!?” “Nah, I was in town, thought it’d be easier to get a head start on all the deadlines in case of revisions.” “Man, I dunno, Mike… In the middle of a bar on New Year’s Eve?!” “It’s okay!” Mike produced a case from beside him and tapped it, “I promise it’ll be safe; I’m not even drinking a lot.” “Well on your head be it, I have copies!” “It’s safe!” Ned held his hands up – whatever - and backed away from the bar, ready to take his leave. “Uh, no! Ned, stay, have a drink it’s almost midnight!” He was painfully aware of this fact and didn’t need reminding. “I’d rather not-” Mike yanked him back to a bar stool, flagging the bar tender down for Ned’s favourite brand of whisky; “What are you so desperate to leave for?! What else is there to do in the city tonight? You got someone waiting at home or something?” “Not exactly.” Ned kept his eyes on his drink as he sipped, disgruntled. The uneasy feeling was pushing down on him like a ton of bricks and he wished he’d told Mike to fuck off and stayed back at home where he felt safe from this. Or made up any lie really; that he was celebrating with Sally somewhere… Why didn’t he think about that!? The countdown to midnight came and went, and Ned felt this one was just as unimportant as all the others. He didn’t even count the numbers as everyone else yelled them. But as the clock struck 12 Ned downed the rest of his drink, placing it decisively on the bar as everyone cheered. He turned to Mike as everything began to lull into friends hugging and lovers kissing: “Can I go now?” Mike huffed, arms folded. “Wow. You’re a real kill joy, I thought you loved a good party?” “Yeah, New Year never really stuck. Thanks, though. Enjoy reading!” “Thanks Ned, I will! Happy New Year!” Ned smiled but didn’t really mean it, just glad to be leaving. He scooted out of the bar and into the street, where everyone now seemed to be spilling. ‘Thank god I can go home and breathe now. What a waste of time.’ It wasn’t so easy to hurry home, however, as the crowds of people outside were mostly still - either watching the fireworks now adorning the sky, or couples sharing their New Year’s kisses, or groups going from bar to bar… and those who, just like him, were heading home. And - as much as he despised having to be out - Ned was politely navigating these people. As he looked at them now, he couldn’t help but shake his head. What was so great about New Year anyway? In his experience he’d never had one that particularly stood out against any of the others. It was all just days blending into days. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept walking slowly through the crowds of people, smiling to himself at the ridiculousness of it all. But it wasn’t until far too late that he realised the uneasy feeling had left him completely. So really Ned should have been jumping about in the street for joy that he was finally rid of it, only this time as he looked up to dodge around some more people watching the bright colours crackle across the sky, he froze. Standing on the other side of the square, one eye on the fireworks and every so often looking around herself, was the woman from inside his head. Someone yelled a New Year’s greeting at her, and she became distracted by them, laughing and calling back with a sweet smile. Ned wanted to make a break for it, but he couldn’t, almost like he was rooted to the spot: his mouth went dry and his heart began racing. He felt a million things; unbridled joy the likes of which he didn’t think he’d ever felt in his life, he felt sick, fearful, that dread from before panged in him for just a minute at the knowledge that any second she was bound to look his way and her life would be over… She turned back to the fireworks, via sweeping the crowd once more and Ned knew she’d spotted him by the way she immediately froze as he had. But she’d missed him because she was looking at the sky by the time this happened. He watched her swallow hard, and say something to herself. Ned wondered if she was feeling all this emotion as he was; and he definitely saw the fear cross her face as for a moment she turned sheet white, before she blinked and turned herself slowly back to him. When his eyes locked with yours Ned Kendall felt his breath leave him - and he struggled to take a new one. He thought he knew what love felt like; he’d fallen in it before. But that feeling suddenly ran through his body multiplied exponentially. Your lips parted, and you smiled gently. How long had you been waiting for this moment? Even before you’d figured out he was your Soulmate… you’d been waiting for the man who was staring at you from across the square to walk into your life since you’d first brought him to life on paper. And suddenly there he was. Real.   

***  

Ned blinked hard to snap himself out of the trance before, looking both ways to check he wasn’t about to crash into anyone, he took a deep breath (that it hurt slightly to take) and crossed to you. He was taller than you’d expected, though you didn’t really have that much comparison or frame of reference. Built exactly like you saw him in your head, and - apparently as customary - his shirt was very dark navy, top few buttons undone; as if he wasn’t already pretty easy on the eye. And you realised that you were about to find the answer to the biggest mystery of all: what his name was.

He stopped just in front of you, not exactly sure how close he should get. If you were both having the same sort of visions, then there was already a comfortable level of familiarity you should have with each other. And yet, this was the first time you were meeting. Which was the most appropriate? He immediately laughed, scratching the back of his head and then running a hand through those curls. You paid attention to this, to how large his hands really were; you’d not really got a good idea of that in images either. How your hands were going to look so tiny in his. “I guess you’re her… The girl of my dreams.” And you weren’t sure if he meant that literally or, just because he’d been dreaming about you the way you had him. You blushed gently, but he smiled sincerely, “Oh. Well. I’m Ned Kendall and this is really awkward-!” You giggled a little, responding in kind, “I’m Y/N. This is amazing - you’re… you’re real!” Ned too chuckled, and his eyes traced your body, damn near respectfully, as if he was checking that you were every bit as faultless as he remembered you. This was beyond something like a fantasy come to life: “You are too… I’ve written you for so long and you’re standing right here.” You gasped gently, “Oh, you’re a writer?!”  Clearly you’d never heard of him. Ned wasn’t sure he wasn’t actually glad of that, now he could guide your reading a little! Introduce you to his best work first. His nod was fairly confident, although his smile was a little bashful, “Yeah. And you…?” You rummaged around in your bag for a moment, and produced a fairly small sketchbook. It wasn’t that you thought you’d forget what he looked like, but almost that you could prove to him this was meant to be. You flicked through the pages to one of your favourites, even with how quick it was and turned it around to him. “I’m an artist.” He held his hand out, blue eyes wide and curious, “May I?” You nodded, relinquishing it to him, and Ned began to scroll through your work. Drawings they might have been, but it was just like looking in a mirror. “Wow… I’m as in your head as you’re in mine, huh?” “If you’d ever set foot in my gallery then…” You trailed off, “Wait, if you write - about me - then?” “Oh, yeah, you’re- you’re out there on bookshelves right now.” He shut your sketchbook and handed it back over, “You’re… an incredible artist.” You immediately blushed, “I mean I wish I’d have read your work before now. So then I could return the compliment. But now my visions make sense. You’re not… looking at love letters, you’re writing… novels.” He nodded slowly, but grinned, “Love letters is romantic though - and I could do that. If that’s what you wanted!” You laughed, that sound he’d heard so often but now got to experience in real life, “I’m… somewhat of an idealistic romantic. And I guess you can tell that by the way I’ve been looking for you all evening.” Ned didn’t dare tell you that his notion was the exact opposite, “Well. We found each other. Exactly like they say in all those interviews.” “Yes!” Then your eyes widened too, “YES! Oh my goodness, it’s just- it’s just like they say-! That’s crazy-! This is really happening and… it’s all true!” That excitement was back on your face, and Ned found it unbelievably adorable. His head tilted, and you caught that mischievous glint in his eyes: the one you liked so much. You wondered what was coming. His teeth sank into his bottom lip for a second as he mulled his question over, eyes flicking to your lips; “Well I feel like this could be too soon, but if we’re Soulmates then… I don’t know about you but, I kinda… I feel like I know you.” You nodded, absolutely knowing exactly what he was feeling; in fact, you were literally the only person in the world who knew precisely what he was talking about right now. “And I’d like to kiss?” Ned watched your expression change to intrigue, from fairly soft to sly, your eyes narrowed and you almost gave him a smirk. “Well, I’m glad one of us voiced it first.” Ned was curious, that wasn’t an expression he’d ever seen from you in his dreams, you were always happy sure, but this smile was new to him. Even when his visions were at their sexiest this wasn’t a look on your face. He realised there was still so much to learn; but with the rush that almost-smirk made him feel, he knew he was looking forward to learning. Ned didn’t move particularly slow, but he supposed you’d both been waiting for this for roughly the same amount of time, arms sliding around your waist he pulled your body into his, leaning down and closing his eyes to capture your lips. He already knew what you looked like: now he wanted to experience you for the first time. The taste of your kiss was exquisite and he didn’t even notice liquor; heck you really had been out here trying to find him all night. There was the faint hint of something - but he thought that might just be your lip balm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling through his curls and both of you made the same hum. Synergy, perhaps? He wasn’t exactly sure if there was a *click* and the world stopped spinning and this weird feeling went away - why did the people on TV never talk about the important things? He wondered if the kiss was so good because you were his Soulmate, or because in reality he really had been waiting so long for this. Ned’s tongue ran yours teasingly and you weren’t about to let him be the only playful one here; drawing him closer and carding your nails over his scalp; Ned shivered. And all he could think for a moment was kissing you like this with you beneath him in the sheets - where he could trail these kisses all over your body. To hear more than just a gentle hum out of you. The kiss was certainly confident - and you supposed neither of you had to hold back; there was no need to ask where this was going. You knew exactly where this was going - to the end of the world. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a keen rush of excitement through you. This was beyond finally finding someone; this was finding the someone. But his lips were soft, and he was gentle even when he was playful. You wondered what Ned Kendall was thinking; and you wondered a lot of other things too - you’d certainly need to pick up a novel or two of his… You wanted to know him. You wanted him to know you, better than you knew yourself. There was no thought in your head of slowing down. You didn’t have to think like that anymore. You both pulled back, taking deep breaths. The fireworks were still going, and the illuminated colours on his face highlighted all those smooth lines and those cheekbones that you loved drawing so much. Much better in person… You bit your lips together, savouring the feeling of his still on them. You were a little flushed, but your eyes were bright as you looked back at him - loving that confident little smile on his face. Ned had been the first one to voice the kiss, and you wondered if he would mind you voicing taking this further than that. What he might think of you for doing so. As if you were moving too fast? There was only one way to find out, and you mirrored the smile you saw; “Whaaat if we did more than just kiss?” Then, to make sure you explained why you’d be the kind of person to jump into bed with a man you’d just met (because you certainly weren’t that type and didn’t want to give that impression.) - “Ned, I feel like I already know you better than if we’d been on a bunch of dates.” Your eyes were almost pleading him, “I would never normally do this but… this isn’t normal. Is it? I just- Of course this feels right, but it feels so right. I have never felt like this and even though I know why… I want to follow what I feel. And I… I want you.” There were a few seconds pause as his bright blue eyes looked between yours, but there was absolutely no hesitation in his gaze. He was perfectly happy with following your suggestion. In fact, Ned chuckled a little as he nodded; “Ha, funnily enough I was just heading home. And we would literally only have to walk.” He waved in a vague direction. You couldn’t help but grin, so he had been in the city all along, “Sounds perfect!” Ned held his hand out for yours and you couldn’t help but eagerly take it, then wrap yourself around his arm. This seemed a little crazy and reckless, even if he was The One. But it was a New Year, that old ‘new beginnings’ cliche. And you’d found yours - why not get a little reckless? Ned couldn’t help but look at you as he began walking you back to his apartment, he liked you already. After all the worrying he’d done to Sally, Ned saw he’d needn’t have done any of it. But part of him couldn’t believe that you were up for this already. As you walked plenty of people also heading home from their New Year’s parties wished you a good night, and yelled holiday greetings. From couples who looked seriously loved up, to groups of drunk friends spilling all over the street, to couples who looks a little nervous to be together - Ned would reckon they were as new as you. And yet, also realised that it was highly unlikely any of them were what the two of you were - and certainly didn’t realise what they were witnessing. There was no neon sign. No giant arrow to say ‘They’re Soulmates!’, not another person on earth knew you’d met up tonight - even if you’d both talked about each other before… Ned held your hand a little tighter; no-one was taking you from him now - that only made you snuggle a little more into his arm. Suddenly he smirked in realisation; ‘Holy shit, this is going to be a normal New Year’s for me… A normal night out!’ His eyes flicked to you, ‘I’m gonna end up with a gorgeous woman in my bed, only this one is destined to stay.’

 ***

As you entered the lobby of his apartment building your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest. You’d never felt desire like this before, but you also felt so nervous. There were still so many ‘what ifs’ and you were supposed to spend the rest of your lives together. What if Ned didn’t like what he saw, what if you didn’t? What if when you told him all about you, he pushed you away… What if he had so many secrets, one that matched the haunted look on his face you saw once too often in your dreams. You shook the thought away - you couldn’t think like that. One step at a time. You could worry about your forever in the morning, right now you kinda wanted him to shove you against the back of the lift; to hell with making it to his bed. He weaved you through those leaving the penthouse parties, carrying their heels and half-finished bottles of champagne. Shaking his head as he pushed the elevator button. “Typical New Year, huh?” “I guess not for us.” He laughed, watching them shriek as they stumbled over each other. “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to making this a typical New Year.” You giggled, “Me either. But hopefully I won’t only find you at midnight next year.” His eyes flicked to yours, “Whatever’s meant to be.” You both laughed at the shared joke as the elevator pinged and more leavers spilled out. Ned dragged you in and pressed the button to his floor. The doors slid closed and, as the lift began moving, you were left in the quiet at last. He closed the gap between you; grabbing your chin between his thumb and his index finger Ned kissed you again. This one far harsher than the first, and you squeaked in surprise as he did push you against the wall. Oh, okay, this was going to go just the way you wanted it. And be far better than any fantasy. Ned’s hands roamed your body, and up into your hair as the kisses became hot, passionate, teasing. Every so often his touch caused you to groan into it, and you could feel him smirk - at least that gave you a good gauge of what he might like. Mind you, you were probably helping him on that front also. By the time the elevator slowed to a stop at his floor you were already halfway through the buttons on his shirt. He was reluctant to release you, and yet eager to get you back to his place, and lacing his fingers with yours once more, Ned ran you down the corridor. You couldn’t help but laugh - this felt so teenage romance, the same rush, the same quick whirlwind of no patience. Of wanting everything to happen right then and there. A little too excited Ned had to fumble with the keys a few times to actually get in, but once the door was open it was closed just as fast. His shirt didn’t take long to find the floor as once again his lips found yours. You ran your fingers over his warm, supple skin and received a few delightful hums of your own to keep. Your clothes didn’t take long to find the floor either, as he guided you back towards the bedroom, and you both left a trail. Your body threaded with his - and dare you say perfectly? - and your nervousness wore off. Only excitement remained, and the feeling that this could only be right. This was fate. It had pulled you together, and now you were getting your first opportunity to be one. Ned entwined your fingers, head tilted, he searched your face. He had all the time in the world to get to know you, to get to know your body, to be so in tune with you that all he could ever give you was pleasure. That might take a little bit of time - but it started tonight. And skin to skin, your body beneath his, Ned already knew you were gorgeous, and he was going to get lost in you. You’d found your ideal weight - that old joke of ‘him on top of you’ - but as you let your eyes glide down his body you noticed his chest was awash with freckles, and you wanted to kiss every single one of them before the night was through. Ned’s exploration of your form didn’t last too long, right now he only wanted to be inside you - and the desperation of it was his only thought. He had time, he’d apologise and he’d do you right, just not right now. He was compelled otherwise, and you didn’t seem to mind that - possibly because you were feeling the same thing. Damn Soulmates... Ned nearly chuckled, but was happy he could at least pull delightfully sinful sighs and moans from you as he tested that you were ready for him. As he pushed into you Ned realised that he was still looking into your eyes. Normally by now he’d have turned his bed mate over. But you… you he wanted to see, wanted to watch your emotional responses as they crossed your face. It’d never been like this… not with any girl. But here he was, and Ned actually wanted to look into your eyes… If he wasn’t careful, he’d be spilling I Love You’s before he was ready.  

***  

Ned woke naturally to the sunlight streaming through the window. Glancing at the clock, he was glad it wasn’t really that late in the day. His arm was still around your bare waist and he pulled you closer to him, you moaned gently still not awake and cuddled yourself into his warmth as he kissed your shoulder. With his free hand Ned moved locks of hair out of your face and lay there quietly admiring you. How many times had you had sex last night? It all felt like a weird (magically induced) blur. So, he’d just call it innumerable, with a smug little smirk. Eventually you stirred, and you appreciated how much you were going to enjoy this when you woke up looking into his pretty blue eyes and realised that he wasn’t just a dream. Ned would never be just a vision in your head ever again. You couldn’t help but pull him into a delicate morning kiss. Sighing blissfully, you stretched your body out, propping yourself up on the pillows and smiling at him, your body ached a little - but it was a sweet ache and you didn’t mind too much at all. You spoke softly, almost dreamily, as you continued to stare into those beautiful eyes: “I know you’re made for me. And that I would feel like this no matter what, but… I’m glad he’s you. In my wildest dreams I didn’t ever think he’d be like you.” Somehow he was not only your Soulmate - the person you really had no choice but to be with; and you wouldn’t have thought that would happen if you weren’t at least compatible - Ned was still ticking all your boxes.  And you could threaten easily that you loved him for it. Ned bit his lips together, even though he’d been smiling. He still needed to confess to you, he wasn’t sure he could put you through this without beginning on the right foot. Even if it took a while to confide the whole truth, you had to know. He sighed gently, fingertips stroking down your back; “Look I’m not perfect, and you have a lot to learn and I kinda want to apologise in advance… if we’re really meant to be Soulmates. If this is really… THAT.” You tilted your head slightly, but all you did was smile mysteriously; “Well… so do you. But we’ll get though it together. We’re meant to, right?” You took his other hand, and kissed all his knuckles, and then his fingertips, “You’re not going to scare me away, Ned Kendall.” Besides, you’d seen what your future held. You wondered how much you should keep to yourself… you wondered how much he’d seen himself. How much Ned already knew without realising… diamonds and wearing white… You chose to believe these things could come true. Your time together could still only be measured in hours, but you already wanted these things with him. He chuckled, running his thumb over your lips, “I guess. But I do have one request. Unlike all those other Soulmates out there that share our fate… Can we please not go public with this thing?” At the look on your face Ned changed his track, “Not yet. I’m kinda ‘A Big Deal’.” You found that understandable, as a writer people knew his name and his work. You weren’t sure you wanted the world to know that you were part of the New Year’s Day Phenomena either. But it would be a little hard not to tell some people about it - your best friend already knew. And if your clientele saw him kicking around your gallery… You nodded in agreement, “Well Mr. Big Deal, I can’t wait to read... about me.” Ned continued to stroke his fingers down your back, with a smirk, as he rolled onto his side pressing his lips to yours, you accepted his kiss and stole another: “Well, I want to see how you draw me… and maybe I could pose for you. Like Rose and Jack.” You couldn’t help but scoff, before cackling, “Holy shit, a Titanic reference? I can’t believe you’d do that-!” “Terrible, I know. You’ll have to get used to this.” He grinned, affording you another kiss. “Mmm.” You hummed in agreement, “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.” You looped your arms around his neck and let Ned pull you back on top of him, tangling your bodies together once more as you continued to deepen your kisses.

Right now it might only have been hours, but you could both see your future, soon it would be days, months, years… And maybe eventually you’d tell the world, and join all the Soulmates that came before you. Or perhaps you’d stay quiet, and just smirk at each other knowingly every time you stood and watched the New Year’s fireworks, or as another couple made the announcement on TV. Whatever it would be, it would be a joint decision. Once you were both ready. For now, you had the whole world in front of you. And you had to learn each other’s. But you couldn’t wait to explore together. Good and bad; and perhaps there was a lot in both your pasts… but you were Soulmates and now bound together by a force bigger than both of you. You would make it through. You weren’t sure you were going to give Ned Kendall the choice either way. And he certainly wouldn’t be giving you one. You belonged to each other now.

---

Thank you!!! Thank you for reading the final fic of 2020! Here’s to 2021! 🎉

[dnd-drunks-n-debauchery]

Recap/Highlight reel of Friday Night's session

Brought to you by @nevergonnarollagain AKA Cookie (09/04/2021)

The session picks up with a brief recap of last week; the group approaching the cleared area of forest and a sense of dread washes over Rosania as all the feasting animals suddenly flee. Rosania is currently a pony, as she has been pulling the cart containing the dead body of Jayfice as well as the sleeping form of Ned. 

However, instead of jumping right into the action where we left off, we jump a little backwards in time and meet Quint, a lone hunter who Locke lovingly describes as a Reynard Ferehorn fan and wannabe. He's walking through the forest some distance away, following some animal tracks to track down some game he can eat. He's also Pigeon's temporary character since Jayfice is, of course, dead.

As Quint follows the trail, he comes across a place where the snow seems to be pressed flat in quite a large shape. Several of the animal tracks, as well as some markings that seem to resemble animals or humanoids being dragged along go up to the flattened snow, then disappear. Quint starts feeling uneasy, and he readies his crossbow before continuing to follow the animal tracks.

Eventually he finds where the tracks he's been following stop, and they lead to a building that gives off a horrible smell of death and decay. Quint throws up in a nearby bush and places the scent as something akin to that of Zombies. As he starts walking away he hears a strange noise, and turns around to see the building MOVING TOWARDS HIM. He lets out a scream of terror and runs away as fast as he can.

Back in the clearing with the party, as the wave of dread washes over Rosania she starts to hear screaming, intermingled with trees falling. As the group walk into the clearing a man with a crossbow (Quint) sprints out opposite them while screaming, before spotting them and running over.

When Quint reaches the group Aiac walks over to him and asks what's wrong, and Quint explains that there's a building chasing him. He's still extremely panicked as he explains, and Aiac calls over to Inora to ask her to give Quint medical attention since he seems to be a little...out of it, so to speak.

As Quint starts protesting, a tree falls down in the background and the building appears at the edge of the clearing. Aiac pauses, taking it in, then grumbles under his breath before having the rest of the group remove the cart from Rosania and move it away from the clearing. As soon as the cart is detatched, Rosania turns into herself and walks fully into the clearing, accompanied by Javier and Harmony.

Rosania stares at the building for a moment, but it's stopped moving by now and just seems to...be there. If she hadn't known better she would have said it'd had always been here, but she'd spotted it make its approach.

She pulls out her wand and instinctively swings it, and the thorny vines she'd used to whip "Klilic" back at Firstlight came spilling out of the tip of the wand, smacking the side of the building. It doesn't seem to have any effect however, and for all intents and purposes she seems to have just whipped a regular building.

Javier raises an eyebrow, and a weird glowy hand appears by the doors to the building. It grabs the handle and opens the door, but again, there doesn't seem to be anything particularly concerning about the building from what he can tell.

Harmony focusses on the walls of the building for a moment, seeming to try and do something. Whatever it is doesn't work, and she turns to the others and speaks up. "I just tried to Mold the walls of that building, since they seem to be made of stone...whatever it is, I wasn't able to do anything to it."

Quint definitely feels concerned hearing that. "Maybe we should just...walk away and...leave it alone maybe." He turns around and starts walking away, but as he steps on what seems to be a small pile of snow near the edge of the clearing his feet get stuck. He casts Inflict Wounds on the snow and starts trying to pull himself free, but can't get out.

Small, sharp icicles come shooting out of the snow pile and start trying to embed themselves in Quint's ankles, almost as if the snow pile is trying to bite him. The icicles don't succeed in hurting Quint, but the snow pile also isn't letting him go, that's for sure.

Rosania glares at the building, unsettled by it and seemingly unaware of Quint's predicament at the moment. She swings her thorny whip again, striking the building much harder than before. She thinks she sees the building shudder ever so slightly from the impact, but she can't be completely sure.

Javier turns to walk away from the building and go back to the cart, but stops when he sees Quint trying to pull free from the snow. He pauses for a moment, then spins back around to face the building and casts Witch Bolt, striking the building hard. This time the building definitely seems to be hurt, and Javier does his best to focus on continuing the bolt.

(Harmony tries something and fails it.)

Quint manages to pull himself free of the snow pile and stumbles a little closer to where Javier and Harmony are standing. The snow pile rockets towards the group before the icicles shoot out of it again and jab Javier in the back of the leg. He doesn't seem to even notice, concentrating on the bolt still shooting at the building. 

Suddenly a zombie walks out of the open door. It limps slowly towards Javier and lunges at him, but loses it's balance and ends up face-planting in front of him. Just like with the snow pile, Javier doesn't even react to it, instead focusing on continuing the bolt.

At this point Ned wakes up in the cart and clambers out of the cart before leaping across to where his friends are. As soon as he lands the scent from the building hits his nostrils and he starts wretching. Harmony also starts being sick, but Javier and Rosania both block out the scent as best as they can.

Rosania swings at the building with the whip again, but just like the first time she doesn't seem to hurt it at all.

Javier's still Bolting the building, and the expression on his face is completely dull. He just seems completely done with everything.

Quint casts Turn Undead, and the zombie that had faceplanted in front of Javier gets up and runs away. Quint notices how much damage Javier is doing to the building and spots the puncture wounds from the icicles, so he heals him.

The snow pile bites Javier again, trying to break his concentration on the Bolt. Javier doesn't even acknowledge it, still just focusing on the Bolt.

Rosania lashes out with her whip again, striking the building harder than before. As the building seems to shudder slightly again she grins to herself, secretly enjoying swinging her whip around.

Javier doesn't seem to be reacting to anything at this point, still just Bolting the building and dealing even more damage. Quint heals Javier again, amazed at how focused he is.

Ned and Harmony are still being sick as the snow pile bites Javier once again. Once again Javier doesn't acknowledge the snow pile. He's just completely done with everything at this point.

Rosania swings her whip again, striking the building but not causing any damage. She happens to glance over at Javier and the grin fades as she registers the blank expression on his face.

Javier keeps blasting the building as Quint heals him again. Ned and Harmony are still throwing up, which is definitely concerning.

The building suddenly sinks away underground, and the snow pile that had been biting Javier vanishes as well. Rosania runs towards it and briefly considers trying to follow it, but dismisses the idea.

Javier stops blasting as soon as the building vanishes. He walks over to Harmony, who has thankfully stopped being sick now, and walks with her back to the cart. Rosania watches him go, her brow furrowing as she thinks to herself.

Quint walks over to Ned (who has also stopped puking) and asks if he has any idea what that building was. Ned tells him that it was probably a mimic, although he's never heard of one that big before.

Rosania walks over to the cart to go see Javier and asks if he's ok. He looks up at her and nods before going back to hugging Harmony. Rosania pauses and asks if the group should get back on the road, and Javier just shrugs, not even looking at her this time. She takes that as a sign that yes, they should all definitely get going, and calls out to everyone to start getting ready.

Aiac walks over to Quint and thanks him for helping in the fight against the building. Quint asks if he can accompany the group wherever we're going and Aiac tells him to do whatever since we're all heading to Hallow to revive Jayfice, although he warns him that it will be very dangerous. He starts making a comment about idiots following Jayfice around but stops himself, then abruptly turns away and starts ordering everyone around.

Rosania turns back into a pony, and Ned reattatches the cart to her. Once everyone's ready they all set off, following the road through the forest.

A week or so passes on the journey with nothing of note occuring. Then one day, with the edge of the forest nearing, the group happen to spot a small pile of clothing and adventuring gear. Quint stops to have a closer look and notices that everything is of high quality, perhaps belonging to a noble. He also notices that the skin seems to smell of wine, and spots a necklace sitting among the clothing. What's more, there's a name engraved on it; "Ingwin".

A little further along the path there's a smashed up pillar with some kind of sigil on it, though nobody recognises what it is. As we carry on along the path, we spot another pillar with the same sigil on it. Nobody gives it much thought, and we keep on walking.

All of a sudden the pony vanishes.

It takes a few moments to realise what's happened, but Rosania's turned to smoke and is blowing towards the forest. Quint is the first to react, grabbing a Bag of Holding and racing after the smokey form to try and catch it. He loses sight of the smoke pony for a moment but catches up again, and in that time Harmony charges over, grabs the bag from him and scoops up Rosania herself.

As they walk back to the cart Quint asks Harmony what could have caused Rosania to turn to smoke, and she thinks for a moment before responding that it was probably a cult of some sort. She remembers hearing that traps like these were used to forcefully lure people to places, and that things didn't always end particularly well for those caught up in them. The effect should wear off eventually though, so it's just a case of waiting until it does and checking on Rosania every once in a while so she doesn't suffocate.

As they arrive back at the cart they see someone approaching from behind them. Turning around they see an elven woman dressed in fine clothes, much like that of a noble, approaching them. Quint asks if the clothing on the ground belongs to her and she says they aren't, however she leans closer to look at them and remarks that they look like Ingwin's clothes. She explains that the pair had been hunting together when they got seperated, and that if these are his clothes then something bad must have happened to him.

Quint offers to help her look for him and she agrees, and the pair head off into the forest together. She walks a little bit behind him, but makes sure to keep him in sight. Once they're some distance from the cart Quint suddenly becomes paralyzed, then something attacks him from behind and he falls unconscious. 

Back at the cart, after some time the noblewoman comes running out of the forest, carrying Quint who seems to have been stabilized. She tells the group that she got seperated from Quint briefly and when she found him again he'd been attacked, but she'd done what she could to stabilize him and brought him back here. Javier asks Inora to heal Quint, which she does.

As soon as Quint comes round he sits up to try and spot whatever attacked him, sending Inora flying. He tells the others what he remembers of before the attack, including that he was paralyzed just before the attack. The cause of the paralysis isn't clear, and while the noblewoman suggests a few theories none of them completely add up. 

The group discuss their plans to head to Hallow and offer the noblewoman to accompany them. She thinks it over and agrees, although she points out that they'll need a horse. Quint explains that that won't be an issue and checks in the bag again, but Rosania's still in smoke form.

After another hour Quint pulls Rosania out of the bag as she's finally stopped being smoke. The cart is reattatched to her and we all head off again, this time without incident.

Eventually we arrive at the gates of Hallow. The guards stop to search us due to the rumours of a war being on the horizon and as soon as they see Aiac they send us to the sheriff. The sheriff checks us all over himself but decides that we don't pose a threat and lets us in to Hallow.

Rosania wanders through the city with the others in tow, thinking back to how Javier had been during and after the building fight, as well as after both fights with Ivan. She eventually finds a building that appears to be a therapist's office, and she starts thinking about how she's going to bring it up to the others.

She makes a mental note of it and asks Inora and Javier what sort of diamonds they need to revive Jayfice. Inora explains that it's a special type of diamond that needs to be cut and refined a certain way, and that it'd probably cost about 300gp in total. Javier muses that they could probably get it from a jeweler's or the mines, and Rosania decides to head to a jeweler's shop first.

The man at the counter greets the party as they walk in, asking what they need. Unsure of what to say Rosania glances over at Javier, who reluctantly takes the lead; he explains that we'd like to buy diamonds for our dead friend. Initially the shopkeeper assumes he means a funeral gift, but when Javier specifies it's for revival purposes and Inora explains what exactly she needs, he explains that it'll take a while to order in since he'd be sourcing from another town. He has his concerns about the shipment being attacked but voices hope that another shipment would be attacked instead.

Rosania is unamused by this comment and stares at the man, who explains that that hope is from a business standpoint rather than a moral one. He says that the total would be about 500gp, prompting Rosania to ask where the extra 200gp is coming from. He asks what she means and she tells him that she was told it'd only be 300gp (although she didn't specify who told her) and he tells her that if she has a receipt of him telling her that then he'll gladly give her a discount, however he doesn't recognise anyone here so doesn't think any of them have been in this shop before.

Unamused that her question has gone unanswered, and put off by the comment about another shipment being attacked instead, Rosania decides to check out some other options first and calmly tells the shopkeeper that "We'll be in touch" before leading the way out of the shop. Javier brings up the rear, and he overhears the man muttering something about how we can't care all that much about our friend after all. As Javier walks out he remarks that the shopkeeper's an asshole, however the comment accidentally comes out at a loud volume.

The others ask Rosania where she plans to try and source the diamonds instead, and she thinks things over before telling them that the mines might be worth checking out.

Will Rosania find the diamonds needed to revive Jayfice? Does Jayfice even want to be revived anymore? What was it that attacked Quint in the forest?

We'll have to wait until next session to find out.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 21

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  This is the chapter where I deny readers a description of the wedding, and then turn around and deny them the wedding night.  Really, it has no redeeming value whatsoever, except that it advances the plot.   I’ll make it up to you next chapter - promise!

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Claire lay in the lord’s bed at Lallybroch, the warmth of her husband radiating against her back.  She could tell by his breathing that he was not asleep.  He lay perfectly still, a discrete distance separating them.

It occurred to her that Jamie was the second man with whom she’d shared this bed in the past six months, and both were her husband at the time.  She was married to a man who had not fathered the baby she carried and whom she knew only marginally better than the man who had.  She was an Englishwoman responsible for a minor Scottish estate, a nurse who had saved just one life, but that life was now tied to hers until parted by death.

Jamie had proposed using a far more pragmatic view of their circumstances, and she tried to adopt his approach.  She needed help of the exact sort that he could offer.  He had no-one, and she needed someone.  It was the least romantic reason for marriage that she could imagine, and yet just this afternoon they had stood in the village kirk and nervously recited their vows.

I, Claire Elizabeth Randall (only Jamie’s eyes had flinched), take thee, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, to be my lawfully wedded husband.

She’d worn an ivory dress in the old style, loosened slightly to allow for the gentle swelling below her waist, and clutched a posy of cowslip and thistle.  Jamie had worn his Fraser plaid, his long auburn curls gathered at his nape, his cobalt eyes fixed on her like she was the pivot point of the universe.   She’d suffered a hundred bouts of cold feet since that moment four weeks earlier when Jamie had made his hesitant, key-inspired proposal, but that one look at the altar warmed her to her toes.   She was making the right choice.

Still, the wedding had almost not taken place because of a technicality.  Jamie was, for all intents and purposes, an undocumented alien.  He had no birth certificate, no baptismal records they could reference, nothing to prove that he existed in any official capacity.   No-one could doubt he was a Scot, with his heavy burr, fluent Gaelic, and Norse pedigree written on every sharp angle of his face, but in 1943 that was not enough to seek permission to marry.

A frantic call to Ned Gowan, and a solution was proposed.  If Jamie presented himself at the Registrar’s Office in Edinburgh, he could claim to have lost his official documentation and apply for an emergency replacement.  

They drove south on a Tuesday.  Ned agreed to meet them at a tavern to describe his cleverly concocted backstory of a home birth, illiterate parents and a house fire.   The trip down the motorway had left Jamie shaken and moody, complaining about the noise and filth of the large industrial city.   Claire listened attentively to Ned and thanked him profusely for his help.   She was coming to like the cunning little lawyer.

Afterwards, it was too late to attend at the Registry.  They ate a simple meal and then Claire arranged for lodging upstairs at the tavern.   As she signed the guestbook as Mr. and Mrs. James Fraser, the tavern owner glanced at her gold wedding band (she’d yet to take it off) and swollen belly, then at Jamie’s bare left hand, and grunted.

Just inside the room, Jamie paced and glowered.  She tried to ignore him, gathering a basin of water from the common watercloset and shedding her uncomfortable shoes.  As she began to let down her hair, his pacing ceased.  He looked positively scandalized.

“Just what do ye think ye’re doing?”

“I’m getting ready for bed.  You should consider doing the same.”

“We canna sleep in the same bedchamber!  Not when we’re nae marrit.”  His voice was a low hiss, as though a priest was listening at the door.

“We’ve done so before, when you were ill.  And the purpose of this trip is so that we can be married, or had you forgotten?  Besides, we’re already registered as Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, and we cannot afford a second room.  Just take off your boots, wash up, and try not to hog all the blankets.”  She flounced onto the hard mattress, knowing she was antagonizing him, but preferring his ire to his brooding silence.

“Christ.  Claire…  Mistress Beauchamp…” he broke off, huffing like an angry bull.

“I prefer Sassenach, if you don’t mind,” she interrupted snidely.

“Tis no’ right, Claire, and ye ken it.  I willna risk yer reputation…”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie, would you listen to yourself?!  My reputation is mine to risk as I see fit, thank you very much.  This isn’t the eighteenth century, and I don’t need you to protect my honour.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she’d gone too far.  His head snapped back as though she’d struck him.

“Aye.  Ye’ve made that perfectly clear.  I canna be ought but who I am, Claire.  I’d rather ye no’ mock me fer it,” he said angrily, his eyes hardening.

“I’m not your property, James Fraser.  I took care of myself long before you were around to sermonize and disapprove of me,” she retorted.

“Do ye no’ want to be wed, then?”  Just one more step, and they would be hurtling down a route from which there would be no returning.

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Claire conceded, quieter.  She reached out a hand, trying to pull him towards her and make some sort of amends.   He ignored the gesture, tearing a blanket and a limp pillow from the bed and throwing them to the floor on the farthest side of the room.   She considered protesting, but then merely shrugged.  It wasn’t as though the bed would be much more comfortable.

“Suit yourself.   Goodnight, Jamie.”  She dimmed the oil lamp and listened to the angry scuffle of his clothing being rearranged.  

Her eyes were just beginning to droop when the darkness spoke. “I dinna like the deceit.  Lyin’ about who my parents were, where I’m from, who ye are tae me.  It curdles my gut.”

She rose up on an elbow and tried to see him through the moonlight coming through the sooty window.  “You don’t have to go through with it.  We can call off the wedding and…”

“No,” he interrupted.  “No, Sassenach.  That’s nae what I want at all.  I ken what is needed tae marry ye, an’ I’ll do it.  I just wish it werena necessary tae build something true on top of sae much falsity.”

She lay silent for so long, Jamie must have assumed she’d fallen asleep.  With a barely uttered “G’night, Sassenach,” he rolled over and did not stir until dawn.  She lay awake, watching blue shadows creep across the plaster ceiling.

A similar scene now played out in their marital bed, except this time she was fairly certain Jamie was watching the shadows with her.  She could feel tension radiating off him like radio waves.  An unexpected brush against her shoulder made her jump.  She peered backwards, watching Jamie rise to loom over her in his nightshirt, the whorls of his chest hair peering through the open collar.  A shiver ran through her like an approaching storm.

“Ye needn’t be afraid of me, Claire.  I wasna planning to suddenly force myself on ye.”

“I never thought you would,” she responded honestly.  Of all the musings that kept her awake on her wedding night, having to manage the advances of a suddenly amorous bridegroom did not factor.   Jamie had never treated her with anything but the utmost decorum.  Even when the priest had invited him to kiss his new bride earlier today, he had done little more than carefully press his dry lips to hers for a breathless second, before pulling back and tucking his chin to his chest, grinning bashfully.

“I ken ye may have… questions,” Jamie continued.  “About how we shall get on as husband and wife.  And I’ll do what I can tae answer them fer ye.  But fer now, fer t’night, wi’ the bairn and all that’s happened tae ye…  Did ye want me tae sleep in my room?  Leave ye in peace?”

“This is your room now.  I want you to sleep here.   Everything else, we can work out later.”

“Aye.  T’morrow.  And all the days after that.  G’night then, Sassenach.”  He settled back against the pillows.

“Goodnight, Jamie.”

[noncommited-writer]

Highschool au! peter is a shy, Star wars and decathlon nerd who gets A+ and had few friends and tony stark captain of the football team, popular and also smart. they are dating and the school loves them. tony sees flash bullying peter.

Oh jesus I'm sorry this took so long! I have no excuse, I just had writer's block and wasn't sure on how to write this thing down. But here you go!! I hope you haven't forgotten you sent in the ask😅

-

“Parker!” Peter jumps in his place in front of his locker, a smile curling his lips as he covers his face with the locker door. “Don’t stand there and pretend that you’re not hiding from your boyfriend.”

Peter peeks out from behind the metal, watching Tony lean against the locker next to his, blushing when he throws a wink his way. A gentle hand covers his and even when the team captain leans in to place a soft kiss on his lips, his smile doesn’t go away.

“You had a good time last night?” Tony mumbles against his lips, pushing back Peter slightly so their intimate moment is covered by the open locker. Peter nods, teeth biting down on his lip to stop the adorable giggle—god, does Tony love that giggle—from escaping, and Tony steps closer in his space to press their foreheads together, a moment of serenity and tenderness as they stare deep into each other’s eyes.

Some bitter teachers in their school may call it high school puppy love, but students know better. No one in their school has ever seen a couple so in love with each other, yet also act like an old married couple who have the other’s back. They’re a match made in heaven, ready to pull through for the other at a moment’s notice. People see them share affection in the school hallways—yet, somehow it isn’t as gross but more sweet—spend free periods in the library, and they always see one of them cheering on the other at their competitions. Tony is the loudest to cheer when Peter wins the decathlon competitions, and Peter makes the most obnoxious poster boards for everyone to see at Tony’s football matches. They even see Tony joining in on the conventions Peter and his friends go to. The last year’s school year book named them ‘Couple Most Likely To Get Married’.

“Yeah, your mom was really happy to see me, huh?” Peter says. Tony laughs softly against his lips, “She’s always happy to see you. She asked if you liked the lasagne she made.”

“I haven’t gotten to that yet. It was heavenly. Can I ask for the recipe? Aunt May could learn a thing or two from her,” Peter says. Tony purses his lips, “Well, May isn’t that bad at cooking—”

“Oh shut up. You spat out her date loaf the first time you came over.” Peter smiles, and Tony melts. God, what he wouldn’t do for him.

“Also, did you finish up the part I told you to?” Peter asks. Tony waves a hand, “Yeah, the last five pages of the thesis. I read the first part of it. It was absolutely brilliant, babe. I’m sure Mr. Johnson will give your part an A.”

Peter flushes under the praise but he shakes his head, “But your research on the nanotechnology was even better. I’m pretty sure I was breathing heavily at the end of reading it. All the science gets me hot and bothered.”

Tony laughs, brushing their noses together, “Is that so?” A hand sneaks behind Peter and slides up his shirt, thumb brushing the skin with feather-light brushes. Peter’s throat closes up, his eyes going glossy, and a smirk forms on Tony’s handsome face; an aching urge for Peter rising within him. “We make a great team, don’t we?”

Peter snorts, “If you count making out every twenty minutes during our work productive, then yeah, we make the best team.”

“You and Ned still having that Star Wars marathon tonight?” Peter hums. “Wanna join?”

“Nah, I’d be taking away your friend bonding time. Besides I still have to fix Butterfingers’ UI. He ran into a pillar in my lab. And damaged his CPU.”

“Okay, but meet me after school for lunch, alright?” Tony nods and places a quick peck to Peter’s flushed cheek, just in time for the school bell to ring. They pull away, dopey grins on both their faces.

Peter shuts his locker door, walking in the opposite way down the hall to get to their respective classes.

--

Peter is walking down the school halls, earbuds—that Tony manufactured for Peter himself—plugged into his ears. School was over but apparently Tony got into trouble for exploding something in the chemistry lab, which—Peter wonders how is that even possible, they were doing a simple gas test—led to Tony getting sent to the Principal’s office. So, he’s waiting for his boyfriend to come back from his lecture on ‘endangering the students’.

Peter snorts at the thought; everything that Tony does is a calculated risk (he’s a genius like that), he wouldn’t have played with explosions if he knew it’d hurt a classmate.

Although—Peter frowns—Tony doesn’t have that same caution when it comes to himself. Peter will have to ask if he sustained any injury from the explosion, because Tony isn’t the type to disclose his own pains and struggles.

He takes out his phone, ready to shoot a text out to his boyfriend.

“Penis!”

Peter freezes for a moment, inwardly groaning. Flash. For the life of him, Peter can’t really think of a reason to why Flash keeps taunting and teasing him. They have been in the same school, class, and even co-curricular activities for about half of Peter’s life. He doesn’t get why Flash always has it out for him; Tony says it’s a defense mechanism for his insecurities. Peter see reason; there’s no absolute reason for Flash to be insecure because of him.

“What do you want, Flash?” He slowly turns around, a resigned look on his face. The teenager in his polo—with that collar always turned up in a douchebaggy way—and the sweater tied around his neck, saunters up to Peter, that same sneer on his face.

“I was in that lab with your boyfriend and wow, you know to pick ‘em. Guy was being reckless.”

“Nuh uh, I’m not doing this today, Flash. This is a good day for me, don’t ruin it.” Peter rolls his eyes.

“Look, your dickwad of a boyfriend could’ve gotten me killed!” Flash says, a somewhat worried glint in his eye.

“Tony wouldn’t have done it if he knew someone would get hurt.”

“Well, he did it anyways! And he nearly burned my face off!”

“What, did he hurt you? Or anyone in the lab?” Peter asked, ready to walk away from this and just move on. It’s a waste of both their time.

“That’s not the point. It’s that your boyfriend is stupid and reckless enough that he even tried it in the first place!”

A warm flush goes up his neck, his Spider-sense going off, “Don’t you dare say that about Tony.”

Flash scoffs, his eyes rolling, “Oh come on. Your boyfriend is so entitled that he thinks he can pull that off because what, his dad a billionaire? And can easily get him off?”

Peter’s fingers twitches, an itch to wrap it into a fist quickly overwhelming him. Tony rarely talks about his dad but when he does, it’s usually during three a.m. conversations over the phone when Tony is crying or boiling in anger. Peter knows they don’t have the best relationship—borderline abusive, Peter would say—so it irks him when Flash brings him up as if he has a right.

“You don’t know anything, Flash. Mind your own business.”

“Stark is an entitled dick who thinks he owns the school.”

“You’re describing yourself at this point!”

“He’s selfish and doesn’t even care if he endangers students which you—” Flash points a finger in his face, “—should be ashamed of.”

Flash stares at him, doing a once over on Peter. “As if you’re any better. I bet your boy toy got you that dumb Stark Internship only because you sleep with him.”

Peter feels a flash of hot anger—only a split second but it’s enough—and he steps into Flash’s space, hands coming up to shove him, not holding back. Flash stumbles, eyes wide, not expecting that strength from the lanky teenager.

“Shut up,” Peter hisses, eyes a flurry of emotion.

“What is going on here?”

They both turn to see Tony in the middle of the hallway, eyes flying between the two of them. Both of them close their mouths with a click. He takes a moment to let his gaze stay on Flash, something flickering between those depths of brown. His face is impossible to read when he walks over to them, each movement graceful and assured; confident. Peter and Flash are transfixed, quiet and staring.

Their reactions are no surprise. Tony Stark has the power to bring a room to complete silence just with his presence. He can even shut Flash up, which is usually no easy feat.

Once he’s within touching distance, Tony takes Peter in—wide eyes, furrowed brows, mouth clamped in a thin line, and shoulders set straight with tension. Not sparing a glance to the other person in the conversation, he mumbles, “Can you repeat what you said, Flash?”

The teenager breaks out of his stupor. He keeps quiet, all bravado now dust, uncertainty clouding his eyes. At his silence, Tony snaps his head towards him, face blank but eyes piercing, “Tell me. What. You. Said.”

“I don’t think we really need to—”

There's movement in the air, within a second, Tony is in Flash’s space, hands hoisting him up to his face by his polo collar, breathing heavily and eyes wild. His knuckles are white, barely containing the anger bubbling inside him. “And I think, that you have no fucking right to dig yourself into others’ business.”

Flash squeaks, face fearful. He’s like a mouse, his arrogance gone and in its place is cowardice, shivering under Tony Stark’s hateful, burning gaze. Peter is just standing there, unsure of what to do. A part of him revels in how protective Tony is, another whispers to him he should stop Tony.

“If you think you can get away from saying my boyfriend sleeps with me for a fucking internship, I’ll make your life fucking miserable, do you understand?”

Both Peter’s and Flash’s eyes go wide.

“I’ll make sure you’ll never get an internship in any company, make sure you’ll never walk the school’s halls without anyone talking shit about you behind your back. I can make your life a living hell.”

Flash swallows hard, sweat forming on his forehead and nose. He’s shaking, Peter notices. When Flash looks over to him for help, the fear in his eyes is what startles Peter.

“Tony, stop.” His boyfriend doesn’t say anything, still holding onto Flash. Peter takes a step forward, hand reaching out to press into Tony’s lower back, reaching under his denim jacket and shirt to caress his skin. It’s warm, like the anger is coursing throughout his whole body. He leans into him and mumbles, “Stop.”

Tony takes one last look at Flash, one last furious and scornful glance, and drops him like a sack of potatoes, “I’ll find out if you say shit like that to Peter. So I suggest you stop that bullshit right now.”

Flash takes a few steps back, keen on getting out of there as fast as he can. But he stops, and takes a moment to gape at the picture before him. It’s the image of both of them, Tony standing there in all his power and rage—like the ruthless businessman he’ll be in the future—then there’s Peter, who’s whispering sweet nothings into his ear and caressing him softly to calm him down.

For a split second, Flash feels both utterly terrified and in awe of them. Because what he sees are two people who can rule the world some day, who fit perfectly and work together like a well-oiled machine. He won’t be surprised if they turn out to be the world’s power couple. With Tony who’s willing to do anything for Peter, and Peter who’s willing to stand up for his Tony even at the cost of himself.

For a split second, they look like the most powerful king and queen to exist.

But Flash quickly shakes that thought out of his mind, and respectfully nods, getting Tony’s message. He quickly gets out of there, walking away to lick his ego’s wounds.

Tony turns around to face Peter, worry etched into his features. “Are you okay?” he asks, his hands coming up to cradle Peter’s cheeks. The teenager nods, melting in his hold, his own hands wrapping themselves around Tony’s waist. “I’m fine.”

Tony places a sweet kiss on his forehead, taking in the scent of his hair and warmth. “I’m pretty sure you made Flash shit his pants.”

Tony is silent for a moment before he chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, won’t be surprised.”

Peter smiles, feeling the calloused and protective hands on his face, and mumbles, “Let’s go for lunch. I’m hungry.”

“Okay, baby. Sub Haven or Delmar’s?”

“Let’s go Delmar’s, don’t feel like shoving too much bread in my mouth.”

“You’d usually take a lot in your mouth, though.”

Peter sighs dramatically, faking exasperation.

“I won’t if you keep up with those sex jokes.”

Tony laughs, carefree and loose.

“Alright, alright.”

-

[duckbeater]

Courtship, pt. 2

Writing about happiness is very difficult and boring. The below are some small attempts I’ve made to write through my happiness. My small, important readership deserves an update, says my brother, whose sensibilities have only rarely steered me catastrophically wrong.

I AM BUYING CHAMPAGNE TO CELEBRATE MY LOVER

Today’s the last day of his job and he’s throwing himself a little party. In September he begins med school and in the next month he’ll put his affairs in order, readying for the big move. I have the sense that tonight begins our diminuendo, despite his staying over last night and spit-fucking me, and I’ll surely stay over tonight, after the many champagne toasts to his prosperous life ahead. 

We’ve started sleeping as two spoons embracing chest to chest, with our faces tucked awkwardly in a neck or an armpit. Of course I wake up gasping, my mouth sucking after a less hot pocket of air, and turn, and enjoy that he pulls me tightly back to him. He’s a heavy sleeper and I’m a light sleeper, and our bedding situation resembles something like a rock in a tumbler with my rolling over and over and over again, arising too early, wildly underslept, shining with sweat, but ecstatic that we’ve touched all night long. I’m attending his celebration in a sleep deficit that I’ve covered with caffeine and a long, soulful run beside the lake. I’ve been thinking about us a lot. 

He wouldn’t call himself my lover, I think, but I’m hoping the expensiveness of the champagne I’m bringing will convince friends in attendance that that’s what we are. I’m hoping my largesse goes noticed and commented on—that it’s interpreted as my being in love with him, and that his peers compel him, by either fretting over my largesse, or pitying me for it, or anyway finding it impressive or amusing or tender or charming—that they tell this young man I’m adoring him and I’m adoring him well. That my adoration seems steadfast and considered. And despite the riskiness of the circumstances (our differences in age, the widening gulf in distance, a sometimes depleting lack of shared cultural references), when we are together I feel comfort and joy. This must be obvious to him without the expensive champagne. I’m always saying it out loud, or anyway variants on the theme of “comfort and joy,” like a seasonal blessing, a profusion of blessings, needing remarked upon. I’m seriously afraid I mother him.

“Let us take in the scene,” I have said before, “let us only observe for the moment my sitting in your lap, your hands on my neck, my constant kisses. What joy!”

He’s done something to my sense of my proportion, and also my prose style. I can’t seem to describe our relationship without slipping into the sardonic, recursive, mildly-institutionalized voice of Robert Walser, a writer I find too cute by half. I’m finding my life too cute by half, I fear. If this is what happiness feels like, I don’t really want much more of it. It’s making me stupid. “People will think that pain has made you stupid,” wrote Walser, a statement that comes back to me when I can’t distinguish between the good times and bad times making me an idiot.

AFTER THE SPIT-FUCKING

We stayed up late talking about what it means to say goodbye to people who don’t know you’ve cared for them. I don’t pretend this conversation had subtext. For the last two years, he’s worked with profoundly disabled people, first as a case worker and then, after the pandemic closed the campus and made that job “nonessential,” as a nursing assistant on the same floor. 

He spent months feeding, changing, bathing and bedding non-ambulatory children and adults. Most cannot speak, a few cannot see, and none can walk, of course. It is a world I’ve rarely thought about—indeed, a world many of us rarely consider, because in its theater of human need are scenes of unremitting hopelessness. It is a languageless suffering and it perdures. I can become very mystified, very shallow-breathed thinking about his care for these souls, however quick he’s been to dissuade me from romanticizing or elevating his ministrations. “One of my verbal residents tells me to fuck myself all the time,” he’s noted. Still, I would point out that birth defects and accidents account for a small percentage of his caseloads’ impairments, and that active neglect and abuse perpetrated intentionally by former guardians (or unwittingly by the American healthcare complex) have hobbled his charges for life. I don’t like hearing stories about choked babies and toddlers left so long in beds their soft bones grow slab-wise, so I’ve asked him, coward that I am, to please skip origins if he’s entering an otherwise benign workaday anecdote.  

His most patient complaint: using his iPhone to FaceTime parents who want to see their son, then listening to one-sided conversations, burbling, giggles, tears, even story-time. His campus closed to all guardians—a devastating precaution. “Don’t send anything xrated today,” he’d text, and I’d know he was hosting a reunion. So I’d keep my clothes on. And he’d answer the phone from an immediately weeping seventy-year-old mother saying, to her forty-year-old son, “Why good evening, Max, good evening. This is your mother. Hi, baby. Hi. I love you. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. I am sorry I cannot touch you, I cannot hold you, I cannot be with you in this time, but you are my Max, and I am your mother. And I love you always. You can hear me and I’m gonna tell you all about my week, okay? And then I’m gonna ask Scotty here how you’ve spent your week, okay?” He said he usually cries on these calls and when I asked why, he said, “Because it seems polite?” And I pressed harder and he said, “Because I get to—I get to connect these people who have missed each other so much, and it’s so sad. They haven’t touched in months. They might not touch this year. My phone sometimes runs out of battery. It’s so weird.”

I’ve asked him whether families are happy to be rid of their incredible dependents and he said that by and large families are miserable to give over members to the institution: that age arbitrates the giving. “A mother and father have a baby at twenty-five. They can care for him well into their fifties—their twenty-five-year-old, their thirty-year-old son. But when these parents enter their sixties? Their seventies? They can’t lift an adult male. They can’t bathe him or change him. Even basic nutrition gets hard. Meal prep is tiring. It’s long. They start to lose track of medications, and they have medications themselves, you know? So the situation gets very difficult and if they want to live, and if they want him to live, they feel like they have to give him up.”

We’re at the point now where intimacy is a given. He doesn’t swallow, but brings me to orgasm, taking me in his mouth and then dribbles it, I guess, my cum, back onto my stomach, apologizing with a flushed red smirk. “I hate that,” he says, “I really hate it.”

“Go ahead, eat it,” I say, joking.

He gives me dark eyes and showily palms the wad into the black pillowcase behind my head.

“Holy Christ!” I yell. “The nerve! The pluck! The audacity!”

There must be a phase in relationships when extracting intimacies—not only of the “terrible things I did in high school”-vein, or the “times I cheated”-vein, or the “unwittingly right wing ideologies I support”-vein—that close couples endeavor. Where you’re always compulsively revelatory, to seem as interesting as you did in early courtship, as erotically forward and emotionally captivating. We’re in that moment and we surprise one another with small tributes as befits that level of affection.

One of the intimacies I proffered is that I’m going through a religious re-awakening, a need for ritual and sacraments. He finds this funny. (I find it embarrassing.) Yet one of his duties has been wheeling charges to his building’s Tuesday Mass, and then helping to administer the Eucharist. I don’t think he in fact touches the host (I don’t think many in his care can safely take of the host; “I’m mostly there in case anyone seizes,” he said), but he did slip a large wafer away for me and now it’s in my apartment, among my candles, possibly growing mold. He asks me when I’m going to eat it and I tell him around Christmas. 

(That was a lie. I’ll eat it when our romance is over, to consecrate the time we had.)

“I eat it,” I say, and he glowers.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT A MYSTERY SURROUNDING MY FAVORITE AUTHOR

Norman Rush. For a decade and better I’ve wondered about the long dedication in Mating, whose last lines read, “...and to the memory of my father, and to my lost child, Liza.” The novel, set in Botswana and borrowing heavily from Rush’s time there as director in the Peace Corps, suggests that perhaps Liza died in Africa or was born still. She goes unmentioned in his Paris Review interview, in subsequent novels, short stories, and reviews. There’s no hint of Liza’s fate. (As I edit this, I recall a phrase in Mortals, the narrator’s idea that “children exposed you to hellmouth, which was the opening of the mouth of hell right in front of you.” Explaining further: “[I]t was the grandmother, the daughter, the granddaughter tumbling through the air, blown out of the airplane by a bomb, the three generations falling and seeing one another fall, down, down, onto the Argolid mountains. With children you created more thin places in the world for hellmouth to break through.” And then, in Subtle Bodies, Rush describes a wayward teen boy, whose angry and aggressive behavior corresponds exactly to Rush’s own troubled teen son. In fact, Subtle Bodies is about the decision to have children at all. Nina follows Ned to a funeral, to fuck him. So, Rush has indeed remarked on children and strife, as he has lived it. Anyhow—) Yet by accident I listened to an old Fresh Air interview where Rush is asked to comment on the aspect of family in his novels, and to clarify that inscription. 

“I have a daughter who is now thirty,” he says, “who was born with diffuse brain atrophy and has been institutionalized for many years. Um. But I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“What was her condition?” presses his interlocutor.

“She is uh profoundly retarded,” pauses, “and will be so.”

“So you feel she is lost to you?”

“Yes. There is no recognition possible between her and us.”

I reproduced this exchange from notes on my phone. Scotty replied, “I don’t think that’s right, actually. Maybe between her and—who—who was it?”

“Norman Rush and his daughter Liza.”

He said, “Maybe between Liza and her dad—yeah, maybe she was so disabled she couldn’t recognize him. I take care of men like that. But I recognize them.”

We were talking about important books at all (I mean that semi-seriously) because his co-worker had gifted him three works, including a volume of Yeats’ complete poetry.

“Why did Paco give you Yeats?” I asked.

“He thinks I need more poetry,” said Scotty.

(Frankly I have felt and still feel sexual jealousy against Paco, who recently got brilliant red and black knee tattoos of spider webs. Like, Spider-Man spiderwebs, covering both kneecaps. Every few weeks he cooks a large meal for Scotty, and they talk about life until 4 A.M. drunk on bourbon, immobilized by edibles, full and warm and caring, and it makes me mad. It makes me mad, because I can’t really see the point of staying up until the uncomfortable small hours between 2 and 5 unless there is sex involved, but Paco is straight, a father, an excellent chef, a dedicated friend, and so my grousing is a kind of unwarranted possession that baffles me into silence on the matter.)

I didn’t have anything intelligent left to say about Norman Rush. I groped along a narrow thought, however, a thin ledge. “You know—a novelist, especially a novelist as concerned with language and comprehension as Norman Rush, would feel particularly devastated by the condition of his daughter. He would see it as ironic and then as punitive and again as senseless—supporting his comforting regime of a militant atheism.”

Although very sober, I recited the first stanza of The Second Coming, tripping over two lines (but the best lines), saying, “The worst lack all conviction, while the best/Are full of passionate intensity.”

“What?” said Scotty.

“I just—that was Yeats.”

“Who?”

“Go ahead and tell your boy Paco that your hot fuck gave you a teach on William. Butler. Yeats.”

“What?” said Scotty. He grinned at me. He got up and ate a yogurt.

[avenging-criminal-bones]

Promises

Irondad & Spiderson (PLATONIC)

Word Count: 1669

Summary: Peter gets himself into trouble and this time Tony isn’t there to help him. 

Warnings: angst, whump, some fluff ish stuff

* * * * * 

"Tell me again why I should allow you to go without me?" Tony had finally stopped fiddling with his reactors long enough to know Peter was serious.

Peter sighs and sits down in a swivel chair, rolling it over to sit by Tony. The boyish grin that he wears after a second of thinking makes Tony's heart flutter, but he's careful not to let his emotions show on his face.

"Okay. Just hear me out before you yell about how it's irresponsible and such. Okay?" Peter rushes the words out, not wanting his mentor to interrupt him.

"If you already think that's what I'm going to say then why is it even a question?" Tony snarks, but doesn't argue. "Okay kid. I'll listen first. Just don't say anything stupid."

Peter's face lit up with a smile. "Mr. Stark. Captain America and Hawkeye want me to come on a mission with them! So did Black Widow. She was there too!" He was practically bouncing of the walls in excitement. However Tony's face fell with his shock.

"What? They shouldn't even know who you are!" Tony starts to stand, but Peter holds his hands in front of him and he pauses and sits back down. "Yeah, yeah. I said I'd listen."

"Mr. Stark. I was patrolling and they were there. And Steve- Captain America walked up to me and said. 'I need you're number, there's a mission.'" Peter tried to deepen his voice to sound like Cap's, but ended up sounding like failed Batman.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "You gave him the number."

"I gave him the number!" Peter confirms immediately. "And my name... Please, can I go?" Peter flashes his best wounded puppy look and waits for the inevitable... Tony cracking.

Apparently Tony knows that that's the drill too, because he shakes his head and tries to look away. He can't bring himself to do it. He lets out the loudest sigh known to man and nods a little, "Fine. You can go. But only if you promise not to die."

Crossing his hand over his chest, Peter holds the other one up. "I solemnly swear I am up to not dying." His cheeky smile is calming Tony's nerves a little, but not completely.

"Good, because if you die I'm going to resurrect you just so I can kill you for dying. Got it?" Tony thinks for a second and the realization flashes across his face. "Wait... did you say you told them your name?! Peter!" Tony looks down with a look that can only be described as, 'what the hell were you thinking?'

"Thanks Mr. Stark! Gotta run, sorry." He stands fast and is rushing out as quickly as he rushed in. In his hurry he trips over the swivel chair and tumbles to the ground. He is still smiling brightly, "I'm good!"

Now however, he was not good. He was anything but good. He couldn't think about that right now though, because Steve's voice cut into the comms.

"Status report. Everyone. Now." His voice sounded firm and calm at the same time.

Clint is the first to answer, "East wing in clear. Heading to the basement now to check on Spidey." Peter closed his eyes in relief and started to drift off. If he thought about the situation he was in right now everything would go to shit. He pictured Tony next to him and saying 'language' just to her Steve's sigh over the comms.

Except Tony wasn't here. Peter needed to get out of this himself. The second time a building had collapsed on him. He has experience with it now, but he couldn't act on it. He was at a total disadvantage. The angle he was sprawled out in did absolutely nothing to help him get leverage. And the metal pipe through his stomach didn't seem to help his leverage either.

He didn't realize that all of those thoughts had been in the span of a few seconds, but when Natasha cut him off to give her status report, he snapped back into reality.

A few grunts came through the mic before her voice. "West wing is secured. Do you need help downstairs Clint?"

"No, I should be fine. I'll let you know if that changes." Peter could hear Hawkeye's footsteps overhead, but eventually his own heartbeat drowned them out.

His breaths were coming to shallow. Too fast. Just like homecoming night. He was trapped. He was going to break his promise to Mr. Stark. "No, no, no, no. This can't... I-I. No." He forgot about the comms. Forgot that he hadn't given his status. Squeezing his eyes closed tight he tries to breathe.

Mr. Start taught him a method. He needs to do it, but he just can't seem to remember what it was. Oh!

One... two... three... four...

Four... three... two... one...

Forwards and backwards. In and out. In... Out...

Finally he feels grounded. It's almost like there are hands keeping him steady, just like how MR. Stark would do it.

In, out. In, out. In. out.

"Wait. I wasn't... Who?" Peter opens his eyes and sees three avengers staring down at him.

"Peter, what the hell happened?" Clint was the first to speak to him. Peter looked around and saw that Steve was the one who had been counting for him.

He tries to shake his head, but the action sends nausea through him. "Dizzy." The only word he mutter before his body went lax.

"-eter? Peter!" This time it was Nat's hands on his shoulder. And apparently Nat's palm on his face when he is slapped awake. When she sees that his eyes have opened she frowns a little, "Sorry kid."

In the second that he was out, Steve and Clint had apparently moved the top piece of rubble and gotten to the real problem.

A wince finds its way onto Steve's face and he is quick to hide it, but not quick enough for Peter to miss.

"It's really bad isn't it?" He feels his head start to get foggy and his voice sound weak. "I'm gonna die here."

All three of them are quickly shaking their heads, but Steve is the one to speak. "No." He sees the doubt on Peter's face and tries again, firmer this time. "No. Parker you listen to me. "You are not going to die, but you need to stay awake. Okay?"

Peter looks into Steve's eyes and finds that he trusts them almost as much as Tony's. "O-Okay."

"Good. Now Nat, go get the jet and call Cho. Tell her to set up Medbay." When she stands to leave she brushes hair off of Peter's face and Steve continues. "Okay, Clint. You and I are going to start moving the small rubble until we can get Peter without disrupting the rod."

"Aye-aye Cap." Clint has a newfound responsibility to him that Steve had never seen. He makes a mental note to ask about that later.

Peter cries out and his whole body tenses when the blocks around him shift and press against the rod at a new angle. "Ah! H-Hurts." He tries to keep himself steady by lifting off the ground with one arm, but it twists him in a weird way.

"Cap, we need to hurry, he won't be able to hold it for long." Clint's voice was soft, hoping Peter couldn't hear, but knowing that he could.

"I know. I've got him." Steve moved the last block that was preventing him and he lifted Peter gently.

As soon as they got Peter into the jet, Natasha was high tailing it back to the tower. "Cap. Cho had Medbay set up before I even hung up the phone. I told her not to tell Tony though. We don't need him to be calling every second while you and Clint help Peter right now." She holds the same air of authority that Steve does, surprising all of them.

"Yes, Widow." Clint mutters as he sits next to Peter. "Okay kid. Why don't you tell me how school was yesterday."

Even though Peter knew he was only asking to keep him awake, he felt tingles that and Avenger cared. "Same old. N-Ned and I got sh-shoved into lockers again." He pauses and squeeze his eyes shut for a second, but they don't open again.

The next time Peter regains consciousness, he's watching the walls of the compound speed by him. "No. No, I need Tony. Where's Tony?!" His voice grows louder with every word and he tries to sit up and look but something stops him and pushes him back down. It must have been delirium. He was alone. He died. He broke his promise.

"Hey, I'm here. It's me Underoos. I've got ya. Just stay still." Tony.

Tony was there.

"D-Dad?" Tony doesn't answer, not sure if he's fully aware. He just waits to see what the kid will say next. "I-I'm sorry I b-broke my pr-promise."

"Shh, no. It's okay kid. You didn't break your promise. You're going to be just fine." He notices the kid's eyes drooping and squeezes his hand. "You can go to sleep, Peter. We'll all be here when you wake up."

Peter listened easily, his eyes falling shut for the third time that night.

Tony didn't lie either. Didn't just say the words to comfort Peter. When he woke up, Tony was sitting right there. His head was on the hospital bed and he was gripping Peter's hand gently.

Peter groaned as he opened his eyes. Right away though he snapped them shut and Tony must have waken up, because Peter hears, "FRIDAY, lights at 25%."

"Thank's Mr. Stark." Peter kept his eyes closed though.

Tony didn't know why, but his chest deflated a little bit when Peter said, 'Mr. Stark'. Whatever. It doesn't matter. What matters is that his kid is safe and sound.

"Anytime Spider-Kid."

"Man." Peter mumbles in his sluggish tone.

[7deadlycinderellas]

I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry 4/4

Ao3 link

Jon barely manages to arrive the day before the wedding, and Arya doesn’t even get to see him until early in the morning the day of.

Arya’s up with the sun because of nerves. When the handmaid comes to fetch her, she feels like her stomach might boil over.

Mother had the maids draw her a bath in her solar, and she scrubs every inch of her skin to the handmaid and her mother’s standard. Once she’s dried off, Sansa comes to join them.

They help her dress, even though she’s been handling that by herself for so many years. First her chemise, smallclothes, all of soft linen, and then her stockings.

Then they laid over it, her gown, fine soft wool with trailing sleeves and a round neckline. The cloak knots over her throat, protecting it from the cold.

Sansa is combing out her hair when the words start spilling from Arya’s mouth.

“What if we marry and he decides he wants a proper lady as his wife? What if I’m so awful at everything I just end up embarrassing us both? What if-”

Catelyn cuts her off with a pin pressed roughly to her scalp.

“Arya, given my own perspective on our entire failure to curb your less ladylike behavior, I can safely say that Gendry has no right to say he doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

That only does a bit to settle the butterflies in Arya’s stomach.

Butterflies that can barely touch the level of the ones Gendry is experiencing right now.

His clothing requires far less preparation than hers, so he has far more time to pace and mutter and think of even more things that could go wrong. He doesn’t voice too many of them, not to Ned or Robb, or Bran when he sticks his head in to offer to help. Still after all of this, he doesn’t feel right sharing these doubts with anyone who isn’t Arya.

Arya’s finished and merely biding her time, when there’s a knock.

Her heart swells when Jon sticks his head in and asks if he can have a minute alone with her.

When he steps forward, Arya is suddenly self-conscious. There’s a swooping realization that she comes up to his chin now. He stares at her for a moment, before chuckling, and moving in to hug her. She can’t help herself, lets out a tiny squeal and launches herself into his arms.

“I was so scared they wouldn’t let you leave,” she admits against his chest.

“I was too,” he admits, “I was worried you would be scared and need someone to whisk you off over the wall and I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Arya sniffs.

“It’s alright. I don’t think you need to.”

Her face pulls itself into a strange expression. She’s not sure how to describe it, and Jon has never seen it on her face before.

Jon steps back, his hands still on her shoulders.

“Seven hells Arya,” he says, breathless, “Do you actually want to get married?”

Arya’s face flushes deeply, but she doesn’t let it affect her speech. Her embarrassment has no place here.

“He’s a good man, Jon,” she says quietly, “He’s my friend. But, these people that they want us to become once we are married...neither of us feel like we can do it, we’re both terrified. And I don’t know if we’ll be enough.”

“Arya,” Jon tells her, patting her head, but trying for once not to muss her astonishingly neat hair, “You were one of the bravest little girls I’ve ever met. I doubt the years I’ve been gone have changed that. There’s no challenge I don’t think you can face. And if Gendry is your friend like you say- I don’t doubt it, you could always make friends- then you should be able to lean on each other to make it easier.”

He claps her shoulders twice again.

“Speaking of Gendry, I should go give him an extra dose of brotherly terror.”

“Please don’t,” Arya asks, “he’s nice, I swear, even if you probably won’t believe it when you meet him.”

Jon chuckles, “I make no promises.”

Once he leaves, Sansa and Catelyn return to help her finish up. She even lets Sansa powder her face, even though the puff makes her sneeze.

Before she knows it, a maid sticks her head in to tell them they're ready.

Margaery comes to fetch Sansa back, and she takes a moment to congratulate Arya. She leans in close enough to her ear that Catelyn can’t hear.

“I’d bet you’re faster than every single man here. You should use that to your advantage, though once you’re back in your chambers, there’s no need to rush.”

She leaves before it hits Arya what she’s talking about, so she shakes it off. She’s nervous enough as it is.

Eventually Ned comes to retrieve her from Catelyn, and they make their way to the Godswood.

Arya had not relented on this during planning. While Catelyn had made sure that all her children raised knowing the faith of the seven, Arya had always kept the old gods. She was of the north, and so would be her wedding. Gendry had shrugged, never having been a man of faith himself.

Though, the officiant is still the wizened old Septon from the town.

Arya’s mind drifts during the ceremony. She’s never thought much of the vows. She always preferred the sound of the southern vows. But when Gendry wraps her in his heavy, fur lined cloak, it fits her shoulders and she feels warm and content.

As they kneel to pray, she meets Gendry’s blue eyes, which are crinkling at the corners with a smile, a smile that she realizes is mirrored on her own face.

The kiss isn’t strictly necessary, but she sneaks it anyway.

And then there’s applause and yelling, Arya just barely being able to make out the faces of her family, and the two of them are lost in the crowd.

The feast begins, and the food and drink flows, and Arya reaches under the table to find Gendry’s hand and squeeze it. They are greeted by an endless number of people with an endless line of congratulations.

Between eating bits of her venison, Arya whispers to Gendry.

“If we even hear a hint of the word ‘bedding’, we’re going to run,”

She nods towards the exit, which is at least unblocked.

Gendry’s eyes are wide.

“I thought that was a joke? Highborns really do that?”

Arya snorts.

“Definitely not a joke, so unless you want nearly every woman in this hall trying to get a grab of your naked self, I suggest you follow my lead.”

He squeezes her hand tighter after that.

Arya gazes out on the dance floor once the music begins. Dancing is far from being the worst of the womanly arts she’d been taught, if it weren’t for all the stupid ettiquette rules, she might actually enjoy it. But it’s her wedding, so she gets the prerogative just to sit here and watch.

Off to one side, she watches Sansa and Margaery dancing, hands clasped, less than an arm’s length apart. Arya’s chest pulls tight watching, she hopes Sansa took her advice. Her sister deserves to be happy as much as she does.

Eventually though, the drink keeps flowing and the chatter quiets, and Arya hears one of her father’s older bannerman slam his mug on a table and begin to stand.

Arya seizes Gendry’s hand, standing abruptly.

“Follow my lead.”

Because if there’s one thing Arya knows she can do very well, it is run. And she does, full speed. Gendry never drops her hand and stays behind her, never once holding them back.

By the time they reach her chambers, and Arya bolts the door behind them, they’re both panting and out of breath.

Arya pats the bolt as Gendry sits on the end of her bed. Once she’s sure it’s locked, she sits beside him.

“We might get a few lingering outside, but I don’t think any of my family will let them start shouting suggestions like they do sometimes…”

And Arya remembers why they’re here. They’re married, and her bed will, for tonight, be their marriage bed. Her stomach lurches and her skin tingles with a combination of nerves and anticipation.

Gendry’s cheeks have become very red and he’s rubbing the back of his neck and she suspects he’s having the same thoughts.

Just as Arya clears her throat, Gendry opens his mouth and lets out an “erm.” She chuckles.

“The kissing felt nice,” Arya starts, quiet as a mouse, “We could just start there and see where it goes.”

Gendry nods, a little too quickly, and reaches for her hand again.

His lips do feel nice still, and his hand in hers feels nice too. His hand leaves hers and slowly makes its way up her arm to her neck. With a deep breath, Arya lets her eyes fall closed. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, so she lets them sit on Gendry’s doublet.

He pulls back for a moment, and Arya plays with the fastener on the front of the garment.

“Can I?” she asks. Gendry swallows roughly, and then nods. Her hands undo the fasteners quickly, before she loses nerve, and pushes the leather from his arms.

He still has his undershirt on, but it seems like a line has been crossed and kissing him again when they’re done is easier.

After a moment, Gendry’s hands begin to fumble at her back. Arya’s confused until his voice says, “erm, you’re going to have to help me.”

“Oh,” she says, reaching back and twisting, “There’s a string tucked back here somewhere…”

She feels him pull the wrong side, and stretches, “not that one, that just makes it tighter-” but eventually, her wiggling manages to get the ties pulled loose, and the top of her dress pools around her hips.

She stands up and pushes it further to the floor. Standing like this, undressed, with Gendry’s eyes locked on her, makes her feel strangely powerful. She takes a deep breath, and with a rush of courage, pulls her chemise over her head too.

The stunned look on Gendry’s face makes it all worth it. Arya feels herself burst out laughing.

“What?”

“You just look so happy,” she admits. If she’d known the sight of her tits would make him smile so much, she’d have shown him them years ago.

He carefully reaches out with both hands. His fingers are gentle, but callused, and the rough pads feel surprisingly nice against the soft skin.

“What can I say,” he says, grinning wolfishly, “tits are great.”

Sometimes Arya feels she really doesn’t understand men anymore than women.

She reaches and tugs on his undershirt.

“Come on, you too,” she says, only a hint of impatience. He has it off in what seems like no time, and Arya pushes herself half into his lap in anticipation of feeling his bare skin against hers.

Gendry makes a grouchy noise when her move means he can’t touch her as easily, so she responds by nipping the side of his neck. She grins at seemingly getting the upper hand, when Gendry turns the tables back by ducking and managing to run his tongue over a nipple.

Arya is suddenly brought into another fit of the giggles by the thought of the word ��nipple”.

“It’s alright, there’s nothing wrong,” she says through her giggles when Gendry looks up at her, concerned. She squishes herself closer against him, kissing his cheeks and his neck, and finding that soft little hollow behind his ear.

Warmth pools between her legs, she recognizes it, but has never felt it this intensely before. The furtive wanderings of her own hands could never even hope to bring these feelings to her. With a shock, she realizes she also recognizes the growing hardness pressed against her.

With a rush of boldness, Arya runs a hand down Gendry’s chest and stomach, fingers brushing questioningly at the laces of his breeches. Her feelings of courage are betrayed that she can tell that her face is entirely and completely beet red.

It’s not that she’s never seen a man naked before, she thinks when he nods and she begins to undo the laces, she’s seen her brothers naked hundreds of times when they bathed in the pools in the Godswood. But it was neve this close, and she was never, well, looking.

She gets his breeches loose, and her hand snakes underneath the fabric. Her mind barely has time to process that she’s actually touching Gendry’s cock, when he gasps, and grunts into her neck, and all of a sudden her hand is sticky.

“I’m sorry,” Gendry babbles, pulling back, humiliated. Arya looks at her hand and connects the dots.

“Already?” she asks, standing to reach for a cloth by the wash basin, to wipe her hand. She then passes it to Gendry, who dabs off his crotch, red-faced. His breeches are still hanging open, his cock soft and tender-looking.

“But, it- it’ll come back right?” she asks, confused.

He nods softly, finally managing to meet her eye. She laughs softly, trying to put him at ease.

“It’ll take time though,” he turns and rests his head on her shoulder and she feels a rush of affection she can’t really explain. “Might be a blessing in disguise though. All the advice I’ve gotten on this from men who seemed even half-decent said that you’re the one who will need warming up.”

Arya smiles, and Gendry reaches to push off her small clothes and stockings. She doesn’t tell him that she already feels quite warm.

“I may not know quite what I’m doing,” he nearly whispers, “But I’ll do my best.”

She doesn’t tell him that she’s come to like the idea. The idea that she’s not going to be compared to the memory of other women, that she’ll be the only one who gets to see him like this, to feel him. That this will be just for the two of them.

Once she’s naked, Gendry pushes his own clothes off onto the floor and gently nudges her up the bed towards the pillows. His eyes rake over her, and Arya tries not to feel too exposed, even when he reaches and nudges her thighs apart.

Gendry thinks back to some of the girls he knew in Flea Bottom, one’s who had on occasion let him kiss or touch them outside taverns or in alleyways. They’d never gotten properly naked though, and he’d never gotten to take such a good look before.

Arya’s gone red-faced yet again. When she’d flowered, she’d taken a hand mirror and put it between her legs, attempting to get a good look at her own cunt. She hadn’t been impressed.

“Kind of looks like a monster from under the ocean right?” she says, nervously, and then yelps when he grazes a finger along her.

“Have you ever heard ‘the Dornishman’s Wife’?” he asks, voice stuttering, ignoring her comment.

Arya nods, not sure where this is going. Gendry presses his fingers against her harder.

“Girl who worked at the same alehouse my mum used to- I would go back to see them all sometimes- married a man from Dorne. All the other waitresses teased her mercilessly...because of it I learned what the song meant. “

Arya’s mouth gapes.

“-you want to-” She knows what he’s talking about. She’d practically curled up and died hearing Sansa describe it, even as the thought intrigued her. She wonders if she should tell Sansa that boys can do it too.

“The other girls all teased Ruth a lot, but they seemed quite jealous of her too.”

His fingers start moving against her, as though searching for something.

“Oh, here,” Arya tells him, reaching down to move his fingers, “Further up, where the bits all come together.”

He finds the little nub, and rubs it softly. Arya keens.

“That wasn’t so hard,” Gendry says, sounding proud of himself, “Some men talk like it’s trying to find a rock at the bottom of the sea.”

Then he leans forward and licks it, and Arya lets out possibly the most undignified noise she’s ever made. She reaches out for the back of his head and runs her fingers through his hair. Gendry’s tongue runs itself over all of her cunt, watching her eyes carefully for any signs of discomfort. None come, Arya’s quickly wound tight at the sensation, panting, rolling over to her own peak quickly, quicker than she’s ever come by herself.

“So how do I taste?” she asks, breathless, trying to bring herself back down to earth.

Gendry’s head pops up from between her knees, and rests on her stomach, eyes still looking for hers.

“Sticky and sour.”

Arya huffs, offended and he laughs.

“Not in a bad way...kind of like a really, really ripe peach.”

Well, she supposes a peach is at least much better than a sea monster.

Gendry pulls himself up beside her on the pillow.

“That was-” he says, out of breath.

“Yeah,” Arya agrees.

With a glance downward, Arya feels a blush prickle at her neck.

“Looks like you’re ready to go again.”

Gendry pulls himself halfway up the pillows, and then leans over and touches her face softly.

“Ready to give this a shot?”

Arya nods.

There’s no coming back from this. Their marriage will be official, unbreakable, in the eyes of the gods.

She nods again.

To her surprise, Gendry grabs and pulls her over on top of him. When she looks down at him quizzically.

“You’ve pretty clearly got a better grasp of this than me.”

With that vote of confidence, Arya reaches between them. His cock is swollen and red, somehow both hard and soft at the same time, but she doesn’t take too long to marvel. She takes a deep breath, lines them up, and slowly sinks down.

Gendry sits himself up a bit higher as she slowly presses down until he can’t go in any further. Arya goes still, and his kisses one cheek softly, and her nose, and the corner of her mouth.

“You know that feeling,” Arya starts slowly, “When you hit your elbow against something- that kind of fast, white feeling before it actually starts hurting? That’s kind of what it’s like.”

She breathes in and out a few times, and relaxes all her muscles.

“It’s better now.”

She starts to move slowly, gingerly. After only a few movements, she realizes she doesn’t need to be so careful. She guides Gendry’s hands to rest on her hips, and starts to speed up with a deep groan.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispers, raising his hands to cup her breasts. She is, he thinks, hair hanging in her face, skin flushed all the way down to the top of her breast.

Arya can’t quite process his words, so she turns her head to rest on his shoulder as she moves.

None of this quite fits anything she expected, not the flowery songs Sansa used to coo over, not the way Theon used to talk about fucking whores, not even quite the nebulous image of her mother and father’s happy marriage.

Gendry’s below her, breathing in unison. He tries to grab a nipple between his lips. She’s still somehow surprised how good his cock feels inside her, hard and warm, and how solid and strong he feels underneath her.

He moves his hands up to the backs of her shoulders, and squeezes her closer to him, kissing her softly on the mouth.

“I’m too close again.” he mutters,

Arya nods, and doubles down, sinking onto him harder and faster, and reaching between them to touch herself until she feels her muscles contracting around him again, just as his head collapses onto her shoulder and he spills inside her.

Once their breathing slows, she retrieves one of the other cloths by the basin, and notices the table has also been set with two mugs of water and a tray of wintercakes.

It’s strange. The outside world had seemed to disappear. She passes Gendry a cake before running the cloth between her legs.

The thin red streak along it when she brings it away from herself makes her scoff. They had nothing to prove to anyone but each other.

“It seems,” Arya says, returning to the bed and making a spot for herself under one of Gendry’s arms, “That the two of us make quite a team.”

Gendry smiles.

“That’s a good word for it,” he says, “A team. We’ll need that when we have to face the world tomorrow.”

“Ugh,” Arya mumbles, turning to kiss him once, “Can’t we just stay here?”

Gendry pulls his arm tighter, so she’s rolled half on top of him.

“Sounds good to me,” he mumbles sleepily, “But first, a nap.”

Arya nods, half drifted off herself.

They wake, and their hands reach for each other twice more that night, and once more in the morning, sheets rustling in the early dawn’s light.

When they dress in the morning, and move to go face the rest of Winterfell, Arya opens the door to find only Sansa and Margaery sleeping outside the door.

Margaery wakes at the movement.

“Sansa chased as many of the others off as she could,” she mumbles sleepily.

Arya smiles.

“Tell her thank you.”

“I should say congratulations,” she continues, “I’ve been to a lot of weddings, I don’t think I’ve heard that much laughter come out of a bridal chamber before.”

Arya smiles even wider.

She nods her head in Sansa’s direction.

“Does she make you laugh like that?”

Margaery ducks her head, and Arya lets her be.

Her and Gendry leave, and Arya faces the morning with her head held high, that she, wild Arya Stark, had managed to do something properly.

One by one, the guests begin to leave. Arya squeezes Sansa tight. She’s not quite sure exactly what happened, but Margaery is leaving with her, with no words of a betrothal.

She hugs Jon goodbye too, before he leaves for the Wall again. He doesn’t have to ask her anything, not after she’d caught his eyes on her that morning at breakfast, when Gendry had been idly playing with her hair and she had had a stupid smile on her face.

Over the next days, their things are packed up and they prepare to leave for King’s Landing again.

“Do we really have to go?’ Gendry whines the morning of, “I fucking hated King’s Landing, even if I only got to see the slummy parts.”

“The nice parts were no better,” Arya assures him. She holds his hand as they make their way out to where Ned has the rest of the party waiting to leave.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” she says, brightening, “It takes like a month to get there by the Kingsroad. Maybe by the time we get there, it’ll be gone.”

Gendry looks at her oddly.

“How?”

“Maybe a cache of the Mad King’s wildfire will randomly explode. Maybe a lost Targaryen will come and demand their throne back. Maybe a kraken will rise from the sea and attack the place.”

Gendry laughs, and Arya’s chest fills up with warmth. She knows what to call this feeling, but she won’t. She’s not ready yet, but someday she’ll be ready to say it.

“Whatever we find there, we’ll face it together,” she assures him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. Gendry looks down at her, and her heart skips a beat when she wonders if he’ll be the one to say it first.

“Yea. Like you said, we’re a team.”

Arya nods, and there’s a yell from the others, so they go to find their mounts, ride south, and face the future.

[rubberducky-jrr]

Subway Girl (Part 2)

Summary: Peter and you somehow keep getting on the same subway. You didn’t notice at first but when you did, your world changed forever. 

Pairings: Peter Parker x reader, May x Happy, Tony x Pepper.

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of underage drinking 

A/n: Thank you for all the notes on part 1, hope you like part 2. I’m currently writing this and a “Five times Peter saved you (Stark!reader) and the one time he couldn’t” story (yep, its angst but will have fluff in). Message me if you want to be added to the tag list for that and/or Subway Girl.

** 

Later that night peter sat on his bed, phone in his hand and heart beating awfully fast. He tried taking a deep breath to calm his nerves but it did nothing. He stared down at the number logged in his phone under your name.

He took another deep breath before finally pressing pressed dial. The phone rang three times before Peter quickly pressed red and threw the phone to the other end of his bed.

He flopped back into his pillows with a heavy sigh.

Why am I like this?

He rubbed his face with both hands while letting out a small groan, his heart slowly returning back to a normal rate.

Suddenly, his phone started to ring and he shot up to sit crossed legged. He leant over and fumbling to pick up his phone, your number popping up on the screen.

“Shit,” he said forgetting you had redial and was probably wondering who had rang you. He took another deep breath as his heart began to pound hard in his chest before answering.

“H-Hello?” He began.

“Hi, you called me a minute ago?” Your voice came down the phone and Peter could feel his chest tighten with nerves.

“Y-Yeah, it’s me... P-Peter,” he began, his free hand going to pick at the hem of his checked pyjama bottoms. “Peter Parker.”

“Oh, P-Peter. Hi,” you said, sounding slightly flustered. “I didn’t expect you to call so soon,” you added and Peter’s heart sank slightly, feeling stupid he hadn’t done the whole three days waiting thing before calling you.

“Right,” he said, feeling like he had to say something in response to fill the silence.

“Oh, that came out wrong. No I uh... I mean I didn’t expect it but it’s nice, I’m glad you call,” you said, breathing out a nervous laugh.

Peter let out the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding before smiling softly in relief.

“Ok, good. Yeah, I-I didn’t know whether I should do the whole waiting three days sort of thing or like call you now, but I decided to just call you, as you can tell since I’ve-I’ve called you,” he rambled on. He forced himself to stop, rolling his eyes at himself in annoyance before roughly running a hand through his hair.

“That’s fine, like I said I’m glad you called,” you said with a smile.

“So, how’s the sleepover at your friends apartment?” He asked, leaning back in his bed as he began to feel slightly more relaxed.

“It’s alright. Sadly the couch isn’t a five star hotel bed, but it’ll do for a week or so,” you joked and Peter laughed lightly, his heart soaring when you laughed too.

Her laugh is so beautiful. 

“So you got home safely I’m assuming?” You asked, knowing the answer but asking it anyway.

“Uh yeah, although I was past my curfew,” he joked and you smiled.

“I bet that didn’t go down well with your Aunt then. It never did with my mum when I was late home,” you laughed, shaking your head slightly as you remembered your mum fussing over you before telling you off.

“May is pretty cool with it actually, although yes, she does fuss over me being later sometimes,” Peter said. You began talking about each other’s past, sharing awkward stories about school and somehow getting onto the awkwardness of puberty.

“Oh god,” you laughed as Peter told you about the moment his voice first broke while he was doing a presentation in front of 30 of his peers.

“It was not good, Flash was straight on it with the teasing,” Peter said, laying upside hanging off his bed as he talked.

“He was probably jealous that he had the voice of a six year old girl and you had a voice of a man,” you teased, causing Peter to let out a loud laugh. He hadn’t stopped smiling for the last hour, his cheeks beginning to hurt. There was a sudden knock at the door, Aunt May popping her head through the gap.

“Peter,” she warned, glancing at her watch.

“Oh yeah, sorry May,” he said, sitting up properly. She rolled her eyes before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

“Was that your Aunt?” You asked and Peter hummed.

“I should probably get going,” he then began. “Got a long day at the library with my friend tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got medical work to do and apartment viewing tomorrow,” you replied, picking at the hem of your cardigan nervously. “So I-I should probably go to sleep soon too,” you added, glancing at the clock seeing that it was past midnight now.

“Yeah, it is really late,” he said. “I hope you sleep well, even if it isn’t a five star hotel mattress,” he joked, using your words from earlier. You let out a small laugh, blushing slightly.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

Peter hung up the phone before letting out a deep sigh. A small smile appeared on his face a moment later, his heart fluttering as he thought of you.

He felt asleep that night dreaming of you.

***

Peter climbed onto the subway the next day, tired after the long day in the library with Ned. They were both now heading to Peter’s house, Aunt May having invited Ned over for tea. He was currently talking Peter’s ear off about the first Indiana Jones movie.

They grabbed a seat in the middle carriage, Peter leaning back as he listened to Ned.

“But it doesn’t even make sense?” Ned exclaimed after his rant about the plot hole in the movie and Peter just shrugged, his brain fried from all the homework.

“Do you want to watch it at mine after tea?” He asked with a knowing look on his face.

“Well that’s a stupid question.” Peter chuckled at him as the subway began to move. He then rummaged through his backpack on the floor to grab his water bottle, taking a drink before suddenly spotting you.  

You had been trying to catch his eye since the second you saw him walk on, too nervous to call out his name. You gestured to the seat next to you, having been saving it for him. There was another free one on your other side which was lucky so Ned could sit.

“Dude, is that the subway girl?” Ned suddenly asked, his voice awfully close to Peter’s ear. He jumped slightly before turning to face Ned, a small blush on his cheeks. “Go talk to her.”

“I think she has saved me a seat,” Peter said, glancing back at you with a shy smile.

“That’s adorable, come on,” Ned said before standing and making his way over to you.

“Ned, wait.” Peter quickly stood up, grabbing his backpack and following after him. Ned was already sat down and introducing himself by the time Peter sat down on your other side.

“It’s nice to meet you Ned, Peter Parker’s best friend,” you said, repeating the words he had described himself as. “I’m Y/n.”

“Oh I know, Peter’s talked none stop about you.”

“Dude,” Peter exclaimed, feeling the most embarrassed he had ever felt. His worry eased slightly when he heard the sweet sound of your laugh.

“Oh has he?” You asked with a small grin, turning your head to finally look at him. He chuckled nervously, a shy grin on his face to which your smile only grew bigger.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he replied, nerves growing and hands sweating slightly.

Keep it together, Peter. You got this.

“Yeah, he talks about you a lot to be honest,” Ned continued, dragging your eyes away from Peter’s and back to him.

“I hope it’s all good things,” you joked and Ned nodded quickly.

“Oh of course, stuff like how he loves how smart you are and that your smile is-“

“Ok Ned, I-I don’t think she needs a whole explanation,” Peter quickly interjected before he could get any more embarrassed.

“So, what are you doing this evening?” Ned asked.

“I’m going for a few drinks with my college friends then to get the rest of my stuff from my dads after he gets back from work,” you replied and Ned frowned at you.

“You’re like 18 though.”

“Yeah but fake ID doesn’t say that, plus like 18 is the legal drinking age in most European countries,” you said with a shrug and small smirk.

“Yet, last time I checked this is America,” Peter teased and you rolled your eyes. The subway began to pull up at your stop and you quickly grabbed your bag.

“It was nice to meet you Ned, I hope to see more of you.” You stood, giving them both a smile.

“You should come out with us next weekend, we’re going to the movies,” he said and you nodded.

“I’d love too,” you said before the subway stopped. You glanced at Peter who smiled nervously at you, he was never great at goodbyes.

“Bye Peter,” you said before leaning forward and placing a kiss on his reddening cheek. You then quickly made your way off the subway before the doors could shut.

Peter felt his heart rate slow as his nerves slowly drained from him. He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the subway wall.

“Are you alright, Peter?” Ned asked him.

“She just makes me so nervous, man,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair before rubbing his face. Ned smirked at him, giving him a knowing look.

“Have you asked her out on a date yet?” Peter looked at Ned suddenly, a shocked expression on his face.

“You’re kidding right? I-I can’t just ask her out like that,” Peter said.

“Why not? She seems to like you too, I mean she did just give you a kiss,” Ned shrugged and Peter shook his head.

“I-I can’t and that... That was just a goodbye kiss,” he lied to himself.

“Of course you can and trust me, she likes you more than just to give you a “goodbye” kiss and plus, she didn’t give me one,” he replied with a smirk as the subway pulled to their stop.

They began to make their way to Aunt May’s, Ned coming up with strategies on when and how Peter should ask you out on a date.

---- 

Tag list: 

@jackiehollanderr @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @farfromjustordinary @thelostandweeping @missmulti

[fangirl-who-writes-shit]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf: Peter Parker Short Fic: Part 5

The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Peter Parker x Stark!Fem!reader. (Described as curvy but obviously can be any body type and gender, just changed the words in ur head x)

Masterlist

Warnings for all parts: Mental Health, swearing, probs some violence at some point, emotional/physical/sexual abuse, sexual nature (consent), emmm emotional rollercoaster throughout. I think that's it?? Please tell me if not.

I'm so sorry about the spelling in this, I wrote it really quick as I'm catching up on all the homework I forgot to do and school starts in less than a week 😂😭.

If part has triggering parts for sensitive reads I will say.

Mentions of physical abuse from a 'parental' figure, old self harm scars, mentions rapists name, mental health issues, mental health medication, description of rapist, FLUFF.

Also because this has taken longer to update I have made it longer!

*Reader's p.o.v*

I rolled over to my side to check the time, 3:34am. I let out a groan as Peter Parker's face ran through my head, along with mums and Caleb's. I tried with all my might to block out his voice, the words he said to me over and over again as he pulled my clothes off.

Think of something positive, please just think of something positive.

My heart beat started to increase and my body started to warm up as I remembered Peter's arms around me, I felt a smile cross my as all the negative thoughts went away and Peter's beautiful face was the only thing I thought about.

I feel like this is more than a crush, every time I see him my body heats up and all I want to do is smile as well as giggle at his adorableness.

I suddenly heard my phone buzz, I sat up slightly to grab my phone from my bedside table. I rubbed my eyes, the light of my screen hurting them slightly. My heart fluttered as my eyes skimmed through the text.

From: Peter💕🙈 Hey, can't sleep and thinking about you, hope you're okay. Text me in the morning about school X :-).

My cheeks heated up at the thought of him thinking about me and worrying if I was okay. What is life?! I let out a small giggle at the smilie face face he left.

To: Peter💕🙈 Hey, can't sleep either thinking about shit. Why can't you sleep? X

I hesitated before pressing send, I bit my lip waiting for his reply. I soon saw the typing symbol making me smile widely.

From: Peter💕🙈 Aww I wasn't expecting a reply :-(

I let out a laughing knowing what he meant but I wanted to tease him.

To: Peter💕🙈 Wdym? Are you upset that I replied...emm I'll stop then sorry

I let out another laugh as I pressed the send button and it didn't even take five seconds for him to text back.

From: Peter💕🙈 NO!! is typing.... I PROMISE I DIDNT MEAN THAT! is typing.... I JUST HOPED YOU WERE ASLEEP CAUSE YOUVE HAD A LONG DAY!

I started to giggle and leaned back into my bed to start typing again.

To: Peter💕🙈 I'm messing! I know want you meant dork😂

I pressed send whilst bitting my lip, we talked for another hour or so before I started to get tired.

To: Peter💕🙈 I'm going to try and get some sleep if that's okay? X

If Peter wants me to stay up because he can't sleep I will of course.

is typing....

From: Peter💕🙈 No, please go to sleep. If you don't come in tomorrow I'll stop by to drop off some work. Night X

I smiled to myself and typed a simple goodnight and put my phone on charge. I soon felt my eyes close as I once again thought of Peter Bloody Parker.

"Miss Stark!" A deep voice yelled slightly causing me to shoot up, I let out a small scream when I saw Vision in my room. I brought my duvet up to my chin as I only had a tank top on and you can see my scars and bruises from Bobbie.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you Miss Stark but it's one pm. Miss Romanoff tried to wake you up for school but as she put it  'you were flat out'. But for health reasons I suggest you get up and moving before your sleeping patten becomes irregular." Vision said and came over to the side of my bed to hand me a glass of water and my daily tablets.

"I couldn't find any of medication when I unpacked your bag, so I took the liberty of using the ones you keep here" He said again, I sat up still trying to hide my upper chest and my arms. I let out a sigh knowing it's impossible to take them off him whilst trying to do so.

"Don't tell anyone" I said letting the duvet fall slightly, I noticed his eyes scan over my now green bruises and a couple of scars on my arms. Some self inflicted some not. I reached out to take my high dose of setraline (which helps with my depression, anxiety and PTSD) along with a quite low dose risperidone (antipsychotic). I gulped them down with little water, already used to talking them.

"How old are your bruises?" Vision asked, I shrugged lightly.

"A couple of weeks, why?" I asked and coved them up again getting self conscious.

"You must of got them with force" He commented, all I did was nod. I closed my eyes thinking back to when Bobbie started to beat me up about two and a half weeks ago, I don't know why he did it. My fingers lightly traced the hardly visible bruise on the side of my lips where Bobbie had first punched me and as I tried to get away he clawed at my chest.

"At least that ones healed" Vision cutting me out of my thoughts, he was now looking where my fingers are.

"Yeah" I said, he let out a small sigh.

"Your hand is a different story, it doesn't look like it will be healing anytime soon. I think we should get it X-rayed or maybe a MRI to see if anything is damaged" Vision said and generally took my hand in his.

"It's not broken though, I was thinking more about ligaments and tissue" He added, I nodded again not really wanting to say anything. I knew it wasn't broken from Peter.

"How about you get changed and I'll take you down to medics. Just you and me, no one had to know" I sent him a smile and another nod.

"Thank you Vision" I whispered as he headed for the door but still heard me as he sent a nod my way. I sighed then leaned over to my phone as the door shut after him. Peter had sent me a text telling me how maths is boring without me, then Ned sent me a text saying Peter got caught on his phone and now it's confiscated. I let out a laugh as I got out of bed to clean myself up in my bathroom.

When dad found out that he could have parental responsibility over me and even have me over to stay, he went a little over the top with my room. I remember when I was little and being in a meeting with an Interior designer on how I want my room, any size and anything. Now every year on the fourth of March I get to change it, new wardrobe, new bed, new everything. I feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world when I'm at my dads.

After I'd finished in the bathroom I walked over to my walk in wardrobe as I connected my phone to my surround sound system. I pressed shuffle on my downloaded music and Oasis came on. I smiled to myself as my favourite part came on and I started to sing loudly.

"Maybe I just want to fly I want to live, I don't want to die Maybe I just want to breathe Maybe I just don't believe Maybe you're the same as me We see things they'll never see You and I are gonna live forever"

I quickly picked out something to wear as I remembered Vision is waiting for me. I rolled my eyes when it happened to be a Gucci top and some Nike leggings, I don't understand why thinks he needs to buy me 500 dollar tops when I'm happy with something from forever 21. I still got changed into as I have to admit it's a beautiful top, it's a white t-shirt with a UFO on it with rainbow beams coming out of it with GUCCI written in bold on the top. Once I had put the items on I grabbed my Harry Potter Y/H hoodie to hide my arms then finished my 'outfit' off with some trainers.

I put my phone in my pocket after turning off the music and walked out and down to the medical ward. I soon reached the nearest lift and went to floor four which is where the medical department is.

Everything turned out to be fine, the reason why it bruised so bad was because a knuckle dislocated but popped its self back in.

"Vision do you know when dad will be back? I asked as he checked the deep scratches on my chest and lower neck.

"Mr Stark said he should be back later today, would you like me to tell him to find you when he's back?" I nodded but winced when he rubbed some alcohol on an infected one, I just haven't had time to sort them out as normally I treat myself with a first aid kit I keep under my bed. Dad has been training me in paramedics for as long as I can remember, sometimes I have to patch him up. But with school and exams I'm too busy studying to do anything other than that.

"You're going to need a shot of antibiotics for the infected cut once a week for a month or so" Vision said looking at the swab results, I let out a sigh but nodded.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I told the nurse who let us in that I'm reviewing your medication." I sent him a smile, as he went over to get a needle.

"Right close your eyes and take a deep breath then breath out when I tell you" I nodded and bit my lip before closing my eyes.

"Okay deep breath in. 1, 2, 3 and breath out" I followed his instructions and jolted a bit cause of the pinch I felt to my skin as the needle went in. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the the liquid go into my bloodstream. He took the needle out and I opened my eyes.

"Why's over half of it left?" I asked lifting my eyebrows.

"It's one shot but goes in four times in different places" I nodded and let him get on with it. Once he was done I put my t-shirt back on then I stood up just wanting to get back to my room.  

"You can go now, but if you start to feel sick or get dizzy don't worry as it's a common side effect. If you feel anything else please come and get me." I nodded and started to walk out but suddenly turned around to give him a hug.

"Thank you Vision" I then quickly turned back to walk out the room. I got out my phone out to see what time it is.

3:10pm.

Peter will be here in half an hour or so, I walked into my room and looked in my mirror. Should I put some makeup on? I bit my lip and nodded to myself. I only put some clear lipgloss on and some concealer for the now faded bruise next to my lip but just incase.

"Friday" I called out as I made my bed.

"Yes Y/N?" The A.I's voice echoed into my room.

"I'm going into my tv room, when Peter gets here will you let him in and direct him to the room?" I asked whilst getting a book from my bookshelf.

"Of course Y/N, I will let Mr Parker in" I smiled and went to one of the many doors in my room.

"Thanks Friday"

*Peter's P.O.V*

I bit onto my lip as I walked up to the FQ's security gate. I went into my bag taking a shaky breath as I got out my 'level 2' pass. Only people who live in the FQ have level 1. This is the first time I'm coming here without Happy or Mr Stark with me.

"Sorry kid, we don't do tours" A guard said as I stopped at the scanner, I gave him my pass with my name and picture on.

"Emm I'm P-Peter Parker and I'm here to see Y/N Stark. I've brought her some work cause she wasn't in school today" I said, he scanned my pass and nodded.

"Emm thanks err sir" I said and put my pass back into my bag then walked through the gate.

I walked through the main entrance and saw Mrs Sally, she's one of the receptionist that normally takes me to Mr Stark.

"Peter?" She said with a smile, Mrs Sally is a middle aged woman with dark skin and wore red lipstick every time I saw her. Her hair is always tied back into a tight bun as well.

"You haven't got a meeting with Mr Stark, is everything okay?" She added as I walked over and leant my arms on the front desk.

"Y/N missed school, I said I'll come and bring her some work. Can I go straight up?" I asked, she looked down at her computer.

"I'm guessing you don't want Mr Stark to know, he normally doesn't let boys her age near her when she's in his care" I blushed and started to drum my fingers nervously against the desk.

"If you wouldn't mind, n-not th-that anything is going to happen! W-we're just friends" I mumbled, I heard her laugh and start to type.

"You we're here yesterday as well it says on the system, so you already know Mr Stark isn't home until around five" I raised my eyebrows.

"He's not back yet?" I asked feeling a little more confident, she shook her head.

"Normally you have to sign in as you know but Y/N needs a friend right now so I'm going to let you off this once, just this once" She said, I nodded and pushed myself off the desk.

"Thanks Mrs Sally!" I called as I reached the elevator, I pressed floor two.

"Please scan your pass, full name and reason on visiting the living quarters" F.RI.D.A.Y's voice echoed into the small space. I shrugged having never done this but got my pass out and pressed it against the glowing green light in front of me.

"Err Peter Benjamin Parker and I'm here to see Y/N Stark cause she missed school and I've brought her some work" I said rambling a little.

"Welcome Mr Parker, Y/N waiting for you in her TV room. If you go into her bedroom then I will tell you which door to use" I nodded to myself as the doors to the second floor opened. I gripped onto my rucksack as I walked down the hall and to Y/N's room, along the way tripping over my feet but I caught myself at the last minute. I jumped back up and straightened myself out. Phew thank god no one saw-

"Mr Parker, are you okay?" F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice came out of nowhere chasing me to jump slightly.

"Oh yeah that I meant to do that" I said casually, she'll believe that won't she?

"You are telling me that you tripped up on purpose?"

Nope she won't.

"Yep" Was all I said mentally cringing, I soon reached Y/N's room and was about to knock.

"The door is open" F.R.I.D.A.Y said making me remember she's in her 'tv room'. I took a deep breath as the slide door opened.

"Please walk toward the door wear the keypad is glowing blue not green" I found the right door then walked over to it.

"I will tell Miss Stark that you are here, she will be with you shortly." I nodded to myself and ran a hand through my curls then pulled on my shirt. I heard the door open and my breath caught in my throats when I saw her.

She looked so simple yet so breathtaking, her eyes slightly red making be think she's been crying. I felt myself look down at her lips which were a bit shiny and so kissable-

"Peter, what happened to your face?!" She yelled slightly grabbing my hand and pulling me to the end of her bed. Wait what is she talking about?...wait oh shit I got into a fight last night with a mugger. I stared at her wide eye as she pulled my face closer to hers and lightly ran her fingertips over my bruise on my right eye, she traced it down to my lower cheekbone.

"Well?" She whispered, her hand not moving. My heart beat increased and I'm scared she will be able to feel the heat radiating off my cheeks.

"I-I-I h-hit my-my face on my bunkbed" I tried to say without telling her what actually happened or saying something creepy. Her eyebrows raised as she took her fingers away from my face, my skin already missing her touch.

"You hit your eye and not your head?" I mentally swore to myself, I felt her hand slowly take mine in hers. I watched her teeth take her bottom lips in between them, I felt myself let out a shaky breath.

"You know you can tell me anything Peter, I won't judge. You're my friend, my best friend really" Her voice getting quieter with each word, a smile broke onto my face but it soon went as I felt guilty about not telling her that I'm Spider-Man.

"I got into a fight" The words just slipped out of my mouth not realising what I said until after.

"With who?" She asked softly and brought her hand back up to my bruise but her fingers started to wonder as she noticed a scab on my lip, my mind screaming 'KISS HER, TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL!!' I held my breath, her thumb ran over the red scab but she seemed to notice what she was actually doing, killing me that is.

"Sorry" She whispered moving further away from me. All I wanted to do was grab her hips and pull her closer to my own body.

"Itsfine" I breathed out in one breath causing her to giggle making my heart skip a couple of beats as her nose scrunched up slightly.

"If was Flash" I lied, I felt guilty for lying to her but not about saying it was him. She nodded but then moved closer once again, putting her head on my shoulder.

"I hate Flash, he's brought back so many bad memories for this this week" I leaned my head onto hers, the sent of her shampoo hitting my nose.

"He's a bastard" She laughed and snuggled into my shoulder more, I wish we could do this all the time.

"Is that why you have been crying?" I whispered, she looked up at me pulling away from me slightly, it took her a couple of seconds before she nodded.

"You noticed?" She asked, I nodded myself.

"Did you get into a fight this morning? It's bruised quickly" Y/N said leaning closer to get a better look. She was obviously trying tot change the subject but I don't want to push her.

"Emm yes, my skin is sensitive and he hit me hard" She sighed, I then suddenly remembered why I'm here in the first place.

"I got you're school work, it's mostly maths cause we had double today. MJ got your art homework and there's some English, not a lot though as we watched the end of Macbeth. You had psychology as well so I asked Betty Brant to write you notes. Then on the way here I colour coded everything because I see you do it all the time." I rambled slightly but stopped when she giggled. I looked over at her to see her bright red.

"What?" I asked blushing myself.

"You noticed that I did that?" She said, I bit my lip not wanting to sound creepy.

"Yeah" I whispered, I turned to my bag which had fallen off my shoulder just a couple of minutes before.

"Here, after I wrote the math notes I also colour coded them as well." I said handing the pile of work to her.

"Thanks Pete, you're the best" She said and leaned over to kiss my cheek, her lips lingering for a little. I didn't know what to do, should I turn my head? But I couldn't as she pulled away.

"S'Okay" My voice broke causing her to laugh. I watched her look through the notes with a smile.

"Theses are perfect, thank you" I nodded, I looked down at my watch to see it's 4:15pm but something red caught my eye.

"W-Whats that?" I asked leaning over to see a drawing of my Spider-Man mask in her sketch book and fucking hell its amazing.

"O-Oh em it's you know Spider-Man. I kinda got interested in him after what happened in D.C" She whispered and her hand wrapped around her left wrist.

"Oh yeah, he saved you and Liz right?" I asked pretending that it wasn't me who actually saved them.

"Yeah" She said with a smile.

"I didn't tell dad though" She added, making me raise an eyebrow. "I didn't want him to worry, he probably wouldn't of let me out of the house again" She laughed nervously.

"Is he your favourite hero?" I asked jokingly expecting her to say no.

"Yeah, don't tell Dad. He'll kill me" She laughed again and got up to place the school work on her desk. Wait what? I'm her favourite. Fuck yes!

"Do you want to stay for a bit? You don't have to but you know if you want to we can watch something maybe." I heard Y/N say from the other side of her room not looking at me.

"Yeah!" I said a little too quickly, I cursed to myself. Y/N turned back around and came to sit down next to me again.

"Great, I get lonely around here since Steve left. Steve is Captain America by the way" She added, I laughed nodding.

"I know" I noticed her cheeks turn red but she looked over to the side, her eyes losing their glow.

"Were you two close?" I asked and timidly took her hand in mine. She looked at her with a small smile and a nod.

"Yeah, Steve would help me with my homework whilst dad was away. Which was a lot. And he was also like my big brother which is a bit weird but yeah" She sighed at the end, I kinda feel guilty now for kicking him in the face.

"I'm sure him and Mr Stark will make up soon" I trailed off trying to sound convincing but it obviously didn't work as she let out a bitter laugh.

"Thanks Peter but not going to happen" I nodded and it went quiet. I felt her hand grip onto mine tighter making my heart start to go faster and my hands started to get sweaty.

"Thank you for listening yesterday Peter, it means a lot. I-I get really self conscious when it comes to em that subject, like in class when people are talking about sex and shit I just freeze. I start to feel his body on top of me and the feel of his stubble against my cheek" I wanted her to stop as her nails started to dig into my palm, it didn't hurt just a sting but she's reliving a horrible memory. That's what makes me want her to stop. But she needs to let this out and I'm not going to stop her.

"Then I start to smell his weird scent, I don't know what it was but it was a mixture of like dirt, sweat and I don't know something else that smelt horrible." She stopped talking suddenly, noticing what she was saying.

"I'm sorry" Y/N mumbled, I noticed her eyes had now filled with tears. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder pulling her into my chest. I really don't know how I'm so confident around her now....sometimes. I'm only confident around her when she needs someone to hold her and just needs a laugh.

Her fingers gripped onto my jumper as she sobbed, I ran my own through her hair trying desperately to calm her down. I'd never seen her like this before thinking back to when she moved to my middle school in 6th grade.

(A/N okay bitch the American school system is so fucking confusing to me. So they are 11-12 I hope I got the grade and the school right.)

Y/N was always popular but for the first year or so I knew her, well knew of her, she didn't show emotion and now I guess I know why now. Recently she's been showing a lot more emotion, but she's also being crying a lot. She doesn't think I've been noticing her red, puffy, eyes or the fake smiles and the watery eyes when she thinks no one is looking. I didn't want to ask her about it as I knew she'd just change the subject.

"I'm sorry, for the past two days I've just been crying on you. I'm normally not like this but everything is just building up and getting to me" She mumbled pulling away and wiped her eyes with her palm.

"Oh I'm sorry! I've ruined your favourite jumper" She sighed and tried to wipe away the tear stains away but just made it worse.

"Hey, hey it's fine don't worry" I laughed and wiped the rest of her running tears off her cheeks. She sent me a smile and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"I can buy you a new one if you want" She sniffed and got out her phone, I gently grabbed her wrist and made her lower her arm.

"It's fine really, I think I have another one in this colour" I said looking down to check if it's the blue I'm thinking of. "Yeah I do".

"Of course you do" She giggled, I blushed looking away and bit my lip. I heard Y/N let out a sort of 'dreamy' sigh. I turned back towards her to see her already staring at me.

"You okay?" I asked, her eyes went wide and her neck started to turn a rose colour.

"Fine, fine. Just thinking about shit" Things got quiet once again and I realised that I had taken her hand in mine at some point.

"Peter?" Her soft voice cut into my thoughts.

"Hhmm?"

"Em w-what do you think of me? L-like when we were in the bathroom last week y-you said I was beautiful, and-and no one has said that to me before. Well Dad and Steve have but that doesn't count." Y/N said I turned to her with red cheeks. Oh bloody hell what am I going to say? I'm just going to make her uncomfortable and probably something creepy.

"Well-well you are beautiful, gorgeous in fact. On the inside and out, like when you smile the whole room lights up. And that glow in your eye you get when you're really happy, it just makes me happy-" I rambled on, listening all the things I love about her but the next thing I knew her hands were pulling my face towards her and our lips connected. My eyes still wide open as I stared at her closed eyelids, my mind screaming 'MOVE YOUR FUCKING LIPS, YOU'VE BEEN WANTING THIS FOR YEAR'. Her lips moved against mine trying to get mine to move but my whole body was frozen. Her hands soon left my face as she pulled away, my lips already missed her. Both of us breathing deeply, I still hadn't loved I don't think I've even blinked.

"I'm so sorry, I-I don't know-" Her voice cracked as she spoke but my body suddenly started to work again and I leaned in smashing my lips back onto hers. I didn't know what to do with my hands as hers went back up to my cheeks. Our lips moved slowly against each other's, her lips a little dry and my teeth bumped against hers a couple of time. But soon (a couple of seconds) we got used to it and shared the perfect kiss.

I felt like I was in heaven, my heart banging against my rib cage. My hands rested on her thighs and they naturally started to glide up but then I stopped and quickly pulled away realising what's actually happening. I let out a quiet groan when I saw her lips all swollen.

"I can't" I whispered, I can't do this. She's not in the best state of mind right now, she might not even know what she's doing.

"Why?" She asked, hurt laced in her voice making my heart physically hurt. I brought my hand up to her cheeks and rubbed circles with my thumb against her smooth skin.

"Y/N, you know why. No matter how much I want to and fucking hell I want to, we can't. Not right now, not when you're this emotional. Tomorrow you might remember what you did and think 'fuck, why did I do that?' When you feel better mentally then m-maybe w-we can you know, go on a date or something." She nodded and looked down, biting her lip.

"Don't do that" I mumbled, pressing my forehead against hers.

"Sorry" She giggled.

"I'd like that, I mean go on a date like that will be fun. I've never been on one before." She added and took my hands in her once again.

"Me either" I said smiling brightly, my face hurt from how wide my smile was but I didn't care. Y/N FUCKING STARK IS GOING ON A DATE WITH ME.

"Thank you for stopping Peter, that was an amazing thing to do. You're right I'm not in the right state now" She said not looking at me, I put my index finger under her chin making her look at me.

"It's okay" Her hand moved up to my cheek once again and I leaned down to kiss her nose as I held her closer.

Her head fell into my shoulder as she wrapped her arms around my neck. We stayed in that position only God knows how long but Y/N's doors opened causing us to jump apart. My eyes went wide when I saw Mr Stark raising an eyebrow at us.

"Interrupting something am I?" He asked in a stern voice, I looked at Y/N panicking but she looked so calm.

"No Daddy" She said getting up. "Peter came by to drop off my school work and was trying to make me feel better. And in all honesty I just needed a hug so I asked him and he said yes" She lied straight through her teeth as she went to hug her father. Thank god she's obviously lied to him before.

"Right, well thank you Mr Parker but you can go now. No work needed at the internship today." My face scrunched together for a second forgetting Y/N didn't know.

"Oh right em yeah. I'll see you tomorrow Y/N" I said getting my bag then started to walk over to them. I stood and stared at her with loving eyes as she sent a smile my way. Mr Stark cleared his throat and nodded to the door.

"Sweetie, I need to talk to Mr Parker about a project. Why don't you do some online shopping in your tv room whilst you wait for me and I'll come and get you after" Y/N nodded and waved at me as she walked over to the room.

"Bye Pete, I'll em text you" She said blushing making my cheeks go red as Mr Stark staring me down.

"Bye-" I tried to say but Mr Stark grabbed my elbow. Oh god I thought as I saw his face.

"Walk with me Peter" He said and started to walk down the long corridor.

"O-of course sir" I said and ran to catch up with him.

"When are you planning on telling my daughter that you're spider man" I let out a small sigh of relief as he didn't say that he was secretly spying on us and saw us kissing.

"Em I don't know, I have enemies sir and I don't want to put her in danger" I saw him nod to himself and as the lift doors opened he took his sunglasses off.

"I see your point kid, but Y/N cares for you a lot I've gathered over the past couple of days. I also looked into the school system and saw you take a lot of the same classes. Also the security cameras at the school show that you spend a lot of time together. Also her phone bill has been going up in price recently and I suspect that has something to do with you" I felt my palms get sweaty and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I opened my mouth to say something but he lifted his hand up stopping me.

"I'm talking, I just wanted to say thank you Peter. My daughter hasn't had the easiest life in the world we needs a friend, that friend is you. But she trusts you Mr Parker and I think you should tell her about your alter ego." I nodded not knowing what to say. I hadn't even noticed that we had reached the main entrance.

"Well that was a nice chat wasn't it, I've already got a car waiting for you. Mrs Sally seemed to forget to wipe the entrance scanner when she said you can come in without going on the system." I turned to look at him with desperate eyes.

"Mr Stark, please don't put any blame on her. It was my idea, I threatened her!" I yelled slightly causing a couple of people to look over at us, he sighed and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

"I highly doubt that Peter, but don't worry nothing is going to happen to Mrs Sally. She's one of my best workers. Now cars outside, please sign in next time you come won't you?" Again I nodded, he patted me on the back.

"Until the next time Mr Parker, which will probably be soon as I've just got a text off Y/N asking me to ask you to come and see her again to watch a film. So I've asked you, sort it out yourself but I need to do something quickly so I can spend some time with my daughter. Bye Peter" I stood in shock for a couple of seconds, trying to proses the information.

"Right" I muttered to myself and walked towards the drive way and I saw Happy. I smiled.

"Hey Happy!" His face fell slightly when he saw me.

"Ugh get in. When Tony said he needed me to drive someone home I wasn't expecting you" He groaned and walked back to the drivers side, normally I would feel a little down that he said that but nothing could bring my mood down.

On the way back to Queens, my mind was racing and I kept on touching my lips."You alright Parker?" Happy asked, noticing my happy mood.

"Amazing" I sighed looking out of the window, the buildings becoming familiar once again. My leg started to bounce uncomfortably as I started to think about the date. What the fuck do you do on a date?

"Bye Happy!" I yelled as the car pulled up, I heard him yell my name as the car was still moving slightly. I sent him a wave and a thumbs up. I ran up the stairs all the way to my apartment, I opened the door with force causing a bang. I tripped then slid into the living arena.

"May! I need your help!" I yelled causing her to look up from the telly.

"What? Peter are you okay?!" She asks standing up, looking concerned.

"Fine! Perfect! I have a date soon" I yelled my smile covering my face once again, her own lips turned into a smile.

"With who?" May asked and walked over to me pulling me into a hug.

"Y//N! I actually have a date with Y/N!" She laughed at my excitement.

"When is it?" I shrugged getting shy.

"Em I don't know, like she's going through some things at the moment and I don't want to take advantage of her" I mumbled blushing.

"Oh Peter, I raised you well" Aunt May sighed pulled me back into a hug.

"We kissed" I muttered into her shoulder, not being able to keep it to myself any longer. I pulled away with a huge smile.

"Oh did you now?" She laughed crossing her arms, all I could do was nod and bounce on my feet.

"May you don't understand, it was the best feeling in the world. Like ugh, I've never felt this way before. After I tried to be really sweet and everything just how you taught me!" I shouted now waving my hands around.

"Peter, sweetie calm down. You're going to hyperventilate" She said grabbing my shoulders and shaking them.

"Sorry, sorry. But now you need to help me! I've never been on a date before. Please Aunt May" I pleaded with her, practically begging her.

"Of course I'll help Peter, now tell me what she likes"

------------

Heyy, thanks for reading. Sorry this took so long to update but this is soo cute yet sad... please share and shit so I know you want me to continue. Again thank you for reading x

Tags: @purplekitten30 @i-just-wanna-run-hell

Song mentioned: Live Forever By Oasis 

[graceverse]

The Saddest Ending

(also known as MY FRIDAY THE 13th FIC featuring what I would consider as the most HORRIBLE ending I could ever think of)

Warning: Character Death 

Summary:  She never visited. Not once. Not even when he pretended to sleep. She was still angry at him and Jon actually chuckled at that. Of course she is. He had given away her freedom and then had lain injured and useless as Daenerys no doubt claimed the Iron Throne.

Jon had stopped feeling. Stopped understanding anything. It was just darkness and the softly murmured words, softer footfalls as they tried to save him. He kept his eyes closed and let his body do whatever it wanted. He no longer had the energy to fight off the cold, to bear the heat, to keep his heart beating. Whatever it is that will come to pass, will pass.

The last thing he remember seeing was pure white shards of ice flying towards him as the Night King shattered against Longclaw. Death and steel and then darkness.

Jon did not know how long he had lain, hovering between two worlds, fire and ice, death and life. However long it was, just like everything else, it had to end.

It ended when he finally felt warm fingers touching his face. He smiled. Or at least he tried to. He didn’t know how well that went, but he knew that touch, he would know it in death or in life.

Thin, bony fingers. The tips none too warm. He knew her from her scent: freshly washed tunic, faint-barely-there scent of wet fur, morning sun.

“Arya.” He took her hand in his, felt callouses on her fingers. Left handed Arya. Her sword hand. Needle.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice was the same. How could that be possible? It was as though Jon had been thrown back in time and he very nearly asked if this was the Winterfell before they left, if this was the Winterfell that still knew Ned and his lady wife, the Stark children with their direwolves.

But no, the Arya of that Winterfell would have softer hands. The hands of a proper Lady and not the warrior that she had apparently become, hands that had known pain and dirt and blood.

They had all known about those. Robb. Sansa. Arya. Bran. Rickon.

Jon tried to open his eyes even though he already knew that it was futile. It was a cruel joke. That he is alive, that he is finally with his beloved sister but he is unable to see her, unable to see the world he had helped saved.

He didn’t have too many words to describe how he really is, so he answered as simply as he could. “Tired. Sleepy. But alive, it seems.”

“You’re lucky.”

Yes. No. Did it matter?

“Aye.” And because it will always be darkness that he will see from now on, Jon went back to sleeping.

Now Jon was aware of days and nights of comings and goings of visitors, of Maesters, of Lords and old friends. He knew their voices. Knew their hands. But he no longer knew their faces.

Sam had to tell him one day, even though he had already figured it out long before.

Blind.

Never able to see the winter snow, spring flowers, summer skies, autumn leaves – the color of her hair.

She never visited. Not once. Not even when he pretended to sleep. She was still angry at him and Jon actually chuckled at that. Of course she is. He had given away her freedom and then had lain injured and useless as Danaerys no doubt claimed the Iron Throne.

Had the Dragon Queen ordered her to Lannisport, to fulfill her wedded duty to Tyrion? Was she pregnant now with a Lannister babe?

No. She would not be any of those. Sansa would’ve fought hard to stay in Winterfell. She would have talked Tyrion into petitioning their divorce.

Also, Tyrion had visited thrice and never mentioned anything about going to Lannisport or taking care of newly birthed Lannister heirs. Tyrion made some fancy speech about heroes and sacrifices and rebuilding the kingdom, together, one united front. Jon didn’t say anything. He didn’t want anything to do with uniting a kingdom ruled by frivolous lords whose loyalty could easily be switched, bargained, forgotten. No, Jon wanted no part in that.

Daenerys visited more than anyone. More than Arya, to Jon’s dismay. More than Bran, who only came twice. Once, to remind him that he was still a Stark, despite being the son of Rhaegar. His mother was still Lyanna Stark and he was still of the North. The second to urge him to choose: Stark or Targaryen. His choice still mattered, it seemed. He had to shake his head and groan. There is no choice. He is a Stark. He will always be a Stark. He will never stop being a Stark.

You are to me.

She had insisted it once, in an impassioned speech, her blue eyes fierce and bright and so very open, Jon could feel the truth of her statement deep within his bones, up to very bottom of his soul.  

That was all that mattered to him.  

This would explain Dany’s daily visits but not Sansa’s absence.

Dany commented on his color, not as pale as yesterday, my love. She was a bright warm voice urging him to ride south and live with her in King’s Landing. Or perhaps Dragonstone, the sun and the sea will help him regain his strength.

But his strength lay in wet snow, the cold biting wind, the Godswood, the howling of the wolves that had made Winterfell their home. He didn’t have the energy to explain this to her. He didn’t want to share with her these things that had kept him alive.

Jon tried his best to be patient. A blind man after all has too many things to occupy him. Relearning sounds, scents, textures. Relearning his own room, his own body even. He was whole, scarred beyond healing, but everything seemed to be where they should be. It was only his eyesight that he had lost and all things considered, it was not as devastating as being dead.

He will probably never hold a sword, never fight another battle in his life and this was something he was actually thankful for. He had no more wish to fight. There was nothing left to fight for. Only to live for.

But she still refused to see him.

And so, when Jon had been sure that everyone of importance in the North, in the Vale, in the miserable South, even the Free Folks has visited him – the King, the bastard, the Warden of the North, the Lord of Winterfell, just Jon – he finally asked Arya.

“Where is Sansa?”

There is a strange silence. But Jon didn’t think, didn’t feel it was the mourning kind. He would know if she was gone, wouldn’t he?

“She never visited me.”

“You’re asleep sometimes. How would you know?” Arya asked, the lilt in her voice the same as always. No change in tone, no hint of sorrow or anything.

“I’d know. She smells like lemons and fresh snow and winter roses.” He’d know because when they had lived in Winterfell, together, her scent remained even when she had left the room. It lingered all around him, it seeped into his fur coat and into his skin. If she had visited him, his room would smell of her.

“I’ll take you to her.”

“Aye. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow then.” Arya promised him and as usual, leaned forward to press a gentle kiss unto his forehead before leaving the room.

But Jon felt something inside him twisting and shivering. Does she still hate me? He wanted to ask, needing to know before he had to be in her presence but he couldn’t make himself know the answer. He decided that yes, Sansa still hated him. And if it was the case, then he would be ready and accepting but he will have to start wooing her. Something he had thought about long and hard, all those many nights he had lain awake thinking only of her. He will tell her how he truly feels, she needs to know first. And then, he will be able answer Dany why he would never join her in King’s Landing.

It would be a lot of work to win Sansa back, but that was something to live for.

And if she had forgiven him, then it would be something he could cherish. Maybe he could finally be glad that he had survived the war.

The following day, as promised, Jon walked with Arya out of his room and into the hallway. There was a hush around them and Jon was certain it was because the people inside Winterfell had never seen Jon Snow and Arya Stark walking its hallways. At least no one alive would have seen them together, dark eyed, dark haired Stark ghosts silently roaming their home.

Her strides were short but confident, as though she already knew that even without his sight, he would know exactly where to go, where the corners would be, were the stairs would start and end, where the windows would allow light and sun and warmth.

And he did. Jon knew Winterfell better than he knew himself. This was the Winterfell he had grown up with, the Winterfell whose nooks and crannies he had explored and mapped and he could see it all clearly in his mind. Knew exactly where the Stark banner would be hanging – he reached out his hands and felt the heavy fabric bearing the grey winter wolf.

He started towards Sansa’s solar, sure that she would be there, but Arya’s footsteps stopped and Jon had to turn back towards her. It didn’t take long for Jon to realize that they were heading outside and he braced himself for the cold, but the air was crisp, not the biting freeze he had expected.

Arya seemed to have sensed his confusion, “Sam thinks that when you defeated the Night King, it shortened winter. He thinks that the Night King and winter were somehow feeding off each other.”

He sensed Arya’s shrug, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what Arya meant and he didn’t want to question Sam who had skillfully dragged him out of death’s grip.

“I think we just assumed it would be a long winter and it turned out that it wasn’t.” This sounded nothing like his impetuous sister. This sounded like someone who had grown resigned to the mistakes men were bound to make.

And that makes Arya so much wiser, calmer, and surer of herself, of her place in the world that Jon suddenly missed the little girl that had jumped into his arms, hugging him, making him promise that he will visit her in the South or maybe she will visit him at the Wall.

They had assumed a lot of things and ended up being so incredibly wrong and that, Jon could at least understand.  

The chill was familiar but not in a comforting way. He knew this cold, had spent too many times being enveloped by it.

The crypts beneath Winterfell.

He stopped walking so abruptly, he stepped on Arya’s heels.

And now, yes, the scent of tears. Of mourning that was never meant to be spoken of or shared. It rises from her and Jon feels suddenly weak and lightheaded. He fights against this feeling, fights it like he had fought so many months ago, with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

“Is she visiting father?” Jon asked, in the exact same way when he had tried to open his eyes knowing that he would never be able to see again, ever.

“Jon.” And now, yes, that sudden change in Arya’s voice. Like a raw, opened wound that was still profusely bleeding and that will remain open until all the blood runs out. It was exactly how sorrow worked.  

But Jon didn’t wait for another word or worst, a comforting touch. “Take me to her.” Was all that he said, suddenly reminded of Robert Baratheon, years and years and a whole lifetime ago, ordering their father to take him to the crypts.

Darkness never mattered now. He was still surefooted as he was inside the castle. How many days and nights had he spent coming inside these crypts to stare at Ned Stark’s face, asking him for forgiveness for bending the knee, for wanting something he was not supposed to have, for hoping, for demanding, for trying to bargain?

I will save The North, father. I will make myself worthy of her.

His senses were startling in its accuracy and as they walked closer to where he knew Ned Stark’s statue was, Jon was also certain that there was no one else inside the crypt. It was still just him and Arya.

Arya, who very gently takes his hand and stretches it over his head so that his fingers can meet stone, instead of flesh, coldness instead of warmth.

Sansa.

His breath leaves his lungs, noisy and painfully and Jon willed his heart to stop as his hand finds her jaw, cupping it tenderly before moving upward to feel her the smooth roundness of her cheers, turning softly downwards, to her neck and then her shoulder and suddenly, Jon could feel his knee giving way, the weight of this sorrow so sudden, so encompassing it had turned into everything.

This is whole world now: this loss.

It was all the he could know and feel and it consumed him, devoured him like snow storms could swallow up whole armies.

“How?” came out more as a howl and he asked this over and over before switching to “why” and then finally “who?” because his fight was not yet over, he would have to hold his sword once again and he will swing it, wait for the sound of steel slipping between flesh and bones, the heat of blood hissing as it melted the snow. This would not ease the pain, but it will allow him to live with himself.

He had so utterly failed her.

Arya didn’t move, didn’t try to comfort him. “You were still beyond the wall. She abandoned you, remember?”

Jon wordlessly nodded. Dany had apologized for it with tears and careful hands brushing away the anger in his frowns and grunts. She had to. Rhaegal had already died. Drogon barely survived. She only had one dragon left and there was no way she will be able to claim the Iron Throne with a dying dragon. She had to leave.

It didn’t matter. Jon was going to kill the Night King and he will put a stop to this endless nightmare and he didn’t care if he had dragons or Dothrakis or the Unsullied was behind him. The war was now just between him and the Night King.

“She headed North. I was still at Riverrun with Nymeria.”

“You took The Trident.” Jon remembered receiving a raven telling him of the Warrior of Winterfell, the youngest daughter of Eddard Stark, charging towards the Golden Company on the back of the biggest direwolf the kingdom had ever seen and behind her, more wolves, snarling and howling, the fur of their snouts matted and colored with all the shades of blood red.

An Army of Avenging Wolves. Winter finally arriving in the South, jaws furiously, righteously snapping up bones and flesh.  

“I was too late. The Dragon Queen arrived in Winterfell and she demanded the Northern Lords to bend the knee, to give her the army that she had lost fighting beyond the wall.”

And already Jon could see her, standing just outside Winterfell, her head held high, chin jutting out, red hair harsh against the pure white of winter snow. She would not show them that she was frightened; she will not let them see her trembling. She was of the North. The daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark. She was the Lady of Winterfell.

“Bran said Sansa had looked up and closed her eyes and it was so, so quiet that even though it was a whisper, even when it had been spoken so quietly, everyone heard it.”

Dracarys.

Jon found himself storming outside, the chilled air seeping through his skin, finding its ways inside his veins, into his blood, wrapping itself around his heart until he could feel frozen air inside his lungs.

Arya grabbed his shoulder, “You can’t.”

“I will.” He shrugged off her hold. “I only regret that I won’t be able to see her face.” The anger inside him – no, not anger, something far more fiercer than that. Fire and blood. A kind of madness.

But Arya planted herself firmly in front of him, “You can’t. She is the mother of your son.”

Jon staggered back. What?

What?!

“You slept with her. On your way here. She bore you a child. Why do you think she is still here, alive? Why do you think her head isn’t on a spike rotting on the table inside my chambers?”

No. No. No. No.

“You have a son. A Targaryen. The first real Targaryen in years. You think I would be able to kill a child that has you face? Your eyes? He is a Targaryen, but his face… it’s your face. It’s father’s face.”

And Jon felt like dying all over again. The Gods were so, so infinitely cruel.

--

Okay, fuck. Fuck. What the fuck did I write? 

It’s like everything I don’t ever want to happen (MagicalTargBaby!) in GoT. 

I just had to get that out of my system. So yeah. There’s the saddest ending I could ever think of. Imagine having to live with the woman who is the mother of your child and who also happen to murdered the woman you truly loved? 

I’m so sorry Jon. 

I will never write anything like this ever again. Like, ok that’s out of my head now. I can now stop thinking about that scenario – which has haunted me many sleepless nights. I know this has a lot of plot holes, so maybe we can consider this as a crack fic? Please don’t hate me.  

[newyorktheater]

Playwright and director George C. Wolfe, playwright and poet Ntozake Shange, playwright and novelist Larry Kramer before the Identity Week panel.

Larry Kramer, who wrote “The Normal Heart” and founded GMHC (the Gay Mens Health Crisis) and ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power) has died at age 84.

obituary

In 2011, The Normal Heart, which was about AIDS and AIDS activists, was revived on Broadway. Here is a repost of my review at the time, April 2011

Theatergoers leaving “The Normal Heart,” a revival of the 1985 play about the AIDS crisis, were greeted by activist Larry Kramer handing out a leaflet from the curb. He was not urging a boycott; it is, after all, his play. The leaflet brought us up to date on AIDS: Since the AIDS epidemic was first identified, 35 million people have died of it. “When the action of the play that you have just seen begins,” Kramer writes, “there were 41.”

A couple of things about this made me curious, and since the playwright was standing right there, I asked him two questions: 1. Why didn’t he just insert the leaflet in the Playbill? “I wanted you to see the play first,” Larry Kramer explained.

2. If the mayor of New York City, who is one of those blasted in the play for inaction, had responded right away to the news of the 41, how would things have wound up differently? “That’s a dumb question,” Larry Kramer replied. “Use your imagination.”

And there in our interaction I thought I detected a taste of “The Normal Heart” itself. This story of the early years of the AIDS epidemic, being given a first-rate production with an impressive cast at the John Golden Theater, is informative, unwieldy, thought-provoking, didactic, exasperating and, in the end, deeply moving – and it requires an in-your-face confrontation not only with the facts of AIDS but also with the personality of Larry Kramer.

“The Normal Heart” revolves around Kramer’s obvious stand-in, Ned Weeks, a writer who describes himself as an angry loud-mouth, played in this production by Joe Mantello, returning to acting after almost two decades as a successful director (“Wicked,” “Assassins”) But Kramer is also present in the character of Emma, played by Ellen Barkin, one of the first physicians to see patients in 1981 with a strange new disease that seemed to affect only gay men.

Worried after reading a short article in the New York Times about it, Ned visits Emma in her office, and she all but anoints him to lead the fight. “Someone has to. Why not you?” In more than a dozen scenes, we see Ned argue with a writer from the New York Times, with a New York City official, with his own brother, but mostly with the other gay men who found an unnamed organization (clearly the Gay Men’s Health Crisis, GMHC) – and we see Emma argue with a federal health official who denies her funding — in what amounts to a series of indictments of all levels of government, health officials, the press, and the gay community itself for their failure to respond quickly and effectively to the epidemic.

“There’s not a good word to be said for anybody’s behavior in this mess,” a character (not Ned) says, but it is Larry Kramer speaking. While Kramer offers insightful general points about the reasons for the neglect, he also makes specific accusations that too often seem personal, one-sided, and unsubstantiated. An aide to the New York City mayor is depicted as somebody not just insufficiently responsive but uncaring, even brutish and threatening, and when the mayor (unnamed, but Ed Koch) has finally agreed to meet with the gay groups about AIDS, Ned says: “He’s the one person most responsible for letting this epidemic get out of control.”

I am not equipped to argue knowledgeably with this statement, but the assertion raises more questions than it answers (which is why I asked the playwright about it). In a foreword to the published script, Joseph Papp, who put on “The Normal Heart” at the Public in 1985 in what was then considered an act of courage, wrote: “I love the ardor of this play, its howling, its terror and its kindness.” In a later interview, he recounted his reaction to the initial script: “I said ‘This is one of the worst things I’ve ever read,’ and I was crying…There was so much feeling in the play, I was moved.” Even after extensive revisions, the director of its 1985 production, Michael Lindsay-Hogg, compared the play to a heavyweight boxer who “misses sometimes, but if he connected, it would really snap your head back.” In his 1985 New York Times review, Frank Rich wrote that “Mr. Kramer’s theatrical talents are not always as highly developed as his conscience.”

The current production of “The Normal Heart” began as a benefit reading, and has the feeling of a group effort by the theater on behalf of a cause, a fundraiser – and indeed a spokesman for the show says that the production has a “financial commitment” to The Actors Fund, amfAR, Friends in Deed and the Human Rights Campaign (It is interesting but unsurprising that GMHC is not included.) All of this might lead one to expect that the revival of “The Normal Heart” would be a political, historical, even anthropological experience rather than a theatrically satisfying one. It is certainly true that “The Normal Heart” is not the best play to deal with AIDS (nor was it the first – William Hoffman’s “As Is” opened a month before “The Normal Heart” Off-Broadway and 26 years before “The Normal Heart” on Broadway). But “The Normal Heart” can be appreciated as a play, rather than as a cause or a series of hectoring lectures, for several reasons. Part of it is the touch of the directors, Joel Grey and George C. Wolfe. Grey took over the role of Ned in the original production from Brad Davis (who, in a tragic irony, was diagnosed with AIDS that same year.) Grey, who also performs in the current revival of ‘Anything Goes,” asked former Public Theater artistic director Wolfe to co-direct “The Normal Heart.” David Rockwell’s set is stark, with little furniture, either all white and inlaid with words and catchphrases from the AIDS crisis, or a projection of the growing number of names of people who died of AIDS. (Both of these are a clever reflection of the kind of graphics created by AIDS activists.) There are little moments meant to shock — in the first scene, in the doctor’s office, the first patient with AIDS we see looks normal, until he turns around to face his friends, and we see that the other side of his face is covered with the tell-tale bruises of kaposi sarcoma. Similarly, it takes us a while to realize that Emma is in a wheelchair, the result of a childhood bout with polio. It is fascinating to witness the interaction among the various gay men trying to fashion a response and deal with their own panic, and to hear the now-forgotten debates that divided the community over what would be the best approach. The production attempts to place these arguments in context with a quick opening montage of photographs, posters, buttons glimpsing the efforts over the previous decade to assert gay pride in the face of anti-gay prejudice. Sex, for some, was seen as liberation, which is why some resisted the effort to curtail it, fearing a return to the days before Stonewall, when simply sitting in a gay bar put you in danger of arrest. Most to the point, when Kramer allows other characters besides his stand-ins to have the floor, that floor becomes more like a stage, and the characters are permitted to reveal more than just their political viewpoints. There is a story about the horrible treatment by airline and hospital personnel toward a dying man, told by his lover Bruce, the ex-Green Beret who is in the closet (played by Lee Pace, best-known for his role as Ned on “Pushing Daisies”). Patrick Breen (“Next Fall”) plays Mickey, a health department employee who is wracked by guilt and anxiety. Jim Parsons (who plays Sheldon Cooper on “The Big Bang Theory”) is charming and believable as the conciliatory Tommy. The character above all that turns “The Normal Heart” into a drama is Felix Turner, a gay New York Times style reporter who becomes Ned’s lover. Felix is played exquisitely by John Benjamin Hickey, currently known for the role of Laura Linney’s brother on the Showtime series “The Big C.” Felix functions as welcome puncture and punctuation to Ned’s self-serious rants. When, during an early date, Ned lectures Felix on how the world allowed Jews to perish during the Holocaust, Felix drily remarks: “This is turning out to be a very romantic evening.” It is Felix — amiable, likable, wry, non-political – who discovers a purple bruise on his foot, and with whom we share the debilitating, humiliating journey through a disease that, a quarter of a century later, still has no cure. Information about AIDS from the National Institutes of Health. The Normal Heart At the John Golden Theater Written by Larry Kramer Directed by Joel Grey and George C. Wolfe Scenic design by David Rockwell, costume design by Martin Pakledinaz, lighting by David Weiner, sound by David Van Tieghen, projections by Batwin & Robin Cast: Joe Mantello, Ellen Barkin, John Benjamin Hickey, Patrick Breen, Luke MacFarlane, Lee Pace, Jim Parsons, Mark Harelik, Richard Topol, Wayne Wilcox Running time: 2 hours and 35 minutes, including a 15-minute intermission Ticket prices: $26.50 to $116.50.

RIP Larry Kramer 84, playwright of The Normal Heart, AIDS activist: “Almost more than talent you need tenacity: Larry Kramer, who wrote “The Normal Heart” and founded GMHC (the Gay Mens Health Crisis) and ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power) has died at age 84.

[kansascityhappenings]

Vigil honors victims as authorities eye Ohio shooter’s life

DAYTON, Ohio — Nineteen hours after a masked gunman opened fire on revelers enjoying summer nightlife, the blood had been scrubbed from the sidewalk and the crime-scene tape torn down as a somber crowd of hundreds stood in the same street Sunday evening to honor the nine victims killed and 27 left injured in Dayton, Ohio.

They released doves, repeated the names of the dead and sang “Amazing Grace,” but directed an angrier chorus at Republican Gov. Mike DeWine, interrupting his speech at the vigil with chants of “Make a change” and “Do something!”

Mayor Nan Whaley, a Democrat, said there will be time later for dealing with the policy issues. She implored the crowd to honor the victims of the second U.S. mass shooting in less than 24 hours, for which no motive has been explained.

Connor Betts, 24, was armed with a .223-caliber rifle with magazines capable of holding at least 100 rounds of ammunition when he fired off dozens of shots in a popular entertainment district, Police Chief Richard Biehl said.

Betts was gunned down within 30 seconds of the start of his rampage, police said. Surveillance video they shared shows officers shot Betts at the doorstep of further destruction, just stopping him from entering a bar where some people took cover when the chaos broke out around 1 a.m. Sunday in the historic Oregon District.

Had he gotten inside Ned Peppers Bar, the result would have been “catastrophic,” Biehl said.

Bullet holes remained visible in the window there as people left flower bouquets in memorial in front of Ned Peppers and other bars. At one store, a few purple flowers were tucked into a bullet hole.

Betts’ 22-year-old sister Megan was the youngest of the victims. Police identified the others as Monica Brickhouse, 39; Nicholas Cumer, 25; Derrick Fudge, 57; Thomas McNichols, 25; Lois Oglesby, 27; Saeed Saleh, 38; Logan Turner, 30; and Beatrice N. Warren-Curtis, 36.

The gunman was white and six of the nine killed were black, police said. Although they’ll investigate the possibility of a hate crime, they said the quickness of the rampage made any discrimination in the shooting seem unlikely.

Officials said 27 more people were treated for gunshots or other injuries suffered while fleeing, and at least 15 of those have been released. Several more were in serious or critical condition, hospital officials said.

Nikita Papillon, 23, was across the street at Newcom’s Tavern when the shooting started. She said she saw a girl she had talked to earlier lying outside Ned Peppers, a bar she described as the kind of place “where you don’t have to worry about someone shooting up the place.”

“People my age, we don’t think something like this is going to happen,” Papillon said. “And when it happens, words can’t describe it.”

President Donald Trump was briefed on the shooting and praised law enforcement’s speedy response in a tweet Sunday. The FBI is assisting with the investigation as authorities put Betts’ life under the microscope in search of answers.

Two former high school classmates told The Associated Press that Betts repeatedly threatened other students and was suspended for compiling a “hit list” of those he wanted to kill and a “rape list” of girls he wanted to sexually assault.

Police have said there was nothing in his background to prevent him from buying the firearm he used.

The classmates, a man and a woman who are both now 24, spoke on condition of anonymity out of concern they might face harassment if their names were disclosed.

Bellbrook Police Chief Doug Doherty said he and his officers weren’t aware of any history of violence by Betts, including during high school, and had no previous contact with him.

Another former classmate, Brad Howard, said he knew Betts for two decades and described him as “a nice kid.”

Bellbrook-Sugarcreek Local Schools confirmed Betts graduated in 2013 but wouldn’t immediately release information about his records or answer questions about the classmates’ allegations.

More recently, Betts was taking college classes and working at an eatery. Sinclair Community College confirmed he attended there and studied psychology but wasn’t enrolled this summer. Chipotle confirmed he worked at one of its restaurants but released no other details.

Betts also was a familiar face at Romer’s Bar & Grill in Bellbrook, where he was known as an ever-friendly, happy guy who sometimes came in for a beer or two and never made trouble.

Bartender Andy Baker said Betts was at the bar last Monday and seemed fine. Baker said when he saw Betts identified as the shooter, he thought: There is no way that’s the guy.

Fellow customer Mike Kern said he sometimes played trivia at Romer’s with Betts, who was good for answers about current events and pop culture and was “the kind of kid you’d want as a son.”

“I never heard him talk about violence, say a racist word, or anything like that,” Kern said.

The Ohio shooting came hours after a young man opened fire in a crowded El Paso, Texas, shopping area, leaving 20 dead and more than two dozen injured. Just days before, on July 28, a 19-year-old shot and killed three people, including two children, at the Gilroy Garlic Festival in Northern California.

Sunday’s shooting in Dayton is the 22nd mass killing of 2019 in the U.S., according to the AP/USA Today/Northeastern University mass murder database that tracks homicides where four or more people were killed — not including the offender. The 20 mass killings in the U.S. in 2019 that preceded this weekend claimed 96 lives.

The shooting in Dayton comes after the area was heavily damaged when tornadoes swept through western Ohio in late May.

“Dayton has been through a lot already this year, and I continue to be amazed by the grit and resiliency of our community,” Whaley said.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/08/04/vigil-honors-victims-as-authorities-eye-ohio-shooters-life/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/08/05/vigil-honors-victims-as-authorities-eye-ohio-shooters-life/