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fayes-fics · 3 years ago

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Lesson Learned

Lessons Series Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x female reader, Benedict Bridgerton x female reader.

Summary: Sequel to The Lesson. Probably best to read that first. Anthony catches you and Benedict without him and teaches you both a lesson.

Warnings: So many. 18+, minors dni, smut, threesome (FMM), d/s relationships, discipline (caning), spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, fingering, handjob, edging/overstimulation, oral sex (f to m), deepthroat orgasm, vaginal sex. No incest. Please note this is not a marriage relationship.

W/c: 6.0K (wtf I’m so sorry)

A/n: Please read the warnings, like the first story, this one is spicy by request. This fic is a sequel request fill for @iboopedyournose and is dedicated to her. I hope I have fulfilled what you wanted for the follow up and that you enjoy. There are a couple of intentional POV changes during this story once to Anthony, once to Benedict denoted by “***”. Thanks to @makaylan for a quick beta.

The day after your first encounter - well, threesome - with one Benedict Bridgerton, you find a notecard in the pocket of your robe. A hand-written note in beautiful looped writing. Thou art too dear for my possessing. Above there’s an address printed. You store the card carefully in the pages of your favourite book.

Changing the route of your daily walk to pass the address doesn’t necessarily signify anything. That, five days later, you forget to plan for the unpredictability of London weather doesn’t indicate any premeditation. That you now stand on the doorstep of said address, looking akin to a drowned rat, well, again, not your plan or fault. These things happen.

It’s the choices you make after the door opens that are of consequence.

“You’ll need to change, or you’ll catch a chill,” he says after ushering you in and ordering some tea.

“Change into what exactly?” You ask pointedly, assuming a bachelor's lodgings are woefully under-equipped with dresses.

“You’ll have to borrow some of my clothes” he shrugs as if it’s the most obvious solution. “Just until yours are dry," he adds. His assumption you will stay for that long isn’t something you wish to dwell on.

He disappears for a few moments before returning, handing you a towel, some trousers and a white shirt, and shows you to a bathroom. Your dress is soaked, and your undergarments too. Great. You will be spending time in the company of a man who has done unspeakable things to you (within minutes of your first meeting) without underwear. That doesn’t seem like a recipe for disaster at all.

You pull on the clothes he gave you and laugh at your reflection. You look like an actual clown. At least being too alluring won’t be a problem.

Luckily your hat stopped your hair from getting too wet, so you just towel it dry and leave it loose. What’s the point in attempting proper appearance when he has already pulled you around by the same hair, his fingers inside you?

Making your way back to his drawing-room, you see Benedict painting on his easel in the bay window. You pad in quietly and take a seat, seeking solace in the warm tea waiting for you.

Surprisingly it’s not a tense atmosphere. You are relaxed, oddly at ease. After about five minutes, you have finished your tea and wish you had a book to read.

“There’s a small library next door if you wish," he mentions without looking away from his task.

Hmm, a coincidence of timing; surely he can't read your mind. Lots of people like to read.

You wander into the library. After perusing some spines, you decide to use the ladder and look at the books up high. The trouble is, the clown trousers represent a trip hazard. You shrug to yourself and pull down the braces, and they fall to the floor. You’re sure no one will come in and see you, so what’s the harm? You’ll only be out of them for a few moments.

You climb the ladder about two feet up and reach for a book that catches your interest. Not thinking about how far up the shirt may have risen.

“If you need a recommendation…” he stops mid-sentence with a growl.

You curse under your breath and hug into the ladder, just trying to ride out your mortification. You didn’t think Benedict would follow you in here.

It’s far too quiet now. Somehow you don’t think to move; provide some sense of modesty; you’re frozen in place.

“What is your colour?” he grinds out.

You look confused for a moment. What is he talking about?

“Answer me, girl.”

Oh.

Oh, holy fuck.

There’s a flood between your legs. Unbidden.

“Green," you stutter and hold your breath, staring at the bookcase in front of you.

You should have said red, red, RED; your mind is screaming.

You hear long strides across the room then two large warm hands seize your bare ass cheeks.

“You are all I have thought about for days," he groans, burying his face into your lower back, “Now I find you in just my shirt, no underwear. Dear girl, are you trying to kill me?”

He slides one hand between your cheeks, ploughing heavily into your slit. His breath stutters as he finds just how wet you are already.

“I need you now, here," he pleads, his middle finger circling your clit.

“Oh god, yes," you hiss.

He bodily pulls you off the ladder. Pushing your face-first against the bookcase, he crowds himself into your back. He wraps his hand around your throat and kisses your cheekbone. The other hand trails up your skin from under the hem of his shirt you wear, tracing your curves, around your hip, up your stomach to your breast that he cups and squeezes.

“Please kiss me, sir," you plead; he groans on the last word.

He spins you around and gives you a devastating crooked smile before his lips descend to yours. His kiss is masterful and everything you hoped it would be since Anthony denied you. You moan into his mouth as his tongue teases yours, and with a snarl, he deepens the kiss and grasps your hips, pushing you up higher into the bookcase. A warm thigh is slotting between your bare legs to take your weight, the wool of his trousers catching against your clit. Your hands slide into his hair. Oh fuck, you could get lost in this.

His fingers start to unbutton the shirt you wear - his shirt - but he stops halfway.

“I want to fuck you while you wear this, my shirt,” he hisses possessively, one hand slipping inside to pinch your nipple as his mouth slides down your neck. You can feel his cock pressed into your stomach; this time, you crave to see it, touch it, and taste it. There’s no Anthony to stop you.

***

Unbeknownst to you, Anthony has a key to every Bridgerton property, the privilege of being head of the family. He is known to drop by unannounced to check on family occasionally. It just so happens today he decided to visit Benedict to discuss his country cottage.

Anthony shakes the rain from his hair and enters the drawing-room but, finding no one, continues to the next room. He freezes in the doorway.

There he sees Benedict with a woman’s hands in his hair; her bare legs wrapped loosely around his knees, she’s pressed against the library bookcase as they kiss hard and heavy.

Good for you, brother, he thinks.

Until he hears your voice.

“Oh, sir.”

And every nerve in Anthony’s body is alight at once.

You have never discussed terms of exclusivity, but Anthony just assumed you were all his. Every night, he comes to you; he still has your smell on his skin from this morning.

But here you are with his very own brother. Doing the one thing, he forbade you from doing - kissing. The incandescent rage broils heavy in his chest, and he goes to speak, but something stops him.

The anger is joined by a more unfamiliar urge, a salty tang of desire. Dear god, but he wants to watch you. Watch you be pleasured, be fucked. Watch your face as you get eaten out; your toes and fingers curl as you are pounded by a cock. Maybe not today, but someday. And he supposes if there is one person he would trust to do so, it’s his brother. So fighting his possessive instincts, he stays silent. Biting his tongue. Watching.

He watches as your hands card through Benedict’s hair.

He watches as his younger brother rhythmically grinds his thigh between your legs, making you gasp.

He watches as Benedict hauls you off the bookcase and slips to the rug on the floor, you underneath him. You writhing in pleasure, little pants of breath between fevered kisses.

He watches his brother slide his lips down your neck, your breastbone, moving the shirt you wear to wrap his lips fiercely around your nipple.

But your cry of pleasure pierces Anthony’s resolve.

This cannot go unpunished; the desire to bring punishment itches. He also wants Benedict to suffer for taking what is his without asking permission. Anthony may have granted it with knowledge, but this? This is unacceptable.

***

Suddenly you sense something in the room, and your eyes fly open. In the doorway stands Anthony, his hands balled into fists at his side. His eyes flash a maelstrom of emotions as they lock with yours.

“My lord," you freeze, your voice edged with panic.

“It’s sir," Benedict admonishes, biting on the bud of your nipple.

“No," you gasp, wrenching him from your body with a rough tug on his head, “your brother”.

He tracks your line of sight, turns his head, and sputters as he sees his brother.

“Why stop on my account” Anthony seethes “it appears both of you want to break all the rules.”

“Brother I….” Benedict begins, pulling off you and rolling to sit next to you on the floor.

“Save it” Anthony raises a hand.

You scramble to make yourself decent, but you’re only wearing Benedict’s thin white shirt, and you sense Anthony’s gaze between your legs, noting your lack of underwear. You sit up and try to cover yourself up.

“Is that his shirt?” Anthony sputters in disbelief.

“Yes. I’m so sorry I got caught in the rainstorm and Sir-… Bened-… Mr Bridgerton…” you cringe as you correct yourself, “he kindly lent me some clothes while mine dry” your words are rushed and stumbling. Your cheeks are burning.

There is no way around this. You’ve both been caught red-handed.

“Do you know how many lines you have both crossed?” Anthony barks.

“I’m so sorry, my lord” you hang your head, truly ashamed. “Please forgive me," you whisper.

Benedict is silent next to you. He also won’t look up; he’s just as complicit. Your hand itches to take his; take mutual comfort in your collective shame.

“My girl, there is only one way I will ever forgive you. And that is to punish you so hard you never forget who you truly belong to,” Anthony grinds out, flexing his hands.

Oh. Your body burns bright with a potent mix of hope, desire and trepidation.

It makes you strip off Benedict’s shirt and scramble closer to Anthony. Kneeling up on your haunches completely naked, adopting a submissive pose. Head bowed towards him.

“Please, my lord, please punish me," you implore, utterly enthralled by him.

Anthony growls and strides over to you, grabbing your hair close to your scalp and tilting your head up to look at him.

“Oh, my darling girl," you can see the war on his face. You bury your face into him, rubbing your nose over his cock through his trousers, desperate for his forgiveness and power. His hand rounds the back of your head and holds you there. You feel his heat and hardness increasing against your face, making your clit burn.

“As for you," you assume he is talking to Benedict. “You will not go unpunished either.” You don’t know what he could mean, but you almost don’t care as long as he absolves you both.

“You are both going to do exactly what I say,” he intones authoritatively, “then maybe you will be forgiven.”

You nuzzle happily against him, opening your mouth and dragging your lips against the outline of his now rigid cock. He gruffs and pulls your head back.

“It’s not my cock you’ll be sucking, my girl," he warns.

You and Benedict both inhale sharply at that.

“Brother, go get your mahl stick," Anthony instructs him. Benedict looks confused but gets up and leaves the room to fetch whatever Anthony asked him for. While he’s gone for a few moments, Anthony reaches down and tweaks your nipple. “I’m not going to go easy on you today," he warns, “you will feel some ache for this.”

Benedict returns and hands Anthony something. It’s a long wooden cane with a round leather pad on the end. You instantly know what he plans to use it for, and you start breathing unevenly.

“Colour?” Anthony demands as he taps the cane against his leg.

“Green, so green,” you exhale.

“On all fours, my girl," Anthony orders, pushing you down, “face away from me.”

You slowly turn around and adopt the position he wants. He’s never punished you with anything except his hand before. Your stomach roils with butterflies and a hot, oily fear.

“Brother, take off your clothes.” You know this is a power play; he wants both of you naked and under his control.

You crane your head slightly to watch as Benedict strips almost perfunctorily. Oh gosh, he is beautiful, you think, as more of his flesh is revealed. His chest isn’t hairy like Anthony's, but he is toned and lithe. Then he drops his trousers, and you stop breathing for a second. He has a gorgeous cock; it must run in the family.

“Sit down on the floor," Anthony commands, “right in front of my girl. Legs between hers.”

Benedict does as bidden, and your faces come into alignment a few inches apart.

“I’m sorry," he mumbles guiltily, “I should have resisted earlier.”

You are touched that he blames himself for this. You could’ve said red, knowing he would have respected your every wish. But you didn’t because you wanted him as much as he did you.

“No," you whisper in return, “we both couldn’t help it.” His blue eyes look almost soulful, and you want to kiss him again.

“Go ahead," Anthony prompts from behind you, “kiss him.”

Your brow furrows in confusion, but you don’t question the change of heart from last time. You lean forward, and Benedict does the same. Your lips touch, and he sighs; you instantly melt into each other. Just as his tongue teases your lips apart, there is a crack of noise in the air and a searing pain across your butt cheek.

You scream into Benedict’s mouth at the sensation. It’s not just the leather pad; Anthony is aiming the cane to glance over you as well.

Benedict pulls back, taking your face gently in his hands, “it’s okay, sweet girl, I’m here; just scream into me; I know you can take it.” His praise has you whimper against his lips.

“Did I say to stop kissing?” Anthony bites out.

Your lips meet again, and you hear the whistle of the movement a split second before the pain blooms across your skin. Benedict kisses it away from the best he can.

“Take hold of his cock, my girl," Anthony orders, lightly bouncing the cane across your cheeks.

You wrap a hand around Benedict, and his groan is guttural. He is so hot and hard, and he’s already leaking enough to lubricate, so you start to move your hand slowly, even without Anthony’s command; Benedict hisses right next to your ear. The next strike causes your fist to tighten, and Benedict cries out at the pressure you exert.

“That’s right," Anthony preens, directing you like a symphony.

“Oh god,” Benedict moans against your cheek, “this feels so good; please don’t stop.” He kisses you fiercely while the next blow rains down. You just whimper quietly, tears pricking at your eyes; the ache is starting to meld into one hot, burning experience. You sense yourself falling into another space.

You barely react to the next hit. Just a slow, halting exhale. Benedict kissed your cheekbone, your temple, but your response is muted, far away, your hand on him slackening.

Anthony senses your change in demeanour and stops. He doesn’t want you slipping; he wants you to be present. He drops the stick and reaches for your throat from behind, leaning over you and pulling your chin up to look at him.

“Stay with me, my girl,” he warns, “I need you to feel this. You look so beautiful with all these red marks. You’re doing so well, good girl.” He knows his praise grounds you in his presence. He watches as your eyes come back into sharper focus. He guides one of your hands between your legs. “I see just how soaked you are. Use that. Make him almost come, my girl.” Anthony’s voice is like velvet.

You return your hand to Benedict, who groans at the slick sensation you bring. His breath speeds up as you start to move your hand up and down slowly, squeezing gently on the way up, a slight twisting motion at the tip. This always works for Anthony, and it's working for him too.

Anthony stays close to your ear, his voice low. “I don’t think you've learned your lesson yet. How is your bottom feeling, my girl? Is it too raw for a spanking?”

“No, my lord,” you demure, pushing back against him, rubbing yourself unashamedly, like a cat in heat. “please.”

“Nuh-uh, not yet, you greedy girl," he tuts. “You get my cock when you’ve earned it, not before.”

Benedict is moaning louder now as you continue to work him. He is so hot and heavy in your hand, leaking slowly.

“Oh god, I’m already so close,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Take your hand away, my girl," Anthony commands as his open hand descends onto your butt cheek.

You cry out from the sting but do as you’re told, and Benedict whines instinctually from the loss of contact. You can see his cock pulsing.

Anthony pulls your hair and wraps it around his wrist. “You touch him again when I spank you," he instructs.

His hand rubs slowly over your butt cheeks while Benedict pants desperately in front of you, both of you on tenterhooks awaiting Anthony’s next move. The next blow hits your other cheek lower, almost at the junction of your thigh.

“Two," you begin counting instinctively and capture Benedict’s cock again.

“Oh, such a good girl," Anthony praises, grabbing your hair hard against your scalp, "today we are going for twenty.”

“My lord, that's so many," you protest, concentrating your movement on Benedict’s head.

“Then don’t misbehave again," he replied curtly, letting go of your hair “if you want to be with my brother, you ask my permission, do you hear me?”

“Yes, my lord," you respond breathily, realising he’s not entirely forbidding you from Benedict, who starts to squirm under your ministrations.

“Don’t let him come,” Anthony warns, “not yet.” His next hit is to one side.

“Three," you take your hand away, watching the ripples up Benedict’s shaft. The noise he makes is almost inhuman. You can tell this is agonising him, being brought so close to the edge and then denied.

“I’m sorry," you murmur to him, locking eyes and seeing his pupils blown so wide as he gasps for air. He looks alluring, so far gone.

Anthony’s hand smacks right across the spot he caned your hardest.

“Four.” You keen at the sting and latch your lips onto Benedict’s. He instantly responds, capturing your face between his hands and kissing deep.

“Five” is muffled against Benedict’s tongue.

“Grab him again, girl," Anthony commands, and you obey.

“Have mercy,” Benedict whines, his thighs shaking under the strain of continued teasing.

“Don’t take what isn’t yours," Anthony gruffs back at him, then spanking you twice, once on each cheek.

“Six, seven," the words are challenging to bite out, the sting so strong. Your legs are heavy from strain.

“Remove your hand, girl,” you reluctantly do as bidden.

Benedict cries out in frustration again, moving his hand to relieve himself of the torture.

“Brother, if you touch yourself right now, you never get to touch my girl again,” Anthony threatens.

Benedict seethes at his brother but slowly puts his hands back on the floor.

Anthony rains down three blows in quick succession; every time Benedict tries something, Anthony spanks you more as if punishing Benedict through you.

“Eight, nine, ten… Please, my lord, can I have a break,” you beseech.

“Only for a little while, my girl” Anthony’s hands rub gently over your abused flesh.

You hang your head to centre your thoughts, but Anthony has other ideas. One of his hands slips from your cheek between your legs; his questing fingers start to tease you. You mewl quietly, protesting slightly.

“This is you being taught a lesson," Anthony imparts before sliding his thumb inside you and pulling again on your hair until your face is upright and inches from Benedict’s.

“Look at him,” he commands. “Look at him while I make you come, my girl. But don't you dare kiss him or touch him. You never get to do that again unless I permit it.” His finger harshly circles your clit. All you can do is whimper staring directly into Benedict's eyes. His breath on your face, transfixed, watching you as Anthony presses his thumb harder into you. Anthony flexes at the knuckle, dragging against your walls.

“You look so beautiful,” Benedict mouths silently as Anthony’s fingers drive you higher.

“My lord, oh god, please don't stop,” you cry out for Anthony.

“I want you, sir,” you mouth back at Benedict. His eyes are just a ring of blue around black, and you intuit how much his fingers are itching to touch you, to touch himself.

“Watch her, brother, don't touch yourself,” Anthony directs, his grip on your hair tightening as he changes the angle of his hand. He knows he is torturing you both. Face inches apart, forbidden from kissing or touching. You push back against Anthony, wanting more; you want him deeper inside you, reaching that spot that drives you wild.

“Look at you fucking yourself onto my hand, you filthy girl,” Anthony coos. “What are you?” he demands

“A filthy girl,” you parrot, watching Benedict’s breath hitch.

“That’s right. And whose girl are you?” The possessiveness is biting.

“Yours my lord, always,” you respond, chasing the sensation so hard as it notches up your body from your core.

“And yours, sir,” you mouth at Benedict, intoxicated to rebel against Anthony even as he punishes you for doing precisely that. Benedict growls, unfulfilled, in response, leaking painfully, so red and swollen.

Anthony’s fingers drag hard against your clit, his thumb digging deep to hit that spot, and you start to see stars as he exerts pressure. Your breath becomes laboured, and you cry hard, begging him not to stop, to just keep going. It burns so hotly as you start to experience little shockwaves. Just as the crest of your orgasm approaches, Anthony wrenches away his fingers and spanks you forcefully on the ass, trailing your wetness over your reddened skin.

“No! Please, please don't stop, my lord,” you cry in frustration, tears pricking your eyes.

“I’ll stop when I want, if I want,” Anthony glowers. “You better learn the lesson who is in charge here. Now, what’s your count?”

“Eleven,” you say quietly, resigning yourself to being teased with no sign of relief.

“Tell me, girl, what would your colour be if I made him come in your mouth?” Anthony questions, almost casually, his hands rubbing your ass.

“Green, my lord,” you gulp.

“Good because it's going to happen,” he answers, one hand trailing up your back and into your hair, pressing your head downwards. “Brother, lie back,” Anthony orders.

***

Benedict lays down and watches, burning with anticipation, as his brother guides you closer to his leaking, aching cock. Just a few days ago, he watched from between your legs as you took Anthony into your throat, struggling beautifully as he pushed your limits. By god, he has had dreams of doing the same every night since.

His breath catches as you lock eyes with him. Your lips are resting on the very tip of his cock. Warm and inviting.

Ohhh fuckkkkk, he watches as your lips widen out and take him in slowly. Your mouth is so hot and wet, and the suction intoxicates. Benedict fights the urge to close his eyes from how good this feels, but he doesn’t want to break eye contact with you. Fascinated as your eyes grow wider as you sink down.

He groans loudly as he bumps the back of your mouth.

Anthony exerts pressure on the back of your head, and you change the angle of your jaw.

Benedict shouts as he slides right into the tight canal of your throat. The pressure on his cockhead is intense and wonderful, and oh god, everything he imagined it would be and more. He feels your struggle for breath. Sees tears form in the corner of your eyes. Still, he can’t look away. You are the most beautiful debauched thing he has ever seen.

“Stay down, my girl," Anthony dictates, pressing his hand into your hair. Not giving you any reprieve. "I can feel how much your cunt is dripping for this, so don’t pretend you don’t love to choke on his cock”

Good grief, brother Benedict thinks.

Anthony spanks you forcefully. Your responding moan and attempt to count twelve make Benedict’s vision almost white-out, feeling the vibration all the way to his root. He was already dangling so close to the edge before you took him into your mouth, and he can't stop the inevitable now even if he wanted to...

***

Your lungs burn for air as Benedict's hand shoots out to cover yours on the floor as a warning, him incapable of speech. You open your fingers and allow his to sink between yours, lacing your hands together—a sweet gesture, a moment of connection, amid a debauched tableau.

Then you feel it. Waves of motion start at your lips, rippling under your tongue and through your throat—his cries of relief, the choking sensation of salty fluids running down your gullet.

“Yes, that's it,” you hear Anthony say, finally pulling you up. You gasp for air, choking slightly, moving to rub your face as saliva and Benedict’s come streak across your mouth, your nose, your chin.

Benedict just lays prone on the floor, panting hard, his whole body twitching.

“Well done, my good girl, look what you have done to him,” Anthony compliments; he leans over you to whisper in your ear, “Would you like your treat now?”

“Yes,” you croak, your throat raspy and sore.

Anthony spanks you again, making you jump and squeal.

“Thirteen,” the counting on autopilot now.

“What do you say?” he scolds.

“Yes, please, my lord,” you correct yourself.

“That's better. Move up a little, my girl,” he says, nudging your hips forward, your hand unlacing from Benedict’s.

You crawl over Benedict, who still has his eyes closed. “That's it; I want your face right over his.”

You shuffle until you are in position, realising Benedict will be lying trapped under you while Anthony takes you. More punishment, you presume.

Benedict's eyes open as he realises what is happening. He looks up at you, his face still a haze of satisfaction.

“I know just how beautiful she is. You can touch her and kiss her brother,” Anthony permits. “Clean up her face from your own mess, why don't you,” he smirks as an afterthought as you hear him unbuttoning his trousers.

Benedict's hands reach up and cup your jaw gently. “Thank you,” his voice is quiet and reverential, his thumb sweeping through the mess on your face and into the corner of your mouth. You snag the tip of his thumb with your teeth, tasting him as Anthony's cock teases your entrance.

“Now, I've been patient all this time while I punish you and you satisfied my brother, but now it's my turn, so just take it like the good girl you are,” he says through gritted teeth as he sinks in deep, his girth stretching you and dragging forcefully against all your walls. You know that means he will be hard and unrelenting in his mounting of you; he’ll probably leave bruises and bite marks.

“You can take it, can’t you, sweet girl, for me?” Benedict’s voice is honeyed.

“Yes, sir.” You nod down at him, his thumb still caught between your teeth. His crooked smile catches your breath as Anthony sinks all the way in.

Anthony spanks your left cheek painfully.

“Fourteen,” your speech muffled around Benedict's thumb, that you suck in earnest to soothe the pain of the sting.

“Good girl, just six to go,” Anthony reminds you, pulling back out to the tip and sinking fast back to the hilt.

You cry out at the sensation, letting Benedict’s thumb fall out your mouth, your legs heavy, tensing, your arms aching from holding up on all fours for so long.

“Come here, my girl.” Benedict moves his hands and brings your head down until it rests on his collarbone, giving your arms a break. You wrap your hands around his shoulders and breathe a sigh of relief. His skin smells woodsy and comforting, and you kiss his neck gently in thanks.

Anthony’s apparent jealousy manifests in two rapid spanks across the most abused part of your butt cheek…

“Fifteen, sixteen,” you exhale shakily against Benedict's skin.

… then Anthony plunges in roughly, his thrusts smearing the moisture from your face onto Benedict's neck.

“I thought I told you to clean her up, brother,” Anthony cautions, his thrusts turning shallower.

You look up to see Benedict frown, turn his face towards you and kiss you gently, then kiss all around your mouth, sucking gently at your skin, cleaning himself off you. As he pulls away, it makes you realise Anthony has not kissed you once today; you suddenly feel bereft of his usual affections.

“Please, will you kiss me, my lord?” You plead, looking over your shoulder towards him.

“Not yet,” he bites out bitterly, his hands digging deeper into your hipbones “this is your punishment; only my very good girl gets to kiss me after I forgive her,” he says pointedly.

“Please forgive me,” you beg, desperate for his absolution.

“Take your punishment like a good girl,” he grits out, his movement becoming harsh, spearing into you, hitting the spot that makes you scream. He spanks you hard yet again, each cheek taking two heavy blows.

“Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty,” you yowl, your knees dragging on the rug from his movements, feeling your skin burn.

Anthony wraps an arm around your throat and pulls you bodily off Benedict. Upright and tight against his body, still buried deep inside you. He smells of his spicy cologne that makes you salivate, his clothing rasping against your skin. He didn't even strip down today, taking you fully clothed.

“Well done, my good girl. You did so well,” he praises. His free hand snakes up from gripping your hipbone to grasp your breast and pulls roughly on your nipple, making you shudder and keen. Your hands grab onto his firm biceps, anchoring you against him.

“Do you promise never to be with my brother unless I allow it?” He growls breathily into your ear.

“Yes, my lord,” you vow, drunk on the sensation of him wrapped tight around you. His fingers pinch your nipples, sending shockwaves through your body directly to your core. It makes you clench down on him, he snarls, and his teeth sink into the skin where your shoulder meets your neck.

“Do you promise always to be MY good girl, only mine, no one else's?” He continues as he gives a gentle thrust. You realise the implication of what he is asking, making your heart soar and your breath catch.

“Yes, my lord, only yours,” you respond fiercely, panting as his teeth dig in more and he groans intensely.

“Good, then I forgive you, my good darling beautiful girl,” his voice endearing as he turns your jaw and captures your lips with his. He kisses you deep, his tongue running into your mouth, battling with yours, stealing your breath. He pulls away gently, speaking against your lips “now you may kiss my brother again if you wish,” he smirks, “but remember who you truly belong to, my good girl.”

“Always you, my lord,” you whisper, enchanted, basking in the warmth of his forgiveness.

His hand slide heavily from your breast, over your body, down between your legs. “Do you want to come, my darling girl?” He asks, his voice sinful.

“Oh yes, please, please, my lord, I want to come so much for you,” you entreat, utterly in his thrall, watching his face as his finger gently circles around your clit, teasing, not quite hitting the spot you need “please, my lord please” you hiss.

You glance down at Benedict, whose hands now run gently over your thighs, teasing the skin there with gentle touches, watching Anthony's fingers play with your clit.

“Now you know how I like you in this position, good girl, head down, bottom up,” Anthony intones, pushing you out of his grip. “You can come with me,” he adds.

Benedict welcomes you back to him with a quick kiss on the lips but then shifts lower, encouraging you to drop down onto your hands above his head, your face against the rug. His mouth latches onto your breast as Anthony's fingers drag directly onto your clit, and he starts to move again.

Oh fuck.

It’s too much sensation at once. Anthony is unforgiving with his pace now, plundering hard, fast strokes that steal the breath from your lungs. His fingers rubbing hard on your bud. You cry with every push and whine with every pull back, just a constant stream of noise you cannot stop. Benedict uses his teeth; oh, he remembers from last time what you like and, fuck, if he isn’t so good at this. You feel yourself hurtling fast, your vision narrowing, every muscle tensing.

“My lord, this is too much,” you voice your thoughts plaintively, “I’m going to come soon.”

“No, not yet,” Anthony orders gruffly. “You wait for me.”

“Please, my lord, I can’t hold it anymore; please let me come,” you babble, your forehead dragging hard on the rug, the burn distracting you, hoping it can hold off. Your whole body strung taught, dangling over the precipice.

He removes his hand from your clit. “I said no,” he commands. But Benedict keeps his teeth dragging on your nipple, alternating each one, pinching the other hard with his hands. You’re legitimately screaming now, every fibre of your being on fire. Anthony fucks you so hard for what feels like an eternity, you just hanging there, over a cliff edge facing the abyss. He groans hard and leans over you, his teeth sinking into your neck, making you clench hard.

“Oh fuck yes, that’s it, my girl, come on then, come all over my cock, you pretty thing,” he growls against your ear, biting your earlobe, his fingers back between your legs.

It tips you right over the edge. Your orgasm, denied for too long all afternoon, hitting you with a blinding force. Your hands and knees are scrambling with blisters, your teeth digging to the rug, the strength of your pulsing cunt pushing Anthony out of your body as you scream a litany of my lords and sirs, feeling Benedict’s teeth and Anthony’s splash all over your shuddering overheated back.

Your hips collapse, and you land on top of Benedict inelegantly, his arms wrapping low around your thighs as he gently kisses your breastbone.

“Oh well done, my darling girl,” Anthony pants heavily, hands smearing his come into your skin possessively, moving to soothe the ache on your bum. Reaching down to kiss between your shoulder blades, his face is on the other side of your body from Benedict’s.

“I believe this lesson went well,” Anthony opines a few minutes later as he rebuttons his clothing.

“Are you sure she doesn’t have more to learn, brother?” Benedict teases gently as he pulls back on his trousers. “I’d be happy to help with the teaching next time. If you’ll allow it, of course,” he adds hastily.

Anthony barks a laugh. “I’ll allow it. After all, there are always new lessons to be taught, my girl,” his voice full of promise, pulling you into his arms for a kiss as Benedict reaches out and grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips.

Oh, these wonderful boys and their ideas.

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rhymesswith · 3 years ago

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Ladyhawke AU masterpost

It’s not quite a proper fic (although it’s almost fic-length at this point), but here is a summery of the major plot points of the Ladyhawke AU, as well as links to the illustrations and drabbles roughly where they fall in the story. Some specifics are vague and may change as I develop it more. And I’ve left out the ending for now as to not spoil how the final showdown ends, so stay tuned for that!

Wen Kexing travels to the imperial court with a group of healers from the valley, where he first encounters Zhou Zishu. Zhou Zishu is the cousin of crown prince Helian Yi, and the leader of his personal armed forces. WKX decides that he and ZZS are going to be great friends, and launches a campaign of pestering to win his affections. ZZS is all /serious business, must focus on my missions no distractions allowed/ and first tries to politely rebuke him, then not-so-politely, before he eventually must admit to himself that he actually does enjoy the other man’s company.

Over the course of the months that WKX is a guest in the palace, they grow close, falling in love. They keep the relationship a secret, but as the season draws to a close it’s time for WKX to leave. Having seen that ZZS is deeply unhappy with his imperial life, WKX invites him to accompany him as he travels the country as a roaming physician. ZZS is won over by this offer, the chance to distribute good deeds instead of destruction like he’s been doing for so long. He goes to Helian Yi to resign his position and ask for his blessing to leave, knowing that his cousin won’t be happy but hoping that he will allow it.

But HY is even more upset than ZZS could have anticipated, not only banning ZZS from leaving and refusing to accept his resignation, but also ordering WKX’s arrest under bogus accusations of spying and treason. He tries to convince ZZS that WKX has just been using him to get close to gain access to the court. Lending credibility to his claims is that fact that WKX is a bit of a radical who has many strong opinions about the nobility and how they treat the common people that would potentially be considered treasonous, and while he’s too smart to voice these publicly, he and ZZS did spend time drinking with Yi Baiyi, a former general/war hero turned monk, and old friend of the royal family. YBY and WKX had often clashed over their philosophical differences, and it’s from him that HY learned of WKX’s anti-monarchist sentiments.

ZZS tries to reason with HY to free WKX, but the more he tries to advocate for him the angrier HY grows. It becomes evident that HY sees ZZS as his, believes that WKX has bewitched him and is ‘stealing’ him away, and that he needs to ‘save’ ZZS and put him back on the righteous path. Baffled by the extent of his cousin’s delusions and wanting nothing more to do with him, ZZS realizes that their only option is to break WKX out of prison and make a run for it. Some of his most loyal men aid him, and they almost succeed but are caught as they try to flee the city. There’s a confrontation, with Duan Pengju leading the forces trying to capture them, along with some dark magic Shaman(??? maybe?) that HY has recently enlisted. These Shaman lay the curse on ZZS and WKX, which - since it’s night - immediately transforms ZZS into a wolf and leaves WKX alone and defenceless against the Prince’s forces.

But just as they’re about to capture WKX, YBY swoops in and saves him. YBY feels remorse for being the one to cause all this, while he personally dislikes WKX and wanted him knocked down a peg, he never intended things to go so far. With his help they escape into the night.

Time goes by, ZZS and WKX have been living as fugitives, evading the prince’s men and trying to find a way to break the curse. The nature of the curse means that although they are always together, they can never be together. They write letters, but it’s not the same as being together. After this long, ZZS is growing increasingly hopeless and depressed over their chances of breaking the curse, and has arrived at a mental rock bottom where he really just wants revenge above anything else.

One day ZZS is drinking his misery and fantasizing about killing HY at a rural highway rest stop when he witnesses a commotion. There’s a ragged teenaged boy and an elderly man being harassed by a group of armed men that ZZS recognizes as some of his former comrades from HY’s army. In their altercation the boy stumbles into ZZS’s table, knocking over his wine. ZZS - really just looking for an excuse to fight - steps in and thoroughly beats the soldiers. They recognize him and one of them manages to get to his horse and escape, running to tell HY that he’s found ZZS and bring more men.

The old man (boatman Li) has been mortally wounded and makes ZZS vow to protect the boy - Zhang Chengling. ZCL is the orphaned son of a noble family who fell out of favour with the emperor, his whole family having been murdered and their manor razed to the ground. ZZS reluctantly accepts guardianship of ZCL, thinking that he’ll just take him far enough outside of the Prince’s territory and then ditch him, before embarking on his suicidal revenge quest.

ZCL and ZZS travel together for the following weeks. During one of the early nights ZCL meets WKX in his human form. He doesn’t know about the curse, but sort of just accepts the fact that there’s a mysterious stranger who only shows up at night. While ZZS thus far has been gruff and cold towards ZCL, WKX is warm and welcoming. He cooks ZCL dinner, comforts him about the loss of his family, and tells him to have patience with ZZS, that although he seems harsh on the surface, he’s actually very soft-hearted and that the tough act is because he’s had a hard life and lost a lot. ZCL keeps that in mind and gradually he and ZZS do start to bond, with ZZS teaching him some basic self-defence and weapons skills. Each night ZCL also bonds with WKX, who feeds him, teaches him some cooking and mending, and takes him out for some fun at a night market.

Some nights later, ZCL encounters the wolf when it defends him from some bandits trying to raid their camp. ZCL, who still doesn’t know about the curse, is mostly scared and runs off, only returning when WKX finds him and coaxes him back.

A few days after that, Duan Pengju and a troop of TC fighters catch up to them. Despite being outnumbered ZZS holds his own well. But one of the fighters there is Han Ying, who’d come along hoping that if they did find ZZS he could help him get away. Realizing this during the fight, Duan Pengju shoves HY in front of ZZS, mortally wounding him, which deeply rattles ZZS and causes him to lose ground. WKX in his hawk form has been staying away so far, but sensing that ZZS is in trouble flies closer and swoops DPJ, clawing at him and trying to defend ZZS. While the men have been ordered by the prince not to harm ZZS, they were very much encouraged to try and kill WKX. One of the soldiers fires a crossbow at the hawk, striking him in the chest. In desperation, ZZS fights his way through the rest of them, grabs the wounded hawk and ZCL and runs.

The hawk is badly hurt and likely to die without help. ZZS has also sustained some injuries, and with only one horse between them, and sunset approaching, he knows he won’t be able to get him to a medic in time. So he gives the hawk and horse to ZCL and tells him to ride as fast as he can to Mount Chang Ming, where YBY is living in solitude. ZCL manages to get the hawk there just as the sun is setting. Since YBY still feels responsible for ZZS and WKXs fates, he is determined to save WKX. After night falls WKX turns back into a human, making treating his wounds much easier. ZCL walks into the room at some point, and after some confusion finally connects the dots and realizes that WKX is the hawk.

ZZS catches up to them the next day, and although hawk WKX is still delicate, they are worried DPJ close on their heels and know they need to keep moving. Sure enough, not long after they leave, DPJ shows up and although YBY insists he hasn’t seen them, he ransacks the temple anyway because he’s a mean bastard. Once they’re gone YBY decides that he’s not able to just sit around and do nothing, so he abandons whats left of the temple and goes to try and catch up to ZZS.

On the road once more, although human ZZS is still playing it a bit cool, the wolf has obviously fully adopted ZCL, bringing him gifts and openly showing affection. ZCL has lots of questions about the curse, insisting that he wants to help them find a way to remove it. ZZS keeps insisting it’s impossible, that they’ve tried everything and looked everywhere. WKX is also pretty resigned at this point.

Meanwhile, DPJ decided to switch tactics and has enlisted the aid of a team of elite poachers (maybe the scorpion gang? If you’d like?) to try and capture the wolf at night. So far they’ve mostly been engaging during the day, using brute force, which has failed every time because ZZS is such a superior fighter. At night, although the wolf is a fierce defender, it doesn’t have ZZS’ wits, which leaves them vulnerable to more subtle tactics. The poachers set up traps and bait for the wolf in the forest where they’re camping out. That night WKX and ZCL hear the sound of a wolf in distress, and assuming that it’s ZZS they run and find that it’s actually just a normal grey wolf that’s been caught in one of the snares. They encounter one of the poachers who, also realizing that it’s the wrong wolf, kills it in front of them. Distressed, WKX runs off into the forest to find ZZS. Around them, the poacher gang as well as some of DPJ’s men emerge and chase them. WKX finds wolf ZZS unharmed, but their pursuers are closing in fast, and he tries to spur ZZS to run away, since as a wolf he can outrun them all. But ZZS is unwilling to leave them behind.

YBY once again swoops in out of nowhere, but only manages to save WKX and ZCL, while ZZS is captured by the poachers. WKX is incensed, despite YBY’s reasoning that they know for a fact the prince won’t kill ZZS, but that he definitely wants WKX dead. When the sun rises and WKX turns into the hawk, YBY keeps him hooded and tethered to prevent him from flying away to find ZZS. He explains to ZCL that he believes he’s found a way to break the curse, that if his calculations are correct, in a week there will be a total solar eclipse, and that at that moment when it is neither day or night, WKX and ZZS will both be human and if they confront the one who laid the curse together, it will be broken. They decide to travel together to take WKX to the capital in time to do this.

Meanwhile ZZS has been brought to the palace where HY is keeping him prisoner. He’s still under the delusion that ZZS might be persuaded to come back to him. He makes it clear at this time that he is willing to keep ZZS in chains forever to keep him by his side rather than let him live freely. He also implies that he’s not going to rest until WKX is dead, putting out a public bounty offering a monetary reward for every dead hawk brought to him.

A week later, YBY, ZCL, and WKX have successfully managed to sneak into the capitol. As the least recognizable one, ZCL sneaks into the palace and somehow manages to get to where ZZS is being held (YBY probably creates a distraction, maybe they enlist the aid of the men still loyal to ZZS) and break him free. But when they explain their plan to ZZS, he refuses to believe it will work, at this point just so furious at the prince, and devastated that he’s wasted his entire life in service of this madman, killing for him, sacrificing him men for him, etc, that he wants to just kill him. The most that he’ll give them is that he will wait and see if the eclipse will work, but if it doesn’t he’s going full murder/suicide.

The next day is the day of the eclipse, and ZZS sets out ahead to confront HY, barging into the throne room and engaging his guards, including DPJ in battle. ZZS manages to get past them all and takes HY hostage just as the eclipse begins, poised to kill him if nothing happens. But it works, and WKX arrives in human form, and they are reunited at last. Overjoyed they embrace for the first time in nearly a year. But HY is quick to call for more guards, ordering them to seize ZZS and kill WKX. ZZS puts his sword to his own throat and tells HY that if he kills WKX, ZZS will kill himself. HY tells the guards to halt.

HY finally clues into the fact the ZZS is never going to return to him. He asks one last time if ZZS would truly rather die than be by his side, and ZZS relies affirmatively. Deciding that if ZZS isn’t going to be with him, he’s better off dead, HY orders the guards to kill them both.

TBC...

#ladyhawke au #ladyhawke fic #wenzhou #word of honor #WoH #wen kexing #zhou zishu #zhang chengling #ye baiyi #helian yi #shan he ling #shl #tian ya ke #tyk #here you go #for everyone who was understandably a bit lost about the plot #if i wrote the fic this is how it would go #it's still better if you've seen the film but this should suffice #i'll add the ending at some point but i'd like to post the comic version first

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years ago

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Flower | 40 | End

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 6.9k

; Warnings: Slight anxiety attack, mentions of panic, slight body issues

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: So...this is it 😢 Flower is officially over! I started writing this on November 15th, 2019. Almost a year later, here we are with 40 chapters, 3 drabbles and 180k of words. Can you believe I actually finished it? I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it and the journey of the MC finding herself and falling in love with Hoseok. It’s been so fun to write and it’s sad to let it go. If you’ve enjoyed reading this, please let me know with a comment or an ask! I’ve loved reading how much you’ve all felt seen or embraced by the MC with her struggles and I’d love to hear your thoughts on not only this chapter but the whole fic! Feedback is what keeps authors going and I came very close to leaving writing once Flower was finished but I’m still going to carry on. I’m not sure if this chapter is good or not, but I hope you enjoy it anyway and think it a fitting end to the story!

; Flower Masterpost

“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...walk down the aisle. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, Hoseok could not be there or I could have a heart attack and drop down dead. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of my issues, I wouldn’t have to worry about everyone watching me. On the other hand...I’m going to marry the love of my life. As long as he turns up” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers in the room, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself.

It was a good job, as it meant that no one else in the room could hear your panicked thoughts that were being verbalised. Hoseok and you had decided to get married at an exquisite mansion hotel with the ceremony itself being in the elegant gardens outside. There was a full-sized maze alongside a stunning fountain, the centrepiece being a marble depiction of Aphrodite rising from the shallows.

You’d taken a walk around the perfectly groomed gardens the night before, taking in all the decorations that you’d painstakingly picked out over the months that had been artfully arranged by the staff. The flowers in the gardens were beautiful, a smorgasbord of pinks, oranges, violets, reds and yellows that brought the whole area to life. Alongside it looking visually perfect, it also smelled amazing as well with the soft scent of different flowers mixing.

At night, the tiny fairy lights that had been strung up around the building front and the metal trellises that were organised in the garden gave off a soft, golden glow. It made the whole place look ethereal and you were excited for everyone else to get to see it during the reception tonight.

The actual wedding ceremony was scheduled to start at two in the afternoon, with only friends and family invited for that. It would be outside as well, with Hoseok and you standing at the end of a make-shift aisle on the lawn section of the hotel’s garden. Temporary chairs had been arranged on both sides for your guests, dark wood with ivory silk draped over everyone. At the end of the aisle, each chair had a silk bow in ivory and deep purple alongside a bouquet of specially arranged flowers.

It all looked perfect and you’d marvelled at it yesterday, amazed that they’d managed to bring your vision to life. Now all you had to do was walk down it and get married, which was where you were a little panicked.

The room that had been assigned to the bridal party was on the lower floor of the hotel, reducing the risk of you potentially killing yourself by tripping over your dress while walking down the stairs. It was technically two hotel rooms connected through a shared bathroom, which you found bizarre.

Your mom and Hoseok’s mom had taken the other room for their use to get changed, the hairdresser and makeup artist they’d hired working there to make them look their best for the ceremony. Even now, you could hear them chattering and laughing away with each other. Even through your anxiety, you can’t help but smile as you hear them get on so well.

Any fears you’d had about them not liking each other had quickly disappeared. Instead, they’d become good friends and liked to meet up now and then to have a talk over coffee or something. It pleased you to see your mom getting to have more friends.

Eden and Amelia had also chosen to get ready in that room, not wanting to crowd the one you were in too much. It was already full of dresses and a ridiculous amount of makeup and hair product with only four of you so you couldn’t even imagine the chaos with five of you.

In your room was Soyeon, Chungha and Dahyun alongside you. Dahyun was currently three months pregnant, having successfully been inseminated with Jungkook’s sperm. He’d agreed to their request and after a few months of getting prepared for the attempts, Dahyun had undergone the procedure. What it had been exactly, you didn’t know because you hadn’t felt it was your business to pry into something like that.

It was a privilege to even know they were trying before anyone else. Their announcement had come at your bachelorette party when Dahyun had refused alcohol, immediately leading Soyeon and you to be suspicious. You’d never seen Chungha’s beloved ever turn down a drink so it had been a clear sign of something at least.

Needless to say, your party had happily become a celebration of their impending baby. Thankfully, you weren’t one of those people who got overly annoyed at others announcing things at events. Or at least, not big events. Your bachelorette party had been a perfect time to find out, whereas you might not have been so amenable if they’d told everyone today instead.

That was normal though, right? Today was your day. Yours and Hoseok’s. People who felt the need to co-opt special days like that were a special type of self-absorbed in your opinion.

Given it was so early into her pregnancy, Dahyun isn't showing that much. Which meant her bridesmaid dress hadn’t needed to be altered too much. None of them has gotten into their dresses just yet, instead currently in the process of getting their face and hair done. Chungha’s hair has already been done, elegantly styled into a beautiful updo with a few tendrils curled around her face.

The makeup for the girls was a smokey eye with subtle blush and contour, alongside a neutral lip. It wasn’t anything flashy, but you’d loved the concept of it all. Particularly with the small and delicate crystals that dotted along their waterline, adding a little sparkle to match the tiny crystals on their deep violet dresses.

As a present to each of them, you’d bought them a gift set from Pandora. In each one was a pair of dainty stud earrings with a heart design alongside a matching heart-shaped pendant necklace. All the hearts were encrusted with brilliant-cut stones, making the perfect gift that could be used again in the future for casual use.

They’d all been in awe of it and surprised at being given presents as well. You hadn’t even known it was a thing until you’d looked up wedding preparation online, discovering that you should also buy something for Hoseok. Which had led to you buying him the fancy watch he’d been drooling over for months now. It had been eye-watering expensive, but it had been worth it for his excited text this morning.

Along with the watch, you’d also written him a letter. It was meant to be light-hearted and fun, but you’d ended up writing way too much as you’d poured out your love to him alongside everything you felt for him. To your eternal embarrassment, you’d ended up crying while writing it as you’d told him everything you’d never been able to vocalise, including writing possibly a million times that you love him.

He’d been instructed to not read that until just before the ceremony.

His present to you was a gaming table, which might not seem to be very sentimental to anyone else but you’d been ecstatic over it. For years now, you’d been saying that you wanted to buy a proper table that was designed for board games and that could then be used as a normal table when converted. They were super expensive so you’d resigned yourself to never getting one, but he’d printed out the receipt of what he’d ordered and put it into an envelope for you to open tonight.

Neither of you had ever been a traditional couple, and that certainly wasn’t about to change with marriage.

“Hey, you okay?” Amelia asks, interrupting your intense thought process as she sits down next to you. As usual, her aura is warm and reassuring as she reaches over to gently squeeze at your hand. You don’t spend a huge amount of time around her, but you knew both Eden and her enough to want them in your bridal party.

“Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m just…” Trailing off, you struggle to find the right words and instead gesture towards the air. It makes no sense but you can’t quite figure out what you’re trying to say. Mainly because you can’t figure out what your mind is thinking.

“It’s okay to be worried, don’t feel like you shouldn’t be. If you’re anxious or nervous then that’s okay as well. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should be feeling, just feel what you are. Trust Hoseok, trust yourself and all your family and friends. We’re all here for you and we want you to have the best day possible. Tell us if anything is wrong, okay? I have no doubt that Chungha and Soyeon would strong-arm everyone into whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable.” She says, smirking as she nods over to the two women who are chattering away in their respective chairs.

“I know, I know. I’m trying. It’s just...god, everyone is going to be staring at me and I hate being the centre of attention,” Looking down at your hands, you chew at your lips. “What if I mess up the vows? Or I freeze or drop the ring?”

“Hey, it’s normal to feel that. I doubt there’s anyone who’s gotten married who wasn’t at least a little bit anxious about messing something up. Yes, everyone is here to watch you, but they’re for Hoseok too. I’m sure he’s just as worried that he might make a mistake, and if you do then, so what? It’s not going to ruin anything, it just means your human. If anything, people will probably find it endearing. The only person you should concern yourself with is Hoseok, and I doubt there’s anything you could do today to ruin the day for him. Unless you don’t go.” Amelia laughs when you give a shocked gasp, jaw-dropping open and eyes wide.

“I would never do that! But what if he decides he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” Now the worry that had wiggled itself deep inside your mind comes to the fore and you find yourself almost whispering the words. It feels like a betrayal to Hoseok for even thinking he’d do that, but you can’t help the fear.

You must not have been quite enough though as Chungha speaks up, facing you in her chair with a stern expression on her face as she wags her finger. “Lady, do not think that. I don’t want that thought to even enter your head. As if Jung Hoseok is ever going to back out now. I think that man would’ve eloped with you if you’d asked instead. He’s going to be standing at the end of that aisle, probably bawling like a baby.”

“Maybe not that far.” This is from Eden, who’s laid out on the bed in the centre of the room, playing Zelda on her Switch. She’d had her makeup done earlier and is now waiting for the hairdresser to be free while Amelia is waiting for her makeup. All of you had decided that you’d be last to get ready to make sure that everything looked as fresh as possible.

“Want to bet? That man is gonna be sobbing.” This starts up a whole ten-minute discussion about whether or not Hoseok was going to cry at seeing you. Namjoon hadn’t cried but Jimin had during their weddings, surprising no one. But Namjoon had cried at the birth of his daughter.

You weren’t sure, to be honest. Hoseok didn’t cry all that often and you could probably count on one hand how many times you’d seen it over four years. On top of that, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to see him crying. It made your chest hurt when he did and you always ended up crying too.

Something about seeing strong and proud men cry was just heartbreaking to you.

For a while, you just sit back and let the conversation wash over you as they all debate and borderline argue, intensely amongst themselves. They’d all switched around now and they’ll soon start getting into their bridesmaid’s dresses, which meant you’d be finally getting ready.

Your nails had been done the night before with a beautiful design in the same colour scheme as the wedding. They looked so pretty and elegant, which was a surprise to you every time you looked at them as you never really bothered doing your nails. While you liked to do fancy makeup looks now and then to post onto social media, nails were not something you were interested in.

Maybe you should reassess that thought.

“Anyway, what we’re all trying, and failing, to say is that Hoseok loves you and if he doesn’t cry then he’s crying inside at how beautiful you are.” Soyeon states firmly, sitting next to you and admiring your nails as well. All the bridesmaids had the same style to keep the theme going and she wiggled her fingers with a bright smile.

“I’m not even ready yet, you don’t know if I’ll be beautiful.”

There’s dead silence in the room after the comment, with even the hairdresser and makeup artist turning to stare at you. Between the six other women in the room, you’re pretty sure that they’ve got every emotion from shock to annoyance to incredulity covered. Feeling yourself get warm at their attention, you look down to your lap in embarrassment.

Obviously, the wrong thing to say.

“Okay, we’re going to ignore that you just said that. You don’t need to be dolled up and in a wedding dress to be beautiful, it’s just going to enhance what you already have. And I don’t want any arguments on that.” Poking your side lightly, you playfully wince at Soyeon as she scolds you. Everyone else is nodding along solemnly before they carry on with whatever they’d been doing.

“Seriously though, I overheard your conversation with Amelia. She’s right. Embrace your feelings but don’t let them overwhelm you. Standing in front of a crowd is nerve-wracking for anyone, but you’ve got the love of your life standing there with you. Just focus on Hoseok, he’ll get you through it. He always has, right?” Soyeon said.

Giving her a half-smile, you nod and do a remarkably good job of looking like a scolded child or something. You know it’s just because she loves you that she doesn’t want you to berate yourself, along with the fact that she knows what you’re like. If someone doesn’t verbally acknowledge your problems then you’ll just obsess over them.

Your phone screen lights up in your lap before it begins to vibrate suddenly, Hoseok’s name visible on the screen. Frowning down at it, you wonder why he’s calling before a multitude of emotions and thoughts runs through your mind.

“Go take it in the bathroom.” Pulling you up, Soyeon practically pushes you into the bathroom before giving you a smile and a thumbs-up as she closes the door.

Seeing the other door is also open, you peek out and let everyone in that room know that you’d be using the bathroom for a few minutes and to not come in. Once you get the acknowledgement, you close and lock it as well before pushing up to sit on the counter.

“Hobi! Why are you calling?” Leaning back against the mirror, you frown deeply as you question him. The first response is just his familiar deep chuckle, the sound already helping to soothe some of your frayed nerves.

“Amelia texted Joon, who told me. I don’t want you to stress yourself out! Not today, today’s meant to be a happy day. No stress. Or anxiety.” Snorting, you roll your eyes as you trace an invisible design onto your thigh.

“Sure, like that’s gonna happen. You know me. And why are you calling? We’re not meant to see each other until the wedding, it’s bad luck!” There’s a brief pause and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes, the deep sigh he lets out telling you all you need to know.

“Meeps, I’m pretty sure that only counts for physically seeing each other. I can’t see you right now. I don’t recall anything about not being allowed to hear you, or talk to you. Besides, we make our luck.” He sounds so nonchalant and now it’s your turn to sigh at him.

“You’re going to get us hit by lightning or something.”

“Impossible, the weather schedule for today is meant to be sunny with a little bit of cloud later on. Nice warm temperatures that aren’t too hot but also not too cold. Perfect. No lightning.” His immediate rebuttal has you laughing, unable to stay mad at him for too long. Not when he’s trying so hard to take your mind off things.

“Seriously though, are you okay? What are you worried about? Talk to me.” Hoseok asks, his voice calm and steady as he stops joking around. There’s a brief moment of resistance, the thought that you don’t want to bother him with your silly thoughts or annoying emotions before you remember that you can trust him. No matter how ridiculous it sounds in your head, Hoseok will listen and he won’t make fun of you.

“I’m just...scared. Of all the people. Like, they’re going to be watching me or staring. What if I look fat or ugly? Or I fuck up saying the vows? Or I drop the ring or my dress splits or something? Or if I trip down the aisle?! Or if you decide you don’t want to marry me anymore?” As you begin to reel off the questions that have been plaguing your mind, you can feel your chest getting a little tighter and your breathing shallower.

With the practised ease of someone who’s dealt with your panic attacks over the years, Hoseok makes calming and reassuring noises over the phone until you’re silent. Just listening to him, you take in the comforting words as he lets you know that you’re okay and everything is fine. Finally, once he thinks you’re calm enough, he carries on.

“Meeps, that’s fine. Don’t be upset that you’re having those thoughts. I’ve had every one of those thoughts today as well. I mean...not the dress one. Substitute that for pants splitting or something, which is even more embarrassing because my underwear is not black today. But the point I’m trying to make here is that it’s normal to have those thoughts today. I’d probably be more worried if you weren’t having them.” He pauses to laugh before you hear shuffling noises.

There’s no doubt he’s probably not even getting into his tuxedo just yet and you curse the fact that men take far less time to get ready than women. He’ll probably only start like...an hour before the ceremony begins or something.

“But all I’ll say is, it doesn’t matter if anything goes wrong because we’ll fix it. You and me, just like always. You won’t look fat or ugly because you’re neither fat nor ugly anyway, instead, you’ll be the most beautiful woman here. Which you always are to me but don’t let my mom hear me tell you that. And I’m going to be standing at the end of the aisle, I promise you that. I’m the one who proposed to you and I will be there, waiting for you. That’s one thing I can assure you of completely.” Hoseok says this firmly, his voice perhaps more serious than you’ve ever heard it before.

You can practically feel his determination to make you understand that he’s going to be there. That he’s going to marry you today, no matter what happens. It makes your heart swell with love and emotion, causing you to press your hand against your mouth.

Hoseok takes your silence as a positive, choosing to let it carry on for a little longer before speaking once more.

“I love you, Meeps. And by the end of today, you’re going to be my wife. We’re going to have a great day with a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception before probably going to bed drunk. Or at least, I’m going to be drunk. Not entirely sure if I’ll be able to take you to Poundtown tonight-”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“But if not tonight then definitely tomorrow. Unless you don’t want me to drink, in which case probably tonight if you’re up for it.” Shaking your head, you can’t help but smile at his stupid comments. He always knew how to cheer you up, even if it was with the most ridiculous thing you’d heard today.

“You can drink, I’m not going to make you sober throughout the entire reception. I want you to have fun with everyone, so if you end up drunk then that’s fine. Just don’t go overboard.”

“Choosing to ignore my Poundtown comments, I see.”

“Jung Hoseok, I am going to hang up now. I will see you later, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” Feeling a little shy, you murmur your next words into the phone.

“Love you too.”

The ceremony is officially about to start and you stare at the open door, knowing that outside all your guests are waiting. Not only that, but Hoseok is at the end of the aisle. You’d been reassured by everyone there who had peeked out to make sure, quelling your fears and worries.

All the groomsmen had come inside upon finding out you were here, lining themselves up alongside their specified bridesmaid partners and chatting away happily. They all looked incredibly handsome in their suits, the colours matching the bridesmaids perfectly and you felt a little pride at having thought of a good colour scheme.

Your mom is fussing around you, making sure that your dress looks perfect and that your bouquet hasn’t fallen apart or anything. Sighing, you gently push her hands away as she tries once more to move your necklace.

All of them had given you something as part of the tradition for the bride. Dahyun had lent you a beautiful Cartier bracelet, glowing with diamonds, as part of the ‘something borrowed’ while Chungha had bought you diamond earrings for the ‘something new’. Your mom had given you the bracelet she’d worn for her wedding, now occupying your other wrist and Hoseok’s mom had provided the necklace adorning your neck.

It was a beautiful silver necklace with a dainty leaf design, leading to the main piece in the centre which was dotted with tiny diamonds. Each leaf spreading out had either amethyst or an aquamarine gem in alternating order. She’d ordered it specially made for your wedding, matching your engagement ring with the gems and fulfilling the ‘something blue’.

You’d been amazed at everything they’d given you, understanding now why they’d all told you now to buy any jewellery for the day. They’d all decided to make sure you had everything you needed anyway.

But you knew that your mom’s need to keep straightening out your dress or brushing away unseen dust was just to keep herself preoccupied. She’d already cried once when you’d come out in your wedding dress, makeup and hair all done. That had earned her an exasperated sigh from the makeup artist.

“Mom, mom, come on,” You coo to her, smiling before taking her hands and squeezing. “You gotta go out there, go get your place.”

She hesitates for a moment, unwilling to leave you before nodding. After a few words of reassurance from her to you, telling you that you’re going to do well and it’s all going to go fine, she turns and hugs your dad tightly before kissing him. You’d feel embarrassed at the sight of it, never quite being comfortable with your parents' displays of affection, but it just causes you to laugh softly.

Once she’s out the door, you hear the music begin from outside, the notes flowing through the door faintly. Everyone inside quietens and you can almost feel the excitement ramp up. It just makes you feel more nervous though, particularly when they start to head out in their pairs slowly.

“Are you ready?” Your dad asks, his eyes already going glassy with tears as his lip wobbles slightly. Giving him a concerned look, you immediately reach up to wipe the tears as they start to fall, feeling your heartbreak at the sight of your dad crying. He never cried.

“Dad! Don’t cry, oh my god. I’m sorry.” Cleaning up his face quickly, you’re stopped by the gentle way he grasps your wrists. For a moment, you think that he’s going to push you away but instead, he pulls you closer and carefully hugs you.

It’s a little awkward as you’re trying not to ruin the carefully done hair and makeup, but you can’t deny your dad a hug. Especially when you’d never really been much of a hugger growing up. You would be cruel to deny him one, especially on your wedding day. Your parents were feeling emotional that their little girl was getting married today.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just your old dad getting sappy. You look so beautiful. Hoseok is so lucky, you better remind him of that every day.” He’s pulled back now, giving you the softest smile that is still a little watery. His hands move to your shoulders and he stands back to examine you fully, his eyes taking in everything.

Before you can respond to him, Yoongi is disappearing out of the door and heading towards the aisle. He’s alone, as you’d planned, but in one hand is the bouquet that Hoseok’s sister would’ve held had she still been alive. It had been his suggestion to hold it, symbolising the family member that Hoseok didn’t have anymore and you’d been more than willing to agree.

You wondered what Hoseok thought when he saw it as neither of you had told him that Yoongi would be holding it. Hopefully, he was happy with it, along with his parents.

Turning back to you, your dad squeezes your shoulders reassuringly before smiling at you. Ironically, all it does is make you more nervous as you realise that now you’re the one who’s going to have to walk down that aisle next.

“Come on, it’s time to make your fiancé cry.” His words in a teasing tone, your dad turns to face the door before offering you his arm. Standing there, you stare at him before looking at the door with trepidation. Nerves roil in your stomach as you hear the faint sound of music playing, knowing that everyone out there is waiting for you.

Which in turn means everyone will be staring at you.

Those nerves quickly turn to anxiety and your breath comes faster, chest feeling a little constricted by the tight bodice of the dress. Without even realising it, your hands start to shake and the bouquet in them shudders visibly.

Quickly, your dad takes the bouquet from you to make sure that you don’t accidentally deflower them or crush the stems. The last thing you needed was to ruin your perfect bouquet only minutes before you were supposed to walk down the aisle.

It frees up your hands and you find yourself flapping them as you stress, trying to shake out the negative emotions as you pant. Your dad’s eyes widen, obviously panicking himself at your obvious distress. He’s never had to deal with you struggling like this before and he doesn’t know what to do but his paternal instincts kick in quickly.

“Hey, come on, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe. Take a big breath in, come on, that’s it. Not let it out slowly. And again, that’s right.” Talking to you in his comforting voice, tone level and low, you follow his instructions and start to feel a little calmer as you force yourself to calm your breathing. It’s hard, and you still feel the anxiety but it feels a little more manageable now.

Closing your eyes, you run through all the tips your therapist had given you for how to cope with anxiety attacks. What worked for you was to sing in your head, the lyrics, whatever song you were loving lately. It probably takes longer than you’d have liked but finally you feel like you can cope with your emotions enough to carry on.

When you open your eyes again, your dad is giving you an expectant, yet worried, look. Shaking your hands once more, you reach out and take the bouquet from him before taking a deep breath. Linking your arm through his, you straighten your shoulders and lift your chin before smiling at him.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

Walking down the aisle is surprisingly less stressful than you’d imagined. The famous wedding song plays through the air as you walk slowly and the whole atmosphere feels almost like a fairytale. The soft lights twinkle even in the daylight while the gentle, warm breeze makes the ribbons on the chairs flutter delicately.

Along the floor, the white and purple rose petals that Namjoon’s daughter had spread in her role as flower girl were strewn haphazardly. A few of them caught the breeze and rolled delicately to a new place, making it seem like the floor was consistently changing. You liked it, smiling at the sight of how beautiful everything looked.

Everyone was staring at you, as you’d expected, but surprisingly it wasn’t as intimidating as you’d thought. You didn’t exactly enjoy it but it wasn’t terrible. Probably because you were more focused on initially admiring how perfect everything looked. How months and months of thought and money had finally accumulated into the perfect wedding.

But mostly, you weren’t as bothered by the staring because you were focused on the end of the aisle. There was no real altar here, given that it was being held at a hotel and everything, but the metal garden arch at the end had been decorated in delicate flowers, ribbons and lights to make an even better end.

And beneath it stood Hoseok.

If you’d ever thought Hoseok looked handsome before then it paled in comparison to him today. His black tuxedo made him look tall and slim, every part of him looking perfectly put together and elegant. The deep purple waistcoat beneath his jacket contrasted with the white of his shirt perfectly; the colour combination making his skin almost glow with health and happiness.

There was only the slightest hint of tattoos at the edge of his collar, leaving to the imagination the artwork he had permanently on his body beneath his clothes but you didn’t need to imagine. You’d seen them all, traced them delicately into your memory over the years until you could point out where they were without even seeing them.

Finally reaching him, you paused to look at your dad and gave him a bright smile of gratitude before giving him a second hug. This one was a little tighter than before and when you let go of him, you saw that he was crying once more. He didn’t give your hand to Hoseok, instead just gave him a stern look while trying to surreptitiously wipe away his tears.

“You look after her, Jung Hoseok. You make sure she’s the happiest woman.” There’s iron in his voice, telling Hoseok that it wasn’t a question but more a command. But there’s also love and affection in it, something Hoseok can tell as well by the way he nods his head.

Handing your bouquet to Chungha, you take Hoseok’s proffered hand. Up close, you can take in the details of his face better and you take a moment to simply admire him and imprint him into your memory.

The sides of his head had been shaven, the undercut short and seen with the style he’d chosen to wear today. His hair had been styled back, pushed away from his forehead. It was a look that had made you weak in the knees many times over the years and you’d practically begged him to have it for the wedding, knowing that he’d blow everyone’s mind with how handsome he looked.

Hoseok had a face that looked like it had been hand-carved by the gods from the finest marble anyway and this hairstyle showed off all the highlights of his face. The high cheekbones that made his smiles so animated, his cutting jawline, the clean slope of his nose, the heart-shaped smile that lit his entire face and the dimples that made him seem so human.

His lip ring was still in, the silver shining in the sunlight. He’d been unsure whether to wear it but you’d told him to embrace himself and keep it. You’d fallen in love with him as he was, and you wanted him to show himself how you saw him. Which included his piercings and tattoos.

Your heart clenched though when you looked into his eyes finally. Hoseok’s eyes were one of your favourite things about him. The crescents they turned into when he smiled brightly, pushed into the shape by his cheeks and the way his eyes could practically dance with delight when he was happy.

Today though, those beautiful and expressive eyes were watery with tears. The wet streak on his cheek told you that he’d already had some of them fall and you frowned at the sight of them. Everyone had been right; Hoseok had cried upon seeing you down the aisle.

“Baby.” You whisper, unsure if you’re meant to talk to him. Deciding you don’t care, you reach up to wipe away the tears and smile when he kisses the palm of your hand before nuzzling into it, uncaring of everyone else.

“Meeps, you look perfect. I read your letter, I love you too.” Before you can stop him, he’s leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. There’s a murmur in the crowd, alongside some laughter and he looks over at everyone with a raised brow.

No one says anything though and he gets a satisfied look, ignoring your shy expression as you turn away from everyone.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” Keeping your voice low, you give a hesitant smile to the official who will be taking you both through your ceremony. Hoseok lets out a snort of laughter as he squeezes your hand tight, letting his thumb run along the back of your hand lovingly.

“I don’t care. It’s our wedding, I’ll do what I want.” And before you can stop him, he turns you and gives you another kiss, this one lingering a little longer. Eyes widening, you can’t help but giggle as you hear yet more laughter.

You should be annoyed at him, but you know he’s a force of nature. Plus, you don’t care. It feels nice to know he can’t help himself.

“Okay, let’s get married, Meeps.” He grins at you before facing the officiant once more. Staring at him a moment longer, you smile at him and nod.

“Let’s get married.”

Hobi Hobi,

We’re getting married today! Are you excited? I hope you’re reading this when I told you to, if not then you’re cheating >:[ it feels weird to write a letter. I don’t even know if I’ve ever done this before, so I’m sorry if it sounds really cheesy and lame. What do people write in these normally? I’m just going to write what comes to mind so if it ends up sappy then you’re not allowed to tease me later about it.

Anyway, I want you to know that I’m sorry that I suck so much at telling you how I feel and my emotions. I wish I could be one of those people who’s telling you every moment how handsome you are and how much I love you but I can’t. I’m sorry :( I’m trying, I swear! Even if I don’t get to tell you as often as you deserve, I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world.

Don’t ever forget that, okay? Even when we’re arguing over something silly or we go to bed mad at each other, don’t forget that. I know we’re pretty good at talking things out but there’s always that chance that we could have a big blowout. So I want you to remember that I love you.

I’m still not entirely sure what I did to deserve you, but I don’t regret sending you that message. If anything, I think I should send the Flower team a big bunch of flowers or something for creating the algorithm that brought you up as a match. Imagine if it hadn’t and I’d just deleted the app, we’d have never met and I’d still be lonely and sad.

But we did meet, and I took a chance on you by sending you that embarrassing message. And then you took a chance by actually meeting up with me and going on that date. I still remember it, and I don’t know if I ever told you but I still have the ticket for the escape room. I know you still have yours in your wallet :) Thank you for giving me your time, even if I wasn’t your type. I hope I’m your type now.

I’m not sure that I will ever be able to tell you how important you are to me. Not only myself but my life. You’ve helped me to embrace myself and learn to love myself over the years through kindness. I know my limits in terms of my mental health now and you’ve helped to support me with the medication and the therapist. Neither of those were things I’d been comfortable with doing before your encouragement. But you also gave me a safe space to break down in; somewhere that I knew I could be at my most vulnerable mentally without having to risk being hurt even more.

You held me when I cried, you comforted me when I panicked and you calmed my anxiety over the years. I can never thank you enough for helping me to understand that these aren’t deficiencies and I’m not broken. I just need a little help to get through things sometimes. At the same time, I hope that I’ve become that safe space for you as well. I know that you’re not as emotional as I am, but I feel that you’ve opened up to me about things that hurt you. I’ll keep your secrets safe and I’ll always be here for you!

I hope you’re happy with your life now. With me, and our home and our furbabies. I hope you stay happy, and if you don’t then talk to me. Please. I don’t want us to ever realise that we’re making each other unhappy and I don’t want to ever be the reason for negativity. I want to spend the rest of my life with you in our little home, growing old together as we play board games and dote on our animals while you increase your tattoo collection even more. I know that people like to say that they can’t imagine their lives with their significant other, but I really do feel like that.

My life without you would be hollow and monochrome, as you bring colour to my world and fill it with joy and happiness. I’ve never laughed as much as I have these last few years with you and I know we’ll keep that in our relationship if we try hard.

I don’t really know where this letter is going and I’m babbling now. But I guess the main thing is just that I can’t wait to marry you. It may not be very feminist of me but I can’t wait to take your name and be your wife. I can’t wait to call you my husband. I’m going to be terrified in the ceremony and so nervous but I’ll be happy too, I promise! I still can’t believe that you picked me, out of all the women you’ve seen, to be your girlfriend and then decided that you wanted to marry me.

Jung Hoseok, I solemnly swear to treasure you for the rest of your life and make sure you know how much I love you. I might not be able to tell you all that much, but I’ll show you. I’ll make you smile and laugh, I’ll buy you things that make me think of you, I’ll hug you tight and cuddle you until you’re complaining.

So in case it wasn’t obvious enough, I love you. I just want you to know because I know I suck at telling you, like I said. I’m also bad at writing letters but what’s new? I’ll finish this off quickly so you’re not spending too long reading this. Don’t want to make you late for our wedding after all.

I love you. I love you, Jung Hoseok. I love you, Hobi. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Lots and lots and lots of love, your soon to be wife <333333

429 notes · View notes

whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years ago

Note

47. “That tickles!” And either moceit or royality please?

i will take literally any opportunity to write soft mociet so

Title: sugar, butter, flour

Word Count: 2,769

Content Warnings: none, I think

(fic masterpost)

Baking with Janus is interesting.

It’s become somewhat of a ritual, over the past few years, to bake with his family. He’s dragged Logan out of his room on more than one occasion to help with more technical recipes, the ones that depend entirely on precise measurements and proper stirring methods and timings. Roman, on the other hand, prefers the more decorative aspects, likes to bomb cookies and cakes with sprinkles and smother them in icing, or to craft sculptures out of fondant or chocolate. He wonders if Remus is the same; he intends to find out, sometime, as soon as he works up the courage to invite him.

And Patton remembers very well the first time he asked Virgil to come help him. He started with a simple recipe, chocolate cupcakes, but from the way Virgil’s face slid into shock, from the warbling, shaky tone of his voice as he asked Patton if he really meant it, really wanted him there, he would have thought that he was offering Virgil the world. And he’d felt awful, then, for rejecting Virgil for so long, and vowed that he would never have to feel so alone again, never have to question the motives behind something so simple as baking.

He’s not sure what to expect from Janus, the first time he broaches the topic.

It seems like the right thing to do. Thomas has accepted him now, or at least, is on the way there, and Patton is working on that too, is working to blur the lines of his black-and-white thinking into something greyer. And being accepted means being part of the family, and being part of the family means being included in activities, and that means baking, and if anyone had asked Patton a few months ago if he would be excited to ask Janus to bake with him, he wouldn’t have believed them at all.

But he is excited. And nervous, because he’s not sure that he’ll even be interested. Somehow, he has a hard time picturing Janus in a kitchen, because Janus is always so immaculately groomed and kitchens get so messy. He tries to imagine Janus with egg on his gloves or flour on his shirt, and he can’t quite manage it.

He asks, though. Because he wants to bake with Janus. Wants Janus to bake with him.

And Janus says yes.

He does it with a curiously blank face, the only visible emotion a slight flicker in his eyes, and Patton has no idea what he is thinking at all, but he accepts, and allows Patton to lead him to the kitchen, and then, they make cookies. Simple, chocolate chip cookies.

It’s weird, at first. Awkward, and strained, and it becomes very clear very quickly that Janus has never baked anything in his life, and that only adds to the weirdness, because Patton has to tell him what to do most of the time. But he catches on quickly, and by the time they’re making the third batch, he seems to have the motions down, and they settle into a more comfortable companionship. Their conversation, too, changes, moving from the short and stilted talk of before to something that flows more naturally, and Patton finds himself relaxing. He hopes Janus is, too. He really can’t tell.

They make the cookies, and they all turn out well, but not too long after they come out of the oven, Janus excuses himself. His face is still unreadable, and Patton has no idea whether he actually had fun or not, and he’s not sure that he’s ready yet to ask him to stay longer, not sure he could stand receiving rejection. There is something forming between them, some new relationship, but it is so fragile and new that he doesn’t want to risk breaking it.

But as Janus leaves the kitchen, he calls after him.

“Would you want to do this again, sometime?” he asks, and Janus looks at him for a long moment before replying.

“I suppose I wouldn’t be opposed,” he says, and by now, Patton is better at sifting out his truths from his lies, and he can recognize which this is.

And then, Janus is gone, capelet flapping out behind him. Patton watches him go, and feels as if he’s won a victory.

A few weeks later, they do it again.

They follow the same pattern: Patton asks Janus to bake, Janus agrees without displaying any indication as to whether he actually wants to or not, and they slowly warm up to each other as the cookies turn a soft golden brown. And this time, because he is better prepared, Patton notices a few things.

The first is that Janus keeps looking at him, keeps stealing quick, subtle glances whenever he thinks he isn’t looking. And at first, Patton doesn’t think very much of it, except that those glances start to remind him a little bit of Virgil. Because he remembers the first few times he baked with Virgil, remembers how cautious he was, how quiet, how he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, as if he thought that Patton would kick him out if he so much as put a foot wrong, or that he would shout if Virgil messed up a measurement or made too much of a mess. And the way Janus is acting isn’t precisely like that, but the similarities are too striking to ignore. There is a hesitance in his movements, and in the way he watches Patton out of the corner of his eye, as if he’s trying to ensure that he’s not doing anything wrong.

The fact that he feels like he needs to do that makes Patton’s heart ache, but he’s sure that if he tries to approach the topic at all, Janus will staunchly deny it. So he leaves it be for now, and hopes that he can demonstrate through his actions that the caution isn’t necessary.

The second thing he notices is far more fun, and it’s this: Janus bakes like he does.

One of the worst kept secrets in the mindscape is that Patton is not very good in the kitchen, much to his chagrin. He knows it, everyone knows it, Thomas probably knows it. He tends to take recipes as guidelines rather than as set instructions, and he gets distracted easily, leaving one thing to burn or boil over while he focuses on another. He does his best work while there is someone else with him to keep him on track.

He’s cooked or baked with everyone else enough to know their strong suits. Logan is all about precision and numbers, while Roman focuses on style and flair, and Virgil just tries to make sure that everything is sanitary and no one burns themselves or cuts a finger.

Janus, though, is remarkably like him.

He eyeballs measurements like Patton does, disregarding the recipe entirely when he thinks something else might work better, and he, too, is prone to distraction, perfectly willing to let Patton tug him in a new direction while the previous work sits forgotten, only to curse up a storm when something starts spilling or smoking.

Really, he’s no better at this than Patton is.

That becomes extremely clear by the third time they bake together. They are still doing cookies, though Patton thinks it might be time to try something else soon. Cupcakes, maybe, or a whole cake. But for now, they stand there, staring at the first batch, straight out of the oven.

“Well, those look… good,” Janus says, not even trying to hide his doubt.

Patton frowns at the cookies. Something about them is off, something about their color and size just slightly different from the usual. He shrugs, picking one up and breaking it in half, handing part of it to Janus, who regards it suspiciously.

“Won’t know what’s wrong until we try it,” he says, and Janus lifts an eyebrow.

“Won’t do much good to know what’s wrong if we poison ourselves,” he says, but lifts the cookie to his lips anyway.

They take a bite at the same time. Patton feels his face twist, and Janus stops chewing as quickly as he started, his eyes blowing wide. They stare at each other for a moment, and Patton shudders, forcing himself to swallow. Janus, on the other hand, elects to grab a paper towel and delicately spit out the bite he took, tossing it and the rest of the cookie in the garbage can.

“That,” Janus proclaims, “was the most delightful thing I have ever eaten. And I have had Remus attempt to cook for me.”

Patton winces, turning to inspect the ingredients, still laid out on the counter. They have another three batches’ worth of dough, but they won’t be able to use it, not if his hunch is correct and they’ve used—

“Salt instead of sugar,” he says dolefully. “How did we both miss that?”

Janus makes a strangled sound. And then, he laughs, short and surprised, and by the time Patton turns to look, he is already composing himself.

“Clearly, our ingenuity in the kitchen knows no bounds,” he says, a slight smile still playing about his lips. “I can take these to Remus. I’m sure he’d love them.”

Patton agrees, mind not lingering too long on the Remus thing, because the word our rings in his head over and over again. Our ingenuity. Proof that Janus does want to be here, that he considers this to be an activity that they do together, rather than something that Patton drags him into. And his chest fills with warmth, warmth and something that feels like sparkles and rainbows, and he can’t help but beam.

Janus looks a bit taken aback, but he returns the smile, if shakily.

And, well. After that, there is no way that Patton is going to let Janus go. They graduate from cookies to cupcakes to cakes, and then to more complicated things, different types of pastries and creams and things that would probably work better if they had Logan there to help them, because only about one in three products actually tastes anything like it’s supposed to, or is edible at all. But it’s not the end product that’s the point, it’s the time they spend together, muddling their way through a complicated set of instructions, or giving up on that and winging it, turning the kitchen into something more approaching a disaster zone, a mess covering every surface.

And gradually, Janus seems to grow more comfortable. Allows himself to smile, and even to laugh, and every time Patton teases such a reaction out of him, he feels warm and bubbly all over. Slowly, somewhere between the meringues and the ganaches, they fall into a friendship, and Patton is elated.

And that friendship gives him courage to do things he never would have dared to do before, even if he wanted to.

“Here, you’ve got a little something,” he says, and before Janus can react, he wipes a bit of flour onto his nose.

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, isn’t sure why he’s doing this. But the flour was there, and so was Janus’ face, and the desire to see what Janus would do was too strong to resist.

Janus freezes, his tongue flicking out. It tastes the air a few times, and then curls up to brush the tip of his nose, and immediately, his expression crashes into one of utter betrayal. His face scrunches up, and Patton can’t hold back his giggles.

“Really?” Janus says. “Well, as it turns out, you also have a little something—”

And he flicks flour at Patton in return.

From there, it is war, of course, and the baking itself is all but forgotten, the ingredients for their cake batter sitting out on the counter, gradually being coated with a fine layer of flour as it gets tossed back and forth between them. Patton has never seen Janus look so undignified, with white powder dusting his hair and all over his clothes, a delighted grin on his face as he pelts Patton with all the flour he can get his hands on, as well as the occasional glob of batter.

“Stop it, stop,” Patton manages, between breaths and fits of laughter. “That tickles!”

“Does it?” Janus says, and backs Patton up against the counter. With one delicate swipe of his hand, he brushes a thumb down Patton’s nose, covering it in flour. He resists the urge to sneeze. “Too bad. Vengeance is sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” Patton says, the words spilling out of his mouth without permission, and oh.

Janus’ eyes go wide. Patton is suddenly very aware of the position they’re in, of how close Janus is to him, of how his hand is still hovering next to his face. And Janus must realize it, too, because there is a blush rising on the right side of his face, pink blooming on his skin.

But he doesn’t step back. And that’s good, because Patton finds that he doesn’t want him to.

“I—” Janus says, for once at a loss for words. “What?”

“I mean that,” Patton says. “I mean, it just kind of slipped out, but I meant it. You’re really sweet, and nice, and I really like to spend time with you.”

Janus’ hand shakes where it hangs in the air. Patton wishes he would close the gap that lies between them, bring it just a few inches closer and touch his face again.

“I,” he says, “I suppose I—”

“Oh my god,” someone says, and Janus springs away from Patton as though he’s been burned, and Patton does his level best not to feel disappointed. Virgil is standing in the entryway to the kitchen, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. The expression on his face is something approaching horror, though Patton doesn’t know what they’ve done to deserve that reaction. “What are you doing?”

Inexplicably, Patton feels himself blush. “Baking,” he says, and his voice comes out high and squeaky.

“Building a shelf,” Janus offers, completely deadpan. Patton can’t help but laugh a bit at that, still riding the adrenaline of moments before, and somehow, that doesn’t seem to settle Virgil down at all. He rocks back and forth on his heels, still looking between the two of them. His mouth works for a moment, but he says nothing, and Patton is just a bit concerned.

“Um,” he says, and steps forward so he’s not leaning against the counter. “Can I get you something, kiddo?”

Virgil shakes his head, and begins to backpedal out of the kitchen. “Uh, no, no, I’ll, um, I’ll grab something later, and um. Go. I’m gonna go. You guys um. Carry on, or whatever.”

“So glad to have your permission,” Janus drawls, but Virgil is already gone, all but dashing away, and Patton thinks he hears him muttering under his breath, thinks he catches the phrase “like walking in on my parents,” which just makes him blush harder as he risks a glance over at Janus.

Who is looking back at him, his lips lifted in a way that can only be called fond.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then, once again, Patton finds himself laughing, because he loves this. Flour and batter all over them, all over the kitchen, and there is something buzzing in the air, something that smells like possibility, and Patton feels warm all over just looking at him, looking at Janus, messy and ruffled and more human and beautiful than he has ever seen him, with flour streaked across his face and batter on his gloves. He is so glad that Janus is willing to do this, is willing to open up, to suffer a bit of indignity, to trust him just a little bit more.

“Shall we finish this cake?” Janus asks, and it sort of feels like he’s asking something else.

Patton glances around the kitchen, at the mess they’ve made, and grins. “Yeah, I think we should,” he says, and they do.

And when the cake is finished, it’s overdone, and it hasn’t risen as much as it’s supposed to. But they take it out of the oven together, and their hands brush against each other and linger at the contact. Its scent fills the air, a strong vanilla, and it’s lopsided and imperfect but still good, and Patton thinks, yes. Vanilla and possibility, and Janus’ smile, and he’s certain they’ll be baking together for a long time to come.

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman

#moceit #patton sanders #ts patton #janus sanders #ts janus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #my fic #long post #cat does prompts

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autumnslance · 4 years ago

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would you be willing to make a masterpost of all your sharlayan research and headcanons? please please please and THANK YOU if you do

I can certainly try! A lot of my info is from what little we have so far, and my own fics are where a lot of my headcanons go to live, with little snippets about various characters here and there in my scattered lore posts, as well as stuff I’ve collected from other players.

Other Resources In Louisoix’s Wake - The twins’ official Calamity short story on the Lodestone. One Name, One Promise - Thancred’s backstory, from Limsa to Sharlayan training to his early assignment in Ul’dah and then early Shadowbringers. Mirke’s Menagerie - A compilation of lore info from in game, lorebooks, panels, interviews, short stories, etc. There are about 4 or 5 Sharlayan-specific posts @mirkemenagerie has made.

Encyclopaedia Eorzea - If you can get your hands on copies (physical officially; digitally is Unofficial so far as I know), I recommend it! They’re both good reads, though EE 1 is the one with a blurb on Sharlayan as a nation.

Posts by Other People - that I have collected Leveva Comment About Archon Loaf - Keeping in mind Sharlayan’s bad cuisine has been canonical for years per lorebook 1. They care more about ease of eating while studying, also seeing culinary arts as an academic field, not a practical daily exercise. Lorebook 1 Astrologian Lore - screencaps from the lorebook. Phaedra’s Teen Scion Sharlayan Antics fic - I am happy to take responsibility for inspiring @phaedra-mero to write this delightful scene.

My Own Posts Red Mage Research - Includes books from Gubal Library. Scion Ages - Pointing out the ages of the Scions, particularly the Archons.

My Fics - Sometimes there’s more HC musings in the Notes and Comments. I try to stay close to canon, at least as it is when the fic was written. Rogue’s Prelude - Multichapter, teen Thancred meets Louisoix, Yda, and Papalymo. Written a year prior to Thancred’s official ShB story above. Aetherology & Skulking Boots-Beginnings - Y’shtola agrees to tutor Thancred in how to speak properly as teenagers in the colony. Chin Up - Yda gives Thancred advice as youths in the colony. Dreams of Home-Lucubration - Yda, Lyse, and Thancred in the colony. Younger Sister - Thancred’s relationships with the Hext sisters over time. In Violet’s Wake-Louisoix’s Children - A Master Matoya PoV from StB patches. There’s a brief chapter with her and Y’mhitra in Dreams of Home, too. Excerpts from other posts - things that ended up as commentary on other threads, with some editing since.

From a thread that started off as about Thancred’s Gear from ARR to HW:

Sharlayan is a nation on an island NW of Eorzea proper; the Sharlayan everyone we know hails from was a colony that became a city-state a few hundred years back and part of the Eorzean Alliance, in the Dravanian Hinterlands, where Idyllshire is now. After the fall of Ala Mhigo and then the Battle of Silvertear Skies, the Forum (their ruling body) decided to abandon the city and return to the motherland, a process that took 5 years before they all just teleported out in a day. Except Matoya, and those archons that worked for Louisoix and that he asked to stay and go to the remaining 3 Alliance cities. This would have been 15 years before ARR/Heavensward.

The Students of Baldesion are also Sharlayan; the Isle of Val, their headquarters, being under that nation’s banner. Sons of St Coinach are another offshoot; Rammbroes (Crystal Tower raid story) was originally part of Louisoix’s Circle of Knowing (who eventually became the Scions), and Y’shtola’s sister Y’mhitra is one of the Sons and part of the Summoner storyline.

Thancred got involved as a youth–by trying to pick Louisoix’s pocket, and impressing the old man with his skills, and so Louisoix brought Thancred back with him to give the kid an opportunity for study. Yda and Lyse escaped Ala Mhigo, and with help from Papalymo, who was part of an effort to help refugees seeking shelter in Sharlayan, they ended up there, and Yda is the one who actually became an archon.

Most of the other senior Scions, so far as I know, are native to Sharlayan, either the motherland or the colony. The Leveilleur twins were born in the Hinterlands Sharlayan, but raised in the motherland, as they were less than a year old when the exodus happened. The university they and Krile attended is the Studium. Becoming an Archon seems to be a separate process not everyone goes through, and is a demonstration of mastery in chosen field(s) of study. That’s the significance of the tattoos some of the Scions have on their necks or faces.

Sharlayan is basically a nation particularly focused on academia; the trouble is, for the last couple decades, it’s been controlled by a faction of isolationists who would rather hoard knowledge and sit in the proverbial ivory tower looking down on non-Sharlayans, claiming others would abuse their knowledge, and that they should simply observe history and not try to affect it. Louisoix, Matoya, and the organizations they associate with (the Circle of Knowing/Scions; Sons of St Coinach, the Students of Baldesion, etc), think that viewpoint is stupid and go against it. A big part of the Astrologian storyline is dealing with Sharlayans who dislike Leveva’s family sharing Sharlayan astrology with outsiders, for example.

What sort of relationship Sharlayan and Ishgard had before the exodus isn’t really detailed much; both were pretty insular and focused on their own issues (like many of Eorzea’s city-states outside of crises), and the Dravanian threat at the time might have kept them pretty separated by land. Sharlayan was responsible for Eorzea’s aetherytes and keeping the aethernets working, though, and it’s suggested they still handle that post-Calamity to some degree. We pay fees for teleports because reconstruction and upkeep is pricey for all of the city-states.

The Isle of Val was the headquarters of the Students of Baldesion, Krile’s family and order, and was a Sharlayan institution. It’s destruction/missing status happened during the ARR patches, and Krile was saved by Hydaelyn as she has the Echo (as an aside: you can hear Minfilia talking to Krile via linkpearl in the background on the Enterprise after rescuing the Scions from Castrum Centri before Ultima, and she constantly refers to and worries about Krile after the Isle of Val goes missing, but then plot happened to Minfilia so we never see them together as friends). The Ascians seemed to have a hand in the Isle’s disappearance…but there’s story about the fate of the Isle of Val and the Students of Baldesion in Stormblood’s Eureka plotline.

As for the Archon Marks, if they do confer social benefits, aside from being an easily seen status symbol for some highly skilled & educated folks, it hasn’t been mentioned yet in concrete terms, though we know the rank has benefits (like access to forbidden lore). Mostly they are a way to tell at a glance who has obtained the rank. It’s like if people with doctorates had a tattoo of their degree symbol on them so you knew just by looking.

As of Shadowbringers 5.4, we know that to become an Archon a thesis is required, and it’s a great deal more work than a Studium graduate’s final thesis. It strikes me that Studium (which some of the Scion Archons also attended) is like undergrad or Masters studies, while Archon is a Doctorate level.

I personally headcanon that the arcane marks confer some minor, slowed visible aging and other vague magical benefits befitting their rank in Sharlayan society. Really, that’s a way for the devs to avoid new models and add to the confusion in 1.0′s intros and the running joke about Y’shtola’s age, BUT let’s come up with an in-world thing, too. There has to be some explanation for Thancred’s perpetual baby face when he’s not RPing a Mountain Hobo ;) Also we really don’t know for sure how old Matoya is. Just old.

Lorebook 2 Notes:

Mikoto Jinba (Return to Ivalice, Save the Queen storylines) worked on aetheric siphon research with Moenbryda, and at 29 is the youngest Raen with the rank of Archon in recent history. It was Jessie’s connections that brought her to Cid’s attention and got her involved in the Return to Ivalice story.

Ejika Tsunjika (Eureka storyline) went to school at the same time as Krile and Leveilleur twins, endorsed by Galuf Baldesion, who Ejika later chose to work under. He’s resentful of Krile and the twins as Ejika himself is of humble origins and had to struggle to get to where he is, yet hides his Archon brands with high collars as he refuses to believe himself unique or exceptional.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Lore #Sharlayan #Archons #Scions of the Seventh Dawn #Anonymous

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stonefreeak · 4 years ago

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I absolutely love your chancellor kenobi series and am so grateful that you've written so much of it, you have sparked much joy for me. I wanted to ask your advice as someone who has written & published a large AU with many moving parts. How do you choose what order to publish things in? Do you have an outline that you stick to, do you publish as you write it, do you go with the flow?

Hello! Thank you so much, I'm glad to hear that you enjoy it!

Now, I could probably tell a few horror stories about how I was structuring my files and writing early on before @veilofadyingstar clowned on me enough times to get me to not write more than 5 different fics in the same google doc, separated only by headers (yes really), but I don't think that's very conductive to your questions, so I'll leave it at that, lol.

Chancellor Kenobi (CK) started as directly-into-tumblr ficlets. As in, I wrote everything directly into the text post editor and then just tagged it and pressed save and that was that.

It was also, early on, sort-of-not-really a prompt fic. Basically, I started by writing a ficlet on an idea, and then people wanted more of that ficlet, so they sent me asks. Sometimes they did manage to hit on what I imagined would happen, sometimes they didn't (in which case I would tell them what actually happened). I have so many asks still that I planned on replying to with a ficlet but just forgot, which is why my inbox currently has 156 messages in it, lmao (sorry everyone who sent me an ask!)

Back when this was the format CK was in, back in December 2016, I posted ficlets in whatever order I wrote them. I updated daily back then, sometimes even twice per day. After 10 days of this (so on the 13th, with about 10ish ficlets to the story) I asked if people wanted me to collect everything in a masterpost, which they did, at which point I had to go back and actually double check the order of events.

This was all so early on in the story that I just posted ficlets as I wrote them, haphazardly adding them into the timeline where they belonged, without caring about posting order at all.

I had an idea of what would happen, and as it grew more complex and I got further into the story, I realised that posting things out-of-order wouldn't be feasible anymore. The ficlets were becoming far too context dependent (because of the complexity and details of the plot) so even though I was still writing ficlets in the order of "whatever strikes my fancy", I now had to wait with posting until it was actually the next bit of the plot, this is when my updates started to slow down a lot, because yeah...

I started writing down an outline of events, but I never finished that, and I've since lost it lmao. So the actual plot, the story, the details... all of that lives only inside my head. I'm mentally keeping track of everything.

Which, honestly, I don't think I recommend that LMAO

After all, keeping it all in your head means that if you forget something, lmao, it's gone. bye bye

However, I did mention fairly recently that I'd done some organising of my files where I properly placed files out in order and name them, which now kind of works as an outline, lol (I use a writing subscription service for a gamified writing experience called 4thewords). However, there are a few blank files in between the named ones because I know I need more stuff in there in between the named events so it's not really a proper outline either.

So. I still write the fic out of order, which is something I can easily do due to the format I'm writing it in: interconnected ficlets as chapters. This means that I have ficlets that are far in the future of what I have posted, but they cannot yet be posted for the simple reason that the plot is now so complex that things need to be posted in order, otherwise it won't make sense.

As such, I no longer publish as I write, though I used to. At this point, the fic has grown too large and has too many moving pieces for that to be feasible.

Generally, I usually like to finish a fic before I post it, because that means that I can go back into early parts and edit them if need be (say I come up with something cool I need to foreshadow, or I realise that I mentioned something too early, or I realise I introduced a plotline I dropped so it's better to edit it out etc etc). That's not really possible with CK anymore (though, I mean, I guess I could go back and secretly edit stuff and pretend like nothing's up, lmao) so it's entirely possible that this fic has some inconsistencies etc (though I do my best to ensure there aren't any, there's always the risk I've missed something).

Writing CK and sharing it with all my readers has been an amazing experience, and I dearly hope people are not only willing to stick with me to the end, but also that they will feel like the pay-off was worth it.

For some people, finishing a fic before posting doesn't work because they need engagement to keep going, which is absolutely valid! For that, I think having a more structured outline is very useful in order to keep things clear and avoid accidental plot holes. It's no guarantee of course.

Ultimately, how you post and how you write comes down to you as an individual writer.

For me, it's rather flexible. Sometimes I write things in a strictly chronological order from start to finish and that's it. Sometimes I skip around in the story and need to make sure I leave very large empty spaces (metaphorical or literal) so I know where there's missing content that need to be written before the story is finished.

All of this is of course very much personal to me, and what works for one writer might not work for another. But I hope it gives you some help and some insight, perhaps.

Happy writing, anon!

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #writing #I got an ask!#anonymous #how I write #writing tips #well #kind of #long post

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linssikeittomies · 4 years ago

Text

The Place Between Here And There - Chapter 10: ...And Happiness In Private Life(cont'd)

Masterpost AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont'd)

I've finally updated the status of the fic to ABANDONED, I was going to do that way earlier but I didn't want to admit defeat, and then I just kind of forgot... Time really starts flying by as you get older, it totally doesn't feel like 2 years passed by^^' I'm still writing scenes for later on in the fic, and I've had the general outline of the story planned for a long time, but I haven't been able to write complete chapters for any of my projects for over a year now, it's very annoying. Anyway, this is the rest of chapter 9, not my best work but at least I like the part with Toris. He's noticed Ivan's small efforts of being nicer and wants to encourage them. Thanks for everyone who read this story and sorry for not being able to bring it to conclusion for all of you who were invested!

Ivan sent Fredya home until Wednesday – claiming it was so he could concentrate on work, but he was sure Fredya could tell he was just fretting about the upcoming meeting. Ivan was terrified Katyushka would get carried away, and that was closer to certainty rather than possibility, and then Fredya would walk out of his life. He had known from the start that the time would come sooner or later, but he had much hoped it would fall on the later end of the spectrum. This was a wholly different case from that of his first girlfriend - the one he had been with all of three days before Katyusha started talking about weddings. She had left him the next day, not surprisingly, and he hadn’t really cared one way or the other - she had been far too practical to occupy his thoughts when she wasn’t in sight. But if Fredya left as suddenly, and he was certainly impulsive enough to do so on the spot, then... Obviously it still wouldn’t be the end of the world,of course it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, losing a home for example would be far worse than losing a companion, it really wasn’t that big of an issue when you thought about it – there was no reason to lose what little will to live Ivan had left over something that insignificant. No reason.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in. When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You’re walking home, asshole.”

Tasha + Katyushka = affectionate nicknames for Nataliya and Yekaterina. Tashenka + Katyusya = one level more intimate. Ivan is being drunk and sentimental so at the end of the evening, the way he feels about his sisters is something like most people do when seeing tiny kittens. Thanks again for reading! Maybe in like 10 years so I'll add a final "chapter" describing the rest of the plot, but I know myself and won't make any promises. I have some more snippets on the masterpost if anyone wants to frustrate themselves with a story that will never be finished.

#hereandthere #fan fiction #hetalia #RusAme #AmeRus #russiaxamerica #linssifanfiction #WIPtale

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dreamcatcherfication · 5 years ago

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Like a Dream That You Can’t Quite Place

So this was a fic requested by @burntuakrisp at one point, and even though it took some time to get around to, here it is! This is a mash up of Satisfied from Hamilton, but Anna singing about Kat. Now I didn’t want to do a direct song-to-story format, so I tried something a little different. This is more of a “inspired by” type, so you’ll catch references to Satisfied, but it’s not actually sung at any point. There’s a part of this that might be a little controversial so let’s hope I don’t get cancelled for it. Sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors, turns out it’s because I’m a ten year old boy who finds sex jokes funny.

Writing Masterpost

And note: Just because this takes place in the past does not mean I am writing about the actual wives of Henry VIII. These are still the musical characters but set in the past.

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. Now featuring random asks:

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Random Asks

Trigger Warnings: Vague mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of beheading, Henry VIII

In truth, Anna had not wanted to come to the wedding, nor had she found it appropriate that she had been invited. Who would think it would be anything less than awkward for the former wife of the king to come witness his marriage to the new queen. However, it wasn’t jealousy that made the situation awkward, but rather the groom who now stood between two extremely close women. Or in Katherine’s case, girl.

Anna had not attended the actual ceremony, but she was amongst the dancers in the banquet hall who surrounded the king and his new queen as they feasted. It was strange seeing her dear friend Katherine now wearing a crown of jewels and sitting next to a man three times her size, but Anna could say nothing. She approached the queen and kneeled down. “Your Majesty,” she greeted courtly.

Glancing around uncomfortably, Katherine gently put a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You do not have to kneel Anna, you were a queen just as I am.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Anna continued to remain formal. If they were in private, Anna would find it absurd to use the royal terms with her former lady in waiting, but she wouldn’t dare cross that line with Henry sitting right next to Katherine. “I’ve come to congratulate you on your marriage.”

Henry clutched his large stomach and forced a smile towards Anna. “How sweet of you, dear sister. Have you brought gifts?”

Nodding, Anna unclasped the locket that she had hanging around her neck. “An antique locket from the House of Cleves. I’m sure her majesty will enjoy it greatly.”

Gasping as she was handed the locket, Katherine admired its beauty. “It’s stunning Anna, thank you so much. Will you help me put it on?”

Realizing he was being forced out of the conversation, Henry cut in. “I can do that, my darling.” He leaned over and grabbed the locket, holding it up to Katherine’s neck. The girl frowned when he fumbled with the clasp, his fat fingers unable to hook it properly. Katherine uncomfortably shifted in the long amount of time it took before Henry finally got the locket in place. “Perfect. It looks radiant on someone as beautiful as you,” he flirted with Katherine, who seemed far too nervous for someone who was married to the man.

Anna started to back away, knowing that Henry had already dismissed her by turning his attention back to Katherine. The girl shot one last longing glance in Anna’s direction before she was forced to return her attention to her husband.

Meanwhile, Anna found herself exiting the hall to go for a walk about the grounds. She could not stand staying in that stifled hall, surrounded by the people who had once ridiculed her. She missed the comfort of Katherine as her lady in waiting, the soft moments they would spend together away from all the horrors of the real world. It was hard for her to see everything they had built together fall apart because of the king. As she traversed the palace grounds, Anna couldn’t help but feel herself start to rewind time, falling into a memory she so clearly remembered.

The sky was bright and the breeze blew through Anna’s hair, the sound of birds chirping almost picture perfect. Of course Anna wasn’t alone (her ladies in waiting were a few feet behind her) but Anna could almost feel free when roaming outside. “Milady,” one of the girls called.

“Yes?”

The lady in waiting made sure there was a wide berth between her and her queen. “The king has requested your presence, he has a new lady in waiting he wishes for you to meet. I believe he has taken rather a,” the girl spoke disdainfully, “liking to this one.”

Sighing, Anna turned away from her freedom and followed her ladies back into the palace where her husband awaited. As much as she disliked her husband, she knew there were far worse men to be wed to. Henry spoke so lowly of her, yet he let her do as she pleased throughout the palace. If he was requesting her presence, then clearly he meant business.

Henry was standing outside of Anna’s bedchambers, his hand on the shoulder of a young girl. The girl was a teenager, and her gaze was thoroughly frightened (although she was doing her best to appear calm). “My wife,” Henry said, his tone a mix between disgust and politeness. “It seems we have received a new lady for you, a one Miss Katherine Howard.”

Katherine was one of the most beautiful girls Anna had ever seen. Sure, she considered herself to be quite beautiful no matter what Henry said, but this girl was a rose, plucked directly from the Garden of Eden. For once, Anna felt something deep in her heart start to stir. “Miss Howard, how kind of you to join us. You must be special if the king has brought you here himself.”

“Oh no,” Katherine spoke and curtseyed. “I am of no importance, but his Grace is most kindly.” Anna had to hide a scoff at that comment. Henry was far from kindly, but he loved hearing praise, something Katherine seemed to understand very well.

Growing bored of the women’s interactions, Henry’s voice drowned out any other conversation. “Well I must return to my duties, and you ladies to your needlework, I assume. It was lovely to meet you Katherine,” Henry gave her a full toothed smile that made all the ladies nervous. He spared a glance to his wife and muttered, “And you do as you will.”

There was a clear tension among the ladies as they realized what was going on. Henry was very clearly showing his wife that he had interests in Katherine, knowing that neither of the girls could do a thing about it. “Hello, my queen,” Katherine cut into the silence, doing her best to retain any semblance of proper court. When the girl looked up and gave Anna that smile, oh the queen could almost forget her name.

Anna dismissed the other ladies and went inside her chambers with Katherine. “Tell me, where is your family from?”

“Unimportant,” Katherine replied, her face flinching. “I am your humble servant, my background does not matter.”

Watching the way she fidgeted, Anna elected not to push further. She knew Katherine probably came from a bad family she did not want Anna to know about (and by acting the way she did, Katherine had unintentionally given that away). Everything about Katherine was so immediately endearing, and Anna knew from the start they were meant to have some sort of connection. Not the kind Henry was trying to form, but the kind that would last.

And that was why Anna tried so hard to stomp it out.

B l i n k i n g back into the present, Anna realized she had come across a small grove of trees and plants in the palace grounds. She vividly remembered the times she would bring Kat out into the grove to practice dancing with her. The two of them rejoiced in the private time they spent in each other’s company. Of all Anna’s servants, she had grown comfortable with Kat, enough that they would forgo appearances when free of any probing eyes.

Now, alone in the grove with only the dark of the night, Anna felt as if the memories were ghosts of a past life. She was no longer the queen, and Katherine was no longer her servant. They were different people than the two who had hidden within the grove.

Humming a low tune, Anna walked in circles around the trees, twirling as she passed rocks and cobblestone. She had her arms up as she so often had in the past, leading Kat through courtly dances. “I feel we would still be together if not for the three truths I’ve realized,” Anna spoke to the empty grove. It was easier for her to tell Kat her feelings when the girl was nowhere near enough to hear her.

“The three fundamental truths,” Anna whispered, mostly to herself. There was a stumble in her dancing before Anna resumed with more vigor than when she started. “One. Henry is the king. No matter how much you or I disagree with him, he can have what he wants. And if he wants you, there’s nothing I can do but try and make it easier for you.” Anna had no choice but to obey the king, but that did not quell her desire to defy him and keep Katherine safe with her.

Continuing to hum her tune, Anna came up next to a gnarled tree. Resting her back against the tree, she mimed pulling her partner closer to her. “Two. Your family is of low status. You’ve never disclosed your upbringing to me, but I can tell by the way you act. If Henry had any idea how close we had grown, he would not allow it. Servants and royalty do not mix, unless it is the king and his mistress. The only way he will allow us to be around each other publically is if you are his wife and I am his sister.”

The image of Katherine standing next to the King wormed its way into Anna’s mind. She wanted to tear the image in half, never to be seen again. But the picture was reality. Anna had no power to rewrite reality. “Three. You’ve always been vague about it, but you confided in me about what had happened in your childhood. What those men had done to you.” A choking sound made its way through Anna’s throat as she realized what she was trying to say. “To tell you that I feel that same connection with you that they did… I cannot do that to you in good conscience. So I will suffer in silence, knowing that I can never be satisfied of this hunger deep within me.”

Her dancing halted as Anna stared at her empty hands. “I hope you will be happy with your groom.”

Inevitably, Anna knew there would be a catch. She tried not to grow close to Katherine, knowing that Henry was pursuing her. Anna and Katherine were being pitted against each other for the title of queen, and Anna would not allow herself to come between Katherine and the most powerful man in England. She didn’t want Henry to marry Katherine, but she also didn’t want to be exiled by the king for fighting back, ultimately resulting in Katherine and Henry’s marriage anyway.

When it came down to it, Anna was helpless to stop Henry.

But if Anna had known Kat’s fate, she would have allowed herself to be exiled a thousand times over, she would’ve put her own head on a chopping block if it gave her the chance to prevent Kat’s death. Henry had known how close the two girls were, so he ordered that none of her servants tell her of the girl’s imprisonment. It was no act of mercy on his part, but rather for efficiency. If Anna knew what he planned to do to Kat, she would have fought tooth and nail to save the girl.

When she received news about Katherine after six months of silence, it was the news of her death. The pain it brought upon Anna was like no sickness she had ever known. Without being conscious of it, Anna made the vow never to be remarried. She would not betray Kat’s memory by moving on and pushing the love she felt for her best friend to the side. She could never feel the love she felt for Kat with another man. For weeks she refused to interact with her servants beyond what was absolutely necessary. She could not forgive them for keeping Katherine’s imprisonment from her.

But the most painful part were her fantasies. The nights where she could still see Katherine’s eyes, the innocent, most beautiful gaze preserved. In the candlelight, Anna could still remember the way Kat had looked at her when they first met. Anna felt her stomach tighten, knowing those eyes would never rest on her again. She had thought that by allowing Kat’s marriage to Henry, she would still be able to see those angel eyes. But Henry had taken that away from her as well.

Standing in the empty ballroom at Richmond only reminded Anna of the time she had with Kat. When the girl was married to Henry, it had been hard to keep their friendship alive, but they had managed as best they could. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Anna turned around

and came face to face with Katherine in her regal dress. The girl still had the same youthful glint in her eyes, despite now having the status of a queen. The ballroom was alive with dancers and music, the air bright and festive. “It’s been so long Anna.”

Swallowing thickly, Anna nodded. “It has Kat.” Letting her eyes drop, Anna noticed the locket around Katherine’s neck. “You still have it?”

Looking down to confirm what Anna was staring at, Kat smiled. “Yes, I never take it off. You would have to chop my head off like Boleyn to get me to part with it.”

The sick feeling in Anna’s stomach grew exponentially, but she hid it behind a polite smile. “Well then, would you like to dance with me, Your Majesty?” Holding out a hand, Anna watched her darling gracefully take it.

“I would love to.” As it had always been, Anna led the dance. There was nothing special about it, just the swaying to the melodies produced by the lute. The way their hands fit together felt so right, but Anna knew it wouldn’t last. She knew Kat would have to leave. That’s why she danced with her for far longer than was traditionally acceptable in the court.

It was the best moment of her life, the soft, silent comfort of Kat in her arms. It was the most relaxed that Anna had ever seen the queen. Kat needed the comfort of a friend, and that was what Anna would give her. Nothing else. There were far too many reasons why Anna was trapped in her position. But from where she currently stood, her position was not so bad.

The dance was stopped when Anna yawned and stumbled on her feet. “You should get some sleep, it’s very late,” Kat spoke softly, pulling herself away from Anna.

“Wait, don’t leave,” Anna pleaded, reaching out.

The queen frowned but then giggled at the desperate face Anna was making. “Why?”

“I’m afraid I might never see you again,” Anna confessed, remembering the news of Katherine’s death. She was frightened that if Kat left the room, she would never return.

Putting a hand on Anna’s arm, Katherine smiled. “You’re insatiable, just like the king. But I’ll always be here with you. As long as you remember me, I’ll never leave you.” Kat balanced on her tip toes and gave Anna a kiss on the cheek before scurrying out of the room.

“Wait!” Anna called, reaching a hand out, but Katherine was already gone.

The ballroom was once again silent and dark, not a single soul but Anna within. Dropping to her knees, Anna stared up at the ceiling and prayed that Kat had been granted mercy. “She was right,” the woman choked out. “Henry will never be satisfied.”

“I will never be satisfied.”

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #katanna #anna of cleves #katherine howard #set in the tudor time era #inspired by satisfied from hamilton #i meant to make it a bit more close #bit this happened and i actually like it a lot #title is a lyric from the song #h*nry viii #also yes i tag h*nry as a trigger warning #he can do that to a person

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straight-into-the-animus · 5 years ago

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(One of) Many Meetings (Modern!Arno x Reader)

This was the brainchild of people on the AC Discord Server, I’m just the humble messenger. I hope you enjoy this little fic of Arno Dorian meeting Reader’s parents!

Content: Fluff, blink and you’ll miss it mentions of nsfw behavior, parents show up, reader is gender neutral, around High School era

The problem with Arno was that there were, well, rather few problems with him. And you loved that about him, but it somehow infuriated you as well. The biggest problem wasn’t that he got along with your friends wonderfully, better than you could’ve anticipated, or that he liked to surprise you with gifts at irregular intervals (“Arno, the balloons-!” “Merde, they’re flying away!”) Oh no, the worst part of it all were your parents; they loved him.

It started the first night, as you two had been going out for a few weeks at that point and wanted to see if it was strong enough to handle A Meeting of Parents.

“I promise it won’t be so bad.” You had reassured him earlier that day, lounging half on top of him in a library armchair. “We’ll stay for maybe ten minutes, go out right afterwards, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt you, mon amour. I only hope I can keep my hands off of you for that long.” He grinned, head dipping down to kiss your neck.

“They’re my parents, you brute. You better behave yourself.” You quietly, breathlessly laughed, sharing a grin with him.

“Never.”

The doorbell rang a few minutes ahead of schedule and you all but lept out of your seat, planning to get there first to open it and gesturing for your parents to sit down. Of course, nothing was ever that simple, and you were quickly beaten to the door by your triumphant mother, who opened it expectantly.

“You must be Arno.”

The Frenchman was actually well put together, in well fit jeans that hugged him with a white button up shirt, sleeves loosely rolled up to the elbow. It wasn’t fair how effortlessly put together he was, but c’est la vie, you sighed silently, that was your boyfriend. He met your gaze for a second over your mother’s shoulder and shot you a quick wink before turning to her with a charming grin.

“And you must be Mademoiselle (Y/L/N). A pleasure.”

The phrase earned some light laughter from your mother. She let him in, and you both subtly bee-lined for each other as his arm easily wrapped around your- your shoulder. Not low on your waist like it usually was, possessive and endearing all at once.

“Well come in, come in then! You’ll have to meet my husband before you both leave, he’s been looking forward to this.”

“Just as much as I have been, I’m sure.” He readily replied, winking in your direction, and you rolled your eyes when your mother wasn’t looking.

“Would you like some cheese to go with your ham, Monsieur Dorian?” You whispered in his ear, having to stifle the shiver and small yelp that coursed through your body as his hand lightly scratched the back of your neck.

“Maybe later. We’ll see if the mood is right.” He responded in the same volume before you were both off to say hello to your father. You originally only planned for it to take around five minutes; it ended up taking ten.

And then Arno was supposed to bring you home around 10:30. He brought you home at 10:15.

-------

You later learned there was a reason he wanted to be home so early when one day you were running a little bit later than normal from some traffic problems. Your parents knew, had even texted you when they got word, and you had let them know in return that everything was fine. Or, it would be if the driver’s seat would stop vibrating from one very bouncy, nervous man in the seat.

“What-”

“They said to have you home by nine, and it’s now quarter after that time, they’re going to hate me.”

“And they know the circumstances, Arno. Really, we’re all fine. My parents are not going to hate you.” You slowly explained, as if you were calming a skittish horse. You even felt like you were petting one as you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair gently. “I don’t think that’s, like, even possible for anyone in this world.” You felt a grin start to spread on your face as a well-needed thought started to take over in your mind. “How about we find a way to pass the time if the traffic isn’t moving?”

“There aren’t many out of state license plates. Not many games to play with those.”

“Wha-” You sat back in your seat, staring at him with complete puzzlement. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

It was his turn to give you a confused look this time before the cars ahead of you started to move. “Ah, finally.”

It was all you could do to sit back and just shake your head as the car raced through the street.

-------

He started showing up a lot more, your parents even taking the liberty of inviting him over at times.

Dinner? Sure thing.

Was there a game on that night? Bring an appetite and there was likely a jersey somewhere to spare for him.

Arno even started to bring his own food at that point, and you sat back and watched it happen. What was wrong was that none of it made any sense, not really. At school, outside of your parents, he was as you knew him; Arno Dorian, French ‘debonair’ and extraordinary lovebird, always ready to tease and rile you up and love you the way you knew you wanted and needed, just as much as he was ready to keep you close and centered.

But around your parents, he was “Oh yes, I did hear about the stocks” and “Mrs. Johnson’s class is doing wonderfully, but it’s slow-paced”, and it was starting to get on your nerves, which Arno didn’t pick up on in the slightest. It came to a head when you came home from a day out with friends, finding the most unexpected audience in your home.

“(Y/N)!” Your mother called out in the kitchen, and you shrugged off your coat as you made your way over there. “How was it?”

“Wasn’t too bad, you should’ve seen what- What the hell.” You stopped in the entryway to the kitchen, taking in the sight of your mother and Arno, taking tea near the counter like it was a Sunday afternoon in some Jane Austen novel. “Arno? What are you doing here?”

“I was invited over.” He smiled brightly, eager to answer even though there was the faintest undercurrent of something else under it. “I had finished my work for the day, so…”

“We were just discussing-”

“Can we talk alone? Thanks, sorry, love you.” You smiled sweetly to your mother as you cut him off and took Arno by the elbow, leading him away into the main hallway, albeit gently. He was still carrying the teacup and you both floundered with it for a moment before he set it precariously on the stairs.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I don’t have a problem with you being nice to my parents, it’s- I’m glad that they like you, really! But tea? In my kitchen? With my mom? I’m not even here!”

“(Y/M/N) was just being nice-”

“(Y/M/N)?” You blinked. “You’re on first name terms now?”

“No, I- (Y/N), please. Just…” He sighed and you could see him mentally piecing himself together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would upset you as much as it did. It was just… They were very welcoming. And I wanted to show how much I appreciated that, show them I was serious. You mean so much to me, mon coeur, truly.” His hand went to hold yours, eyes searching yours. “I wanted to show I could be a good man for them. And… I must have gotten a bit carried away in everything.”

You couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of your anger melting away, staring into his brown eyes. He was contrite and sincere, you could tell. And you knew that he really did just want to be liked. “You don’t need to go to all these lengths. They’re my parents, sure, but... that hardly matters in the long run. Yes, I want them to like you, but... Ultimately, if they don’t? That’s their fault. Not yours. They’re missing out on someone awesome. Don’t try and be something you’re not because you think it’ll make me or them happy. Okay?” You smiled slightly and he returned it, soft and genuine.

“I will try my best. I love you, (Y/N).”

“And I love you, Arno.” You leaned forward and kissed him, meeting his soft lips in what you thought would be a chaste manner as you were slowly becoming accustomed to, but before you pulled away there were the slightest bit of teeth on your lower lip as he nipped. His smile grew into a grin as you looked at him in surprise, treasuring your slight gasp.

“Now… How about I finish my tea and we head out on a proper date before your mother’s chili comes out of the pot?” Arno grabbed his tea from its position on the stairs and left you with a wink, as you just stared at his retreating backside.

Yeah, he was infuriating. But c’est la vie, he was yours. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

-------

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request! If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

#arno dorian x reader #arno dorian #assassin's creed #assassin's creed unity #my writings

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years ago

Text

Dalton Big Bang day 43 - Valentine

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Also known as: Gigs tries to write jogan giving their son The Talk and failing miserably due to being a useless asexual.

One day. One fucking day. I'll write a full next gen fic, with all the kids, because y'all know by now I have headcanons for everything. And then y'all would get to see just how chaotic AJ Sotto and Parker Willis can be. But for now, this is about Johnny and his adorable Hanover boyfriend.

If there was a truth everyone in Dalton could agree on, it was that history teacher and Warblers coach, Mr. Wright, was a man you didn't want to cross. The unfortunate ones who were asked to meet with him privately refused to speak of what was told, and whether it was for good or bad reasons, nobody wanted to ask.

And then there were the students who visited his office without even being called. Johnny Larson-Wright, AJ Sotto, Parker Willis. Parker's older brothers graduated from Windsor and Stuart a few years ago, so that brand of crazy would make sense coming from them, but the others…

Well, Valentine Moore always thought people were crazy for assuming their teacher was such a bad man. He made Warblers practice enjoyable every time, gave people solos in a very fair manner, and yeah, maybe he was a bit strict. But he seemed nice enough.

But who was Valentine to say anything? He's never had a conversation alone with him. Maybe they were just exaggerating things!

Yeah, that had to be it!

...until the unfortunate day in late February when he was called in to Mr. Wright's office.

It was all everyone talked about the whole day. Johnny didn't make a fuss about it, unlike most of the others, which was reassuring and even more stressful in equal measures. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, straight-A student Valentine Moore must see the monster, maybe he fucked up real bad this time. Maybe they found out that he contributed to Johnny and AJ's bullshit—

No, wait, no. He does draw, it's his one coping mechanism, but no way they used his art for graffiti. Maybe… maybe it had to do with the homework he didn't turn in for history class? No, but he did it all, he just forgot his notebook by accident, Mr. Wright would probably understand! He must understand, it's not the first time, it's just—

"Stop pacing by my door, Moore," the teacher called, making Valentine freeze in place and start shaking. "You're not exactly invisible."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wright." He just lowered his eyes and walked into the office, closing the door behind him. "Won't do so again."

"It's all good, I get that you're nervous. But there's nothing to be nervous about."

"Is it about the homework I forgot to turn in last week…?"

"No. I care less about the homework than I do about this subject." The teacher started tapping on the desk with his fingers, making Valentine shiver a bit more. "I understand you're seeing my son."

His stomach fell as his shaking stopped.

"I don't… what? No, you got it wrong, I just—"

"Wrong? Unless Johnny is dating another Valentine Moore, who goes to this school and boards in Hanover, and is a member of the Warblers, I have no reason to believe I got it wrong."

"I… I'll break up with him, sir, it's okay. I know I'm not…"

As Valentine started feeling tears fall down his cheek, he also felt a large hand take his, as he started a silent prayer in his mind.

"I'm not mad at you," Mr. Wright — Logan — told him. "In fact, I'm relieved. It seems like he's very serious about you. His father and I are very proud of him. But I'll tell you this. If you hurt my boy—"

"It's the end of me, I know. I'm so sorry, sir."

"...yeah. That's… yeah." As Valentine raised his eyes, he saw his teacher start to fumble a bit. That was unusual… "I didn't actually think I'll get this far, if I'm honest… I'm not allowed to hurt you, as your teacher. But do expect to have a talk again. If either of you get hurt. It's not just about him in this relationship, it's about you too."

"O— okay! Okay, thank you!"

"Now, about that homework—"

"Dad!" Interrupted a call as the door flung open, and in ran Johnny, red in the face and wholly amused. "AJ broke Ramsey's window by accident, we're gonna get killed! Help! Oh, hi Val!"

"Hi!" If Valentine smiled at that, it wasn't his fault. This was the best thing that happened today.

"I swear, when we got you into Stuart we hoped you'd do better than this," Mr. Wright sighed, getting up from his chair. "Excuse me, Moore, it seems like something more... urgent came up."

"Oh no, it's… it's all fine. I'll leave! It's okay!"

"I apologize, Moore."

As Valentine rushed to get up and leave, Logan put a hand on his son's shoulder, trying to make him calm down. The redness still persisted, but his smile cracked, and the twinkle of joy in his eyes teeny off as a blanket of disappointment fell on him.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"You're not. AJ, though, is in so much trouble. Now show me the damage. I'll talk to Ramsey."

————

"So how are you guys doing?" Julian asked through FaceTime, watching his family eat dinner while he had his lunch break on set. Jerry, their newest cat, was also on the table to eat his own dinner. Natalie was paying more attention to him than she was to her dinner.

Johnny kinda wanted to poke her to answer him.

"We're all fine," Logan told him, ignoring the kids to a degree. "Did you watch the regionals video?"

"I did. So did half the cast. Good job on that. Nice song choices too, Squid."

"Thanks," Logan snorted, then turned to nudge Johnny. "Did you hear your pops?"

"I did." He went bright red. "I… I chose the second one."

Julian chuckled at that. "Yeah? No shit, Johnny. Was it inspired by someone special?"

"Yeah… I mean—"

"It certainly looked like it. Reminded me of the Hummel-Sottos back when we were juniors ourselves. Ugh, I can't listen to Raise Your Glass anymore without wanting to gag."

Johnny tried to hide. His dads were great, he never thought otherwise! Pops was the more lenient one, the more open one. The one with less dignity somehow. Probably from growing up in the spotlight and being in the public eye for so long. Dad was stricter, less… open, about all the embarrassing stuff, but he was also home more. Less absent than Pops. So he… knew more, about the kids. Pops was the one to go to with love problems, Dad was the one for any other issues.

Johnny loved them both equally. But they were both equally embarrassing, and that was a lot of embarrassing, and he really didn't want to talk to them about his love life.

"So who's the special someone?" Julian kept on teasing. "Who were you singing You're My Best Friend to?"

"Just…"

"Val," Natalie answered for him, making him choke. "He totally likes Valentine."

"Nat, shush."

"Well, did you tell him yet?" Julian raised an eyebrow, laughing a bit. "He doesn't seem like the guy to get… subtle flirting."

"He's my boyfriend now, okay?" Johnny snapped. "I… I told him. After the performance ended. And then we were together for Valentine's day and now we're together. Is that what you wanna hear?"

"...actually yes, that is what I want to hear. Honey, that's great! Does he make you happy? Do you two talk through your problems or do you keep them inside until you'll burn out like what happened when you were in fifth grade? Do you two fuck yet?"

"Pops!"

"Daddy! Ew!"

As Johnny pretended to gag, and Natalie ran off from the table to wash her mouth, Logan rolled his eyes with a smile and turned the call to face him more.

"They're doing alright, J. They're actually doing better than we did when we started going out. At least with the whole… communication thing."

"You assume we communicated ever," Julian joked, making Logan smile more. "I'm kidding… I'm just happy they're doing well. He seems like a good kid."

"Who, Valentine?"

"Yeah."

"He's great… a bit shy. Reminds me of Reed back when."

"Sounds like a blast. God… I miss you guys. I wanna be there, I wanna meet that kid honest and proper… would it be too weird to give them the sex talk through face cam?"

"I think it would be… a terrible idea, Jules. Please wait until you're back home."

"You forget I can still hear you guys!" Came the groan from Johnny, followed by a call from someone to remind Julian he needs to get dressed for his next scene.

"I love you too!" Julian called to Johnny, receiving a loud groan in return. "Lo, I love you so much."

"I love you too, J."

"I'll see you guys in a month, okay? Not too much left to wait. I'll try to find some of those Japanese kitkats you like."

"Thank you. Have a good day, Jules."

"Good night, Lo. Good night, kids!"

Logan hung up as Johnny mumbled a "yeah, yeah" and Natalie came back to the table, still gagging.

"...okay, but did you?"

"Nat, I'm not answering that question!"

"Okay, sorry! Jeez!"

Yeah… this was his family now. Logan still struggled to believe this fact. But this was his family now.

————

"How about this argument stops now?" Johnny called right as Julian walked through the door that Saturday afternoon, to catch his husband and daughter standing on one couch and his son comforting a redhead stranger on the other. "It doesn't fucking matter who's a better partner for Mark, he's in a fucking coma. And besides, your screams are making him uncomfortable."

"Do I even want to know?" Julian asked as he dropped his bags, pulling Logan down from the couch so they could kiss. Much to the gagging noises coming from Natalie. "Hello, love."

"Hi, Jules."

"They're listening to The Bright Sessions again," Johnny tried to say, getting somewhat ignored. "It's just—"

"I'm going to my room!"

"Okay! Hello to you too, Natalie!"

That was all about an hour ago, and as things were now, Julian felt far more awake. He took a shower, unpacked his bags, made himself a cup of coffee and now got to cuddle with his husband and their three cats on the couch as their son tried his best to make his boyfriend feel comfortable. The boy didn't look the most reassured though, but at least he didn't seem like he's going to stress himself to death, so he figured it was okay.

"You met my pops before," Julian heard Johnny tell Valentine quietly. "Why are you so scared now?"

"Because I met him as your friend, and now I'm your boyfriend, it's not the same type of meeting!"

"He's right, it's not," Logan told the kids, laughing a bit. "It's scarier than meeting as a friend."

"Dad, you're not helping."

"It's also more relieving than you think, Moore. Trust me."

He sniffled and nodded, trying to calm down more. An uneasy feat, but one Logan and Johnny were sure he could accomplish.

"So… how are you?" Julian asked after a moment of silence, winking at Valentine. "I saw your regionals performance. You did good."

"Th— thank you!" He started blushing at that. "I… I'm good! I think, at least… How are you?"

"I'm very good, thank you for asking. So…" Julian chuckled, taking a bit of a shaky breath. "You're dating now, I heard."

Valentine could've died then and there.

"Dad had to tell him," Johnny tried to explain, but it didn't exactly work that well, as he watched his boyfriend try to hide as his pops kept on smiling.

"I'm not going to make fun of you, I just want to talk to you two. Make sure you know what you're doing, so you won't end up, you know…"

"Like your pops and I were when we started going out," Logan filled in for him.

"Exactly."

"If you want to tell us to use protection, it's okay, I think we know that by now," Valentine managed to say through his weak voice and high anxiety. "At least I know. My parents had our pastor give me that talk when I was thirteen."

"I use protection every time, it's nothing new."

"I'm sure you both know we're very proud of you for practicing that part of the relationship, but there are many more things I'm sure you don't even think of. For example, do you two communicate?" Julian received a very tired side-eye from Johnny and a nod from Valentine. "I'll ask a more specific question. Do you two talk about your feelings? About how certain things the other person does make you feel?"

"What do you mean…?"

"Before Logan and I started going out, I used to be really jealous about things. He used to have a crush on Kurt Hummel, good god, just remembering that hurts me…"

"Does it hurt because Shadow is literally on your rib cage?" Johnny suggests, watching the cat in question curl up defensively.

"No, she's good. It's another kind of pain, honey. But it… you remember when we told you about Adam? Back when Nat was being stalked?"

Johnny nodded, and Val just stared for a moment. "Stalked…?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Adam was my stalker when we were in high school," Julian explained, feeling Logan's grip on him getting tighter. "He forced me to tell Logan I love him. Neither of us were ready at the time, and I wish Adam no harm. I hope he managed to build a normal, semi sane life from those ashes. But he forced Logan and I to have a conversation neither of us were ready for."

"Okay… Pops, why is this important?"

"Because that's what happens when you don't communicate, honey. We didn't communicate until we were forced to. Please don't do that, okay? Can you promise me you'll talk about your feelings?"

"...Dad, what is he talking about? He's scaring Val."

"You're asking your dad and not me? John, I am deeply—"

"Communication is the key to any relationship," Logan said, cutting Julian in the middle and leaving him to play offended. "Consent is just a form of communication."

"One day, you two would decide that now is the right time to start having sex." Johnny started gagging at that. "When that day comes, we both want you to be ready. And it goes far beyond just knowing how to have safe sex. Having a healthy relationship is all about talking, because if you keep it inside, you heard what'll happen. Now, do you two communicate? Do you talk about your feelings, your fears? How far have you gone physically? This is a judgement-free zone, so don't feel ashamed."

"Just… just first base… Val is… uncomfortable with sex… Pops, why are you like this?"

"Because I love you and want to make sure you're safe. You know, some people might not want to have sex ever in their whole life, and that's okay too. A relationship isn't defined by how many times your dick has been in your partner's ass."

"Jules, that's… maybe overstepping a bit. You're scaring the children."

"So let's go back to the talking part. How many dates have you gone on yet? Where to?"

————

Johnny drove the two of them back to Dalton the following Sunday evening, and Natalie had a sleepover at her friend's place, so Logan figured he could make something nice happen for Julian's return. They didn't exactly get to do much yesterday, but it didn't mean they couldn't do anything now. So he ordered some Italian food, he got a bottle of wine, he picked a movie for the two of them to watch before regrettably falling asleep on the couch…

"Well, hello," Julian called as he came down the stairs, seeing Logan fretting over his phone. "What worries you so?"

"I'm waiting for takeout to get here… Michelle says hi."

"Well, when did you order takeout?" He got up to kiss Logan's cheek, hugging him under his arms.

"Seven twenty-three."

"And what time is it now?"

"Seven fifty."

"So they're not late, you're just anxious."

"I guess…" He put his phone down, instead hugging Julian. "I just… I don't know, I got excited. We get to be alone for the first time in…"

"Yeah… you said Michelle said hi? How's her and John's vacation in the Maldives going? Do they miss us too much yet?"

"I don't think they do. Michelle always misses us."

"True… oh, she'd love Valentine."

"She already does."

Logan nodded, then buried his face in Julian's shoulder. He was gone for too long this time. Or maybe they'd just gotten used to spending more time together without any projects getting in the way.

For Julian, three and a half months in New Zealand were also getting too much, and he always got jealous that he couldn't see Johnny compete or be there for Natalie while she auditioned for her own tv shows. He felt like he was missing too much. Sure, he took a break after the whole… stalking situation happened, but that was years ago. His return to mainstream just made him tired.

Both of them had their qualms about the direction their lives were going, and both of them were cut off by the doorbell, and Logan letting go for one moment so he could get the bags and tip the delivery guy. But soon enough it was both of them on the couch, eating their pasta and drinking wine and trying to decide if The Favorite was really the right movie to watch right now or if they felt like something less serious.

"The boys really remind me of us," Logan said in the middle of it all, making Julian choke a bit.

"Really? I can see how Johnny reminds you of you, but I don't think—"

"When we started going out," he finished his sentence. "We were awkward at best…"

"Your friends wouldn't let me off the hook."

"Hey, okay, that was mostly Dwight, and he's your friend too."

"He still wouldn't let me off the hook!"

"You know he only did it because he worries for us. Both of us. He did the same to me too."

"Okay, sure… do you think I just went full Dwight on them yesterday?"

"You… didn't. Not really. I think you did okay. Maybe a bit TMI on some details, but…" Julian made a scene of hiding his face in a pillow, trying to suppress his embarrassment. "Jules, I love you, but I don't think talking about my personal relationship history with our sixteen-year old son and his boyfriend is such a smart idea. Especially since it was mine. I'm not the average, I'm the exception."

"Was there any other way I should've gone at it?"

"I don't know, but I don't think two of my own students can look me in the face anymore."

"I think we should both be grateful we didn't talk about Derek's history at least."

They shared a look, their faces bright red and struggling to hold back a smile, before bursting into laughter.

"I worry for Valentine if you would have talked about Derek… Jules, that poor kid is terrified of everything, let's not traumatize him even more. I'm still his teacher."

"I worry more for what Johnמy would've said… or Nat. Oh, imagine if Nat would've heard that… you know she and Emma talk about everything, right? And I mean everything. She would've told her, and then Derek would've known, and then we'd both be dead."

"Let's… let's just be grateful that this talk is over with and that we don't need to advise them on more just yet…"

"More like what? Marriage, having children?"

"I know you're joking but yes, that is a very real possibility for us in the future."

"So let's just… fuck, I can't breathe…"

"Oh, shit! Your inhaler is here, come on…"

"...Logan?" Julian asked after a few moments, his breathing calming down now.

"Yeah?"

"Let's keep the marriage counseling to the future, okay?" He smiled as Logan nodded, leaning over to kiss his cheek again. "I love you."

"Jules, I love you."

"I know. Lucky me."

#kylo cant write #daltonfic #daltonficbigbang #day 43 - jogan #jogan giving their kids the sex talk was the premise #hope I did them justice #sadly tho I am a useless asexual #so hey

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wak-after-dark · 5 years ago

Note

Still not able to come up with an argument about the Epilogue treating Gamzee (the murderous corpse molester) better than Jade (sat around for 3 years with depression only to have a dog dick and then be abandoned by her friends) huh? Guess you're just an idiot and willingly sucking Hussie's dick for a job at Whatpumpkin down the line. Maybe write some incest porn like IPDG and you'll get hired.

Wow get a load of this guy.

Okay I should probably just delete your comments and not give you the time of day, but you’ve been periodically sending me this kind of ask, and I really have to ask, do you really, really believe you’re someone with some sort of Moral High Ground right now? Like I’m not even defending the Epilogues as masterpieces or trying to shove them down people’s throats. I am literally just enjoying the content the WP Team put out and talking about it, and you come to my Inbox, to spew this accusatory nonsense and flinging insults. If you can’t read the Epilogues in a positive manner, and think they’re dogshit, sure, go ahead, but you’re like, trying to act like I’m some sort of brainwashed sheep and you’re trying to make me see the light. Also “Still not able to come up with an argument“ very passive-aggressive there, I have talked about the Epilogues, my opinions and takes on them, and how I feel about the way they deal with characters at LARGE here, if you haven’t bothered to look for the info, and the several responses to some of your asks, then don’t blame me for it. But sure. Let me talk about every single point you JUST mentioned here like some sort of big Masterpost, and when you don’t agree with my point either way, stop fucking harassing me on Anon, seriously you alone have been making me consider turning anon off entirely, which all things considered may just be the healthiest option I could consider, but here I am!

Okay let’s begin with Homestuck proper. Gamzee is a Villain. He’s framed as such, people have constantly shown backlash against his character because he’s got fans that would like to see him redeemed, since a good chunk of his story happens with him brainwashed or mind-altered in some sort, but every time he’s shown to go back to doing awful things and killing people. He abuses Terezi, kills Karkat, and gets killed by Kanaya in return in one Timeline, and in another he gets locked up in a fridge, ends up in Caliborn’s planet, and trying to serve his Lord just gets beaten up, shot, left half-dead, until his final appearance in which he gets cut in half and absorbed into Lord English. Then, the Epilogues happen, and he becomes the butt of a joke about undeserved redemption arcs. His very existence in Candy is a joke that he’s not worth redeeming, actually, but tries to force himself to ‘seem’ like he has, despite ruining Dirk’s funeral, making Jake and Tavros’ lives miserable, supporting a Fascist ruler, taking advantage of a potential minor, and it all ends up with him being choked, killed, and his corpse being used as a Weekend at Bernie’s joke. Like... Is that really what you consider ‘good treatment of a character’? He gets away with a lot of bullshit, but he’s like. Constantly, and consistently, shown to be unpleasant, gross and awful. Like. He’s an awful person, and a comic relief, that does fucked up shit for most of his appearance, and I am not sure how any of this can be read in any sort of positive light. I’ve seen Gamzee fans MAD at how much he gets shat on.

Meanwhile, let’s take Jade. A huge theme of her character, sadly, is loneliness and isolation. I dislike that, like many Jade fans. She’s forced into depressingly helpless situations where she lacks agency or control over her own body, or the situation she’s in, and it’s shown affecting her greatly. I want my girl to be happy as well. So when the Epilogues came, and had her getting Callie-possessed, that was bad, it was like, AGAIN she gets the shaft. I want her to be happy and do what she wants to do and be badass with her powers! But- Oh wait, none of that is what you’re complaining about!!! You keep insisting on the Dog Dick instead of any of the genuinely heartbreaking things that happen to her. Jade has a dog dick. It is mentioned once in the entire Epilogues. It mildly affects her desire to have a child with Dave, but she doesn’t even shown herself that broken up about it, and had been looking about potential alternatives, even having Rose as a surrogate. There’s not a single joke made in the Epilogues about her HAVING a dog dick, nor any sort of isolation that happens as a product of her genitalia. Is it a weird choice to canonize that headcanon? Yeah! It kind of is! But this is also a reality where Obama and Dirk make out. And if someone is uncomfortable about Jade having a dog dick, or doesn’t like her being more openly sexual, then that’s fine!!! If they have a transphobic read on Jade, that’s fine!!! You can dislike it, and Homestuck, and the Epilogues, and the writers! But I, as a trans woman myself, and one who’s horny on main a lot of the time, liked the freedom Jade expressed to just do whatever she wanted with new partners on Earth C, and her seeming acceptance and lack of conflict at just, having junk. She does fuck up with Dave and Karkat, because she pushes them a bit too hard, specially Karkat, trying to use the Quadrant System to insert herself in a Black relationship. In Candy, this culminates with political tensions breaking Karkat away from the triad, which is bad for everyone involved. But in Meat, Jade states that they can tell her to just stop and she will, because she genuinely likes both Karkat and Dave, but their feelings are too deeply bottled and complex to just come to light. Does this put some tension in her relationship with them? Yeah! Does this ISOLATE her from her friends? No! Karkat and Dave DO still wanna hang out with her even if she’s a bit too much. John and Jade apparently chat online a bunch, and Jake seemed to have a good relationship with Jade before the whole Jane thing. She is close enough with Rose and Kanaya that Rose considered the surrogate mother thing. She has friends and ties! The major things that happen to isolate her is, Karkat leaving- Caused by Jane’s rise to power- Dave dying- Caused by Ultimate Self Timeline Shenanigans- And being possessed by Callie- All things outside of her control. I want her to get her agency back, but beyond that, her, as a person on Earth C, was not abandoned by her friends, and your obsession over her dog dick as a root of her issues and the bad stuff that happens to her says more about you than about the Epilogues in my opinion.

Guess you're just an idiot and willingly sucking Hussie's dick for a job at Whatpumpkin down the line. Maybe write some incest porn like IPDG and you'll get hired.

You know what? Yeah I would love to have a role at WhatPumpkin. Because I’ve seen the people working at it do other things, and I’ve seen their passion for Homestuck. The people currently doing Homestuck love Homestuck, and this is not up for fucking debate. As for the incest porn thing? Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, and a thousand fucking times fuck you. Once again, trying to get some stupid moral high ground mentioning incest. “Oh look at me, I am criticizing someone for something they wrote years ago”, is how you actually sound, and that’s only on the surface. V from Homestuck was never confirmed to be ipgd. V got harassed, and ‘doxxed’ by dubious sources and, I believe, Kiwifarms shit was going on at that time, so that was extremely shady and shitty. And the result of them being equated ended with ipgd being told to kill themself because of old fic they’d written, which, GUESS WHAT, was actually a critic to the way Incest was extremely popular in Fanfic back then, written by ipgd themself, a god damn survivor of that same bullshit they wrote about!!! Congratulations! THAT is the kind of bullshit people like you pull. You just cling to some idea of what’s right and wrong, and end up hurting real people that’ve gone through real shit, instead of considering nuance to your actions and thinking that, HMM, PERHAPS I SHOULD NOT HARASS SOMEONE ON THE INTERNET BECAUSE THEY DID SOMETHING I DON’T LIKE OR HAVE AN OPINION I DON’T AGREE WITH! But nah, let’s go send death threats to people we don’t like, riiiiiiight????

My fandom wish for homestuck 2 is the characters are treated with respect but since every single one of the new authors hate women and only want dirk and jake as well as Dave and Karkat to fuck on screen while Vriska gets comphet child raped by gamzee why bother lol.

Like, I don’t even know what to say. Have you seen like... The rest of the work the WP Team is doing with Homestuck stuff? Addressing actual issues? Doing right by the characters? Acknowledging their fucked up stuff while also showing them in positive lights? A good chunk of the Team, too, is queer? Like if they were all cis straight dudes I could see your complaint but they just. Aren’t??? At all???? Even Taz, who’s probably the biggest Dirk-Jake fan around, absolutely wants the best for other characters, yes, Jade and Rose included, you are just too jaded and blinded by your perception of the Epilogues. Vriska and Gamzee... Yeah that’s iffy. I am not going to defend that, whether it was a mistake with the ages or it was just Gamzee being more awful, that was extremely nasty. There’s also like, suicide and abuse and dictatorship in the Epilogues though. All of this shit that happens is awful, but also it’s not PROMOTING it or saying it’s a good thing? It’s... Fucked up. Comphet though, I dooooooooo want to elaborate on that, because, while I do like the reading of Vriska as being more into women, she does show a near-consistent fascination for Nic Cage and, then, ARquius as someone with a similar aesthetic? Like don’t get me wrong, Vris-Rezi is absolutely the way to go and the healthy thing for Vriska, but also I am not 100% sure if you can gloss over every single one of her relationships with guys as Comphet? (Compbi? Since it’s Trolls) Not to say it justifies anything with Gamzee, that was just nasty. But I feel there’s nuance to talk about Vriska’s sexuality.

Hussie doesn't like his fans or care about Homestuck, how you can read the Epilogue and say the opposite it honestly insane and a complete bold faced lie. Any author that cares about their work would read someone demanding a character be given a dog dick and say no. Any author who cares about their work and their fans wouldn't have released such a purposely bad and painful epilogue and then demand payment for a resolution. Just give up. That's the moral of Homestuck. Give up. It's pointless.

Nah man, you’re just jaded and hurt and projecting. Hussie and the WP Team love Homestuck. It would’ve been so fucking easy to just stop doing Homestuck and move onto something, not even release an Epilogue. It’s like when Homestuck ended. People accused Hussie of a rushed ending with Act 7 back in the day, of disliking Homestuck and the Fans, of having just wrapped it up quickly, but like... If you want to wrap Homestuck up quickly... There were a million fan theories and endings out around that would’ve been so much simpler, easier and basic than what we got. The fact we got Act 7 and all it entailed, the shit the characters go through the Epilogues, of course a lot of awful shit happens, but like... Precisely? If you’re tired of doing something, you just wrap things up. You don’t set up new plot points and mess with the characters and push a new narrative outlook on something. This is the work of an experimental team that still do love the content and characters. Again, you return to the fucking Dog Cock like it’s the biggest sin the Epilogues commit. You haven’t even mentioned Jane’s fascism a single time, but you’ve mentioned Jade’s Dog Fucking Cock like fucking twenty times. Who the fuck cares about what sort of junk Jade has, the Epilogues themselves barely even care, it’s mentioned in the passing and it hardly affects a THING at all. You ask me how I can ‘read the Epilogues and see the opposite of what they say’, and I ask you the exact same thing, because despite all the awful things that happen, Rose and Kanaya keep fighting against tyranny in Candy. Kanaya realizes she’s been brainwashed and chases after Rose because she’s NOT giving up on her wife. Roxy explores their gender identity and finds new things about themself. Karkat gets to live his rebel leader dreams in one Timeline, although with a bitter split from Dave, but ends up together in a proper relationship in Meat. John’s arc in Candy about feeling isolated from a world that seems fake, before realizing his nihilism has hurt the people he cares about and wanting to fix it. Jake’s morale of ‘better late than never’, working up the courage to take Tavros away from Jane- And in HS^2, working as a double-agent trying to sabotage Jane from within? Jane’s been shown at her worst in candy, but in Meat she’s shown to still be redeemable, and that’s exactly what the team’s aiming to do, too.

Like... I can see all the bad stuff that happens. And I find the reactions of the characters to these awful situations are interesting, and the political conflict among friends and the pushing forward in such a dark situation, resonates with me, personally, and some of my own experiences? Not to say, the Epilogues are a Game Over scenario? They are a low point. HS^2 sets up to be the high point. Like... When Game Over happened, a lot of people were like “Welp, Hussie just killed everyone, lol, guess he just got tired of Homestuck”, despite the Retcon Powers being there as the obvious solution. Epilogues, lots of shit happen, and similarly there’s still like a hundred ways to build up from there to a satisfactory resolution? Storytelling can have low points you know. It hurts when it’s characters you care about, duh, specially when it plays into the weaknesses they already acknowledged but fell into again despite themselves. I see why so many people would dislike them and take a more negative vibe from them than they actually convey. But I am still baffled as to why people like you feel entitled to shit on the WP Team and send harassment and insults to people who do enjoy them. You’re not helping anything. You’re not doing anything good. You’re just being a dick.

As for the “demand a payment for a resolution”, they didn’t demand anything? I will be the first one to say that I don’t like the Extra Bonus for 5 bucks, and think it would be better if the Bonus got released like, a month or two after it has for Patrons, an ‘early access’ scenario like I do with my Patreon. And I hope they change this. But aside from that??? The Patreon is optional to support the creators because, it’s not just Hussie, it’s a big team, and they’re also using the Patreon to help them with other projects like Pesterquest and Hiveswap, because we live in a capitalistic hell world and need money to be able to pursue passion projects. The main updates every month- And twice a month starting February- Are completely free for people to read, still, the paywalled content still circulates around the community despite being paywalled, and other paid projects like, Pesterchum, for their scope and the amount of fun they’ve given me, they’re super cheap and worth it.

You ask me how I can ‘see the opposite the Epilogues say’, you tell me that I am an ‘idiot sucking Hussie’s dick for a job at WP’, you act like I am scum and brainwashed and there’s literally no reason why I should ever like something you don’t.

You know what I am though? I am happy and excited about the things I’ve been given! I am happy with the representation I’ve seen the Team push lately. I’m happy with the way the characters have been treated in Pesterquest and have high hopes for HS^2. And I am interested in the events of the Epilogues, while acknowledging that of course a lot of fucked up shit happened in them.

Back when the Epilogues happening and I was reading them, I was reading Candy at like 4 AM and was LOVING the fucked up-ness of the Timeline and wondering what may happen in Meat. I got a PM from a friend asking me to make a channel in a server I’m in, to quarantine Epilogues Discourse, and was genuinely confused as to why there was Discourse going on. I went through the rest of Candy and Meat with some dread waiting for some ball to drop and something to turn really controversial, and I finished them still enjoying them? Obviously there was a lot of awful shit. Obviously there was a lot of things people wouldn’t like. Obviously they were tales that likely alienated a chunk of the Fandom that was looking for a happy ending. But honestly, the unbridled fury and subsequent harassment of people over them is just plain embarrassing. It was confusing then, and it’s even more confusing now, well over half a year since their release, and still sending random Tumblr Blogs this kind of bullshit.

So there you go! All of your questions and your bullshit, answered! Now let’s get this out of the way: You’re not going to like my answer, you’re not going to agree with a majority of what I just said, you’re not going to CARE about any of what I just said. Spare me the fucking asks and anon hate. Just move on and do something productive with your time.

#Homestuck #Epilogues #Discourse #HSE #After Dark #Anon Hate #Long Post #Longpost

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quatschmachen · 5 years ago

Text

Nadir

Hello, it is I posting another monmonton fic.

This takes place 1980′s and according to Hapo is “frustrating in a bad way >: (”

Masterpost

XXX

He could only find him simply because they had explored the worst of each other.

Considerations in place, there was no way that he would gently sit down with Élyse and detail that sometimes they simply went to places where they could be ground down into nothing; where they could simply become insignificant, punishing their bodies through pleasure.

Instead he told her to not worry and that he would find him. Find the missing man, perhaps not his soul, but find the body of the man. Get him functioning enough so that she would be satisfied, until once again Étienne went off the rails.

It had been a mistake to simply arrive without checking in. There had been those vague plans that he would come by, strung together with maybes, tied together with perhaps.

Things had shaken out that he did have time to visit Montreal, not that he would say he bent the time, shaped it so that it made sense for him to stop into the city where he could sink into the persona he was starting to feel more comfortable in, the man who didn’t care, the man who was everything he wished he could be, the man who he put on.

His key, still rather new to him, had easily slid into the lock and when he opened the door; he nearly jumped out of his skin to see Élyse standing there in the dark hallway, hugging herself in worry. She let out a sound of surprise, clearly not expecting to see him, and he stared at her wondering why the hell she was there.

Her eyes flitted around nervously, as she said in a false hopeful voice, “Oh? Does my brother know you are coming?”

“Maybe… no… I didn’t get the chance to call him.” Edward paused trying to get a read of the situation. He half wondered how much Élyse knew, but then perhaps he was being paranoid – he and Étienne had been friends for a good long time, so it should not be bizarre for him to simply drop by to see a friend. He always worried that the others would see the imprint of the other man upon his skin, feel the groove left in his body, or how he simply oozed with desire for him… he stifled that under bland demeanor and sweater vests. A proper man. A good friend. Not one whose hands shook to reach out and grab into the brown curls hard.

Her expression closed in on itself, “Ah sorry, then he’s not in… he hasn’t been in for about a week… I’m sorry but I think your visit has been a bit of a wasted journey. Would you like some coffee?”

Tilting his head curiously, Edward considered the situation. It hadn’t occurred to him that this would even be something he would face, the fact that Étienne somehow was not eagerly awaiting him. He had seemed enthused that he might be able to come over, enough to give Edward confidence to do so and now… Étienne was not in?

“Sure,” he replied as he fully entered and closed the door behind him effectively shutting the sunlight out, the rays shining through the small window at the top of the door casting Élyse effectively in shadow.

Sitting down across from her sipping the black instant coffee, Edward was not sure what to say. He had never truly been friends with Élyse, was not even sure what they had in common. He decided to start with the main question.

“Why do you say it’s a wasted journey?”

Élyse frowned considering what to say, glancing up at him as if judging how much information she could share, then sighed, “Oh sometimes my brother he… goes on adventures without telling anyone… he usually returns, but sometimes these adventures are days, weeks… months…” she trailed off. “He is very good at disappearing when he wants to.”

Slowly setting his coffee on the table, Edward tried to sift through all she had not said, read into the gaps. Adventures sure seemed like a nice word, a glossing over…

“Élyse, are you talking about your brother’s benders?” he bluntly asked and felt a small tingle of satisfaction as she nearly knocked over her coffee. Deciding to lay some of the cards on the table, Edward continued, “You’re talking around Étienne as if I don’t know him. I literally have a key to his place, he trusts me.” He let that hang in the air in silence for a moment, then added in a quieter voice, the one that won over people’s trust in their times of doubt, the one he reserved for the situations where he wanted the situation to go his way, and perhaps in a way that might not benefit the other person, “What do you need me to do to help?”

Rubbing the rim of her mug with her index finger, she took a steadying breath as her shoulders slumped, as if everything she had been trying to hold together got crumpled out of her; she was staring down, her eyes rapidly blinking, as she tried to get a hold of herself, and finally in a small voice she confided shyly, the words spilling out slipping out over one another like pebbles, as if she had been dying for someone to talk to, anyone who cared enough to even ask, “He does this a lot actually, he disappears, he gets into one of his moods, and I try to predict them, I check in on him make sure he’s alright but something sets him off and he just disappears and it would be fine if he was well, but he’s y’know, he’s – he’s, well, he’s not well, uhm and usually when he does reappear he looks terrible and I just wish I could somehow help him, I don’t know what to do, I don’t even know where to look, I sometimes have ideas, but whenever I figure things out he changes his patterns so I’m just left here worrying not knowing when he’ll show up, phoning Emma because sometimes he just visits her and those times are fine, a fucking relief, but he’s not at Emma’s… and I just…” she took a shaky sip of her coffee, closing her eyes briefly, “He’s been gone for over a week now… he’s been slipping all this month, I should have stopped by sooner, I was so stupid not to. “

Edward considered for a moment, as her words came to an awkward halt, her face flushing as she realized she probably said too much.

“Do you know what may have set him off?”

“No… it’s hard to tell these days. Otherwise I could do better predicting these things y’know...”

Finishing his coffee Edward considered the situation. He had the time. Montreal was not just about Étienne, he could admit to himself. Montreal was where he could be who he wanted to be, but he could not be who he wanted to be with Élyse here cramping his style.

“Élyse, you’re tired, you should go home and rest.” He looked at her exuding the confidence he had mastered faking, the one that got him through the long meetings, “I have the time, I’ll find him.”

“I- are you sure?”

Edward shrugged, “Write your number down and I’ll call you when I’ve found him. What have you got to lose?”

It was that last argument that swayed her, “Shouldn’t I stay here though?”

Pretending to consider the proposition, even though everything of himself screamed that no she should not be around, he shook his head, “There’s no telling when we will come back, it’s better for you to go home.”

It was as she was leaving that she turned around at the door, her eyes suddenly hard, “If you fuck this up I’ll kill you.”

Edward smiled, feeling like the cat who got the cream, “Please Élyse, Étienne is truly blessed to have you in his life – I promise I won’t fuck this up.”

When she was gone, and Edward was finally alone, he finally let himself examine the feeling that had been brewing within himself when he had discovered Étienne not home. Outrage, anger, irritation, that Étienne had gotten started without him. Étienne was probably miles ahead in being fucked up, and it was entirely inconsiderate, he thought.

Changing out of his pedestrian clothes, the ones that had people trust him, he transformed himself into the man who desired oblivion, the one that screamed not to be trusted, and as he peered at himself in the mirror, hand firmly applying the subtle make-up touches, he found himself smirking as he murmured, “But I didn’t promise not to fuck him up.”

Snorting a bump to give himself the preliminary buzz, he looked outside, glad that the sun was setting, meaning it was time for the fuckups like him to leave the house. He carefully hid the key in the secret spot, knowing that it was better to leave it here and not lose it in whatever adventures he may go on.

His boots were heavy, his steps heavy on the heel, as he comfortably slunk down the streets to where he suspected the other man to be. They had been here together on numerous occasions, where words were unnecessary as they each sought the same thing.

The darkness of the night twined around him as he visited club after club, talking, drinking, taking whatever could get him fucked up, his inquiries not about the man himself, more where he personally could find oblivion, where he found the person with the deadest look in their eyes, knowing instinctively that they were the correct person to talk to. Until finally he got more of a scent to a party of a friend of a friend, where there was some really good stuff, where days and nights blurred together, and getting lost was being found. He was in the arms of someone he didn’t know the name of, their kisses scorching, bodies grinding together in the hot small hallway, his mind blank, as he lost himself, any thought of who he was meant to find lost to the wayside. Waysides however were not so easily found when the thrumming buzz of intoxication started to give way to the drag of withdrawal.

Groaning, wondering where the closest drugs were, anything to stop the low that was coming on like a tidal wave of misery. He was at one of the seedier clubs, the place where those who had no good place to call home ended up after more respectable places had closed for the night. Soft spots of light permeated the club, while the music thumped enough to fill bodies with vibrations of the music. Making his way over to the bar, figuring he could use a drink for thinking time, he stumbled slightly. A small part of him was aware enough that when he did leave this place, he was going to have the worst of hangovers. At this moment he did not care.

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice chirped, causing him to jump slightly.

“Wha-?” Focusing he saw familiar blond curls, framing a face with impeccable makeup, red lipstick, and faint stubble.

“Why didn’t tell me you were in town?” An annoyed tap of the cigarette into the ash tray, “Or are you looking for your personal train wreck?”

“Martina… fancy finding you here… Do you have any good stuff?” Edward really wanted something to take the edge off, and not to be interrogated by Martina.

Adjusting their bra, Martina huffed, “I swear you two are built for each other, whichever one who ends up dead the fastest could be a bet.”

“Why are you here?” Edward tried differently, he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, and he knew if Martina got half a chance they would chat his ear off - Martina was great company when you weren’t hell bent on destroying yourself. Martina unfortunately had managed to hang on to a modicum of sense, even in the most wild of parties, to pull their asses out of the worst of it, not realizing that there were times when they desired the worst of it.

“Same reason as you, heard rumours of someone going downhill and wanted to investigate.”

“He here?”

With a sigh, they waved their cigarette over to an area across the room, “Alive and giving a line of eager suitors some blow jobs. Not that it should matter to you.”

Following the direction indicated, Edward could see a small lineup of men, orderly, going to the designated gloryhole.

“How long?”

“Long enough,” Martina said darkly, “I love cock as much as the next man, but his jaw should be fallen off and on the ground by now.”

“I want what he’s having,” Edward murmured.

“Those drugs are going to kill you two if sex doesn’t first.”

“Martina, why are you always such a joy?” Edward quipped as he began to walk towards where Étienne apparently was lurking.

“If I didn’t say it, no one will!” Martina snapped back.

Pushing through the crowd, Edward looked at the small line up, debating whether he should wait it out, but realized, that sometimes things would never end. Instead he peeked around the curtain, noticing the familiar curls.

If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Étienne had reached a state of cock sucking zen. Instead of being on his knees, he was comfortably seated on a stool, his mouth and hands working, eyes closed, his breathing even.

Instead of immediately disturbing, Edward silently stood there watching, as one man left and another stepped forward. The minimal words, the physical exchange, no need to bare souls here, just one obvious need meeting another. A simple binary of interactions. He completely understood the appeal, and on a level he could not quite explain felt slightly envious. If only all of life was so easy.

There seemed to be a lull in the men, and Edward realized it was now or never.

He reached out across the short distance, intending to touch Étienne, but realized perhaps this might not be the best idea.

<Got a light?> he settled on asking.

Étienne’s eyes snapped open, his body moving violently in surprise as he quickly turned his neck to look at him.

Étienne licked his lips, his voice rasping out in a husky tone, <Édouard? What the hell? When the fuck did you turn up?>

Edward modestly shrugged, <Recently. Dropped by your place but you weren’t there>.

Rubbing his jaw Étienne’s eyes narrowed, swallowing, as if attempting to regain his voice, <What the hell, you never told me you were actually coming, you bastard! I would have been there at the airport for you.>

Any hopes any other man might have had about a blow job from Étienne that night were dashed as Étienne stood up, his legs shaking slightly. Edward instinctively reached out, letting the other man hold onto it and lean heavily into him.

Étienne rolled his eyes and let out a derisive puff of air, <Élyse can go fuck herself.>

<’Tienne?>

<Neddy,> Étienne purred as his hand slid down to Edward’s ass, <Let’s not talk about boring things? Look, there’s Richard, he has some of the best drugs, and if we’re lucky he can lead us to the next party.>

<Martina’s here.> Edward responded lowly.

In response Edward gave a low chuckle, <If only she knew, huh?>

Realizing that any further conversation would lead to nowhere, and honestly feeling too muddled to think too straight, Edward lazily felt himself fall into the usual pattern. Whatever was off with his friend was a mystery he probably wouldn’t solve, something he had accepted awhile back. It was doubtful that Étienne would view Edward as worthwhile for those tightly held secret aspects, aspects which Étienne probably didn’t want to admit to himself. Edward was there to provide fun and escape. Responsibilities were for a different person on a different day.

Étienne was by his side, his quest was effectively over, and they could lose themselves together.

XXXX

As the time slowly dripped between drinks, the places blurred together, faces repeating themselves, oblivion simply a repetition of actions enacted. That marginal space where Edward half wondered if the people they talked to were simply ghosts of their present – the matching tired faces, bodies full of desire, becoming what they could not be in the daylight.

It was in that phase of the morning where the sun has not risen, but the sky has lightened and the fog from the river is eddying around your ankles, the city so quiet it was as if they were the only two people in existence. Their pace was in no way fast, simply a meandering as if they had accidentally found themselves above ground, when they desperately needed to retreat back to the holes of the night.

Alone except for the shadow emerging in front of them. At first non-threatening, but it grew before them, a knife cutting through the fog.

<Have any smokes?> the words were rough, the person barely coming into focus.

<Yeah,> Edward reached into his pocket, fumbling slightly, his attention distracted not realizing what was happening until afterwards. It was too swift, Étienne moving forward, the sound of bodies impacting, Edward shouting, and then there was the punch to his eye and the rest of it seemed to disappear from memory.

<-y? Eddy?>

Edward cracked open an eye, his head hurting like murder.

Étienne’s eyes were no longer glassy, more frantic and full of fear, damp from tears trapped in between being shed and held, <Oh god, Eddy - >

Étienne’s eyes flicked down to his arm where a gash was slowly dripping blood, <Locals?>

<You’re bleeding.>

<I’m fine.>

<You’re not.>

<You’re worse off.>

<Eddy, I’m not even going there.>

Edward took a moment to get in touch with what was happening with his body, realizing that the fog was beginning to clear and the sun was starting to taint the sky.

<’Tienne?>

Étienne’s blood was slowly dripping onto his jacket. <Yes?>

A moment of confusion, as Étienne processed this threat, his mouth moving before the thought quite caught up <Socks don’t have direction…> a moment <Wait…>

Edward in response raised his eyebrows.

<Étienne, I also don’t want to see the sun so the faster I’m hidden the better.>

<No.> Edward grunted as he stood up, <Just very tired and the drugs are wearing off.>

Étienne huffed, as if not sure what to say, before murmuring <I swear sometimes I think you are an older man than I.>

They were silent as they made their way through the park, ignoring the looks of the early risers, passing by the other creatures of the night scurrying to their respective holes.

Around them the air was changing, the birds awakening to the day.

The silence between them lengthened, the gaps beginning to show, where companionable friendship slid against each other like shale, steps quickening.

Étienne broke first, as they rounded the corner, his place in sight, “Every left sock?”

“Your left foot won’t know what hit it.”

Keys jangling, missing the lock, trying again, wrong direction, try again, finally, carefully, hand shaking, the satisfying sliding in, the easy turn, the distinct click.

“Let’s hope the jacket can be saved then.”

Later, as the jacket hung to dry, the sins of the night had been briefly washed off, and wounds tended, Edward looked at the man beside him.

The hollowed-out cheeks, eyelids fluttering, not quite asleep, perhaps never quite there.

In many ways looking at Étienne was like looking at the physical manifestation of his own hollowed-out self. Invisible tendrils drawing him to the man’s naked pitiful body exposed to his roving eye, the covers twisted around his legs, his ribs their own mountain ranges, the tracks across his skin from heavy drug usage almost a map of the city itself, those marks blurring into the tattoos, tattoos to hide further sins? Or tattoos for pleasure? Edward was never quite sure when it came to his friend. Then again he was not sure about many things, why despite the physical distance between them they now were the type of friends to do those intimate acts of self harm with, to participate in the sacred rites that outsiders could never understand.

Despite the curtains best intentions, tendrils of light invaded, revealing how the man beside him was curled sleeping in an infant-like position, completely vulnerable. If somehow they could become inkblots on the Rorschach test they would be parallel wings, indistinct blobs between them, merely the vague ideas of other people.

Closing his eyes, trying to ignore how sore he was, Edward’s thoughts became disjointed, somewhere whispering that neither of them had no one to call home

#quatschfic #nadir #pc: edmonton #pc: montreal #pc: montreal west

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inawickedlittletown · 7 years ago

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Walking The Wire (5/?)

Summary: Tony Stark always knew about Peter Parker. He didn’t know that Peter was going to get superpowers and become Spider-Man, but he always knew about Peter because Peter was his son.

This will span from pre-Iron Man up through the rest of the MCU (eventually including Infinity War) and will be for the most part canon compliant except where I’ve taken some liberties and interpreted canon a certain way.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past)

A/N: If you want me to tag you when I post new chapters let me know. This fic is also on AO3

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony

Masterpost

Chapter Four

2012

“Is Tony Stark moving to New York City?” Peter asked.

May Parker was in the middle of cooking dinner and she didn’t know what Peter was talking about. Ever since Tony Stark had told the world that he was Iron Man, it hadn’t come as too much of a surprise that Peter started singing his praises. He had never known of anyone that was as smart or as inventive and amazing as Tony Stark and on top of all that he was a superhero and Peter was obsessed. A part of May didn’t know what would happen if Peter ever found out that his hero was his father and that his father had made the choice to stay out of Peter’s life. She hoped it wouldn’t break his heart.

May knew that in his own way Tony Stark cared. He made sure that they never wanted for anything and that Peter in particular got anything he wanted. Tony had made sure that Peter could attend good schools that encouraged kids like Peter who were curious and interested in learning. Had Peter had an interest in sports she was sure that he would have made that happen too. Tony also paid for Ben’s car when it was crashed into while parked outside their house and he had gone as far as to pay their mortgage too and refused to admit to doing either thing when they tried to speak to him or Ms. Potts about it. The Stark Expo passes had been a gift and a nightmare after everything that happened there. It was the first time that May was glad Peter didn’t have direct contact with Tony because the danger would just be too much.

Then, of course were the other gifts. Science kits and books and all kinds of things that May and Ben had to slowly give out to Peter before it became too suspicious. Sometimes, Tony even sent money directly into their bank account and those were the gifts May hated the most except that the money always came only when they really needed it. It made May paranoid that Tony was monitoring them closely.

“They’re saying that the new building in Manhattan is Tony Stark’s,” Peter said, “and everyone’s saying he might be moving.”

“Well, he has plenty of money to have more than one place to live, Peter,” May said.

“I guess,” Peter said, “but wouldn’t it be cool if he did move?”

May laughed. “Yes. Very cool. Except that it might bring the bad guys to New York just like with the Expo.”

“But Iron Man would protect us,” Peter said.

May just smiled. “Yeah. He would,” she said.

May was still entirely grateful to Tony’s team for getting them out of the Expo. Somehow they had known that they were there and even in the mess of people running away had found them and put them in a car that sped them away across town.

“Do you think I’ll get to meet him someday?” Peter asked.

May nodded. “I think that it’s very likely you will, Peter. Now get back to you homework or we won’t have movie night tonight.”

She heard his book open again and when she glanced at the screen in the corner of the kitchen sure enough they were discussing the building of Stark Tower. They listed the sustainable energy movement Tony was trying to start and showed some footage of Iron Man flying into New York City.

Somehow, the move to New York City didn’t ruin his relationship with Pepper. Tony had thought it might because Pepper insisted that she needed to work out of California for the good of the company. She seemed to do a lot of things for the good of the company and Tony appreciated it, even when it felt like Pepper was more focused on that than him. Then again, they were slightly obsessed with their own work. Still, it helped that Pepper could fly out on the jet without much preamble and that Tony could do the same with the Iron Man suit so they saw each other plenty.

Soon after getting into the city, Tony had reached out to May and Ben Parker and let them know that he was going to sticking around. He had made it clear that he had an interest in Peter but that he wouldn’t approach him without their consent or get in their way. Ben had returned his e-mail.

Mr. Stark,

We really appreciate everything you’ve done for Peter. He’s a really special boy and he hero-worships you. May and I are thankful that you allowed Mary to make a choice on what she wanted to do with her boy even if it meant excluding you from his life. You’ve made yourself known anyway. Peter isn’t aware that Richard was not his father -- I know you know this -- but it is true that you are. I don’t know if Peter needs to know about that right now. He’s still so young and I wouldn’t want him to think that you did not want him or have any interest in him.

Peter is like a son to me and May and we really have tried to do our best to raise him. He has a normal life away from all the attention that you seem to attract. There is attention and danger in your line of work. I do not want to keep you from Peter -- as he is your son -- but there are factors to consider, Mr. Stark, and I would hate to put Peter in any danger or any emotional turmoil.

For now, I think it best that we continue as we have in the past. I admit that Peter has been very excited since you’ve moved to New York and he’s seen Iron Man flying over the city a few times. He wishes to meet his hero and yet would be a nervous wreck if he ever did meet you whether as Iron Man or Tony Stark. He is fan of both. I don’t know how that would translate if he were to find out that you are his biological father. Someday in the future, I suppose we will deal with that.

I do respect the care and interest you have in our boy and I do hope that someday the two of you can meet. In the meanwhile, May and I will send you everything we can to keep you up to date. May says that she might even suggest to Peter that he can write you if only so you can have some form of contact. I know that he would love it if you, his hero, responded.

Thank you,

Ben Parker

As far as e-mails went, Tony agreed with everything that Ben Parker said and he meant it, that he would do as they asked and so despite being a little disappointed, Tony continued to watch Peter from afar and to sometimes try and be seen near Queens hoping that it could give Peter some joy to see Iron Man.

In the weeks leading up the tower being completed, Tony was so busy that he didn’t remember Ben Parker had said Peter might write him until a letter arrived back at the Malibu house and Pepper flew it out with her on the night that Tony was finally turning the tower on.

“It was sent directly to your house,” Pepper said whens she handed the letter to him, “so I figured it was probably Peter.”

Tony opened it at once and sure enough it was from Peter.

Tony had received lots of fanmail over the years. Back before Iron Man some of it had been more in the lines of hate mail but even then there had been fans. Mostly from people fascinated by his work. High School students and College students and plenty of others in between. Then there was the other kind of mail. The weirdly porny mail that came in with full on pictures of men and women alike in all states of nudity and descriptors of everything they wanted to do to Tony. Those had always creeped him out a bit and not stopped at all since he became Iron Man. So, for the most part, Tony didn’t look at the fan mail. There was someone at Stark Industries that dealt with it and actually sorted everything. When they found something from a genuine fan they sent them back a pre-written letter thanking them and then if they found something particularly nice or moving they gave it to Pepper and sometimes she would respond personally or pass it on to Tony to see.

Most of those were drawings or touching letters from people that Tony had directly helped or whose children wanted to write to him. It was all very sweet.

“I think I’ll read it later,” Tony said. He wasn’t sure if he could handle reading his own son’s words.

“Okay,” Pepper said with a small caress to the back of his neck.

“I have to go turn the tower on,” Tony said with a grin. “Are you ready for this to become reality?”

Pepper nodded. As Tony went to suit up, she sat down in front of his computer screens and Jarvis patched her in through he flew out. It was all done quickly and when Tony flew back STARK was lit up as was the rest of the tower. It looked exactly as he had imagined it and because he had designed it, he knew that it was going to work. It meant they could break out the champagne and have a proper celebratory date night. But first, Peter’s letter.

Before he got a chance to read Peter’s letter, they had an unexpected guest that changed the entire course of the evening. Agent Coulson hadn’t shown himself since he’d sent Tony in to talk to General Ross and Tony wasn’t particularly in the mood to deal with Shield so he wanted him to go away. Instead, he persisted and Pepper actually liked Coulson so somehow his plans for the night were changed and he was left to look through all the files Coulson had brought him and Tony would be lying if he said they didn’t interest him. Somehow, he forgot all about Peter’s letter.

Chapter Six

#Peter and Tony fic #MCU fic #Walking The Wire fic #Peter Stark #Peter is Tony's son

1 note · View note

bevioletskies · 7 years ago

Text

what a wonderful world

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

summary: the guardians’ last holiday season had been spent in jail on an alien planet (don’t ask), so peter’s determined to make their first real christmas on earth the best it can be. which, of course, means secret santa. and snowball fights. and baking cookies. and yeah, okay, maybe he’s getting a little ambitious.

word count: 25.4k

a/n: quick disclaimer - i had the plot outline of this fic done back in september and finished writing this in mid-november, so any resemblance to other people’s christmas fic, especially the 12 days of starmora, is purely coincidential. there are only so many holiday-related concepts haha

if you haven’t read the main fic, all you need to know is: the guardians attend a superhero school on earth, and therefore are approximately ten years younger than their movie counterparts. peter and gamora are in an established relationship after being in a fake one for a few months.

unlike the other one-shots, this is more a collection of vignettes than a linear story. everything is still in chronological order, but it’s implied that there’s a gap between each segment, and there’s no overarching plot other than, you know, christmas. happy holidays, everybody!

title comes from the song what a wonderful world by louis armstrong.

ao3 | tag | masterpost

“Oh, what a ni-i-ight,” Peter sang, hopping up onto the kitchen counter in the process. “Late December, back in '63…” A sudden slam on the table behind him caused him to nearly tumble right off the edge, his voice coming to an abrupt stop with a high-pitched squeal that he couldn’t say he was proud of. He turned slowly, wincing a little at the sound of his pant pocket studs dragging across the countertop.

“Peter, it’s too early for this nonsense,” Gamora said sternly. “I’d like at least another hour of sleep before we have to go check on the engine.”

“Dance with me, honey!” Beaming, he leaped back onto the floor and took her hands in his in one swoop, doing what she supposed was meant to be an intentionally awful impression of a jig, swinging her about the living room with reckless abandon. “But I was never gonna be the same, what a lady, what a night…”

“Did you drink an entire pot of coffee this morning? Or maybe some motor oil? What is happening? Even you aren’t usually this...hyper.” Gamora reluctantly allowed him to pull her closer, his hands coming to rest on the small of her back. She softened at the touch, knowing it was difficult to be mad at him when he was simply just eager to celebrate. “Peter…”

“Indulge me for like, one minute. Please.”

Oh, what a night...hypnotizing, mesmerizing me...she was everything I dreamed she'd be...sweet surrender, what a night…

“Fine, but we’re fixing that engine as soon as we’re done. I can’t imagine it didn’t ice over during last night’s snowfall,” she sighed as they slowed to a two-step, resting her head on his shoulders, standing slightly on her toes to reach. Her arms wound around his middle, clasping behind his back, inhaling the scent of the gingerbread cologne Mantis had gotten him as an early Christmas present. She usually wasn’t one for sweet scents, but secretly, she had gotten so comfortable nestled in Peter’s embrace that even the worst of perfumes couldn’t deter her for long.

Peter leaned down into her, nuzzling his face into her neck. “Of course, Gamora. Whatever you want.” He hummed quietly. “Love you.”

Her gaze flickered around the room briefly before landing back on the boy tucked against her. “I love you, too.”

Oh, what a night...why'd it take so long to see the light...seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right...what a lady, what a night…

Once the song was over, the two of them bundled up in their warmest winter coats and gingerly made their way off the Milano onto the loading bay, where they could get a proper look at the damage done during the night. It was mid-December, exams had finished, and most students had already left campus to go home for the holidays to be with their families. For the Guardians, “home” and “family” meant staying right here on this very ship. A ship that was currently dripping with wet, messy slush.

“Are you sure we don’t need Rocket?” Gamora asked. “He would be much better suited to this sort of thing.”

“You try draggin’ him out here in this weather,” Peter retorted. “If it was up to me, we’d all be hiding out in the dorms and leave the Milano alone for the next couple weeks, but he refuses to leave. Snow’s pretty heavy this year.”

“And once again, you and I are responsible for making food and supply runs,” she sighed, picking up a snow scraper and beginning to work on a large section of icy buildup over the engine’s hatch. “They complain about never getting to spend time with us, and yet they never come along when we actually go anywhere, arguably the best time to talk.”

“Well, we’ve got two full weeks ahead of us,” he said, flinging his arms out dramatically and nearly spraying her with snow in the process. “That's tons of time for just hanging out, even with our ship frozen over. At least it gives us an excuse to cancel all our jobs.”

Gamora’s gloved fingers slid over the hatch’s door handle, tightening their grip. She braced herself with one foot against the side of the ship and yanked - hard. The door opened with a violently high-pitched shriek, causing Peter to jump and clasp his hands over his ears. “And yet, we’re still working.”

“I think I’m deaf now,” Peter said dizzily, rubbing his palms over his temples. “You’ve deafened me.”

“This might be the worst way to spend our anniversary,” she continued, ignoring Peter’s antics as she began poking around inside with her wrench. “But at least I’m becoming more competent at this sort of thing, you know, working on the ship. At least, that’s what Rocket says, and the fact he even thought to say so tells me it’s actually true.”

“Hey, you remembered,” he grinned, moving forward to squeeze her hips affectionately. “I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but - ”

“ - but you thought I wouldn’t want to hear it,” she finished, turning to face him. “I know, I know. Peter, I promise I’m as invested in this relationship as you are. It’s just that I find anniversaries to be a superficial celebration of the passage of time, that’s all. I enjoy milestones, accomplishments, instead. They’re much more memorable than a singular date on the calendar to me. They mean more.”

“I get it. I totally get it. And you’ve always been a goal-setter.” He gently kissed her on the nose, sliding his arms around her once more. There was something immensely comforting about holding her close. “What’s been your favorite milestone so far?”

She chewed on her lip in consideration, thinking his question over, her hands coming to settle on his chest. “The first time we woke up together as a couple. You rolled right over, held me just like this, and said what I had been thinking - that it felt like we had already been together forever.”

“I was kinda worried that I made you uncomfortable as soon as I said it,” he admitted. “But you really know how to surprise me sometimes.”

“Believe me, I’ll let you know if I’m uncomfortable,” Gamora laughed. “I’m never one to shy away from speaking my mind.” She patted him on the backside very suddenly, causing Peter’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. “Come on, now. Let’s get to work. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go back inside, have breakfast, and watch one of those Christmas movies you keep telling me about.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Peter said cheerfully, stepping back to let her begin.

Two hours later, Yondu stumbled out of his bedroom, yawning, blearily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, only to let out a startled cry at the sight of the two bodies curled up on the couch together. “Aw, hell, it’s too early for this!”

“It’s 10 AM, Yondu, you missed breakfast,” Gamora said without looking away from the television screen. “And you’ll have to cancel your date tonight, everything’s frozen over. I wouldn’t go out in that weather if I were you.”

Peter lifted his head from Gamora’s lap. “You had a date?”

“Why you sound so surprised, boy?” Offended, Yondu flicked the toothpick he was chewing on in Peter’s direction before ambling into the kitchen, digging around the pantry for some bread. “Just some cute SHIELD agent, that’s all. No biggie.”

“Is everyone tryna find dates for the Christmas party or something? Even Mantis said she might give it a shot with that girl she likes,” Peter asked, confused.

“We can’t all be as lucky as you two,” Rocket drawled, emerging from his own room, Groot in tow on his shoulder as always. “Some of us don’t get to spend every damn day hanging out with our girlfriends.” He sneered the last word like it was something dirty.

It was Yondu’s turn to be surprised, the butter knife hovering halfway in the air. “You sayin’ you had a girlfriend before, rat?”

Rocket’s face suddenly shut down, the usual smirk fading away in favor of anger. “Shut up.”

“It was just a question,” Yondu said defensively, though he bowed his head in apology. Peter glanced up at Gamora, exchanging curious looks with her before settling back down against her thighs, her fingers moving to massage his scalp.

“Hey, uh, Rocket, Gamora and I already defrosted the engine and did a performance check, so you don’t have to worry about that today,” Peter called, watching cautiously as he crossed the room to pull down one of the main holo-screens.

“That’s good. Thanks, Quill,” Rocket said tersely, keeping his back to them as he began navigating through the ship’s interface.

“Do you have plans this weekend, Rocket?” Gamora asked tentatively, her fingers beginning to slow to a near stop.

“Yeah, uh. I was gonna hang out with Groot. Maybe go over that vocabulary book you guys bought him.” The tension in his shoulders eased up a little as Groot snuggled a little into his cheek in gratitude. “Probably do it alone.”

“Are you sure you don’t want help? I mean, now that Gamora and I can understand him too, it’ll be less work for you,” Peter suggested.

Rocket slammed a paw very suddenly against the holo-screen, aggressively closing all the menus he had pulled up. “Y’know what, I don’t think I wanna hang around in here if everyone’s gonna be all talky-talky, alright? I’m gonna go work upstairs instead. No one follow me, I ain’t in the mood.” Groot let out a small whine of protest as Rocket set him down on the coffee table before storming off up the ladder.

“I shouldn’t’ve asked,” Yondu sighed as he settled down at the table with his breakfast. “Rat’s been real tetchy lately. Y’think it’s just the weather? Or something school-related, maybe?”

“It’s Rocket,” Gamora shrugged as if was the only answer they needed. “He’s got a temper, and asking him about it will only make it worse. Just leave him be for now. He’ll come to us if it’s really important.”

“Peter?” A very nervous-looking Mantis appeared at the end of the corridor, twiddling her thumbs. “May we talk in private? Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Peter stood almost instantly, concerned, squeezing Gamora’s shoulder before moving to join Mantis in her room. She hastily shut the door behind them, a wild, almost terrified look in her eyes. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I am so scared,” Mantis whispered, taking shaky steps forward into Peter’s chest. His arms went up around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. “I do not know what to do.”

“Don’t know what to do about what?”

“What do...what do you do when you have romantic feelings for two people at the same time?”

Oh. Out of all the worst-case scenarios that had been racing through his mind in the last thirty seconds, he hadn’t expected that. Peter’s heart broke a little for his sister at the very thought. In many ways, he had been lucky with his relationship with Gamora. He had never experienced truly deep, romantic feelings for anyone before her, and although it had taken them a while to get to where they were now, neither of them ever wavered, never found themselves even considering the possibility of liking someone else at the same time. He wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t make Mantis feel worse. “I don’t know, Mantis, I...I never had that happen before. But you can talk it through with me if that...if it helps?”

He gently led her over to the bed, where they sat side-by-side, their socked feet pulled up onto the mattress. She was curled into herself now, arms wrapped protectively around her legs, her chin resting on her knee, staring unblinkingly at the door opposite them. She had never looked so childlike before, so completely and utterly lost, at least, not since they had first found her on Ego. “I know what you have all been thinking. About who it is. And you were incorrect. At least, at first.”

“You mean…” Peter swallowed.

“Yes,” Mantis murmured. “And I am worried that the rest of you have put that thought into my head, instead of it forming on its own. Does that make any sense?”

“You’re worried we’ve pressured you into thinking you have feelings for her,” he said carefully. “Mantis, I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to talk about all this. It’s your feelings, not ours.”

“It has been very difficult for me,” she admitted. “I am not very good at understanding myself sometimes. But I want to. I want to know who I am, outside of being someone else’s person. Ego’s assistant, your sister, a member of the Guardians...who am I, Peter? And what is it that I want? What am I meant for?”

“I think those are questions only you get to answer,” he replied, reaching to squeeze her hand. “But if you need help figuring that out, I’m here for you, okay? And maybe it’ll help if you try talking to Gamora, too. She’s gotten pretty good at helping me with my emotional crises,” he added with a chuckle. “Knowing yourself before you get involved with someone else is usually a good idea. She’ll probably tell you the same thing.”

“You think so?” Mantis sniffled a little, wiping at her watery eyes.

“Gamora’s been through hell and back, we all know it. And I don’t think she would’ve even considered dating me if she couldn’t feel good about herself. And, y’know, maybe that doesn’t apply to everyone, because hell, no one’s sure of themselves all of the time. But if you’re super stressed out about it, then maybe you should start there. You can do it, Mantis. I believe in you.” He wrapped her in a big hug, kissing the top of her head.

She curled into him, laughing softly. “You have become so good at this, Peter. Advice-giving, I mean.” He was pleased to hear her voice already coming back stronger, warmer, like it always did.

“Comes with the job, I guess,” Peter shrugged. “Leader, brother, boyfriend. All of the above.”

“I’m sure Gamora would agree with me that you are doing an excellent job at all three,” Mantis grinned in return.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Gamora was tapping her foot idly as she waited, though she was keeping a steady eye on Groot. “I am Groot,” he pouted, burying himself deeper into the couch cushions as if he were attempting to disappear entirely. She immediately wrapped a hand around his middle and dragged him back out, frowning at him.

“I told you, no opening presents until the day of,” she said sternly. “Some people haven’t even gotten their gifts yet. Peter, for example.”

“I heard my name, did ya miss me?” Peter strolled back in with a cheesy smile on his face, arms open wide. Gamora glanced up at him, unimpressed.

“You’ve been gone for all of ten minutes, Peter. The silence was welcome,” she snarked, though she moved to lay her head on his chest the instant he sat back down. His broad shoulders made for a surprisingly comfortable pillow. “Groot’s complaining about not getting to open presents yet, despite the fact we have almost none ready, and we haven’t even gotten the tree yet. You were the one who insisted on us fulfilling holiday traditions this year.”

“I’ve been busy. Finals were awful,” Peter said defensively, wrapping his arms around her. “We’ve got time, and besides, the weather’s awful. No one’s getting a tree today. We’ll be lucky if we can even leave the ship tomorrow.”

Sighing, Gamora pulled up the blanket around them, releasing Groot so he could run up Peter’s torso and settle in on his other shoulder. “I suppose it’s better than last Christmas. I still don’t know how you ended up landing in jail, and then when we went to bail you out, we somehow got arrested, too.”

“I think that duchess liked me a little too much,” he said lazily, letting his head fall against the armrest.

“She had the most irritating voice I’ve ever heard in my life, and that’s saying something.” Gamora began picking at a piece of invisible lint on Peter’s sweater, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Is that jealousy I detect in your voice?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, poking him in the stomach with a sharp fingernail. “You have some odd fascination with the idea that I’d be jealous of anyone romantically attracted to you. Besides, I wasn’t attracted to you at the time, so that doesn’t even count.”

“I am Groot,” Groot countered, his eyes wide as he watched them converse. It seemed to be one of his favorite pastimes.

“Exactly, thank you, Groot,” Peter said triumphantly. “So you’re saying there was a time.”

“Well.” Gamora turned her head entirely so her face was practically buried in the back of the couch. “It’s hardly a secret that I was suspicious of your relationship with Cindy. But that’s only because you were my ‘boyfriend’ already, and I was concerned about how it was going to look to others if you were interested in another girl, and why are we still discussing this? We should be talking about you not going holiday shopping yet, even though you were the one practically begging us to do this Secret Satan - ”

Peter let out a choked laugh. “It’s...it’s Santa, honey. Satan’s a different...uh...person.”

She frowned, her irritation growing. “Does it matter?”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna get those two mixed up.” He lifted a hand to run his fingers through her hair affectionately, his thumbs running soothing circles over her temples. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I just find it kinda cute whenever you get your references crossed. It gives me like, the weirdest visuals. Santa with a pitchfork and a tail - ” He cut himself off with a snort. She continued to look irked. “I’m not making fun of you, I promise. Please don’t murder me.”

“You’re lucky I like you.” She pinched him in retaliation. “Well, I already did my shopping with Mantis and Drax. Groot made Rocket and Yondu take him last week, which they claim is the reason they did rather subpar on their exams - as always, I’ve chosen not to listen to them - so that leaves you and - ”

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” Peter turned over, groaning into the cushions. “Please don’t tell me I’m going Christmas shopping with Nebula. I take back my request, murder me now.” ______

Quill.” A curt nod, refusal of eye contact, arms folded across her chest. Yes, that was Nebula, alright.

It wasn’t that Peter didn’t like Nebula - in fact, he liked her just fine, more than ever thought he would when they had first met on Knowhere while she was on a rampage, hunting Gamora down and nearly killing them all in the process - but it was rather the fact that, well, he was still kind of terrified of her. Just the tiniest bit. And who could blame him? She had a tendency to lurk in the background, no matter where they were or what they were doing. She somehow managed to fade into her surroundings, silently observing, whether during team meetings or dinner. And then, very suddenly, she would have a snarky quip or a violent outburst, the latter of which would cause Peter to have what felt like a mild heart attack.

However, Peter knew Nebula was of the utmost importance to Gamora. Despite constantly butting heads, he knew when it came down to it, the two sisters loved each other fiercely, though they would never outright admit it. He wanted to understand Nebula better, not just for Gamora’s sake, but for the sake of the entire team. He knew her general personality, her behaviors, her quirks, so to speak, but still knew so little of what she would be like as a teammate.

“This doesn’t have to be weird,” Peter told her as they got into the car (a cozy little hatchback, courtesy of Stark as always). “Why would it be weird? It’s just you...and me...hanging out together. Like we’ve...we’ve never done before.”

“Are you going to insist on talking the whole way?” Nebula buckled her seatbelt and promptly kicked her snow-covered boots up onto the dashboard, spraying little shards of ice everywhere, including the console, the emergency brake, and Peter’s arm.

“I could put the radio on instead,” he offered.

“Are you incapable of complete and total silence?” Nebula asked. “Or is it just that you like the sound of your own voice?”

“Right, I can already tell this is going to be a freaking joyride,” he muttered under his breath.

A couple hours of awkward silence later, the two of them arrived at the nearest mall, which, as predicted, was crowded with panicked shoppers, screaming children and babies, and salespeople who looked all of five seconds away from bursting into tears. Peter had to circle the parking lot at least three times before he managed to snatch up a spot furthest from the entrance, resulting in him slipping several times as they walked towards the doors. Nebula rolled her eyes at every last occurrence.

“Well, aren’t you the picture of grace,” she sighed when they finally reached the doors, yanking them open and practically stomping in. Peter could only watch in bewilderment as she began shaking more snow off her boots, not unlike a small dog. However, when she moved as if to make a run for it, he jumped forward to catch her wrist.

“Hey, hey, I promised Gamora we’d stick together, so you aren’t going anywhere without me,” he said firmly.

“And you do everything my sister tells you to do?” Nebula snorted.

“I do when she’s right, which is at least ninety-nine percent of the time,” he admitted. “Come on, let’s grab a store map and figure out where we’re going.”

There was a pause, though it wasn’t the kind of pause Nebula took when she was contemplating the various methods she had to kill a man, but an unreadable pause that made Peter shiver a little. Finally, she said, “Fine, but I want to go to the food court first.”

“Uh...not that I’m saying no, but why?”

“Iwanuhprezl.” She immediately turned on her heel away from him, though this time, she didn’t take another step.

“I...I didn’t catch that, what’d you say?”

“I want a pretzel,” Nebula mumbled. Peter blinked. Out of all the things he’d been expecting, this might’ve been at the very bottom of his nonexistent list. Still, he was pretty sure if he tried poking at what she’d just said, it would only result in broken fingers.

“I...okay, yeah, I could go for a pretzel,” he shrugged. They walked in silence towards the food court, Peter with his hands stuffed in his pockets, and Nebula’s stiffly at her side, her fingers tapping impatiently on the small pocket knife stashed on her belt (the only weapon Peter had allowed her to take). Then he brightened. “Hey, what kind of pretzel do you usually get? Savory? Sweet? Do you get dip? As a kid, I always wanted cinnamon sugar with caramel but my mom told me my teeth would literally rot of my head, but that didn’t scare me because I was like, ‘sweet, I wanna be a zombie!’ because apparently, the only word I heard was ‘rot’, and uh, you don’t care, so never mind.”

Silence. Then, “I want a cheese pretzel dog. I didn’t have breakfast.”

“Solid choice,” Peter nodded. “I can respect that.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were sitting at one of the bar tables in the food court, devouring their respective pretzels. Peter was secretly pleased to see Nebula was eating at what he considered to be the ‘normal’ pace now. Even six months ago, she often ate like her food was going to get pulled out from under her any second, having become used to literally fighting for scraps. Like Gamora, he never wanted to see Nebula lose her confidence or her strength, but he was happy to see her becoming more relaxed in her own way, now that she was realizing she no longer had to fight to live.

“So I’m guessing you’re not gonna tell me who you got for Secret Santa,” he said. “Can I at least guess?”

“No.” She took a particularly vicious bite. Peter wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

“Well, it’s gotta be a better Christmas than last year, considering you spent two weeks stuck with Yondu while we were in jail,” he continued, undeterred, chuckling a little at the memory.

“I retreated to my dorm the moment it stopped snowing,” Nebula said, rolling her eyes. “You really think I was going to spend more time with that idiot than necessary?”

“Hey, that’s not fair. Give Yondu some credit, at least he’s trying to be your friend,” Peter protested. “Do you really hate him that much?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions?” she shot back, slamming her food down onto the table. It made an unpleasant squelching noise beneath her fingers in the process. “Did Gamora ask you to spy on me?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “She just wants me to look after you, but it’s not like she wants me to report back or anything. I just wanna get to know you better, that’s all. We never talk.”

“For a reason.” She stuffed the pretzel back in her mouth, chewing loudly. “Out of all the Terrans that I’ve met, I can’t believe it’s you that my sister has gone soft for.”

“Do you...do you think I’m bad for her?” Had he ever actually asked Nebula what he thought of his relationship with her sister? The idea had honestly never crossed his mind. It was silly in hindsight that he’d never considered it, since Gamora put more weight into Nebula’s opinions than she wanted to admit. Surely, she would have voiced her disapproval by now.

“Why does it matter what I think?”

“Because you’re the most important person in the whole damn world to Gamora, that’s why,” he said fiercely, leaning forward. “And if you think she deserves better, I wanna know why. I wanna know how I can do better.”

Nebula was first to break eye contact, instead electing to stare at her feet. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I think of you if you agree to never ask me again, and never tell Gamora we had this conversation.” He nodded eagerly in response. “You’re loud, obnoxious, overly dramatic, too energetic, and you never stop pestering all of us about being ‘family’.” Pausing, she lifted her head, narrowing her pitch-black eyes as if to examine him. “But...I suppose Gamora and I have never had someone so invested in our well-being in a very long time, or at least one who never expects anything in return. You make a decent leader when you actually try, though your speeches are horrendous. And I...trust you enough to eventually help us in our quest to kill Thanos, though I doubt you’ll survive the attempt.”

“Still thinking about that, huh?” he chuckled to himself, ignoring the passive-aggressive comments that were quintessential to really anything Nebula ever said. It seemed like eons ago since they first began seriously discussing going after Thanos, ending his terrifying reign once and for all, but he hadn’t made any moves in the last little while, giving the Guardians hope that they would have more time to prepare. Still, Peter knew Nebula was more anxious about it than anyone, even her sister. Her desperation for Thanos’s approval had been flipped on its side, now channeled into her hatred for what he had done to her and Gamora.

“You help her forget, even for just a little while, the unspeakable horrors we’ve been through, the horrid acts of pain and slaughter we’ve carried out in the name of a man who has done nothing but hurt us.” There was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that suggested she was attempting a proper smile. “You seem committed to making my sister believe in her self-worth, value her own happiness. So...I guess I can’t really fault you for that. Even if I don't care for either of those things myself.”

“I...wow.” Peter found himself struggling to choose his next words. For once, it wasn’t out of fear of what her reaction (or more accurately, her retaliation) would be, but of complete and utter shock. “Nebula, that’s...I don’t know what to say.”

“So you’re saying I’ve successfully shut you up? Good,” she smirked, though not out of malice. In a way, he felt as if they had reached an understanding of sorts, or at the very least, something of a truce. “Though like I said...if you tell Gamora any of what transpired just now, I will kill you.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” he laughed, bunching up his paper wrapper. “You ready to go?”

Shopping didn’t go quite as smoothly as Peter had anticipated, considering their conversation had ended on such a high note. Nebula was evasive when Peter tried to figure out where she wanted to go to get her Secret Santa gift, and the frequency of her eye-rolling increased tenfold once he requested they pick out more Christmas decorations for the ship.

“Don’t blame me, we were all too busy to go shopping during exams,” Peter said defensively. “Just help me pick out the damn Christmas lights. Should we get multi-colored? White? Red and green? These weird purple-y ones? I dunno what’s up with those.”

“Considering the ship is obnoxiously colorful, get white for general use and multicolor for the tree.” He stared at her in disbelief. She suddenly seemed to have realized she had put too much thought into her answer. “It’s obvious, you idiot.” That was more like it.

“Mistletoe’s unnecessary since no one’s kissing anyone but me and Gamora,” Peter said as they continued on. “Plus, she’d probably hate the idea of forced PDA.”

“She’s extraordinarily tactile when it comes to you, Quill, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Nebula’s ability to tap her foot impatiently as fast as she was going was starting to give Peter a headache.

“Wasn’t aware I asked for the peanut gallery,” he snarked in return. The confused expression he got in return was worth it.

When they went into the toy store to look for presents for Groot - he was beginning to develop a sizeable collection of plushies as large as he was - Peter found himself swarmed by children who recognized him, asking him to sign bits of paper or their Star-Lord dolls. Beaming, he complied instantly, trying his best to reach everyone in the crowd of approximately thirty people.

“What do you do at that big superhero school of yours?” one brave little one asked him, her eyes so huge that it reminded him of Mantis.

“Well, we just finished exams,” Peter said. At the kids’ disappointed faces, he hastily added, “But we had to fight this woman who came from Asgard last month - y’know, that place where Thor is from? - and it turns out she was the goddess of death!”

“Ooh,” said about seven different tiny voices in near-perfect synchronicity.

“How did ya beat her?” one skeptical boy asked.

“There was this other woman who came to help defeat the goddess of death - her name is Valkyrie, you might’ve seen her on the news. Super cool, white marks on her face, big blue cape? And she got lots of the other girls on campus to help her with all of their weapons, and powers, and skills, to send the goddess of death back to where she came from,” Peter explained. “Oh, Nebula for example. She was one of them.” He gestured towards her.

“Are you a hero too, miss?” One of the littlest girls took a step closer towards Nebula. She looked no older than four. Peter shot her a pleading look over the girl’s head. He knew by now that Gamora had grown comfortable with dealing with admiring children, while Nebula still snarled at Groot when she was feeling particularly tempestuous.

“It varies from day to day,” she drawled, folding her arms across her chest. That seemed to satisfy the girl well enough, as she stepped back to join the rest of the crowd once more.

“Tell us more about the Val’krie!” one girl begged.

Peter chuckled. “Sure. Well, I haven’t really hung out with her or anything, but she’s friends with my girlfriend, Gamora - you guys know who she is, right? - and oh, man, watching them train together is super awesome…”

“How could you possibly stand being around those little creatures?” Nebula shuddered. It had been fifteen minutes since they had left the toy store, now armed with bags of free merchandise, courtesy of the manager. “Unpredictable, noisy, obnoxious, asking too many questions...you know what? Never mind. You must be entirely at kin.”

“Har-har,” Peter said sarcastically. “Kids are great when they're not tryna cause trouble. They’re just curious, that's all. You were never like that?”

“You’re asking me to remember a period of my life that has been long removed from memory,” she said darkly. Whether she had simply chosen to forget it, or Thanos had actually physically done something to her memory, Peter wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think it would be right to ask. “Are you telling me Gamora still has memories of childhood?”

“She never talked about it much. She says she remembers bits and pieces about her parents, but she sometimes forgets them entirely,” Peter admitted. “Is it like that for you?”

“As always, you ask too many questions,” Nebula sighed, though she didn’t continue on with another threat. Peter considered that to be a sign of progress. “Oh, there’s that store with too many shirts and toys.”

“Yeah, Hot Topic. Maybe I’ll buy something for Gamora, she loves getting her gloves there,” he replied, grinning easily.

They returned to the school campus a mere hour before dinnertime, loaded with a surprising amount of shopping bags. Nebula was in unusually good spirits after they had come across a stall selling toy weapons. She had insisted upon buying one for both Gamora and Rocket, wanting to plant them among their existing inventory and see how long it would take for them to notice. Peter was just surprised she even understood the concept of a prank in the first place.

“You’re not terrible, Quill,” Nebula said as they pulled up to the entrance gates. “Though I’m definitely not a fan.”

“Fair enough,” Peter replied as he passed their ID cards to the security guard. “You aren’t my favorite either. But we’re cool now, right? Like, less death threats and stuff?”

She side-eyed him before snorting, shaking her head. “Sure, Quill. ‘Less death threats and stuff’. But only because I don’t want to put up with Gamora’s incessant whining if I were to harm a single hair on your head.”

Upon boarding the ship, they were immediately greeted by Gamora, who was sitting by the entrance, twisting the multitude of silver rings that adorned her fingers rather anxiously. “No injuries, I see,” she said dryly as she moved to help them with their bags.

“We’re practically best friends now,” Peter said cheerfully as he began unloading his haul onto the coffee table. “Sorry, Gamora, you’ve been demoted.”

“I’ll get over it,” she shrugged, turning towards her sister. “Nebula?”

“He’s not a total loser,” Nebula replied, unceremoniously dropping all of her bags onto the floor. There was a crunching noise that made both Peter and Gamora wince. “I suppose you could have picked a worse Terran to fall in love with.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say about Peter,” Gamora said, smirking as she stepped closer to him, patting him placatingly on the arm. “Don’t you agree?”

“Sure,” Peter said, catching Nebula’s wary gaze. She was practically pleading him to stay silent. “I don’t really pay attention when she’s talking, to be super honest with you.”

Rolling her eyes, Gamora swatted him with a dish towel before pulling him over to the kitchen so they could set the dining table together. Nebula flopped onto the couch, kicking her feet up onto the armrest, smiling a little to herself. Yes, she supposed her sister could have done a lot worse in choosing a companion. But he turned out to be a half-decent leader after all. Friendship, however? That was still an entirely different story. Nebula didn’t want friends, never wanted friends, but...in a strange way, maybe he had become one without her realizing it. Dammit. ______

“Gamora? Are you busy at the moment?” Gamora startled a little from where she was curled up on the couch, looking up from her book. Drax was looming over her, and if she were anyone else, she might have been a little wary about his otherwise serious expression, but if anything, she was just a little annoyed.

“Do you need something?” she asked with a raised brow, sliding her thumb across the page to hold it in place.

“Quill requested that Mantis and I make cookies for the team, but seeing as Mantis has fallen ill…” He trailed off uncertainly.

“You want me to be her substitute.” Gamora nodded in understanding, closing her book and getting to her feet. “Sure, why not?”

Drax gave her a grateful smile before they walked into the kitchen. They worked in silence for a few minutes, gathering up utensils and ingredients in accordance with the recipe Peter had provided them. Unlike the way Drax and Mantis cooked, using Terran recipes they had found in books or online, Peter’s recipe was written down by hand on a notecard. Gamora remembered when he had told her about the way his mother had indexed and revised her recipes, a habit he had since picked up himself. She smiled fondly at the messy scribbles on the card, the way Peter had written “approximately” at least half a dozen times in various spots, unsure of whether he had remembered it exactly right.

“How have you been, Gamora?”

She turned away from the stick of butter she was slicing up to look over her shoulder at Drax. “Fine, I suppose. My exams went well, I did all of my shopping, got all of the team paperwork completed for the year, and - ”

He chuckled, though not unkindly. “I meant your general well-being, not your to-do list. You are usually quite stressed this time of year.”

“Well, I'll tell you a secret, Drax,” Gamora hummed, turning back to the task at hand. “I’m always stressed.” He let out a jovial laugh, a full-bellied chuckle that betrayed his otherwise imposing presence. He passed her the mixing bowl so she could add the butter. “I have relaxed a fair bit since this time last year, though. Probably because of my increasing closeness to the rest of you.”

“It is a delight to see,” Drax nodded. “Your happiness is integral to all of us, Gamora. It would be a shame if you were worn out.” He moved back to the other side of the kitchen to begin working on the dry ingredients. “Quill told me you’re starting your fight classes next month. Are you not concerned about your impending workload?”

“I can handle it.” She smiled a little to herself as she began stirring. “Besides, it’s not like I’m alone in all this. Peter shares my Guardian work, and Nebula and I have an equal hand in fight training. As I’ve said, if there’s anything I’ve learned these past couple of years, being with this team, it’s that we should let other people be part of our lives. There’s value in teamwork.”

“I imagine with the difficult life you led beforehand, it must be a relief to be here.” Drax pulled up a stool and sat down, facing her. It was a little comical, considering the stool was built for an average-sized person while he dwarfed it by a long shot, but he looked quite pensive otherwise.

Drax was certainly a curious one to Gamora, perhaps the sole person of the group that she empathized with the most, and yet understood the least. His single-minded determination to kill her when they had first met told her he was a brute and a bully, someone who couldn’t see the forest for the trees. He spoke with a diverse vocabulary, yet understood little of the semantics of language and socialization, perhaps even less than she and Nebula. Later, she came to understand it was the nature of his people, and she felt shameful to have judged him at all. Now, she had a better sense of his true self - kind, loving, fiercely loyal and protective of those he cared about, and she was glad to be considered one of his loved ones.

She was also grateful that he had never described to her, in detail, the deaths of his family. He had told her the general gist of what had happened, but a part of her always wondered if he still somewhat resented her for it, despite her having no hand in the actual crime.

“Do you still think of her?” Gamora asked quietly.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well…” She hesitated before settling down on a stool herself, opposite him. “A little while ago, Rocket seemed to imply he used to have someone - a significant other, that is. And he said that some people couldn’t be as lucky as Peter and I. It got me thinking, if our relationship made you uncomfortable, or made you feel sad…”

“I do think of Hovat.” Drax folded his hands neatly in his lap. “Perhaps not as often as you might imagine, but every now and then, I have a quiet moment to myself, and I think fondly of her. I think of how we met, the time we spent together. How, had I not invited her over to my family’s home that night, she would not have been killed alongside them. We did not live together yet, but it felt inevitable that we would someday. Now…” He trailed off.

“I wish it could’ve been different for you. You’ll get your vengeance someday, I promise.”

He shook his head, smiling weakly. “No, Gamora. I have no need for revenge any longer. Besides, I believe you and Nebula deserve the chance to kill Thanos just as much as I do, if not much more. Despite having heard very little stories and seen no physical scars, I can only imagine that the pain he inflicted upon both of you is worth his death many times over.”

“We’ll get that bastard someday.” They both turned to see Peter standing in the doorway, wearing a ratty old band T-shirt, yawning and scratching at his belly. “You guys baking in here? Smells good.”

“As per your request,” Drax said, getting to his feet. “Another Terran tradition of yours, yes?”

“Usually, yeah.” Peter kissed Gamora chastely on the forehead before moving to grab the water pitcher from the fridge. “Better tradition than telling your kids about the night you made them.”

“You have such odd hang-ups about intimacy, Quill,” Drax chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

“Uh, would you like it if I told you, in detail, about every single time Gamora and I have sex?” Peter brandished the jug at Drax and ended up splashing water on himself instead.

“I know I wouldn’t,” Gamora said loudly, prodding him in the gut with her foot. “Don’t encourage him, Peter. Next thing you know, he’ll request to be present.” Peter shuddered at the very thought, shuffling several feet away from Drax in response.

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Peter said hastily, grabbing the cough syrup from the coffee table. “Just dropping by to get some stuff for Mantis.” He gave them an awkward wave before slowly backing away down the corridor. Gamora couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his antics.

“Such a strange one, that Quill,” Drax commented once Peter was out of sight. “But I must admit, he has become more and more valuable these days. I could not imagine the team without him.”

“His effort is quite admirable,” Gamora replied with a gentle smile. They began pulling out the old, rusted cookie sheets, scooping up the dough and divvying out what they hoped to be evenly-sized dough balls. “It’s what all of us should be trying to do, don’t you agree? To be better versions of ourselves?”

“A good way of thinking about it,” Drax nodded. “You have always been the wisest of us all, Gamora. It is one of the many things I admire about you. Though honestly, it was also what made me curious about what you saw in Quill, romantically. His intelligence and maturity seemed lacking in comparison to yours. But I see now that you two hold the utmost respect for each other, understanding and devotion. I liken it to my relationship with Hovat.”

“I can tell by the way you talk about her that she meant everything to you.” Gamora leaned back onto the counter, watching Drax contemplatively as he slid the cookie sheets into the oven, wincing a little at the screeching noise it made. “Do you think you’ll ever seek another romantic relationship again?”

“Part of me worries it will be seen as disrespectful to what I had with Hovat,” Drax said, straightening back up. He looked anguished at the very thought of upsetting her. “In my culture, we believe that the spirit lives on. And perhaps her spirit will curse me for wanting to be with another.” He smiled in remembrance. “But she was not a vengeful person, my Hovat. I believe she would want me to be happy. However, I have yet to meet a person who I wish to share my affections with. Like with Hovat, I think I will see them and just…know. Which is why I choose not to go on those dating websites or ‘apps’ that Quill has told me about.”

“Smart move,” Gamora said dryly. “Well, there’s no rush. You have time.”

“Yes, I do.” Drax grinned a little wider, serene. “There are still many things I hope to do someday. I have already been in love once. I still love her, of course. But falling in love again, it simply isn’t a priority compared to what else life has to offer me. Taking on Thanos at last, for example. Not out of vengeance, but a desire to, well, guard the galaxy. Prevent others from suffering the same fate as my family, as yours. An honorable lifetime endeavor, I would say.”

“And a hefty title and reputation to hold, at that,” Gamora added, holding up her glass of water. Drax let out a merry laugh and clinked his cup against hers, drinking deeply as if it were the finest of wines. ______

Mantis emerged from her bedroom, practically dragging her feet, inhaling loudly. She winced a little at the whistling noise her nose made as she did. She was almost over her flu – she had never fallen ill via Terran sickness before, and it was decidedly unpleasant compared to some alien ailments she had experienced while living with Ego.

She stumbled her way up the ladder to the cockpit, curious about the echoing sound of clanking and clattering. She expected to see Peter there, digging around for some lost trinket or gadget as he often did, blaming his misplaced items on the others as always. To her surprise, she found Rocket instead, who was frantically emptying out a large, worn-out cardboard box, muttering to himself under his breath like a crazed person.

“Rocket? Is everything okay?”

“Quill ain’t here, bug-girl,” Rocket snapped without looking up. “So you can piss off.”

“Do not talk to me like that,” Mantis frowned, getting closer so she could kneel beside him. She was hardly ever deterred by Rocket’s behavior at this point, having gotten too used to his mood swings. “Maybe I can help.”

“Do you know how any of this stuff works?” Rocket gestured at the pile of what looked to be circuit boards and data chips, some of which looked incredibly broken and brittle. “If you don’t, I can repeat what I said earlier.”

“I only want to help,” Mantis repeated. “Tell me what you are looking for and let me try and find it.”

Sighing, Rocket threw down the flash drive he was holding and slumped back onto his hind legs. There was a sense of defeat in him that Mantis rarely ever detected, a resignation in his eyes so unusual it disturbed her. Of all the Guardians, she avoided Rocket the most, only ever interfering with his emotions if another was at risk. Otherwise, she knew he was secretly afraid of her, of what she could do. It still hurt her feelings a little bit, him thinking she would ever manipulate or betray his trust like that, but she understood where he was coming from. Sometimes, she was a bit scared of what she was capable of, too.

“My display’s been all outta whack lately,” he said, picking up the wrist computer he often toted around. “Something inside must’ve literally cracked. But I can’t find a match for the broken piece.” He turned it over to show her the open hatch, where she did indeed see a section with a corner broken off, the minuscule lights stuttering and flashing as if in warning.

“That seems to be quite old,” she said thoughtfully, carefully taking it from him. “Have you considered building a new one? You must be quite the expert in doing so.”

“No!” Rocket exclaimed, yanking it back. “I have to…I have to fix this one. I have to.”

“Okay. Okay.” Mantis held up her hands defensively. “Okay, then let us look. Are there more boxes of these things anywhere else? Have you asked Peter, maybe? This ship has many nooks and crannies we have never been to.”

“I already asked, and this is all we got, so.” Once again, the tightness in his shoulders melted away as he leaned against the box in hopelessness, the tips of his ears drooping. “Oh, this ain’t happening. I’m not gonna be able to do this.” The wrist computer let off an alarming series of sparks as if to agree with him.

“I’m sorry, Rocket.” She worried at her bottom lip, unsure of what to do. She wasn’t sure why this was so important to him, especially right at this very second, but she was determined to stop him from giving up. At least one thing was for certain – she needed to calm him down, not with her powers, but with her words. “Should I go get Peter? He would be more knowledgeable about what to do – ”

“No, no, we ain’t telling Quill about this.” He yanked the device off his arm and threw it so hard that the glass display cracked on impact. “Shit.”

Rocket made no move to pick it up, staring at it with wide eyes, frozen. Mantis crawled forwards to grab it and bring it back, turning it over gently in her hands. “It’s okay. It is only a small crack. The glass will be easy to replace.”

Suddenly snapping out of it, Rocket glared at her like she had been the one to throw it in the first place. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he snarled. “What, you not tryna read my mind or whatever the hell it is you do – ”

“And I have said many times before, I read emotions, not minds,” she said patiently, settling in across from him. “So if you are frustrated because I do not understand you, then make me understand.”

“No.” He shook his head almost violently. “No, no one knows, ‘cept Groot. And I aim to keep it that way.”

“I find another perspective is always helpful,” she offered. When he remained silent, eyes narrowed as if he were contemplating whether to snap the antennae off her forehead, she simply smiled in return. “When I was living on Ego’s planet, all I ever knew, for the longest time, was him. I knew what he thought of the world, what he wanted from the world. And I went along with him because I thought he was clever, I thought he was kind. But that was because I did not know what other beings were like. Then, his children began to appear to us. Children of many different races and backgrounds. Some I knew for weeks. Some for just a few hours, before they would disappoint him. And then they would be gone, just like that. Still, I began to empathize more with the children than with him. I saw different ideas of what it meant to be united, to be a collective group of people, instead of Ego’s idea of The Expansion. To live in harmony. But I did not believe that I would ever be able to leave Ego behind, as I was too used to being with him. I was becoming too reliant. It was not until you all arrived that I began to understand my true purpose. What I was meant to be doing, how I could help.”

Rocket broke eye contact first, casting his gaze down on the floor, arms still folded defensively across his chest. “Yeah, yeah, another perspective. You should really be in charge of that motivational speech crap that Quill’s a big fan of, y’know? At least you don’t ramble on about some TV show no one’s ever seen.” She fixed him with another patient smile before he exhaled slowly, relenting. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

Another long, shaky exhale. “This…this thing. It didn’t belong to me originally. It belonged to 89P14. Her name was Lylla.” He sniffled so quietly Mantis almost thought she’d imagined it, if not for the wetness on his nose. “We were both…monsters. Created in a lab. Except she wasn’t a monster at all. She was…sweet. Optimistic. Upbeat. A real good soul, y’know? Never gave up hope on thinkin’ we’d be able to escape the lab one day. We lived in cages right next to each other. And when we weren’t being experimented on, we talked. We could talk for hours. And the stupid thing is, it’s not like we had tons to talk about. Neither of us knew any sorta life outside of those cages. But we liked to imagine the kind of adventures we’d get to go on once we got out. It distracted us from the pain we were in.”

“What happened?” Mantis prompted, though she had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming next.

“What else? We got brave…and stupid. Or in Lylla’s case, hopeful. She always had so much hope.” He chuckled weakly. “We tried to escape. Devised a whole plan. It was s’posed to be airtight. But I guess one of the others must’ve heard us, wanted to get us in trouble so we’d get put through the ringer and they’d be left alone. The thing is, the assholes working in the labs, they can’t survive the outside air on Halfworld, so Lylla and I punctured all of their bio-suits ahead of time. But they didn’t know that, so they chased me and her all up and down the complex, aiming to stun, not kill. We were too valuable for that. But then we got to the final gate that would lead to our freedom, and it was stuck. Some stupid freakin’ fingerprint-protected thing, y’know? And Lylla, she was the only one who knew tech better than I did, so she insisted I run ahead and she’d get it open. Like a dumbass, I did what she told me to. I always did. So the gates open, I’m runnin’, and I turn around and she’s just standing there. All the scientists, they start panicking ‘cause the air’s comin’ in. So they just snatch her up and run back for cover. Gate closes. And that’s the last I ever saw of her.”

“Rocket…” Mantis’s eyes watered. She wanted to reach over and comfort him somehow, but the last time she had tried to pet him, it hadn’t gone so smoothly. Her fingers trembled with desperation. “I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry.”

“Par for the course, right?” He tilted his head upwards, staring off into nothing, his dark eyes glossy with tears. “When those assholes were workin’ on me, I was always in pain. Still am sometimes. But never...never here.” He weakly tapped his own chest with a shaking claw. “Not until that day.”

“Tell me.” Rocket turned to look at her in confusion. “Tell me if it ever gets so bad that it physically hurts. My powers are only a temporary solution, but at least it will provide you some relief. It will not make you forget her, or what she meant to you. I promise. Do not hesitate to ask me, Rocket.”

“You gotta let me have some of my pride left intact,” he chuckled half-heartedly. “And it’s stupid – this whole d’ast thing is stupid – but even though it’s just a dumb Terran holiday, Quill going on and on about how this time of year is for family and loved ones just reminds me even more that she’s gone.”

“I know we are no substitute for how you felt about her, but do not ever doubt that we care about you,” Mantis said, smiling warmly. “And…maybe this is a stupid question, but how do you know that Lylla actually died in the lab that day?”

“What…what do ya mean?” There was an almost startling spark of wistfulness in Rocket’s eyes. Mantis found herself worrying that she was already getting his hopes too high.

“Well…say that the contaminated air from the outside got into the lab. All the scientists die. Lylla and the others survive,” she said slowly.

“No, that’s…that’s impossible. They would’ve come outta the lab, I would’ve seen ‘em.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the scientists died a slow death, and the others had to wait. Or maybe they spent some time gathering supplies from the lab, or seeking vengeance upon the people and the place that destroyed them.” Mantis shrugged. “I am just saying, there are many possible outcomes here.”

“So you’re saying…if I had just waited…just a little bit longer…I might’ve seen her again?” His ears drooped once more, shaking his head slowly. “I was just so caught up in the idea of her death that I just ran off when I could've waited.”

“It is only one scenario, Rocket. Do not beat yourself up for what you did or what you could have done,” Mantis said reassuringly. “I am just saying…have some faith. And that includes having faith in this computer of yours. Surely we must be able to find a replacement. If not on this ship, then elsewhere. You do not have to tell the others your reasons in detail. Just tell Peter that it is important to you, and I’m sure he will help.”

“…I could return to Halfworld.” He turned the wrist computer over and over again, as if it possessed some magic qualities that would tell him what to do next. “They’d probably have the parts I need.”

“There you go,” Mantis beamed. “All hope is not lost. It might be too cold to take the Milano out at the moment, but when it gets warmer again, we can go to Halfworld and help in your search.”

��Y’know what? You ain’t so bad, bug-girl,” Rocket said. He reached over to place a paw on her forearm, usually the kind of move that she had to make to placate him. “Maybe it’s all that holiday spirit voodoo crap that Quill’s been talking about, but I’m feelin’ generous, so. Thanks. For…this.”

“I am your friend, whether you admit it or not,” she teased. “I am just glad I can be here for you. I always feel so much anger…resentment…from you. Sometimes even more so than Nebula. I much prefer it when you are happy.”

He grinned toothily, baring his fangs in a way that made Mantis involuntarily flinch a little. “So do I, kid. So do I.” ______

“Well, it’s about d’ast time,” Rocket said triumphantly, watching as Drax hefted the tree a little higher on his shoulder, strolling up the loading ramp of the Milano as if it weighed no more than his backpack. “I was startin’ to think Quill was playing a joke on us, tellin’ us that humies put presents around a tree in their living room. Thought you were tryna mess with Groot or something.”

“I’m not that big of a dick, thank you very much,” Peter grumbled. He was walking closely behind Drax, holding the accompanying stand and tree skirt. “Honey, you got the decorations?”

“I can already tell you went overboard,” Gamora retorted with a resigned sigh as she emerged from the storage closet. She was carrying a large cardboard box that was bursting at the seams, weighed down with Christmas lights, ornaments, and the like, all things Peter had been slowly accumulating over the last month in anticipation of finally celebrating the holiday season on Earth. “I gave you a budget for a reason, Peter.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it once you see it in action!" He and Drax began setting the tree down in the corner of their already-cramped living area, carefully adjusting the skirt and fanning it outwards to make it look somewhat presentable. The others watched, somewhat unimpressed.

“It’s going to shed everywhere,” Mantis said uncertainly. “Is this really what Terrans do, Peter?”

“You guys won’t doubt me once we get these going,” Peter replied, walking over to Gamora and patting the top of the decoration box. “Come on, everyone jump in!”

“I hope you do not mean literally,” Drax said, apprehensively eyeing the size of the box. The look in his eyes told the others he was mentally calculating how many of them could fit inside.

“I never do, dude. I never do.”

They worked in hesitant silence for the first couple of minutes, an admittedly welcome sound considering the usual chaotic atmosphere of the ship. Nebula was the only one not participating, electing to instead sprawl across the armchair, watching as the others strung up lights, hung up ornaments, and wound some tinsel around the tree. Groot was standing on the very tip of Yondu’s fin in order to place the glittering star on top.

“What are these for?” Mantis asked, pulling out yet another plastic package from the box, the very last of the decorations. Each bag contained oval chalkboard ornaments with a small hole puncture, strung with peppermint-striped ribbon.

“We can personalize those,” Peter suggested. “I was thinking we could write our names, or maybe Christmas-y sayings, or stuff that we loved about this year. There’s fifty of ‘em in there.”

They all shot him dubious looks, unsure of whether they even had enough ideas to fill all fifty chalkboard ornaments. Peter faltered a little at the sight of everyone’s expressions, wondering if once again, he had overdone it in his enthusiasm. But then Gamora stepped forwards first, opening up the plastic package with her teeth and taking out a stack for herself, along with an accompanying piece of white chalk. She settled down on the floor next to Nebula’s feet, bringing her knees up close to her chest, and began carefully sketching out her name in neat script.

Yondu laughed very suddenly, startling Groot, who was still perched on his head. “Oh, hell, why not?” He proceeded to do the same as Gamora, grabbing extra for Groot before setting him back down on the coffee table.

Gradually, the others began queuing up for materials, Peter being the last one, an internal sense of relief settling into his bones. He sat next to Gamora, trying to ignore the sway of Nebula’s feet next to his head (he was pretty sure she was doing it on purpose). “Thanks, Gamora,” he said softly.

“I’ve got your back,” she smiled in return. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do.” He nudged her shoulder with his playfully, laughing quietly. “What did you love about this year, Peter?”

“Classes were more interesting,” he began slowly, tilting his head in deep thought. His fingers began drumming out a beat on his knees. Gamora was surprised to find she could identify the song quite easily, though considering how much time she spent in his company nowadays, maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all. “I really liked learning, actually. I don’t usually like school, but this place is pretty awesome. Oh, and we had way more successful missions, since we actually know what we’re doing.”

“Other than the one where we were stranded on an abandoned planet and thought everyone else was dead,” she added, waving her chalk at him. “I can’t say that was entirely pleasant.”

“Figured that went without saying,” he chuckled. “I feel like I also made more friends this year, since there were so many new students that joined up. And I’m definitely closer to all the Guardians than before, which is always a bonus. I think even Nebula’s beginning to like me.” The swift, but gentle kick to the back of his head told him otherwise. “Ow, okay, I take it back. But it feels like a real family now. Kicking included.”

“Strangest one I’ve ever seen, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Gamora confessed. She began sketching out a tiny version of her sword on her ornament, her tongue slightly poking out in concentration, eyebrows knitted together. His heart melted a little at the sight.

“And of course, you.” Peter slung an arm over her shoulders, turning to kiss her forehead. “Don’t think I need to tell you how you’re kind of one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I wouldn’t be nearly as happy or successful as a leader if you weren’t right here by my side.”

“We started off in a rough place back then, but I have no regrets about the outcome.” She slid her socked foot neatly between his, tapping him with her toes. “Being co-leaders, best friends, romantic partners…I honestly thought it would be too much. That it would mean we had too many responsibilities to each other, too much emotional investment, too much to ask of each other, but…I think we’ve found even footing. Both a separation and a merging of our roles, so to speak.”

“How romantic of you,” he teased. “You sound like we’re going into business together.”

She prodded him in the cheek with her chalk in retaliation, leaving a white streak in his stubble that was rather comical-looking. “Do you want me to gush over your virtues, Quill?” He shivered a little at the use of his last name – she never called him that anymore despite originally using it exclusively, and he had to admit, it sort of did something for him. “Lavish you with affection, boost your ego?”

“It’s all I ever ask for,” he said sarcastically, wiping at his face.

“You know how much I care about you, Peter.” She softened, her dark eyes warm with affection. “Please don’t make me say it when everyone else is in the room.” She was beginning to grow flushed with every word she spoke.

He dipped his head to bury his face into her jawline, pleased when she began to laugh at the sensation, her fingers digging into his side. “I can’t believe you’re embarrassed at how much you love me,” he sing-songed triumphantly. “Aw, Gamora. I love you too.”

“Have I mentioned you two are insufferable?” They both looked up to see Nebula leaning over them. Now she was the one brandishing chalk in their faces. They had to duck in order to avoid getting the spray of chalk dust in their eyes.

“This would only be the thousandth time,” Gamora retorted. She pulled Peter a little closer into the crook of her neck out of petulance. “If you don’t like it, sit somewhere else.”

“I was here first!” Nebula exclaimed incredulously. Peter couldn’t help but notice a childlike squeak on the last word, but decided against saying anything. He wasn’t looking to be blinded via chalk dust, not today.

“She has a point,” he shrugged. “There’s more room on the couch. Let’s cuddle obnoxiously until Yondu makes gagging noises. Again.”

“You know I will,” Yondu called from the kitchen, where he was leaning against the counter island. “You’re lucky I like you both, or I woulda skipped out on this nonsense a long time ago!”

“I am not embarrassed,” Gamora mumbled as she dragged him over to the couch. ______

Yondu wasn’t being facetious when he said he liked Peter and Gamora, that he thought they were a good match. He knew the others had had their doubts back in the days of trying to set them up, but he never wavered, not when it came to Peter’s love life. After all, he’d grown up alongside him, watched him blossom from a scrappy little kid to a (relatively) responsible young man. Gamora made Peter incredibly happy, had become his other half in many ways so quickly, that Yondu was honestly surprised anyone ever questioned the legitimacy or compatibility of their relationship.

That being said, he wasn’t a fan of constantly seeing their...intimacy.

And okay, he was lucky enough to have never caught them in the act before. He had accidentally witnessed plenty on the Eclector when Peter was a bit of a flirt, enough times that Yondu was a little too familiar with what he looked like, sans clothes. But in a way, it was almost worse seeing them cuddle.

“Not again,” Yondu groaned as he turned around from his spot by the fridge. “Were you even here five seconds ago, girl?”

On the battlefield, Gamora was fierce, relentless, unwavering. She stared down death as if it were just another face in the crowd. Seeing her wearing an oversized Christmas sweater (likely one of Peter’s), tucked into his side in the armchair despite it only having room for one, with a book in hand, kind of challenged that image for Yondu.

“Grow up, Yondu,” she retorted without looking up. “You would think you’d all be used to this by now, but you still insist on acting like a child whenever Peter and I are remotely close to each other.”

“I am Groot?”

“I didn’t mean that as an insult to children, Groot, I apologize.” Gamora leaned over to pet Groot in consolation, where he was stood on the coffee table, pouting.

“You’d think for a guy who schemed about getting us together, he’d be a little happier about it,” Peter smirked, giving Gamora a particularly sloppy kiss on the cheek. She wrinkled her nose and swatted at him, wiping away the saliva he’d left on her face.

“I am happy for ya,” Yondu insisted. “I just thought you’d be the more private type, G’mora.”

“I choose to no longer fear intimacy,” she said patiently, setting her book on the armrest. “I feel most comfortable with myself around all of you, so I make the effort to be more affectionate when it’s just us, especially since Peter is a very tactile person. It’s not like I’m constantly hanging off of him in public. And it’s not my problem that you also happen to be here.” Peter snickered into her shoulder.

“Ri-i-ight,” Yondu drawled. “Sure, that’s what it is. Well, I gotta go make my call to Kraglin, make sure he’s doin’ okay. Anyone wanna join me?”

Groot perked right up, waving his arms in the air enthusiastically. “I am Groot!” he chirruped.

“Sure, twig, I’m sure Krag’ll be happy to hear from ya.” Yondu scooped him up and set him on his shoulder. Groot hummed happily in response, his little fingers holding steadfast to Yondu’s ear. “I’ll leave you two alone like you want. Don’t go defiling the furniture, now.”

“How do ya know we haven’t already?” Peter called after Yondu’s retreating back.

Yondu didn’t give him the satisfaction of any sort of visceral reaction. After all, he could hear a grunt that told him Gamora had elbowed Peter in the gut for his insinuation. Instead, he turned to Groot and said, “You’ve got some weird parents, twig.” Groot shrugged nonchalantly in response.

They spent a few minutes in comfortable silence as Yondu attempted to get everything set up. Coordinating calls with Kraglin was always a bit of a nightmare, what with him being hundreds of thousands of clicks away at any given time, but it was worth it. Yondu missed Kraglin fiercely, secretly wished he would come join the school alongside him, be on a team together again. But Kraglin didn’t like school, had never been good at it, and his talents clearly lay elsewhere – captaining the Eclector. And Yondu didn’t trust anyone else to do the job (especially that stupid what’s-his-face).

Groot was enjoying himself in the meantime, bouncing up and down on Rocket’s chair, squealing and whooping with delight. Yondu’s eyes darted over to him every minute or so to make sure he wasn’t entertaining himself with the buttons on the console instead. “Be careful, kid, or you’re gonna send us flyin’.”

“I am Groot,” he retorted, insulted.

“I’m just sayin’, that’s all,” Yondu replied, holding up his hands defensively. “Alrighty, we’re in, I think. Krag? You there, boy?”

“H – zzt – ah – zzt – yeah – zzt – yeah, I’m here.” The speakers in the cockpit of the Milano screeched to life rather unpleasantly. “Howzit goin’, cap?”

“I keep tellin’ you to stop callin’ me that,” Yondu said, brightening. “You’re the captain now, Krag. Don’t forget it.”

“How could I? Everyone’s always hollerin’ at me about somethin’,” Kraglin grumbled. “It’s hell, Yondu.”

“Welcome to life, boy,” Yondu snorted. “And watch your language, I got twig here with me.”

Kraglin’s voice immediately softened. “Oh, hey, Groot. How’s it goin’, bud?”

“I am Groot,” Groot nodded, clutching onto the edges of the holo-screen as if it would improve his chances of being understood. “I am Groot…I am Groot…I am Groot? I am Groot.”

“Uhh.” Kraglin paused. “What’d he say?”

“You think I know?” Yondu snapped. “I still don’t quite understand him yet. Getting there.”

“But you said Pete and Gamora, they can talk to ‘im now, right? Maybe you just gotta hang out with the kid more."

“How can I? He’s the most popular Guardian, no matter how much Quill pretends it’s him. Always being passed around from person to person, everyone wantin’ a piece of him. Must be exhausting.” Groot let out a whine of protest, reaching to pat Yondu on the face affectionately. Even Yondu could help but feel a little warmer at the sight of his large, dark eyes. It was hard not to.

“An’ how’s everyone else doing? All the, uh, holiday stuff Pete’s got going on?”

“Think the stress has finally passed,” Yondu commented thoughtfully, patting Groot on the back. “We got a Christmas tree inside the ship, ‘cause that’s apparently a thing Terrans do. We got presents, lots o’ sugar and sweets. Think we’ve finally settled with everything Quill insists we need.”

“You sure? He’s always been more of a last-minute kinda guy,” Kraglin chuckled. There was a soft thump that told Yondu he’d just leaned back in his chair, probably propped his boots up on the display like he always did.

“Gotta say, Quill’s been more responsible lately,” Yondu admitted. “Guess he’s learnin’ that being captain don’t mean he can just boss everyone around. But y’know, it’s weird having him tell me what to do.”

“You sayin’ you wanna come back to the Ravagers and take over for me?” Kragin joked, though something in his voice also seemed to imply that he might have been somewhat serious. It was hard to tell with the poor reception.

“Hell, maybe I can retire young. Return to the Eclector and do jack shi – um.” He eyed Groot guiltily, though the little one didn’t even seem to notice, scratching at a particularly itchy spot on his belly. “Nah, I’m okay where I am. This Guardians business, getting my criminal records wiped clean? Fresh start don’t sound like too bad an idea to me.”

“Already done with your thievin’ days, huh? Don’t let the other boys hear ya.”

“They might just kick my a – behind – if they did,” Yondu laughed. “Well, Quill’s looking out for all of us, but someone’s gotta look out for him. I know I ain’t his best friend anymore, but I still know him best.”

“Aw, come on, Yondu, you really gonna think like that?” Kraglin protested. “We ain’t kids no more. You can have more than one best friend. Me? I got two best friends. You and Pete.”

Yondu turned away from the screen for a moment so he could inhale sharply without the microphone picking it up, a lump in his throat beginning to form. These weekly talks with Kraglin were a relatively new thing, something they'd picked up ever since Kraglin first accepted the job as the new Ravager captain. It had started with Kraglin calling the Milano during his first week, desperate for advice on how to deal with the rowdy crowd he’d been left to handle. It had quickly turned into long chats about almost nothing at all, and it made Yondu feel both light on his feet and oddly morose at the same time.

Sure, life on Earth was pretty cushy compared to the life-or-death situations he’d run into as one of the youngest Ravager captains in the history of the galaxy, but there was something really captivating, exhilarating, even, about the simple days of do-or-die. He missed the days of when he, Peter, and Kraglin were growing up together on the Eclector under Stakar’s watchful eye. Peter constantly getting into trouble trying to explore the private areas of the ship, Kraglin trying his best to pretend he wasn’t terrified at the prospect of being caught, while Yondu was probably the one to perpetrate the act of poking around in the first place. Even the mundane things, like doing chores or eating breakfast together, were things he wouldn’t quite be able to do ever again.

“Cap? You there? You gone all silent.”

“I said not to call me that anymore,” Yondu said hoarsely. Groot was snuggling into his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. “Krag?”

“Yeah?”

“You, uh...you really sure you don’t wanna join me here on Terra? It’s got decent food and mighty fine women,” he suggested slowly.

“You know me, Yondu, I don’t got the brains for school,” Kraglin replied. Yondu could almost picture the self-deprecating smile.

“You’re smart, boy, don’t say that,” Yondu protested. “Hell, I thought the same of Quill, look at ‘im now. He’s been getting pretty decent grades, making good choices. That could be you, too.”

“I ‘ppreciate it, Yondu, but I’m good where I am.”

“I guess I, uh...I just miss you, is all. Haven’t seen your ugly mug in a while.” Yondu coughed awkwardly. “Say something, Krag, don’t make this weirder than it hasta be.”

“I miss you too.” He sounded choked up. Groot patted the console like he was trying to reach through to physically comfort Kraglin. They had only met a handful of times, but Kraglin was just as fond of Groot as pretty much everyone else was. “Hey, maybe I’ll convince the guys to drop ‘round Terra sometime and come see ya. Give us a tour of the planet or somethin’.”

“It’s a damn big planet, boy, won’t be easy.” Yondu tried picturing the Ravagers roaming the streets of New York City. Somehow, he couldn’t see that ending well, though the idea of them wandering through Times Square wearing “I Heart NY” ballcaps and chowing down on hot dogs made him laugh.

“We got time.”

“Right.” Yondu sniffled again. “I don’t know if it’s all of Quill’s yammerin’ on about being sentimental this time o’ year, but I’d like to move on past this sappy crap. Did ya finally evict that idiot? What’s-his-face?”

“Oh, Taserface,” Kraglin snickered. “Yeah. Threw a huge fit, but I got everyone on my side. There was this moment where he was tryna explain his name to us, said it was metaphorical…” ______

“Do we hafta go to this shindig?” Rocket complained. “I got a new gun I wanna work on.”

“You always have a new gun you wanna work on,” Gamora snorted as she strolled out of Peter’s bedroom, barefoot, holding a pair of heeled steel-toe boots in one hand and her utility bel in the other. She was wearing a silky black jumpsuit that Mantis had insisted she wear for the occasion, and was now struggling on where to stash her weapons. “Never thought you’d be hesitant about attending a social function that involves alcohol.”

“It ain’t even gonna be that busy,” Rocket replied. “Most everyone’s gone home ‘til school starts again.”

“How ‘bout this?” Peter emerged from his room as well, looking somewhat uncomfortable in a too-tight dress shirt (though Gamora wasn’t complaining) and oxfords that pinched his toes. “We go for an hour, we mingle, dance a little bit, and then come back and go do whatever we want.”

“If we do not go at all, Janet will be quite upset,” Mantis added.

“I would prefer not to face her wrath, so I’m inclined to agree with Quill,” Drax nodded.

“Fine, but if it ain’t open bar, you’re paying for all my drinks,” Rocket said, jabbing a claw in Peter’s general direction. He shrugged in defeat before turning towards Gamora.

“Do I look okay?” he asked as the others began dispersing to grab their coats. “This is definitely too tight. But I don’t have anything else for some reason.” She smiled teasingly, stepping closer to rest her hands on his shoulders.

“Doesn’t make for a bad view,” she drawled. “And I think I’ll just take the one blade tonight.” She held up the multi-tool he’d gifted her for their fake one-month anniversary, twirling it deftly between her long fingers. “I’m not expecting anything dangerous to happen, after all. I suppose the most exciting thing that could possibly happen is if you get drunk and puke on someone’s feet. Again.”

“I’m not planning on drinking tonight, actually,” Peter said as they both sat on the couch, pulling their shoes on. “I was hoping to hang out with you after we get back. Y’know, if you want.”

“Oh?” Gamora eyed him suspiciously. “What did you have in mind?”

“A movie?” he suggested. “If it’s just you and me, maybe A Christmas Story, but if Groot wants in, definitely A Charlie Brown Christmas. He’d love it.”

“Why don’t we have Groot join us then? It’s been a while,” she said. Then she leaned in, whispering, “We can always kick him out of our bed later.”

“Our bed, huh? I like where your mind’s at,” he grinned as they got to their feet. “Everyone ready?”

The Christmas Eve party was being held in the Avengers Dorm common area, hosted by the effervescent Janet van Dyne as always. It was a reasonably large room that had been cleared of most of its furniture in favor of a DJ booth (with Vision at the helm) and a buffet table with drinks and snacks. There was, of course, an incredibly tall Christmas tree set up next to the fireplace, glittering with red and gold decorations, garland and string lights dangling from every wall and ceiling beam, and of course, mistletoe in every doorway, making every student a little twitchy.

I don’t want a lot for Christmas…there is just one thing I need…

“Of course this is the song playing right now,” Peter chuckled as they entered the room, shaking his head. “I think this just plays on loop in Janet’s head all December.”

As if she’d heard him, Janet popped up seemingly out of nowhere, decked out in a poofy red-and-green dress, complete with Santa hat and, for some reason, a red feather boa. She was nothing if not over-the-top festive. “Hey!” she squealed. “Guardians, I’m so glad you came! It wouldn’t be a party without you.”

“Yes, where’s the alcohol? I’d like to forget that I was ever here,” Nebula interjected impatiently. Gamora pinched her in retaliation.

“I’ve got Steve on alcohol bodyguard duty,” Janet replied, gesturing towards the kitchenette. Captain America was indeed standing in front of the comically small fridge, arms folded sternly as if he were protecting some sacred item of worship (though on a college campus, free alcohol was probably the next best thing). “We’ve got a lot of younglings this year, can’t take our chances. That includes you, Groot!” Groot hopped from Rocket’s shoulder to Janet’s outstretched hands, letting out a happy squeal at the sight of his friend. “I’m trying to get pictures of everybody by the tree – for next year’s yearbook, you know? – and I’m also hoping for some shots under the mistletoe. Peter, Gamora, if you would be so kind – ”

“Janet,” Gamora groaned. “You already have a good dozen photos of us, is another really necessary?”

“Another one’s not gonna kill us,” Peter whispered softly in her ear. “Remember, the real number one rule of this school – don’t piss off Janet.”

“Fine, but you better get me a spare key to the gym before school starts, I’m increasing my training time now that I’m also teaching,” Gamora said to Janet, twisting her mouth in displeasure.

“You got it!” Janet said cheerfully, tugging her by the arm towards the closest tuft of mistletoe, and subsequently dragging Peter along with them.

The rest of the Guardians exchanged dubious looks before shrugging and dispersing. With her sister gone, Nebula stalked over to the fridge, giving Cap her best stink eye. “Move.”

“You could ask nicely,” Steve suggested. “And pullin’ out a knife won’t work on me. Been there, dealt with that.”

“Listen, you star-spangled di – ”

“Nebula!” She jumped at the sound of her own name, whipping around to see Mantis standing behind her. “All you have to do is say ‘please’. You always complicate things for yourself.” Mantis stepped a little closer, smiling warmly at Steve. “Drax and Rocket have requested I get a couple beers for them, if you would please.”

“Sure.” He handed them off to her, giving Nebula a pointed look as he did so. For all his clean-cut looks, he certainly was braver than the majority of the campus population. Most people tried their best to avoid any sort of eye contact. “Nebula?”

Nebula glared at him. “I’ll have a beer as well. Please.” Mantis nodded her approval, smiling encouragingly as he passed her another cold can. “Well, this has been pointless.” With that, she turned around and stomped off as angrily as she had arrived. Steve, who had seen just about everything, only raised an eyebrow in response.

“She is a work-in-progress,” Mantis whispered conspiratorially. “Pay no mind.”

He simply chuckled in return. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. But keep up the good work, Mantis. She’ll come around someday.” As if she’d overheard, there was a loud commotion not too far away. Their heads turned to find Nebula glaring at Daisy Johnson, who was shaking quite literally. “Um, maybe you should intervene before Quake causes a, well…quake.”

Before Mantis could move, however, Gamora peeled herself away from Peter, having also overheard Nebula’s snarls. “Well, that can’t be good,” she muttered to him before practically sprinting across the room. “Hey, Nebula! Nebula!”

“What?” she snapped, rounding on her sister instantly. Daisy took the opportunity to slink off, eyeing her surroundings carefully as she ducked back into the crowd. “What do you want?”

Gamora blanched a little. “You were fine before we left, did something happen?”

“Do I really need a reason to be angry?” Nebula cracked open her beer can and took a generous gulp. It vaguely reminded Gamora of when Valkyrie was in a bad mood. Or a good mood, really.

“Yes, actually. Because you can’t just go around acting like you don’t care when clearly, something is wrong,” Gamora hissed. “You can’t fool me, Neb, and you can’t avoid me either. So you might as well confess.”

“I have nothing to confess, Gamora. You’re starting to inherit Quill’s ability to invent drama when there is none.” Another sip.

It was interrupted by Gamora promptly grabbing her by the arm and yanking her into a secluded corner, shooing away the couple that had been making out there previously. They looked ready to argue until they realized who they were confronted with, and quickly ran off without a sound. “I’m not inventing drama, I’m reading the signs. You need to stop acting like I’m the enemy, because I’m not.” She paused, thinking back on the period of their lives in which they had been nothing but enemies to each other. She shuddered at the idea of it ever happening again. “Not anymore. I’m on your side, Nebula, I always am. So if something’s bothering you, just come out and say it.”

Nebula folded her arms across her chest, sloshing her beer around a little as she did, letting out a long exhale of utter defeat. “What is it with everyone wanting to discuss my feelings lately? Does it matter?”

“Yes, because what you want and feels matters to me, and it should matter to you as well,” Gamora said pleadingly, clasping her hands over Nebula’s tightly folded ones. “Are you not tired of being mad all the time? Or wishing that the things that happened never did? I have…cried, some nights, thinking about what we’ve gone through, but I don’t want to anymore. I’m tired of being tired. And I want to be at peace with myself, with what I’ve done. It’s the only way I can carry on with my life. And I want that for you, too.”

Nebula sighed again, though she gave her the tiniest of smirks. “Relax, sister. My feelings don’t run that deep. At least, not this time around. I just…I find it interesting. How similar you and I are. But this school values you so much more than it does me. Our classmates are all convinced of your greatness as a warrior and as a friend, yet refuse to make eye contact with me when I walk by. Like there’s some great allure to your existence, while I repel people.”

“You have to admit, Nebula, you aren’t the friendliest of people,” Gamora said, relaxing. Maybe she was finally going to get somewhere with her. “And I don’t blame you. We have every right to be wary of who and what to trust. But we’ve been here long enough – maybe it’s time to decide who you think is worth your attention.”

“The only person whose opinion I value is…well.” Nebula awkwardly waved a hand in Gamora’s general direction, causing her eyes to widen in surprise. Even the implied admittance was something that truly seemed like a holiday miracle. “I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. Terrans don’t seem all that inclined to understanding the nuance of our personal histories. There are probably some who still fear us.”

“And we should pay no matter to them,” Gamora said, reaching to grab Nebula’s free hand and squeezing tightly. “Come on, let’s go socialize for just a moment. Standing around in the corner like this won’t bode well for our reputations. Maybe you can talk to Valkyrie? If there’s one thing she likes talking about incessantly, it’s a good fight. I bet you'd like to hear about her time on Sakaar.”

And just like that, the designated hour flew by without notice, at least, until Peter approached the group of women he knew to never cross unless he wanted to die an early death (among them being Valkyrie, Elektra, Carol, and of course, Janet), gently tapping Gamora on the shoulder. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“I certainly am,” Nebula said, her voice as droll and monotonous as ever, though it lacked the usual hostility that came with it. Peter swore he could also see the beginnings of a genuine smile. Either that, or she was more inebriated than she’d like to admit.

“Wait!” Janet exclaimed. “One moment, before you leave.” Gamora and Nebula exchanged dubious looks before the other girl returned, hefting quite the number of boxes that dwarfed her relatively small frame. “If you don’t want me to buy you presents next year I’ll totally respect that, but since it’s your first winter holiday on Earth, I just had to get you all a little something.”

“Uh. Little?” Peter held out his arms so Janet could unload them, his knees buckling slightly under the sheer weight of the packages. He could never understand how such a tiny girl could be so strong, with or without her Pym particles. “Thanks, Janet, this is really awesome of you,” he said, breath coming in short. He was certainly going to have a backache by the time they returned to the ship. With a patented eye roll, Gamora grabbed a few off the top of the pile and strolled off towards the exit. “Thanks, Gamora!” he called after her retreating back. Nebula merely snorted and disappeared to go find the others.

“Happy Christmas Eve, Peter,” Janet said cheerfully. “I hope you and the Guardians had a good time tonight. Between you and me, even Nebula seems to be in the holiday spirit.”

“It’s weird, right?” Peter chuckled. “But hey, I ain’t complaining. Nothing’s better than a happy team, especially when said team members could totally decapitate me or something, I mean, you should see their weapon cache, it’s crazy – ”

“I’ll see you around, Star-Lord,” Janet laughed, interrupting him mid-ramble to pat him on the shoulder and vanish into the crowd.

Once the Guardians had returned to the Milano and went their separate ways, Peter and Gamora curled up in Peter’s bunk, Groot sprawled out across Peter’s belly, as A Charlie Brown Christmas played from the projector on his holo-tab. “So I’ve been told Nebula’s doing better with people. Marginally.”

“We had a discussion of sorts,” Gamora said with a shrug. “But then again, we seem to be having said discussion every day. If anything, she’s probably giving in just so I stop bothering her about it. It’s progress, I suppose.”

“As long as you never give up on her,” he said, rubbing her shoulders reassuringly. “But I know you won’t. You always get the job done no matter what. She’ll come around eventually.”

She smiled up at him. “I’m always astounded by the amount of faith you have in me,” she murmured softly. “I don’t think I could trust myself that much.”

“I wish you would. And you’ve never given me reason to think otherwise.” He leaned downwards to kiss her briefly. Groot let out a tiny cooing noise at the sight from his vantage point against Peter’s chest. “But also, I’ll be the first to admit I’m totally biased.”

“As long as it’s not blind faith, I’ll gladly accept it.” She grinned before settling back down against his side, turning back towards the screen. “So why was it called Peanuts, exactly?” ______

“PETER! IT IS SNOWING AGAIN! YOU SHOULD COME SEE!”

Groaning, Peter slowly lifted his head up from the pillow, blinking blearily into the darkness of his room. “Whattimeisit?”

“Early.” Gamora’s face was still half-smushed into the other pillow, her hair splayed out across the sheets and tickling his nose. Hell, if she was still sleeping, then it was most definitely too early. They often joked that her morning alarm was an attempt to beat the sunrise. “Want me to take care of it?”

“Well, it is Christmas.” He smiled sleepily at her.

Sighing, Gamora rolled over to face the general direction of the bedroom door and hollered, “GO BACK TO BED, MANTIS! IT’S TOO EARLY FOR THIS!” She turned back to snuggle into Peter’s side, draping an arm across his front. “Done.”

“GAMORA, WHAT YOU YELLIN’ FOR?”

“YEAH, WE’RE TRYNA SLEEP HERE!”

“I DO NOT APPRECIATE BEING UP THIS EARLY WHEN WE HAVE NO CLASSES OR MISSIONS TO ATTEND TO - ”

“Shit.” Peter let out a delirious laugh into the pillow as he pulled her closer. “We’re never getting back to sleep at this point.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gamora mumbled, drifting off once again.

Eventually, at a more acceptable time of morning (when it could correctly be referred to as morning, and not, as Yondu so delicately put it, “the ass-crack of dawn”), the two of them made their way into the common area, pleased to be greeted with the welcome smell of fried eggs and fresh coffee, handled by Drax and Mantis respectively. Yondu was sprawled across the entire length of the couch, twirling his arrow between his fingers, while Nebula was sitting on the floor with her back against the side of the armchair, staring off into nothing. Rocket and Groot were at the dining table, looking over the schematics of the gun Rocket had been working on last night.

“Morning,” Mantis chirped happily as if she hadn’t interrupted everyone’s sleep not four hours ago. “Coffee? Eggs? Bacon? Hashbrowns?”

“The correct answer is ‘all of the above’,” Peter replied, grabbing a plate. “Also, seriously, what was up with you this morning?”

“Sorry,” Mantis said sheepishly as she began carefully pouring out two steaming mugs of coffee. “It just looked so pretty with the sunrise coming in, I thought we might want to do those activities you spoke of before. Snow angels and snowmen, correct?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sipped contemplatively after passing Gamora her cup. “All the snow we've been getting has been nothin' but hard ice. Maybe with today’s fresh snow, it’d finally be soft enough for us to do that stuff.” He turned to address the rest of the room. “Hey, guys, how do you feel about delaying opening our presents a little longer and heading outside instead?”

“Wasn’t looking to freeze my butt off,” Yondu said, frowning. “What you on about, Quill?”

“Well, you guys know that I wanted to go all out on Christmas traditions this year,” Peter said thoughtfully. “So maybe after breakfast, we could go play in the snow. Might be our only chance before it freezes over.”

“I am Groot?”

“Yes, and then presents, I promise,” Peter nodded, settling down at the dining table with his food. “Aw, Rocket, you’re really working on a holiday?”

“Holidays don’t mean squat to me,” Rocket shrugged. “I like workin’ on this stuff, you know that. Besides, once all this snow goes away and we can finally go on jobs and make money again, the baddies won’t know what hit ‘em. Here, take a look.”

“Save it for tomorrow, Rocket, and have some breakfast.” Gamora set a full plate down in front of Rocket with a little more vigor than necessary. “We’ll look at it, I promise. But let’s just take the day for us. We all deserve it.”

“Since when’re you the biggest cheerleader of ‘em all? You hate having no plans,” Rocket said, eyeing her suspiciously, though he did accept the fork she gave him, digging into his food happily, letting out a noise of satisfaction as he did. Drax was surprisingly adept at cooking Terran cuisine, while Peter had only just recently learned how to stop burning his grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Ever since Quill infected her.” Nebula slinked over to the kitchen, smirking. Mantis’s eyes widened a little, her cheeks burning, before she wordlessly handed her a plate. “Still, I suppose it could be worse. This campus is crawling with narcissistic optimists, so Quill is relatively mild in comparison.”

“I’ll take it,” Peter said through a mouthful of hashbrowns.

“Excuse me for wanting to believe in something for once,” Gamora said dryly. “The idea of going out in the snow sounds enjoyable enough. I thought you’d be happy I’m not insisting on doing drills or fight training today.”

“Oh, trust me, I ain’t complaining, just curious,” Rocket said, grinning at her so genuinely that she was taken aback. She finally sat down as well, on Peter’s right, smiling fondly when he reached under the table to squeeze her leg in greeting. Rocket’s face twisted once more in response. “Aw, come on, can’t you go five seconds without playing footsie?”

“I’m just saying hi,” Peter protested.

“Yeah, sure, then ‘hi’ turns into kissin’, and nobody wants to see that,” he grumbled, stabbing at his eggs. Mantis’s eyebrows shot up in concern, her antennae attuned to the downturn in everyone's mood. She smoothly slid into the seat next to Rocket, giving him a warning glance.

“Peter, Rocket and I were having a chat last night after we came back, about some of the devices he has been working on?” she said as casually as she could, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervous thump of her heartbeat as she began to lie through her teeth. “He said some of the parts he needs are likely on Halfworld. Perhaps we should prioritize a supply run once the snow has melted.”

“You sure you wanna go back to Halfworld, dude? Didn’t sound so fun when you described it to us,” Peter said curiously.

“Yeah, man, it’s no big deal. I just need a crap ton of things that I’m almost a hundred percent sure are on Halfworld. It’ll be like, three days max.” Rocket shot Mantis a grateful look when Peter turned back to his food.

“Then sure, I’ll add it to the itinerary. But hey, no more shop talk, okay? Like Gamora said, the day’s for us and nothin’ else.”

“You got it, Quill,” Yondu called from the couch. He was attempting to eat lying down, the plate balanced delicately on his stomach. “That’s practically my life’s motto.”

After breakfast was over, the Guardians bundled up as best they could, including Groot, who had received a custom-made coat and wool hat from Janet about a month ago, making him somewhat resemble a jumbo-sized marshmallow. They carefully made their way off the ship, wincing a little at the amount of snow that had already settled over the Milano and was sure to freeze over later. Still, they soldiered on down the loading bay and out onto the open field nearby, the satisfying crunch of their boots filling up the silence of the relatively empty campus.

Giddy, Mantis immediately began twirling about, sticking out her tongue to catch the flakes as they fell. Peter jogged over to join her, grabbing her hands and spinning her around in an improvised swing dance. “It’s so pretty,” Mantis giggled as they came to a stop. “I did not know it could be so soft!”

“All the snow we’ve been getting so far has been pretty unforgiving until now.” Peter bent to begin clearing out a small area for them to work in. “So, let’s do it, guys! Snowmen! Er, snowpeople. And snow raccoons. And…snow…trees.”

“And how do we make these ‘snowpeople’ you speak of?” Drax asked.

“You just use the snow, dude! You can make it as fancy as you want, or you can just roll up a bunch of huge snowballs, stack ‘em, add a couple sticks for arms, and call it a day,” Peter shrugged. “Watch.”

The others stepped back as Peter rolled out an enormously dense ball of snow, humming along with the music quietly streaming out of his headphones. He pushed it perfectly into place over the area he had cleared and proceeded to stack two more on top. Peter sang under his breath as he used a small branch to carve out the details, starting with the seams of his favorite jacket and pair of jeans. Already, its resemblance was obvious, even without a face.

“Interesting,” Gamora commented, cocking her head sideways to better observe Peter’s handiwork. “Alright, I’m in. Guardians?”

“Sure, as long as Quill shares his music. All the crunchin’ noises the snow's making is gonna give me a headache,” Rocket complained.

“Gladly,” Peter grinned, setting the Walkman down on the nearby bench and cranking up the volume.

Imagine me and you, I do...I think about you day and night, it's only right….to think about the girl you love and hold her tight...so happy together…

For the next hour, the Guardians proceeded to make snowpeople of their own, occasionally running off in search of things like pebbles and branches to complete their work. Even Groot got in on the action, setting up a tiny snow-Groot of his own next to Rocket’s creation, which ended up being the same height as him. “I am Groot?” he asked Rocket.

“No, no, don’t grow out your fingers and break ‘em off for arms, that’s a terrible idea," Rocket scolded. “Just grab some twigs from that tree over there like the rest of us."

If I should call you up, invest a dime...and you say you belong to me and ease my mind...imagine how the world could be, so very fine...so happy together…

“Mantis, you seem to have quite the artistic touch,” Drax said, not even bothering to hide his surprise as he observed Mantis carving out a near-perfect recreation of her own facial features. “It looks almost exactly like you.”

“Disgusting?” she teased, flicking some snow in his direction. Drax frowned, scooping up a little bit of snow himself and flinging it at her in return. Squealing, Mantis ducked behind her snowperson before pelting another snowball back. “Drax!”

Before the others could blink, Mantis and Drax had suddenly found themselves in an all-out snowball fight, sprinting around the snowpeople and nearly tripping over themselves in an attempt to run and scoop up snow from beneath their feet at the same time. Rocket immediately ducked to grab Groot before he could get trampled on, while Nebula rolled her eyes and continued on with perfecting the frown on her snowperson’s face with pebbles. She was never going to admit how long she had spent searching for the best ones.

“Wait, guys - ” Peter proceeded to join in, laughing wildly as Mantis tackled him to the ground a mere thirty seconds later. “G’mora - Yondu - Rocket - guys, join us - ”

“Ple-e-e-ease,” Mantis begged, getting up off of Peter and tugging on Gamora’s sleeve. Sighing, Gamora gave in, scooping up a snowball of her own and smushing it right onto Peter’s face. “Yay!”

“Mercy, mercy,” Peter spluttered through a faceful of ice. He could already feel his eyelashes freezing over. “Can we partner up instead of having a free-for-all so we don’t end up killing each other? Gamora, you wanna be on my team?”

“Always,” Gamora smirked, holding out a hand so she could hoist Peter to his feet. With that, everyone proceeded to break off into pairs - Drax and Mantis, Yondu and Nebula, who somehow agreed to work together by process of elimination, and even Groot got in on the fun once Rocket told him he was in charge of making snowballs (“And nothin’ else, I don’t need you getting hit in the face today!”).

Peter and Gamora took off first, ducking behind a particularly large oak tree, while the others spread out across the field. “So, what’s our plan of attack?” Peter said breathlessly, peering out from around its stump. Nebula was currently hanging off of Drax’s back, her arms wrapped around his neck as Drax spun around in an attempt to shake her off like a dog, while Yondu was pelting him repeatedly in the chest. Groot was running for cover behind his little snow-Groot.

“Depends on whether we want to ambush everyone at once, or pick them off team by team,” Gamora replied, beginning to vigorously pack a stack of snowballs. “I’m faster, but you have better aim.”

“If we take ‘em out one-by-one, that’ll give the others time to find our hiding spot. You throw, I’ll make,” Peter decided, grinning stupidly. He had never felt like such a little kid all over again until now, overeager and easily excitable. Being surrounded by the people he loved most in the galaxy only made it more exhilarating.

He quickly began scooping and shaping, while Gamora watched the chaos developing further out on in the open, seemingly unaware that she and Peter had disappeared. There was something comforting, almost, watching the Guardians attack each other with harmless snowballs instead of cutting each other with words, something they did far too often. She was guilty of it herself, verbally picking and scratching at everyone else’s problems and insecurities as a way to ensure their compliance (or occasionally, silence). But now, all she saw was her friends whooping and laughing enthusiastically as snow and ice flew about everywhere. Even Nebula seemed to be enjoying herself, though she wasn’t quite as vocal as the others, smirking as she rained absolute hell on Rocket, who didn’t seem to mind for once, returning fire with a giant grin on his face.

“Ready,” Peter said triumphantly, presenting her with what had to be at least fifty little spheres of neatly packed ice. Gamora folded herself into sniper’s position, lying on her belly while propped up on her elbows. She eyed the others speculatively, before picking up the first snowball and flinging it with all her might.

“Ow!” Drax roared, whipping about, trying to figure out who had just hit him square in the eye. He had no time to go looking, however, as the next snowball had landed in his mouth. Yondu barely had five seconds to burst into laughter before three snowballs landed neatly on his fin, causing him to yelp like a small child in surprise.

Within thirty seconds, Gamora managed to obliterate the others, now all collapsed on the ground in a panting heap. Even Groot looked tired, and he hadn’t even been involved in the fight. Smirking, Gamora turned back over to lean onto the tree trunk to look at a slack-jawed Peter. “How did I do?”

“Freaking amazing, that’s how,” Peter said, crawling towards her and wrapping his arms tight around her midsection. “We make an awesome team, don’t we?”

“Always,” Gamora repeated, allowing him to pull her back down into the snow as he kissed her enthusiastically, yelping a little when the sides of their faces ended up hitting the snow. Peter’s already-rosy cheeks were getting increasingly pink, the tip of his nose reddening as well. Gamora began rubbing his face with her gloved hands to warm him up, chuckling softly as he began nuzzling into her neck like a cat. “You’re such a child, Peter Quill. But I can’t say I mind all that much.”

“Because you love me,” he sing-songed, tilting his head up to meet her eyes. They were glittering with pure, unadulterated joy.

“Somehow, yes, you ridiculous child.” She leaned in, kissing him again. “Are you done demanding that I vocalize my affection now, or do you need more praise before I get to properly warm you up?” In lieu of a response, Peter pulled her in even closer, deepening the kiss.

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you...for all my life…when you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue...for all my life…

“Aw, gross. Shoulda known it was you that got us all,” Yondu chortled. Reluctantly, Peter and Gamora turned to look up at their friends who had surrounded them in a circle, slightly disgruntled, flushed, and covered in slush, but mostly glowing with happiness. “Well, if we can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“What’s that s’posed to - ah!” Peter yelped as the others proceeded to throw themselves down on top of him and Gamora, resulting in Nebula’s sharp elbow in his gut and Drax’s knee landing on his crotch. Groot let out a happy cheer as he nested himself in Gamora’s scarf, cooing happily, while Mantis was sprawled out at the top of the pile, her giggling becoming increasingly delirious. “Dra-a-ax, you’re heavy as hell.”

“Mantis suggested group hugs would contribute to team morale. Do not single me out for my enormous muscle mass. I will not be shamed for my body, which is in impeccable condition,” Drax frowned.

“I just like hugs,” Mantis hummed happily, kicking her feet in the air.

“I am Groot,” Groot agreed.

“Fine, but we’re only staying here for two minutes, or else we’re going to freeze up and die. Then we’ll all be snowpeople,” Gamora said sternly, though she softened a little when Peter moved to kiss her again. His lips were ice cold, but she felt no need to stop him, as unappealing as it seemed.

Rocket made another gagging noise before turning back towards the field. “Uh, guys...about the snowpeople…”

Everyone turned their heads in the direction Rocket was looking, only to realize that their creations had been the real casualty of their battle. They were covered in boot marks and imprints of the bodies that had fallen on them, utterly crushed to bits, splintered pieces of “arms” and scattered pebbles lying at their bases as if to signify the fallen soldier of their respective owners.

“Oh well,” Peter shrugged. “There’s always next time.”

So happy together...how is the weather...so happy together...we're happy together…

Once everyone had retreated back to the safety and (relative) warmth of the Milano, Gamora and Mantis began grabbing towels and extra blankets from the supply closet, with Gamora insisting everyone dry off and change before finally getting around to opening presents. Drax began making hot chocolate on the stove, while Peter pulled up the holo-screen and started playing Frosty the Snowman to keep Groot occupied while they waited.

“Peter? Why are there so many presents under here?” Gamora began poking around at the pile of boxes underneath the tree. She wasn’t sure when they had amassed to such an amount, but it had become something of a small mountain. “I know those are Janet’s back here…some from Stark…these are the ones for me from Natasha and Elektra and Val…but what’s all this?”

Peter turned away from the screen to join her by the tree, smiling at the sight of the hand-written ornaments they’d worked on not too long ago. His favorite was the one where Mantis had written “MY NEW FAMILY” in large, looping letters, surrounded by little hearts. “My current theory? Everyone kinda ignored Secret Santa and just got everyone else presents, too. I mean, that’s what I did.”

“As did I,” Gamora confessed. She couldn’t help it – shopping for her Secret Santa had only led to her seeing at least half a dozen things she wanted to buy for everyone else. “But doesn’t that ruin the intention of giving gifts to only one person?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug. “Tradition’s tradition, but doesn’t mean we gotta stick to it, word-for-word. And hey, more presents for everyone. Can’t complain about that.”

“No, I suppose not,” Gamora replied, smiling. She turned to address the rest of the room. “Is everyone ready? Drax?”

He briskly strolled into the living room with a tray of steaming mugs of hot chocolate, wearing the gag apron Peter had gotten him for his birthday (it proclaimed in bright red letters across the chest: “kiss the chef”). “Yes, let us proceed,” Drax said proudly as he began distributing marshmallows into the drinks. Peter made a grab for the “World’s Best Dad” cup and passed Gamora the one that said “I Hate Mugs with Funny Slogans” (she really, really did). “Who will go first?”

“I think Peter should. After all, he is the one who encouraged all of these festivities,” Mantis suggested.

“I can get on board with that,” Gamora said as she settled onto the couch. “Besides, he’ll go crazy in anticipation otherwise. So, who was responsible for his gift?”

“Me,” Rocket said, raising a paw. “It don’t look like much until I explain it to you.” He passed Peter one of the tiniest boxes, a small rectangle the size of a paperback, wrapped in butcher’s paper and tied off with what was clearly some spare string he had lying around.

Peter ripped it open, curious about what Rocket meant, and opened the unassuming box inside. There, nestled in old newspaper, was an electronic device of some sort, vaguely resembling a remote. “Okay, I give. I can’t tell what it is. What’s it do?”

“I rewired a good chunk of the ship, including your precious tape deck,” Rocket explained, grinning so widely he was baring his canines. “That right there is a universal remote for the Milano. You wanna turn off the lights without walking around the whole ship? Pull down the holo-screen without getting up from the couch? Change the song playing on the tape? It’ll do it all. Genius, right?”

“Quill with remote access to the entire ship? Hoo boy,” Yondu winced.

“Rocket, I…thanks, dude!” Peter exclaimed, moving across the floor to pull Rocket into a giant hug. “This is awesome, man.” Rocket’s ears flattened at the sudden physical contact, before wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck as well, patting him awkwardly on the back. “I’m gonna use the crap outta this, trust me.”

“I’m already anticipating disaster. I’ll be sure to confiscate it if it becomes chaos,” Gamora muttered to Drax, who nodded sagely in agreement.

“I guess Rocket should be next then,” Peter said, sitting back down. “Who got Rocket’s present?”

“That would be me,” Gamora said. “Though I didn’t put it under the tree since it looks somewhat underwhelming. I promise it’s valuable, though.” She grabbed a small manila envelope from under the armchair and presented it to Rocket. “Go on, open it.”

Rocket eyed it doubtfully before breaking the seal on the envelope. Five small slips of paper fell into his lap, plain white paper with no special markings of any kind. The only thing on them, in Gamora’s neat handwriting, was the following:

GET-OUT-OF-MEETING-FREE CARD - ADMIT ONE

(Note: This does not apply to meetings pertaining to galaxy-wide emergencies. You don’t get to opt out of Thanos-level disasters, Rocket.)

“Considering you complain the loudest about my efforts to get everyone involved more than the others, I figured it would be a blessing for you to walk away without my interference,” Gamora added with a small chuckle. “I promise to say nothing more than ‘you’re dismissed’.”

“Gotta say, I was kinda skeptical at first, but I love it,” Rocket said happily, holding them up in triumph. “Thanks, Gam. You ain’t gonna see me at the next five monthly budget review meetings, that’s for sure.”

“I figured,” she laughed. “Just sign off on the ammo you need us to get and you’re in the clear.”

“I was responsible for your present, Gamora!” Mantis said excitedly, grabbing a lime green box with a matching ribbon bow on top. “I am hoping it will be of use to you.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Gamora said reassuringly. Unlike Peter and Rocket, she took care in peeling back the tape and untying the ribbon, neatly unfolding the wrappings to the point where Rocket was beginning to grow impatient again. “Oh, wow.”

Inside the box was what at first appeared to be just a small cube of soft black leather, no bigger than Gamora’s fist. However, once she picked it up, she realized it was tucked into itself at the corners. She began unfolding it, picking at the small strings and loops that held it together. When it was completely untangled from its own self, it was then that she recognized what it was – a brand new utility belt, complete with tiny pockets and a holster for her sword. Stitched on the inside of the front waistband was Gamora’s name in green thread that was a near-perfect match for her skin.

“What do you think?” Mantis asked nervously. “Since you are teaching fight classes in the new semester, I thought you might need a less bulky belt that would still allow you to store everything you would need, and something softer that would not weigh you down. Also, I hand-made it myself. I have been getting Janet to teach me how to sew for the past month.”

“Mantis, this is amazing,” Gamora said in a near-whisper, holding it up as if it were something precious – and to her, it was. “How did you figure out the loop-and-tie mechanism? It seems both intricate and effective.”

Mantis beamed, pleased. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “But I’m so glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it,” Gamora declared. “Thank you Mantis, it’s perfect.” She wrapped her arms around the younger girl, smiling when she felt Mantis let out a sigh of relief against her shoulder.

“And this is for you, bug-girl,” Yondu said with an unusual amount of fondness, handing her what appeared to be an old shoebox. Confused, Mantis accepted it, taking the lid off and setting it aside before gasping at the sight of its contents. “I sure hope that’s a good noise ya just made there.”

The shoebox contained stacks upon stacks of pictures, postcards, news clippings, and the like, from planets and star systems across the galaxy, places Mantis had only dreamed of seeing when she was a child. It was no secret that one of the biggest reasons she had joined the Guardians was to finally experience life outside of Ego’s planet, to meet new people, see new places, experience everything she had never gotten a chance to before. Of course, there were many planets they knew she would be unlikely to see, places where the Guardians would never be welcomed, but this was a good start.

“A little piece of most of the places us Ravagers have been. I even called up a few favors from the other factions, see what kinda trinkets they been collecting themselves,” Yondu smiled. “I know you got a lot of spirit in you, girl, you wanna see the world because you don’t know how crazy it can be quite as much as we do. But maybe this’ll give you an idea of what’s out there, the kinda fun you might get to have one day. Just ask Quill to take you there, he’s been to a bunch o’ those places. Have a good time.” Mantis sniffled as she began flipping through the documents, sighing happily at each new image. “Oh, no, you ain’t about to cry, are ya?”

“No,” she whimpered. Another strong inhale, this time rattling from her chest. “I still have some flu symptoms left.” Her bottom lip began to wobble. “But also, this is very kind of you. Thank you, Yondu!” Unable to contain her happiness no longer, she flung herself into Yondu’s arms, squeezing him so tightly he let out a rather undignified squeaking noise, unlike anything he’d ever made before.

“You got an iron grip, bug-girl, leggo,” he wheezed. She peeled away, giggling softly in apology before setting the box aside. “Alright, who was the unlucky fool who got stuck with me?”

“My present does not have a physical form,” Drax said, bowing his head. “So you will have to take my word for it, Yondu. But I noticed you have been quite glum lately, and were missing the company of your Ravagers. Groot told me after your last call to Kraglin that you were hoping to see them again soon. So, I made another call to Kraglin, and arranged for the Eclector to make a stop by Earth next week. I also got Director Fury’s permission. He will clear out space in the loading bay for them to land an M-ship and join us, along with excusing you from all your classes so you can take them around and show them your new home.”

Yondu blinked, at a loss for words. “R – really?” he stammered. Peter grinned – he’d never seen Yondu so flabbergasted before. “Boy, that’s…that’s mighty kind of you. You ain’t joking?”

“I would never joke about something so important to you,” Drax frowned. “I am not a cruel person.”

“No, you definitely ain’t,” Yondu agreed, clapping Drax on the back. “Thanks, Drax. Hey, maybe you could join us! I been telling the Ravagers a bunch of stories about good ol’ Drax the Destroyer. They’d be interested in meetin’ you.”

“I would be honored,” Drax replied, pleased, patting Yondu on the shoulder in return. He winced a little at the force of the impact.

“Is it finally my turn?” Nebula groaned. “I have been waiting for so long.”

“Nebula,” Gamora warned.

Ignoring her, Nebula pulled out a hastily-wrapped box from under the tree and shoved it into Drax’s arms. Without a word, she turned away from him, apparently in no rush to explain her present the way everyone else had done so far. Somewhat confused, he shrugged and tore open the packaging to find a set of wooden carvings that were hollowed out inside, complete with a sort of intricate scroll-like design around its opening. He turned them over, perplexed, and startling at the sight of a name engraved on the underside – Hovat. “What…what is this?”

Rolling her eyes, Nebula stalked over to him, yanked out one of his blades from his boot, grabbed one of the wooden pieces, and slid it perfectly onto its hilt. “Sturdier handles, you idiot. Hearing you complain about knuckle cramps day in, day out, because you don’t realize your knife handles aren’t perfectly balanced, is painfully annoying. I needed to put an end to it.”

“And Hovat’s name?”

“The engraving came free if you buy a set of two or more,” Nebula snapped. Peter was trying his hardest not to laugh – this was possibly the most aggressive act of gift-giving he had ever witnessed. “So? Do you like it or not?”

“It was very thoughtful of you, Nebula, thank you,” Drax said gently, a tearful smile beginning to form on his face. “I do like the idea of keeping my Hovat close by.” There was an awkward pause in which he considered whether to hug her or not, but then rightfully decided to avoid potentially losing his fingers in the process.

“Last but not least – drum roll, if you please – ” Mantis began enthusiastically drumming her hands on her legs “ – for you, Nebula.” Peter pulled out a key from his back pocket with a flourish and held it out to her.

“What the hell is this?” She snatched it up immediately, holding it to the light, expecting it to reveal further secrets.

“I know that all of us, me and Gamora especially, always bother you about being part of a team, part of a family, that kinda stuff. And you like being alone, which is totally fine. But the problem for you right now is, we know all your hiding spots, and we’re kinda guilty of tracking you down all the time. So, if you need somewhere to go where none of us can interfere, that key opens to the rooftop of the main library building. It’s in the middle of the campus so you can do all your weird people-watching, literally no one else has that key – not even Fury or any of the janitors – and I got it cleaned out. There was like, bird crap and tons of leaves up there. Anyways, that spot? It’s yours, and yours alone.”

“And you discussed this with her beforehand?” Nebula eyed Gamora suspiciously.

“No, actually, he didn’t. But I think it’s a good idea,” Gamora said softly. “We mean well, Nebula, but I know you like your solitude. I know I sometimes need a break from everyone, too. If it helps you deal with whatever’s going on in your head, take that key and put it to good use. But know that you can talk to us as well.”

Nebula swallowed. “Right. Uh, thanks, I guess.” She gave Peter the briefest of smiles, one that made him question if he had just briefly hallucinated. “I think I’ll be using this to get out of budget meetings as well.”

“I am Groot?” Groot looked up imploringly at the rest of the group, wondering what his present was going to be. Since Groot was the only one who couldn’t make money or really go shopping in the first place, he had been taken out of the running for Secret Santa, but he knew that the other Guardians had worked together to get him something, too.

“Well, Groot, y’know that room we have set aside for you when you’re more…humie-sized?” Rocket began, scooping him up. All the Guardians stood and walked down the corridor towards the bedrooms, where Peter unlocked said room and swung the door open wide for Groot to see. “We thought it was kinda stupid we haven’t been using this room for anything. Well, up until now. We got Stark to build you a little jungle gym in the meantime. Turns out he’s good for something after all.”

“It’s kinda based off of, like, hamster playsets. We’ve got tunnels going up to the ceiling, ladders, monkey bars, the whole nine yards,” Peter said proudly. Rocket set Groot down inside the room, watching as the little one stepped cautiously, his already-large eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“I am…Groot,” he breathed.

When Peter had first gone to Tony, requesting the jungle gym, he had stressed the importance of it not looking like Stark’s usual gadgets and gizmos – modern, metal, sleek and shiny – but rather like it had been built by bare hands and a bench, consisting mostly of carved wood. The bases were painted to look like tree stumps, the bridges and ladders consisted of wooden slats tied together with old rope, and the decorative pieces looked like winding spirals of vines and branches, like the kind that sprouted from Groot himself.

With an excitable shriek, Groot immediately began climbing up one of the ladders to the very top, peering down at them from the rope bridge. He waved at them eagerly before running around and around in circles, swinging across the monkey bars with ease. Mantis began filming him on her phone, cooing at the adorableness of it all.

“I am Groot,” he said happily, beaming.

“You’re welcome, man,” Rocket said, grinning back. “Now c’mon, the rest of us still got presents to open.”

The rest of the present opening was less of a dramatic affair, with everyone passing around wrapped packages in varying states of neatness while they sipped hot chocolate. Peter had turned on the radio for once instead of using his Walkman, letting the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby fill the room.

“Should’ve known this wasn’t going to go perfectly,” Gamora sighed as she crossed the room to settle into Peter’s side, watching as Nebula began presenting everybody else with garishly ugly socks. “She can’t help herself, can she? Regardless, I’d say it’s much better than last year. I was still finding bits of plasma in my hair a week after we returned from jail.”

“That was possibly the grossest mission we’ve ever been on,” Peter agreed. “So, I did end up getting you a present, by the way.”

“You buy me random trinkets so often I have nowhere to put them,” she teased, squeezing his waist affectionately. “What is it?”

“Well, you’ve been showing more interest in Terran culture lately, but you’ve only been seeing it from my perspective,” Peter explained. “And, y’know, as much as I like to pretend I know what’s going on, I know I’ve got a limited understanding of Earth. So I thought you would like to see it from a point of view that you’d identify with more.” He handed her a hardcover book – no wrappings or other fancies – watching her face nervously as she examined it.

“Bad Girls Throughout History - One Hundred Remarkable Women Who Changed The World,” she read slowly, eyes drinking in the hand-drawn illustrations. She fell silent as she read the description and flipped through it, her smile becoming softer with every page. “I guess this school doesn’t really delve too deeply into history outside of your world wars, does it?”

“And I figured if you wanted to learn more, badass Terran women would be a good place for you to start. I also got you a hundred dollars worth of store credit at that used bookstore in the city that you really like,” he added. “Do you like it?”

“I do, I really do,” she said, grinning as she kissed him. “Thank you, Peter. I’ll start reading it tonight. Oh, and I got you something as well.”

“What? Really?” He watched as she walked over to the tree and plucked out yet another tiny box, kneeling in front of him. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

“Did you really think I was going to get gifts for everyone else and not you?” she teased. “It barely cost me any units, so don’t worry. And I like taking part in your traditions, Peter, they intrigue me. So go on, open it.” He rubbed his hands together in excitement before removing the wrappings and the lid to unveil what was inside, eyes widening in shock when he realized what it was.

Nestled among neatly crinkled decorative tissue paper was a cassette tape, marked “For Peter”.

“Granted, we don’t share the same taste in music,” she continued. “Your music has grown on me substantially, however, so I compiled some of your favorites and some new things that should be to your liking.” Almost immediately, he pulled Gamora closer until she was practically straddling him, wrapping her tightly in his arms, burying his face in her neck. It had become his favorite place to be. She let out a surprised cry before returning the gesture with a soft laugh. “You haven’t listened to it yet, Peter, it could be awful.”

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” Peter murmured, kissing the crook of her jaw.

“I have an inkling.” She leaned back so she could gently slide the Walkman off his belt. “Here, give it a go.”

With slightly trembling fingers, Peter popped out the tape inside and slid the new one in, closing it with a satisfying snap. He slotted the headphones snugly over his ears before turning one side outwards so Gamora could hear what he was listening to. He took a soft breath for pause in anticipation, before pressing play.

Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings...of the bluebird as she sings...the six-o'clock alarm would never ring...but six rings and I rise...wipe the sleep out of my eyes...the shaving razor's cold and it stings…

Humming softly with the melody, Peter began drumming out the beat on the small of Gamora’s back with the pads of his fingers once the chorus began, apparently having no intentions of letting her go. She was fine with that – she’d gotten rather comfortable here, though she had a feeling the moment the other Guardian stopped arguing with each other over Nebula’s godforsaken socks, they would spot them and tease them once again.

Now you know how happy I can be...oh, and our good time starts and ends...without all I want to spend...but how much, baby, do we really need?...

“Not much, really,” he said quietly in response, grinning almost shyly. “I think I’ve got all I need right here on this ship.”

“Ever the romantic,” she said fondly, cupping his jaw and leaning in. “Happy holidays, Peter Quill.”

Cheer up sleepy Jean...oh, what can it mean...to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?... ______

“Is there a reason we’re out here freezin’ our asses off? You tryna prank us, boy?” Yondu said through chattering teeth. He and Drax were having a rare moment of solidarity, huddled together underneath one of Yondu’s ostentatiously enormous fur-lined coats.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t wear enough. I told you where we were going,” Peter protested, though mostly because he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction that he, too, was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers and toes. Gamora, who wasn’t about to let Peter freeze to death or, more importantly, start yet another dick-measuring contest, practically shoved herself into his side, hoping her higher body temperature would warm him up before he started making excuses.

“That don’t explain things,” Rocket snapped. “What’re we doing, Quill? This can’t be another one of your holiday traditions, holiday’s over.”

“Uh, not quite,” Peter said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve, when everyone makes these big declarations of how they’re gonna change in the new year. And I know Gamora likes it when we set goals and talk about what we wanna do about our future, so I thought we’d just, like, do it together. Talk about what we wanna do.”

“But did we have to do it on the roof?” Nebula exclaimed, kicking some fresh snow to punctuate her point, sending a gentle spray of ice flying over everyone’s laps.

The Guardians were indeed on the roof of the Avengers Hall, where they hadn’t been since Halloween night. It wasn’t snowing nearly as hard as it had been for most of the month, having slowed to a near stop, but it was still below freezing, leaving everyone a little cranky and worse for the wear.

As predicted, Christmas hadn’t magically solved all of the squabbles and fights they’d been having. Nebula and Rocket got into yet another spat over nothing, Groot had a tantrum when he accidentally broke one of the swings on his new gym set, and Drax became boorish, confronted with his memories of Hovat once more. Yondu was secretly too excited to see his boys again to really let anything bother him, and he stayed clear of everyone else’s paths. Peter and Gamora were still in relative romantic bliss (Peter insisted they were going to be in the so-called ‘honeymoon stage’ forever), aside from the time she had tripped over the jacket he had left on their bedroom floor and nearly banged her head on the corner of his desk. Still, they were a little less high-strung and snappish than usual, mellowed out for the most part (Gamora blamed it on the spiked eggnog. She wasn’t sure who to blame it on, but it certainly made Rocket and Yondu more agreeable than usual). Peter considered it to be a welcome change, even though he knew it was going to be temporary. The next major fight, a particularly stressful job or mission, was most definitely going to restore the Guardians’ status quo.

“Well, excuse me for wanting to have a nice moment,” Peter complained.

“I think it is a good idea,” Mantis piped up. “I have always said it is good for us to discuss these things together.”

“Thank you, Mantis,” Peter said triumphantly, as if her word declared the consensus of the entire group. “First on the agenda – I know these were supposed to be here earlier, but with Surtur tryna cause Ragnarok, and Hela coming after Thor here on Earth, Fury’s had his hands full. But better late than never.” He produced two envelopes from his knapsack and held them out to Yondu and Nebula. “Welcome to the Guardians of the Galaxy. I dunno why there needs to be paperwork, but, uh, just go with it.”

“I’ll be,” Yondu said cheerily, ripping it open and grinning in ecstasy at the official declaration. “Never thought it’d be the kinda gig I’d be offered, what with my reputation, but I ain’t complaining if it gets me units and fame.”

“C’mon, Yondu, we know that’s not all you’re about,” Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. “But congrats, dude. I’m proud of you.”

Nebula, however, was still staring at the envelope in her hands as if she were expecting it to spontaneously burst into flames. Gamora watched her cautiously for a moment before pulling away from Peter’s embrace to gently grasp her arm. “Nebula…I know I’ve been pressuring you a lot lately about being part of this team. But that choice is yours to make. If you prefer to just remain a student and not accompany us as a Guardian, I understand. It doesn’t mean we’ll kick you out or abandon you.”

“How did you accept it so easily?” Nebula’s voice was so quiet, only Gamora could hear. “Pretending to be a saint, and forgetting you were ever a sinner?”

“You sound like you’ve been talking to Murdock too often,” Gamora commented with a shake of her head. “I haven’t forgotten what I’ve done, Nebula. But I just want to move past it, and this is how I do it. Every planet that I help, every life that I save – and maybe this sounds selfish – it makes me feel better. It restores my faith in myself, and that’s where I need to start. I no longer feel the need to answer for what I did when I served Thanos, because this right here? This is my answer. My new purpose. And maybe it’s yours as well. But it doesn’t have to be.”

“Well, not that legality has ever stopped me before, but I suppose having it can’t hurt.” Nebula gave her a tentative smile before tearing the envelope open, staring at the neatly-typed print of her name at the very top, scanning over the brief paragraph that congratulated her on her official Guardian membership. “Quill, this doesn’t mean it gives you the right to tell me what to do.”

“Actually, that’s kind of exactly what it means,” Peter shot back. “Whether you listen is a different story.”

Nebula blanched at his response before smirking, somewhat impressed. “He bites back,” she snorted. “Maybe my sister didn’t choose so poorly after all. Alright then, Quill. How does this ‘resolution’ thing work?”

“Well, I was thinking we could each set one personal goal and one goal for the group,” Peter suggested. “Here, we’ll write it out.” He pulled out his holo-tab and opened a blank note, its large projector screen hovering in front of everyone’s faces. “Who wants to start?”

“Me,” Mantis said, waving a hand in the air enthusiastically like a schoolchild. “I do like helping you all with your feelings. I believe it is one of my greatest purposes here. But I have spent so much time assisting you, that I have not taken the time to understand myself. So I would like to spend more time focusing on who I am and who I want to be. Does that make sense?” She looked around at them, her eyes darting from person to person nervously. Drax patted her in reassurance, smiling encouragingly. “Um, and I think one thing we could do as a group is confront our problems right away. Many of the fights we have had are simply because of miscommunication. If we clarify our issues early on, then maybe they will not happen as often.”

“That’s a great idea, Mantis,” Gamora praised. “Granted, I don’t know if it’ll work, but there’s no harm in trying.”

“Is that you volunteering to go next?” Peter said with a quirk of his eyebrows as he finished typing Mantis’s suggestion.

“Fine,” Gamora said, though not before fixing him with a glare. “I want to have a more active role in this school’s community. I spent far too long in the first year of us being here wallowing in self-doubt, assuming everyone despised me. In reality, this planet has very little idea of my past. I don’t want to miss the opportunity for more allies in our eventual fight against Thanos, so maybe I need to take advantage of that. Besides, having friends doesn’t seem so bad after all,” she added with a chuckle. “As for the team…I’ve been saying for a while now, if we all just have stronger focus, stronger discipline, we won’t have as many issues. I wouldn’t lecture you all nearly as much as I do if you paid more attention. Look at Peter, for example. His productivity is much improved.”

“That’s probably ‘cause you got him wrapped around your finger, but okay,” Rocket snorted. “Alright, I’ll go next. I was thinkin’ about other ways to make some quick cash, make myself useful while we’re here, so I think I wanna offer up my services as an engineer. Teach other people how to fix their crap. Plus, that money’ll strictly be mine and I won’t have to share with you losers. And, it’ll piss off Stark. As for all of us…I dunno, if you guys can learn more about how to do quick fixes on the ship, that’d save me a lot of time. I can teach ya.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Wait, can I charge you guys for engineering tutorials?”

“No, Rocket,” Gamora said sternly. He muttered a couple choice nonsensical words under his breath in response, though nothing distinctive enough for her enhanced hearing to catch.

“Like Gamora, I like the idea of having more companionship in my life,” Drax said thoughtfully. He was twirling one of his blades absentmindedly, watching as Hovat’s engraved name spun over and over as he did. He knew he would never find one quite like her, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t want a replacement Hovat. Romantic pursuits were about the last thing on his mind, at least for now. “Perhaps I will reach out to the other warriors on campus, see if we are as like-minded as I hoped. Thor, Korg, Hulk…”

“You can all bond over having four-letter mononymous names,” Peter suggested. Gamora prodded him in warning. “Ow. I’m just saying.”

“In regards to the team…I must admit, I don’t spend as much time with you all as I would like,” Drax continued, ignoring Peter’s quip. “I think these traditions of yours, Quill…while they might seem strange to us, I suppose much of our culture also seems foreign to you. Such as my father’s story of impregnating my mother.” The others winced – it was frankly foreign to everyone. “But they also made me appreciate everyone more, not just as people to fight with, but as my family. I think we should engage in more non-combative activities to strengthen our bond.”

“It’ll be difficult with school and missions and the other craziness we’ve got going on, but I like where your mind’s at,” Peter replied, pleased.

“My mind is right where it has always been,” Drax said firmly.

“Right, my turn,” Yondu interrupted. “I aim to do better at school. I like the idea of getting my criminal record wiped clean, and that won’t happen if I keep skippin’ classes and filling out them Scantrons with nothin’ but A’s.”

“And answering every question that begins with ‘can you explain’ with ‘no’,” Gamora added.

“And nappin’ under the desk in the engineering labs,” Rocket continued.

“And writing my name on all of your essays!” Peter exclaimed. “Dude, I almost failed Criminology because of you. I’m not even taking Criminology!”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya,” Yondu grumbled. “Like I was sayin’ – I’ll try harder next semester. And I honestly got nothing for the rest of us to do, because you’ve all suggested just about everything already. I like Drax’s suggestion of more fun, though. That’s all I want outta life.”

“Fair enough,” Gamora nodded. “Nebula? Thoughts?”

“Well, you all appear to be on a self-improvement kick. How predictable,” Nebula snarked, turning around so her back was against the railing, arms folded firmly over her chest. Sitting on the snow-covered ground was starting to leave unflattering wet spots on everyone’s backsides. “I’ll just settle with figuring out my role on this team. I don't care to worry about the rest of you. I don't have the patience for it."

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Gamora sighed. “Groot?”

“I am Groot,” he suggested tentatively from his spot on Rocket’s shoulder. “I am Groot?”

“Fewer tantrums sounds awesome, dude,” Peter chuckled. “Am I the last one? Okay then, uh…I wanna be a better leader. I know I do a lot of talking, but I wanna listen more. At least, this talk we’re having right now, that’s a start, right? I just…I get so excited thinking about what I do for a living, and who I get to do it with, and I want us to be the best damn heroes this galaxy’s ever seen. But…I know it’s hard to do that without great leadership. Not that that’s a slight against you, Gamora, you’re doing awesome,” he added quickly.

“I had no doubts,” she said dryly, though she reached to squeeze his hand in thanks. “And your suggestion for the Guardians as a whole?”

“This is kinda adding on to Mantis’s, but…don’t feel like you have to keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself.” He smiled at them ruefully. “We’ve all dealt with shit. We’re still dealing with shit every day. But as Gamora likes to tell me, two of the most important things in relationships are trust and honesty. So like, say something if you’re having a bad day, or you don’t like something that’s been going on. We’re a team, not a bunch of people who just happen to work together.”

“Thought you were about to launch into another motivational speech for a second, and I zoned out,” Rocket snorted. “But sure, I’ll bite, Quill. More talking, like we don’t got enough of that already. Can we go now? There’s icicles in my fur, and it ain’t pleasant.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go, grumpy,” Peter laughed, getting to his feet. Everyone began following suit, chatting nonsensically to each other as they did. It was beginning to snow again, this time in small, but densely packed flakes. “Okay, we really need to get outta here, come on!”

They filed in through the roof access door one by one, shivering profusely. Nebula hesitated, wondering whether now was the right time to do it. Well, you’ve never been scared before, what’s stopping you this time? she thought, watching as the others vanished from sight. “Mantis,” she called.

The other girl turned in the doorway, blinking at her in confusion. “Is something wrong?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward. Nebula supposed she couldn’t blame her for being cautious – her hands were clasped behind her back, probably giving Mantis the impression she was about to pull out a blade or something.

“When I was at the mall with Quill, he mentioned that you were on a personal journey or whatever.” She practically shoved the item into Mantis’s gut, causing her to let out a small “oof”. “I thought this might be of use, especially since – like brother, like sister – you like to talk so much.”

Though the snow was starting to blur her vision, Mantis could vaguely make out what she was looking at – a book, heavy with a plush green cover, the word ‘journal’ embossed in gold cursive. Each page, made of thick cream-colored stock, was edged with gold to match. There were prompts on every other page, suggestions of what to write or think about, along with a small box to mark moods and feelings. It was the sort of thing Nebula scoffed at, something she would describe as “utterly pretentious”, but to Mantis, it was a step in the right direction.

“This must have been quite expensive,” Mantis pondered aloud, looking back up at Nebula. Her large eyelashes were now coated with flecks of snow, making her eyes appear even bigger than usual, cheeks unusually flushed.

“I can take it back if you don’t want it,” Nebula snapped, taking another step forward to snatch it back. Mantis immediately leaped away, clutching the book to her chest protectively.

“No, I do, it’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Thank you for the gift. I will most definitely put it to good use.” She smiled softly, reaching to awkwardly pat the other girl’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Nebula.”

“Christmas is over, you weirdo,” Nebula huffed, hastily brushing past her to catch up with the rest of the Guardians. Mantis chuckled to herself before turning to hurry down the stairs. It really was getting too cold for comfort, though if her chest was feeling a little warmer than it had been a minute ago, no one needed to know.

a/n: happy holidays, lovelies! i hope this fic gave you the warm fuzzies like it did when i was writing it. i also wanted to explore some other dynamics this time around instead of solely focusing on peter/gamora as i usually do, so i hope you enjoyed that as well.

some present visuals - this is the book that peter gave gamora (11/10, would recommend, by the way), and groot's gym somewhat looks like this, but if you've ever been to one of those indoor children's play centers you kinda get what i mean. aso, two more songs from peter's mix, "for gamora" - december 1963: oh, what a night by the four seasons, and happy together by the turtles. The song from gamora’s mix, “for peter”, is daydream believer by the monkees. also, rocket's backstory with lylla is partially based on their telltale counterparts, in case any of you were wondering what she looks like.

since this is the last twenty questions fic of the year, i just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read this fic and any of the others in this series! this 'verse is kind of my baby and i love being able to play around with the different relationships and ongoing storylines. i'm currently working on my other huge au, everybody wants to rule the world, so i won't be writing as much for this one at the moment, but hopefully, i'll have another one-shot in this series for valentine's day!

again, thank you so so so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it. likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and i'll see you all next time!

#starmora #peter x gamora #gamora x peter #peter quill #gamora #myfic #myfic: 20q #marvel #happy holidays fam jam!!#also longest author's note ever or what lmao

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