#is that this stuff is Effort but there is no quick fix or substitute for it

[twobigears]

me opening Facebook (first mistake) on this Monday morning (second mistake) and seeing that post about handler and dog fitness in agility like

[bblfoods23]

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[bagez-trash-holder]

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[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin Assists the Jedi Council While On Medical Leave

AU brainstormed primarily by @atagotiak, @gelpenss, and myself.

Basically, a fix-it based in Anakin getting a peek into the daily life on the Council early, and accidentally Figuring Some Shit Out along the way, mostly because Palps Fucks Up.

So, Anakin gets injured in a way that limits him to Coruscant for a few weeks. He can still walk and talk, but he can't fight. The specific injury doesn't matter, just this:

Anakin runs errands on behalf of the council and sits in on meetings to take minutes as a "you're on medical leave but we need all hands on deck, congrats you get to be the secretary until we can send you on stabbing missions again" thing.

Also, there just aren't a whole lot of people with Anakin's clearance level. They had to send out Stass Allie to handle the mission that was originally next on Anakin's roster, and Anakin's the most convenient person to substitute into her position.

He's not super happy about this but he can more or less understand the point of it. Given that he gets antsy about needing to fight almost immediately, he can acknowledge the worth of having something useful to do, if only as the person who's writing down who says what and making sure everyone has the right file on hand.

(Besides, Obi-Wan jokes in a way that Anakin thinks might be encouraging, this is good practice if Anakin ever wants to be on the High Council himself!)

(This is a very helpful conversation.)

BASICALLY, Anakin is resigned to this but agrees because "Usually we have Master Allie handle this but we need her running that mission that was originally set for the 501st, so you get to fill in for her until you can switch back. Think of it as training for eventual mastery or admin or--listen, we're just really stretched thin."

Here's the key thing, though: Anakin isn't supposed to leave the Temple, for medical reasons, so Palpatine doesn't know Anakin is sitting in on Council meetings. They haven't met up since Anakin's last surgery, and because [muffled hand-wave reason] he didn't find out another way, like Anakin comming him or the Council giving him the heads-up about the change in attendance.

It's fine. He's just taking notes and doing preparatory research, he has the clearance, the Chancellor likes him anyway. Hell, they'd have had someone's Padawan doing this, before the war increased the necessary clearance levels. They'll toss in a quick message in the brief they send to Palps that he never reads anyway, and that's really all they need to do. Skywalker's getting some rounded experience and this way the medics won't be freaking out about him stressing his heart after getting electrocuted by trying to spar too early.

Palpatine doesn't talk directly to the Council, he just sends a recording the first time Anakin is there. It's a bit weird, but nothing goes wrong. Anakin's off-screen from whatever device they use to send a response, since he's not technically a member, just assisting for a bit on the part of Master Allie's duties that he's actually allowed to touch (and not the bits that are getting added to Mace, Plo, and Shaak's stuff).

The first four or so meetings are like that. Anakin starts having a bit of sympathy for the Council as he sees how many things they want to do that are hampered by the need for Senatorial approval, things that he would also want to do and didn't think required this much red tape.

About a week in, still mostly recordings with Anakin just sitting on the side playing paralegal, the wheel of fortune turns a few pegs.

Palpatine hands over a an order on the range of injury that a soldier should be treated for, "to ensure that republic resources aren't being wasted on clones that, while expensive, would actually be cheaper to replace than repair."

Oh, he dresses it up in prettier language than that. Anakin doesn't process it as such first.

The Chancellor manages to couch his phrasing in "prioritizing resources for taxpaying republic citizens and employees of the GAR," which... well.

The natborn commissioned officers pay taxes. The Jedi are employees. The clones are neither, because they're slaves.

Probably he frames it as the employees thing, very much the kinda language that sounds halfway ok unless you’re fluent in political bullshit.

And Anakin is really confused at first about why the council is upset by the order because, okay, he would PREFER to be able to use medical supplies on refugees when possible, but he understands prioritizing the soldiers?

He just looks up, totally lost, when someone groans and goes, "That's the third time this year, is he trying to get us all killed?"

And it vibes as such a genuine, aggrieved, sad reaction that Anakin is completely blindsided because it's not the sarcastic, petty resentment he kind of expected? It's just... desperate depression.

And someone gently has to explain that this is the third time they've had resources restricted to only GAR employees and that it's a polite way of saying "prioritize natborn officers, stop wasting resources on clones, we can replace them easier."

Or maybe he doesn't ask, because he's just there to take notes, not argue, and he can see the masters drawing up a response that amounts to "We would like to remind you that our soldiers do not fall into that classification, and to limit their access to our medical supplies is liable to cause a loss of life that we find unreasonably high. Please see the annotations attached to adjust wording so that the clones may receive the same level of care."

Anakin's internally just like "Yeah, that's phrased nice and addresses the main problem, Palpatine will obviously agree and change it!"

And then he comes in the next day and the response comes in and it's just dripping condescension about considering the clones actual people.

"This is why we can't use the bacta tanks on clones anymore, just the patches. We could use them at first, we had a few of the CCs get through fatal injuries with them, but they cut that off and said we could only use the tanks on Jedi and non-clone officers a few months ago. The Banking Clans keep tightening their belts on the army, and the Chancellor insists we put citizens first, and the clones aren't citizens. We've been arguing back as much as we can, but he keeps going on about the economy and we can't... we just can't, Skywalker. We're trying to save as many of our men as we can, but..."

Something like "Allocation of resources reiterated, the Kaminoans have assured the senate that the Jedi are far from exhausting the resources ordered."

And Anakin's like. He can't blame the council for lying about Palpatine's past or future actions. He just saw Palpatine's actions. Those actions were to order people under his control to throw away lives he saw as replaceable commodities.

These are his friends' lives.

His soldiers are being thrown away by a man in a tower that he trusted.

And then that man has the gall to suggest it's the council's fault.

Palpatine is good at what he does, especially in public, he dresses it up in flowery language and everything, but Anakin's just like "Those are my FRIENDS and also this is??? How slavers talked about their property on Tatooine???? FRIENDPATINE, WHAT THE FUCK."

Anakin can be passive aggressive sometimes as well as outright aggressive. So if he brings up the guidelines and why they make him upset in general terms, and Palpatine says something about how he’s sad the council doesn’t care about the clones...

Anakin, internally, having just watched the council scramble to save as many clones as possible within the guidelines that Palps handed down: Uh-huh.

(Anakin is just the gay horror teeth gif from queer eye.)

Just. “Yeah, funny you say that, Palpatine! Because as I remember, you told the council not to waste more resources than necessary while Mace Windu was arguing to expand the treatment range!”

Palps doesn't even have time to salvage the situation or attack Anakin because Anakin just bulldoze rants for fifteen minutes and then storms out.

Anakin... maybe does a little treason and gets a copy of the orders so he can ask Padme "Hey, can you explain the politics of this?" and doesn't tell her who wrote it so she isn't biased (he tells her that this is why he's not sharing the author's/speaker's name), and just lets Padme pick apart all the 'this is a nice way of saying they don't view the clones as people' details.

Alternately, someone on the Council sees Anakin dithering and manages to get him to admit that he's not great at political language and wants to ask someone to help him understand the full implications. The person--Mace? let's go with Mace--is aware that Anakin is on good terms with Senator Amidala, if not necessarily aware of the depth of said relationship. Mace points out that he's probably going to be seeing her soon just because he usually does and, as a Senator, she can get easy access to these sessions since they're not about specific missions, just allocation of resources, etc. It's not an optimal solution, but she's got a bit more free time than anyone else Anakin knows with the clearance levels, like Order members that are actively involved in the war effort.

Anakin dithers and panics and Mace, trying to be helpful, tells him that plenty of Jedi have made friends among the Senate over the years, didn't you know Qui-Gon Jinn was a personal friend of Former Chancellor Valorum?

At any rate, Anakin goes to Padme and asks her to explain it to him, because she knows how to phrase things so he gets it.

Anakin has to have her pause and he goes outside and destroys some things halfway through.

(Anakin maybe thinks back to the times Padmé or Obi-Wan were really obviously frustrated and when he asked, they said stuff like “I can’t stand Palpatine rn, sorry Anakin I know he’s important to you and you don’t want to talk about politics, let’s just talk about something else.”)

(Obi-Wan: I don’t trust Palpatine Anakin: you just don’t like politicians in general Obi-Wan: yes that is also true)

(Obi-Wan does like Bail and Padme but he does also talk a bit about how politicians generally aren’t to be trusted.)

[twistedmusings]

A/N: Planning to post some finished requests tonight thankfully but I wanted to share something super self indulgent with you guys since I just recently got an Alexa! I'm still kind of in a funk (since classes are STILL not over with) so thank you everyone for your kind words in my inbox q wq For now I only have Riddle and Leona...but if everyone likes it I'll make an effort to finish! I kinda am working on Azul's as we speak >:3 Warnings: Boys missing you terribly, Riddle justifying the breaking of rules and Leona realizing that he is talking to an inanimate object.

The Ramshackle Prefect leaves to go to RSA for a month, following a lead that could get them back home. And while the dorm leaders do miss them terribly, it seems one of them is hiding something.

. .

“AZUL-SHI DO SOMETHING.”

The Octavinelle dorm leader barely listened to his friend's request as he also crowded over Idia’s phone, the other five dorm leaders looking down at the screen as a pair of familiar eyes stared back at them.

“Where is Idia? Can you please hand me back to him?”

Riddle blinked at the sprite on the screen before looking back at Idia with a frown.

“Explain yourself, Shroud.”

Idia whimpered as he hung his head low in shame.

“[Y/N]-san...I mean...the Prefect left to go to RSA for a whole month, right? Crowley said it was to help them find a way back home but apparently there was some trouble there too and...and he brought them to fix it...”

Malleus’s neutral expression changes into something a bit sadder while Kalim lets out what everybody was thinking.

“To take them away so suddenly...I didn’t even get a chance to give them a goodbye party!”

“They’re only away for a month, Kalim.” Vil’s eyes stay on Idia’s phone screen.

“But I’m sure a party would have let them know how much I would miss them!”

Riddle clears his throat, “That still doesn’t explain anything about what I am seeing. Why in the world do you have something that looks like...that looks so much like them on your phone!”

Idia was sure this was hell. Of all the people to catch him using his phone during a dorm leader meeting, why did it have to be Riddle? What was he even supposed to answer to that question! That he missed talking to [Y/N]-san about the new animes that were releasing this week that he had purposefully made an AI from data Ortho had collected on them and their mannerisms?

He would rather die!

“I--I was testing a new AI! Just...for schedules and stuff like that! And I didn’t have anything else to base it on so I just took [Y/N]-san’s information and made a prototype! It’s not just going to go out to the public like that! They can customize it however they like--!”

Azul hums as he taps the screen, the sprite giggling as he touches their cheek before looking up at all of them expectantly.

“...A prototype, huh.” he smiles and leans back while taking his phone out, “Everybody stop crowding around him, we might as well be breaking his arm slowly at this point.”

The rest of the dorm leader's move back with only some protest, Idia’s eyes shining as he looks up at his other friend.

“Azul-shi…”

The dorm leader of Octavinelle grins, “If it’s a prototype then that means it needs users, correct? More people to test it out?”

“Eh?”

Azul puts his phone in front of Idia and smiles at him like he was just about to close a rather important business transaction.

“Well then I want the prototype as well. Download it to my phone, will you?”

“Eh?!”

Idia presses his phone to his chest as if Azul was about to take it, looking around nervously as the other dorm leaders take their phones out and set it in front of him.

“If it’s an application for scheduling then I could use it to keep Heartslabyul’s matters in check. I’ll take one too.”

“Ruggie is gonna be busy during exams...this thing better work as an alarm.”

“Surely this would help me keep track of my schedule for both the Monstro Lounge and school. I’ll take one with a statistics program built in, Idia”

“Oh!! I want mine to be able to sing! And can I also get them in Scarabia’s dorm uniform? I want to see what [Y/N]-san would look like!’

“I’ll take that as well. I also want a photo re-touch feature as well as one hour updates as to what is going on in my Magicam account.”

Each phone was placed in front of him as Idia felt his head start to spin. He just wanted to keep this thing a secret only for himself! He wasn’t even planning to release it, it was all just a lie so they wouldn’t know his greatest shame!

A shadow was casted over him, Idia looking up slowly as Malleus smiled and placed his phone down.

“I am eager to see your finished product, Shroud.”

The tarts in front of him looked absolutely delicious.

Trey had really outdone himself this time. The strawberries were cut into perfectly neat shapes and the glaze over them made them so mouth wateringly shiny that he could practically taste the sweet treat without even having to taste it!

Which only made his want of one grow even more.

“And here comes the next batch.” Trey smiles as he puts down another plate in front of him, Riddle’s eyes now staring at that plate while his vice dorm leader cleans himself up.

“When did you say the Unbirthday party was going to be today?”

“A-At three o’clock sharp.”

Trey nods as he looks at the clock in the kitchen.

“Perfect. I promised to meet Jade to get some herbs he has been growing as well as letting him teach me how to make this one soup they had in the Monstro Lounge about a week ago.”

He grabs his phone and heads out, leaving Riddle with a quick goodbye and a promise that he would make it back as quick as possible.

Leaving him all alone with two plates filled with his favourite treat.

The dorm leader looks around once...then twice...checking if anybody was coming into the kitchen before going back to stare at the plates.

It wasn’t like he was going to grab one

The Unbirthday party today would be using pastries that Trey had made yesterday. It was the third of the month so the rules required a completely different pastry. The strawberry tarts were most likely for tomorrow.

So Riddle could wait. He was the Heartslabyul dorm leader after all so not only could he wait but he was required to wait! As the dorm leader he was to set an example and he couldn’t let himself be seduced so easily by just two plates of such yummy looking tarts--!

He quickly takes his phone out and looks down at the screen, face flushing as he tries to remember how Idia told him to open up the new app.

“[Y/N]-san…?”

A face peeks out from the corner of his phone, smiling as it recognizes his face and steps out while giving him a polite bow.

“Good morning, Riddle-san! What can I help you with?”

He can’t help a small rush of excitement at seeing the Prefect’s face after not seeing them for two weeks. Riddle would make an effort to stop and talk to them whenever they made their way to Heartslabyul that not seeing them for so long had almost thrown him off his schedule.

And...he missed the conversations he had with them.

As the dorm leader and a student in NRC he didn’t necessarily have time to go to any other events or take part in any of the shenanigans others would get up to, not that he necessarily wanted to, but it was entertaining when the Prefect talked about it with him.

It felt like they were letting him into their world.

So maybe this substitute would suffice...it was a scheduling app after all so it wasn’t like he was using it for pleasure only.

“Would you please repeat rule 56 of the Queen’s handbook?”

The AI clears their throat as a book animation appears before them.

“Rule number 56: On the third of April, black tea should be served along with pineapple tarts. Followed by a game of cards in which the loser must pour the Queen tea for the rest of the Unbirthday party.”

Riddle sighs as he looks back at the plate of tarts.

“...I guess I’ll wait until tomorrow…”

“Wait until what?”

He looks down at the AI, the sprite blinking in confusion as it waits for an answer. Idia had mentioned adding a conversational feature…

“There is no rule about what to eat tomorrow so I decided that we would have strawberry tarts.”

“Are those your favourite?”

Riddle nods and steps out of the kitchen, making his way to his room as he stared back at the open door.

“They are. Ever since I was little. I couldn’t have many because of--”

He decides to not go deep into the subject.

“I’m sure Trey’s pineapple tarts will be excellent. I will just have to wait until tomorrow to enjoy the strawberry ones.”

The AI hums before the book animation pops up again, looking down and flipping a couple of pages before speaking up.

“Riddle-san. While it does say that black tea should be served with pineapple tarts...it does state that it should be done for the Unbirthday party and the Unbirthday party only.”

He frowns, “Your point?”

“I am sure no rule would be broken if only the Queen has a tea party before the Unbirthday party. From what I am seeing here--”

They flip a couple more pages.

“There is no rule about a tea party of one enjoying a strawberry tart.”

Riddle blinks before looking down at his phone, the sprite smiling as they shut the small book and lets it disappear with a ‘poof.’

No rule would be broken...if it was only a tea part of one?

He looks down at the AI when he hears them giggle.

“Riddle-san looks really happy.”

A blush covers his face at being called out on how big his smile probably was.

“Did I help in any way?”

The dorm leader takes a deep breath before smiling as he looks down at the phone and presses his fingertip on top of their head, rubbing it back and forth as if they were petting them. Something he knew he could never really do with them in real life lest he was looking to get odd looks.

“More than enough. Would you like to accompany me during this tea party?”

“Yes please!”

Riddle nods before looking around once more and clearing his throat.

“And...would you refer to me as ‘dorm leader’ from now on?”

The sprite nods as they give him a polite bow.

“Yes, dorm leader!”

He would need to send his report of the app as quickly as possible, Idia had really outdone himself this time...maybe he could ask if he could get them dressed up in the Heartslabyul uniform?

Riddle still wished you would hurry back.

“Leona-san! Please wake up!”

The blankets on the bed wriggled a bit as the phone was tousled over from one side of the bed to the other, the sprite inside frowning as they tried again.

“Leona-san! Please wake up! Ruggie-san texted you!”

A hand comes out of the blankets before holding the phone up.

“Read the text out loud then.”

Sighing, the AI pulls the text up and reads out loud.

“Please be awake by the time I get there, Leona. I need to make sure I get your signature on these papers for the dorm budget. If you don’t I’ll hold your lunch captive!”

Leona’s face finally pops up from under the blanket, the man sitting up and running a hand through his hair as he speaks up again.

‘Oi. What time is it?”

“It is 3:14 in the afternoon, Leona-san.”

“And when did Ruggie send the text?”

“At 3:00 o'clock.”

He groans and lays back down, the pillows flying about as he holds the phone to his face and smiling when he sees the sprite looking down at him worriedly.

“You really do look like them…” Leona whispers before tapping the screen so that he is poking the sprite’s cheek, “What is that face for?”

“I’m just worried for you, Leona-san. Too much sleep is a symptom of some sicknesses so--”

“Hah? You think I would get sick so easily?” he yawns and stretches, “I’m different from humans. Beastmen need a lot more sleep than regular humans do so...I’m just doing what my body tells me.”

Green eyes watch a notepad appear before the AI as they write down the information, smiling as they close it up and watch it disappear.

“I’ll keep that information in mind so I can serve Leona-san better. Thank you so much.”

Leona blinks at the words before a lazy smile crosses his face.

“Serve me better, huh? Never thought I would hear you say that.”

Usually the herbivore would be frowning and telling him to get up and actually take charge of his dorm and how he didn’t act like any grown up they knew. The sprite, however, tilts their head in confusion before speaking up once again.

“I am yours, after all.”

“Damn right you are.”

He looked at the phone a bit more, the sprite smiling up at him as he poked their cheek or patted their head. A part of him wondered if you would react like that with him as well. You always seemed so annoyed with his antics yet you never failed to come back to talk to him, telling him how he needs to get his act together if he is ever planning to go back to the Afterglow.

Leona would bet money that if he patted your head out of nowhere you would be highly flustered. Getting praise from him was something that didn’t happen often, after all.

“What day is it?”

“The 12th day of April, Leona-san.”

Another two weeks of you being gone. He frowns and closes his eyes as he thinks about you meeting those other students. RSA was just full of idiots...like his brother--

“Dammit.”

He slams the phone down but blinks when he hears a small yelp, turning the phone back around to find the AI looking rather frazzled with their eyes closed and hair all over the place.

“Shit. Are you....okay?”

Great, he was asking an application if it was okay. He could understand why Idia would hide this, right now he felt like he was crazy.

“Y--Yes! It was just unexpected!”

The sprite fixed itself up quickly and smiled back at Leona.

“Are you okay though, Leona-san?”

The dorm leader chuckled and nodded as they set the phone down gently and laid down next to it. At least that part was very much like you, worrying about others before focusing on yourself.

“You’re not going to complain? I almost just threw you.”

Without missing a beat, the AI stands up and looks at him.

“Leona-san is still working hard despite his body telling him to sleep. My program tells me that it would be a natural emotion to feel frustrated if you are not allowed to do something you want. Normal actions of frustration speak of physical manifestations such as kicking, punching or throwing. I was simply calculating it for it to be the latter and for it to happen towards a pillow. I’ll make sure to fix my calculations next time.”

He shakes his head and sets the phone down gently.

“Weird thing. You shouldn’t forgive someone so easily after they wronged you.”

“But you didn’t wrong me, Leona-san. I didn’t feel any pain. I just want to make sure you are feeling your best! You are my number one priority!”

This machine is going to make him go insane, he knows you would never say that but the fact that Idia had gotten your voice down so well that it was almost as if you had just told him he was your number one---

He was already getting a headache.

“Set an alarm for an hour. Ruggie will take around that long anyway.” Leona lays down and wraps the blankets around him.

“Of course. Alarm set for one hour. Would you like to be woken up with a personalized message?”

Leona hummed before grinning.

“Wake me up by calling me ‘King’.”

The sprite fixes its settings before giving a polite bow.

“Yes, my King. Please enjoy your rest.”

After this he would send his report to Shroud and maybe ask for an outfit upgrade. He only needed to show him some Afterglow clothes and the nerd would probably be able to make the AI wear them, right?

Whatever, the moment you came back Leona would make sure that you gave him some headpats for making him wait so long.

[candyopala]

Stuck in his ways, Chapter 5

Chapter Summary:  Y/N’s training begins, but not before she discovers one of Obito’s secrets.

Words: 1.7k

AO3

Please reblog or like if you enjoy, comments are always welcome <3

5:30 in the morning. It is the sixth time Y/N has woken up. This whole concussion thing has messed up her whole sleeping schedule, she tried her best to get some rest, but to no avail. She ended up sleeping for about fourteen or fifteen hours between small intervals, but she feels worse than before. 

Y/N drags herself out of bed, makes some coffee, and brushes her teeth, the whole deal. Having a constant roof above her head is nice, she has to admit that. Not having to worry about wild animals and the climate is cool, but the warmth of a bed is the best part of it. Tying her brand new bandana on her forehead, she leaves the small apartment and heads to the training grounds on the outskirts of the village.  

She makes her way through the village’s main market, trying to avoid stumbling onto the hundreds of busy people bustling around her. Watching people attend to their duties and following their routines has always been a hobby of hers, she always found interest in seeing people who can afford to do the same thing every day, have some sort of routine. Can she consider herself one of them now? No, maybe not. Ninjas are always doing different missions and whatnot; their routines are as fucked up as a merc’s. Maybe she can become a baker in another life, who knows? 

Around the corner, a hand blocking her way surprises her. At the end of it is a medium height man with his hair tucked into some sort of fabric, with bits of brown hair coming out of the sides. The man holds a toothpick between his lips, accompanied by a smug smile and an attitude that instantly annoys Y/N. 

“’Sup babygirl, how come I’ve never seen you around?”

“I’ve been busy for the last 26 years”

“Busy living in my dreams, I bet”

“Busy fucking you mom, actually”

The sleazy type is the worst in Y/N’s opinion. Nothing disgusts her more than someone who thinks they’re hot shit just because they’re attractive. She pushes him away and keeps on walking.  

“Ouch! Feisty, I like that. I’ll remember ya!” he states as he leaves the scene with a wink and a flick of his toothpick. 

This has to be a joke, what a douchebag.

Going back on her way and observing the people, she closes into a mass of messy short black hair. The man has his back turned to her, but by the jonin vest and height, she assumes it could be… no, wait… it could not be! This man is helping an old lady carry a shitload of groceries, he would never be nice enough to do that. 

Could it be him!?

From afar, she changes angle to try and catch a glimpse of his face. After much difficulty dodging busy locals, she is able to see clearly and… it’s Obito! Obito Uchiha helping a poor old lady carry her stuff, I wish I had a camera on me. She thinks of approaching him, but she decides against it in favor of watching from a distance to see where this goes. 

Turns out the frail woman lives on the other side of town. Obito sure enough has carried all that stuff through the worst climbs Y/N has ever seen on a city. But that was not all: he was being extra nice. He laughed at all her jokes and even smiled back at her. This is grade A entertainment. 

When they finally reach her destination, the old lady pulls out a lollypop and gives it to him. Y/N immediately loses her shit, almost falling from the ceiling she is in because of her fit of laughter. Before she can compose herself, she notices a presence behind her. She was discovered, but who cares? She has seen enough. Obito towers above her, trying to look intimidating, but failing to do so since he has a lollipop on his mouth. 

“First you invade my house, now you’re following me. Are you sure I’m the one who should be called a creep?”

“Well, you’re right. Maybe I’ll start calling you… Granny Simp Uchiha©, how about that?”  

“I hate you”

“Ow, I’m so hurt, oh my god, how could you? But seriously, I didn’t mean to intrude, but when I saw that… I needed to see more to believe it” She states as she breaks into another fit of laughter

“Let’s go, we’re late for training”

“Have you ever been on time a day of your life, though?”

“Never, I’ll probably be late for my own funeral”

“Fair enough. Wait, did you just make a joke that’s not on my expense?”

“Oh no, your dumbassery is influencing me!” He raises his gloved hands ironically

“Shut up”

 ~”~

 They both reach the training grounds at around 7:30, late but not a whole lot, thanks to Obito’s kamui. Obito will have to make some slight modifications on the mission report to avoid Minato’s wrath. After a quick warmup, Obito goes straight to the point: 

“How much do you even know about jutsu?”

“Well… I can do that chakra punch, maybe walk on water and trees or release genjutsu, but that’s all.”

“Not even a clone or some substitution jutsu?”

“Nope”

“So you’re basically an academy student with enough brute force to take down S rank criminals… That’s… odd”

Y/N scratches the back of her head, clearly embarrassed by her lack of training. Obito did not expect to have to teach such basic things. I mean, if he wanted to teach people stuff he would have signed up for a job at the academy. He still cannot believe Minato sensei is putting him up to this babysitting job. 

He needs to do well on this mission if he wants to get back onto the Hokage’s good side and guarantee his position as the next one. This is his second day with Y/N and things have been insane and… fun? No, he should not be thinking like that. Perhaps he should also go talk with Kushina and ask her to convince sensei to let him go from this one; he was always her favorite after all.

“Granny simp? You ok? Did I disappoint you that much?”

Obito fixes his bandana’s position over his left eye, trying to get himself out of his head. He is here now, so he had better get to work. If he can control himself enough not to put her under a nasty genjutsu for calling him that again, that is. 

“Call me that again and I’ll tell everyone that you saw me naked”

“You were not naked, dickhead. And what’s wrong with that?”

“Uhm…?”

“…?”

“Anyway… we’ll start with some cloning jutsu. Have you ever done any seals?”

“Only one or two”

“Try to copy what I’m doing”

“Hey! Stop doing it so fast!”

She honestly seems to be giving her best, but her hand signs are not quite right and the chakra distribution on her network must be all wrong, judging by her failure in producing something that seems to be remotely human. This takes Obito’s memory back to his old academy days, back when he could not do a single clone properly. He would spend whole nights awake training to achieve something passable. Rin helped him a lot back then. The only thing he has ever taught someone was that sexy jutsu to Naruto. To say Kushina was mad was an understatement. 

“Concentrate your chakra all along your body, not only on your hands”

“Hum… right, can I get a lollipop after this?”

Four hours later and Y/N has finally mastered two basic jutsu: substitution and cloning. She almost passed out several times due to exhaustion, but thanks to some food pills, she is enduring todays training much better. 

Obito has been analyzing her every movement with his sharingan. Looking closely her techniques lack grace, truly a sign of someone who learned everything they know by experience. He needs to fix that too. 

Her endurance is also remarkably low. If she were to fight right now, she could do maybe two or three jutsu before passing out, making her rely solely onto her speed and blade habilities. The girl is more of a samurai than a ninja at this point. Examining her file earlier, he noticed that her chakra reserves are not that low as she has stated before, according to the medical department she has an average quantity of it. She just lacks the ability to use it properly.  

Some very hard work is in order; it could take some months to get her into decent shape. That would be too much time and effort for Obito, there has to be another way of dealing with this mission quicker. 

He did not want to do this, but he will have to talk to Kakashi for some teaching tips. Hell, if he was able to teach anything useful to Naruto he will be able to come up with a routine to help Y/N’s training. 

I just hope he doesn’t decide to bother me about this situation…

After dropping Y/N on her house, with much protest from her part, Obito heads to the village’s café to meet with Kakashi Hatake. He knows that the ninja likes to spend his late afternoons reading his porn books accompanied by some coffee, disgusting stuff if you ask Obito. The coffee, that is. He has no formed opinion on porn books.

Approaching the store, he spots his friend’s mass of upward pointing grey hair. Something is different about him, though. Kakashi is usually… a very apathetic person. The look he gave Obito had chills running the Uchiha’s spine, he looked, well, excited. 

“Obito! I finally found you! Sit down”

Aliens killed him and this is a body double. Or this is one of Gai’s practical jokes. Obito is honestly stumped.

“Are you ok bakashi?”

“Great! So… who’s the girl?”

Great, just awesome.      

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Of course you know, everyone is talking about how you were seen walking up and down with some mysterious gal. I’m so happy for you! Finally you’re going to stop being a sad grumpy bachelor! I’ll call dibs on the position of best-man” and suddenly Kakashi jumps up from his seat, coming closer to Obito’s face “Have you guys done it yet? Did she run away from you and now you need my advice? You could use some techniques from Icha I-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Those books are rotting your brain, seriously what the hell?”

“So is it true?”

[dilly-oh]

Three Strikes

    “Listen up, team,” Captain Yamato says, his face deathly serious, “we are going to murder these guys. They are going to be sent home in body-bags. They’re the enemy, and we’re gonna slaughter them.”

    Kakashi glances over at the other team. They look like a bunch of sweaty highschool kids, same as them, though their baseball uniforms look like they’ve seen better days. Or months. Two messy brown-haired boys are passing around a joint, a douchey-looking kid with silver hair is blatantly screwing around on his phone, and another is straight up sleeping on the bench. Their Captain is facing them, hands on his hips as he tries to rouse his teammates, ponytail bouncing at the effort. It seems a lost cause, just like their chances of winning.

    “Even their parents aren’t going to be able to identify their remains.”

    Yamato’s doing that thing again where he gets too serious and starts creeping everyone out. Kakashi looks over at Coach Minato to see if he’s going to put a stop to this, but he’s too busy giggling and sexting his wife to notice. As usual.

    “Kakashi, we’re counting on your pitches to really massacre them, got it?” Yamato fixes him with that soul-killing stare, all blank and dead-eyed.

    “Mmm,” Kakashi hums noncommittally, his lower face hidden behind his catcher’s mitt. He finds the smell comforting. Also, Asuma is sitting next to him, and reeks of a nauseating combination of B.O., cigarette smoke and Kurenai’s perfume. As if they’re fooling anyone by claiming to be ‘just friends’. 

    “Can we hurry this up?” Genma cuts in, snapping his gum. “I have a hot date in, like, two hours.” 

    “I’m sitting right here,” Raido states. “You’re so fucking embarrassing.”

    “Love you too, babe.”

    “Where the hell is Gai?” Asuma asks, glancing around.

    “He ate too many protein bars again. He’s in the can.”

    Kakashi can’t wait for this to be over so he can go home and chill with the dogs. All eight of them. He makes a mental reminder to pick up some more Milkbones on the way home. 

    The thing is, Kakashi is damn good at baseball, even though he loathes it. He’d drop it in a heartbeat and spend all his free time playing CoD, except his father insists he play a sport to ‘round out his resume’. As if his straight A’s since Kindergarten and 160 IQ wasn’t enough. Kakashi’s pitches are precise, powerful, and virtually unstoppable. The ball almost seems to move as if he controls it himself. He strikes everyone out with 99.9% accuracy, able to analyze an opponent in a single glance and determine their weaknesses. It’s the reason their team has made it so far, despite his teammate’s determined efforts to goof off. 

    The two coaches finally get their shit together and shake hands (the other coach is an elderly man who winks at Asuma for some reason, who groans). The game begins, and Kakashi takes his place on the pitcher’s mound, rolling the ball soothingly around in his hand. The other team’s Captain is up first. After adjusting his ponytail under his helmet, he walks to the plate, taps the ground with his bat, and looks up at Kakashi just as he winds up to throw.

    He’s a nerdy looking kid with gangly arms, a scar over the bridge of his nose, and a determined scowl on his face. 

    He’s the most gorgeous thing Kakashi’s ever seen. 

    The ball slips off his fingers, goes spinning off in a corkscrew, and clocks a drink right out of a bystander’s hand. Soda sprays everywhere, thoroughly coating a good portion of the meager crowd. 

    “Foul!” the umpire cries. The boy blinks in surprise, then squares up again, bat waving tauntingly. Kakashi gets another ball and winds up.

    This time his ball hits a car in the parking lot, the burglar alarm wailing away. The car’s owner wails even louder.

    “Foul!” 

    Kakashi throws another foul. And another. 

    “Ball!”

    The boy walks. He glances at Kakashi as he trots by him, confused. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the ground, cursing inwardly.

    This will not happen again.

    It happens again.

    And again.

    And again. 

    It’s not so bad when the boy’s on second base, because then he’s directly behind Kakashi and out of his line of sight. But when he’s on first or third, he can see him out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze is naturally drawn to him, concentration wavering. It’s even worse when he’s on the bench, because then Kakashi can see him in his natural state, smiling and chatting amicably with his teammates. 

    But nothing compares to when he’s up to the plate, standing ready for the pitch. The intensity of those deep brown eyes is staggering, making his legs weak. He walks each time, Kakashi’s near-perfect pitches always spinning out of control and destroying something of value. He’s just glad he’s hit mostly inanimate objects and not people. 

    After several innings of this, Captain Yamato has had enough, and he calls a time-out, dragging Kakashi to the side of the dugout for a polite chat. 

    “Kakashi, the fuck is going on? You’re throwing the damn game! Literally!”

    “I’m sorry,” Kakashi mumbles, miserable. “I...I don’t know-”

    “Are you feeling alright?” Captain Minato has decided to finally do his job and actually act like a Coach, walking over to join them.

    “M’fine.” Kakashi shakes his head, hiding his face behind his glove. “It’s just...I keep getting...distracted.” Yamato sputters indignantly, but Minato’s studying him, a thoughtful look on his face. He glances over at the other team, and Kakashi’s traitorous eyes follow, latching onto the boy, who is busy scolding his teammates again, cheeks flushed with frustration. Kakashi’s ears start to burn. Minato chuckles and he hurriedly snaps his gaze back.

   “...I think I see what the problem is.” He pats Kakashi’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “Listen, Kakashi...why don’t you sit this one out? Just...relax and enjoy the view.”

    It feels like Kakashi’s ears are going to burn down to nubs.

    “What?! He can’t sit out, we need him! How else are we going to bathe in their blood?”

    “Bathe in their- what? Christ, Yamato, it’s just a game. Calm down. Are we going to have to have another talk?”

    Kakashi drags his feet back to the bench and plonks himself down. The others glance over at him in concern. 

    “What’s up, Kakashi?” Genma asks. “Constipated?”

    “Gai, give him some of your protein bars.” Raido elbows the other boy in the gut, who groans. 

    Nevermind, they’re just idiots. Kakashi cowers behind his mitt in shame. 

    The game continues, and his teammates manage to do remarkably well without him. Gai makes a surprisingly good substitute pitcher, although he screams “Dynamic Pitch!!” every time he throws the ball until Coach Minato tells him to cut it out. Asuma is jacked enough that he can hit a home-run every time he connects, and Kakashi is pretty sure the other team is terrified of Yamato and his intimidating stare. The game makes a quick turnaround, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve won. He’s been staring nonstop at the boy, too, so that might have something to do with the quick win. 

    Everyone cheers and high-fives while Kakashi quickly grabs his stuff, shoves it in his duffle, and scuttles off towards the bus. Coach Minato is suddenly next to him, blocking his way. 

    “Why don’t you go say hi?” he suggests, nodding his head at the other team.

    Kakashi can’t think of anything more horrible.

    “This was an away game,” Minato reminds him. “You might never see him again.”

    ...Dammit. 

    Dropping his bag in the dirt, Kakashi forces himself to turn around and walk robotically towards the boy, who is just wrapping up a speech to his teammates about how they’re still winners for doing their best, but no-one’s really listening. He turns away from them, shaking his head in exasperation, and blinks in surprise as Kakashi stops in front of him. He’s even cuter up close. Kakashi keeps his eyes on the ground to keep from being blinded. 

    “...Hi.”

    “Uh. Hey.” The boy regards him warily. “You alright out there? The Coach made you sit down.”

    “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” Kakashi pauses long enough for the silence to turn painfully awkward. “I’m Kakashi, by the way.” 

    “Iruka.” God, even his name is cute. Kakashi scrambles to think of something to talk about. 

    “So, um. Do you...like baseball?”

    “Not really, no,” Iruka answers. “I’d rather be home playing CoD, to tell the truth.”

    “Oh my God, me too,” Kakashi slumps over, awash with relief. “Have you seen the latest updates? They have a new map that-”

    The next five minutes are incomprehensible gibberish to everyone but them as they debate the best maps, guns, and loadouts.

    “Iruka, let’s go!” a voice calls impatiently from the parking lot. 

    “Yeah, yeah, just a minute,” he calls back, waving at his teammates. Kakashi’s stomach tightens. 

    This is it. His last chance. 

    “Hey, uh...” He takes a deep breath. “You wanna...hang out sometime?” 

    Iruka stares back at him blankly. 

    “I live, like, twenty miles away from you.”

    “Oh.” Kakashi blinks. “Right. Sorry.” He feels like a complete idiot. Here he was, thinking he actually had a chance-

    “Here’s my phone number. Message me so I can friend you and we’ll play later.”

    ...Then again, maybe he did.

    They exchange numbers, Kakashi happily adding a dolphin emoji after Iruka’s name. 

    “So is this a friend thing, or a boyfriend thing?” Iruka asks, blunt as can be. Kakashi just gapes at him, wide-eyed in horror. His face feels like it’s on fire, and he desperately wishes he’d brought his glove to hide behind.

    “...Only...if you want it to be,” he croaks out. Iruka stares at him a beat longer, then breaks out into a blinding grin. 

    “Yeah, sure, why not. You were pretty cute out there, spazzing out every time I was up to bat. I’m surprised you didn’t hit a bird.”

    Oh my God. He knew. Oh my GOD. 

    “I have to warn you, though...” Iruka went on, grinning cheekily, “three strikes, and you’re out.”

    Kakashi has never been more in love.

(Written for @kakairu-fest, Week 1 Prompt: Summer Sports)

[mochuelovelli]

Since you've opened the door for more ideas on the fix it au, let me first ask you about how Della's relationship with Goldie would come into play and in which episode? How does it go in it?

!!!

Im so glad you asked! Okay so how I see it is that Goldie had been part of the twins' lives ever since they moved in officially with Scrooge, in fact she has even interacted with Fethry and Gladstone on multiple occasions (seeking out Gladstone for his luck at first before realizing it doesn't bleed over to passerbys like she hoped). Donald had been mistrustful of Goldie since he met her, though he was mistrustful of pretty much everyone but Della gravitated towards her.

In my mind (and in this AU), Della is shown more explicitly to be like Louie in that she often did seek out short cuts to adventure for the sake of glory (though the riches were also a nice bonus). While Della may be a good woodchuck, she isn't necessarily "Smarter than the Smarties" like Huey but what she is good at is getting herself and her family out of trouble. While the comics aren't all completely canon they are inspired by the characters. In Della's case she is often shown there as well as in the show to consistently figure out an idea to "scheme" if you will, to solve their problems.

This would be mostly expressed during the "Happy Birthday Doofus Drake" episode as well as "Glomtales" and of course the "Moonvasion" two parter.

Specifically in HBDD, throughout the episode Goldie would hint at having schemed someone like Louie before. For instance in that scene where Louie tries to guilt trip Goldie into mentoring him and Goldie asks what kind of "crying act" Louie was aiming for she might say something along the lines of "You should've known who you were dealing with, I've been aquatinted with your type for as long as you've been alive - erm well, however old that is what are you 11 now?" Maybe a little later Louie asks how she knows him so well, "Did you have a school for schemers or something? What's with all the weirdly specific comments?"

"You think I have patience for a whole school worth of wannabe tricksters? Please, I could hardly handle one." "Did your partnership with him also start by infiltrating a rich kid's party?" "No. Pretty sure she stowed away on my plane to find some kind of mythical Money Tree(or an artifact idk yet)."

Throughout the episode Goldie also refers to Louie as "Sharpie Junior" or "Lil/Mini Sharpie". She also says stuff like "Stop pulling that face kid, you're making me nostalgic." Once Louie returns back and laments about Goldie, this scene might stay the same or substitute Della for Scrooge where she would confess to her relationship with Goldie. Alternatively Scrooge could also reveal that Della was the first "Sharpie" and explain that his mother also got tricked by Goldie on their infamous first mission.

In "Glomtales", Della will also hint at her past as Goldie's first unofficial apprentice during her recorded message. She would also have a more in-depth talk with Louie instead of the more vague "I'll accept you as you are even if I don't understand it." I want her to relate to him, hint at or explicitly state her insecurities as a call back to the first episode of Season 2 where Louie doesn't think he belongs in his family. It might also make it a bit sadder for Della to express in her video message that instead of stating his schemes are hurting the family she tells him "Look, I know what it's like to want to prove yourself. But this isn't the right way I..." She will stop, still not explaining her feelings "perfectly" and implying that she wants to say more but not on video, and finish by saying "This is for your own good, okay? We'll be back soon and erm, if you finish these video logs and not ignore them I'll bring you a souvenir. I'll check if you do too, so don't lie to me Mister!"

Maybe towards the end of Glomtales she adds "I don't want you to be like me, Louie, I want you to be better. So far, you are, I know you're good Louie" Of course Louie "steals" Scrooges company which means the ending of Glomtales might be played more dramatically in an effort not to undercut Della's comment. Scrooge might also echo Della's sentiment in "The Richest Duck in the World" just for more sadness.

Other than that, she would definitely mention it more explicitly in S3 once Goldie returns. As far as fanfiction goes, Goldie and Della's relationship would be flushed out more than just a quick flashback and a couple lines. I headcanon that Gladstone got his habit of nicknaming people from Goldie. Her nicknames for the cousins were "Sharpie" for Della, "Sunshine" for Donald, "Shrimpy" for Fethry (bc he was very small when she first met him, also he rambled about shrimp) and "Clover" for Gladstone

[sibillascribbles08]

Blow It Out

Echo’s birthday feat. clone universe. A bit of angst but good feelings in the end.

Apologies if you have no prior context, main things to note, Zane isn’t around and Gizmo is now 8ft tall.

    Typically the factory was an empty place. Only select people even dare tread into it, much less actually climb the tower. 

    That’s why, when Echo heard footsteps, he reacted to his instinct to draw his pistol.

    “Who’s there?” He pointed the gun down the hall, letting the cameras in his eyes adjust to the low light.

    Cryptor stood there, hands up. “Only me, Echo. You may want to refrain from being so quick to draw a weapon in the city. You’d get an alert if there was a threat.”

    Echo snorted but put his gun away. “What do you want?” He turned his gaze back to what he was staring at earlier. A worn out frame. The corner of the glass chipped. Underneath was an aging picture of his father and Dr. Borg. It was some commemoration of yet another technological advancement made under their collaboration. A collaboration that only lasted a short while, he had read, as his father passed away less than a year after the two started working together. 

    “Gizmo was looking for you. Said you wouldn’t respond to your messages.” Cryptor came closer, tucking his arms behind him. His pink eye glanced at the photo on the wall. “I didn’t expect to find you on this floor.”

    “I hardly have any other reason to come in here.” Echo crossed his arms, trying to look as annoyed as possible. He certainly felt that way the longer he stared at the picture. It was just one of many, too. There were dozens more in the hall. An entire hallway committed to his father, celebrating his achievements, the things he’d done.

    If only they knew. 

    But even if they did, would they have cared?

    Cryptor stood beside him. “Gizmo mentioned your birthday. Is that why you came out here?” 

    “Sure, whatever.” Echo shoved his hands in his pockets now. “I know he likes to celebrate it, but I’m not sure I do.” He kept staring at the photo. “Just reminds me that I woke up to an empty lighthouse and an empty promise.” 

    “It’s understandable.” Cryptor took a step back. “I can tell him you wish to be alone right now.” 

    “Don’t speak for me.” Echo sighed. “And don’t tell him I won’t show up cause I will just...need some space to think.”

    Cryptor stopped walking away, but didn’t say anything. 

    The silence drew on for too long. It made Echo nervous. “He gets so excited about it that it helps, sometimes. Makes it feel a little less terrible.” He made his way down the hall. None of the lights worked, but the sun from the windows was more than enough. It amplified the dust in the room. 

    He kept looking at the photos and the plaques, some of which showed signs of tarnish. Eventually he reached the one with Dr. Julien and Zane. 

    Echo narrowed his eyes and ignored the temptation to throw it out the window. “Why do we even keep this place around?”

    “I imagine if you wanted to clear out this floor then–”

    “No, not just this floor.” Echo gestured around him. “This whole building, the factory, the tower. Why not just torch it and replace it with something else?”

    Cryptor let out a long sigh. “Echo I can’t count the number of times I’ve had this conversation with others.” 

    Echo turned to look at him. “Doesn’t that just prove that we’re all in agreement.” 

    “But that doesn’t prove you’re right.” Cryptor frowned, staring down at him. “Maybe one day, farther in the future, we will take this place down and replace it with something else, but doing so right now won’t help any of us recover from what happened.”

    “Oh bull shit.” Echo rolled his eyes. “How is keeping such an awful reminder around good for anyone?” 

    Cryptor kept his gaze firm. “It reminds me to keep myself humble. And for a lot of the kids, erasing all of this would be an expression that their past means nothing.”

    “What? Are you telling me the kids want to keep this place around?”

    “They do, if you ever bothered to speak to them you’d know that.” Cryptor turned his gaze to the pictures. “It’s a hellish memory to them, yes, but in their mind they conquered it. The empty building serves as a reminder that they overcame it.” He shifted his stance, folding his arms behind his back again. “If you wish to clear out this floor, I don’t see how it would be a problem, though you may want to ask Pixal if she wants that picture of Zane.” 

    Echo glared at it. Part of him didn’t understand what Pixal saw in Zane, but he also knew his hatred toward his sibling was mostly because of their father. Zane was probably fine, just as kind and heroic as everyone said. 

    Not that Echo would ever find out. His anger tried to latch onto the fact that it was Cryptor’s fault Zane was gone, but he squashed it back down. 

    Ultimately, outside of Gizmo, Cryptor had made the most effort to be kind to him. Despite the time Echo shot Cryptor over that time machine idea. He regretted the fight not long after, when Gizmo gave him a long lecture. 

    Maybe life right now wasn’t ideal, but there was no proof going to the past and changing things would actually make it better. 

    Echo shook his head. “She has enough pictures of Zane. Maybe I’ll let Jay have it instead.”

    “Oh?” Cryptor tilted his head. “Are you two friends now?”

    “I mean, he’s cool, even if he’s super jumpy.” Echo shrugged. “I work with him enough, and he doesn’t tell me to stop talking.” 

    “It’s just good to see you socializing in some form.”

    Echo glared at him. “Hey, I’m not a hermit or anything, unlike you Mr. Security Office.” 

    “I have quite a lot of work to do.” 

    “Yeah, well so do I.” He spun on his heel and began to head down the hall again. “City won’t rebuild itself.” 

    “That’s why you’re spending time up here.”

    “Hey, it’s my birthday, I get the day off.”

    Cryptor chuckled. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it then. Don’t leave Gizmo wondering for too long.”

    Echo looked back to see Cryptor leaving, but didn’t say anything. Being alone in this hallway wasn’t entirely wise, but he didn’t want to force Cryptor to stick around either. He probably should just head back to the apartment. 

    He began to head to the stairs when a glint of bronze caught his eye. He stared up at the plaque on the wall, reading the text engraved on it. 

    Dr. Edward Julien. Brilliant Inventor and Loving Father–

    Echo snatched it off the wall so hard the nail came with it. He tossed it on the ground and tried to stomp on it, but of course it didn’t do any damage. He once again thought about throwing something out the window, but that may end up causing more damage than it was worth. 

    He stared at it, jaw clenched, begging for his anger to recede. At least for the time being. 

    When it finally did, he moved his foot and picked the plaque back up off the ground. He stomped down the hall toward the staircase with it tucked under his arm.

    He had an idea of what to use it for. 

۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵

    Pi-ting! 

    Another bullet bounced off the bronze surface, leaving another harsh mark. Echo narrowed his eyes and opened his gun to add more bullets. 

    “Echo?”

    He looked over to see Jay peeking around the building. Echo thought he picked a spot far out of the way, tucked behind one of the buildings they were still repairing. 

    “Wh… what are you doing?” Jay glanced at the gun and then the plaque. 

    “Target practice.” Echo finished reloading the gun. He snapped it shut and fired off all six rounds.

    Jay squeaked and ducked as the bullets ricochet around the area. “Hey! That’s dangerous.” 

    “Maybe for you.” Echo muttered but still put the gun away. “Did you need something or were you just curious?”

    Jay slowly stepped out. “Ah no, just curious when I heard the noise.” He looked over at the plaque, squinting. “Um… where did you get that?”

    Echo answered flatly. “The tower.” 

    “Where in the tower?”

    “On the floor with the rest of the stuff about my dad.” Echo pretended to study his knuckle joints. “There’s a photo of Zane up there, by the way, if you want one.” 

    “Oh.” Jay almost looked frightened. He pulled his hands closer, one of them rubbing his wrist. “Would probably be weird to see that, to be honest.” 

    Echo raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

    “Just, you know, it’s been so long.” He gave off his usual nervous laugh. “Um, to be honest I’ve almost forgotten what he looked like. How sad is that?” His gaze fixed on the ground before he blinked and straightened up. “Oh, sorry, haha.” He waved his hands. “Didn’t mean to go on a tangent there.” 

    Echo shrugged. He wasn’t much for sympathy, couldn’t even understand Jay’s position, but he was on friendly enough terms he didn’t want to leave him upset. “If you forgot maybe the photo would be a good idea. Your other friends might appreciate it too.”

    “Yeah.” Jay sighed. He walked over to the plaque and picked it up, trying to read the text that was left. “Ah, yeah, your father. Should have guessed.” 

    “It’s a decent substitute for punching him in the face.” Echo glared at it. 

    “Aha, well, I’ll leave you to it.” Jay put it back down. “And I’ll see you later. Try and watch the bullets though, don’t know who else might be around.” 

    Echo didn’t reply to that. He watched Jay leave with an awkward wave. He knew he shouldn’t be this bitter or cold, but his irritation made it hard to act otherwise. 

    He looked at the plaque, wanting to deface it more, but knew Jay was right. He should find somewhere safer to do this. 

    He sighed and went over to pick it back up. He checked his messages. Ten of them from Gizmo. 

    No sense in avoiding it anymore, he really should get back. 

۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵

    Echo headed up the steps to the apartment and tried the door. Locked. He pulled his I.D. card out of his pocket and scanned the door. It opened with a click and he pushed it the rest of the way with his knee. It was dark inside. Was Gizmo out? Echo extended his free hand to flip on the lights.

    POP!

    Echo screamed from the sound, and would have gotten ready to fight if the colorful confetti didn’t cross his vision.

    “[Surprise!]” Gizmo beeped, party popper in the claws of his vacuum tubes. 

    “G-Giz? What are you doing?” Echo stared at the confetti that was now on the carpeted floor. 

    “[Surprise party.]” Gizmo put the empty popper away as one of his vacuums already worked to clean up the confetti. “[I was told that was how it worked.]” 

    Echo let out a long sigh, now that his panic was subsiding. “I suppose, but it’s not like I forgot it was my birthday.”

    “[I will have to try harder next year.]”

    He snorted. “Okay big guy.” He glanced around Gizmo into the small living room. Even from here he could see a pile of wrapped gifts. “What are all those?”

    “[Presents!]” Gizmo’s beeps came out as a pleasant chime as he walked over to them. He pointed at them one at a time with one of his hose arms. “One from me, Cryptor, Mindroid, Pixal, Jay, and even Toby.” 

    “Oh.” Echo wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t expect this many people to even send him presents. “Were you advertising my birthday?”

    “[A bit. These people are also your friends, yes? It would make sense to invite them to celebrate if they want.]” 

    Echo wasn’t sure if he could call them his friends, but they went out of their way to do this, so it was something. 

    He was silent for a while, lost in his thoughts, so lost he wasn’t aware that Gizmo was reaching for the plaque until it was snatched from his grip.

    “Hey!” Echo protested and made a dive for it, only for Gizmo to hold him back with one of his hands. 

    “[What is this?]”

    “I know you can read Ninjagian, you know what it is.”

    “[Why are there such violent scuff marks on it?]”

    Echo sighed. “Target practice.” 

    Gizmo let go of him and handed the plaque back. “[Do you really think it wise to keep holding onto your anger toward him?]”

    “I have plenty to be angry about.” Echo snatched the plaque. “You know as well as I do. I’m not sure why you don’t hate him more. He left you on the island to rot too.”

    “[Yes, but he is dead, and we are not.]”

    “We would have been if Toby didn’t learn we existed from another universe.”

    Those blue eyes stared through him. “[Things worked in our favor. However lucky you want to call it, we are able to live our own lives out here. Why is that not satisfactory to you?]”

    “I don’t know.” Echo admitted. He ran his thumb over the dents in the metal. He couldn’t feel the texture, just the rises and dips. “I don’t know how to stop wishing for something I can’t have.”

    “[Which is?]”

    “To ask him why he thought it wouldn’t matter if he left us there.”

    “[And would an answer actually satisfy you? Or make you feel worse?]”

    Echo didn’t have an answer to that either. He didn’t know. Either their father admitted he was just as terrible as Echo thought or it was played out as some kind of accident. That he intended to come back but died before it happened. 

    Gizmo walked toward the kitchen. “[Well, you know what they say, sometimes wishes you make on birthdays can come true.]” He came back with a small candle. His two hose arms lit a match in order to ignite the candle. 

    Echo snorted. “What, you think I should waste a birthday wish on that?”

    “[It is up to you.]” 

    Echo took the candle, pondering it. He could wish for it, he already did after all, but Gizmo was right. An answer wouldn’t satisfy him. 

    He needed something else. He needed something to better anchor him in the life he had now. If only he had a clue where to start.

    Regardless, he reached out and pinched the flame, putting it out. 

    Gizmo’s hand rested on his head, ruffling his hair through his hat. “[Happy Birthday, Echo. I understand being made isn’t an entirely fond memory for you, but I am glad you are here.]”

    Echo couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “Thanks, Giz. Glad you’re around too.” He headed over to the coffee table and tossed the plaque aside onto the sofa. “So, which of these should I open first?”

۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵۵

    Mindroid hummed as he worked on cleaning up all the dishes from breakfast. Always a lot to go through, but worth it. The kids ate so much more these days than they did when Mindroid first started caring for them.

    The ping in his head caught him off guard for a moment, even more so when he saw who it was from. 

    Unusual for Echo to send him a message.

    >Hey, tell the kids I said thanks for the present. Though Gizmo’s griping just a bit about the glitter cards. I probably should come around and see them sometime, huh? Is there a good time for that?

    Mindroid couldn’t keep himself from smiling as he went back to his dishes.

    >Almost anytime is fine, though afternoons are best. Just let me know before you show up.

    >Yeah, no problem. I’ll swing by in a few days. 

    >I look forward to it. 

[jawnkeets]

could u maybe recommend some theory texts that u read and actually liked/found beneficial to understanding other texts since u read them? i've been looking a lot at different books abt literary theory lately - i'm a student of english lit getting my bachelors degree but there's not a lot of theory included at my university, and i feel like it would help me to know some. anything would be appreciated! (tho i appreciate u anyways)

hey anon, apologies for the belated reply!

if ur looking for a useful overview of theory which takes you through pretty much every movement from the conception of ‘theory’ in the modern sense (traced back in the author’s opinion to matthew arnold) and ending with very contemporary stuff like eco criticism, then bertens’ literary theory: the basics is a good shout. it is very thorough and picks out each school’s most important and relevant passages so you don’t have to slog through thousands of pages yourself. that said, whilst this is a sort of quick fix, reading it all in one go probably not the best way to learn theory as there’s a lot to take in (speaking from experience). i’d read theory in small chunks, proceeding slowly, e.g. when you have a free hour read eliot’s ‘tradition and the individual talent’ or whimsatt and beardsley’s ‘the intentional fallacy’, rather than deciding you’ll tackle ALL of new criticism and feeling confused and overwhelmed (movements clash internally, too, so any insertion of ‘what new criticism thinks’ into an essay will be an unnecessary generalisation). 

i am, however, hesitant to push you towards just learning every single ‘school’ (which are more ill-defined than is often presented) and then transferring this knowledge to your work. deciding to ‘do a marxist/ structuralist/ new critical reading’ has always to me seemed a little impositional and at times unnatural if done uncritically and arbitrarily. students often want to learn theory to improve their essays and make them seem more learned (i too have of course been there done that and am still guilty of it), but it can have the opposite effect in the eyes of an examiner, to their dismay. this is because it may seem as if they’re not thinking for themselves, even though they’ve spent loads of time and effort becoming familiar with complicated ideas. in itself that’s great, but the problem then becomes that a marker may think ‘yeah they understand post-structuralism, but so what?’.

a good essay writer will instead read a theory or theorist and latch onto the ideas to improve their own. this is hard to explain and equally as hard to do. it can happen, to my mind, in one of two ways. one is by adapting or applying the particular idea(s) to the book(s)/ poem(s)/ play(s) etc the essay is focusing on with nuance, and seeing how the theory interacts with said book(s)/ poem(s)/ play(s) (i.e. not writing a blanket statement like ‘a feminist would say that…’, but focusing on a very specific idea from one theorist and quoting relevantly from the original work, saying what YOU think at all times - using the theory as a tool, not a substitute for your opinion), and how the passage itself ‘bites [the theory] back’ so to speak, raises questions about its legitimacy, demands modification, etc. the other is by allowing the intricacy of thought, imagination, etc in theory to guide and elevate your intellect, without necessarily using the theorist’s specific ideas at all. to put it in a more simple way, reading clever and edifying things will over time be edifying and make one cleverer. but this should not be to the extent that your own voice is obscured - i personally like the fact that i’m me and write like me and not t. s. eliot!!

i would like to recommend reading classical literary theory/ criticism, too, because i feel like us students often look towards the modern stuff and apply it somewhat impositionally and artificially on texts written beforehand (unless we are careful), whereas a lot of the classical stuff actually influenced much of english literature, especially the slightly older english literature, so it can be integrated into essays more naturally (though of course what i’ve said above still applies). i’d recommend horace’s art of poetry and longinus’ on great writing/ the sublime to begin with! they’re easy reads and quite short, but very rewarding.

there are also really useful books that aren’t mainstream/ ‘canonical’ theory as such but can help you read texts with a fresh perspective, like bennett and royle’s an introduction to literature, criticism and theory (which is very readable and moves away from rigid ‘schools’). my final recommendation is harold bloom’s interviews on youtube. they have helped me ‘read’ texts via reminding me that it’s not necessarily only heavily theoretical stuff that’s going to aid reading (not that bloom’s work isn’t ever heavily theoretical of course) - for example, you can find a strange sort of ‘understanding’ in reading aloud. as bloom says in a 2000 interview, literature ‘alters you a little. it changes you.’ and sometimes going back to the roots of why you chose it can improve an essay just as much as tackling heavy theory. there are different ways of being thoughtful, if that makes sense.

sorry this got so long! i hope it’s answered your question and is helpful and not too patronising; obviously we’re both undergrads at uni so i’m very much still learning all this stuff too. but just my two cents ❤️ if you’d like any more specific recommendations hmu anytime!

[chokememrstark]

In A World Of Alphas // Starker ABO!Verse

Words: 9,3k (Chapter 1 of 2)

Summary: The Avengers are strong, powerful Alphas, everyone knows and it's something they all joke about sometimes because it's just amusing. Tony jokes and laughs with them, knowing that they have no idea about the Omega in their midst that pretends to be just like them.

That is until Peter shows up, the friendly neighborhood spider, and Tony realizes that all his efforts and precautions turn out to be useless around the kid. Peter can smell the Omega he so desperately tries to hide and it only gets worse from the moments he understands this.

Warnings: abo!verse, alpha!peter, omega!tony, fake alpha!tony, mating cycles/in heat, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, fluff and smut, masturbation, lots of awkward moments

Notes: It’s an unusual idea with lots of emotion and twists, but I still hope you enjoy it. Part two will probably be a bit longer, but I really wanted to post the first part of this today already (It’s just so long I had to split it up, so watch out for more within the next days!) 

Tags: Because y’all have been so sweet and encouraging, I wanna tag you in this. Thank you for the wonderful motivation!!

@sthefystarkersworld @satans-substitute @starkerchemistryy @destinyrainevans @thequeenoffish @ketlingr @ciel-mio

[Read this fic on AO3]

There's something almost amusing about everyone seeing just another Alpha in Tony. Everyone on the team is an Alpha, even their newest recruitee Peter, aka Spider-Man. It's pretty much part of being an Avenger, they joke, and Tony laughs with them because it's the facade he needs to keep up at all costs. He's an Alpha, one of them, strong and independent and that's exactly how it should be. The only thing wrong with this is, that he's not.

Ever since he presented, Tony made sure to keep up the Alpha image. Artificial scent, perfume he uses almost hourly to mask his own scent with, adapting Alpha behavior and mannerisms, chasing after Omegas to the point he became a Playboy. No one knows and that's good because their respect would fly right out the window if they knew Tony is the exact opposite of what he pretends to be. He's been an Omega ever since he turned fifteen.

It's not easy for Tony, obviously, but he grew up with a certain view on the whole thing, especially regarding Omegas and he's not going to let that ruin what he built up over the years. And it all went perfectly, until Peter showed up. Because something about Peter is different and it's only two weeks before the first signs come through.

They're working in the lab together when Peter suddenly leans over really close. He stays like that for a moment before pulling back, frowning.

“You smell… different.”

Those three words already ring all the alarm bells in Tony's head but he brushes it off, saying he probably needs to shower and they both laugh about it. But the moment stays on Tony's mind.

A few days later, something similar happens. They are at a meeting and Peter suddenly begins to sniff. Then, he narrows his eyes and looks over at Tony, who immediately tries to hide his flushing cheeks and turns his head, engaging in a conversation with Clint.

It doesn't take long before Tony tries to stay away from Peter. Even if he bathed in the Alpha perfume he has, the kid will act as if he smells something that's not right and Tony knows exactly what. He smells the Omega he's trying so desperately to hide.

Given being an Omega is such a huge secret, Tony is very careful with heats. He has built a special room in the basement of the tower that's connected to his lab, a room where he can retreat for several days and that is stocked with everything he needs. It's locked as soon as he enters and Friday will only open the door when his heat is over or when there's a medical emergency - a security measure Tony deems necessary with so many Alphas around.

And normally it's not a problem. He knows when it will happen, he will make up a lie that he's going to an oversea conference or meeting and no one ever asks because he's Tony Stark, he does what he wants.

The first heat that comes up when Peter is there, however, doesn't start quite like that. It's two more days and Tony prepares for his absence, stocking his heat room with food and things to work on when he has the time, when suddenly Peter steps into the penthouse, just as Tony is looking through the kitchen for some sweet things to take with him - during his heats he's a sugar addict and he hates it.

“Mr. Stark? Are you looking for something?”

Tony tenses at the kid’s voice and stands up straight, forcing himself to smile when he turns around.

“Just trying to find a snack, but it looks like someone raided my kitchen,” he jokes and closes the cupboard door with his foot. “You need anything?”

“I got your message that you couldn't make it this week and wanted to ask if I could still work at the lab while you're gone?” Peter looks almost ashamed when he asks and Tony scolds himself internally. If Peter is in the lab he will be literally a door away while he goes through his heat and even though the room is sound and smell proof, he doesn't really trust those things when it comes to him.

“I don't think that's a good idea, kid,” he says and runs a hand through his hair, sighing. He can already see the disappointment on Peter's face and he hates it. “How about you just take a break yourself? You're working so hard, you deserve some time to have fun. Play games, meet your friends, stuff like that.”

“I won't break anything, I promise!” Peter is quick to assure him and fuck, Tony wants to let him stay but it's impossible. This can't go right, it just can't. “I'll be careful not to touch anything and I won't make a mess!”

“Peter, it's not about a mess, it's… just not a good idea, that's all.” How can he convince Peter to just drop it and stay away for a week, without shattering him? Working in the lab is the highlight of his day, Tony knows that. “It's just for a few days, I'll ring you up when I'm back, okay?”

Peter looks like he wants to protest again, but after a moment his shoulders drop and his head follows and he lets out a sigh. “Okay…” he says quietly, sad and defeated. Tony wants to punch himself, repeatedly. “I'll just… wait for your message then.”

Tony doesn't think, that's the only reason he can come up with later for walking over and pulling the kid into his arms. Peter stiffens immediately, just like he did himself before, and Tony tries hard not to worry about it.

“It's not because I don't trust you, Pete, alright?” he says as calm as possible, rubbing the boy's back. “I know you're careful and won't break anything, but you're overworking yourself and you really need a break from that.”

Peter doesn't reply right away, instead, he wraps his arms around Tony too and suddenly it feels like he's trapped. Tony's breath goes faster and then stops completely when he can hear - and feel - Peter smell him. This is bad, this is all kinds of bad. He tries to let go of Peter and to step back, but he's completely paralyzed.

“You… you are not…”

“Okay, stop!” Tony needs all his strength to speak and to not let his voice tremble and finally manages to push Peter away from him. The kid's eyes are wide and knowing and it's even worse than he expected it to be. “Whatever you want to say, don't. It's wrong. Just leave, I'll text you when you can come back.”

“But, sir… I… you...”

“NO!” Tony almost shouts now, balling his hands to fists. “If you say anything about this I will never speak another word with you, Peter, I mean it! And now go! Get the hell out of here!”

Peter's eyes widen even more at this and he gulps hard. But, thankfully, he doesn't say anything else before he turns and leaves the penthouse, just in time to not witness Tony sinking to his knees, muttering “Fuck” under his breath.

That's got to be the worst possible thing to happen. Why didn't he stop himself before coming so close to the kid and his nose? Why was his need to comfort Peter so strong he ignored all of his instincts?

“It's this fucking heat,” he eventually growls and pushes himself up. It has to be that, it just has to be. Anything else is just too far fetched. His heat is making him emotional and he always hated that. Tonight he will lock himself in his room and in a few days this whole thing will be done and when his brain starts to function properly again, he will find a way to fix this. Maybe he can even convince Peter that he got tricked by his senses. He is still young after all, such things happen.

In the evening, after making sure to get some more things into his heat room just in case, Tony gives the last instructions to Friday and locks himself up for the following days. He always dreads his heats, being forced into isolation is never fun and this time he has all this guilt over Peter to keep him company too. It won't be pretty, he knows it.

No one could say Tony's heat room is anything but luxurious - it has a TV, computers, a two-way security system connected to his lab, a fridge and even a small cooking isle and a big comfy bed - but it's still nothing more but a cell to keep him locked away from any possible Alpha around him. He even installed a shower in the small bathroom attached to it, just for his own personal comfort after a heatwave. It's a necessary evil, so to speak, one that frequently steals five to six days of Tony's life he can't get back, but what can he do?

The first night and following day are boring because his heat didn't start yet, but it's better to go a day earlier than one too late - a close encounter with Steve after his heat started some hours early a while ago taught Tony this detail the hard way. He spends his time mostly with fixing protocols on his laptop and having a few drinks in the evening to fall asleep easier - one time Pepper calls him about a contract he forgot to sign before leaving and he promises her to get it done as soon as he's back, but that’s as much human interaction as he gets.

His first heatwave hits him hard around nine the next day, reminding him just how much he hates being an Omega. If he actually were an Alpha, he wouldn’t have to writhe and roll around on his bed like a filthy whore, fucking himself on fake knots just to get rid of this embarrassingly strong need for it. He almost forgets about Peter during the whole ordeal and while Friday gets rid of the disgusting odor in his room - Tony absolutely hates the scent of his heat because it just smells of desperation and shame - he takes a long, relieving shower, preparing himself for the hours of relative calm that are about to follow.

Generally, after every wave of his heat, Tony has a few hours to relax, to sleep, to even work when he feels like it. This should be something to look forward to, but at the moment he’s far too frustrated to even think about work. He stares at his screen for the second hour in a row when Friday suddenly gives him a silent alarm on a second monitor. There are only two reasons for this kind of alarm: either the tower is under attack or someone is in his lab, and for some reason, Tony doesn’t think it’s an attack.

“Pull the lab livestreams up, Friday,” he says and narrows his eyes. There are three small windows opening, showing every corner of his lab and Tony notices that this intruder is there for longer than the minute that has passed since Friday’s alarm.

He stares at the screen, at the second camera stream to be exact. It shows a corner of the lab and there sits Peter, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face hidden from the camera. DUM-E is next to him, awkwardly patting the boy’s back and then Tony hears it, a heart wrenching, muffled sob.

“Friday, why didn’t you notify me right away about this security breach?”

“Considering it’s Peter, I did not classify him as a threat, sir,” Friday excuses herself. “He seems to be in a lot of distress though, I thought you might want to know.”

“Fuck.” Tony slams a fist onto the table. What is Peter doing here? And why is he sitting in the fucking corner of the lab like a beaten dog? “Friday, turn up the audio and zoom in, I want to hear what’s going on there.”

The picture gets bigger and Tony hears a beeping noise coming from DUM-E, to which Peter shakes his head as if he actually understands him. Tony frowns, this is weird. But then, the boy sobs again and covers his head with his hands.

“I… I didn’t mean to make him mad, I swear,” Peter sobs and Tony feels his chest tighten with guilt. No, this isn’t happening… Peter isn’t sitting there crying because he yelled at him two days ago, is he? “I didn’t know, I swear, DUM-E, I didn’t know…”

DUM-E beeps again and pats Peter’s head, but the kid only cries harder at this attempt to comfort him.

“What if he hates me now? He was so angry at me, what if he really won’t talk to me anymore? And he will be so mad when he finds out I’m here but… I miss him so much when he’s not there… I thought I could do it, but I can't…”

“Friday, what’s wrong with Peter?” Tony asks, unable to believe this is really just because he was mad over the boy finding out the truth. It seems like such an overreaction, it makes no sense. “Did he get hurt? Is he sick?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Friday says as Tony watches DUM-E hand Peter a tissue that he drops into his lap. “I cannot find any injuries or illnesses, it seems that his outburst is purely emotional.”

“Perfect…” Tony groans and drops his forehead onto the table. What is he supposed to do now? At the moment the smell of his heat isn’t that strong, but once his next wave hits… he just knows that Peter will notice it, whether or not his room is smell proof. “He needs to leave.”

It’s kind of impossible to look away from the screen, now that Tony knows Peter is in the lab. He doesn’t like seeing the kid cry, especially not because of something he did. It’s not Peter’s fault that he can smell through his bluff, is it? No, the kid never asked for his senses to be improved to the point they become a problem and Tony likes him, he really does. But this isn’t good. He knows that he will lose it when an Alpha is this close, he just knows. It happened once already in the past and it almost ended with Tony being mated to a random stranger because he didn’t pay attention to his cycle yet. Since then he learned to stay away from Alphas, knowing full well that he had no fucking control over himself.

Suddenly, something on the screen changes. Peter stands up and uses the tissue DUM-E gave him to wipe his nose. He repeats that a few times and Tony starts to worry.

“Friday, how smell proof is this room when you take Peter’s improved senses into consideration?” He can’t believe he didn’t check this earlier, but the number Friday are running in front of him don’t look good.

“There is a rather high chance that he will be able to smell something once your next heatwave hits, sir,” Friday tells him - not that he expected anything less, of course, that’s just Tony’s luck. “If he stays where he is, there’s a 60% chance that he will notice. But if he comes any closer to the door…”

“Friday, tell me,” Tony says strict when his AI pauses. “How high is the chance?”

“100%, sir. Peter’s senses will pick up on it, I cannot prevent it, not even if I seal the whole room and air ventilation.”

“Shit!” Tony hisses and get off the table. This is bad, this is all kinds of bad! “The bathroom! What if I go there?”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there during your heatwave. It’s too dangerous.”

“Friday, if he knows I’m here I will try to get out!” Tony groans and fists his hair angrily. “Fuck, I might even try it when he doesn’t know! He needs to leave, I cannot let him see me like this!”

“Even if you try to get out, sir, my protocols forbid me to open the door under any circumstances until your heat is over or you have a serious medical emergency. And Peter will not be able to get in, it’s impossible.”

Tony groans. Yes, he knows all of this and that’s what makes it so damn difficult. He can’t get out and drag Peter away and he can’t let him in - which would be even worse because Tony would jump the kid’s bones like there’s no tomorrow, probably traumatizing him for the rest of his life. And it won’t take long before his next wave is coming, the four to five hour timeframe is already half over.

When he glances back over at the screen, Tony notices that Peter is still there, staring at the project they have been working on for the last couple of days. The one Peter claimed he wanted to finish so desperately he even asked to come to the lab while Tony is gone. He doesn’t look as though he is going to work on it, however. The kid just looks sad and defeated. Tony hears another beeping from DUM-E and then Peter turns around, patting the robot’s head. For some reason, this actually makes Tony smile. He has never seen anyone who treated DUM-E or any other of his robots and AIs like Peter does, but he shouldn’t be surprised, after all, the kid named Karen too.

“I wish I could apologize,” Peter says quietly, sitting down on the bench next to him. “I’m sure there’s a reason he doesn’t want anyone to know and I just acted so dumb and rude… no wonder he’s mad at me.”

DUM-E beeps a few times and strokes Peter’s hand, to which the boy smiles weakly.

“You think he will be angry that I came here?” Peter asks with a sigh. “He was so determined to keep me away from the lab and I didn’t listen…”

Yes, feel guilty! Leave! Don’t think about coming back and do it fast! Come on, Pete, be a good kid and fucking listen for once.

Tony almost thinks Peter will actually leave, but of course he doesn't. He covers his face with his hands and sobs again and Tony just wants to storm out of the room to hug him and then get him as far away from the lab as possible. And then, he gets an idea. It’s dangerous, it will reveal that he’s there without his heat doing it for him, but if he can get Peter out of there it’s worth it. He can explain later, when all of this is over.

He takes a deep breath and goes through the heat room protocols until he finds the one for outside communication, the one that is directly connected to the lab. He runs it and waits for the small ‘connected’ to appear on the screen. Then, he speaks.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is gentle and calm, but it still makes the boy jump and look around almost in panic. He can see the fear on his face and it hurts.

“S-Sir!? I-I’m sorry!I didn’t… I just came because…”

“Shh, it’s okay, Peter. I’m not mad, I promise,” Tony says quietly, pinching his nose. Calm, he needs to stay calm. “But I need you to leave the lab, now.”

“I…” Peter stops suddenly, even in his sobs, and looks at the ceiling. “Can you… see me?”

“Yes and you shouldn’t be there, kid,” Tony sighs. God, why is it so hard to just talk to him?

“I promise I won’t break anything, sir, I-”

“Peter, stop!” Tony says strictly. “I told you it’s not about that. It’s… dangerous when you’re in the lab right now.”

Peter sniffs and shakes his head before wiping his eyes. He looks so crushed it makes Tony’s heart ache and he curses himself for not just locking the damn lab. Then again, he granted Peter access a while ago and even Friday wouldn’t have kept him out in this case. He’s going crazy, he just knows it. Why can’t the kid just leave?

“Pete, look, I-” Tony’s voice is cut off harshly when a stinging pain clutches around his insides and he throws himself forward with a low, desperate and painful groan. Fuck, no! This… this can’t be! Not yet! He still has an hour at least!

“Sir?” Peter’s worry is back, Tony can hear it in his voice without even seeing him and he pushes his chair back to get to the floor, almost curling himself up into a ball. “Sir, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Peter, please just - Argh! Just… leave…” Tony can barely speak when it begins to feel like someone is trying to pull his insides out. It always starts painful, but it was never this bad, never this… intense and agonizing. And then he realizes without any surprise that this is his body’s way of reacting to an available Alpha just on the other side of the door.

“Sir, if I can do anything to help, I-” Peter’s voice trails off and Tony knows exactly why. It’s too late to hide it anymore. His hormones are through the roof, his heatwave is hitting him harder than ever before and Peter is too close, he’s just too fucking close.

Tony lets out an agonizing wail and clutches his stomach, rolling over to the side in a desperate attempt to not look at the monitors, but it’s completely useless. His eyes find them anyway and what he sees is just Peter standing there, with wide eyes and blown pupils, his mouth partially open and staring at the camera directly pointed at him on the ceiling.

“You’re in he-”

“SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF HERE!” Tony shouts, but his heart isn’t in it. He wants Peter to stay, fuck, he wants Peter to break down this damn door and knot him and make him scream and beg for more. God, he hates himself for being so weak, for not being able to control those damn instincts.

Tony knows that Peter won’t go anywhere now that he has smelled his heat - even older, more experienced Alphas wouldn’t be able to do that and Peter is still so young, he probably never had this happen to him before. It’s all so messed up, but Tony can’t stop it.

“Pete, just go! It only gets worse when I know you’re here, please just leave!”

And then he realizes his mistake, but it’s too late, the words are already out and Peter heard them, there’s no way he doesn’t know what this means.

“You… you want me to...?” Peter’s voice is surprised and fuck if it’s not aroused, which is far worse for Tony. He lets out another desperate groan and pushes himself off the floor, his legs so shaky he barely makes it to the bed before they give in.

“Fuck, Friday, open the door!” He cries out, palming his cock and trying to not acknowledge the wetness between his legs. His body is going wild just because Peter is there, screaming to be fucked and knotted and bred like he never experienced it before. It’s so horrible and humiliating, it drives tears into his eyes.

“I cannot do that, sir,” Friday says, sounding almost sorry. “My protocols won’t allow me to do that.”

“I’m your boss, I made you!” Tony growls furiously, glaring at the ceiling. “Open the fucking door!”

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot do that.”

Tony wants to smash Friday into pieces for denying him access to the Alpha that is right there. Doesn’t she know how much he needs him? Doesn’t she know how painful it is to know Peter is right there and that he cannot get to him? He’s still growling and writhing on the bed, trying desperately to find a way to get out or to get Peter in, when he suddenly hears the Alpha’s voice again.

“Sir, you have to stop!” Peter sounds like he’s crying again and when Tony manages to glance over at the monitors, he sees the tears in the kid’s eyes and the sadness on his face. “Please, it’s okay…”

Tony knows it’s not okay, it can’t be as long as Peter is out there, so close and yet unreachable for him. He cries out desperately, burying his face in the pillow and only partially managing to muffle the desperation in his voice. “Friday, open… please open the door…”

“Sir, I… I can’t,” Friday sounds as if she wants to do it, but her protocols prevent her from following Tony’s order. It’s so frustrating.

“I will leave, okay?” Peter sobs suddenly and Tony’s attention is fully back on the monitors. The kid looks so devastated and heartbroken, it hurts to see. “Please, I’ll just go if it makes everything worse when I’m here!”

“NO!” Tony cries out without even knowing why - he wants Peter to leave, why won’t his brain deliver the words? “If you won’t open the door, Friday, I will make you open them!”

“Sir, what?” Peter asks, but Tony is already ripping his shirt off, asking himself why he even bothered to dress again after his shower.

“You have to open the doors for a medical emergency, I will give you one,” Tony growls as he grips the arc reactor in his chest harshly.

“Sir, NO!” Peter cries, but Tony barely hears him. He is too focused on this, his need is too strong. Friday has to open the doors if he has a heart attack, she just has to! And Peter can put the reactor back in if he’s fast enough, it can work, it just has to!

“I’ll make you open it, Friday,” Tony mumbles and then finally turns the reactor, letting out a deep groan at the immediate pain he feels in his chest. He can do it, it’s not the first time… he can do it without causing any harm… he can..

“OMEGA, STOP!”

Suddenly, Tony freezes completely. That voice… it’s an Alpha voice, loud and clear and so fucking close. During all those years, Tony never heard it in one of his heats and while he is able to ignore any Alpha voice on a day-to-day basis, right now his mind and body react on their own and he listens to it without any questioning.

“Sir… please don’t,” Peter continues, his voice now far less commanding and harsh, but Tony’s body was unable to process the change for the time being and stayed still. “I’ll stay here, okay? I… I can’t come in, but I’ll stay here if you want me to… just please don’t hurt yourself, please…”

After a long pause, Tony finally manages to swallow and, after screwing his reactor back in place - not without another unpleasant sting - he drops his hand. His breath goes horribly fast and he can’t ignore the pulling on his insides, but… Peter wants to stay. Does he mean it? How can Tony let him stay when he’s in this disgusting and horrible state? Somewhere between Peter’s Alpha voice and his almost shy words right after, Tony’s heat decided to spare him for a moment, giving him time to breathe.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tony says, his breath still hitching and making his voice tremble.

“I… I don’t want to leave you alone,” Peter replies, still crying and embarrassed, but Tony can hear the suppressed need in his voice.

Tony can feel his own rise inside of him again already and he hates it, he hates it so much because Peter is listening and he can’t even get up to turn off the communication. He can’t have him witness this, it’s just too humiliating…

“Peter… you know what I am,” Tony finally says with a thick voice, pressing his legs together desperately. “You know what you are… if you stay, I… it won’t be pretty.”

“It’s okay, I… I still want to stay.” Peter sounds so sure, so absolutely committed to stay with Tony and it makes the Omega’s heart ache. How can Peter just accept this huge secret he’s trying to hide from everyone without judging him? How can he not just run - and probably tell everybody he meets because that’s essentially what Tony has been fearing all along?

Tony is torn. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what is the right thing to do and it frustrates him so much. He wants Peter to stay, but at the same time he doesn’t want him to hear the pitiful and desperate act that he is about to commit and won’t be able to stop.

“Will you… stay if I turn the communication off for some time?” he finally asks, his stomach tightening at the idea of shutting Peter out from his heat. But he has to, he knows it’s the only way he can keep at least some form of his dignity.

“I… I’ll be here,” Peter says after a moment, very quiet and very sad. “If you… need time for yourself… I will still stay. It’s okay, I promise.”

The relief Tony feels shouldn’t be so intense, but it is and he can’t do anything about it.

“I will be back in a bit, I just… need to get this over with,” he gulps and finally forces himself off the bed. It feels like he’s climbing a mountain when he makes his way to the desk and when he holds onto the surface, he looks at Peter’s sweet and innocent and oh so worried face on the monitor one last time before saying: “Thank you, Peter…” Then, he turns off the communication and lets out a deep sigh. This is it now… this is the ultimate test.

He knows what I’m going to do and he will leave, he just has to. He will smell my heat and he won’t be able to take it because he’s not used to it… when I turn the communication back on he will be gone and he probably won’t come back anymore.

But despite his fear, Tony’s instincts are too strong to ignore them for much longer. Only that this time, when he throws himself onto his bed and grabs one of the toys that have eased his urges through countless of heats, his mind isn’t set to the ultimate goal of relief. No, this time, Peter is on his mind and Tony can barely cope with how much he wants the kid to be there with him, to give him what everything in his body and mind crave for so badly, no matter how wrong it is.

It’s an hour before Tony finally manages to find the release his body has been aching for so much and when he drags himself towards the shower, he just feels like falling asleep from exhaustion. Three or four waves a day are nothing uncommon during his heat, but usually he can just sleep whenever he wants to. Now, however, Peter is out there - at least he hopes he still is - and he promised to come back… he can’t just fall asleep for several hours, he can’t.

Tony’s heart is heavy when he sits back down on his desk finally. What if Peter left and he’s just going to look at an empty lab? He knows he should expect it, but the thought still hurts him deep inside. When he finally reaches out for his keyboard and runs the communication protocols again - including the camera feed - his heart is almost jumping out of his chest.

It takes an awfully long minute before the screen flickers and Tony can see the camera feed again and his heart makes a small jump when he spots Peter. He’s still there, he didn’t leave! He sits on one of the chairs, DUM-E next to him and a holo screen above his lap, apparently reading or looking at something. Tony can’t do anything other than watch the kid for a moment, wondering why he ever doubted him in the first place.

Peter is concentrating on what he reads, something that Tony could pull up on his screen but doesn’t because it just isn’t relevant to his interest at the moment, and when the Omega’s voice comes over the speakers again, Peter only flinches slightly because of the surprise. He immediately looks up though, a bright smile on his lips.

“Sir? Are you okay?” Peter asks worried and Tony really just wants to hug and kiss him for his wonderful sweetness.

“I’m okay, yes,” he says, chuckling. “What are you doing over there?”

At that, Peter flushes and quickly lets the holo display disappear before smiling at the camera. “Just some research, nothing important,” he replies.

Tony smirks, he can’t help it. He could easily ask Friday what Peter looked at and the kid knows that too, but he doesn’t. Right now he’s in this rather calm mindset between his heats and this time, he’s not completely alone. Peter is there, someone he likes and he can talk to, and he doesn’t want to argue.

“Talk to me, kid,” he says instead, sprawling in his chair and trying to somehow relax after all of this. Having someone else there during his heats is… unfamiliar. But it doesn’t feel all bad for some reason. Maybe it’s because it’s Peter or maybe it’s because he’s so utterly relieved that Peter isn’t running away from him.

And talking is pretty much what they do over the hours that follow, as weird as it might seem.

There is something so relieving about Peter knowing and not judging him that helps Tony let go of at least a little bit of his fear regarding company during this time. And it’s not unpleasant at all. Tony feared they might just be talking about his heat, but that isn’t even a topic to begin with. Peter starts talking about school and Tony jumps in, relieved  that it’s not about him right away.

Tony never experienced a heat like this. When his third wave of the day is about to hit, he lets Peter know soon enough to cut the communication off until it’s over, only later finding out Peter used the time to get himself something to eat and drink and a little to not be too overwhelmed by the scent of it. Tony is unreasonably touched when Peter tells him and doesn’t even know what to say to it.

Whenever his heatwaves aren’t torturing Tony, Peter is there, sitting with his back against the door - Tony assumes Friday told him where exactly it is but he can’t rule out that Peter found it on his own. And they talk, they talk so much, about basically everything. About school, about projects, sometimes about more personal things. When the topic draws towards Tony being an Omega, Tony is hesitant at first, but it comes easy telling Peter about it. Maybe because of the physical distance forced onto them, he doesn’t know, but it turns out to be rather relieving eventually.

When it becomes late, Tony asks Peter if he’d rather leave to actually go sleep in a bed, but the kid refuses. “I promised I’ll stay with you and I will,” he says and gets up to collect the blankets and pillows from the lounge area of the lab. There are not many, but they are enough so Peter can cuddle into one of the blankets and lean against the door. “Do you mind if I sleep here?”

Tony’s heart feels so full at the question and he’s glad Peter can’t see the smile on his face. “Of course not,” he says softly. “Are you comfortable like this?”

Peter nods, smiling at the camera. “As comfortable as I can be,” he says and lays down, wrapping the blanket around him. Tony is tired himself, but he doesn’t lay down before he knows Peter is asleep. Only then he crawls into bed, closing his eyes and allowing himself some rest too.

It’s three days they spend this way, mostly talking and even joking, unless one of Tony’s heatwaves hits him and he cuts the connection off. Until the last day, when he sits in front of the door himself, completely forgetting what’s about to happen soon. When he’s hit with the oh so familiar cramps that introduces another cycle, it hits him by surprise and he rolls over once more, clutching his stomach and groaning in pain. By now, Peter knows what’s going on and he jumps into action immediately.

“Omega, it’s alright,” the boy says quietly, his voice so close even though Tony can only hear it through the speakers that it already has a slightly calming effect on him. “You’re not alone, okay? I’m here, I’m with you…”

Tony lets out a desperate growl and throws himself against the door, knowing full well that there are only inches separating him from Peter and still being unable to reach him. For the first time, he doesn’t think about turning the communication off, without even knowing why.

“I wish you’d be here, Pete,” he sighs, one hand still pressing against his stomach and pressing his fingers harshly against his skin. “You must think so low of me by now, but I… I’m glad you’re with me…”

“I would never think bad of you, Tony,” Peter assures him, the use of his first name making the Omega smirk weakly. It’s the first time the kid does it, before this moment he was unable to shake off the ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Stark’ - not that Tony minds, but his first name has something more… personal somehow. “You can talk to me if you need to, I’m here…”

“Pete…” Tony swallows and turns to his side, taking a deep breath to somehow keep the pain under control. It would be better to turn the communication off, he knows that. Anything else will just make it worse. But he wants to hear Peter, he wants to know he’s there, even if what’s going to happen is embarrassing.

“I won’t go anywhere, I promised,” Peter says and Tony can see him press one of his hands against the door that separates them. With a tear escaping his eyes, Tony presses his hand against the same spot, leaning his head against the metal. He knows Peter can’t feel it, but the illusion that they are almost touching is… soothing somehow.

And Peter keeps his promise, through all of it. When Tony is begging, the boy is there, talking him through it, promising that it will be over soon and that he will stay with him, when Tony is easing his need with the toys he built, Peter is there and doesn't judge, instead actually begins talking to him and indulging in Tony's heat induced fantasy of having him.

Even when Tony can't prevent the sobs afterwards, pressing a hand against his eyes and cursing his entire existence, Peter doesn't go anywhere and he doesn't laugh, he doesn't tell him that he's as worthless as he feels. Instead, he tells him that he's strong and amazing, that he doesn't see him as any less, that he's right just the way he is and it's the first time anyone ever says such things to Tony, which makes him even more emotional even though he absolutely hates it.

When it's over, they don't talk about it again. Tony is so clearly uncomfortable about the whole thing and Peter doesn't push him, doesn't ask questions. He simply returns to the conversation they had before it started, as if nothing had interrupted them. Tony doesn't know how he can ever thank Peter for this and during the conversation that follows, in which he sits with his back against the door again, he has several moments where he has to force himself to not cry.

Tony doesn't know what happened, why he can barely contain his emotions anymore. He didn't think Peter would be so accepting and sweet, that he would actually stay and not just run. And now, after three days of spending so close together, without even actually seeing each other, everything feels so confusing and overwhelming. It's just… so much.

That evening, after Peter had curled up against the door once more, Tony couldn't find any sleep. His heat will be over in a few hours and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do then. As long as they are separated like this, it all feels surreal, a bit like a dream. But, once the doors will open, everything is going to be real, everything that happened they will have to face somehow and he doesn't know how he will do it. Or if he even can...

“Sir, Peter has fallen asleep,” Friday informs him and Tony nods, but unlike the nights before, he doesn't stand up to get to bed.

“Friday… Peter is the first one in 25 years to find out I am not an Alpha…” Tony says quietly after a while, without looking up. “I have no idea what to say when we see each other again face to face…”

“May I suggest not saying anything, sir?” Friday says calmly, as if to not upset Tony. “Peter doesn't seem to mind that you are an Omega, he has gone through a lot to spend the last few days with you. Someone you would not be important to would not have done that.”

“He cares about me, I know, but how can he still see me the way he did before after knowing this? How can he still look up to me?”

“I suggest just being yourself, sir, like you always were with him. This doesn't have to stand between you, not if you won't let it.”

Friday is right, Tony thinks and sighs, leaning his head against the door. Maybe he's overthinking all of this. Maybe Peter truly doesn't think lower of him for being an Omega. That doesn't mean he won't do it because Tony has lied to everyone his whole life, but perhaps he will understand. God, Tony hopes he will understand…

Tony doesn't notice that he eventually falls asleep like this, his mind still circling around Peter and this whole mess. He's woken up when the door suddenly unlocks - it's a sound he usually anticipates and that now sends a cold shiver down his spine. Tony immediately gets up, ignoring that every muscle in his body feels sore and tense, and looks at the monitors. Peter is still asleep in front of the door, the noise didn't wake him up.

Normally, Tony would storm out of the room to dive back into his freedom, but now he carefully opens it instead to not wake Peter and when he sees the kid sleeping peacefully, he can't suppress the smile that creeps onto his lips. He's so innocent and sweet, he can barely believe this kid is an Alpha.

But he is, his mind insists, as if to tease him. He is and you just spent your heat with him, even if it wasn't physically.

Tony swallows and shakes his head. He knows that, but that doesn't change that Peter needs a comfortable bed, not the lab floor for the fourth night in a row. He already feels bad enough for the first three, really.

As careful as possible, Tony kneels down and shoves his hands under the boy to pick him up, without waking him. The blanket is still wrapped tight around him and when Tony manages to stand again, he realizes how small Peter actually looks in his arms, all curled up like this. He leans down and presses a soft kiss onto his forehead before making his way out of the lab, towards the elevator. Maybe it's not his best idea, but Peter deserves a good night's rest after all he went through and Tony knows his own bed will help with that.

On their way up to the penthouse, Peter suddenly begins to shift in his arms and eventually looks up at Tony. He's barely awake, but he registers where he is and smiles when he sees Tony carrying him.

“Omega…” he whispers before snuggling against his chest again and Tony has the strong urge to never let him go again.

Tony carries Peter all the way to his bedroom, where he puts him down gently and covers him with his own blanket to keep him warm. Then, against his better judgement, he crawls into the bed behind Peter and wraps his arms around him, only using his own blanket to cover himself and leaving Peter's as a thin layer of safety between them. He knows sometimes after his heat he is still very needy, so he wants to be sure to not do anything dumb or inappropriate with the kid in this state.

-----

It's only a few hours of sleep they get this way, but throughout the rest of the night, Peter doesn't move away from Tony at all. He's still cuddled against him in the morning with Tony's arms around him, holding him tight. It's Tony who wakes up first and it's him who breaks the embrace carefully, knowing that whatever happened during his heat needs to be treated as that, unless Peter decides otherwise. Dumb decisions are made during heats and ruts, that's the most common knowledge and Tony won't make those mistakes. He already made too many.

Tony wraps the blanket tight around Peter again before leaving, fighting his internal need for comfort and warmth that always comes after a heat. It's nothing he wouldn't be used to dealing with alone and he can't drag Peter even deeper into this than he already has. So, to distract himself, he decides to make breakfast. During the last days he mostly lived off of frozen meals for one and snacks, he needs something real again.

Half an hour later the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the kitchen and there are omelettes and waffles on the table, as well as fresh strawberries that had been delivered the day before. When Peter stumbles out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning, he finds Tony still in the kitchen.

“Is that… bacon?” Peter asks hopefully and Tony can't help but laugh at the unusual way of greeting him.

“Bacon and eggs and coffee, we have some waffles too if you want them.”

Peter still looks at Tony with wide eyes when he sits down and watches him come over too, a plate of bacon in his hands.

“I… I didn't know you could… cook,” Peter says embarrassed, causing Tony to laugh again.

“I usually don't brag with it, it's not really something people expect from an Alpha,” he says with a shrug and gets himself some of the omelette and bacon. “But I get along. Try the eggs before they're cold if you want to, they're what usually turns out best.”

Peter nods and puts some of the omelette onto his plate too and after debating for a moment adds a few strips of bacon on top of them. Then, he reaches for the strawberries, which makes Tony smile for some reason.

“What's so funny?” he asks curiously.

“Nothing,” Tony chuckles and takes a sip from his coffee. “I just always have the urge for these things after a heat, I don't know why.”

Peter bites the tip off his strawberry, wiping his chin when some of the juice runs down his lips. “They're good,” he says, smiling, and only now noticing the way Tony is looking at him. As if he was caught red handed, Tony shakes his head quickly, taking a bite of his eggs. His cheeks are slightly pink and Peter feels a sudden pit in his stomach.

“I won't tell anyone, you know,” Peter says quietly after a while, without looking up. He knows that this is a topic Tony doesn't want to talk about but it feels necessary that they address it. “I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble and for making you angry…”

Tony swallows his bacon down and looks at Peter, who appears so much smaller than he actually is with his bowed head and hanging shoulders. He feels awful for the guilt he caused in the boy with his own fear.

“I wasn't angry at you, Pete,” Tony finally sighs, putting his fork down. His hunger disappeared somehow. “You just happened to sniff through a bluff that lasted 25 years and I… kind of panicked.”

Peter gulps and his cheeks flush harder. “I… I didn't mean to, really. I should have just stayed quiet.”

“It's not your fault, don't work yourself up over it,” Tony sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Sooner or later someone had to find out, I'm just glad it was you and not Steve or Bruce. I'd never hear the end of it.”

Peter isn't sure what to say to that and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I… I won't tell anyone,” he repeats eventually, just to make sure Tony knows he won't. “I don't mind, really, you're still… you, after all.”

“I wish everyone would think like that,” Tony smiles and takes one of Peter's hands over the table, squeezing it gently. “I'm sorry I yelled at you, that was really not the right way to go about it.”

“Are you… mad that I didn't listen to you? That I came into the lab after you told me not to?”

Tony shakes his head, still smiling. “I know you didn't do it to spite me and you didn't know why I told you to stay away, it's okay, really.”

There's a long silence between them in which neither of them does anything, not even eat, and Tony knows this isn't over yet. There are other things Peter wants to ask, things he doesn't want to talk about but knows he has to.

“Were you really about to hurt yourself just so Friday would open the door?”

Damn, Peter asks one of the worst questions right away, he doesn't dance around the bush.

“You could say I was a bit… overwhelmed by your presence,” Tony admits with a smirk. “I stay away from Alphas during my heat, it's just too dangerous if I don't. Had you not stopped me… you would have either found me dying of a heart attack or making you take and knot me. It's not pretty and I wish you wouldn't have witnessed any of this, believe me.”

Tony looks ashamed and he feels the part too. He remembers how he had begged Friday to open the doors, how he was willing to risk his own life just for Peter's knot. It's just embarrassing how little control he had left during his heat. And Peter experienced everything, which makes it about ten times worse.

“What… what were you trying to do?” Peter asks carefully, as if he's afraid of the answer. Tony sighs and pushes his shirt up, taking his arc reactor into his hand and twisting it. “Oh God no, stop!” Peter protests immediately, jumping up with fear wide eyes.

“Don't worry, nothing can happen yet,” Tony says calmly and gives the kid a patient smile. “This is how far I got. You stopped me from pulling the plug, basically.” He lets out a half amused, half bitter laugh and screws the reactor back in before pulling his shirt down again. “It's kind of deadly to remove the reactor for too long.”

“Don't… don't do that again, please,” Peter gulps, his hands shaking when he sits back down. “Did you... really want it that much?”

Tony nods, anything but proud of it. “Heats are no child's play, kid,” Tony says with a hint of bitterness in his voice and looks at him. “They make people dumb and reckless, just like ruts. Omegas have thrown themselves off buildings or in front of cars during their heats, it's literally shutting parts of their brains off at times.”

“Is that why you lock yourself away?”

“Partially. I also do it because I live in a tower full of Alphas and it's not a good idea to go into heat around them.” Tony gives Peter a smirk before continuing. “It can turn Alphas into beasts when they're faced with it directly. Tends to give them all kinds of filthy ideas.”

Peter blushes hard and turns his head in an attempt to hide it, but of course Tony saw it already. “It must be… difficult to not let anyone know…” he mumbles.

“I’ve been doing it for quite some time now, I just didn't expect someone to just show up and literally smell through it like you did,” Tony shrugs. Of course it's not fun pretending to be an Alpha, but it's easier than the other option he has.

“I'm sorry you have to do this…” Peter's voice is quiet and something about it makes Tony's chest ache. He has been around countless of Alphas, but none of them were ever like this kid. Something about Peter is different and Tony can't ignore that he likes that. A lot more than he should.

“You know, if all Alphas were a bit more like you, I wouldn't have to hide what I am,” Tony says softly and smiles, shaking his head. “But as it is, it's just easier this way.”

Peter nods, but doesn't say anything to that. He looks uncomfortable, as if he'd rather be elsewhere and Tony doesn't know if he wants the kid leave or stay. Peter is nice company, they got to know each other much better over the last days, but he can't let this progress even if he clearly wants to.

“I'm glad you stayed with me over the last days, Peter,” Tony finally says and he actually means it. “I'm sorry for… pulling you into this, but I enjoyed your company a lot.”

“I enjoyed yours too,” Peter mumbles and turns back to the table. He takes his coffee, which is now cold, and drinks it with a stern face. When he puts the mug back down Tony notices the tremble of his fingers against the porcelain. “And thank you for getting me into a real bed…”

Tony wants to hug Peter so much and preferably never stop. He reaches out with his foot under the table, rubbing his ankle against Peter's leg carefully. The boy flinches for a moment, but then relaxes again and actually presses his leg against the touch.

“If you… want me to keep you company again, I… I don't mind, really,” Peter says after a while, looking at his plate of cold food. “I don't know, maybe we can… work together when it's not that bad. To distract you.”

Tony should say no and that Peter is crazy for even suggesting this, but he doesn't. He wonders if he could risk it, if he can trust himself and Peter enough to actually be around him during his heat. He could still retreat to his heat room when a wave hits him, he just needs to change some of Friday's protocols so he can open the door at will. It's dangerous, it's reckless and dumb, all the things Tony tries so hard not to be during his heat, but when he looks at Peter, he feels like it's worth trying.

“It's okay if you don't want to, I understand,” Peter says when Tony doesn't answer for a while and shakes his head. “It's probably not a good idea, to be around me, I mean.”

“I've never been with an Alpha during my heats, Peter, this… this isn't an easy decision for me,” Tony admits, taking one of Peter's hands again to squeeze it. “Give me some time to think about it, okay?”

Peter gives him a thankful and weak smile and nods, squeezing his hand back.

[bblfoods23]

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[dragonloverdoran]

Struck to the Bone

~2k words, mentions of violence, smol Lief

There are ghosts in Del.

By now, Endon has lost count of the times he has caught a glimpse of familiar palace folk within the city's crowds: a shock of orange hair just like Lady Elisa’s, perhaps, or Captain Jessop’s crooked nose, or Min’s kindly smile.

Oh, he knows they cannot be real. Sharn never notices any of it, and she is much sharper than he is. Barda says that whoever he sees must be distant relatives at best. Neither of them ever manage to hide their concerned looks quite well enough.

Besides, in his dreams he watches his people sprawled out on the palace tiles, life draining out of them in rivers of red. He sees their shattered tools and instruments and weapons, and he hears their desperate warnings to a king who has already abandoned them. It is only when the warnings turn to curses that he can awake, a weight in his heart telling him his dreams are true to the bitter end. 

In this way, he reminds himself that these ghosts are nothing more than illusions, mere tricks of a guilty mind. It doesn’t stop them in the least.

An execution, the Grey Guards shout, their fists thundering against the forgehouse door. Come to the palace to witness our first midwinter execution! Entertainment for all the family!

A chill seeps into Endon's soul. Braced against the other side of the door, he waits until the raucous laughter fades down the street, reaching for his coat only when he is sure the Guards will not batter down the timbers. Sharn has already passed Lief his thick jacket and a knitted hat. 

Once the boy is bundled up, Endon places his hands on his son's shoulders. “Listen closely, Lief,” he says, willing his voice not to shake. If he panics, he cannot expect his son to stay calm either. “You have grown much since the last execution. You are now tall enough to be able to see the event without being on my shoulders. That means you must stand on your own, near the front, and the Grey Guards will hold you responsible if you happen to catch their eye.”

The words taste like ash in Endon’s mouth. No child should have to be told such things; no child should even know of the kind of evil that the Grey Guards wreak in the heart of the city. But having spent all nine years of his life under the reign of the Shadow Lord, Lief is already far too familiar with the process of public execution. He nods solemnly.

“Do you remember the rules?” asks Endon.

Lief begins to fidget. “Keep your head down,” he murmurs. “Face the platform. Stay silent, no matter what you see.” 

Three simple rules. Not unlike the ones in the forge, which Lief can rattle off with the speed of an auctioneer, and which are just as vital in keeping him safe. Endon breathes a sigh of relief and releases the boy.  

But after he takes the keys off the hook, Endon turns to see Lief’s cheeks flushed red, words tumbling out as quick and sudden as the tears in his eyes. “Father, I’m going to bring Monty along. I know I’m too old to play with him and he’s balding and needs repairs and I should have fixed him up ages ago, but no one will see, and no, I’m not going to say why I need him and I don’t care what you think about it.” Lief folds his arms, mouth turned sharply downward.

Endon pauses, not knowing how to reply. What has he done, he wonders, to make Lief think he would disapprove of a child’s fear, especially now? He wants to tell him that he is the last person who can demand bravery, but speaking of that would not help at all. Instead, he kneels down and embraces his son.

While Lief weeps into his collar, Endon looks around for Monty. A charming little thing despite its loose threads and rough patches, the toy kin has never been too far away. Sharn, ever-knowing, disappears into the bedroom, emerging a few seconds later with Monty in hand. Letting go of his father, Lief snatches up the furry creature and stuffs it awkwardly into his pocket, his cheeks still burning.

Sharn tuts gently, sounding almost calm. Endon knows better. Her rueful smile is tight, and as she does up her coat buttons he can see how white her knuckles are. He has learnt long ago that if his strong, courageous wife is afraid, then he has no chance at keeping the fear at bay.

“Soon it will be over,” he says. 

It is all the comfort he can offer. This time, he cannot keep the crack out of his voice.

In happier, more ignorant times, the stretch between the palace’s great hall and the garden wall was known as the Place of Peace. Magnificent feasts and parties had been held there every other month, weather permitting. Jesters and musicians brought laughter and joy to all in attendance, surrounded by candles so plentiful that it had seemed as though he and Sharn danced among the stars. 

Now, as they enter the Place of Punishment, he clutches at her hand once again. Truth be told, it is a far more apt name than the old one, for the word “peace” is a poor substitution for “easy manipulation of a foolish king”. The high platform that now stands before the people of Del makes no such pretenses about its nature. Adorned with rows of fang-like stakes, previous executions have patterned its wooden slats with layers of red-brown spatter. Bones old and new are strewn around the square, fragments crunching underfoot like gravel. Above it all, the Shadow Lord’s red mark flies high in the sickly air.

“If a tick is tall enough to gawk, they’re tall enough to squawk,” chortles a Grey Guard as they pass. “Hear that, Teak 7? Came up with that one myself. I sure hope someone refuses to watch the show.” He hefts a gigantic club in one hand, and Endon quickly averts his eyes.

All too soon, they are pressed against the backs of the crowd gathering at the foot of the platform. Endon takes a peek at Lief. The boy’s jaw is set, and he has a vice-like grip on Monty, hidden within his pocket. True to the rules, he stares straight ahead before pushing forward and disappearing into the crowd. Beside him, Endon feels Sharn squeeze his hand twice. Our son. She too has seen him go. 

Endon recognises neither the names nor the faces of the condemned. For others, perhaps, that could make it a little easier to watch the agonising deaths unfolding in front of them. They are able to believe that this cannot happen to them, as long as they keep their consciences clean and sufferings silent. It is too late for him. His people are here because of his failures, and a part of him goes with every poor soul slaughtered in his place.

Soon after the executions are complete, a tug at his sleeve announces Lief’s return. The poor boy looks about as ready to faint as Endon feels. “Mother, Father,” he whispers, “I dropped Monty somewhere near the front. I’m going back to get him, but you have to come with me. Please?”

Startled, Endon turns to Sharn.

“Well, let's go,” she says quietly, her mouth forming into a thin line. “Even the Guards have had their bloodlust sated for today.”

She is right, as always. Most of the Guards are busy directing cleanup and traffic. The rest are clumped in groups, discussing the details of the killings with schoolboy enthusiasm. Either way, none of them are paying real attention to the citizens, who are leaving as eagerly as they dare. He glances at Sharn again. She nods, so he takes a deep breath and follows their son. 

Pushing through the throng, Endon cannot help but feel like a fish swimming upstream through the River Del. Where Lief is able to squeeze between people with ease, and Sharn with only a little more effort, he is jostled left and right, his bulk hampering his progress. Using more force, he quickly finds, does nothing but yield him angry looks. With every second that passes, the others get further and further away.

He is midway through his umpteenth apology when a peculiar stillness draws his eye. A few paces away, the crowd ebbs and swirls around a lone man, standing nearly a span taller than his neighbours. His nose and mouth are covered with a dull green scarf, and a pale scar winds its way across his cheek from beneath the cloth. Where most have their heads bowed, his is held high and proud, the dark hair tangling about his shoulders his only sign of motion.

Endon blinks, half expecting the man to be seized before his eyes. Armed or not, boldness such as this is beyond foolish. Surely it was obvious that attracting attention here would be rewarded violently, yet the man makes no attempt to blend in. Still, there is something else odd about this man that gives him pause, a half-formed thought evaporating before Endon can properly seize hold of it. His chest tightens. Whatever he has forgotten, it is important. Trying to regain his line of thought, he finds himself pushing closer. At the very least, he should warn him of the danger.

The stranger, Endon surmises, is some kind of seasonal traveller. Besides the ill-informed attitude, the cut and fabric of his clothes are better suited to some thorny path than Del’s cobbled streets. Beneath the dense cloak, the man’s frame is as lean and strong as Endon’s own- fitness greater than the city’s hunger often allows. From this distance, he can guess at the features behind the scarf; a couple of steps more and he can speak to him, even reach out and touch him. 

And then Endon looks at the stranger’s eyes, and he thinks better of it. Dread darting suddenly through his nerves, he sees that there is neither touristic curiosity, nor sadness, nor even fear within them. Nothing but fury, bright and savage, fixated on the Guards as though they could combust with a stare. 

He had been mistaken. This was not the madness of ignorance, but of hate: all-consuming hate, hate that mattered more than love of home, of family, of life itself. Endon had felt echoes of it himself ever since the world ended nearly ten years ago. It was agonising and self-destructive, he knew, but it filled the void left when it seemed all else had been torn away. And even he had been fortunate, for whatever had befallen this man, there was nobody beside him to keep him grounded, as Sharn and Lief did. Nobody to tell him what had happened to the pottery workers, who had been possessed by the same feeling not too long ago. Nobody to prevent him from being a danger to himself and others, a spark waiting to set the forest around him alight.

Endon is backing away when the half-formed recognition returns to him complete. It is as good as a punch to the gut; in an instant, it buckles his knees and squeezes all the air out of his chest. No, it cannot be, he thinks numbly. No, he has never loved anyone who could possibly muster such rage. But, try as he might, he cannot deny that that hair, that build, that proud, stubborn stance, that curve of the nose and those dark, dark eyes are so very much like…

The dear name is on Endon’s lips before he remembers that it is he who wears it now. Heart thudding, he chokes it back. Calling out his own name in the Place of Punishment- what an absurdly stupid way to ensure the Shadow Lord’s eternal rule. He should know by now he cannot trust his own sight, not when it comes to those who had misguidedly cared for the king he had been. But of all the visions he had seen, this one was not so impossible, was it?

Trying to still his racing thoughts, he shuts his eyes and begins to count silently to ten.

“Jarred?”

Endon jolts at Sharn’s voice. The square is clearing, and for a moment he thinks she has seen the man too. But the stranger-who-was-not-a-stranger has vanished, and it is himself that she gazes worriedly at. Without another word, she loops her arm around him, steadying him as she has so many times before. Lief stands nervously behind her, clutching a dusty Monty like a long-lost friend.

Suddenly exhausted, Endon shakes his head and lets it drop.

“I promise I won't lose him again,” mumbles Lief, misunderstanding. He does not take his eyes off his beloved kin.

Endon swallows, trying to push away memories of similar promises he had made and broken a lifetime ago. “I am sure you will not,” he says, and takes Lief’s free hand in his own. 

[jestbeeextras]

Unfinished: Searching for Starlight

Originally written: 16 Feb 2017

I think I've shared this one before at some point, but I can't remember. I nearly put it on ao3 as is but decided against it.

I was in a bit of a dark place and working some stuff out, I had just read, or re-read, Litany in which certain things are crossed out and I guess I was stuck in that feeling. Anyway, I decided against finishing it for fear of where it might go. The text in the doc is purple because its quite purple prosey, and I don't know how many times I can write them LITERALLY bumping in to each other. Lol

---

Mornings are nothing but haze. Dan is always lost, still stuck in the clinging tar of his night times. He’s like an abandoned road under a starless sky, desolate and alone. He rises on his couch, stumbles from a dirty cushion to dingy sheets and lays on his back, contemplates the crack in his ceiling.

He’s trying to remember all the things that he should but he’s coming up empty. There’s a faint memory of damp, heated skin and humid pants against his collarbone which is something akin to feeling, he supposes, but mostly it’s just numb and void and it’s definitely the way he likes it.

The distance is better, the desolate, separate roads and starless skies are better. Because stars are meant to shine, and Dan is a black hole, a singular point where all light disappears. And stars make him feel insignificant, small and inconsequential.

He has to drag himself up at some point, but only once the morning has given way to the afternoon and the sun has tracked a path over its highest point. It needs to be going down when Dan greets it, because anything on its way up would fall at the mere sight of him.

And this is routine too.

The coffee shop on the corner is routine, and the shift at the bar and the beer he throws in to glasses and slides into ungrateful, dirty hands. The chatter that floats into dead air is routine and the bearded man shooting eyes at him, and buying him hard liquor before going home to his stoic wife shouldn’t be routine, but it is. Dan feels the burn of the alcohol on the way down, but it helps him stop feeling much else so he doesn’t mind.

It’s here the routine varies. Between destruction and vague attempts at creation. There are the nights, when the final patron has departed and he’s staring at a row of glass soldiers filled with blessed numbness, that he’ll decide to self destruct. To blow away the remaining fragments of hope he’d had that today would mean anything other than the inevitable, and he’ll fix himself a drink, and another, and he’ll lose himself on that desolate starless road he’s so often wandering down.

Few times he manages to break ranks, drag himself home bone tired and weary and perch on his couch as if poised for something. With nerves and muscles bundled so tight, he’ll set pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard and he’ll leak words until the sun is nearly up. He’s searching for starlight maybe, somewhere, always coming up empty, or wanting. These nights, of pointless creation, he’ll file away somewhere, or leave loose leaf pages scattered and haphazard around his tiny flat, crinkled, misused, and unseen. He doesn’t glance back to them, but keeps them as a reminder, to keep searching perhaps.

Dan is forgiven for being surprised that he’s only twenty two. It’s worn him down the last few years, and he’s exhausted from making it this far. He’s pretty convinced he wouldn’t make it another twenty two. Or ten. Or two. He’s got no definite plans, but tiptoeing a line between creation and destruction night after night isn’t going to last. He would offer up his own destruction if the creation meant anything. But all he has to show for his perfect demolition is a flat littered with torn up pages, protruding hip bones, and a penchant for straight vodka and skin that isn’t his own.

He’s studying the glinting bottles today, weighing up his options. He’s been over them a thousand times before tonight and no doubt he’ll go over them another thousand after it, but he persists, because he won’t fall into inertia, it has to be an active decision. He has to choose to self destruct.

But suddenly there is a manager at his hip, stuttering around clipped sentences about trivialities while his fingers slide into the belt loop of Dan’s jeans. Dan lets a sigh slip past his lips, and it’s almost relief, because the decision to give up on creation for the night is easier when he doesn’t have to blame it on loneliness. It’s a poor substitute for something real but they’ve reach an impasse where they both know it’s nothing, and empty, and pointless, but neither cares enough about the hollowness of their coupling to put an end to it. It’s not all the time, but it’s sometimes.

Dan sets a smile on his mouth. It isn’t real, but it’s the ghost of something real, and he pours himself a drink. It’s quick and heady and they don’t use a bed. Instead Dan perches on the top of a drinks crate in the cellar head and the man at his feet kneels on the cold concrete floor.

When he comes he doesn’t see stars, but he squeezes his eyes tight shut and does enjoy the darkness on the inside of his eyelids and the faint pulse of his blood in his ears. It reminds him that it’s still pumping through his body, that he’s still existing. It’s not comforting, but it’ll do.

Afterwards Dan downs another mouthful of something acidic and burning. It rests in his stomach, queasy and thick, until it enters his bloodstream and helps him to forget.

And then its back to his couch, and the crack in his ceiling, and the routine starts again.

-

Objects in motion stay that way until external forces are applied. Resistance, friction, opposition. Dan's existence isn't so much motion as it is a slip stream, a meander through a pointless narrative he's always trying to pin down. He'd been drinking until the rising sun tinted the tips of rooftops visible from his apartment window in pink, and then laid unconscious and not dreaming for a few hours before rising in a fog.

He should be worried that he's sluggish. That his head is clogged and fuzzy and his tongue feels coated and thick, but it's all such repetition that he stopped worrying about it long ago.

He shuffles into clothes from the night before, needing them only because he doesn't want to be accused of public indecency. He's already indecent, but he covers his bare skin, pale and jagged over his bones, to save onlookers the trouble of looking. It’s not like he feels attached to it, his own body merely transportation for his rambling mind.

Back to the coffee shop, and the sugary caffeinated air. He orders it black, with an extra shot, hoping that the stimulant will enter his bloodstream. It’s a more acceptable drug at this time in the morning, but he knows he’s just counting down the hours, until he gives in or the muse takes him.

This morning there’s a collision. As he turns from the counter, hot salvation in one hand, lid lifted to allow the steam to escape and the liquid to cool, he meets resistance. His front pressed up to another person’s while hot coffee is expelled from the cup in a burning stream that coats both of their shirts. It’s seeping through to his skin and the added irritation of being practically scolded on top of the thrumming headache at his temples is enough to make him yell.

He looks up into bright blue eyes beneath a shaggy black fringe and his whole world focusses in. He’s in pain, and the world is sawing at his already frazzled nerves and he doesn’t like the extra shock the sight brings him.

The guy is smiling and apologising, telling Dan he’s the clumsiest person alive and all Dan can see is blue eyes and black hair and he feels disorientated.

“I’ll buy you another one,” the guy says, swabbing at Dan’s shirt with a handful of useless paper towels.

Dan wants to bat him away, save him the energy of trying to clean up a mess Dan’s involved in. It’s an old shirt, and old skin, and he doesn’t care if he’s burnt. It’d be one more injury to stack on the others and it barely matters in the grand scheme. The fact that the pain has whitewashed his brain is neither here nor there because the face of this stranger is more vivid than anything else he’s allowed himself to be exposed to recently.

He’s been living in a grey world, the shades of it too subtle to distinguish the differences between his nights and days. This guy is a whirlwind of colour, furious hands moving over Dan’s shirt and Dan using his own to move him away.

When he takes the guy’s shoulders into his hands, he’s more gentle than he can ever remember being, scared his destructive fingers will mark this elusive thing.

“Don’t worry.” He’s saying, and his voice is cracked. These are the first words he’s spoken today, besides the order for his coffee. “It doesn’t matter.”

But this is a dismissive the stranger won’t accept, he’s already spinning them back to the counter, still apologising and moving with an ease that makes Dan notice his own creaking bones.

“Um, what were you drinking?” He asks, face turned in expectation.

“Coffee,” He manages to croak, straining for control over how dry his throat is, how rasping he sounds. He swallows around his words.

“Black coffee,” the stranger is saying over the register, and then “caramel macchiato.” Which makes Dan chuckle, because of course this unbelievable and unexpected being has all that sugar and all that foam and all that extra nonsense in his coffee.

“Why order coffee if you don't actually like coffee?” Dan hears himself asking. He's engaging with this person, conversing like a normal, albeit sarcastic, human being. He's dipping his toe into the theory of social interaction, and he's rusty, he hasn't done this in so long.

“I like coffee,” blue eyes says simply, shrugging off Dan’s tone, which must sound confrontational despite his best efforts.

“Coffee with a bunch of sugar and stuff in it doesn't count.”

“Who are you, the coffee police?”

Dan wills the smile on his face not to appear, not to crack through his weary and jaded facade, but it happens anyway. He knows it's the one that makes his dimple appear, fills his cheeks, crinkles his eyes. He doesn't think he's worn that particular smile in quite a while. Not since--

“If I were,” he quips, so he doesn't have to think, “you'd be in trouble for assaulting an officer.”

And his stranger laughs. The tip on his pink tongue poking from the side of his mouth, head crooked slightly backwards, eyes lighting up. Dan thinks he probably doesn't deserve to witness something so beautiful.

He definitely shouldn't be lingering in the conversation once the coffee is pressed into his hands but there is something about the warmth of the stranger that's drawing him in. There is nothing of the drink he had last night left in his system so the gentle vibration running through him at the sound of this guys voice is a mystery. A wonderful enigma Dan wants to capture in over egged prose, scatter this man in the spaces between words.

His brain hasn't been this quiet while sober in a long time.

“What are you?” He asks. Quite accidentally out loud.

“Not the coffee police either,” the warm voice rolls back, across the distance between them as they move from the counter. “Though nearer. I actually work here.”

Dan raises his eyebrows.

“I know.” Thin fingers push their way through a black fringe and the pads of Dan's own itch to follow them. “You think that would mean that I'd be able to navigate the place without crashing in to someone but… There you go.”

Dan can feel his head nodding and is almost surprised at the laugh that makes it way out of his mouth. He certainly hadn't agreed to make the noise, not consciously anyway.

“So that's what I am. Coffee barista. Well… Coffee barista slash graphic novelist.” This is said all in a rush, with a slight frown as if his stranger doesn't know why he's saying it. “What about you?” He settles for eventually.

“Pub down the street. The Three Bells?”

The dark head nods.

“I know the bells.”

“Know it, or know of it?”

There is a smirk that Dan probably deserves. And anyway, he doesn't even know why he's bothering to ask, it has no bearing on this temporary meeting, this fleeting encounter that will no doubt be a mere memory by morning.

“I know it.”

“Ok.”

There's a moment of silence and Dan wonders if this is the space in normal conversations where one should make a move to leave. They aren't moving to sit together, there's no reason why they should, and they're half blocking the gangway between what the counter and the seating. Dan shuffles his feet and tries not to look indecisive.

“That's a new one.”

“What is?” His enigma doesn't make a move to leave, so Dan doesn't either.

“Asking if I know about a gay bar, to establish if I'm queer. Effective but… A bit round the houses isn't it?”

Dan swallows. It hadn't really been what he'd meant. Not really. It's inconsequential what this person does or doesn't like, who or what he is, when he means nothing to Dan, never will and definitely shouldn't. Not if he knows what's good for him.

“Not that I'm not enjoying this little meet cute we've got going on,” Dan says in lieu of answering properly, “But I have to get going.”

“No problem,” there's a confident smile set on pale pink lips and Dan has the sudden and intrusive idea that he wants to wipe it away with his own mouth, “meet cute?”

“A bad one.”

“Is that your slash then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Me. Phil. Barista <i>slash</i> mediocre graphic novelist. You…. Staff in a gay bar slash… Movie writer?”

Dan laughs for a second time and wonders if the sound can really be coming from him when he can't remember actively making it. It sounds wrong anyway, alien, separate from him.

“Dan. Beer slinger slash shitty novelist.”

The confession startles him. It's an admission of a dream only, not a fact. A half truth, sitting flush up against the lie but not quite there.

“Well, Dan, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, err, likewise.”

“Is this the part of the meet cute where I ask for your number and, noticing that you wouldn't want to embarrass me any further than my own clumsiness already has, you take pity on me and actually write it down?”

Dan glances around him just once. The coffee shop looks the same as it always does, the tinkle of cups echoing in the distance, below the din, the smell of caffeine thick in the air. And yet.

Yet here Dan is, enacting a perfect replica of an everyday encounter. Bumbling through his own timeline, swerving against someone else’s and taking the moment to decide if the two narratives should converge. If feels like a next chapter to a book he thought he'd stopped reading. Not a sequel, just… A potential beginning.

He could type the number into Phil’s phone but instead pulls a beat up biro from his back pocket and, resting his coffee on the edge of a shelf, smudges the digits onto Phil’s palm, holding the back of his hand gently and pressing pressing the nib down. With it, Dan leaves the decision of where this chapter is heading to Phil, not knowing on which side he's pinning his hopes. A beginning or another inevitable end. They're the same of course, but the former has more delay, and perhaps more pain traded for it.

It's a blip. An anomaly to an otherwise steadfast routine. He barely thinks of it again.

Instead, he tries his hand at adding words to paper on his coffee table. But, unsuccessful and only barely annoyed about it, he spends the rest of the day wavering between sleep and awake beneath his threadbare sheets. Later, bleary eyed and a bundle of frazzled nerves stretched over jangling bones and translucent skin, he returns to his humdrum. To the night time and that endless road, starless skies calling to him between shots of something stronger than he is. He's not lost, he tells himself, because he didn't even know where he was headed.

---

If you like this, and you are so inclined, you have my permission go take this, extend it, remix if, make it your own. I would love to see what you do with it.

[cypherdash]

In 7 Easy Steps, Build a Content Marketing Strategy

Here's a quick rundown of each of the seven stages to building a content marketing strategy to get you started:

1. Make a list of your objectives.

It's all too easy to get wrapped up in the what, how, and where of content marketing, and we forget about the most crucial foundational piece: the why.So, what's the point of content marketing? Is it for the purpose of generating leads? Do you want to build relationships? How can you make your consumers' experiences better?Whatever your content marketing objectives are, please ensure they're long-term and aligned with your company's overall goals, objective, and purpose. Stick to 3 to 5 business goals at most, and record them, to keep your plan focused and crystal-clear.

2. Decide on your "One Thing"

There is a massive amount of stuff available, and more is being added every day. So, how will you differentiate your company with your content marketing strategy? To put it another way, what is the core of your content strategy? Is it supposed to:

. Is it possible to be excessively useful?

. Inspire and motivate people?

To all of the foregoing, the only right solution is YES! Otherwise, you risk delivering more of the same and adding to the massive, ever-growing content glut.

Jenny Magic, one of Convinced & Convert's great analysts, has a wonderful technique for gut-checking your "one thing." First, she suggests jotting down all of your firm's marketing statements. Then, for each of your top three opponents, cross off any phrases on your list that they are also utilising. You'll be left with a wholly distinct set of brand messaging that can help you define your "one thing."

3. Monitor the efficiency of your content marketing

If you'd like to monitor content, start with something searchable and think out how you'll verify it works before you create it. Be wary of vanity metrics that don't really tell you anything.

Instead of looking at eyes, we need to look at action to see if your content is really doing what it's supposed to. The four types of content marketing statistics are as follows:

.Measurements for usage: It is one of the greatest and most straightforward places to begin. In other words, how did audiences react to the content? Consider the following actions: looks, uploads, hears, searches, and so on.

.Measurements sharing: How well-received is this piece of material, and how frequently is it shared?

. Measurements for generating leads include: The end goal for most businesses is to determine how many connections a piece of content generated. . Measurements for sales: Is this piece of content profitable for us?

4. Make a list of the top five target audiences for your campaign.

Time and effort are magically created by relevance. To be relevant, we need to know who we're talking to and who we're targeting, and there are a few different ways to do that:

Viewers: High-level gatherings of like-minded people who share a shared interest or agenda. Category: People (or companies) who have one or more common qualities or can be categorized by a similar trait from cross-sections of an audience or list.

Identity: A data-driven, thorough yet imaginary description of a hypothetical group of users' aims and behaviour.

Whatever audience description you choose to lead your content marketing strategy, please ensure you're just concentrating on your top five audiences and considering target audience rather than just statistics. To avoid becoming caught on what your audience actually looks like or categorizing by age, colour, or gender, consider substituting pictures with icons or symbols.

 5. Identify the needs of your target audience.

Whatever way you use to categorise and determine your clients in step 4, use the 5x5x5 technique to get to understand them.

The 5x5x5 method looks at your top 5 customers' top 5 questions at each of the 5 major phases of the sales process to help you better understand their desires, requirements, and expectations so you can develop content that meets all of them.

If you do the statistics, you'll see that this strategy generates 125 queries for which material must be created. But don't worry: once you've whittled down the 125 queries to unique ones and eliminated duplicates or relatively close, you'll usually only have about 50-60. And you're sure to have content that answers some of their inquiries already, so try to look for obvious content gaps.

You'll have a lot better understanding of your audience and where your material stands in terms of assisting them after you have this information. 6. Use Less Content to Produce More

Almost everyone believes that the fix to content problems is to produce more. However, as we discussed in Step 2, there is a glut of content, and we don't want to pile our stuff on top of it. Plus, you've probably already made a lot of content, therefore it's time to remix and refresh our existing content before we consider developing a new one: User-generated content (UGC): Seek new great content and pieces from your consumers or community experience. Atomization: Break it down one large piece of information into eight smaller pieces of information. This is a tried-and-true favourite of Convince & Convert.

Look for new content development only once you've identified content gaps or remixed, updated, and atomized existing material. 7. Make a content schedule.

We have a whole blog post about content calendars, as well as a free content planner template, that will walk you in how, when, and where to schedule content, but here's the gist: Begin with your most-watched shows: Add binge-worthy shows (a.k.a. ongoing content efforts that are executed at least twice per month) to your calendar first, and be sure to mark any important dates or events on your calendar. Add your one-time offers: Give importance to how your one-time extras or quarterly information agreements overlap or complement your binge-worthy shows. To add content to the content repository, follow these steps: Do you have a spot in your calendar for some good ideas right now? It should be added to the repository. Allow this to serve as a repository for great ideas, and revisit it frequently.