#like I will admit I was a fucking sponge when it came to learning how to research

[mokeonn]

Sorry about all the posts about people not educating themselves. It's a topic im deeply passionate about and have a hard time understanding the opposition on because I am a fundamentally curious person who went and practiced the research techniques I was taught so that I may research better.

Plus I have autism so "researching to understand the world around me better" comes with the territory.

[tragicclownwrites]

Why the ending of "Sponge-Cano!" was great SquidBob fodder

Hello! I'm back with an analysis post as I came across something recently and wanted to share some thoughts.

I'm likely late to the game here, but I saw an old post in which the author (a fellow SquidBobber) was upset by the ending of "Sponge-Cano!" and I just have to say... huh!?

Were we watching the same episode? 🤨

Needless to say, I was thoroughly perplexed by this reaction because I personally read into it much differently. Then again, I am a clown.

Therefore - in the spirit of friendly fandom discourse - I wanted to provide another perspective on this episode. Absolutely no shade to the OP either - people are allowed to have differing opinions, after all.

If you're with me, let's clown around below the cut!

The lie that started it all

Before we dive in any further, let's take a look at the scene that started this whole conversation.

Essentially, after Squidward's heartfelt confession to SpongeBob, while he's hanging on for dear life over a boiling volcano...

Squidward: "Please SpongeBob, I didn't mean any of that! I do appreciate your friendship. I am grateful. I'm… I'm… I'm grateful for the life I'm living! Who knows how long I'll have it? I learned that from you, remember?"

He says this after being rescued by his true love SpongeBob:

Squidward: "You know SpongeBob, in light of everything that just happened... I lied to you. I am not grateful for anything! I mean look at me. I don't even have a roof to sleep under, anymore!"

Now, this is the moment that had the OP so heated about this episode. After everything he said, after SpongeBob saved his life, he just... lied?

Weeeell, not exactly.

The truth always reveals itself

Now, for my hot take... I don't think Squidward was lying at all when he said he was grateful for SpongeBob.

Before you immediately decide that I've completely out-clowned myself this time, just hear me out!

There are a few reasons Squidward may have reacted the way he did in the aftermath of the volcano debacle.

He's Squidward

Our man's just lost his whole fucking house for the billionth time

The reality of what he just said is slowly catching up with him

He's Squidward

Unlike his more chipper counterpart, the guy doesn't exactly wear his heart on his sleeve and has been shown to struggle with vulnerability and admitting failure. I mean, he can barely manage to apologize for his less savory actions without choking and sputtering like a fool!

However, when his life was on the line in this scene, he was vulnerable in more ways than one. Physically, he was quite literally dangling over an active volcano - you can't get more vulnerable than that! Emotionally, he bore his soul to SpongeBob because he thought he was going to die and wouldn't have another chance to say any of that again. Keep in mind, he truly believed he wouldn't live to see SpongeBob ever again.

I've mentioned this in my Reigisa x SquidBob masterpost, but there have been several other instances where - particularly, in a dire situation - Squidward will openly admit that he has always liked/cared for SpongeBob. And similarly, he's also tried to take it back or act like he didn't mean it when everything turns out okay or if other people aside from SpongeBob hear his confession.

So, as much as he "hates" SpongeBob and can't stand him, when it really counts, the truth always reveals itself.

Is it possible that he was just trying to play at SpongeBob's heartstrings to save his own ass? Perhaps.

But then, he accepts his fate. He loses his grip, giving everyone a tearful farewell. That is, until his little yellow angel comes to his rescue.

SpongeBob: "Squidward, I always knew you felt that way. Aw, buddy. Thanks for finally opening up to us."

⬆️Just look at the pure love in his eyes! (*Patrick voice*: LOOK AT IT!) The sappy sponge was even prepared to sacrifice himself for him. 🥺

While there was absolutely no way SpongeBob would actually let Squidward perish - promises be damned - it wasn't until Squidward poured his heart out, putting his true feelings towards SpongeBob out in the open, that he was saved from certain death.

You know how they say, "the truth will set you free"? No kidding!

As for why SpongeBob was completely fine with Squidward's lie after the fact (another point of contention for OP), well... he loves him. Period. And I think, despite his emotional constipation and frequent annoyance with the sponge in question, it's pretty clear Squidward loves him, too.

Therefore, SpongeBob wasn't upset by Squidward's outburst here because, as naïve as he may be, I don't think that fact is lost on him either.

In conclusion...

I think it's safe to say that "Sponge-Cano!" was a pretty great episode to add to the ever-growing SquidBob pile.

And if you thought the scene I talked about above was the last of it, ohohoho~ 🤭😏

You. Just. Wait.

At the very end of the episode, after Squidward loses his home and complains that he no longer has "a roof to sleep under anymore," SpongeBob does what SpongeBob does best: he offers to help him out.

Even after Squidward's selfish actions in "Can You Spare a Dime?" (which had some great fodder as well, such as *ahem* Squidward making SpongeBob wear a sexy maid outfit), SpongeBob still lets him stay at his house for an indefinite amount of time. Continuity? I don't know her.

To which, this gets even better.

Squidward doesn't refuse and find somewhere else to crash. After all, wasn't SpongeBob the reason he was miserable enough to be sacrificed in the first place? Why would he subject himself to even more SpongeBob, if that were the case?

At SpongeBob's house, he doesn't sleep on the couch or in a spare room. He doesn't even take SpongeBob's bed for himself while SpongeBob sleeps elsewhere - just like he did in "Can You Spare a Dime?"

NO.

The two of them share SpongeBob's bed. As in, they sleep in the same bed together.

Are these two fucking serious!?

They totally cuddled. Maybe even kissed.

All that to say, as much as Squidward whines and gripes about how much SpongeBob makes him miserable, it's clear to see that - even in the face of life-threatening adversity - SpongeBob's presence in his life is the key to his happiness. In this case, the key to his survival as well.

Now, if only our favorite grumpy octopus would take that spongey key, embracing him fully, to unlock that door... 🌈

[pesterloglog]

Karkat Vantas, Meenah Peixes

Act 6, page 5308

KARKAT: HEY, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY... OH. IT'S YOU AGAIN.

KARKAT: SORRY, FOR A SECOND I THOUGHT ERIDAN'S AWFUL ANCESTOR FOUND HIS WAY IN HERE.

KARKAT: I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO BE MORE OF A SHITBAG THAN THAT GUY, BUT SOMEHOW AMPORA TEEN-SENIOR PULLS IT OFF?

KARKAT: I WOULDN'T HAVE BELIEVED IT IF I DIDN'T ABSORB IT WITH MY OWN AGGRAVATION SPONGE. JUST INCREDIBLE.

MEENAH: yeah vantas im gonna clue you in on somefin

MEENAH: mosta my crew is hecks of dreadful to be around

KARKAT: I KNOW!!!

KARKAT: HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE FOR A GROUP OF PEOPLE TO SUCK SO MUCH, WHEN THEY'RE PRESUMABLY ALMOST GENETICALLY IDENTICAL TO A BUNCH OF PEOPLE I LIKE?

KARKAT: MAYBE IT'S THE AGE DIFFERENCE? OR THE FACT THAT THEY ALL GREW UP ON A PLANET FOR LAME PANSIES WHO ARE CIVICALLY OBLIGATED TO WET THEMSELVES DAILY.

MEENAH: ahahahahaha

KARKAT: I HAVE TO ADMIT, MEETING ALL OUR ANCESTORS LIKE THIS HAS BEEN KIND OF OVERWHELMING.

KARKAT: I KIND OF HAD TO GET AWAY FROM EVERYONE AND BE ALONE FOR A WHILE. HOPEFULLY I'LL JUST FUCKING WAKE UP SOON.

MEENAH: oh uh

MEENAH: you want i should step off

KARKAT: UH

KARKAT: NO, THAT'S OK.

KARKAT: YOU'RE ACTUALLY FINE, MOSTLY. I JUST COULDN'T TAKE ANOTHER ENCOUNTER WITH RED SWEATER GUY.

KARKAT: HE'S LEFT MY HEAD SPINNING, AND NOT JUST BECAUSE HE NEVER SHUTS THE FUCK UP.

KARKAT: FOR A LONG TIME, I DIDN'T EVEN BELIEVE WE HAD ANCESTORS. I THOUGHT EVEN THE CONCEPT OF ANCESTORS WAS JUST SUPERSTITIOUS, EGO-STROKING ARISTOCRATIC BULLSHIT.

KARKAT: BUT NOT ONLY DOES IT TURN OUT YOU'RE ALL REAL, BUT APPARENTLY YOU HAD THIS WHOLE DIFFERENT CULTURE IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE BEFORE US? SORRY, THAT'S A LOT TO TAKE IN.

KARKAT: WAIT...

KARKAT: OH, NO. NO, FUCK ME. HOLY FUCK.

KARKAT: "BEFORE US?" GOD DAMMIT. I *JUST* GOT THAT.

KARKAT: SEE? THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. MEETING YOU GUYS HAS MADE ME HAVE LITTLE INFURIATING REVELATIONS LIKE THAT ALMOST CONSTANTLY.

KARKAT: LIKE, NOW IT CASTS THE NAME OF MY OWN PLANET IN A WHOLE NEW STUPID LIGHT. ALTERNIA? AS IN, ALTERNATE? ALTERNATE TO WHAT. TURNS OUT IT IS THE *ALTERNATIVE* TO A PLANET CALLED BEFORUS! THE PLANET WHICH CAME *BEFOOOORE* US. HAHAHA! GET IT?

KARKAT: WHATEVER JOKERS NAMED THESE PLANETS WERE COMPLETE FUCKING MORONS.

MEENAH: well fwiw

MEENAH: alternias da bomb compared to my planet

MEENAH: and im not just saying that because grownup me ran the joint 38D

KARKAT: HEY, DON'T LET ANYONE KID YOU. ALTERNIA WAS FUCKING GREAT.

KARKAT: I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT MY BLOOD MADE ME A PARIAH. IT WAS WORTH TO IT LIVE ON SUCH A BADASS PLANET.

KARKAT: SOME PEOPLE LIKED TO TALK SHIT ABOUT THE EMPRESS. AND IT'S TRUE, SHE PROBABLY WOULD HAVE CULLED THE SHIT OUT OF ME ON SIGHT. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I ALWAYS RESPECTED HER AS A STRONG LEADER.

KARKAT: SHE KNEW HOW TO GET SHIT DONE AND DIDN'T PUT UP WITH DISSENSION FROM WORTHLESS IDIOTS. AND ALL SHE DID WAS, YOU KNOW... TAKE OVER THE ENTIRE FUCKING GALAXY. NOT TOO SHABBY.

KARKAT: I USED TO HAVE THIS KIND OF EMBARRASSING FANTASY THAT I WOULD GROW UP ONE DAY AND BECOME A THRESHECUTIONER. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS?

MEENAH: ?

KARKAT: THEY WERE LIKE THE DEADLIEST SQUAD OF INTERSTELLAR FIGHTERS UNDER THE COMMAND OF THE EMPRESS. THEY HELPED CONQUER MORE PLANETS THAN ANY OTHER IMPERIAL FORCE. BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO MAKE THE CUT, BECAUSE OF MY BLOOD. SO I USED TO THINK OF ALL THESE ELABORATE SCENARIOS TO HIDE MY BLOOD COLOR. OR IN THE MORE RIDICULOUS FANTASIES, MAYBE I COULD EVEN PROVE MY WORTH AS A SOLDIER? LIKE JUST BE SO AWESOME WITH A SICKLE, THEY WOULD JUST HAVE TO MAKE AN EXCEPTION. MAYBE EVEN BE LIKE A FOLK HERO AND RISE THROUGH THE RANKS TO BECOME THE LEADER. HAHA.

KARKAT: THOSE WERE OBVIOUSLY JUST SOME CHILDISH DAY DREAMS. I'VE LEARNED A LOT ABOUT WHAT BEING A LEADER REALLY MEANS SINCE THEN. MAINLY THAT IT'S A LOT HARDER THAN EVERYONE THINKS.

KARKAT: SO I GUESS I LEARNED TO RESPECT WHO YOU TURNED OUT TO BE ON MY WORLD EVEN MORE THAN I DID ALREADY, BECAUSE OF THAT.

MEENAH: yeah

MEENAH: the leadership thing is hard as globes

MEENAH: could barely get anyone to lift a flippin finger in my session

MEENAH: and now its like that all over again trying to raise this army

MEENAH: i reely dunno how sexy bitch grownup me pulled it off

KARKAT: OH YEAH. HOW IS THAT GOING?

KARKAT: HOW MANY RECRUITS DO YOU HAVE?

MEENAH: want to take a guess

KARKAT: OH. STILL ZERO, HUH? YEAH, THAT SOUNDS ABOUT RIGHT. SERIOUSLY, FUCK LEADERSHIP.

MEENAH: i know!!!!!!

KARKAT: WELL LOOK, HOW ABOUT THIS. LATER ON, WHEN I'M AWAKE OBVIOUSLY, MAYBE OUR METEOR WILL HIT A RENDEZVOUS POINT WITH YOU AGAIN.

KARKAT: IF BY THEN, YOU'RE STILL LOOKING FOR RECRUITS, I'LL LIKE... HOP OFF THE METEOR OR SOMETHING. AND JOIN YOUR ARMY.

MEENAH:

KARKAT: THEN WE, I MEAN YOU AND ME AND WHATEVER OTHER IDIOTS YOU'VE ROUNDED UP, CAN ALL GO FIGHT THE INVINCIBLE DEMON.

MEENAH:

KARKAT: I DON'T KNOW WHY EVERY TIME I TURN AROUND, I'M UP AGAINST AN INVINCIBLE DEMON OF ONE SORT OR ANOTHER. I GUESS THAT'S JUST THE IMPOSSIBLE KIND OF THING PARADOX SPACE WANTS ME TO DO TO PROVE I'M NOT SOME HORRIBLE MISTAKE OF NATURE. ANYWAY, DOES THAT SOUND GOOD?

MEENAH:

KARKAT: OH, BUT ON ONE CONDITION. AS THE NEW EMPRESS, YOU HAVE TO APPOINT ME AS GRAND THRESHECUTIONER OF YOUR ARMY. DO WE HAVE A DEAL?

MEENAH: oh yes yes you got it yessss

KARKAT: GOOD. OK, THAT'S SETTLED.

KARKAT: NOW I'M GOING TO GO FOR A WALK, DO SOME MORE THINKING. ALONE. OK?

KARKAT: JUST UH... MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME HERE... IN THIS STRANGE MEMORY PROJECTION OF MY ROOM. I'D TELL YOU NOT TO RIFLE THROUGH MY SHIT, BUT NONE OF IT IS EVEN REAL. SO GO NUTS. WHATEVER.

KARKAT: I'M LEAVING.

[alexkingx]

Alexander hadn't expected Patrick to reach for his hand but as soon as he had all Alexander could do was move to rest his hand closer to his lovers so that their hands could stay entwined. Alexander hated events when it was just one brother instead of the both of them, but having Patrick at his side would at least settle him. As long as Patrick was there everything would be completely fine, "that about sums it up. It's only ever him or I, never the both of us, when it comes to parties like this." He would have probably had it the same way if he'd been in her shoes, "and more often than not i'm the one that's called upon based solely on my age," because he was the heir to the throne, the eldest brother, and although he chose to share that throne with Thomas the sharks his father had associated with didn't accept a second person at the helm. "Thomas gets roped into these same sorts of things every now and then. He's more charismatic than me," he had no problem admitting that Thomas knew how to play the charming game better than he did, "so when mother needs a manipulative charming pawn she goes to him." He did love getting to watch his brother in action when it came to charming the hell out of whatever sad sap they needed to, but even he might have to take second place when it came to charisma now that Patrick was on the scene. He'd grown up with the King brothers, had learned everything he could from them, soaking up all knowledge like a damn lethal sponge, and boy was he fucking amazing when it came to putting everything into motion. "One of these days we're going to tell that old bat right where to fucking go, but until then we'll play her little games, for as much as she thinks she's in charge it's quite the opposite, one day she'll realize that." The brothers were smart and knew how to handle their mother, just like they handled everyone else, and for her thinking she had them in her back pocket she couldn't be more wrong.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," the last thing that he would want was for his mother to find out about this. She KNEW the two of them weren't together which would raise suspicions, and the last thing he wanted to do was have her asking questions she didn't need to know answers to. His breath hitched in his throat as he heard Patrick say the word out loud, boyfriend, and something about it sounded so fucking good coming from his lovers lips. Sure, he'd just said it two minutes ago himself, but to hear the word returned did nothing more than bring a huge grin to his lips. "Only if you'll have me," because even if it was only a game for the evening he would first want to make sure that it was one that Patrick was even willing to play. He pulled the others hand, that was still holding onto his, and brought it to his lips as he gave the others knuckles a gentle kiss. "We'd be the hottest couple there," and hearing that Patrick was all for this little game - well fuck, that just made tonight so much better for the both of them. "Sorry I didn't tell you about this sooner," he could have given him even a hint back at the haus, but he just needed to get away from the haus as soon as possible and didn't see the importance. "That's actually what i'm hoping for," there were a few names that he would give him once they were through the doors of the events, a few men he wanted to point out for his pet to play close attention to, and once he made the grand display of them being together he'd send his pet along his way to collect as much information as he could to be used against whoever later. They'd come back together, continue to enjoy the night, and come morning the brothers would be sitting on a large amount of important information that could unravel quite impressive men. He hadn't really thought about how it could be the two of them together, together without having to hide behind closed doors, and the damn talks and gossip that would ultimately come of them stepping into the room holding hands. "If i'm going to be saddled to one man it might as well be you," he would want it to be nobody else. Patrick was it for him, it didn't matter how long it took for them to be together, he would wait until the earths end to be with him. "I'm more concerned for your sake, not mine, you sure you want our names attached in such a manner? You know words going to get out, it might even make it back to the haus, are you ready for any implications it may bring?"

Making Alexander happy was all that Patrick had ever wanted since they were kids. The methods to make that happen had surely evolved – now they had the physical component over the emotional one – but no matter how many years had passed, his feelings toward the older King had only grown in size. Even when they were apart and living their lives, they would always keep in contact and hear Alexander’s voice over the phone or see his face via facetime … that was all Patrick would ever need to be happy himself. It was funny, really. When he was a scrawny kid whose father had abandoned his pregnant mother and had to see her work her ass off to take care of him – he would have never even contemplated how lucky he would truly be after she got the job at the King’s manor. At first, a part of him was afraid that Alexander and Thomas would see him differently. He was a maid’s son. A poor little bastard that was good for absolutely fucking nothing. But Alexander had seen him. He befriended him and taught him all he needed to know. Their friendship was pure and as it evolved into something more – Patrick couldn’t help but to be ever thankful for Alexander to befriend him when he did. He didn’t have to… but he did. And now the two of them together were every bit of a menace as Alexander was when he spent time with his brother. The only difference was that he wasn’t related to the King by blood… and sex was a mandatory component whenever the two of them were close.

Sitting back on his seat and yet again adjusting his glasses, at the mention of a cocktail party, all Patrick could do was reach out for Alexander’s hand and intertwine their fingers in a kind and reassuring way. He never held hands with anyone but Patrick did love to provide Alexander with that extra support. He knew how dreadful of a task it was to mingle with those sharks at a party. Men and women flaunt their riches and pretend to be more important than they actually were and definitely seek to kiss Alexander’s ass for favors in the future. It was all a damn game of influence and luckily for him, Alexander had trained him well when it came to dealing with the rich and powerful. “So instead of havin’ ye’ and Thomas as a united front, she wanted ye’ alone ‘cause yer’ more manageable when yer’ not together?” It made some sense from a business point of view. And the guests would easily flock toward Alexander with him being the oldest – which would leave Thomas alone to do his own antics that would definitely seed enough chaos later down the line. “I should thank yer’ mother for this, then.” Patrick’s lips curled into a smirk – one of the devious ones he reserved only for special circumstances – before he leaned toward Alex and kissed him ever so gently on his cheek. “Yer’ goin’ to be my boyfriend for the night?” Something about that word alone – BOYFRIEND - sent butterflies straight to Patrick’s stomach. He didn’t need a label to whatever he and Alexander were but to have that word associated with them was… it suited them? Were they boyfriends without having the label hanging over their heads? Patrick knew he shouldn’t dream that big, no matter how many times Alexander had told him that he saw him as an equal. “Darlin’, I’ll be whoever ye’ want me to be. And ye’ also know I’ll get some juicy scandals to share before the night is over.” Squeezing Alexander’s hand, Patrick reclined into his seat once more and turned his head toward Alex as a smile slowly grew on his features. “Ye’ realize this will be the first time we will actually be able to kiss in public? Not havin’ to hide somewhere and go somewhere for us to be… well, us?” And that was sort of a massive step when ti came to whatever was happening between them. “And ye’ don’ mind havin’ others associate the two of us together as an item? I mean – Alexander King appearin’ with his boyfrien’? That will set some tongues hagglin’, darlin’.”

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 16 - Oil Massages]

Pairing: Good Boy!Hoseok x GFD!Reader

Kinks: sensual love making, a sexy massage, Hoseok’s hands, oil, praise, puppy play, a lil bit of teasing, thigh fucking, naked grinding, vaginal penetrative sex, creampie, cockwarming, cuddly aftercare

Wordcount: 4k

a/n: only one person wanted subby!Hobi and I am here to deliver because :( this affected me deeply btw the panties scene is now burned into my memories fandfna enjoy besties 🤍

You didn’t have the best day today. It wasn’t a truly terrible day or a horrible one, but it was still not good and left you just that tiny bit moody. Said mood was instantly lifted by your long-term boyfriend and bestest friend Hoseok, who not only came home with your favourite food but also offered an open ear to rant to. 

The food has long been finished and the rant has long stopped, but your little evening date with Hoseok is still going strong. The television is running in the background, but you aren’t watching. Face buried in a pillow and tummy first, you are lying on the makeshift massage table Hoseok built out of your sofa. The latter is busy with oiling up your back, having his hair in a messy bun to make sure it doesn’t accidentally poke him into his eyes. The oil is warm on your skin as he heated it just slightly to make it even more relaxing. It smells like vanilla and almonds, lulling you into such a nice state of relaxation.

You shiver as it hits your skin, feeling goosebumps cover you instantly. 

“How’s the temperature?” he asks, pouring the oil along your spine. 

“So good, very cozy”, you answer him, already feeling so much more relaxed and he hasn’t even started yet. 

“That’s good to hear. Tell me if I should change something”, he says and puts the now empty bowl aside. He places his palms on your back to spread the oil in slow circular motions, using his entire palms for it. 

You sigh happily, closing your eyes. Now it finally starts, you can finally relax. His hands feel so soft on your skin. Hoseok has always had the softest hands ever. Delicate, strong and so, so soft. He says that it is because of all the moisturiser he uses and you honestly believe him. Hoseok uses hand cream religiously. You sometimes even have to chuckle at him when he spends minutes rubbing his own hands together before bed, teasing him that it makes him look like a cute fly. Hoseok always chuckles when that happens and makes little buzzing sounds to elicit another chuckle from you.

“Is there a part which hurts the most?” he asks you, hands lingering on your lower back for now.

“Like everywhere?”

He chuckles, “okay, I’ll make sure to get everything”, he says and begins his massage at your upper back on your shoulder area. 

He uses his thumbs for it, digging them into you in slow circular patterns. 

“Oh that’s nice, that’s really nice”, you sigh, melting in relaxation.

Your boyfriend really knows how to use his fingers. In more ways than one, but let's not dwell on that horny thought for too long. Hoseok however, really knows how to give massages. You learned this during your first month with him when you had a terrible tight neck and he managed to massage it well again. Ever since then, it has become tradition that he massages you on your bad days and in return you massage him on his bad days. It relaxes you greatly and strengthens the bond between your hearts so very much. 

Hoseok guides his touches from your shoulders closer to your spine, changing the circles for movements up and down on each side of your vertebrae, chasing all those tension points right out of your muscles.

“That's so nice there. Keep going”, you encourage him and sigh happily. 

Hoseok loves this. He loves pampering you and touching you. Hoseok is so goddamn obsessed with the way your body fits under his hands and the softness of your skin against his fingertips. You probably think that he massages you to serve you, but he must admit that it has more selfish reasons too as he soaks up those moments like a dry sponge. Hoseok seriously loves touching you, feeling his heart flutter in his chest now that he is doing it again. 

“You are really beautiful”, he says softly.

“Gosh, thank you. You are so sweet”, you say with a racing heart.

“No but, I mean it”, he insists, “you are so beautiful. Every inch of you. I love how this part looks”, he says, tracing the soft spot where your shoulder blade stops. He touches both sides, dancing his thumb over it repeatedly. 

“And this part”, he says, moving on to massage the middle of your back, “it's so perfect”, he whispers with his voice shaky in awe. He uses all of his fingers for the massage, drawing patterns on your back while his eyes race over your body obsessively. 

“You're the cutest”, you whisper, feeling so good. Both physically and emotionally. Hoseok makes you feel so beautiful. 

The parts on your lower back make you groan just slightly and so Hoseok softens his touch, eyes flitting up to look at your face. Your cheek is squished against the pillow and your eyes are closed. He looks back at your body, putting more strength into his touches again. Another groan rumbles in your throat.

“Am I too rough?” he makes sure.

“No, it’s so nice. Sorry I know I make weird sounds”, you mumble and chuckle.

“It’s fine, I’m just always scared that I hurt you”, he says, tracing the spot right above your tailbone. The latter is currently hidden behind the hem of your sweats.

“You don’t, just keep going puppy”, you encourage him, “love what you’re doing so much.”

Hoseok feels himself….shift desperately at your words. He knows that what he is doing right now isn’t inherently sexy and your answers aren’t meant to be sexual, but he still feels affected by it. Your little groans and moans make his stomach tingle and the way your back seems to tense and relax each time he touches a new spot mesmerises him greatly.

He feels like such a dirty man, thirsting over you when you are trying to relax, but he can’t help himself. He thinks that you are so beautiful and all he wants to be is to be close to you.

“That’s nice, so nice”, you groan and wiggle your hips.

Hoseok gulps, letting his gaze flit down to your butt. The fabric of your sweats is stretching around it just slightly, making it appear so round and sexy. Hoseok truly has to fight every urge inside him not to reach down there and cup it. Not only because it would leave two oily handprints on your clothes, but also because you never gave him permission to touch you that way.

Hoseok breaks his eyes away, looking at your back instead. He climbs on top of your legs and uses the new position to glide his fingers from your lower back up to your shoulders. He uses some of his weight for it to really deepen the touch. You react with a sigh of his name and a content purr, lips curling into a little smile.

He lingers on your shoulders, holding them between his fingers and massaging them almost vigorously. His head he keeps lowered right above your face, eyes racing over your features obsessively. You are so pretty. Oh, how he wants to kiss you. Maybe he dares to steal just one.

You giggle, peeling your eyes open just to glance at him fondly. He just kissed the corner of your lips, now looking at you with slightly widened and shy eyes.

“Well, hello there”, you say in a chuckle.

“H-hey”, he whispers.

“Is that a new massage technique?” you tease, making Hoseok lower his gaze shyly.

“I'm horny”, he confesses, making you laugh.

“Awww poor puppy, he's horny”, you coo, bending your elbow to play with his soft baby hair at the nape of his neck, “you’re one special massage therapist aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. You’re so sexy”, he whispers, blushing like crazy.

“And what should I do about it, mhm?”

“Can I maybe get off?”

“Get off?”

He nods his head, “please? I’ll get you off too” he whispers almost inaudibly, pouting cutely.

Here he is with his big puppy eyes and his hard bulge rubbing into your butt and his fumbly, oil covered hands restless on your shoulders. He looks so adorable that you truly can’t say no. 

“Of course you can. Use my thighs for it”, you order, making Hoseok moan even without touching him.

“R-really?” he asks, rolling his hips into your butt without even noticing that he does it. It makes you crave so much more. His cock is so hard already and his touch makes you so wet. You want him. Want him so bad.

“Yes. Go ahead. Undress me”, you order, settling back into the pillow with closed eyes.

Hoseok works quickly. He pulls your sweats down, throwing them on the ground. Then he reaches for your panties, hesitating for just a second. You feel the touch, lifting your hips.

“Yes puppy, those too. And be a good boy, do it properly.”

Hoseok merely gives you a little bark, climbing down your body to take your panties between his teeth. He tugs them down carefully, wiggling his hips and whimpering softly as he does. He feels so dizzy from this simple act, the desire to serve you oh so well, feels unbearable in his chest. 

Once your panties are off, Hoseok climbs up the couch until he can place them next to your hand. He sits back down on his heels, looking at you with sparkly eyes and his hands resting on his lap.

“Good puppy, such a good puppy”, you praise him, gazing up at him.

Hoseok wiggles his hips, whimpering softly. He loves being your good puppy, it makes him feel so loved and important.  

“Go on, your treat's waiting”, you say and close your eyes again, settling back into the comfortable pillows. 

Hoseok doesn’t hesitate. He crawls back down and reaches for the oil bottle. Sadly it isn’t warmed up like before, but you are burning up so much that a little bit of cool oil is a welcome change. 

Hoseok trickles it over your thighs and butt, sending shivers through your whole body. He spreads it with his hands first, giving you such a good massage that for a second you consider opening your legs and letting him massage something else instead. Honestly, Hoseok isn’t the only one feeling horny. His massages always get you so hot and bothered.  

“Your butt is so sexy”, he says, massaging the flesh with hungry hands. He gathers it, squeezes it, digs his fingers into it before releasing it again and using the flat of his palms to trace it. He repeats those movements until you feel like bucking your hips up and ordering him to stick his fingers into you.

“You’re such a tease”, you grumble, rolling your hips into nothing. Your breathing is sped up and irregular, you almost start crying when he abandons your butt to instead spread the oil on your thighs.

“So sexy”, he whispers, “I'm so obsessed with your thighs”, he confesses and squeezes his hands between them just to feel up your inner thighs. You open your legs far enough to give him easy access, moaning softly when this exposes your dripping pussy to the cool air. You throb around nothing, aching for more stimulation. Can Hoseok see how affected he has gotten you?

He runs his hand up and down slowly, eyes following the paths he draws and cock aching in his sweats. All he wants to be is to be between those thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful”, he says, eyes lingering on your pussy, “so wet”, he breathes, placing his hands right under your aching core. His thumbs press into your flesh, his body heat swirls over your pussy. He moves closer. Just once. For a feather light touch then it disappears again, leaving you aching for more. He draws his touch down again, massaging your inner thighs right under your pussy. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  

“Okay seriously”, you laugh breathily, rolling your hips up, “if you decide to tease right now, you can forget getting off.”

“Sorry, yeah sorry I’ll behave”, he stutters, pulling his hands away before he can rile you up even more. He undresses messily, soaking his clothes with the oil without a care in the world. They are already messy from his excitement either way, a little bit of oil won't make a big difference. He throws them on the ground and then climbs on top your legs, placing his hands on your butt for support.

“That’s better”, you say, pressing your thighs together. Even that simple act sends heat through your pussy. Oh how sensitive he has gotten you.

“I’ll start now”, he says, panting desperately.

“Yes, start”, you order, wiggling your hips.

With his eyes glued to your thighs, Hoseok lets his hard cock glide right between them. The oil covering your skin makes the slip feel so easy, giving him enough lubrication to bury himself to the base.

“Shit”, he presses out, closing his eyes, “so soft”, he lulls and begins rocking into you, fucking his cock between your oiled-up thighs.

You are so warm, the oil is so wet, your thighs are so soft. Hoseok swears that he instantly feels dizzy and out of breath because of it, moaning softly as hot electricity runs through his cock.

“That’s so sexy, keep going puppy. Keep going”, you sigh, eyes squeezed shut and fingers gripping a piece of the blanket he placed underneath you. You love this.

Hoseok is angling his hips just right that his cock grinds against your pussy with each thrust. His veiny shaft fits perfectly between your lips, the tightness of the position really presses his cock against you. Each movement feels like paradise, sending heat through your pussy and the rest of your weakened body.

“It’s so nice”, Hoseok whimpers, squeezing your butt. He loves getting off with your thighs. Especially like this. He can reach your pussy so well in that position. You are so incredibly wet this evening, covering his cock in your sweet juices and making Hoseok chase them almost desperately. He loves that contrast of oily thighs on two sides of his cock while one side gets the warmth of your heavenly pussy. The difference in sensations makes him dizzy, head soon falling down and now tangling tiredly.

“It’s the best, it seriously is”, you agree, meeting his every second movement in a roll of your hips. You know exactly what to do to elevate the thigh fuck and make it even more enjoyable for both of you. You keep rolling your hips up, forcing your clit to glide over his cockhead each time that happens.

“Your pussy’s so wet”, he whines, “I can’t.”

“Mhhm yeah…” you lull, not knowing much else to say. Quite frankly, all you want to do is melt into a puddle of relaxed pleasure and moan freely. You love grinding with Hoseok.

Hoseok is a very passionate lover. Attentive, intense, fiery. He fucks deep. He fucks hard. And he fucks long. You blame it on his personality. Hoseok fucks like he treats a choreography. He learns fast, but then practices until even perfection seems imperfect to him. And only then he keeps going, pouring his all into perfecting the already perfect and somehow always managing to actually do so. Hoseok fucks just like that. He learns what gets you both off and then fucks perfectly, passionately and with all his heart poured into it.

And that is why you fucking love grinding with him. Because when you grind, Hoseok lets go of some of that perfectionism and merely allows himself to feel the sensations. He becomes perhaps a little sloppy at times - like right now when his hips stutter for a moment as bolts of hot pleasure run through his cock - and maybe a little uncoordinated - when seconds later he completely loses his rhythm to instead whine about how sensitive he was - but that doesn’t stop you from loving those moments with him, because they feel like goddamn paradise.

“I’m so sensitive”, he whines as second time, trying to find his rhythm again.

“Me too puppy. My pussy’s so sensitive”, you answer him breathily, twisting more of the blanket.

“I wanna be inside”, he confesses, eliciting your aching desire to be stuffed.

You roll your hips up, whining softly as this once again makes his tip glide over your clit. You are so sensitive by now that the touch makes your toes curl.

“Do it, fucking do it”, you order, opening your legs just far enough to present yourself to him. Like this, the pressure around Hoseok’s cock stops and all that remains is the wetness of your pussy against his cock.

Hoseok peels his eyes open, looking at where he is touching you. Your thighs are glistening in his excitement, covered in it and marked as the reason for why he was so incredibly horny tonight. His cock is so hard, gliding right through your wet folds. Your hole is right there, glistening and looking oh so empty.

“Darling”, Hoseok moans and feels his composure break. He angles his hips and thrusts them into you, allowing his cock to glide into your wet pussy.

“Fuck yes”, you moan loudly, welcoming him with desperate clenches. Inch by inch you feel him slide inside, filling you up with his perfect cock and reminding you once again why he was the best. You needed him so much. The stretch feels so nice, so intense, so good. “Move puppy, move.”

Hoseok exhales shakily, slipping his hands from your butt to press them into your back instead. He tightens his jaw, furrowing his brows in concentration before finally beginning to move. He goes slow but deep, feeling his thighs tremble each time he is buried inside you completely.

“Keep going, don’t stop”, you encourage him, meeting him with equally as slow and deep movements.

You love doing that. You love fucking back on him when he fucks you. You are very well aware that Hoseok doesn’t need any help and that he is very capable of getting you there without your guidance. But it feels so good. Grinding with him on a melody only you and him can hear, fuels you. Smooth movements, deep strokes, needy wiggles. The dance feels so goddamn good that you possibly couldn’t stop.

Hoseok loves it too. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is struggling a lot tonight. His cock’s so sensitive that moving is really hard. All he really wants to do is collapse on top of you and lie limp as pleasure washes over him. So to have you grind back into him helps him so goddamn much to stay focused. He loves grinding with you. Cock deep inside you, wet pussy tight and bodies burning up. It’s his favourite kind of dance to do.

Hoseok lowers himself to his elbows, pressing his chest into your back. He knew going shirtless would be a good idea because that feels amazing. Your skin is so soft and warm, the oil feels so good on his skin. He melts closer because of it, cock pressing right against your sensitive spots in the new position.

“I love this so much”, he rasps, voice shaky in pleasure, “do, do you love it too?”

“Yes puppy, love it so much”, you sigh, reaching behind yourself to grab a bundle of his hair. It sadly messes up his bun, but that truly isn’t a tragedy. Hoseok looks so good when his hair is all messy and ruffled. You crane your neck, claiming his lips in a sloppy kiss.

Hoseok moans throatily, hips rutting into you so deeply that you possibly couldn’t meet him anymore. You don’t mind. His weight on you, the warmth which that brings, the depth of his cock. It all makes up for the lost opportunity to grind.

Like this the blanket bunches up between your legs, lying just right so that a fold of it is grinding against your clit.

“Shit Hobi”, you break the kiss when you realise it, moaning against his lips with squeezed shut eyes, "Hobi, ah Hobi…"

Hoseok answers you by moaning against your lips, bending his arm so he can cup your face. You don’t even mind that he covers you in a little bit of oil, enjoying the tenderness with a fluttering heart.

“It’s so good, puppy”, you get out, head falling into his palm as your body forsakes you. You are so weak, you can’t hold up the weight anymore, all you want to do is fall deeper and deeper and deeper.

“Say it again please”, he begs, trembling on top of you.

“Such…a good…puppy”, you get out in sighs, basking in the strong shake that courses through him because of it.

“Again please”, he whimpers.

“Good puppy”, you lull, pussy tightening around him because of how desperate he gets you. He fucks so much better when you praise him, sounds so sweet with all those whimpers leaving him.

“Oh god”, he croaks, cock throbbing deep inside you, “ah..I’m close.”

“Keep going puppy, fucking make my pussy cum first, yeah?”

“Yeah”, he whimpers, dropping his head against yours, “fuck, darling.”

“Yeah, fuck”, you agree, dropping your hand from his hair to grip the blanket instead. You twist it harshly, head falling against the couch because Hoseok’s own arm gave up on you. Now his hand lies between your cheek and the sofa cushion, thumb running over your skin in mindless circles.

Hoseok chases you, nuzzling into your neck to whimper your name. His hips can barely even move. Rocking back and forth in the smallest movements. He is so swollen and hard that you don’t mind the slow movements. On the contrary, you are so sensitive that even those slow movements feels like too much.

“Hobi I’m close too”, you get out, making him whine desperately. Your clit throbs against the blanket, his cock grinds right against your g-spot and the warmth in your stomach gets too much to bear, “now, Hobi n-now.”

“Oh god”, he squeaks out, gripping your hand twisting the blanket. His hips fall still completely, chest pressing into your back tightly as underneath him you shake and rut in your high.

“Fuck yes, fuck yes”, you chant, rolling your hips into the pillows as best as possible, “fuck puppy, such a good puppy. You’ve got the best fucking cock”, you growl, feeling your burning high in your entire body.

“I can’t hold it any longer”, Hoseok whimpers and sobs softly, “please c-can I let go too?”

“Yes, fuck yes. You can, yes”, you chant, throwing Hoseok over the edge so violently that he actually wails up for you, collapsing on top of you as his hips chase the flames of his deep high.

You can feel him cover your insides, moaning deliciously because you goddamn love being creampied by him. Given how you can’t get pregnant because of all the precautions you both take, feeling his hot cum inside you is paradise. Warm, wet, addicting paradise.

Hoseok comes down after you, growing weak on top of you. His weight doesn’t feel constricting, you actually love having him lie on top of you. He feels like your own personal weighted blanket. Warm, comforting but also sweaty. Very sweaty from all the heated grinding you have been doing. You want all of it. It’s so goddamn nice.

“Thank you so much”, he whispers, voice raspy from his intense high.

“You are so cute”, you lull, intertwining your fingers with him, "this was amazing, you know?"

“Yeah…I don’t think that I can get up.”

“Good, don’t. Let me warm your cock for a bit.”

“God I love you”, Hoseok whispers, nuzzling into your neck.

“I love you too”, you answer him, feeling yourself sink into the fluffiest and softest cloud of sweet afterglow.

[draconic-ichor]

Drive

Dabbles

Kolt x Tamlin

The boys have to take a drive to the nearby town for plumbing parts. Tamlin opens up a bit on the way

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes

I love these boys man…

Tamlin looked at the dirty dishes in the sink, frowning. He grabbed the sponge, squeezing a good amount of dish soap onto it. Turning on the sink he prepared to start washing.

Just then he heard a much louder sound of water than he should of, pausing to listen.

Dirty water gushed from beneath the cabinets, soaking his feet.

“Shit!” He yelled, rushing to turn off the water. He knelt down to open under the sink, finding everything wet.

Hearing the commotion, Kolt padded in curiously. His curls were a mess as sleep still hung on him.

“I’m going to have to call someone…” Tamlin sighed, looking at the busted sink.

“Why?” Kolt asked.

“Look at it!” The other’s voice was tinged with distress, “I can’t fix this.”

“I can try.” Kolt offered, already rolling up his sleeves.

“You can fix plumbing?” Tamlin’s voice was thick with skepticism.

“I’m better with electrical work, but this shouldn’t be too bad.” Kolt admitted.

“It looks like a busted tailpiece. A new one and maybe some new coupling nuts and this should be good to go.” Kolt commented, turning to ask, “You have any hardware stores around here?

“It’s a drive.” Tamlin answered.

“Faster than ordering them online.” Kolt pointed out.

They got dressed in more appropriate clothes, climbing into Tamlin’s truck. Kolt fiddled with the hanging air fresheners until Tamlin swatted his hands away. They started the drive to the nearest town in awkward silence, neither reaching for the radio.

Kolt tried to stir up conversation, “Does your prosthetic fuck with driving?”

Tamlin glanced at him from the corner of his eye, answering simply, “No.”

“Okay..”

“I don’t use my left leg to drive.” Tamlin went on, “But I lost the leg before I learned how to drive…so it’s the only way Iv known.”

The small tidbit of his past made Kolt hungry for more, not getting many opportunities when the other seemed to want to open up.

“How did you loose it?” Kolt ventured.

He saw Tamlin’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning a bit white. When no answer came and the awkwardness blanketed over the truck thickly once more Kolt mentally hit himself for overstepping.

After what felt like an eternity Tamlin’s voice came quietly, something hidden in his tone, “Bone infection.”

Kolt nodded, looking at Tamlin’s face. There was more, he knew it, just by the way far off look that pooled in the other’s dark eyes.

“My Pa is really good at making prosthetics for people. Iv seen him make a few.” Kolt changed the subject slightly, filling the silence, “Used to work in the medical field before I was born…and he really likes metalworking now.”

“Is that how you knew I had one?” Tamlin asked, referencing their first meeting.

Kolt remembered being able to sense the metal under the other’s clothing, inquiring about it before thinking. Not about to tell him how he truly knew, Kolt lied, “…yea.”

They finally neared the town, it wasn’t much too look at and if you blinked your could miss driving right through it. Tamlin pulled into the small hardware store that doubled as a feed store.

Kolt felt very out of place in his dark duster coat and glossy boots.

It didn’t take him long to find everything, the parts fairly commonplace. They made the purchases before heading back out to the parking lot.

“Can we get something to eat?” Kolt asked, looking towards a small dinner.

“We have food at home.” Tamlin didn’t pause, getting into the truck and starting it.

Kolt huffed, climbing into the passenger seat. “You really know how to treat a guest…”

“You’re not a guest.” Tamlin rolled his eyes, pulling back into the road, “You are a mooch that is working to fix his mess in exchange for a bed to sleep in.”

“Always using such flattering words for me.” Kolt teased, “Gettin me all hot and bothered over here.”

He chuckled at the warning look, Tamlin gave him.

“Why are you always like this?” Tamlin grumbled, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Horny?”

“No, insufferable.” The other corrected.

“It’s a gift.” Kolt shrugged, looking out the window chewing a bit at his nails.

[leupagus]

My Stationery Box, or: The Douche Chest, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Being A Terrible Parody Of Myself

So I really love to write letters, and have since i was a kid — when i cleaned out my grandparents’ house I found a few I’d written in grade school, and my parents’ files are chocablock full of the weird collage type things I sent to them in college. 

I’ve also been a huge insufferable fucking snob about stationery since way too young (yes I did have a fountain pen phase, no it did not go well) and have been collecting fancy paper and cute cards and assorted weird writing paraphernalia forever. Up until recently, things were just kind of haphazardly stuffed in various drawers and shelves and I could never actually find any said fancy shit when I wanted it; but a couple of months ago I discovered an adorable little chest of my late mom’s that had previously housed, I think, her knitting and has mostly just been collecting dust since. And voila: The Douche Chest was born:

(Pictured with my elderly laptop and coffee with my coffee warmer, which I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE everyone to buy one day when we’re not under worldwide quarantine, seriously it will change your life.)

Keep Reading for some top tier stationerdery

First off, the stuff that helps me write! I still use my family address book, which was purchased sometime in the early 80s and has the name and address of everyone my parents ever cared enough about to want their name and address, which is actually not that many people. I keep it updated and have added a few people, but mostly rely on my phone’s address book. Mostly I like it because it’s got a lot of my mom’s handwriting.

My planner, which has a whole correspondence section where I keep a record of who I write to regularly, when I write to them, and what kind of stationery they usually get (because there are different types and you don’t want to give a correspondence an inconsistent letter-reading experience! Yes I know, I can’t believe I’m like this either) indicated by the m, s, x, l, b notations. That will be relevant later. Also yes the planner is where I scribble down both story ideas and my gratitude journal. This is what I’m saying in re: yikes.

At my own house, I have a whole huge box of letters I’ve gotten over the years, mostly organized by sender and date. Since I’m at my aunt’s house for quarantine, my correspondence is all being kept in my dad’s old... I dunno what to call it, basically it’s a trapper-keeper type thing that I literally never saw him go to work without. (A running theme of this tour is that a whole lot of this stuff is inherited from/given to me by my parents and grandparents.) Inside is also various labels that have come in handy when addressing packages etc, as well as our local neighborhood directory.

Next up is my pen bag, which is — I mean, it has my pens. I prefer writing with a black .5 tip rollerball type pen, and by “prefer” I mean “I cannot abide writing letters with anything else and will go to Staples and buy a new box rather than use a ballpoint pen except obv not right now, which makes the bag real important for keeping track of all my special pens.” Also pictured: my grandpa’s ancient letter opener that I’m pretty sure he stabbed multiple people with, and my blue Le Pen which I use to annotate my letters when I’m reading them through before sending. I KNOW.

This is my assorted letter-writing stuff storage box (no we’re not even at the cards yet this is TERRIBLE); please note that I sort of jerryrigged this box together myself, which will be another running theme of this tour. Glue, roller whiteout thingies, washi tape (which I don’t really use but people keep sending me?) post-its and my address stamp because no matter what I do, the fuckin’ Audubon Society refuses to send me a single donation request with cute stickers showing my address even though they’ve sent my deceased dad like three THIS YEAR. Anyway. Also please note the incredibly awesome initial stamp thing — I came up with the rough design in college and use it in place of my name a lot, but I went to leoniebunch and they transformed it into this super professional and lovely design that I want to use for the rest of my life. Not pictured: the fucking wax seal I also had made with that design, because yes, I’m like this.

WE’RE STILL NOT DONE WITH THE PARAPHERNALIA: here’s the other misc. stuff that I use on the regular. Cup with sponge because we’re not really licking envelopes these days: tons of weird stickers that I’ve collected, YET MORE PENS, including rainbow ones because one of these days I’m going to write to one of my friends with alternating rainbow colors and they’ll have to murder me. Also pictured: the letter opener which I forgot to put back in the pen bag, as well as my dog’s nail clippers and brush because that’s a handy place to keep them. Also also pictured: my dog, who does not help in any way with letter writing.

OKAY FINALLY ONTO THE STATIONERY, Jesus just writing this all out is making me both proud and ashamed.

I’m sure you noticed in the first pic how everything is meticulously, not to say monomaniacally, labeled. Some stuff might require a little bit of explanation; some stuff is pretty wysiwyg though. For example, BEAR CARDS, which:

(These are sent exclusively to my nephews, who go absolutely apeshit over them every time. Come to think of it, I have a LOT of cards/letter stock/etc that is just for one person or one set of people, which maybe I should talk to my therapist about.)

PUN CARDS are likewise exactly what you think they are; they’re the most recent addition to my hoard, having found them at Powells when I went to Portland in February. They are extremely My Kind Of Thing.

Then you’ve got things like BIRTHDAY CARDS, THANKS, POSTCARDS which like — guess what:

(Please note that of these birthday cards, all but two were actually inherited from my grandmother who passed away in 1986. See if you can guess which two are my purchases.) (Also I’m running out of thank-you cards but to be fair I am rarely grateful so this should last me another few years at least.) (Also shit, I didn’t take a picture of the postcards I don’t think? Whatever, they’re postcards that I’ve either inherited from my parents or collected over the years. There’s also a very odd collection of wolf-themed cards that SOMEONE in my family collected, and that I have been using exclusively for allighater because she’s the only one who could ever appreciate them enough.)

Then there’s the BLANK CARDS and BLANK AND WRITTEN CARDS WITH/WITHOUT ENVELOPES, because sometimes I just need to know what I’m getting into before opening the boxes. I’d say a good 50% of these were inherited from my folks, with the cutsier ones being my own purchases. The cards that these boxes originally contained are looooooooong since used up but they’re nice boxes and that meme about adulthood being an endless debate over whether or not you should keep a box because it’s a really good box is accurate as all hell. 

(There are a lot of cards in here that I bought when I was like, in college — those square ones, for example, were purchased at Faces in Northampton when I was in college and I’m probably never going to actually send them which is kind of ridiculous but see: this entire post.)

And finally, the actual letter-letter stationery! Which I also have an embarrassing amount of! First up is what’s labelled MADOC TREE CARD/LETTER because I honestly had no idea how else to describe it; it was inherited from my grandma who everyone called MaDoc (on account of her being both a ma and a doctor, go figure) and it’s really lovely. I doubt it’s the original intention, but I like to unfold the paper and use both sides of it, because I always have a lot to say. These are used only for family members on MaDoc’s side, and of those, only the ones I really like, which accounts for there still being a lot left.

Then there’s the X-LARGE paper, which isn’t actually that large — it’s just normal computer-sized — but in context is the biggest stuff I’ve got. All of this paper is from my mom, who loved using cute themed paper, and I use this stuff mostly for the friends of hers I keep in touch with (which is actually kind of a lot).

Then there’s the letterhead I use for — okay, so like, we know by now that I’m deeply weird, but this is probably just DEEPLY WEIRD, but whatever, you came this far. So I found a metric shitton of 6 3/4 envelopes in amongst my parents’ office supplies — I have literally zero idea why they had about 5 100-count boxes of these envelopes but I’m one of those people who can never, ever throw shit out, so! I gathered together all the letterhead that they’d also collected over the years from the various universities and hospitals they worked at, cut said letterhead down so that it a) didn’t have University of Tacoma or whatever still on it and b) perfectly fit a 6 3/4 envelope if folded three times. The resulting shape is a little... odd, I’ll admit, but it pleases me greatly and that’s the important thing. In fact this has been my go-to correspondence choice for a couple of months now.

(Also pictured: the cover for this hinky-ass box I made out of a Beekman 1802 box from when we went to their store for their Rose Apothecary popup shop. Zero regrets. Not pictured: the really cute pad of paper I also use for these envelopes that’s a more normal size and shape because where’s the fun in showing you normal stuff?)

And finally, my pride and joy, my Crane Stationery, some of which I have had since I was in high school and my mom bought me a box of it for my birthday (I told you, running theme). It comes in small, medium, and big; yes, I absolutely have rules as to who gets what size of these, too. The medium box kind of fell apart a few years ago so I cobbled a new one together; Crane stationery is notable for not being as exciting as that cover might imply. I’m also kind of pleased that I still have the airmail stationery that I got in college that apparently isn’t sold anymore, which I find baffling because what the fuck is the point of international correspondence if you don’t have to use special stationery? Anyway:

(In re: the lined sheets — I actually have them for every size, because I loathe lined paper but also loathe writing crooked, hence these guides that I put under each sheet as I write. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

So that’s the complete guided tour! If you aspire to have a collection as viscerally unnerving as mine, feel free to send any questions my way. You’re welcome/I’m sorry.

[tuesdayx]

So I thought it would be fun to do a song-by-song breakdown of our latest album Essential.

Essential started as some rough demos designated for a side project in late 2019, which then became our largest album to date in terms of song selection. Many of the themes deal with learning to cope with the changing world thanks to Covid, with a perspective of someone who had to keep working at an "essential" job with no option of self-quarantine. I was happy to continue working and being able to pay my bills over the past year, but there was always elements of stress, fear, and tension lingering over myself and everyone else in my position.

So here we go; starting from the top let's look at the Songs of Tuesday X's 6th album Essential.

1. Jet Fuel Can't Melt Steel Beams: the title was a reference to the 9/11 conspiracy memes, which as stated in the opening lines, "has nothing to do with this song." Written in January of 2020 before Covid had made any significant impact in the US, the song touches on many themes which happened to occur throughout the year, such as [another] Californian forest fire (Australia too), new diseases (Covid), a riot (the BLM movement over the summer, which I will state everything that movement has been fighting for is 100% justified and the United States is in desperate need of Police reform, as does our political system which has remained inherently racist to this day.), Civil War (and exaggeration for sure, but the civil unrest and political division in our country will soon split us apart further), more corporate giants(companies like Amazon profited more from this Pandemic than ever before and have helped further the gap between the American working class and the top 1%). Favorite line: "I won't get philosophical, I only wanted your attention."

2. The Only Difference Between You and Me is a Sense of Apathy and Your Brand New Nikes: This song is a blithing criticism of the American political system. Our two party system has left Americans with a choice between "the lesser of two evils" and allows politicians with no true interest in our needs to rise to power. The use of 3rd parties as an alternative is a overly simple compromise that would only just begin to alleviate the problems created in our political system. Both of our main parties are considered conservative parties to the rest of the world, and any progressive measures that would benefit society and reduce the effects of climate change are considered radical and preposterous by politicians with financial stakes in our crooked system where corporatations hold control and the people are treated as fuel for an otherwise worthless currency. Favorite line: "Listen to the radio, they played my favorite song. Now I'm bored and wanting more."

3. Blame it on the Elves: the title is a reference to an episode of the Podcast "Lore" by Aaron Menke (i can't recall which episode, but you should check it out anyway because it's great listen.) An instrumental interlude inspired by ragtime music of the 1920-30's, with an edge of course.

4. Class of Dropouts: This song was written when I was 16 during my sophomore year of high school and was originally featured on my now unavailable album "trees" before adopting the Tuesday X monicker. I brought it back 6 years later because I loved how raw and punk it was. The lyrics are dorky but I decided to leave them as is, it's a cool track for high school stoners to blare and let out their teen angst. Favorite line: "Walking in on my friends fucking."

5. Polaroids on My Bulletin Board: This is a song about growing up. As a 22 year old (now 23) who decided not to go to college straight out of high school, I felt isolated from my peers in a way. By going into the workfield right away I sometimes feel like I skipped a few years and missed out on a lot of opportunities. I regret not leaving my hometown sooner than I did and chasing my dreams of being a touring musician in a band. More often than not I reminisce of my youth playing shows and getting into trouble, as I now feel old and out of place in a scene I grew up in. Favorite line: "I know what it's like to be alive, I know what it's like to live a lie."

6. Labradoodle Underpass: Going back on the theme of growing up, this is about my recent experience with shows as an adult. When I was a teenager I felt ambitious and ready for anything, and I would drop literally everything to go to the nearest show. As an adult I feel introverted and constantly anxious about the world around me. I've missed out on a lot of great shows due to my own self doubt's and anxiety. Now that shows have been canceled for over a year I feel even more regret by not appreciating them more while I could. Favorite line: "23 years and a lingering fear that anything could happen, why am I here?"

7. Some Shit: This was me trying to be modest mouse lol jangly guitars and half talking/half singing vocals describing the world around me. I guess in a way it was an exercise in writing character description and setting, but otherwise it's just a chill track that almost feels aimless at parts. Favorite Line: "it's just some shit I learned from a friend. Just some shit I learned when I was trying to prepare."

8: Woe is the World: On the album this is a chorus snippet that barely a minute long (the full version is available as a bonus track on bandcamp, and it was actually a demo that turned out better than the final version.) I originally wrote this song when I was 15 with a different set of lyrics, but I came back to it while writing this album and re-wrote it to reflect my mental state and the world around me. Overall, just another melancholy track in a sea of melancholy songs. Favorite line: "you've never felt more alone than you do now, was everything worth it in the end?"

9. Then Why Was it Named Gideon?: the title is a reference to a line in Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour (my favorite series) and like the first track on this album doesn't have much to do with the song. "Gideon" is a simple love song, talking again about how growing up sucks but having the right person by your side can make all the shitty times worth it in the end. Favorite line: "it's time to move on, you're taking too long."

10. I am Here, I'm Looking at Her, and She is Beautiful: This song is entirely about the book "Perks of Being a Wallflower". That's it. Nothing else, let's move on. Favorite line: "Over Christmas I read them a poem about a brown paper bag and the boy who wrote it."

11. Try to Be a Filter, Not a Sponge: Like the previous song, this one is also mostly about "Perks of Being a Wallflower", but with elements of my own experience with toxic relationships. I like to think of it as the character Charlie's experience with Mary Elizabeth overall though. Favorite line: "She called my favorite book washed out trash, said I have no taste and I'm still too sad."

12. Lavender Spray Bottle: This instrumental dates back to 2017. I recorded the guitar part as a demo on my phone and forgot about it. Over time I forgot how to play the guitar part, so I used the demo as a basis and layered everything else on top of it. The title is a reference to a bottle of water with lavender essential oils mixed in that my ex used to fend away spiders in the house we lived in at the time.

13. Hindsight is 2020: I will admit, this is my favorite song on the whole album and was actually the last to be written and recorded. With a simple guitar part and layers of vocals, this song is a direct reflection of life during the peak of the pandemic. With curfews in place and rising case counts, I had to learn to cope with life at home during my late nights away from work. My partner was quarantined during this time and I reflected on the mental strain this put on her. Favorite line: "Don't go to work, you need the money but you're not happy when you're there. Sometimes life is so unfair."

14. I Don't Know How to Deal With Serious Emotions Without Turning Them into a Fucking Joke: the title came from a meme I found on my phone from high school. The song itself was about my own inability to handle serious emotions without coming off as sarcastic. In both the music and lyrics, the song starts as a simple confession before exploding into raw chaos. Favorite line: "it's so hard. I'm so scared, what have I become?"

15. Say Hello to My Little Friend: the last instrumental on this album. A short haunting tune that reflects the final two tracks. The title is probably a reference to Rambo or something, but I never watched it and I thought it fit the feeling of this song.

16. Minneapolis: What became one of the most emotional tracks on this song actually began as a joke. My partner was snap chatting a friend one night and they asked me to write them a song on the spot. So I improvised the first two verses and chorus of this song, referencing her going to school there at the time. I found I actually liked what I had written however, so I refined the track and changed it from a sassy country song into a melancholic lament of my experience in the twin cities and southern Minnesota. Favorite line: "I miss Camp Snoopy, and Paul Bunyon's log flume ride that went around the whole damn mall."

17. Before the Sunrise: the final song on the album is an intimate look at my relationship with my partner. Through past experiences i have become riddled with self doubt and always looking at improving myself as a person. With hopes that one day I'll be the person I'd like to be for mine and their sake, it's an optimistic tribute to my best friend. Favorite line: "the cycle ends until the sun rises again, you're my best friend."

Thank you all so much! Check out Essential and our other music on Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple, and other places! I hope you all enjoyed this personal look at these songs that got me through the worst parts of 2020.

[artificialqueens]

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 10/10 (Taywhora) - Juno

Chapter Summary: The three finalists are just three challenges away from the end of the Bake Off, and the reunion with their fellow competitors, families, and friends at the finale garden party. The Signature and Technicals will be the hardest yet, and the Showstopper will ensure the three finalists bare a slice of their hearts to the country. But who will take the winning cake stand?

A/N: I have been utterly blown away by the support and comments I’ve had for this fic on tumblr and AO3! Huge big thank you to everyone who has cheered me on with this. For ease, the finale and epilogue are in one here (but are split on AO3). I hope to be back soon with some short stuff for rare pair challenge! xo Juno

WEEK 10: GRAND FINALE

Aurora felt like she didn’t sleep all week back in Worksop, and now, the night before she had to take the train down south to film the grand finale, the very idea seemed virtually impossible. Her body and her mind tossed and turned, every time she closed her eyes she saw cakes and breads and pastries and all sorts of things she was sure she’d never have any desire to eat again.

She had no time to think about Tayce, but Tayce had found her way in through the cracks in her mind while she had practised. Gone from the tent, but not gone from her life. And her last act in the tent had been to give Aurora five words that had rung like a melody in her head ever since.

You can win this, bitch.

She reached for her phone in the darkness, and it said it was half past one in the morning. She’d have to get up in three hours to get ready, before she headed out for the train. Lawrence would already be on the sleeper train, and Veronica was probably getting up at around the same time. But as she opened their own three-way chat, she found both Lawrence and Veronica were also messaging at silly time in the morning.

They weren’t sleeping either. Aurora understood why now.

Sure, she’d see Tayce again this weekend at the grand finale garden party. But her departure still replayed in her head.

Why did I end up this reliant on her anyway? I can bake without her. I’ve done it for years!

But this wasn’t just baking. It wasBake Off. It was surreal, intangible. It defied gravity. How many times had Aurora had to anchor herself to Tayce to keep herself from floating away?

Her phone came up with a notification from Lawrence.

Lawrence:why tf ru awake

The irony of Lawrence’s message was not lost on Aurora.

Aurora:your meant to be on the sleeper train Aurora: sleeper Aurora: clue is in the name Lawrence: yh but its stopped Lawrence: we’re in carlisle  Aurora: what’s it like in Carlisle x Lawrence: dark

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but it tickled her far more than it should, and she found herself laughing far too hard at the message.

Aurora: how much ru lookin forward to this bein over now x Lawrence: oh loads babes Lawrence: cant wait to bring that cake stand to Glasgow x Veronica:keep dreaming Lawrence  Aurora: unlikely lol x

On second thoughts, the teasing and the laughter were a balm for her worried mind right now, and Aurora found she was laughing more than she had all week at their conversation.

Sleep is overrated anyway.

——

The tent looked huge and imposing, but Aurora was still not at the front to her relief. If Lawrence had gone home last week - not that Aurora had ever expected her to - Aurora thought she would have squirmed at the front under the gaze of the judges. Especially now, with just the three of them left, their voices echoing like a vast cave, all of their heartbeats just sounding amplified as they hammered against their ribs.

It’s the finale. I made it.

Aurora glanced at the two badges she’d won. The same amount as Lawrence, with Veronica having one to her name. But as they’d seen from previous series, the amount of times someone had won Star Baker was not an indicator as to who would win the whole thing. But it certainly gave both her and Lawrence a minor edge, and both of them a swell in their chests.

Everything felt new and fresh. Lawrence had re-dyed her hair, blue this time, the vibrant colour almost a distraction in itself. Veronica had new black nails which she tapped on the workbench, and her roots had been redone. Aurora hadn’t thought to do any of that, so she was pleased to still be at the back.

Her turquoise KitchenAid still glistened like new, the workbench sparkled with the glassy varnish, and the cupboards and shelves around in their pastel colours made the summer air feel all the more fresh and clean. She glanced over at Veronica, her own green KitchenAid in the same state, and Lawrence’s Cadbury purple one too.

I wonder if I can pinch the KitchenAid after filming without the crew noticing.

——

Signature: 12 iced doughnuts - 6 ring, 6 filled

If there was one thing Aurora hated doing, it was piping filling into something as fiddly as a doughnut. They’d have to cool down, be hollowed, and then filled, a really fiddly process.

It was the hardest day in the tent by far. The morning was rainy, light rain that almost felt like it wasn’t there, and the air was sticky and humid, pushing the temperature in the tent up, especially with the deep fat fryers they’d been provided for the doughnuts.

Aurora chewed her lip so hard that it bled, piping mixture, watching them all closely in the deep fat fryer, filling up her jam piping bag and spinning it so tightly that it threatened to burst and cover her in sticky apricot jam.

In front of her, Lawrence groaned a few times as she battled against the heat and the doughnuts as they spat in the fryer, while Veronica was wringing her hands at the dough as it came out of her own fryer.

“Too soft,” she muttered, followed by “God, too hard,” at the next batch.

By the time judging came, with Prue back from her illness this week, Aurora had almost forgotten what she’d flavoured them with, but she wasn’t alone. Across from her, Veronica stuttered as she spoke about her doughnuts, while Lawrence just pushed her hair back at the question.

“Don’t know,” she’d mused to the judges, some of the old humour returning to her voice. “Started making them, had a breakdown, and here they are. Enjoy!”

The judges all laughed, but Aurora caught a glint in Lawrence’s eye, and the same thought passed between them both.

It’s not a lie!

All of them had similar critiques. Unanimously told they had good flavours, good bakes, and good designs, it was becoming virtually impossible to differentiate between them. How were they going to decide a winner?

“How are they going to do this?” Veronica said aloud to the room, as they sat in Norton Hall (not Carr Hall, Aurora said to herself) waiting for the Technical challenge to begin.

“Not a fucking clue.” Lawrence sighed.

“Are any of you thinking about today though?” Aurora asked. “Are you just thinking about the Showstopper tomorrow too?”

Lawrence and Veronica both nodded slowly, none of them looking at each other.

“Are you all … doing the same thing as I am?”

Lawrence and Veronica just continued nodding.

None of them even needed to say a word. They all knew.

——

Technical: Victoria Sponge (no recipe)

Technical sounded daunting at first glance, but Aurora tried to reason with her worried mind. Baking a Vicky sponge from scratch with no instructions? Please. Aurora baked a Vicky sponge twice a month for the local shelter. She could probably have done it in her sleep.

But the pressure cooker of the tent just made everything go up in smoke in her brain.

Her nan’s voice rang in her head for the proportions that she used to use. Two, two, two, and two eggs. But two what? Two cake tins? Two bowls? Two competitors? No, two pounds. When would her nan come into the new millennium and learn that no one talked about measurements in pounds and ounces any more?

“Lawrence?” She leaned forward.

“Alright, babes?”

“How much is two pounds in grams again?”

Lawrence was frowning. “What?”

“Please - just tell me. I know it’s a competition and all -“

“I’m not trying to stitch you up hen, I genuinely don’t know, I don’t use pounds and ounces because I entered the twenty-first century a while back.” Lawrence shook her head, holding her hands up in surrender. “What do you need it for anyway?”

“Recipe,” Aurora said, her already-hammering heart feeling like it could break her ribs.

“What’s up, love?” That was Veronica’s voice. Aurora closed her eyes, wracking her brain, but Lawrence’s voice pierced the gloom.

“How much is a pound in grams, d’you know?”

“Yeah,” came Veronica’s in response, “a pound is about four hundred and fifty grams. Y’know, you can also go the other way. A kilo is two point two pounds. What do you need that for, yours is already whisking?”

“No, Rory’s having a meltdown, and not with the butter.”

Jesus Dawn French Christ, Lawrence.

A hand met her shoulder, and Aurora was astonished to see Veronica at her side.

“You alright, love?”

She held her gaze for a long time, unflinching, but her eyes were softer than ever, and her hand was surprisingly warm and calming as she rubbed Aurora’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Just - this,” Aurora waved her hands, encompassing the whole tent. Maybe that was absurd to an outside observer, but Veronica knew. Veronica understood.

“I looked at your instagram,” Veronica said quietly, “and I know you bake cakes loads, so I know you can knock this one right out of the park, alright? And you know that too. I mean, I can’t remember a thing about making jam now! And I’m probably going overboard with my sugar. But hey, it’s the finale! I can’t be sent home now!”

Veronica shrugged, her face split in a grin that bordered on maniacal, and Aurora had to admit that she had a point. She took a shaky inhale, then let it out.

“Look, I know you miss Tayce,” Veronica dropped her voice even lower, her hand squeezing her shoulder now, “because I’ve missed Tia since alt week. And we know Lawrence is missing Ellie, even though she’d probably rather move to London and take up Morris dancing than admit that.”

“You say that, but I can do that accent, I’ve watched Eastenders,” Lawrence called over her shoulder. “And I won’t be any worse than Dick Van Dyke.”

“We’re all missing everyone,” Veronica said, and Aurora knew she didn’t mean everyone, “but you don’t need Tayce to be able to bake. You can do it on your own. You’ve done it loads before this show, and you’ll do it again!”

“I can’t,” Aurora heard her fear contradict her in a whisper.

“You can,” Veronica said firmly, her gaze now stern. “You can do this.”

Aurora took a deep breath, held for four, and let it out for five.

“I can.”

“That’s it, love,” Veronica said, nodding and starting to walk away.

——

“Here’s to the last time we’re here as a three,” Aurora said, raising her glass along with Lawrence and Veronica. One of the producers had brought in a bottle of champagne, and even though Aurora didn’t really like the bubbles very much - they tickled her nose - she accepted the glass that was poured for her.

“How much does everyone remember about today?” Veronica asked, her arms and legs crossed on the sofa. “Because I can’t remember a bloody thing. I can’t even remember what the judges said about that piece of crap that my Vicky sponge turned out to be. Did I come last?”

“Yeah,” Aurora nodded. “Was nothing in it, though. We were all shit.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Lawrence muttered, a hint of her old mischievous glint back in her eye.

“And tomorrow we’re recording the finale,” Aurora sighed, swirling the champagne. “Five hours in a tent, followed by half an hour break, followed by presenting the Showstoppers, followed by the garden party, followed by our speeches. And then filming three endings. Where one of us wins each time.”

“It’s gonna be worth it by the end, though,” Veronica said brightly.

“Who’s gonna come from your family, Lawrence?” Aurora asked.

“My parents, my cousin Chloe, and my best pal Stinky Pete.” Lawrence grinned. “Can’t wait to see them. And who have you two got?”

“Uhm,” Aurora frowned. “I know Blake’s coming, and my nan, but I thought you could only invite two people?”

“Mine said four,” Lawrence replied. “God, you really can’t count, can you?”

“What about you?” Aurora asked, motioning to Veronica with her glass.

“My mum’s coming and my brother.” She twitched her shoulders. “None of my friends could get time off. Shame, really.”

Aurora nodded, sipping her champagne, trying to hold off on sneezing through the bubbles. “And the others.”

“Can’t wait,” Veronica smiled her usual pinched, nervous smile, her leg jogging. “I’ve missed them all. Tia especially, but I’ve missed them all. I wonder who they all think will win?”

“And Ellie still owes me a tenner for that Puff the Magic Dragon shit that she thought Tayce’s biccies were,” Lawrence mused.

Aurora pursed her lips at Tayce’s name, but pushed it to the back of her mind. What mattered now was not Tayce, but the fact that her eyes were drooping after not having slept the previous night, and the champagne making her head throb.

“Early one?” Veronica’s sigh must have read been a telepathic projection, because they all stood in unison and trailed each other up the stairs to their respective rooms, ready to pass out and begin everything again in the morning.

——

Showstopper: A picnic for a fellow contestant - to include one celebration cake, 12 savoury pastries, and 12 patisserie.

When the three of them had seen the Showstopper for the weekend, right after Tayce’s elimination, they’d all nodded knowingly to each other.

This one has been just …made for us all.

It was obvious. It was blatantly obvious that everything that had happened had been noticed by the producers, and the staff, and everyone with eyes and without them too, that all three of the finalists were missing someone.

Veronica was setting her alarms up, all five of them as usual, before dragging her ingredients from the bag she kept. On her workbench, she’d gently placed a photo Tia had taken of some landscape or other. Lawrence had laid all her ingredients out on a baby pink tablecloth that complimented the purple of her own KitchenAid.

Aurora only had one thing to remind her of Tayce. She’d gone into a charity shop in the week with Blake, looking for something he’d seen in the window, and had found something that Blake had gasped at.

“It’s a Welsh love spoon!” He’d thrust the small wooden spoon into Aurora’s hand, and she’d turned it over and over silently in her fingers, marvelling at the twisting pattern on the handle, curling into a heart shape at the top.

“That’s fate, that is,” Blake had nodded. “You’ve got to get that.”

Aurora set the spoon now on the counter top, resting against her own KitchenAid for now, as she ran back through the timings again in her head, and what she was planning.

The twelve savoury pastries were easy. Puff pastry sausage rolls with added baked beans and cheese. Even if Prue didn’t like baked beans, that was all Tayce seemed to be eating every breakfast time.

Screw what Prue likes. This isn’t for her.

The cake? It had taken some thought. Black Forest gateau with a mirror glaze to top it off, not something she knew if Tayce liked, but something that felt sophisticated and stylish. And the deep purple of the blackberries was a colour that Tayce loved.

The patisserie was the hardest one, but she’d settled on millefeuille, similar to some that she made before for her nan’s seventy-fifth birthday, delicate and decorative, fragile-looking but built to stand tall. Not to mention they tasted so good that the world ceased to exist when someone bit into one.

“It’s like they’re all back here, isn’t it?”

Veronica’s voice was quiet, but happy. Lawrence’s intake of breath was shaky, but she didn’t turn to face her, focusing on her bake.

“You’ve got a tin of baked beans on your workbench, Aurora, it’s so surreal! And Lawrence, you’ve got so much pink on your workbench today.” Veronica motioned to the pink fondant she’d made, pink icing, pink glaze, pink cake filling. Pink and white marshmallows, pink jam … every shade of pink imaginable. Lawrence just gave a snort and shook her head.

It was meant to be the hardest challenge yet, but it definitely didn’t feel that way. The tent heated up with the warm sunshine outside and the combination of ovens and bakers and inside, but as soon as nerves started manifesting, the three of them were all there to diffuse them all for each other.

When Lawrence started dropping her utensils, both Aurora and Veronica were at her side in an instant to grab her hands and calm her down before she started panicking. When Veronica clung to the edge of her workbench, motionless, Lawrence and Aurora were both there beside her to talk her down.

But when the last ten minutes were called …

Shit.

Aurora felt cold fear creep back up her chest. She still had the millefeuille to assemble. She’d done three, but nine remained. And the puff pastry had to come out of the oven. And the glaze needed to be poured over the cake for it to set into a mirror in time -

“Aurora?” That was Lawrence, with Veronica on her heels. “You’re making a squeaky whiny noise like a balloon letting out air. What d’you need?”

“But - ten minutes - your own bakes -“

As Aurora flapped, the other two simply ran round her side and started doing it without needing her to tell them. Soon all her pastries were on the tray, and the cake was out the fridge, the glaze ready to go.

“You pipe, I’ll load,” Veronica muttered, and she did just that, while Lawrence put the cake onto the metal tray, jogging back from her own workbench where she’d had to finish off one of her own patisseries, and as Aurora finished piping the last millefeuille …

“Bakers! You have five minutes on your final Showstopper!”

They were all pulling out the stops, dashing between all three of their benches. Veronica was throwing gold leaf around like it was confetti. Lawrence was covered in icing sugar, the sweet scent filling the air. Aurora poured the deep purple onto the cake, praying to the Monster gods that it would set into a mirror glaze in time …

“Time is up! The final Showstopper has finished! Congratulations, bakers!”

The whole world seemed to crumble at Noel’s words.

Aurora looked at the mountain of food she’d produced, everything that reminded her of Tayce, and she knew then that serving this would mean serving a slice of her heart to the nation. And that was the plan all along.

Everything in her body ached, her bones were hollow, her breathing felt too loud alongside the deafening roar of blood in her ears. But as she leaned on the workbench, surveying the amount of work she’d done, she felt a tickle at the back of her throat, and suddenly she was laughing, so hard that she felt like she’d never stop. And then so was Veronica. Then Lawrence began too.

They were all cackling, all three of them, delirious with delight. Noel and Matt came to congratulate them, clapping as they did so, and then Veronica came out from her bench to hug Lawrence, and Aurora ran to join in, and the three of them were suddenly hugging, laughing, sobbing, cheering into each others’ ears.

Until they were all too weak to speak.

——

Aurora, first alphabetically, was going to be the first out of the tent with her final Showstopper, to make her way to the garden party that was always put on for friends and family for the grand finale.

All her bakes were on an enormous tray and she carried it, with Noel on her left and Matt on her right, all three of them bearing the load. Aurora was flabbergasted that nothing was moving, nothing was falling, but everything was still and settled.

As soon as she stepped outside the tent for the first time, she was met by a blast of noise like heat from a furnace.

Clapping, cheers, whoops, laughter. The crowd at the garden party was friends, family, co-workers, film crew, all the staff of Norton Hall, and of course Blu and Cheryl. She caught sight and sound of her nan - her nan! - her accent and her distinctive nasal voice above the rest of the crowd, bless. And Blake, waving his hands in the air and cupping them to his mouth to howl at the sky.

And the rest of the contestants, waiting with the biggest smiles, with applause, with cheers and shouts that drowned out everything else that was happening.

Tayce was in the centre. And Aurora had never seen her look so happy.

She rested the tray at the table outside the tent behind her name, and stopped, stunned, blinking so many times at the noise and her senses overloading. How green the grass was, how vibrant the gingham pattern on the table, how blue the sky was above her head, how bright and hot the sun felt on her bare arms.

“Go on, Aurora,” Matt muttered, pointing to the crowd. “You can go and see them!”

Aurora walked slowly, the dream she was in making her legs shake. Her feet were resting on air, two inches above the ground, just above the blades of grass. But she somehow made the walk, the whole twenty-foot walk, away from the tent towards them all, dazed by their overflowing love, their cheers and their applause.

Tayce was beaten in the first hug by Hurricane Ellie, swamping Aurora in her arms; and by the time she’d disentangled herself, Bimini was there, leaping forward and rubbing her arms and beaming at her; followed by a grinning Pip, followed by Joe, still cackling. In fact, everyone seemed to get a turn before Aurora was left with just Tayce, waiting patiently, the grin she wore showing all her teeth, her eyes crinkling in happiness.

“Told you you could do it, bitch!”

——

“I made this spread for Tayce,” Aurora began, still cursing that her name was first alphabetically and she was first up on the podium.

Part of the Showstopper this year was a little speech to the crowd at the garden party. It was meant to be a tear-jerker, obviously, for the viewers to have an emotional finale, but it had just served to make all the bakers pull their hair out while writing a speech about which contestant they were baking for, and why.

“I made it for her because Tayce has been my rock throughout the competition. We were on the back row together, we got through all the first challenges together … she corrected me on the name of the hall for God’s sake, I was calling it Carr Hall for ages!”

The polite laughter tinkled around the grounds.

“Tayce has been an inspiration in so many ways. She’s taught me that … that I can channel my worries into the energy that I use to make a cake or a bread or whatever - and that can be fuel for me, to push me forwards. Tayce showed me that they were just a source of power like anything else. She always told me to relax. Well, chillax. And when I did, I rediscovered that I loved baking.”

Aurora couldn’t look at Tayce, even from this distance. Couldn’t see her eyes. If she did she might burst.

Lawrence and Veronica sat on the chairs next to the tent, next to the judges, waiting their turns, while everyone else sat or stood on the grass; but Aurora’s position on the podium, towering over them all, kept eyes trained on her as she gave her speech about her Showstopper, before everyone would come and eat.

“Me and Tayce,” Aurora’s voice cracked. “Well, we didn’t always get along. It’s a competition, and we all have our eyes on the prize, and that pressure of wanting to be the best got on top of us both at times.”

The silence was only broken by birdsong.

“But Tayce taught me that I do my best when I’m relaxed. When I’m loving what I’m doing. She taught me that my thoughts can be my own worst enemy, especially when I’m thinking about other people.” She paused, glancing back at her cue card, the words jumbling before her eyes. “And most of all she taught me that - that I ama great baker. That …”

The lump in her throat was back, the fear creeping up her windpipe to strangle her words. She shook her head defiantly.

“That I am more than capable, that I’m skilled, and that I’m … loveable. She held up a mirror for me. So I made one for her too. Thanks, Tayce.”

More polite laughter, followed by applause, as she indicated the mirror glaze cake.

Finally, she met Tayce’s eyes, and as soon as she did, her own burned with unshed tears, emotion swelling in her like a tidal wave.

But Tayce too, her lip quivered, not even noticing the others around her or their applause. She opened her mouth, and her lips moved, but only for Aurora.

“Love you, bitch.”

Aurora managed to mouth back to her while applause rang in the air.

“Love you, too.”

——

“Ellie’s gonna hate me for this,” Lawrence muttered into the microphone, and Aurora looked over at the crowd, Ellie already shaking with silent laughter with her hands over her mouth. “I made a spread for her. She probably wasn’t expecting it, it rains too much to ever have a picnic outside in Dundee, poor bitch has probably never seen the sun -“

“Lawrence,” Matt Lucas piped up, “just a reminder that this will air before the 9pm watershed.”

“So I can’t say bitch? Fuck’s sake!” Lawrence put her hands on her hips.

Aurora put a hand to her mouth to stop herself from making too much noise, but laughing this much was making tears stream down her face; and Veronica, sat next to her, leaned into her arm, also shaking, stuffing her fist into her mouth to silence herself.

“Anyway, I made all this pink stuff for Ellie. And not just because Team Scotland has to stick together,” she added, as Ellie whooped in the crowd, “but because she really has been the best friend I could have made here.”

Veronica let out a cough that sounded a great deal like ‘sexual tension’ and she and Aurora spluttered with laughter.

“And ignore the peanut gallery over there,” Lawrence motioned to Veronica without even looking. “Because first and foremost, Ellie has been a great friend to me. She sat with me when I was upset when I did something wrong, and she was the first to celebrate anything I got right - even if it was at her expense.”

“Aww,” Veronica murmured next to Aurora.

“I take everything really seriously. I take baking to heart. If I’m not good at something, it freaks me out, because I’m usedto being good at everything I try. Gifted kid syndrome, if you know you know.” Lawrence thumped her chest. “But Ellie just has fun with it all. She taught me that you can have fun with something without necessarily needing to be perfect at it. There isn’t a yardstick of quality to having fun. And even if I’m not good at something, it doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth the time.”

Ellie was now quiet, as the others turned to watch her, but she was only looking at Lawrence, oblivious to everyone around her as the grin on her face quivered with emotion.

“Ellie is fun. And I wanted to make something that would be fun, and also her. That’s why there’s a lot more pink than I’m used to,” Lawrence continued, motioning to the huge pink cake and the pink icing on the choux buns she’d made.

“When I was unsure of myself, Ellie reminded me of what I could do. But she also reminded me that I should be having fun. That’s the reason I made this for her. Because baking should be fun, and should be something you don’t take too seriously. And once I got that, I loved it.”

As everyone applauded again, Lawrence gave the crowd a thumbs up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, looking as if she wanted to get off the podium as fast as possible.

——

“Come on Veronica,” Aurora muttered under her breath.

Veronica looked very short, smaller than usual, even on the podium, the microphone somewhere at her forehead before she adjusted it to her mouth. She licked her lips; her eyes darted to the crowd, to Aurora and Lawrence sat separate to them all, to the judges, and then down to her note paper again.

“Well,” Veronica said for what felt like the fortieth time, another giggle escaping her lips. “Hello, everyone.”

“She’s bombing,” Lawrence muttered.

“She’s just too nervous,” Aurora nodded.

“Right. So. I made this spread for Tia, you know this now, because there’s a sign saying Tea or Coffee on it, I thought that was a nice - erm, a nice touch.”

“God.” Lawrence put a hand to her chest.

Aurora watched as Veronica took a deep breath, held it for a second, and let it out slowly, the silence only interrupted by birdsong.

“I - I’m a perfectionist. If it’s not perfect, I don’t want it. If something is out, even by ten grams, even by a centimetre, I just want to throw it out and never look at it again.”

Veronica repeated the deep breath, clenching the podium, her knuckles white.

“Me and Tia just clicked. We’re quite similar, me and her. We have the same humour, we like the same police dramas and murder mystery documentaries, we both like art and drawing and stuff -”

“Since when does Veronica like drawing?”

“You need to check her instagram page,” Lawrence muttered back, “it’s all artwork.”

“- but the one thing me and Tia didn’t have in common was baking. Tia’s an amazing baker. But something about that tent - as soon as she was in it, she kept making a mess of everything, she won’t mind my saying that; and I know she got really frustrated, but she never wanted to quit. She just always wanted to get better.”

Veronica was tearing up, it was evident even from this distance, her white knuckles shaking. Tia, in the crowd, squirmed for her, clutching Pip’s hand as Veronica fought to get some more words out.

“Tia taught me that it’s fine to make mistakes.”

Another long pause.

“Not that - I don’t mean that Tia is always making mistakes! She does a lot of stuff really great! But she taught me that being perfect is basically impossible. And that I can trust myself if something goes wrong, that I can trust myself to be able to fix it, and not just give up.”

Tia dabbed her eyes with her free hand, shuffling nearer to Pip, who had a hand on her own chest in sympathy.

“Because she doesn’t give up. She just wants to do better. And I love that about her. I wish I’d put less pressure on myself when I first got in there, trying to be perfect at everything, instead of trying to be my best, and getting better by making mistakes.”

Veronica finally seemed to be settling, the rare smile appearing.

“She showed me that making mistakes is fine, and it doesn’t mean I’m a failure, it means I’m a person. And she - her bakes were amazing, and lovely, and she’s such a genuine person that everyone in the tent fell in love with her. Well,” she paused, looking up, “I did.”

Tia’s jaw dropped as she clutched at her chest, leaning into Pip at her side, tears falling freely down her face now as the rest of them clapped, while Veronica’s smile widened, her own tears falling too.

“That’s so …” Aurora murmured, not realising she was holding Lawrence’s hand.

“… cheesy,” Lawrence muttered, but her voice had a crack in it.

——

Aurora’s nan got the first hug when she went over to her family. Her best friend Blake had the second, patting her heavily on the back.

“So which one is the one you made all the cake for then?” Her nan motioned to the crowd of contestants, who had been mostly all mingling together, now breaking off to sit with the crew and each other.

“Tayce is - oh, she’s here.”

Tayce, appearing from somewhere, plonked herself on the grass by the picnic blanket and helped herself to a sausage roll. “Oi oi, saveloy! Oh, these look nice! You put baked beans in them?” Tayce grinned. “You know me like the back of your hand, Rory!”

“Beans on toast was your go-to breakfast, wasn’t it?”

“Oh god, yeah,” Tayce nodded. “Breakfast of kings! The only breakfast! If I could have beans on toast for the rest of my life, I’d die happy. A bit flatulent, but happy.”

She looped her arm through Aurora’s waist, planting a kiss on her lips, before picking up a pastry, leaving Aurora floating just a little from the contact.

“So are you two dating now?” Blake asked, his eyes wide as saucers, hoping for gossip as usual.

Aurora met Tayce’s gaze; they hadn’t really discussed anything official yet. Tayce’s smile was strangely shy, and her eyes earnest, a thousand questions behind them; but as they both nodded simultaneously, it felt like they could work out the details a little bit later.

“Yep!” They both exclaimed at the same time.

Tayce reached down and grasped Aurora’s hand. “And you’re the first to hear about it - not the tabloids, not Hello magazine!”

“You’re not just putting it on for the cameras, are you?” Aurora’s nan teased, wagging her finger at the pair of them.

Tayce turned to glance at Aurora, the same thought passing between them both.

“No way,” they both said at the same time, to a snort of laughter from Blake.

There had been a time, not too long ago, that Aurora might have taken the question as a cue to overthink, overanalyse - but that thought didn’t even exist any more. Instead of being like ducks, kicking to stay on the surface, they now just floated effortlessly.

Aurora just squeezed Tayce’s hand.

Everything was falling into place.

——

“Taking into account your final bakes, and your performances throughout the series, we’ve made our final decision.”

Aurora’s left hand was numb; Lawrence was cutting off the circulation to it.

They all stood before the judges, filming the first of the three endings to keep the actual winner a secret from everyone. This would be Aurora’s win; they’d then film Lawrence’s and finally Veronica’s. For now, they all stood in line; Aurora at Lawrence’s right and Veronica at her left.

Prue held the cake stand, the Bake Off emblem engraved in the glass, all of them in a line waiting for the decision, while the crowd stood impatient, ready to put on a show to congratulate them all.

“You’re all incredible bakers, the best in the UK,” Prue continued from Paul’s speech, “and this was the most difficult season by a long way to judge. You’re all so skilled, imaginative, and clever, and I know you’ll all go on to amazing things after this is over.”

Lawrence’s hand was shaking in Aurora’s; and she could hear Veronica’s breathing on her other side.

This is it.

“The winner of the Great British Bake Off is …”

Complete silence.

Even the birdsong had waned in the background.

A silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Aurora watched Prue’s mouth, wondering when she would open it again, put them all out of their misery, Veronica’s breath audible through the silence and Lawrence’s hand sweating in hers and Aurora’s heart must be the loudest thing in the whole country right now at the rate it hammered her ribs -

——

EPILOGUE

October 2021

Tayce had had to let Aurora go for Blu to wield the camera at the three finalists on the smallest of the neverending number of sofas in Pip’s sister’s house. Lawrence in the middle of the three, all squashed together on what was really a two-person sofa, but they’d all linked arms and interlocked their fingers, staring at the screen, watching themselves.

“I’m never gonna get used to being on screen,” Tia mused, shaking her head. “I swear I don’t sound like that.”

“You do, you definitely do.”

But Tia was only half paying attention to Tayce’s words, her attention on Veronica, who was ignoring her, staring enraptured at the screen. Lawrence, on the other hand, kept glancing over to see Ellie, both of them doing that strange thing they did in filming yet again, just able to know when the other was looking over at them to make sure they were alright.

Tayce tried to relax, hands in her lap, but her chest fluttered every time she met Aurora’s gaze.

The finale had been Tayce’s favourite episode to watch, simply because she hadn’t been in it. The element of surprise was there as she watched it, although it was there for all of them, because there the finalists were, on the screen, still waiting for the winner to be announced.

It must be between Aurora and Lawrence. Veronica only has one badge; it probably won’t be her.

“The winner of the Great British Bake Off is …”

The painful zoom of the camera on everyone’s faces. Aurora’s nervous smile, pure yet heartbreaking. Lawrence looking at the sky to stop herself from crying, both her hands occupied by another finalist. Veronica, her stare intent with anticipation, chewing her bottom lip.

“Aurora!”

The room erupted.

Cheryl was jumping up and down, the first at the sofa to hug Aurora as she sat still as a statue, hands at her mouth and eyes agape in shock, as Lawrence pulled her tightly to herself, planting a delighted kiss in her hair.

“It’s you!” Veronica shrieked, shaking her knee, “it’s you! You won! You won the whole thing!”

And then everyone else streamed in to hug her. Pip was first - Pip was always the first to lay a comforting hand - Tia was close on her heels - Ginny’s hands looped round her neck from behind and their eyes crinkled in joy - but Aurora still sat frozen, only her rapid blinking suggesting anyone was home at all.

Tayce felt time stop again, but this time in a moment of perfection and not defeat.

The contest environment evaporated, she couldn’t fathom feeling anything but pure elation for Aurora’s win, couldn’t fathom having felt any other way for this wonderful woman who she was lucky enough to now call her girlfriend, sat with her hands at her mouth and silent tears coursing down her face as Blu pointed a camera at it.

“Aurora! It’s you! It’s you!” Blu was patting her knee while the rest of them excitedly hugged and squeezed at her. “Do you have any words for us right now, or is it a bit overwhelming?”

“It’s - what - I can’t believe it!”

Aurora’s phone was buzzing on the dining room table, undoubtedly hundreds of friends and family calling and texting and tagging her in Instagram posts and tweets, congratulations spilling over from every direction, an outpouring of love and support and adoration.

The programme was still running, footage of Prue and Paul giving their final summaries of Aurora, and the other two finalists - other contestants giving sound bites - Aurora’s finalist speech as her face was red with tears - the where are they now segment starting to play for all the contestants.

Pip back at her day job, giving the camera a thumbs up, followed by a snap of her with Ginny at Blackpool Tower and a video of them both on the Big One. Joe reliving that Instagram video again, and clips of Cherry, Ellie and Asttina all trying to recreate it too. Cherry back at the dog-grooming business she worked for, and walking her own dog. Asttina back at the gym, followed by a photo of her and Bimini on a boat on the Thames. Bimini at their laptop, followed by pictures of them holding the childrens’ book they’d written since the show. Ellie’s move to Glasgow, a clip of her dyeing Lawrence’s hair back to the bright purple it was now. Tia and Veronica somewhere in the Lake District, windswept but with smiles a mile wide.

But Tayce didn’t see or hear any of it. Aurora was the only thing she could see.

And as she stumbled towards Tayce, draping herself into her arms and laughing in delight, Tayce held her as tightly as she could, crushing her eyes shut but not stopping her own tears, her heart bursting for Aurora as she was privileged to share this moment of exhilarated happiness with her …

She’s already a Star Baker. She doesn’t need a badge or a title.

But she’s got both now! And hopefully she can know that she’s a Star Baker as much as we all do!

——

THE END

[hoekaashi]

Rubber Ducks and Demons

Summary: Kuroo felt like pranking his roommate, Bokuto, starting a prank war. Was he taking it too far by trying to make Bokuto go insane? Word Count: 1.5k Read on Ao3

This started off as a simple joke. Kuroo replaced the shaving cream with whipped cream just to see if Bokuto would notice. He got his answer when Bokuto came running out of the shower with the can in one hand and his other holding up the towel wrapped around his hips. It wasn’t the best time for his roommate to have discovered the prank seeing as he had a small study group over, getting ready for midterms. Kuroo’s mouth was slightly agape as he processed what was happening. Bokuto, on the other hand, didn’t care because all he wanted to do was shave, but now he was sticky. It was awkward for the group after that and no matter how many times he apologized to his group, he knew they would never come to his place to study again.

Now, a month later, it had turned into a full on prank war. The pranks didn’t stop once they left the apartment either. There was not a safe place for either of them. Bokuto put a red sock in Kuroo’s whites while doing the laundry and all of his white shirts - including his lab coat - had turned various shades of pink. So Kuroo bought a Sports Illustrated magazine and placed it in Bokuto’s bag instead of his notebook. The sight of Bokuto turning various shades of red had Kuroo clutching his stomach from laughter. It was hard for him to explain to his female project partner why he had the magazine in the first place and not his notes. She was unimpressed and from there, he decided to up his game.

When Kuroo was showering, Bokuto changed his ringtone and turned the volume up all the way. Kuroo was in a lecture, falling asleep listening to his professor talk about glycolysis and the Krebb’s cycle which was easy to do in a class of three hundred students. He woke up a bit when someone’s phone started ringing, the sounds of a female orgasming filling the lecture hall. Kuroo immediately sat up when he realized it was his phone. He had a quick debate whether he should let it ring since it was in his bag, or if he should turn it off. Choosing to do the former, since there weren’t many students around him and the lecture hall was now filled with laughter, he waited until it stopped ringing. Making sure no one was looking at him, he took out his phone and put it on silent, not missing the {1 missed call from Bokuto}.

The plan was simple. Drive Bokuto insane. But slowly. Kuroo ordered some rubber ducks from Amazon. He took out all of their stuff from both of their toiletry baskets in the bathroom and filled it with the ducks. He noticed Bokuto staring at it one day as he walked past the open bathroom door, but neither of them said anything. When he got bored, Kuroo decided to rearrange them. One day, they were stacked in a pyramid on the floor next to the door. Another day, he set up a chase scene around the tub. He also had them get married and start a cult.

“Bro, can you stop with the ducks? I had a girl over last night and she left when she saw them,” Bokuto said with a pout.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “The rubber ducks? I thought those were yours…”

“Why would I buy a shitload of rubber ducks?” he asked, confused.

“I thought you wanted them as company when you took baths.” Kuroo shrugged.

Bokuto stared at his roommate in confusion. That was when Bokuto started bugging out. He thought the apartment was haunted since neither of them bought the ducks. 

Kuroo decided to do even more by having the ducks reenact famous movie scenes. His favorite was when he filled up the water and had the ducks act out the scene of Rose on the wooden door and Jack in the water from the Titanic with dead ducks upside down in the water.

That one almost got Bokuto. He came running out of the bathroom saying that the ghost was increasing their water bill and killing the ducks. It took everything in Kuroo not to burst out laughing.

He wanted Bokuto to cry. Remembering a scary story he heard for his youth, Kuroo positioned the ducks as if they were coming out of the shower drain. Bokuto was close to the point of showering at the gym locker room. Kuroo needed something to push him over the edge. Placing another order for ducks (unfortunately for Bokuto, you could buy them wholesale), Kuroo patiently waited for them. Once he got them, he began with his new plan. Over the next few days, he had the ducks traveling out of the tub, into the rest of the bathroom. Bokuto became more jumpy and kept talking about figuring out what the ghost wanted. It got to the point where he was talking to his classmates and friends about it. He even brought it up during his professor’s office hours, which didn’t end well for either of them.

As he was scrolling on a clothing website, Kuroo saw an ad for a larger rubber duck with a king’s crown, scepter, and cape. He immediately clicked on it and placed an order. Oh how he loved Prime’s two-day delivery.

When Bokuto was out of their apartment for class, Kuroo set up the king duck on top of a thick body sponge with a few regular sized rubber ducks around the king as its guard. Then he proceeded to line up all the other ducks in the tub in small groups.

“Kuroo bro I think the ghost wants to take over this apartment as a king!” Bokuto shouted, running out of the bathroom. He had come back from his class and extra study session exhausted. It was well-known that he didn’t have the biggest attention span and learning and studying for four hours straight was too much for his little brain.

“What are we gonna do?” Kuroo asked. He had perfected his acting since this had been going on for about two and a half months now.

“We need to call like a ghost buster or priest or something.”

Kuroo was not expecting that response. “Bro, isn’t that a bit too much for one ghost?”

“No. It’s in the bathroom for now, but I’ve been reading about this and the way it’s moving things around…” He sat down on the couch next to Kuroo. “It could be a demon,” he whispered.

Another response he wasn’t expecting. “A demon?”

“Yeah. If it is, it could be trying to attach it’s soul to the ducks and make one us its host. I don’t wanna be demon food bro.”

Kuroo figured out the next step in his plan. He found even larger rubber ducks, one that took up all the space in the sink and ordered several of those. He placed one in the sink, one in the toilet, one in the bath, one in the kitchen sink and one in the oven.  Kuroo had hidden all the small rubber ducks under his bed in his room.

Bokuto’s reaction was even better than he imagined. His roommate was almost in tears because he thought the demon was growing more powerful and merged the small ducks in bigger ones. Kuroo did his best to convince Bokuto to not contact the Pope. He had to admit, he was enjoying this far more than he thought.

Kuroo came back from his first final exam knowing he didn’t do as well as he could’ve. The damn prank ended up wasting a lot of his time that he could’ve used to study. But what was done was done. He headed into the bathroom after dropping his stuff in his room and did a double take. Bokuto heard Kuroo’s “SHIT” from his room and came over to inspect what had happened. Both of them stared at the giant inflatable rubber duck in the middle of their bathroom. Kuroo didn’t buy this…

“The demon is getting stronger, bro! I think we’re gonna die!” Bokuto started freaking out.

“What the fuck is going on?” Kuroo’s mind was reeling. He had no idea where the inflatable duck came from. The ducks he had placed around the bathroom and kitchen were missing as well. He hadn’t touched them. Was there really a demon?

“Bro.” He looked at Bokuto who was wearing a huge grin on his face.

Kuroo’s look of shock changed to confusion. “What?”

“You just got punked,” Bokuto said.

“What?”

“I got you.” Bokuto burst into laughter.

“Huh?”

Once Bokuto finished laughing, he explained. “I told Akaashi about everything and he eventually told me you were behind it. He saw you picking up packages the same day or the day before a new change took place. So he told me to prank you back. I came up with the demon part, cool huh?”

Kuroo stood there dumbstruck as he processed the information. “Did you just… use my own prank to prank me?”

Bokuto broke out in laughter once again.

“Dude… you really got me.”

Bokuto held out his hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Kuroo said as he shook his roommate's hand. “My grades suffered because of this.”

“Wow, Mr. A plus now has regular A’s,” Bokuto mocked.

“If I wanna go to med school, I need the best grades.” Kuroo crossed his arms across his chest. “And I got B’s, not A’s.”

[diddlesanddoodles]

DEAD WALLS RISE - CH 5

ATTENTION: This chapter occurs during the events of ch 47 of Dumpling and therefore contains spoilers. If you have not not read that chapter or have not caught up to that point, this will not make much sense and I strongly urge you to wait until you are caught up before continuing with this chapter.   

The fear was always the first thing to hit. Like a gust of wind, it swept him away until all he could perceive of the world was a small pinprick of light and the only sound was his own breathing and the only physical sensation was the frantic beating of his own heart. He never heard Nenani call his name or felt her hand on his shoulder. He did not notice when Keral pulled him bodily from his seat and carried him from the great hall. Perhaps that was better. He may have died from embarrassment right then and there if he had possessed enough presence of mind to understand.

“Remember what Yaesha told ye,” Keral’s voice said, penetrating the thick fog of his mind. “Just breathe. Slower now, lad. In and out.” He could feel more than hear Keral’s own breathing and he slowed his to match the ranger’s. “That’s it. Come on back now, lad.”

He felt Keral’s large fingers lightly tapping the side of his head, just enough to jerk him back to attention and ever so slowly the world came back into focus and he was no longer in the great hall, but a side garden and sitting on a stone bench. The night air bit at his face and he felt the cold stone under him, the chill seeping into the fabric of his pants and onto his skin. Keral was kneeling down in front of him and peering into his face, green eyes studying his own blue ones. “Back with me yet?”

He nodded mutely and Keral stood to take a seat on the bench beside him. “Scared the lass pretty good. Don’t think she’s ever seen one of yer fits before.”

Jae didn’t respond, feeling shamed and mortified.

“Go on and tell me what set ye off.”

His hands were clenched hard enough to hurt and he could feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders pull tight. “…you know what.”

Keral did not reply right away. Instead, he reached behind his back to pull out his pipe and a small pouch of tobacco. He stuffed the bowl and just as he struck a match, he said, “Tell me anyway.”

“I can’t…I’m not…why would he…?” He could almost feel the fit trying to begin afresh and he steadied his breathing again, trying to keep it at bay. When he was sure it had passed, he ran his fingers through his hair, gripping fistfuls of it and staring at the pitted stone under him. “I can’t do this Keral.”  

The larger man beside him took a moment to puffed idly at his pipe, plumes of grey smoke drifting upwards to obscure the stars peeking down at them from the open courtyard.

“And why not?” he asked.

“I’m not a prince,” Jae replied exasperated. “I can’t…do all that stuff.”

With a short huff of a laugh, the ranger shook his head. “Yer a fuckin’ idiot, you know that boy?”

With a growl, Jae punched Keral’s thigh hard, and shot back, “Dammit, I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” Keral grunted. He leaned over just enough to pin Jae with one eye. “Just what do ye think yev been this whole time? Hm?”

“…an idiot, like you said. A spoiled idiot. A brat,” Jae replied lowly. “I don’t want to be a prince. I only…” A long pause. “I just wanted…so badly for…for Warren…to see me like I saw him.”

Keral shook his head. “Thought you two figured that mess out weeks ago.”

“…I thought so, but…” Jae sighed. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Not followin’ ye.”

Jae felt like his chest was gonna rupture and his eyes burned with frustrated tears. In a low voice, he choked out, “…I’m not his son, Keral.”

“Bullshit ye ain’t!” Keral snapped, glowering down at him. The degree of vehemence from him was enough to startle Jae and he shook his head.  

“…I can’t be.”

Keral leaned down further, enough to cast Jae in shadow. “And who th’fuck says?”

He couldn’t meet the ranger’s critical gaze. “…you heard them in there.”

“Since when did ye give a right shit about what Eldherst and Tendle thought of ye?”

How Jae wished he had some snarky quip to throw back, anything to offer distraction, but all he had was what he knew was true but was too scared to admit to himself. Let alone aloud. The lords were right. He wasn’t Warren’s son and never could be. He’d been fooling himself all this time, playing at make believe. A fallacy they could continue within the castle where Warren’s power could shield him, but beyond the walls of the keep…

…the world would never let him be Warren’s son.  

“Because even if all that load ‘a tripe were true,” Keral continued, poking Jae’s shoulder with the butt of his pipe. “Why would Warren wanna adopt ye if didn’t mean nothin’ to him?”

Jae was silent. He didn’t want to start crying in front of Keral.    

“It ain’t about makin’ ye a prince fer the hell of it. It’s about makin’ ye his son. In the eyes of the law. All that other nonsense is just a consequence of yer Dad being a King. Ain’t like he’s puttin’ ye in the line of succession.”

“But still…”

Keral shifted again and rose to his feet to stand in front of the bench. He planted both hands on either side of Jae to loom above him, his pipe clenched in his teeth. In a quiet voice, he said, “Warren loves ye lad. Been takin’ care of ye all these years hasn’t he?”

“…yes.”

“And ye think of ‘im like yer Dad, don’t ye?”

“…y-yes,” Jae said, his words shuttering.

“Then why question it?”

“…I don’t want to cause him any problems,” Jae admitted and Keral laughed, the sound of it loud in his ears. He removed his pipe and sat it down onto the bench.

“Far too late fer that, Pup. Yer ‘a walkin’ disaster.”

Jae almost smiled. It had been years since Keral had called him that. Like so many of those employed at the castle, he had taken to calling him brat; a nickname Jae had rightly earned not long after hitting puberty. Somehow, with Keral using his first nickname for him made Jae feel a little better. It was almost a term of endearment.

“Me being an embarrassment as his ward is one thing,” Jae said. “But as his son…it’s a little harder to ignore. Or forgive.”

“If Rosanna of fuckin’ Ibronia could manage to accept ye,” Keral said flatly. “Why the fuck can’t ye accept yerself? Of course yer gonna make mistakes. Yer still a damn kid. Ye still have a few years left of ye bumblin’ around in the dark before ye figure out how to light a damn match.”

Jae raised his head to meet Keral’s gaze and squinted at him in confusion. “…what?”

“Ye still have a lot to learn,” Keral translated. “They call ‘em growin’ pains fer a reason. Fer some, it’s more painful than fer others.” A pause. “Ever stop and think there was a reason fer Warren makin’ ye Assistant Steward?”  

“To keep me out of trouble,” Jae replied with a shrug. “What else?”

“Well, yeah. That’s what happens when ye have a kid too smart fer his own good and with too much liberty as his disposal. But it ain’t only that. He gave ye responsibilities because he knew ye’d be able to handle it. And ye have. We both know Donal wasn’t always yer biggest fan, but somehow ye managed to wiggle yerself into his good graces. That’s gotta be worth something. Been tryin’ to do that fer almost twenty years, still haven’t managed it myself.”

“I just sit around and take notes or deliver messages for him and…I don’t really do anything. I just…watch.”

“And listen. Ever stop to think that maybe that was the point? Ye learn from watchin’. Hell, Pup, yer a damn sponge when it comes to all that shit. Ye’v got a decent head fer politics after watchin’ Warren all these years. And he knows it. Yer more ready fer this than yer willin’ to give yerself credit fer.”  

“Doesn’t feel like it,” said the human, running a hand through his hair. “How the hell does it make sense to make me a prince? I’m not even Vhasshalan. And did you see some of their faces? Some of them were and still are Baynor supporters.” He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin down onto them. “Probably wishing the fucker did eat me…”

“Well he didn’t. And Warren’s makin’ ye a prince. So the only thing ye should be asking yerself is what do ye do now. Sittin’ and mopin’ about it ain’t doin ye any favors. Never has. All the time yer spend on the roof, what has it ever done fer ye? Eh? Not a damn thing. Warren wants to make ye his son officially. Not just some vague understandin’ between yerselves. That should tell ye all ye need to know, Pup.”

“…what if I can’t do it, though?”

“Ye ain’t scared of not being able to do it. Yer scared of disappointing yer Dad.”

Jae hung his head. “…because I’m a coward.”

“Now I’ve known plenty of cowards in my time. And there’s plenty ‘a things I could call ye,” Keral said. He laid his hand against Jae’s back, fingers curling around his shoulders. “But a coward ain’t one of ‘em.”

“I’m scared…all the time. And there doesn’t even need to be anything wrong. How does that not make me a coward? I freeze up and have these fits and I have to drink that disgusting tea just to have a chance to function and I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I know exactly what’s wrong with ye,” Keral told him seriously, green eyes seeming to bore holes through him. “It’s called surviving a war. Survivor’s guilt.”

“What?” Jae asked.

“What yer feelin’. S’called survivor’s guilt. Saw it plenty during my own deployment. Men comin’ back from battle without half their company. Wonderin’ why the fella next to him was dead and he wasn’t. Same as you. Ye’ve had it fer years. Since we found ye out in the moor.” He paused. “All yer family and friends never left that pond. But ye did. And ye’ve let that guilt fester inside ye and it comes out in yer nightmares and in these fits ‘a yers.”

Every muscle in his body felt tense and unyielding. He hated what Keral was saying and wished he would stop. He was too tired to do this now. He didn’t want to…

“Ye never talk about ‘em. Yer folks,” Keral said quietly. Gently. “Don’t know a thing about ‘em. ‘Cept yer Dad’s name and trade. Never hear ya speak about yer Mum.”

“It hurts too much. Even now,” Jae said, already feeling the tears dripping down his chin. “If I try to remember her face…”

“Ye never dealt with all that pain of losin’ ‘em. As young as ye were when ye did. Now yer panickin’ that yet might be losing Warren. In a different way. But losin’ ‘im all the same. ‘Cept this time no one’s takin’ anythin’ from ye, Pup. Yer takin’ it from yerself.”

Finally, Jae broke. His shoulders began to shake as a racking sob bubbled up from his throat. For several minutes, he just cried and let all the hurt and fear and regret and guilt pour out of himself. When finally, he had no more to give, he quieted. Sniffling and in a thick voice, he mumbled, “I’m such an idiot…”

Keral laughed. “Oh, ye don’t need to tell me that, lad. Known it fer years.”

Jae raised his head to glare at the ranger. “…Anyone ever tell you that your pep talks suck?”

“All the time,” he said with a satisfied grin. He patted Jae on the back and motioned for him to stand. “Come on now. Enough sulkin’. On yer feet.”

His legs and arms felt twice as heavy and his temples throbbed. Gods did he need a drink. He wobbled on his feet, but once he’d steadied himself, Jae looked back at Keral expectantly. The ranger crouched back down so he and Jae were on the same level and was regarding him with a serious expression.

“Yer a smart boy, Jae,” he said, laying his arms onto bench and leaning forward. “And Warren adores ye. It’s true that it’s no small thing fer ye to be adopted by the King of Vhasshal. Ain’t sayin’ yer gonna have an easy time of it. But fer what’s it’s worth, I think yer gonna be pretty damn good at it.”

For a moment, Jae simply stared at the ranger, emotions swirling inside of him, before he dropped his gaze to stare at his feet for several moments. He took a step and then another and pressed his head against Keral’s shoulder. He sniffed, trying to keep himself from falling into tears again. A large hand came to rest against his back, rubbing lightly.

“Oi,” Keral said gently, a smile in his tone. “Don’t be gettin’ yer snot all over my good jerkin now. S’the only one I got.”

Despite the roiling emotions inside him, Jae laughed. “I’ll get you a new one. Princes get allowances don’t they?”

Keral chuckled. “That’d be a question fer yer Dad.”

Before Jae could speak, from within the great hall, they heard a horrible shriek and he jumped in” surprise. “What the –?”

Keral was on his feet, looking towards the large stained glass windows and listening. There was another shriek from inside and then many voices all at once calling out in shock or surprise. The lone lantern near the other end of the garden began to glow.

“Well, fuck...” Keral growled. He turned towards one corner of the garden where two guards were standing post, both staring dumbly at the lantern, and he called out to them, “Guards to the hall!”

The two guards started, looking at Keral and then seeming to recall themselves, took up their swords and called out behind them, ostensibly to more guards, “All guards to the hall!”

There were several calling answers and in a matter of mere moments, guards from all over seemed to be spilling from corridors and breezeways and into the small garden and then into the hall. From the red of their leather armor, Jae could see a spot of black fighting against the tide of so many bodies.  

“Donal!” Keral called out to the man as he struggled to get through. “What in the seven hells is goin’ on in there?”

“Keral!” Donal said, waving at him and struggling to catch his breath as he broke free of the throng. “Get Master Jae to safety! The Smoke Mage, he’s in the hall.”

“What?” Keral asked.

Donal scowled at the ranger. “Didn’t you hear me, dammit? Your King’s orders are to get Master Jae to safety! Now man, damn you!”

Before Jae had a moment to say anything, Keral grabbed him up and was running.

“Wait! What about everyone else?” Jae asked, gripping the fabric of Keral’s jerkin. “Warren is still inside. And Nenani!”

“Warren said to get ye to safety and that’s what I’m gonna do,” Keral told him.

“But –!”

“No arguing with me now,” Keral barked. “My big ol’ speech is gonna be nothin’ but a waste of time if that fucker gets his hands on ye again.”

He took a side corridor and slipped down a flight of stone steps. Near the bottom was an old and unassuming wooden door and Keral went inside. He sat Jae down onto his feet before ruffling inside his back pouch for his matches. He struck one and lit a candle sitting on a broken stool off to the side.

“You’ll stay here till it’s safe,” Keral said as he grabbed a folded blanket from the shelf and setting it on the floor near the back wall. “Just keep quiet till I get back, here me?”

“But what about –?”

“No arguing with me I said,” Keral snapped. “Trust me to do my job, Pup. Stay here and stay quiet.”

Jae nodded. “O-okay.”

Keral rose to his feet and pulled the door closed as he slipped out. There in the dark, Jae listened to beating of his own heart before making his way over to the folded blanket and sitting down. Rubbing his still splinted arm, Jae could not help but worry for everyone inside the hall. He thought of Warren and tried to convince himself that the guards would never allow anything to happen to the King.

He thought of Nenani.

Pushing himself back against the wall, he drew his knees up to his chest and watched for a moment as the candle’s warm glow sent the shadows around the room dancing. He felt another panicked wave begin to take hold deep inside and he pressed his forehead to his knees and began to breath. Deep even breathes. Like he had been taught.  

One…

Two…

Three...

[miss-choco-chips]

Janet Drake...

And how she slapped Ra’s Al Ghul with a restraining order for her son.

Also, Tim Drake takes over Wayne Enterprises for a hot second, Janet despairs, and there’s an incident with the mob mentioned that will be explained at a later date.

(No edit we die like Jack Drake- sad and alone)

—.—

Janet was of the firm belief that her son was the smartest person in any room, at any given moment.

-What -she intoned, calmly, taking a deep sip of her valeriana tea before continuing- the fuck.

Except in situations like this.

-I panicked -he whined, face down on the couch. Behind him, the tv on the wall reported the news of young Timothy Drake as the new owner of Wayne Enterprises.

Janet sipped her tea.

‘This is your son’, she reminds herself, feeling the cocottion forcing her muscles to relax. ‘You love him more than anything. You do. Focus on that feeling’

This was Jack’s fault. Him and his sentimentalism. Fond as she was of her late husband, she needed someone to blame for all and any of Tim’s shortcomings, and emotional weakness was a genetic passed trait as long as she was concerned. 

Or so she liked to believe.

-Why did you think it’d be a good idea to buy WE? -she asked, letting the empty cup clink when she deposited it back on the little plater.

-I mean…-he trailed, obviously conflicted- you know as well as I do that the man acting as Bruce Wayne right now is some kind of actor, or double. 

-I do -she nods, patiently waiting for him to explain his reasoning. 

Here, she could be patient. Whatever Luthor or Nicole said.

-Well, he’s… he’s gonna end up ruining the whole thing. And then not only the real Bruce Wayne’s legacy will be destroyed, but also, just how many people will be put out of work?  How many families depend on WE’s job slots? 

There it was, the two things she’d never understand about her son: His honest worry about strangers, and his honest worry about the Waynes.

She sighed, and let her head tilt to the side as she examined the TV. On it, someone had placed a photo of her sixteen year old son looking as soft and… baby-faced as he ever got. Icy blue eyes opened wide, as he hugged a bunny to his chest, long black hair framing his rosy cheeks- she nodded, satisfied. She and all news channels had an agreement of sorts: they never showed a picture where her son looked anything else but like a baby, and she never sued them.  This one was probably taken during last year’s charity event, where the Drakes had taken a group of children to the Zoo. The snotty nosed brats had loved Timothy, and he in turn had absorbed the adoration like a sponge.

He was so good. It was disquieting, to think he had came from her. 

She had done her very best, to protect him from being sullied by the world’s ugliest faces. Like politics, and business. Letting him help, learn, but from the safety of her own back. And now he was in charge of the piranna’s tank that was WE.

She sighs, hand going to the bridge of her nose.

-And instead of trying to become a board member, you bought the entire thing.

-I could never make the Board, Mom, come on. I’m sixteen. Buying the company, on the other hand, I can do through DI channels, and as long as I have money, age is of little consequence.

He moved his head so it was resting sideways in the cushion, sad cow eyes going to hers. She scowled, reigning in the knee jerk reaction of going above and beyond to protect her kid. He needed to learn, sooner or later. Luthor himself said it, she couldn’t baby him forever. 

-No. You got yourself into this, you are getting out. I already helped that time with the mob. It’s time you learn.

——–.———–

A week and a half later finds Janet mimicking her son’s position, face down in a couch. Instead in her case, it’s because Nicole’s favorite masseuse is working the knots off her back.

-I just can’t believe it. I. I can’t. He’s so smart, how can he be so dumb?

Sitting by her head, nails carefully scratching at her scalp, her best friend humms.

-You gotta admit, you essentially gave him permission to do as he liked.

-I thought he’d be doing the sane thing, like re-selling the company back to the Waynes, maybe putting a legal safeward of some sorts to keep the situation from repeating, or maybe even  putting the man’s sons in charge. Not that he’d go looking for Bruce Wayne himself!

-You shouldn’t assume things, Jan.

-Shut up. Any news from Luthor’s contacts?

Nicole typed at the phone balanced on her knees, her other hand keeping her reassuring touches on Janet’s head.

-Hmmm. Your son is exceedingly good at evading his men. No one has seen him in… oh. Oh crap.

That tone makes Janet sit straight, clutching the towel she was laying over to her chest and sending the masseuse away with a wave. Once they are alone, she faces Nicole, serious and with the barest hint of anxiety of a worried mother in the background of her eyes.

-What is it?

-Well… I know where he is.

-And how is that bad?

-Because so does my father. He has his little shadows tailing after him.

Janet really needed to work on a better word than ‘fuck’.

—–.—–

Four months later, her son came back. His hair was longer, he had a slight tan, and was two inches taller.

He was also missing his spleen.

She was going to kill both Bruce Wayne, and Ra’s Al Ghul. The first one because it was his fault Timothy had gotten involved in League of Assassins’ business. The second…

-I don’t like it -she mutters between clenched teeth, watching from Nicole’s side as Ra’s Al Ghul and her son walk around the gardens of Drake Manor.

-Dad is surprisingly interested in Timmy -agrees the other woman, tapping at the glass of the window with her blood-red fingernail-. It can’t be good.

She growls as the man carefully places a hand in her sixteen year old son to direct him towards a particularly well bloomed rose  bush- I want a restraining order. 

Nicole looks at her from the corner of her eye- Darling, I don’t think you can get it to stick. My Dad is… kinda above the law.

-I’m sure I can make it. I have something he doesn’t.

-What?

-You. I know you can’t resist a chance at ruffling his feathers, and Tim is your favorite. Also…

-Also?

Janet smiled, sharp and cutting and something sweet underneath, like poison that tastes good but kills you in a second. She raised a hand, nail softly tracing the edge of Nicole’s cheekbone- You love me too much to say no to me, sweetie.

The other woman sighed, and smiled defeatedly.

-I’ll draft the paperwork.

[cagestark]

-Defender//4-

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Warnings: tony recounts trauma that is very reminiscent of civil war, but just a reminder that this is an Alternate Universe where there are differences between this story and canon.

Read here on AO3.

-

Training goes well.

Peter meets Black Widow (and she is even more beautiful in person, so beautiful that it’s eerie). She offers him her hand and he shakes it, firm and polite. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve staring at their hands as they clasp together, but if he’s expecting Peter to use his strength on an unenhanced human—not to mention one who has done nothing wrong—he’s got another thing coming.

Just to rub it in, Peter puts on his best respectful veneer when he says: “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Do you hear that, Steve?” The man mutters an I hear it under his breath. “Call me Natasha. They’re calling you Spider-Man, you know that? I guess that makes us of a similar Kingdom and Class.”

Peter feels warmth in his gut, the pleased, tingly feeling of belonging. He has a name like Black Widow or Hawkeye or Iron Man. Fuck. May would tease him without end for that, in between her proud smiles and glistening eyes. “That’s so cool,” Peter says, sounding as star-struck as he feels. “We’re like, the spider subdivision of the Avengers or something. Ancestral Arachnids.”

“Natasha is going to be overseeing your training,” Steve says. He shows no signs of Peter’s unpleasantness earlier in the week, but something about the way those blue eyes track his every movement keeps Peter from letting the man stand at his unprotected back. “She’s one of the best in the field when it comes to hand to hand combat. You more than likely already have the instincts you need if you’re enhanced, so she’s just going to help you learn how to listen to those instincts and hone them, plus run you through our procedures in the field. Sound good?”

It does sound good.

“Do you want to spar, Captain?” Peter asks while Natasha changes into work-out clothes. This time, the other man doesn’t fall for his wide, guileless eyes and the gentle, pubescent sounding voice. He assesses Peter with flat, knowing eyes.

Steve shakes his head. “Busy today, kid. Some other time.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Peter promises, flexing the fingers he’d used to crush the other man’s hand. He cracks the joints swiftly.

Natasha isn’t enhanced, so he is careful not to hurt her while they spar, but her depth of knowledge seems endless. She knows techniques from martial arts subdivisions that Peter can’t even pronounce, and Peter watches her every move, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge. He loves learning. He loves being useful. He loves the ache in his body after a workout. He loves having a purpose.

“How often does Mr. Stark train?” Peter asks during a water break.

Hawkeye (Clint, as he introduces himself) and Falcon (Sam) are wrapping their knuckles by the water cooler and overhear him ask. Clint snorts. “Tony? He doesn’t. At least, not with us.”

“He comes to the mandatory team exercises every other week. We’d kick him out of those, too, except that it’d be dangerous for us in the field,” Sam admits. “You’ll find that Tony is kind of like the third wheel on our dates with the bad guys, Pete. He tags along or shows up even when we ask him not to. Sometimes he comes in handy, sometimes he gets in the way.”

“But he pays for the tech and the Tower, so try not to piss him off or we’ll all end up out on the streets,” Clint adds. He and Sam touch knuckles.

Peter says nothing—stunned. He might have guessed that with a team leader like Steve, the rest of the team would have the same viewpoints but it’s still…disappointing. The Avengers were his heroes in his teen years, but they’re turning out to just be normal people. Shitty ones, at that. Peter feels another part of his illusioned childhood slip through his fingers.

He trashes it, along with his empty water cup.

“Peter?” Natasha asks. He can tell by the look on her face that she senses his tense mood, her eyes flickering between him and the two older men preparing to spar behind him. “You want to run through things one more time before we call it quits for today?”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little tense in my shoulders,” Peter lies, ignoring the guilt that gnaws at his stomach. He rubs at one trap for effect. “I think I’m going to go stretch and shower and rest—don’t want to pull a muscle, you know.”

“Right,” she says. “Well let me know if you aren’t feeling up to doing more in the morning. You have weeks before you’ll be cleared for fieldwork, so there’s no rush. Here, give me your Starkphone and I’ll program my number into it.”

“I don’t have a Starkphone,” Peter says. He’s never even had a smartphone, much less a STARKphone, the specs of which can’t be compared to anything Apple and Samsung are cooking up in their wildest dreams. They aren’t even mass produced considering their at-cost price is three grand. Peter has two dollars in change in the pocket of his backpack, but that’s it (and it’s mostly pennies). “But if you just tell it to me, I can memorize your number and put it in my track phone when I get upstairs.”

Natasha’s brows draw together. “Tony must be slacking if you don’t have one. He gives every new Avenger the latest model to make sure we’re up to date on the newest tech and able to communicate efficiently—something about how iPhones are the equivalent of chiseling on stone or sending smoke signals. I’ll talk to Tony for you.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t need to make me a phone,” Peter insists. “I have one upstairs that works just fine. Maybe when I start getting paid, I can save up and get one of my own—”

“You don’t have to save up to get Stark tech,” she says, smiling. “It’s free. That’s the perk of having Tony on the team.”

The perk, she says, like Tony’s money is the only thing he has going for him.

“I don’t want it,” Peter says. He puts space between them, jabbing the button for the elevator with more force than necessary. When the doors open to finally take him away from this gym with these people, it feels like he’s watching the pearly gates open for the way relief fills him. “But thanks anyway. I guess I should be thanking Mr. Stark, though, right?”

The doors close on her confused face.

Thirty hours later, Peter is climbing the walls. Figuratively, this time. He feels even less inclined to leave his room now than he had before. He’s already become something of a nocturnal recluse, exiting the kitchen only in the dead of night when he can hear the sounds of the other Avengers sleeping around him. He’s met some of the others who come and go and some who live on the floor: Thor, Wanda, Dr. Stephen Strange, Bruce Banner. There are hushed mentions of another member, Bucky, but Peter never sees him. What hurts most is Tony’s glaring absence. Ever since Peter got the man off, he hasn’t seen a trace of him. Anxiety blooms in his chest like water expanding upon freezing, icy barbs that make it hard to take a full breath. What if Tony is mad at him? What if Peter misinterpreted things between them? What if the dynamic has changed, and now he’s nothing to Mr. Stark but yesterday’s news?

It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened to him.

“Peter?” the disembodied voice with the exaggerated Irish lilt makes him jump.

He clears his throat, out of sorts as it is from disuse. “Yes, Ms. FRIDAY?”

“It’s Mr. Stark, Peter. He wants to know if you’re available to meet him in the lab.”

Peter jams his feet into his shoes without bothering to put on socks.  

Tony blinks in surprise at how quickly Peter arrives through the glass door of his lab, eyes scanning up and down Peter’s figure before settling on his face and giving a warm smile. Peter takes the time to assess the older man as well (fair is fair!). Tony looks exhausted, eyes shadowed, hair a mess. He’s wearing the same clothes he was the last time Peter saw him, but it’s been so many days, surely he’s just rewashed and decided to wear the clothes again—right?

It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since Peter moved rooms, since the night he ground on the man’s lap until Mr. Stark came in his pants. Just the memory of it (which Peter has revisited several times in his bed, in his shower) makes him flush with phantom arousal. At least he can blame that on the speed he used to get here.

Maybe it should be awkward, but it isn’t. Not on Peter’s end, at least.

Tony points to the lab table closest to the door where a large box rests. “I am bearing a gift for you, spider-boy.”

“Spider-Man,” Peter amends, already smiling. The difference is amazing and something he didn’t necessarily notice until he saw the man again, until the apathetic listlessness was washed from his skin leaving him feeling refreshed and exuberant. Peter missed him. He tip-toes towards the table, fingers hesitating above the ominous box. “You didn’t need to get me anything, Mr. Stark.”

“I didn’t—I made you something. Big difference. Go ahead, open it.”

With trepidation, Peter opens the box. There is a large mass of dark fabric inside and a smaller, sleek box sitting on top.

“Ta-Da!” Tony says. “Two gifts! I lied. I’m such a liar—”

Tony sways where he stands, like he’s suddenly lost his balance. Peter nearly upends a lab table between them trying to get to the man, watching as he white knuckles the nearest surface to ease himself down into the chair he’d abandoned. The heart in his chest pounds, skipping beats, a horror movie soundtrack that Peter is privy to, but Tony just waves the younger man’s concern away. “Gifts. Don’t worry about me, the look on your face will heal me of all my ailments, clear my skin, water my crops, all the things the kids say these days.”

“Your skin is already clear,” Peter mutters, frowning as he returns to the box and glances in the open lid. His stomach twists as he removes the smaller box. When he opens it, there is the sleekest, thinnest phone starring back at him, nestled in plastic that hugs its smooth curves, midnight blue. When he gingerly takes it from the box and turns it over, he sees the Stark Industries logo on the back and all the breath gets trapped in his lungs. “Mr. Stark—I—”

“I’m going to be honest, your expression isn’t healing me right now. What’s the matter kid? You wanted a different color?”

“I didn’t want one at all—” The look on Tony’s face is some mix between shock and disappointment. “No! I just meant, I mean, of course I want one Mr. Stark, these are the best phones in the world, I’m not just saying that, but I didn’t want you to go through the trouble. I know that these aren’t mass produced.”

“They aren’t,” Tony admits. “I made that one personally last night. Just for you, Pete. One of a kind. Like its owner.”

Peter’s face flushes. “I’ll save up my money and pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it. Get out the next present. Come on, I want you to put it on and make sure it fits.”

Somehow Peter is even more nervous—did Tony buy him clothes? He gets an image in his head of him walking around the penthouse wearing one of Tony’s band-shirts. Surely it would swim on Peter’s thin, petite frame. If he wore nothing underneath it, it’d be perfect access for Tony to come up behind him while Peter is at the counter in the kitchen (making coffee, cooking pop-tarts, who cares), ruck up the hem, and grind his erection against Peter’s bare ass.

Trying to slow his breathing, Peter hopes that his thoughts aren’t written clear as day on his face. When he pulls it from the box, he finds himself holding a jumpsuit made of a material that feels unlike anything he’s touched before: hard like metal, but flexible like fabric. It’s of a blue so dark that it’s nearly black. To match his phone maybe, he thinks. “What is this?” Peter asks. “Pajamas?”

“I’m sorry—pajamas? Jesus, kid, you’re, fuck. You’re really busting my balls today. It’s your suit! Well, the prototype. My struggles right now are just finding a material that’s strong enough to deflect bullets but flexible enough for you to do your creepy-crawly gimmick. Go and try it on, I want you to tell me if it fits.”

Peter sheds his shirt right away only to catch the stricken look on Tony’s face. “I meant go in the bathroom and change, Chippendale, but if—yeah, okay, that works, I’ll just—” he turns around to face the opposite direction. Peter rolls his eyes. His abs might be the one thing he has going for him, and Mr. Stark refuses to look at them now. Great.

He strips to his boxers and begins to tug on the suit, but a problem announces itself immediately. “Mr. Stark, this doesn’t have holes for my hands and feet. I need skin to surface contact for the scopulae to work.”

Tony remains looking resolutely away. “Not anymore. Thanks to all the in-depth scans FRIDAY completed last time you were here, I’ve found a way to recreate your scopulae mechanically. The sensors in the fingers and feet of your suit (and it should fit like a glove, Peter) will activate only when you activate your spider-touch. The suit is just expensive interfacing that will keep you from getting your fingers sawn off or developing frost bite. Are you in it yet? Come on, kid, the anticipation is killing me.”

Peter flexes around to zip himself up and yeah, the suit fits like a glove. The tightest glove he’s ever worn. One that was made for the contours of his body, the flatness of his abs, the bulge of his biceps. “It’s on. You can look.”

Tony spins around on the stool. He eyes Peter from the collar down, and the younger man grows flush, feeling that gaze on him as easily as he’d feel fingers reaching out to caress him. But when Tony fires off a series of technical questions about the fit, it becomes clear that he isn’t checking Peter out. He’s checking out the suit. Which kind of makes Peter even more crazy about him, if such a thing is possible.

“I’ve already tested the things it can and can’t do: it can’t be cut, it can’t be pierced or penetrated. Can’t be burned, though some hazardous materials are corrosive enough to it with long term exposure, so try not to take any lengthy dips in inconveniently placed vats of acids. But I have not yet seen what you can do in it. Let’s take it for a test run, huh kid?”

Tony takes him to the training room, which is empty on a Sunday. The ceilings are high—very high, and Peter scales them with ease. It feels strange at first, not feeling his bare skin on the plaster of the walls and the textured ceiling, but the suit fits so close to him that it’s easy to forget it isn’t his skin. There isn’t any difference in grip that Peter can detect, but he tests it anyway, hanging precariously by one hand.

“Oh no, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, placing the back of his free hand against his forehead like a true damsel in distress. He lets his legs kick a little in the air. “Please, save me!”

“I’m watching you use four fingers and a thumb to stick to a glass window twenty feet off the ground,” Tony calls. “I don’t think you need any saving. Still—this is not an invitation to be scaling my building, understand?”

“I don’t know, it feels pretty inviting to me!”

“Peter Parker—no death-defying circus acts, do you hear me?”

“No promises!”

Tony shakes his head. Peter thinks that he maybe looks a little fond. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

“Dinner plans?” Tony asks as they reenter the lab. He turns away so Peter can strip off the suit, though the younger man rolls his eyes. “I was thinking about ordering in like I always do. I’m feeling like soup though, need something light on my stomach. FRI, baby, what do you recommend?”

“After forty hours of no other sustenance, I’d not recommend anything spicy, high in fiber, or fried.”

“So you’d not recommend anything good, I get it—"

“Forty hours?” Peter asks, nearly tangling himself up in his haste to pull his shirt on over his head. He can’t see Tony’s expression, but his shoulders are hunched, one elbow resting on the table. Even from behind, he looks exhausted. “You can’t do that, Mr. Stark. You need to take breaks.”

“This is my break, kid. FRI, order me some vegetable soup from that vegan place down the street, and get Peter—Pete, what do you want? Does soup sound okay? What am I kidding, you’re enhanced, you need more than that. FRIDAY, find Peter something to eat that’s good for him, I don’t know, I’m hardly role-model material.”

“Soup is fine, Ms. FRIDAY,” Peter insists before the AI can purchase him an entire barbecued pig or something equally ridiculous. If she is anything like her creator, she must have a tendency to go overboard. Out to sea. Past the line of the horizon. “I don’t need anything special. Just a lot of it, if that’s okay.”

They take the soup up in Tony’s penthouse, and it’s the happiest Peter’s felt since being moved down to the Avengers’ communal floor. It feels like nothing has changed when Tony kicks up his socked feet onto the coffee table, takes the soup bowl into his hands and drinks the broth from it. He leaves all the carrots in the bottom, and it should be dorky that Peter finds something like that so fucking endearing.

“How’s it been, living with other superheroes?” Tony asks him, sipping spring water. “Everything you dreamed it would be?”

Peter shrugs, swirling his spoon around his own bowl.

“Not everything you dreamed?” Tony amends.

“I don’t want to badmouth my teammates,” Peter mutters. “We just obviously have different opinions about some important things. But that’s normal right? You put a half dozen people in the same apartment and of course they aren’t always going to agree.”

Tony hums. “You hate how Barton puts the coffee grinds right into the garbage disposal, don’t you? I’ve told him time and time again—”

Peter snorts. “No, that’s not it. It’s…well. It’s you.”

Tony frowns now. His whole demeaner changes, shrinks. With forced humor, he asks: “Me? What’d I do this time?”

“Nothing,” Peter hurries to assure. His face flushes, he wants to press his palms against his burning cheeks, but he doesn’t want to call attention to it. “I guess that’s just where the other Avengers and I disagree. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to cause trouble or to make you feel bad, I just—I wish they treated you better. I wish they saw what an amazing person you are. You know?”

“Maybe you’re just seeing me with rose-tinted glasses, kid,” Tony says, smiling sadly.

“I just see the way you treat me,” Peter admits. “People were always pretending I wasn’t there. When I was sleeping rough, they’d just walk by, turn their heads so we didn’t have to look at each other. So they didn’t have to look at me, I guess. Even working here, not a lot of people pay attention to the Maintenance Department. We’re supposed to be…invisible. You treat me like I’m a human being, though. Like you see me.”

“You are a human being,” says Tony. “And I do see you. I don’t know how anyone could miss you, kid.”

God. Maybe that’s just basic human decency, but Peter hasn’t been shown such a thing in so long that it makes his heart clench, makes his stomach churn and palms go sweaty. He’s filled with such longing that his insides twist. More and more lately, he feels like if he doesn’t have this older man for himself, it might kill him, a desire so keen that it hurts.

“Woah there,” says Tony, reaching out quickly to sit his bowl down on the table. “Don’t give me that look. That look is liable to get us into trouble.”

“What look?” Peter asks, breathily, letting his eyes drag down the man’s body. He licks his lips reflexively—what, they’re dry, okay?

“That look!” Tony says, pointing. “That one right there, the one that says you’re about to eat me whole.”

“Spiders are mostly carnivorous,” Peter says.

Tony laughs, scrubbing at his face with one hand. “Peter, I’m really not known for my self-control—actually I’m sort of famously known for my lack of self-control. Have some mercy on an old man.”

“Who needs self-control,” Peter grumbles. All the things that embarrass him—the kind words, the affectionate touches—sex isn’t really one of them. Peter hasn’t been a virgin in years, and it’s been too long since he had a partner as good as he knows Mr. Stark will be. A partner as incredible as Mr. Stark is. “Besides, I’m twenty years old, I’m not supposed to have good self-control either.”

“How old is that is spider years? Because I think you’ll probably still come out more mature than I am.”

“Spiders aren’t dogs, Mr. Stark—” Peter finds himself inching closer to the man. His skin is so sensitive that he can feel the heat thrown off by Tony’s body. It’s impossible not to know how the older man is affected, not when his heart stutters, his pupils bloom. “You know, I don’t think that soup was enough. Maybe I need something else to fill me up.”

“I’ve heard a lot of dirty talk in my time, kid,” Tony says. Though his voice is unchanged, his breathing is haggard. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“That sounds like permission if I’ve ever heard it,” Peter breathes. In one swift move, he straddles the man’s thigh until it rests between his own, arching his back so that his cock rubs against that muscled leg.

Tony stops breathing. His eyes are half-lidded, the whiskey color turned deeper and darker. He takes several long, slow breaths to calm himself, but Peter doesn’t want that. He wants to see this composed man become the opposite of calm. He slips down off of his perch on the man’s lap and between the parted knees.

“Kid,” Tony says, catching his wrist when it moves towards the man’s belt buckle. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Peter asks.

“I’m exhausted,” the man says, and as he says it, Peter can see it. Between his legs, the man isn’t even hard. He reaches out with one trembling hand and pets at Peter’s hair, traces the shell of his ear with his thumb until Peter shivers, smiling. “I’ve been awake for, FRIDAY—”

“Fifty-one hours, boss.”

Tony points up to the ceiling. “What she said. I don’t think I could get hard even if I tried right now.”

Peter lets his head rest on the man’s thigh, watching carefully to make sure that Tony is okay with the intimacy. Judging by the soft smile, the way his hand comes down to pet at Peter’s curls, Tony’s okay with it. Shuddering at the stimulation on his scalp, Peter wills away the erection between his legs. Now isn’t the time. “Is it normal for you to spend so much time in the lab?”

“Nothing about me is normal, kid.”

“You know what I mean.”

Tony hums. “Sometimes when I have a project deadline, or when something’s caught my interest. After Natasha reminded me that I hadn’t made your phone yet—”

“Natasha?” Peter’s head lifts from the muscular thigh. He grits his teeth, officially adding her to the list of people he can’t trust with Tony’s wellbeing. “I told her not to bother you. It’s not your job to manufacture a phone for me; you’ve already done so much.”

“Just a match on the fire of things I’d do for you, kid,” Tony says. He sounds half asleep, and the sight of the shadows under his eyes reminds Peter that their positions are very backwards. Tony’s eyes blink open when Peter moves away, wide and bloodshot, looking ready to apologize though he’d done nothing wrong.

Peter sits at the opposite end of the couch and pats his lap. “Put your head here.”

“There?” Tony asks, pointing. “What for?”

“Think: why would I put my head in your lap?”

“To suck me off—?”

Peter sucks in breath to laugh and chokes instead, coughing until he’s red in the face. “Save that thought for another time. Just lay down.”

Tony does, gingerly. He lays flat on his back, one of Peter’s thighs cushioning the arch of his neck. It gifts Peter with the most delicious vantage point of the man’s face, even if he looks a little trepidatious. With all the tenderness he has in him, Peter reaches out to stroke the dark hairs off of the man’s forehead. Immediately, Tony’s eyes flutter and he inhales. The billionaire has noble features, even as delicately lined with age as they are. With his nails, Peter softly scratches at the man’s temples where gray hair is sprouting.

“God,” Tony mutters. “That feels good. Never stop.”

“Quit,” Peter says, smiling. “You’re going to make me hard.”

Eyes shut, Tony smiles, baring the prettiest, white teeth. God, there’s nothing about him that Peter would change. Nothing about him that is less than perfect—except for maybe the way he sees himself. How could someone so intelligent be so off base in their self-perception? “Should I talk about something that will turn you off instead?”

“Thanks, but no. You can go to sleep if you want to. You sound really tired.”

“I am really tired,” Tony concedes. His voice is soft and just a little slower than normal. Slurred, drunk with exhaustion. “Shouldn’t sleep though.”

“Why not?”

“I have nightmares,” Tony breathes. Underneath his eyelids, Peter can see his eyes flickering, like he’s watching his nightmares playing out in his mind. The man shivers—honest to God shivers, and Peter’s own senses take notice. Something is upsetting Tony, the goosebumps on his arms say, the anxious twisting of his stomach. Something is scaring him. Help. Protect. “Night terrors, according to FRIDAY. I get violent.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Peter says. Tony’s eyes slit open to stare at him, as if assessing the truth of his statement. “I could snap you in half, remember? I, I could snap Captain America in half, for what it’s worth—”

And the way Tony’s eyes open, shoulders stiffening where they’re pressed against Peter’s thighs, suddenly he knows. He knows that whatever is hurting Mr. Stark goes back to Steve Rogers. Peter strokes through the dark hair, rubbing at one temple with a tender thumb, but Tony’s eyes don’t close again. They stare at the ceiling above them, seeing through it like it isn’t there. Peter feels both hot and cold all over, inside his body and yet far away, watching through the windows of his eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” Peter asks. His mouth feels numb.

“It was my fault,” Tony says, shivering. “There was an altercation, and I made him choose between me or his closest friend. I can’t fault him for not choosing—for choosing Barnes. Some skeletons came out of the closet; I guess Barnes was responsible for my parents’ death—”

“Excuse me?”

“—it’s a long story,” Tony says. His eyes slip shut. “He killed them, but he was brainwashed so, so it doesn’t really count, I guess, does it? That’s what everyone says, what they keep telling me—that he was just as blameless as a gun might have been, he was just a weapon—”

“Tony. Hey. Just take some deep breaths—”

“There was a fight. Me versus them,” Tony continues. Peter’s heart sinks to think of this fragile, unenhanced man having to hold his own against two enhanced super soldiers. The suit had them on more equal footing, but two against one was never fair. Ever. “I was hurt. Very badly.”

Tony takes one of Peter’s hands, spreads open the fingers that melt under his touch. He presses it to the center of his chest and the young man can hardly believe what he’s feeling, isn’t even sure what he’s feeling. There’s a depression in Tony’s chest, centered on his sternum, a hollowness in the shape of a perfect circle. It’s right above his heart.

“What is that?” Peter asks, placing his palm there.

“After my stint in a cave in Afghanistan, I came home with an electromagnetic pacemaker that was keeping me alive and powering the Iron Man suits. During the fight, Steve destroyed it. The suit, it—it felt like a coffin. Hours went by before I was found. I don’t know what was worse: the sound the shield made when it came down on my heart or laying there with the thought of someone peeling open my suit someday and finding my skeleton.”

“Jesus,” Peter mutters.

And they live here. Steve is one floor down from them, probably doing something domestic like making dinner or watching television or doing crunches in his room. How can he show his face here, when he nearly took Tony’s life from him? How can the other Avengers let him? And Barnes—Peter isn’t even prepared to deal with how fucked up Tony having to house his own parents’ murderer is. Because it’s beyond fucked.

Tony rolls onto his side, face toward Peter. It might be arousing under different circumstances, but now it makes Peter curl up over him, removing his palm from the hollow chest and reaching for Tony’s hand. The palm is clammy, but Peter could care less. He squeezes, firm but gentle, and continues to card his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“’m so sorry,” Peter says lowly.

Tony’s eyes are closed, but he still murmurs back, “It’s no big deal. We’ve all made up, now, even Barnes and me. But sometimes—”

“—sometimes you’re still scared.”

Tony brow furrows just the slightest, lines that Peter wants to reach out and smooth away. “No,” he mumbles, more than half asleep now. “No, Stark men don’t get scared…made of iron...”

Peter says nothing. He sits there, stroking the man’s hair until his breathing evens out and his mouth goes slack, and even then Peter can’t bring himself to move. When he speaks, it is quiet, more to himself than to Tony. “You have nothing to be afraid of anymore. I will never let anything happen to you Mr. Stark. You have my word. I will protect you.”

Softly as he can, he maneuvers himself out from underneath the man’s head. There’s an afghan on the back of one armchair (though not the kind Peter’s used to, not the kind his grandmother might have made considering this one feels so soft and rich and new), and he lays it across the man. Oh, if only Vanity Fair and Rolling Stone and Time magazine could see him now, the soft and relaxed expression, the gently parted mouth.

Quiet as a spider mouse, Peter cleans up their mess from dinner so that Tony won’t have to wake up to it. After everything is back where it should be, Peter sits heavily in the armchair by the couch, a silent vigilant.

Tonight, Peter is a dreamcatcher.

When he finally leaves the penthouse and heads back to his own room, the sun is just starting to hint at rising. His own eyes are heavy, and his shoulders bowed with troubles—his own and Tony’s. All of it evaporates when he sees a figure sitting at the window watching the sunrise, a cup of coffee in his hand and the goddamn newspaper beside him, truly a man out of time.

Steve looks at him with all the prim disapproval of an old biddy, as if Peter was walking in with high heels in his hand and no panties on underneath a party dress. They stare at each other in silence for a long moment while the fury builds under Peter’s skin.

“Looking for a fight?” Peter asks, his hands shaking. A normal human might miss it, but Steve doesn’t.

“No,” Steve says. “I’m not going to fight you, Peter.”

“You will. Soon.”

“Not every disagreement has to come to violence.” The magnanimous attitude makes Peter see red, but then he wonders the sound Captain America’s shield makes when it strikes metal and feels cold all over.

“That’s real rich,” Peter mutters. He lifts a hand and flips him off. Steve’s lips get thin—but there’s no satisfaction in it. Giving Captain America the bird is small beans compared to the trauma Tony experienced at the man’s hands.

Peter doesn’t bother looking back.

In the privacy of his room, Peter takes the time to look through his new Starkphone. He discovers that he already has one contact: Tony. Peter rolls over to press his face flat into the mattress and keep from making any embarrassing noises (or at least to keep from making them loud enough for Steve to hear in the main room). His life has taken the strangest detour, and he hopes that whatever the destination may be that it takes ages to get there. He’s enjoying himself far too much. Take the scenic route, fate. Thanks.

Even though Tony is asleep, Peter can’t help but send a quick message and hope that FRIDAY screens his texts and will keep it from waking the exhausted man.

Thanks again for the phone, Mr. Stark. It’s awesome.

He sits his phone aside on the table, telling himself that he won’t check it until the morning.

Peter wakes with the phone pressed flat between his cheek and the pillow, the vibration of an incoming text making his skull buzz. Squinting at the phone, he sees that it’s a nine in the morning, and Tony has just replied to his message.

We’re very even, kid. x

Falling back to sleep takes forever, but the smile that threatens to split his face is worth it.

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 7

GREENE FARM~DAY AFTER DARYL’S NO GOOD VERY BAD DAY

I woke up next to Daryl in an actual bed! Feeling amazed at the luxury, after all the nap I’d taken during Carl’s trauma was more of the pass-out not aware type of sleep, I cuddled into Daryl’s side. The side he hadn’t pierced with one of his own arrows. I felt him shift under me and chuckled.

“You are the world’s worst patient, Daryl Dixon.” I whispered, glancing up at him. I’d managed, through sheer force of will, to get him to agree to a sponge bath after dinner. And I even convinced him to let me run back to our tent for a change of clothes for him. Now all the gunk and blood was clear from him, and I had a promise that he’d take advantage of Hershel’s offer of a shower, as soon as he was given the ok.

He groaned after my statement, looking down at me with his version of a pout. Which meant he was glaring at me. “And ya can be a naggin’ nurse, Jessica Grimes.” He grunted, softening his irritation by kissing my forehead. “Don’t know why I had to let ya clean me up last night.” He muttered.

I gave him a look. “As I recall, you didn’t seem to mind during that washing.” I raised an eyebrow as I remembered locking the door and taking my time to be very thorough.

Daryl shrugged, but I could see him fighting a smile. “It wasn’t completely horrible.” He answered, looking at the lace curtains covering the windows. “Might even let ya help me in the shower, since I’m injured and all.”

I laughed and crawled from the bed to find Hershel. I wanted to make sure that Daryl was ok to come back to our tent. He wasn’t going to rush, whether he liked it or not. I found the farmer on the porch, enjoying the morning. He assured me that Daryl would be fine to return to his daily routine, barring stealing another horse. I chuckled and thanked him after he told me Daryl could shower the next day.

Returning to the invalid’s room, I found Andrea offering him a novel and Daryl warning her that if she ever shot at him again, he “best be dead.” I nodded, and then looked up at her. “If you don’t know how to properly handle a weapon, perhaps Dale was right, and you shouldn’t have one.” I glared at her before she could open her mouth for one of her glorious retorts. “Leave.”

Daryl was watching me closely as I sat down on the bed. “She fucked up, Jessi, but we’ve all fucked up one time or another.” He said, taking my hand in his. “Let it go, I have.”

I shot him a look and he smiled. “Ever fuck up and nearly kill someone?” He just stared at me. “Because that’s what Andrea did. She couldn’t see through the glare of the sun, and she shot at you. She was aiming for that thick head of yours, Dixon. If she was better with weapons, you’d be dead. And so would she.” It was a statement and I meant every single word of it. “Jessi,” he whispered, clearly not expecting the force of my reaction to the situation. “Baby, I’m OK. She didn’t kill me, hell, I did worse to myself yesterday.” He was trying to calm me, but this was one topic that it wouldn’t work.

I pulled my hand free from his and leaned closer to his face. Cupping it between my hands, I stared into his eyes. “You’re not dead because of her lack of skill, Daryl. That’s not a win, not when I know Dad will insist everyone learn their weapons better. You’re not dead because Dad hasn’t had a chance to teach her up.” I sighed and ran my thumbs along his cheeks. “She isn’t right for this world, I know it, and it’s going to get someone killed.”

His hand slid to cover mine, holding me to his face. “Then we watch her.” He agreed. “We make sure that she doesn’t screw up. Jessi, you can’t just get rid of people because they’re-”

“Dangerous?” I scoffed. “That’s what Andrea is, it’s what Shane is. They’re both ticking time bombs, the only question in my mind? Which one blows first?”

 HOURS LATER~OUTSIDE OUR TENT

Daryl and I had agreed to disagree on the Andrea situation. His let bygones be bygones made me want to scream, but I understood it too. This new life, with walkers trying to kill us, and people not much better, made some strong. Unfortunately, Daryl felt that we just had to train up the weakest to make them better suited.

I did agree with the sentiment. For instance, Carol would probably learn to survive. Dale? Well, Dale was pretty much a hippy type, but if it came to killing walkers, he was game. That was a mark in his favor. His fear of ending a human’s life, however, was going to end up problematic. People, I could tell, were going to be just as dangerous to us as walkers. I mean, Dad told us what happened in Atlanta with the “gang” he’d halved the gun supply with, and let’s not forget Dr. Jenner.

Here’s my list for people in our group who would probably learn to survive better: Daryl Dad Shane (that kills me to admit) Me Carl Glenn (he’d be higher on the list, but he wasn’t raised by my dad) Lori (iffy, she’s still a little timid) T-Dog Carol (once we find Sofia, or we put the poor child to rest, whichever) Dale (once his bleeding heart savior shit is put in its place) Andrea

That’s how it would work, in order of best chances to least. See who’s last? Yeah, because she’s not going to make it. Even if she learns, she’s going to still make the stupidest decisions and then we’ll be the ones to clean it up or take the hit. I didn’t share the list with Daryl. Because honestly, I think he might have taken it as a personal challenge to prove me wrong. That and his head would grow three sizes too big to fit through the door of the tent, since he outranked my dad in the pecking order.

He was happy to hear about the shower. Whether it was the actual bathing, or the fact that he was going to do his damndest to get me in that hot water with him, I’m not sure.

We spent the day listening as Dad planned to take the group shooting (told you so), and then work on the areas surrounding where Daryl found Sofia’s doll. Daryl, I was happy to notice, would be staying back with me. I begged off the shooting practice by holding up my bow to my dad. He laughed and rolled his eyes, but walked away without a fight. Daryl was watching me and I saw his interest in my response and I knew he was wondering if I could use a gun.

“I can shoot guns, Daryl.” I answered him before he could form the question. “My dad was a sheriff’s deputy in the south. Of course, I’m proficient in gun use.” I rolled my eyes.

He gave one of those gruff chuckles I loved. “Didn’t want to give yourself a little practice? Practice makes-”

“Perfect, yeah, I might have heard that before.” I watched his eyes grow darker at the memory of the last time I was told about it.

I ran over to the RV to see if Dale needed help with watching over us all on the roof. I’d rather be with Daryl, but I also knew that every little bit helps. It’s how I caught Glenn acting twitchier than usual and asking Dale if Andrea might be on her period because she was acting crazy.

He actually thought, and I quote, “I’m only asking ’cause it’s like all the women are acting really weird. And…and I read somewhere that when women spend a lot of time together, their cycles line up and they all get super crazy hormonal at the same time.”

I coughed and he realized that I was standing nearby. “I can attest that I am NOT currently having my period, but thanks for asking, Glenn.” I grinned at his blush. “Andrea’s off her rocker most days, as for the OTHER ladies,” I raised an eyebrow to remind him that I knew who he was thinking of, “I’m sure that’s not the issue either. We’re dealing with the apocalypse, dude, what did you expect?”

Dale grinned at me and agreed. “I’m gonna advise you to keep your theory to yourself.”

I nodded, “Telling a woman she’s PMS crazy brings out a whole new round of nuts.”

Glenn, far from looking reassured, looked more twitchy. What the hell?

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Dale asked, and I nearly walked away, but thought I might want to hear the answer.

“You’re old.” Glenn started, and I closed my eyes at the poor boy’s tact. “You’re… you know things. So what if someone told you something that someone else should know…”

I rolled my eyes as Dale told him to stop being dramatic and spit it out.

“There’s...there’s walkers in the barn and Lori’s pregnant.” He spit it out alright, and I nearly did too. Fuck, WHAT?

“WHAT?!” I had to keep myself from screaming. They both remembered I was standing near them and who I was. “I’m guessing Dad doesn’t know?”

Glenn shook his head. I ran my hands over my face. Fuck, this was bad. Bad, bad, bad. Dale asked if he should speak to Hershel, and I considered it. Having Hershel explain himself to Dad would be MUCH better than one of us. I nodded. As for Lori? There’s no chance that baby is my dad’s. NONE. Great, a baby Shane. Unless Dad raised it. Wasn’t there proof that nurture was JUST as important as nature?

“About Lori,” Glenn started and I held up a hand.

“She can figure it out,” I said, trying to school my features from shock to whatever I could manage. I shook my head. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear this entire mess of a conversation. Dale? Do you need me to stand watch?” He shook his head and I walked away.

Finding Daryl sitting by our tent, I knew he’d be able to tell something was wrong, but I hoped I could distract us both. His smile made those damn butterflies in my stomach start up again. It was better than the nausea Glenn’s news made me feel.

“Wondered where ya got off to.” He said, patting the ground beside him, but I shook my head.

“Had to make sure Dale didn’t need help with watch.” I offered and he nodded. Standing he loomed by the tree he had been sitting against.

“Does he?” He asked, and I shook my head again. “So what’re we gonna get into all alone while they’re gone?”

I raised an eyebrow and was gratified when he rushed to me and smothered any further conversation with a burning kiss. I sighed into him, trying desperately to be careful of his wounded side.

“I’d really like to carry ya inside the tent,” he whispered against my lips.

I smiled at the thought of it. “If you screw up those stitches, I’ll catch hell from Hershel.” I giggled and took his hand. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of walking with you inside the tent, Daryl.”

The others were gone, except Dale, Carol, Glenn, and the Greene family. And entering our tent, I watched as Daryl groaned and lay back on our sleeping bags. I knew this killed him, being at anyone’s mercy, even mine. Yet, I loved that he trusted me enough to allow it. I bit my lip and looked down at him, fully clothed and clean, thank God. I could still see the ear necklace and all the blood and gore from the day before.

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” He asked, his gruff voice husky and his eyes barely squinting to take me in.

I smiled and laid down beside him. “You, Daryl Dixon, I was looking at you.” I ran my hand up his chest, careful of the bandaged side. “And I was wondering something.”

I knew his eyes were closed without looking, because I felt him sigh into my soft touch. “What’s that?”

“Why was your mouth coated in blood yesterday?” I asked, sitting up on my elbow to look down at him. I saw him grimace slightly, ut-oh.

“I might of eaten a squirrel,” he stopped and wouldn’t look at me, “raw.”

Ugh, I thought, I’d kissed you yesterday and hadn’t even noticed. “Ah.” Was all I said, and I felt him twitch. “Remind me to never ask that question again.”

He chuckled at that. “So tough, but won’t even eat meat straight from the source. It was still warm-like.” He shook his head and met my eyes as I grimaced. “Should have warned ya, but your kiss was all I could think about on the way back.”

“I can’t fault that logic.” I smiled and leaned forward to kiss him again. When I pulled back, his eyes were more black than blue. “Since you’re injured, I should probably take care of you, right?” I asked, we had been so focused on our first night together that we’d never gotten to much more than the full act, so I wanted to be sure.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow. He nodded and that was all I needed to get into caretaker mode. I gave him a smile and began kissing down his neck, flicking against his pulsepoint and feeling his hand run down my back and then back to my head. I kept going, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing each inch of skin that was exposed as the buttons fell open. His nipples were taunt, and I spent a moment enjoying each one before returning to my route. Down his stomach, nuzzling his bellybutton, and then my fingers found the button on his jeans.

“I probably shouldn’t completely undress you,” I whispered against his skin as I flicked the button open. “Just when I do, we’ll be called to defend the damn world.” I felt him chuckle as my fingers opened the zipper. “But I’ll make sure everything necessary to your recovery is bared to my attention.” His fingers slid under the tightness of my braid and I smiled against his pelvic bone. He lifted his ass long enough to free that part of him I was most concerned with, and then he was free. I hummed in approval. “Oh, I’m more than certain I can make you feel all better, Mr. Dixon.” I looked up to see he’d put his other arm under his head to get a better angle to watch me. I smirked at him as my tongue flicked against the head that had given me such pleasure in the bright light of the moon. “Just let me know if there’s anything that you need to make a full recovery.” And with that I engulfed him with my mouth, my hand moved to the base and together with my mouth and tongue, I worked him.

“Shit, Jessi,” he hissed, his fingers tangled in the depths of my hair. “Yeah, fuck, just like that.”

I moved slowly, then faster, then slower, making him moan and gasp. His hand in my hair tightened and I knew he was ready, but he did the unexpected, he yanked me from him. “Get up here, Jess.” He growled and my mouth met his with a hunger that was even more than the night before. “I need ya. All of ya.” He moaned against my mouth, and I felt his hands sliding down to my own jeans, undoing them and tugging. “Pull em off.” He ordered and I pulled back, kicking off my boots and ridding myself of my pants. “Now climb on top.” Demanding, I thought, but I was powerless to deny him.

I straddled him and then he snapped up into me. We both moaned at the feeling. We hadn’t thought it was right to try in Hershel’s house, in a stranger’s bed, but this, I rocked my hips and felt sparks between us, this was US. He pulled me back to him, so most of my weight was on him. I was trying to be so careful of his wound, but he wouldn’t allow it. Not now, not here, here we had to connect. And so, my covered chest was tight against his, even as he quickened his pace of thrusting. He swallowed my screams of pleasure as I was fed his own. And for the first time, but not the last, when we came, we didn’t part.

And for a brief moment, I forgot about the walkers in the barn and my newest sibling on the way.

[bombshellbois]

Sticking Points

Rating: T

Summary: The summer of 1986 doesn’t look much different to Billy than the summer of 1985 did, when it started. Few more scars, few more burned bridges, but not much else has changed. He’s still working at the pool, and still giving swimming lessons to bratty kids. Today the bratty kid is Holly Wheeler.

It’s funny the things that stick in life. Billy has found himself thinking that a lot lately. His days are eerily similar to last summer, right down to the weight of the lifeguard whistle against his chest. Sure, there was the brush with actual fucking monsters (not really a brush so much as a head-on collision) but… he didn’t have any better ideas once summer came around again, really. It’s been long enough that he can drown out the memory of that voice that screamed inside his head that the sun would kill him. He still needs a job, still misses the beaches of California, and the best Hawkins can offer is this goddamn pool so… 

It’s not like he has any more bad memories of this place than he does of anywhere else. 

Sitting on the corner of the pool beside him, dangling her legs into the shallows, is Holly Wheeler. She’s got goggles on her head that look too big for her, with worn blue rubber around the lenses. The neon fish on her swimsuit with the tail the trails on and on reminds Billy vaguely of album art. He’d compliment her taste if he thought she did it on purpose. 

Talk about things that stick. Billy’s not sure if Karen has regrets one year later, or if she’s still hanging onto some kind of guilt, but she was insistent that Billy had to give Holly swimming lessons. The size of the tip she gave him and the fact that she gave it to him up front suggests guilt. 

“I already know how to swim,” Holly tells him matter-of-factly. She’s staring at him with the same huge dark eyes that her brother and sister both have. She’s blond as fuck, though. Where the hell did that come from? Karen must have used so much peroxide when she was knocked up that it soaked into the womb or something. 

“I know.”

“I was here every day last summer,” Holly persists. “Swimming.”

“I know,” Billy repeats. “I was the lifeguard last summer.”

She squints at him, like she’s trying to remember if that’s true, probably stretching the limits of her 6-year-old memory span. 

“So you already know I’m a good swimmer,” she says. Billy does know. She knows most of what he’s supposed to teach kids her age, but that’s her problem for having a mom who runs too wet for the pretty ones. 

“I’m gonna make you a better swimmer,” he says. “Your form is shit.”

“You can’t say that!” she gasps. “Steve said I’m really good!”

Billy expected her to say he can’t say ‘shit’ because kids believe in rules like that. She doesn’t, probably because she has to hear worse than that from her brother. The Steve thing… Billy isn’t expecting it, but it isn’t a surprise, either. Hawkins’ Golden Boy is gunning for mother of the year. And hey, in this town where his competition is mostly the Karens and the Susans, he just might get it.

“Steve is a nice person.” That’s not Billy’s favorite thing to admit. Makes him feel guilty too easily. “But he’s also a liar.”

And Billy would know. 

***

Steve has been to the hospital room a handful of times. Billy suspects he’s been to the parking lot way more often because Neil and Susan sure as hell aren’t bringing Max by as often as she’s here. He just sits there and makes chit-chat every time. He’s good at that, at talking and saying nothing at all. Billy can’t decide if it’s because that’s what silver spooners learn or if Steve is just actually a dumbass. 

“You know I don’t actually care, right?” Billy finally says, cutting off Steve’s intense re-telling of his debate with Keith about whether or not Teen Wolf belongs in the horror section.

“You could tell me what you do care about and then I can talk about that,” Steve offers, not missing a beat. Billy rolls his eyes and falls back into the silence he’s lived in for most of Steve’s visits. 

Steve groans. 

“Billy. Come on, talk to me. I’m not still mad about last year, you know. We can just… start over.”

There are no free passes in life. Billy knows that for a fact. Which means Steve is just saying the right thing you’re supposed to say when someone is in the hospital. He’s a fucking liar, is what he is.

***

“Steve is not a liar,” Holly huffs. “He was a swimmer. He knows when people are good.”

“Steve’s sport was basketball.” Billy grabs the pink boogie board from the side of the pool and drops it into the water. “He just happens to have a pool in his backyard.” 

“He was a swimmer when he was dating my sister.” Holly wrinkles her nose at the board and kicks it, making it float off further into the pool. “I’ve seen other swimming lessons. You want me to hold onto that and kick, but I already know how to kick.”

Billy… sort of believes that because Steve was never all that great at basketball, but he did have a jock reputation before Billy came to town. And he’s already kind of wondered sometimes why the guy always brings his pack of kids to the public pool instead of just using his back yard. But then Holly decides to be a massive pain in the ass and he decides he still doesn’t care about any mystery involving Steve Harrington. 

He has to handle the Wheeler brat instead.

“Look.” Billy drops his elbow to his knee so his hunched posture puts him on eye-level with Holly. “I know you know how to kick. But we have to go through the lessons, got it?” She’s pursing her lips like she’s about to start bitching again, so Billy just brings out the big guns. “And if I tick off all the little boxes of shit you know how to do, you get a whistle at the end of the week.”

That gets her attention. Bribing always works with kids, but he’s pretty sure Holly knows it’s a bribe. She understands checking off boxes that might be pointless in exchange for a reward. Billy would bet anything her limp-dick dad uses that technique all the time. 

“I want the whistle,” she says, pulling her goggles down over her eyes. They slide down her nose, the band way too big on her head to form anything closed to a seal. 

“Those are too big for you,” Billy says, holding out his hand. “I’ll hold ‘em. Go get the board.”

Holly pulls them off and hands them to him. “I want them back,” she warns. “Steve gave them to me for my swimming class. He won a trophy once with them and said they’ll bring me good luck.”

Billy doesn’t believe in luck, and personally thinks there would have been more use in Steve just getting Holly a pair of goggles that fit right. But people like stories and sentiments like that. And Steve likes giving people shit.

***

There’s  hairspray on the table beside Billy’s bed. Not the right kind, mainly because it’s the expensive shit, where the can is muted chrome, and the logo is in thick, flowy letters. Max sure as hell didn’t buy it. There’s not a long list of people visiting him in the hospital, but there’s only one who would think doing his hair would make him feel better. 

Someone (meaning Max) must have shared with Steve that Billy’s latest ‘milestone’ (because every single fucking thing counts as a milestone if your injuries fuck you up enough) is being allowed to shower on his own. He’s happy about that, don’t get him wrong. The nurses around here are not the stuff of wet dreams, and being sponged by a 60-something who talks about her collapsed uterus was pretty much hell. But seriously, he didn’t need that shared with Harrington. That guy is being weird enough about this already. 

Billy hates that he kind of wants to. Wants to wash his hair, which feels grimy and flat from being slept on so much. Wants to pick it with a comb while it’s damp, give it some lift, rub it dry with a t-shirt so it won’t frizz… and yeah, maybe spray it in place a little. And he really fucking hates that the town pretty boy, with his head of brunette fluff and nothing else, understands that so well. 

He dumps the can in the trash and makes sure Steve can see it in there.

***

Holly retrieves the board and kicks her way back over with it. Billy mentally checks off that box in his head. Yeah, he’ll probably make her do it some more just so she’s quiet for longer. He’s gonna milk the promise of that graduation whistle for as long as he can. But the kid can clearly already kick. 

“Don’t scuff them,” she reminds him when he must run a thumb over the rim of the goggles in the wrong way or something. Billy sighs internally. Clearly Harrington’s next generation of kids are already forming their attachments to him. Which means Billy is going to have to see him shuttling kids to and from the pool well after his current bunch gets their licenses. 

“I’m not scuffing Steve’s shitty goggles, kid,” he snaps.

“They’re my goggles now,” she says, the imperious tone grating in the same way her brother’s does. And her sister’s. Fucking Wheelers, man. “And you should be nicer to Steve.”

“Steve isn’t even here. Why does it matter?” Billy sets the goggles on the side of the pool so the kid can stop glowering at him. 

“Because he said I should be nice to you,” she says,  tossing the boogie board up onto the poolside where it turns the stones darker with a splatter of water. 

God Billy wants a fucking cigarette. “Can’t imagine why he did that. We’re not friends.”

***

“We’re not buddies, Harrington.” There’s venom in Billy’s voice, but Steve just looks tired. And kind of frustrated, like he knows he opened his mouth too wide and can’t take it back now. 

“I didn’t say we were. Or that we were going to be.”

He didn’t. But ‘I can help with your PT if you want’ isn’t exactly something to say to the guy you had a fistfight with a few months ago. It’s a nice offer and it’s coming after too many goddamn nice things, and Billy… Billy is over it. Harrington just keeps showing up and talking and trying to act like he and Billy are just gonna be nice to each other. Like that’s a thing that happens in real life. 

“I don’t want your fucking help.”

“I know.” And Steve sounds like he does know. Maybe he knows exactly how much Billy hates every second he insists on sitting in that plastic chair, hates every chipper word out of his mouth. And still keeps coming like a sadist. Or a masochist. Or both in one fucking punching bag of a package. 

“So fuck off! Stop showing up to visit me, stop leaving shit around my room life a fucking creeper! Get on with your shitty life, maybe go collect some more kids to need you!” Billy is sure some of that wounds. If Steve’s fall from grace in his senior year was a Greek tragedy, his languishing in a humiliating job while everyone else went off to college was some depressing Dickens shit. The kind where everyone knows, and everyone judges and tuts about it. But other than a little tightening in the jaw, Steve doesn’t react. 

Billy’s stomach does. Turns sour and roils and wants to take it all back as badly as Steve wanted to take back his offer to help. But the words are out and it’s full steam ahead, and he’s slapping his palm repeatedly against the button to call the nurse before Steve can do something stupid like apologize, like he’s the one who did something wrong. 

Steve doesn’t visit again. He can’t. Billy tells the nurses he doesn’t want him in there, and never asks if he tries to come back.

***

“You know, if you’re not nice to people, then no one will by nice to you,” Holly tells him, breaking Billy out of his reverie. The wisdom of a 6-year-old. “But if you’re nice, like to Steve, then maybe you can be friends.”

“Wow, is that how friends work?” Billy rolls his eyes, but it’s probably lost on Holly since he has sunglasses on. “Consider me fuckin’ schooled.”

Holly grasps at the lip of the pool a few times , trying to pull herself out. It doesn’t work, so she just waves a hand at Billy’s arm until he obliges and holds it out to her. She grabs it and pull herself out of the water, planting her butt back on the corner of the pool.

“Thank you,” she says. “Now you say ‘you’re welcome’ to me.”

“Trying to improve my manners, kid?”

“Yes. Good manners make it easier to make friends.”

Billy sighs and hands her back her goggles. His brain hurts, and his chest feels a little tight from too much thinking. Too many memories that are still fresh enough to sting. A cursory glance at the row of moms confirms that no, Karen didn’t stick around. Definitely a guilt thing.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we skip the rest of the baby lessons today and I buy your silence with a popsicle from the staff freezer?”

Holly, like all smart kids, knows when she’s got a good offer on the table. She nods immediately, fitting Steve’s goggles back on her head. “Deal.”

Billy stands up and heads for the staff office, with small, wet footsteps slapping the ground behind him. Holly might be okay. She’s a quick kid, and not quite as annoying as her siblings. Yet. She might even be right about a few things too. 

And with any luck, as long as there’s a decent stash of flavors to barter with in the freezer, she might even be useful in figuring out how Steve likes people to be nice to him. 

[underatedcharactersunite]

A Tale of Two Souls Part 3; Playing the Part

Summary; As you, Jaskier and Geralt continue to travel together, bonds get created while others are tested. Especially when you find yourself in a predicament when Jaskier's life appears to be in imminent danger.  Pairing; Jaskier x Female Reader  WordCount; 3659   Warnings; Angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, strong language   Taglist; @lilyevans1​ Read Part 2 Here

Series Masterlist 

A couple of days had gone by since you unveiled to Jaskier your authentic identity. Despite Jaskier appearing to be indifferent from everything, you were convinced that he must possess some inquiries. 

Regardless of the queries, Jaskier proceeded to walk ahead of you and everything was satisfactory with the world once more. While the three of them travelled along winding roads and treacherous paths, you observed Jaskier. Jaskier being abnormally quiet unsettled you. Over the past several days, you had come to understand that Jaskier rejected the quiet. He preferred to engage in conversation or composing a new song. 

Adjacent to the quiet behaviour, Jaskier walked appeared to be uneven as a distinctive limp had replaced his confident strut. Before the three of you proceeded on your journey, you had been unable to mend Jaskier's shoes. In the hopes that you would be able to purchase a pair of boots fit for travelling for Jaskier, the three of you progressed toward approaching a town that you and Geralt had frequented previously. 

"Jaskier perhaps you should take a break for a while? You've been wandering for miles now, surely your feet ache."

"Thank you, my sweet Y/N. I shall have to reject your offer, as my feet feel perfectly fine. I would never say no to your company if you are offering it."

"Do not try to fool her Bard. Y/N knows you're experiencing some description of pain." Geralt explained as he continued to ride on Roach. Travelling with Geralt for many years had enabled you to become an expert in dealing with headstrong men.

On the other hand, you had specifically been in Jaskier's situation already. Entering an already existing dynamic where everyone had their place and their roles, Jaskier wanted to emerge as an influential and responsible human, who did not have to rely on anyone. 

Comprehending well enough how to play the stubborn man's game, you bounded down from Tarot relocating her reigns over her head. Jaskier came to a halt as you joined up with him, the closer you neared him, the further you realised how dier his current shoe situation was. The boots upon his feet were starting to fall apart. The once expensive boots were now battered from the rough journey.

You had to do something. Observing the current state of Jaskier's boots, you could visualise the current state of his own feet inside of the boots. Being surrounded by nothing but mountains and trees, there was one option that you knew would not be favoured by your longtime travelling companion.  

"Jaskier, will you allow me to take a glimpse at your boots. I might have missed something last night when I was taking a glance at them."

"I've already told you my sweet I am not in any variety of distress. Although if you think you might be able to fix them, who am I to say no to such a beautiful angel such as yourself." 

Jaskier took a seat on the nearby Rock, removing his boots once he was comfortable. Just as you suspected, Jaskier's feet were blistered and cut up from the long and tiring journey the three of you had encountered so far. Crouching you hovered your hands over Jaskier's feet rather than his boots. 

"Y/N, we have spoken about this! Do not do what I think you're about to do!"

"What is he talking about? What are you doing?" Geralt's pleads were met on deaf ears as you had already begun to mutter the simple healing spell. As power resonated from your hands, Jaskier's feet began to heal. Using any variety of magic came at a price. You learned pretty swiftly that the cost of healing someone was an infliction onto your body.  You had healed Geralt several times before he discovered you had been doing. From that moment onwards, the two of you had agreed that magic would not be used to heal one another again. 

Blood began to soak through your undershirt as you continued to mutter the healing spell repeatedly. Throughout travelling with Geralt, you had seen much bloodshed, a lot of it being Geralt' own and each time it distressed you to witness someone you cared about experiencing unnecessary pain. 

"Sweet love, you are bleeding. My sweet, stop! Y/N stop!" Jaskier's words brought you out of your trace alongside the firm grasp taking hold of your opposite arm. Tugging you away from Jaskier, you were forced to look at a visibly angry Geralt. With his frown eyebrows, his jaw locked and his eyes wild like a group of wild stations. 

"What did we fucking agree on? You promised me that you would not do this again! Not to me and certainly not to the fucking Bard we met only days ago. What was one of the rules we agreed on long ago."

"Answer me!" Geralt yelled, seeing him this enraged made guilt seep into your skin like water in a sponge. Trying to help Jaskier had resulted in agitating Geralt.

"That I do not use my healing spell. We also do not break promises to each other."

"Did we not just have a similar conversation only days ago about putting ourselves in harm's way when it's not needed. You have done precisely that! Fixing the Bard has prompted you to be injured yourself. What good has that done? Let me see." You were not going to argue with Geralt, seeing him this irate was only provoked by more profound emotions that Geralt declined to admit to. Slipping your arm out of the sleeve and into the head hole of your undershirt, the true extent of your wounds arose to light. It was certainly worse than you imagined than your predicted outcome. 

"Shit!" Geralt backed towards Roach rummaging through his saddlesack for something. When Jaskier rose from his seat on the rock, taking hold of your wounded arm much more delicately than Geralt had held of your arm previously. 

"Y/N, what did you just do?" 

"I performed a basic healing spell. As all magic comes with a price, to heal someone, you have to take an injury onto yourself. I made a promise to Geralt a long time ago that I would never use it again."  

"Why would you do that for me? Especially if you and Geralt made a promise. My enchanting Y/N, I would have managed until we reached the next town."

"Did you not hear what I told you earlier? I told you she recognised you were encountering some sort of pain. Once again, someone did not listen to me." 

"Geralt, it was not his fault. I decided to use the healing spell, not Jaskier. You have every right to be furious at me, but leave Jaskier out of this. He was not knowledgeable that I was able to feel his anguish. Besides, I would have done the same for you as I have done countless times." Geralt declined to speak as he ripped one of his old shirts in half to create a bandage as he began to strap your arm up with the fabric. As you observed him intently, you laid your hand on top of his.

"I am sorry. I should have never broken the promise that we made to each other a long time ago, old friend. I hate when you speak to me less so even more usual. You surely would not leave one of your dearest friends purely to Jaskier's company now, would you?" Everything appeared silenced around you as Geralt finished patching up your injury in complete silence. The moment seemed to slow down as you hoped that would be enough for Geralt to forgive you for being so foolish.

“Hey”

"I will not lose you. Not now, not ever." 

"As I refuse to lose you, old friend. Jaskier until we reach the town you will be riding with me. That way, I will not feel tempted to comfort Jaskier's pain. By doing so, it will also put your mind at rest." 

"Do I get to add a little bargaining chip into this solution? Since I am utterly confused by this situation, will you, my beauty inform me what on earth just happened?" 

"Would I ever leave you in the dark, Jaskier?" Exchanging a glance towards Geralt, the two of you told each other exactly what the two of you needed to say. Being on the road with someone for an extended time was completed. Over vast years, people learn to depend on one another terrified that one day the other might not be around. Mounting Tarot once more, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, Jaskier's nose nuzzling into your neck.

"I should have informed you that I can recognise when someone's in pain. After seeing my Mother torture and kill people for so long, I assume I learnt to tune into it. The more the person is suffering, the more I feel. It also aids that I have a personal connection with you." 

"That explains why you responded before you thought about it. Just so you know I never desire you to endure any kind of pain because of me. Will you tell me a story? Your voice is the most soothing melody I have ever heard.""That explains why you responded before you thought about it. Just so you know I never desire you to endure any kind of pain because of me. Will you tell me a story? Your voice is the most soothing melody I have ever heard."

"I and Geralt have experienced untold stories collectively, so it should not be exceedingly difficult. What variety of story are you in the mood for?" 

"Well so far, I've only heard one's that have caused you physical and emotional agony, I don't reckon you have anything happier."

"There is the story of myself and Geralt, encountering an extroverted flirtatious bard, who has already been injured three times in the short time he's been travelling with us. That's rather joyous so far."

"There's no obligation to tell that story my sweet because I can guarantee you there many wonderful ballads composed narrating stories of our encounters together."

"There was the time where I accidentally shot Geralt with a bow." 

"Really? Do tell." 

"In the early days of our companionship, Geralt began to teach me how to use the skill of combat rather than relying on my powers for everything. I was keen and determined to learn since at the time, I was far from confident in who I was. With my determination at the highest peak anytime we were not on the road or training, I had a bow and arrow in hand practising. One morning, Geralt had gone to a nearby stream to bathe, so I took the time to get practising. I did not realise that I had picked a tree in the same direction that Geralt would come back.As Geralt returned, I just happened to shoot at the same time...needless to say, I did not hit the target I was aiming for." 

"You shot me in the arm."

"Indeed I also believe you caught me out in regards to the healing spell also. I've also never missed a shot since then. I believe I am too horrified to shoot Geralt." 

"I learnt to linger out of the way while you were training. In the initial days, you were lousy in combat. Now, I would not prefer to have anyone by my side." 

"I'm glad old friend because you're certainly stuck with me for the foreseeable future." 

Arriving in two, you, Geralt and Jaskier made a plan to split up to complete a series of chores that demanded to be completed before the night anchored in. Geralt departed to seek refuge and a room to sleep for the night, while you and Jaskier travelled towards the market to see if you could locate anything that was on your list. 

The market was a busy and vibrant place. Market stall owners yelled their daily offers trying to get their potential customers attention. Chatter filled among the other patrons as they attempted to achieve their reasons for attending the market. 

Being familiar with the marketplace, you were able to negotiate through the crowded place. Familiar faces greeted you with a smile and a wave or a brief nod, wondering if you had brought the Witcher with you. 

As the ageing shoemaker welcomed you and directly brought you into an extensive conversation about the details of your request, Jaskier strolled around the stall looking at the different variations of shoes and boots that the shoemaker created. 

As the ageing shoemaker welcomed you and directly brought you into an extensive conversation about the details of your request, Jaskier strolled around the stall looking at the different variations of shoes and boots that the shoemaker produced. Completely engaged in the conversation with the shoemaker, you had failed to witness the Lord approaching Jaskier with determination and rage in his step. 

Lord Huntington was a respectable man amongst these parts. A man appreciated for his philanthropy and devotion to supporting those in need. Despite a man of great wealth, he cared so little for it and aspired to be charitable as frequently as he could. Nevertheless, Lord Huntington's kindness was not to be received lightly. Lord Huntington was a man who had a foul temper when challenged he deemed dear to his heart, the likes of those involved his charity work, his restoration projects and his beloved wife. 

"I thought it was you as I saw your spindly frame in the distance! You're the Bard that I caught sleeping with my wife!" 

"I do not believe we have met, but I can assure you I have not slept with your wife." 

"Don't get smart with me boy, I might be growing old as my greying hair suggests, but I will not be mistaken for a fool. It was you who I witnessed coming out of my wife and I's shared chambers that night! By right I should remove your balls!"

Lord Huntington had listened to enough. He was well aware of the experience, and the expertise Bard's had for being deceitful. This one was no different. Grabbing ahold of Jaskier violently, Lord Huntington was determined to get Jaskier back to him so he could punish him accordingly. 

"I have told you I have no idea what you're referring to!"

"Liar!"

"Why would I sleep with your wife....when I have my own?"

"You have a wife?" 

"Yes, she is right over there, currently purchasing some new boots for me. She is the most incredible, intoxicating, mesmerising woman in the entire world, most of my songs that you will hear are referencing her and only her. I can introduce you to her if you like." Lord Huntington's mouth hung open as he examined Jaskier's reaction. Moments before, Jaskier appeared to have gone pale as he confronted him, but the moment he mentioned his wife, the colour began to emerge into his cheeks once more. 

"You could pick any one woman in this market and claim she's your wife!"

"I will prove it to you. Y/N, my beautiful enchantress, keeper of the key to my heart and my darling wife." Hearing Jaskier call out to you, brought you out of your conversation with the shoemaker, leaving you with a muddled confusion at what you thought you had just heard. 

"What did you just call me?" 

"Look at you always messing around. My wife does have an impeccable sense of humour." Jaskier travelled through a small group of people that gathered in the small area. Enveloping you in his arms, flush against his chest, Jaskier nudged his nose with yours. 

"It would have been nice to be invited to our wedding, so tell me what did you do to piss Lord Huntington off?" 

"I might have spent many nights making sweet love to his wife." While Lord Huntington struggled to get through the crowd that was getting larger as the sun reached it's the highest point in the sky. You nuzzled your nose with Jaskiers, hoping that if Lord Huntington could see you through the crowd, it was a convincing act. 

"Now he's threatening to kill you." 

"No! Much worse, he's threatening to make me a Eunuch. I love having all of my body parts be at a full-functioning level...Please Y/N, I'll do anything, I'll be forever in your debt. I'll even show you how well my body parts work if you like." 

"Jaskier, do you think it's the perfect opportunity to flirt with me at this moment?" 

"My timing has been better." 

"He's coming this way, we need to act natural."  Lord Huntington forced his way over to the two of you with determination echoing his every step. He desired you to prove him right, that you were a cover story, to protect Jaskier's life. Despite being a man of brilliance, Lord Huntington was undoubtedly about to underestimate the connection that you and Jaskier held for another. 

"Y/N? When the Bard spoke of having a wife, I never considered it would you. Which is why I bring this news with great sadness, your husband has been sneaking off with my wife." 

"I have informed you Lord Huntington that I would never deceive this beautiful woman I have the honour of calling my wife." 

"Horseshit."

"Gentleman, please. Lord Huntington, I'm afraid you must be mistaken. My husband is as loyal to me as I am to him. I know he achieved a reputation for his promiscuity and bed-hopping, but I assure you, Jaskier ended that an extended time ago." 

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I do not believe this claim for one second." You were losing patience with Lord Huntington. Was your word not enough? There had been far too many occasions where you and Geralt had saved the town from threats that often occurred nearby or surrounding. 

"After everything, I and Geralt have done to ensure your safety, you dare have the nerve to accuse me of lying to you."

"Y/N, we've been acquaintances for many years. I do not believe your heart could belong to such a scoundrel and an adulterer." 

"Lord Huntington, no one tells me who I decide to fall in love with, who I consider my family, my passions, my interests, so I suggest that while you may dislike my husband from his reputation you at least respect our decision to be together."  

"Very well, I cannot argue with that...Please just keep him away from my wife, if I intercept him again Y/N, it will not be without punishment." Lord Huntington left without another word. Leaving you to deal with the shoemaker who had already prepared Jaskier's new boots for you, with Jaskier's track record it appeared inconceivable that the three of you would be able to linger in town for very long. At least the three of you would be able to spend the night here. 

"Come, we still have a lot to do before it gets dark." You and Jaskier remained placid for a while. You were adamant on locating everything you required just-in-case the three of you had to flee promptly.

"You know you have not spoken a word to me since Lord Huntington left our presence." Jaskier's comment rested on your eyes while you paid for some fresh herbs you required for your ailments, shifting your head slightly to look back at him you shrugged. 

"It is not only me who's been quiet." 

"Fair play...I want you to be aware that everything I said to Lord Huntington earlier was accurate. I do believe you are the most intoxicating, incredibly mesmerising person I have ever encountered. We may have known each other for a few days, but there is a section of my heart that already belongs to you." 

"I do not know how or why?" 

"I am told I am a man of surprises, come on perhaps it's best we find Geralt. Hopefully, we will have a warm bed for the night." Following Jaskier's lead, through the crowded marketplace, up until the little Tavern that stood proudly on the hill. The day had been long and tiresome, and you desired nothing more than a warm meal and a bed for the night. 

*****

"I've got good news and bad news." "Well, what's the good news," Jaskier questioned as the two of you took a seat in the booth in which Geralt had been brooding over.

"Lord Huntington has work for us to complete."

"It is not for Jaskier's crown jewels, is it?" 

“What?” 

"Nevermind. Perhaps it's a tale for later when we're away from this place. What is Lord Huntington's issue this time?" 

"A Griffin? Like a part Eagle, part lion."

"Exactly. Griffin's typically do not come this close to a town, so what is it doing?" 

“"It appears revenge. Lord Huntington gathered several of his men to kill its mate. Griffin's mate for life and without its partner it could have travelled down following the trace until it found this place." 

"So that's the good news, what's the bad news?"

"There's only one room left available, with only two beds." 

"You two can take the bed's, and I'll take the floor. I have no problem with it." The three of you then began to dispute who would achieve a restful night's sleep while the other slept on the floor. No one was getting anywhere, each one offering to sleep on the floor. 

"There's an easy way to settle it, Geralt will take one bed, and I and you will share the other."  At that moment, you realised that your day filled with odd and peculiar moments was about to continue. Firstly, you had been Jaskier's wife, and now you were suddenly about to share a bed with him. 

This was about to be interesting....