#my brother said ‘ketchup and mustard!’ he’s not wrong

[inkbagel]

I made myself new phone backgrounds :)

[substituted-shinigami]

Learning to Breathe

(aka Please Remember To Put On Your Oxygen Mask Before Assisting Others)

Characters: Rukia, Renji, Byakuya, and some Fourth Division OCs, (RenRuki)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, some Angst, some Humor, Family

Rated: T (for mentions of medical tools such as needles and depictions of anxiety, but nothing is graphic or even really overly described. This story is more about the emotions than the medical drama)

Story Summary: Turns out purple eyes and short stature aren’t the only things that run in Hisana’s family, illness does as well. As Rukia and Renji try to help each other navigate through this new storm in their lives, will they remember to take time to breathe? (Rukia gets the same disease that killed Hisana (Bloodlines AU), Post TYBW, Post renruki engagement)

Click the link to read below or click here to read the story on AO3!

(7/7)

Epilogue: Safe At Last

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Summary: Attention Passengers, we have now (somehow) managed to arrive safely at our destination. Thank you for flying Stress Soul Society Airlines, your number one, and only, choice in airplane travel! We hope one day you will fly with us again! (An epilogue in which Rukia and Renji finally get their sandwiches. Oh, and they work things out with Byakuya too.)

“Now the real question is… how in the world do we handle my brother?” Rukia began around a huge mouthful of egg sandwich. In true chaotic style, when ordering her lunch, Rukia chose not to go with one of the “pre-picked” or “highly suggested” options from the bar’s menu, and instead went fully custom, simply picking out several ingredients that she liked, in this case, hard boiled eggs, cucumbers, ham, and cheese, and then just had them slapped together between two slices of interesting sounding bread, in this case ciabatta. (She tried to get two different kinds of bread too, but they wouldn’t let her.) However, while the flavors were good overall, it turned out kind of dry. She reached for a mayo packet. “He keeps pushing you so hard on this, and is convinced it is the correct way. I understand he’s grieving and trying to be supportive, but pushing his feelings onto you doesn’t help either of you!” Rukia snapped, squeezing the mayo packet onto her sandwich with a lot more force than was probably necessary.

Renji licked the sauce from his chicken bacon ranch sandwich off of his fingers, it was on a sesame seed bun and had honey mustard and extra bacon added, and thought for a moment.

“I think I have an idea for how to handle that actually…” he replied as he grabbed a french fry and dunked it into the ketchup. Rukia raised an eyebrow at him.

__________________________________

Later that evening, there was a knock on Kuchiki Byakuya’s home office door.

“Enter,” he said curtly without looking up. The door slid open, and Rukia and Renji were both bowing together in the entryway, “Come in. To what do I owe this visit?”

“Niisama, we require your assistance!” Rukia said as they entered the room. Byakuya’s head shot up.

“What is it? Is something amiss?” he asked quickly, his brows furrowing.

“No, nothing like that, Niisama,” she began, “But as you know, I’m in training for the captain’s exam. However, due to my current illness, some may see me as unfit to lead, and wish to dismiss me.”

“That’s ridiculous, even with the illness you are more than capable. The late Captain Ukitake served as a captain for hundreds of years with an illness,” Byakuya dismissed, as he went back to signing his paperwork. Rukia took a deep breath and let it out again.

“Be that as it may,” she stated slowly and deliberately, “it is still a concern. So in order to prove them wrong, I would like to be extra prepared for the exam. Therefore,” Rukia took another deep breath, “I would like you to train me, Niisama.” Byakuya paused in his writing, and gave his sister a pointed look.

“What about my venerable vice captain, Abarai Renji?” Byakuya asked dryly and a little suspiciously, “Has he not mastered bankai? Is he not capable?”

“Renji is very capable!” Rukia snapped defensively.

“Buuuut, I’m not a captain…captain,” Renji said, trying to get the bickering siblings back on track, “And as much as I would like to help, you would be more suited for the job. Plus, unfortunately, I’m going to be pretty busy.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes at his second, "And why, pray tell, is that?”

“U-Um…well,” Renji stammered, before finding his voice again, “because of all our new recruits, of course, sir! Now that the reconstruction is well underway, we are finally building up the Sixth Division again, and I’ve barely had a chance to meet any of them!”

“So? You do not need to have a personal interaction with every one of your underlings.”

“He does if he’s going to be training them,” Rukia piped in, now that she had cooled down a little. Byakuya sniffed at that.

“We have other people who can do that.”

“Oh yeah?" Rukia asked, cocking an eyebrow, "And how’s that been going for you?” Byakuya pursed his lips and frowned. Rukia continued, “Besides, it’s not just the recruits he needs to socialize with, it’s people from the other squads too. During this time of reconstruction, it's important to keep up relations between squads, and Renji is very suited to do this.” Rukia didn’t say that Byakuya wasn’t very suited to do this. She didn’t have to.

“Perhaps,” Byakuya relented, “However, if Vice Captain Abarai is running around doing all of these tasks, then how will he, Renji, also be able to help you out as well?”

“Ah! But you see, that actually works in our favor, Niisama!” Rukia started excitedly, “After all, if I’m seen getting ready for the captain’s exam, but call on Renji for every little thing, then they may get the impression that I do not have the fortitude to be a captain. Therefore it is imperative that Renji helps me out less, so that way I can prove those who would vote against me wrong!” She finished triumphantly.

“Perhaps…” Byakuya said again more slowly, “However, what happens if you require his assistance, and he’s not there? What happens when you feel faint? If you fall, and cannot send out a hell butterfly?”

“We both have soul pagers, Niisama, I can always text him if I really need something,” Rukia stated matter-of-factly. Byakuya looked down as he neatly folded his hands on his desk. He sighed.

“I can see that this matter is very important to you…however, please keep in mind that you may not have as much time as you may think. Do you not wish to spend it together rather than chasing an uncertain future which may be devoid of each other?”

“We do not yet know the future, Niisama," Rukia said kindly, "And whatever it might be, we will be doing it together. But we don’t have to be physically together all the time in order to do that. And besides, as important as we are to each other, there are a lot of other people who are important to us too. Ichigo, Orihime, Chad, Ishida, our divisions, the other vice captains, and you, Niisama, you are all important to us, and we want to spend time with all of you as well. That way, if anything were to happen, none of us will have any regrets.”

Byakuya was quiet for a moment before finally nodding, “I understand. I wish…I too wish to spend time with you...Rukia.” She smiled at him.

“As do I, Niisama, as do I.”

“It is settled then. I will train you, and Abarai will return to his odious task of socializing both within and without the Sixth Division, unless you truly find yourself unable to be without his personage. Is there anything else?”

“Um… Nope. That’s pretty much it,” Rukia shrugged.

“Good. You may take your leave then,” Byakuya finished, and went right back to work as if he hadn’t just had an emotionally trying experience. Rukia and Renji blinked, and turned to leave, when he piped up one more time, “Oh. One more thing.”

“Yes, Niisama?” Rukia asked, as they turned back around.

“If…If you ever need to go to the Fourth Division, for appointments or treatments, and Abarai is not available…and you need someone familiar to go with you…I can go if my schedule allows it…” Rukia's eyes opened wide.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that Niisama! I know how you feel about that section of the Fourth after…well…”

“Yes, however…” Byakuya began, as he put down his pen again, “As you said, we do not yet know the future…so perhaps it will be different this time…”

“Yes…Yes! Thank you, Niisama!” Rukia half coughed, half sobbed, “N-Niisama?”

“Yes?”

“May I…hug you?”

Byakuya blinked, “Oh…I suppose…” He stood up. Rukia briskly walked over and wrapped her arms around him. Byakuya patted her back awkwardly. Renji, trying to remain professional, barely kept a smile off of his face. Byakuya, also trying to remain professional, barely kept from glaring at him.

Eventually, Rukia stepped back, wiping her eyes. Renji, as if trying to clear the air, coughed and said, “You know, we can also all do fun activities together too! Like go see a play at the theater or something.” At that, Byakuya's face visibly brightened.

“Ah! Yes! I just remembered. They are doing a rendition of Kanjinchō at the kabuki theater by the Fourth Division next Thursday. Do you wish to go, Rukia?”

“Oh? Well, yes! Thank you, Niisama!” Rukia nodded vigorously, still wiping her eyes.

“I suppose you can also come, Abarai Renji,” Byakuya said with a wave of his hand. Renji’s eyebrow twitched.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Although,” Byakuya thought aloud, “the play does occur just after dinner. Therefore, we may want to acquire our evening meal at a restaurant nearby in order to not be tardy.”

“Oh! Well in that case, Niisama,” Rukia began, as she shared a mischievous smile with her fiance, “we do know of this really great sandwich shop…”

Byakuya looked between the grinning pair with growing trepidation, "I'm sorry… A what?!?"

[3xm-draconic]

Jojo's Bizarre little Adventure part 8 (apologies in advance for this taking so long)

iam back, i anit dead. the story is not abandoned the writer is just slow, I hope ya'll enjoy.

Chapter 8: Bilgerats.

You would think the phrase “an Italian mafia and a japanese highschooler try to stop a small angry humanoid bat riding a cat from destroying their apartment” was the begining of a bad joke but, no, here passione and Okuyasu were, both stand and stand user were trying desperately to catch the frightened and now swearing bloody murder bat lady. She managed to have her cat-mount leep off of Fugo’s head, out the window and back into the rainy night. 

Abbacchio let out a frustrated moan and walked back to the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass, however as he turned back to the utter disaster that was once their living room he instead chose to just drink straight from the bottle. Couches and armchairs were turned over, paintings left ascue on the walls, the coffee table was on its side and everyone in the room was both mad and confused at the same time. “It was like she could see our stands!” Trish huffed “do you think it was possible she herself was a stand user?”, “maybe” Fugo groaned as he helped her up. Giorno looked out the window with Narancia and Okuyasu trying to find where the little bat whent but there was no sign of her, like she had disappeared completely.

“I’am sorry guys I didn’t mean for this to happen” Okuyasu said apologetically while helping the others fix up the mess, “It’s alright Okuyasu, you did nothing wrong” Bruno comforted him with a pat on the shoulder, “I still feel bad that she trashed your apartment”, “it’s fine kid, your helping us clean up the mess so don’t worry about it” Abbaccio said grumpily as he handed him a broom.

Okuyasu decided to walk back to the convenience store again and buy one of the cool corn dogs they were selling before they closed, Josuke did join him this time now that the rain had stopped. He told Josuke all about the little bat lady and how he had saved her life and wondered if he’ll ever meet her again?

“Wow these corndogs are great!” Josuke said as he took another bite of a huge deep fried corndog covered in breadcrumbs, cubed potato fries, mustard and ketchup. Okuyasu could only nod in agreement as he too devoured a similarly ginormous corndog covered in melty cheese sauce, “we should bring Koichi next time” he mumbled through bites of food. The duo walked back to the apartments laughing and talking about things they wanted to do before summer was over, “this was really fun Oku, I was wondering if you..” Josuke paused slightly “would you like to see a movie with me this weakened?”, Okuyasu smiled widely “I’d love to man!”

Once at home Okuyasu checked on his father and brother seeing them both fast asleep, he walked into his room and flopped onto his bed, thinking of what he should wear to the movies with Jouske when there was a tapping at his window. Okuyasu looked over and there was the little bat lady, he shot up and walked over to the window and opened it, “uh hey?” he said awkwardly “greetings” she said back.

“Listen I only came back er’ to… thank ye” she grumbled, “oh well your welcome” Okuyasu grinned, she flicked her ears in annoyance “tallfolk like ye selves ain't supposed to know of our kind so don’t go tellen nobody ya hear?” she snarled, Okuyasu nodded “my lips are sealed”. She whistles for her cat and had it drop a bunch of yen coins that it held in it’s mouth, at least 2,000$ (USD) worth “I don’t know how much these coins be worth but think of this as a gift to them other tallfolk who helped ye heal me, wasn't right of me to trash ye’s home now wasn't it?”, Okuyasu was flabbergasted at the amount of money “w-where did you get this?” he gawked, “fished it out one of em fountains ye throw em into” she shrugged. With that she left in a flash back into the night leaving Okuyasu with a shocked smile, he’ll share half of it with Narancia in the morning. 

Ikura’s pov: 

Far north of the creek that flowed past the small grocery store where she had been found by the tallfolk stood a wall surrounded by large rocks and shrubs, behind one of the large stones lay the entrance to her home, the northern fisherman clan: The Bilgerats. Kelpie her trusted feline steed easily maneuvered his way behind the large stone and into the mouth of the hidden cave passage, they walked for a while, Ikura counting the discolored bricks along the wall till she hit the thirteenth stone and turned through a narrow gap in the wall where she was met with a waterfall, Kelpie sprung upwards and over the waterfall onto a shallow stretch of water.

Ikura followed the path in the moss to a tunnel leading upwards to her hidden village, once the watchmen saw her they blew the signal horn where she welcomed home with open wings. “IKURA!” cried Bluefin “what did you find and where are the others?” asked the elder, she sighed and looked at the oldman with sadness in her heart “Blacktail, Clamhook, Brineheart, Pearl and… Swordfin… I’am sorry Bluefin, they all fought bravely”. Ikura had returned to the battle ground and taken the bodies of her comrades with her before returning home, mournful cries filled the streets as families prepared funeral pyres for the fallen, Bluefin gritted his yellowed teeth and choked back his tears “those slimy bastards will pay” he weeped. Bluefin left the ring of elders to attend his son’s funeral, the others stayed behind to hear what Ikura had found.

“The southern clan is not responsible for kidnapping our fishermen, they attacked us thinking we were to blame”, Ikura said as she stood before the six remaining elders “despite our protests they still pursued us, shooting arrows and spears, I did manage to overhear one of them talk of a large band of slavers in their territory who had come from the western parklands, perhaps they thought we are working with them”. 

The elders looked to one another and debated their next action, the southern clan will most certainly start a war if not convinced otherwise. The news of so many slavers crossing into their lands no doubt pillaging and desecrating smaller settlements in their path was horrifying, “we must tell the southern clan we are not to blame, it is these slave tradeing mongrels takeing our people” Sharkskin drawled, “from how the acted in Ikura’s account I’d say any kind of peace negotiations are off the table” Uni protested.

“Send them an oyster” shouted Ika, all the elders hushed and turned to the old matron “we sent warriors into their land, to them that meant we have disregarded our ancient truce so we must show then we mean no harm and are not to blame with an oyster, a symbol of togetherness” she flopped down in Bluefin’s open seat “we will invite them to eat with us and there we will offer peace for no Faheei in the world can resist a good meal”.

The other just stared at her in shock, “do you really think that will work?” Snapperjaw asked with a puzzled look on his bushy bearded face, “... I don’t know but it's worth a shot”.

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

So, I started this on my Wattpad, and if figured I'd just put it on here! Just tell me if you want me to add you to the taglist!

Percy's POV

My name is Percy Jackson.

I am twelve years old. I'm a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York, and my sister, (Y/n), taking online schooling at home.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course, I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that...Well, you get the idea.

On this trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwiches that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumble.

Grover tries to calm me down. "I'm okay. I like peanut butter -" He dodges another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I start to get up, but Grover pulls me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminds me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Mr. Brunner leads the museum tour.

He rides up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blows my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathers us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and starts telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner keeps talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickers something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turn around and say, "Will you shut up?"

It comes out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughs. Mr. Brunner stops his story. "Mr. Jackson," he says, "did you have a comment?"

My face is totally red, I think. I answer, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner points to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I look at the carving, and feel a flush of relief, because I actually recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner says, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."

"Well..." I rack my brain to remember. (Y/n) would have known the answer. She was nuts for this kind of stuff. "Kronos was the king god, and —"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asks.

"Titan," I correct myself. "And...he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" says one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continue, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbles to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner says, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover mutters.

"Shut up," Nancy hisses, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I think about his question, and shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looks disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifts off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I tell Grover to keep going; then I turn toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything. "You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner tells me.

"About the Titans?"

'"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he says, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, swordpoint against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumble something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner takes one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He tells me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathers on the front steps of the museum, where we can watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm is brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figure maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seems to notice, though. Some of the guys are pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit is trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds isn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sit on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius, not like (Y/n). She seems to know everything."

Grover doesn't say anything for a while. Then, when I think he is going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he asks, "Can I have your apple?"

I don't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watch the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and think about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sit. I hadn't seen her or my sister since Christmas. I want so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. Mom and (Y/n) would hug me and be glad to see me, but Mom would be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I couldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I am about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appears in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumps her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grins at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles are orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I try to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I am so mad my mind went blank. A wave roars in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy is sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I don't know what they were talking about. All I know is that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds is sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turns on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumble. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds says.

"Wait!" Grover yelps. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stare at him, stunned. I can't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glares at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she says.

"But—"

"You—will—stay—here."

Grover looks at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I tell him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barks at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirks. I give her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turn to face Mrs. Dodds, but she isn't there. She is standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. I go after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glance back at Grover. He is looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner is absorbed in his novel.

I look back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She is now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I think. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently, that wasn't the plan.

I follow her deeper into the museum. When I finally catch up to her, we are back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery is empty.

Mrs. Dodds stands with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She is making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she says.

I do the safe thing. I reply, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugs on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes is beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I say, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shakes the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she's talking about.

All I can think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demands.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hisses.

Then the weirdest thing happens. Her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons. Her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. She isn't human. She is a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheels his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouts and tosses the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunges at me.

With a yelp, I dodge and feel talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hits my hand, it isn;t a pen anymore. It is a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always uses on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spins towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees are jelly. My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop the sword.

She snarl, "Die, honey!" And she flies straight at me.

Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swing the sword.

The metal blade hits her shoulder and passes clean through her body as if she was made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She explodes into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes are still watching me.

I'm alone.

There is a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner isn't there. Nobody is there but me.

My hands are still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I walk back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover is sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit is still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she sees me, she says, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I answer, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blink. We don't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I ask Nancy what she is talking about.

She just rolls her eyes and turns away.

I ask Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

"Who?" he asks, but he pauses first and he wouldn't look at me, so I figure he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I tell him. "This is serious."

Thunder booms overhead.

I see Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

I go over to him.

He looks up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I had Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I ask, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stares blankly at me, "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowns and sits forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

Word Count: 3159 words

So yeah, this is the first chapter of this book.

Not much (Y/n) yet, but we'll get there.

Love y'all!              Kaitlynn ❤️😍

[vyndreyl]

The Picnic

Part 2

Note: Fluff. Puns. Soriel.

The day was finally here!

Toriel packed the basket with care while simultaneously calming her own nerves. Why was she even nervous? It wasn't like this was the first time she had been on a date with anyone since the divorce.

Her face took a rather hard expression as she thought about that. Thinking about Asgore just made her so irritated sometimes. Oh, the divorce had been an easy and amicable one, but...old irritations seemed to be working their way out the longer they were out of a relationship. She never wanted to get back together with him. That chapter in her life was over.

"...18 years, though."

The voice made her jump as she looked over at Kris who was slinking their way around the doorway.

"What was that, sweety?"

"You and...Dad were married for 18 years, almost exactly." There was no real feeling in their words, but their red eyes betrayed a kind of deep emotion. Sadness? Bitterness? Hopelessness? It was almost unreadable.

"That's right." Toriel said as she closed the picnic basket.

"And now you're on a date?"

"Just a picnic with Sans."

"...he gives me the creeps."

"He says much the same about you."

Kris blinked and opened the fridge taking some leftover chocolate pie out. They said nothing, but just fixed themselves a slice and went to the table and sat down with it.

"... Any plans today?"

"...hanging out with Susie."

"Oh? I'm so glad that you have a friend, Kris." Toriel said as she gently ruffled their hair and kissed the top of their head. "Be good today, alright."

Kris nodded, a mouthful of pie keeping them from answering. They swallowed the first bite quickly and said, "...you, too."

Toriel smiled, picked up the basket, "I will." She said as she went out the door to the minivan, placing the basket on the passenger seat and starting it up. She made a y-turn and pulled out of the driveway heading south towards the town proper.

"it'll be fine, Paps. I'm just going on a picnic."

"WITH TORIEL."

"yes."

"ISN'T SHE FROM THE SCHOOL?"

"yes again. if you need anything, just call my cell."

"...OK"

Sans stepped out of the house and locked the door. His brother had been so skittish about this. It wasn't like this was serious or anything. It was JUST lunch.

He took in a deep breath. The flowers were blooming, the birds were singing, on days like today... He shook his head, his left eye going blue for a second before he calmed down. "wrong place...wrong place." He whispered to himself as he rubbed the back of his skull.

Thankfully before he had too much time to contemplate anything, Toriel arrived in her minivan. She moved the basket and rolled down the window.

"hey, can i come in? feeling a little exhausted here."

Toriel chuckled. "Of course. Wouldn't want to leave you parked too long."

Sans' grin got bigger as he slid into the passenger seat. He set a plastic shopping bag on his lap. "yeah, I was afraid you would...drive away before i could see yah today."

"Ah, you seem to have already bested me during our time together today. You might have to be pulled over for speeding."

Sans chuckled at that. "You may be right. I might have just ran a red light already."

Toriel parked at the park and got out, going around and opening the door for Sans and then getting the basket out of the back. Sans followed her to the picnic table. "this was the perfect day for this, Toriel." he said as he helped set everything up.

"Indeed it is."

They settled down and sat at the table that was spread with sandwiches, chips, soda, and pie. There were also napkins and hotdogs, ketchup, mustard, relish, onions, and chili.

They both fixed their plates and began eating. Toriel was quiet for a moment and then began with, "you know...Kris wasn't too happy about this."

Sans looked at the sandwich she had, "oh? they don't like sandwiches?" He joked, though he knew where she was leading with this. He sighed. "yeah, pa-my brother wasn't too keen on it either."

Toriel frowned, chewing and swallowing. "I suppose this makes it awkward then for us to continue with...wherever this is going."

"i dunno." He said, taking a bite of some chips. "do you want to stop right now?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Not really, but I have to take Kris's feelings into account."

"and I have to think about my brother."

They both took a drink of soda at the same time, when a small acorn landed right into the pie with a splat.

"well, that is absolutely nuts." the skeleton said in almost too much of a relieved way.

Toriel laughed, also pleased. "Looks like it may have cracked the tension."

Sans grinned wider and came back with another pun while making a hot dog for himself and her.

She laughed and responded.

In the thick trees across the way, a red eye gleamed and a slingshot was put away before the owner of them slinked away quietly to go join up with a large purple monster.

"Mission Accomplished." They said mysteriously once they encountered her.

"Mission...what? Sometimes you're so weird, Kris."

They said nothing, but hid a small smile as they followed Susie, putting the slingshot in their pocket.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.8 (BAON)

Summary:   It’s been a long night for everyone and dawn might be on the way, but it isn't over yet.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If Jeff had had his way, they would have been out the door and on the way home before the second round of backup showed up, possibly with a pause for a drive thru run at taco bell for some ill-advised early morning burritos. Security would wave them out without so much as asking for a quick rundown of the evening. There would be no paperwork to fill out, no affidavits to sign, and after a lovely, long night of sleep as the little spoon in Antwan’s arms, they’d be treated to a gourmet breakfast in bed prepared by Gordon Ramsey himself.

Heck if he was gonna dream, might as well dream big.

As it turned out, he didn’t even get to step one. After the bad guys were in various stages of detained, Stretch wanted to sit down for a few minutes before heading downstairs and Jeff didn’t even consider throwing out a protest. He sat down next to his best friend who’d probably just saved his damned life again and waited, torn between trying not to think about everything that had happened or letting it loop around in his mind, so it’d be fresh when they gave their inevitable statements.

In the end, he went with a third, unexpected option: worrying about Stretch.

A minute of sitting here in this horrible building that was probably going to get a starring role in Jeff’s future nightmares, ‘to catch his breath’, he’d said, and yeah, that made some sense. After getting drugged, kidnapped, tied up, and then MacGyvering both an escape and a capture, anyone would need a breather.

Only, he and Stretch had been friends for a little while now and there was something…off. He couldn’t quite explain it. His tired smiles didn’t reach his eye lights, it didn’t make his eye sockets squinch in a skeleton Monster approximation of laugh lines. Maybe that could’ve been excused by him simply being exhausted and stressed; wasn’t like Jeff was his normal cheerful self either, plus Stretch used up a lot of magic teleporting them around, popping in and out to drop off traps while keeping a few steps ahead of the bad guys. Could’ve been, but he’d seen Stretch tired and besides, it was his understanding that if Stretch’s magic got low enough, he’d simply drop. That’s what happened way back when he’d saved all the kids when those Humans broke into New New Home. So why was it different now?

That wrong-smile was stiffly brittle, like it’d been borrowed from someone else and pasted onto Stretch’s face and Jeff didn’t like it, not one bit.

But now wasn’t exactly time for an interrogation, at least not from him. He was pretty damn sure they’d get one of those as a free bonus the minute they walked downstairs, whether they wanted it or not. So he kept quiet and sat with his friend in one of the rooms where the booby trap didn’t get set off. The tile floor was dirty but there was nothing inside but dust and some broken furniture, so they sat on the tiles anyway, leaning against the far wall where they had a good view of the door.

Honestly, as strange as it was that Stretch wanted to linger in this shithole, more surprising to him was that security was letting them instead of hustling them out the door as fast as they could.

That had been quite a moment. They’d still been in the hallway with one guy gagging and the other pinned to the floor in a cage of glowing blue bones that Stretch summoned up from nowhere when Red showed up, not shortcutting in, but hauling ass from the stairwell and that’d been a sight in and of itself. As far as he knew, Red never went above a pace of a casual mosey but there was no drag in his feet this time as he tore his way around the landing. He walked towards them like he’d been taking lessons from Arnold Schwarzenegger, boots heels clacking loudly on the tile floor.

“let go, honey bun, i got ‘im,” Red said. Stretch didn’t look at him, those bones not so much as wavering and he spoke again, a little louder, sharp and short, “brother, let him go. let me take him out.”

Stretch jerked as if he’d been pinched. He looked at Red, orange-tinted eyelights swinging towards him, but almost immediately he flinched, turning away. As the cage of bones faded, a crowd of guys in Embassy Security uniforms swarmed up the stairs behind them, all moving as Red barked out orders. The bad guys were gone in a flash, hauled out in cringing silence, and only when they were mostly alone did Red speak again.

“you two okay?” Red asked them bluntly. “do we need to get the medics up here? talk to me, no bullshit right now, i ain’t in no mood to interpret.”

“we’re not hurt,” Stretch said. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his elbows, and his gaze was on the floor. Jeff nodded in agreement, only to blink as Stretch added, tightly, “i need a few minutes before i can go downstairs, red.”

Red’s sockets narrowed and he nodded slowly. “take all the time you need, honey bun.” His gaze shifted to Jeff and he nearly flinched himself from that piercing stare. It felt as if Red were looking through him, staring right into his little green soul. “what about you, handy andy? stayin’ or goin’? i figure your honey should be here in about fifteen, but you can wait in one of the cars downstairs if you wanna.”

Jeff never hesitated, “I’ll wait here.”

One corner of Red’s mouth rose in a brief smirk. “figured. okay, come on, in here.” He ducked into an empty room, sidestepping the little pile of trash that concealed what Stretch had called a ‘ketchup and mustard gas trap’ in honor of his twin bros from another ‘verse. All Jeff knew was he’d been ordered not to breathe while Stretch mixed some red powder and a yellow liquid together into an old soda can as a special surprise for the asshole du jour of the evening.

“stay here,” Red ordered. “i’ll tell the rabble to keep out.” He hesitated, his tongue flicking over his teeth and if it were anyone else, Jeff would say he was almost nervous. “my bro is on his way. telling ya right now, i ain’t gonna be able to keep him downstairs without collateral damage.”

“no, don’t stop him.” Stretch sank down to the floor in a noodly way that was impressive for a guy made entirely of bones, leaning against the wall. “it won’t hurt. send him up, i’ve already seen it all, a long time ago.”

Red’s expression twisted in a complex grimace. “sorry to hear that.”

Stretch made a sound that was almost amused. “don’t be. i still fell in love with him, didn’t i.” He let his skull fall back against the wall with a light thunk, closing his sockets. Red paused at the trap, dismantling it with expertise that shouldn’t have been a surprise. He paused, the rigged soda can in hand, when Stretch said, softly, “red? thanks.”

“not a problem, honey bun.” There was a certain unexpected gentleness in those words. “take a breather, yeah?”

Stretch nodded tiredly and that was it. Red left and they’d been sitting for close to fifteen minutes now without speaking. Take a breather, right, and Jeff didn’t pretend to be some kind of espionage genius, but he knew doublespeak when he heard it. There was some kind of understanding between Red and Stretch that they didn’t want to say aloud.

And honestly? Jeff didn’t care. Let them keep their secrets, he had an inkling of what his friends had been through in the past, his morbid curiosity wasn’t worth making them relive it. All he wanted was to make sure Stretch was okay now. He shifted a little closer and Stretch didn’t move, didn’t even seem like he’d noticed.

“Stretch,” he asked cautiously, hesitating. Stretch could be awfully prickly when it came to his health and surely Red wouldn’t have left if he’d thought Stretch was in any danger, but still. He had to ask. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“yep,” Stretch said immediately. “just need to catch my breath.” It should have been true, it probably was, but still. Something rang a little false there and Jeff wasn’t sure what.

He didn’t have time to think about it for much longer. This whole building echoed like an empty airplane hanger and he could hear someone coming up the stairs very fast. It was only seconds later that Blue came flying in through the door. As far as Jeff knew, he couldn’t teleport, but he sure didn’t seem like his feet ever touched the ground as he sailed over right into Stretch’s lap. Buried his rounded face into the thin t-shirt they’d been forced to wear, and his shoulders were shaking before Stretch could even get an arm around him.

“hey, shh, it’s okay.” A brother in the lap was finally enough to get Stretch moving. He pulled his brother in close, resting his cheekbone on top of his skull as he murmured a soft litany of comforting words. Whatever Blue was saying was muffled into Stretch’s ribcage. Not that it mattered, his brother seemed to understand, sibling-speak a power all its own, and held him tighter, still whispering that it was all right, he was fine, he really was.

Jeff was so focused on that first happy reunion that he didn’t notice someone new in the doorway. Until he glanced up and his eyes snagged on a face he’d wanted to see for hours and feared he never would again. Antwan stood there, more rumpled and haggard than Jeff had ever seen him, and he was the most wonderful thing Jeff had ever seen.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, he only stood there staring with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Jeff said. His first impulse of delight wavered, and he laughed nervously, wetting his lips, “Okay, not exactly home, but it’s still pretty damn good to see you.”

Antwan still didn’t say anything. He only stood there, staring, and Jeff’s grin was starting to falter when he abruptly walked into the room. Not so much as glancing around, his eyes entirely for Jeff as he all but fell to his knees and pulled Jeff into a tight hug. Blunt fingertips dug into Jeff’s back as if sink directly into him. His shoulders were shaking, his breath hitching, and he made a faint, shuddery sound, almost a broken sob.

“Oh, don’t,” Jeff said softly, close to tears of his own. He settled a hand on Antwan’s head, petting his short hair and painful as this was, he couldn’t remember any time he’d ever felt as loved as he did right now. Not his own family, not any lover he’d had before. There was only Antwan holding him so tightly his ribs ached, warm dampness starting to flow where his face was buried against Jeff’s neck.

More than any comfort for himself, he wanted to hold Antwan close and offer what he could to him. Under his tentative hands, Antwan felt chilly even though it wasn’t a cold night and Jeff spread his fingers wide as if he could warm him that way. Maybe he did, Antwan slowly stopped shivering as he petted and soothed. He leaned heavily against Jeff and they would have sprawled on the floor if the wall weren’t propping them up.

Jeff absently noticed Edge coming in, couldn’t spare a hand to wave at him, but he figured it didn’t matter. Edge only had eye lights for Stretch and that was just fine.

Long moments passed before Antwan finally lifted his head. His eyes were reddened, his lashes matted and damp. “You’re all right?” Antwan asked hoarsely. “They didn’t hurt you?”

All right was a little subjective right now, so Jeff went with as much truth as he could. “I’m not hurt, they barely pushed us around. Not a scratch or a bruise on me.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy. Antwan scowled and plucked at the crappy shirt Jeff was wearing, the one those assholes forced him to put on. He started to speak, broke off, ducked his head and tried again, but whatever words he was trying for didn’t seem to be coming.

It was so bizarre to see him this way. Antwan, who was never hesitant. He was always decisive, whether it was in a courtroom or what restaurant they were going to that night. It was one of the things Jeff loved most about Antwan; left to his own devices, he’d end up spending an hour trying to choose between Italian and Chinese takeout and still end flipping a coin.

Not Antwan. He came in and took control, knew what he wanted and how to make it happen, and he damn well did it. He was a little like Edge in that, the two of them were pretty damn formidable when they did couple’s nights.

Today his tight control seemed to have abandoned him. He’d given up on speaking and now his lips were pressed tightly together, his whole face scrunching up as if trying to keep something from exploding out.

That was worrisome and not only because he was afraid Antwan might be a little nauseous, who knew what shortcuts he’d been dragged on tonight. As much as he loved him, having his boyfriend puke in his lap would be the worst way to end this night and, cautiously, Jeff asked. “Are you okay?”

What finally burst out was about the last thing he’d ever expected, a blurt of words crammed together into not a question, but a demand. “Marry me!”

“Uh…” That wasn’t anywhere on the list of his expectations. In his arms, Antwan shifted restlessly, like he wanted to stand and pace, but didn’t want to let Jeff go.

“This was supposed to be romantic,” Antwan said and his voice sounded like every word pained him, the entire glut escaping him without so much as a breath or a pause. “I had a plan, I have a ring. I was going to take you to dinner at the most expensive place in town and propose by the fountains. We can still do that, I want to do that, but I can’t wait, I can’t.” He shifted his grip to Jeff’s shoulders, giving him a little shake like a punctuation, his face inches away. He was beautiful this close, his dark eyes all but glowing as if he’d picked up the trick from one of the local skeletons. “Edge tried to warn me, he told me time passes too fast, he told me to step up and I didn’t.”

“Yes.”

Antwan didn’t seem to hear, still talking in an endless rush, “When Red came and got me, I died inside, all I could think was that I’d waited too long and lost you because I was a coward, I was an asshole, and I need you—”

“Yes.”

He plowed on like a semi without brakes, rolling over everything in its path. “We don’t have to get married right away if you don’t want, but you should move into my place completely. No more stuff at Blue’s, we’ll get the rest of it tomorrow. No, wait, you should rest tomorrow, you’ve been through a traumatic experience, we can do it the day after. We can do it whenever I can stand to let you go, I can’t, I—"

The rest of the words were stifled under Jeff’s mouth, a firm kiss ending that outpour. His mouth froze, meeting that kiss hesitantly at first then with increasing fervency, and it was warm and wet and wonderful, perfect, so perfect, every word Jeff could manage to shake out of his mental thesaurus.

Antwan groaned into his mouth, shuddering when Jeff broke it and drew away, but he didn’t go far. He leaned back enough to look Antwan directly into those beautiful eyes as he said clearly, “Yes, I will marry you.”

“You will?” Antwan parroted dumbly, then again, louder, “You will. You will!”

He sounded, Jeff thought fondly, as if he were he were trying to convince Jeff as much as himself. Not exactly the way he’d dreamed of getting a proposal and, yeah, there was something to be said for romance, but sitting here on this dirty floor in his ugly-ass kidnapping outfit, he sure didn’t doubt Antwan’s sincerity. His chest ached with love for this wonderful, crazy man and it was only when he heard a heartfelt sigh behind him that he remembered they weren’t alone.

He turned to see the three skeletons in the room were watching with varying degrees of interest. It looked as if Edge pulled Stretch into his own lap and brought Blue along for the ride, making the skeleton stack three deep. It did not escape his notice that Edge holding onto Stretch like he was never going to let go. As fastidious as Edge could be, he only sat there on the dirty floor with him, holding Stretch like he was the most precious thing in the world which, yeah, okay, he was, to Edge.

And it sure as hell didn’t escape his notice Stretch and Blue’s eyes lights were morphed into bright little hearts, both of them watching as if their favorite daytime soap opera couple finally got together in the season finale.

Jeff only grinned, barely embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have as an audience.

That impulse lasted about as long as it took Stretch to open his mouth. “’bout time, antwan, i was starting to think you’d never cowboy up and ask.”

“Shut up,” Antwan said automatically. Some of his normal sass must be rebooting. “I heard how you proposed, it was more like a train wreck than a question. Red bitched for a week about how much cash you lost him.”

“gonna bitch some more this time,” Stretch said, cheerily unoffended. “i got a twenty coming my way.”

“I have fifty,” Blue piped up. He clapped his hands together. “This is so wonderful! We need to have a party, we need to make plans—”

“We need to do a great deal,” Edge interrupted, not unkindly. “To begin with, let’s go home, shall we?”

Stretch must’ve finally breathed enough. He nodded and said, “yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here—whoa!"

Edge barely paused to nudge Blue to his feet before he stood, Stretch in his arms as he strode briskly to the door, “babe, no, your leg!”

His voice dwindled before Jeff could hear the rest of his protest. Blue followed them out, not without a last fond backwards glance, and left them alone.

Jeff smiled at his boyfriend, no, his fiancé and he’d never expected to be able to say that, never dared dream, and now it was his, no take backises from the universe, not this time. Politely, he asked, “you wanna get the fuck out of here?”

“Yes,” Antwan said firmly and Jeff let out a squeak of his own as he was suddenly lifted into Antwan’s arms, held close as he was carried out the door. Unlike Stretch, Jeff wasn’t about to offer a single protest. He only slipped his arms around Antwan’s neck and held on.

He’d let Antwan carry him to hell and back if needs be, but for right now, all he wanted was for his love to take him home.

tbc

[chaotictommy]

Okay sooooooo I don’t know if this is good, lol, I have no clue about any of my own writing. But anyway, I finished my small Jimmy and Tommy oneshot, which, now reading through could be taken as them just being friends or if you want to dive down that rabbit hole, could be taken as more...

I don’t know... I have doubts about my own writing, so if it’s bad, I apologize XD

but here it is.....

fanfic warning: major character death... :(

A Little Piece of Home

The first time he finds Tommy wearing one of his sweaters, a blue grey one that was Jimmy’s dad’s, his friend is sitting back and eating a sandwich while crumbs hit the wool, Jimmy nearly gets annoyed at his friend, settling for a mix of confusion and hesitation, because his best friend has no care of other people’s possessions, is anything but gentle, and doesn’t think before he takes something that doesn’t belong to him, maybe it’s because they’re close, but Jimmy doesn’t notice him taking things from others like that. Maybe it’s because they are like brothers. It used to annoy the hell out of him. Now it leaves Jimmy smiling, a bittersweet smile tinged with a little melancholy, at the memory.

“You’ll ruin it,” “Says who?” It’s a teasing smirk, the one Tommy knows gets him every time, annoys him to no end, that one that makes him smile despite himself, the one that disconcerts him, because he doesn’t know if Tommy is serious or teasing, and Jimmy wants to dwell in certainties, it’s problematic without them, but his best friend lives on uncertainty and adrenaline alone, and pulls Jimmy into it too.

He fixes his glasses, squinting over them at Tommy before replacing them and giving a shrug “Just... just take it off before you ruin it... it’s cashmere...” he sees the look on his friend’s face and shrugs “No idea, some type of wool I think, anyway, it’s expensive and you’ll stretch it out,” he gets a remark, half sarcastic and half teasing him for liking sweaters that much, for not trusting him enough, he knows Tommy’s joking and he can’t help but smile and reply, even though he’s trying not to “Oh, I’m sorry but tell me again how I wasn’t the one guy who tried to flirt with a gal and got a milkshake in the face when her football player boyfriend walked back over? It stained your shirt Tommy, Let’s just face it man, you should come with a warning sign, a label of some sort, you’re a disaster zone, and I am definitely not letting you steal my clothes...” but it happens again because Tommy never gives up and it’d be a strange day if he ever stopped fighting about — basically everything.

The second time he just gives up. Obviously Tommy isn’t going to listen, or had forgot, Jimmy really hopes it is the latter, but he knows this is a battle he’s not going to win, and not sure he wants to fight, so he compromises, feeling somehow as if it’s a custody battle in a divorce, since they’re sharing time with the sweater, Jimmy getting it half the time with Tommy taking the rest. It should annoy him, and on the outside he pretends it does, but inside, it really doesn’t bother him at all, honestly, he’s happy that Tommy’s happy.

The third time he finds Tommy hoarding one of his sweaters, a tan one with light colors in the classic pattern, and he just laughs with annoyance, running a fry through mayonnaise as they sit down at their current meeting place (and honestly this is going to be a recurring thing for them, meeting at the Diner, the milkshakes are to die for, the meatloaf could be better, the burgers are great, and the service is lacking at times, but the booths have high walls, which is a added win for Jimmy, so Tommy can be a bit too loud, like he always is, because let’s face it, Tommy has no idea what an ‘inside voice’ is, Jimmy’s had to face that fact more times than he’d like to admit). Jimmy fixes his eyes on his friend and looks at him questioningly “I’ve been trying to find that sweater for months.” He frowns and shakes his head, sighing long and trying to make Tommy get that he is — not okay with this “Don’t you have your own? Don’t you have any clothes of your own?” His friend turns with a look, as if he’s been caught, usually looking like that even if he’s done nothing wrong at all, barely thinking before he answers “Yes, no, maybe, I like yours better,” Jimmy raises an eyebrow in confusion “What’s that even supposed to mean? You’re being too cryptic, I’m not up for riddles,” he laughs and cringes when his friend grabs for the ketchup, nearly spilling over the table and the sweater, his sweater, the sweater he’s been looking for for about a month now, just popping up right in front of him when he’s not thinking about it, now being worn by his best friend, one disaster away from being ruined. He’s seriously worried for the safety of that sweater. “You’re messy,” he says, hand instinctively tugging Tommy’s wrist away from over the mustard, pretending to be disgruntled “Honestly Tommy, you’re a complete mess of a person,” “But you still love me?” They both laugh till it hurts, and Tommy pays the bill. He tells Jimmy it’s because they’re brothers, because it feels like home wearing something that makes him think of family. Jimmy doesn’t get it. Later, he will.

He remembers giving him one of his favorite sweaters, wrapped up in leftover green wrapping paper (green was Tommy’s favorite color), a Grey sweater with a greenish blue argyle pattern, folded into it. It became a sweater Tommy couldn’t stop wearing and a present that Jimmy was proud to give, he values their friendship and everything that entails. Yeah, Tommy’s loud and kinda — crazy, crazy in the good sense of the word, and Jimmy’s quieter, locked in on his thoughts, calmer, like the sides of Ying and Yang, and it’s those complementing opposites that Jimmy wouldn’t change. They’re friends and sharing things is just what happens right? It earns Jimmy the comment that he ‘looks like a nerd now’ as Tommy pulls the sweater on, but they both know that it’s a great present that Tommy values.

Jimmy gets a couple of books, loving how thoughtful that gift was as well. He still has them, now his kids are reading from those same copies. It’s nice to remember that. Now that...

The time wore on and one after the other, he lost touch with Dutch, with Bobby, and with Johnny, but he somehow managed to keep Tommy, to stay friends even though miles separated them, college, family. He was there from the start and to the very end. Tommy was his best man at his wedding, when he was so nervous that Tommy had to talk him back from complete panic, his ever present fears of being inadequate, not enough. Tommy had been there, and Jimmy had been there throughout Tommy’s struggle, he’d been the second to know when fighting wasn’t an option anymore... they’d tried to make peace with it, but nobody ever tells you how hard it would be...

When Tommy died, everything felt disjointed, disconnected, everything stopped then and there as the paramedics rushed by, knowing it was over even though his brain was screaming it wasn’t true. THAT IT COULDN’T BE TRUE. But it was. But nothing seemed to make any sense anymore. Nothing fit.

The breaths he took then seemed foreign as if Tommy had taken everything, even the breath in his lungs, with him, the breaths were strangled and meek, mixed with pain, he had been ready for it, yes, but nobody was ever prepared, not even when they said they were. Jimmy knew that now.

Now, going through Tommy’s things, in his empty home, his hand brushed against something in the bottom of the box. It was soft, even though years had passed, worn at the edges and the elbows, from Tommy always leaning on them, into his friend’s personal space, talking way too close in excited tones, appreciative, teasing. Jimmy knew what it was before he saw it, and the fresh wave of tears hit him, mixed emotions in them now, the lingering sadness and joy, relief somehow there as well. He hadn’t cried that much in front of Johnny, neither had he cried much in front of Bobby, they had felt like strangers somehow... now he felt himself breaking down. The tears were long overdue.

So he sat there, with a sweater and a lot of memories.

Other people would see a worn sweater that has seen better days, just like the brunette man now holding it, but to Jimmy, this sweater is much more than a bunch of knotted yarn, a castoff to some thrift store because of the wear and tear

It’s the sweater his best friend wore when he needed to keep warm during the colder months, or when they went camping, the one he’d hardly take off because Jimmy had gifted it to him, and he said that it meant everything, the one that wrapped Jimmy in tight hugs he’d pretend to struggle out from, pretending to dislike them, but secretly loving them. It was something that would always remind him of Tommy.

It was a little piece of home. Something now missing from his life, having gone suddenly with his friend.

He’d always have Tommy with him even though he wasn’t there anymore

They’ll always be best friends. Nothing will ever change it.

It’s only a sweater, but to him, it’s a part of home, as much so as the the family he’s made, the house he lives in now, and Tommy, who left a heart shaped hole when he — left.

It’s something that reminds him of every moment with his best friend. That’s all he has now, those moments. He knows someday he’ll forget the playful smirk, the annoying laugh that was both and infectious.

But for now he has those moments and something, however insignificant it is to others, to remind him of the better times.

And that’s everything.

Author’s note: Okay, so the sweater that Jimmy gifted to Tommy is the one you can see him wearing in the first scene of TKK2

It’s grey and has a greenish blue argyle pattern.

the books Tommy gave Jimmy were:

The Outsiders (I always connect the Cobras to the book lol)

Fahrenheit 451

1984

and

A collection of Sci-fi stories by Ray Bradbury

Because I think Jimmy would love Sci-fi

I truly hoped you liked the story and if it was terrible lol, again my apologies

[crazyforhorror]

Chapter four: Are you kidding me?

— Paul pov—

I sat perplexed on the floor of the laundry room trying to figure out what was wrong with the washing machine. My favorite white pants were covered in blood and i cant get the stains out to save my life! Poor human females, i dont know how they do it honestly. It has been hours of me trying to get it done after successfully luring people her to feed off of. This is how i ended up here....... my swearing must have been loud because Laddie came into the laundry room with a look i could describe only as a teacher who was about to lay a ruler to your hand for talking too much and far too loud in class. “ dad you do realize there is this thing called bleach, right?? You just add that when you do your laundry with stain remover spray and you are good to go! I swear that is is super easy, here let me show you.” He says while putting in the needed liquids and starting the wash. The only problem with that was he was standing on my legs to reach the opening and the dials of the big machine that i was at war with. He was standing on my BARE legs in his COMBAT BOOTS. Now that my legs were all muddy and gross and were going to have shoe prints in bright red....... life with kids i guess though, right? David passed with a chuckle and said, “wow Paul your kid is smarter than you are. That’s sad bro.” I flipped him the bird and continued to listen to Laddie babble, this time about a new show he and Marko had discovered on the TV set tonigh. A ten year old is smarter than me. Are you kidding me??as the munchkin leaves the room I let a growl bubble up in my chest at the thought that David had told me the wrong stuff to remove blood, he told me freaking ketchup and mustard were the stuff you needed to use and when i had done that, i lost a pair of pants to the garbage man. Now i at least had Laddie to help me out but how did he know?

—Star Pov—

I still looked for Laddie even though he had been gone so long. What caused him to run away? were Michael and I hard on him? Did he think we were trying to change him too much? We were walking to the opening of the old cave, having yet to check here for him. Maybe he had gone here, Michael once said to me. I mean this did used to be his home for quite some time. What we saw when we entered the cave shocked us to the core. A cold feeling settled its home in my gut, something was wrong about it. It did NOT look like it was left abandoned by the guys, it looked a bit daare I say, empty.

“Kids found the cave and raided it huh?” Michael asked me with a tone of both disgust and awe.

“No, No one in all my time with the lost boys, we never ONCE had someone raid the cave let alone actually come in. Unless the guys brought them here for their.....dinner. But STILL we NEVER had that problem. This is fishy; something else has happened here. I intend to find out.” My voice wavered a few times, a wobbly tone that told how disturbed to my core I was. This did not feel right at all, almost like something more sinister is deceiving us all. Not something I look forward to learning about honestly. Did Laddie come back to the cave  and get stuff that reminded him of the boys before he ran away? I started looking around for any possible leads to what went down in here. The old boom box paul loved, missing. Dwayne’s skate board collection? Missing. David’s books that were neatly piled up behind his little alcove? Gone! Marko’s pigeons and their cage? Poof! They too were gone.Laddie’s favorit toys and teddy bear and blanket that if he were to lose he would never be the same was all long gone. Even the old Jim Morrison Poster that once draped the wall of the back part of the cave was gone.... Wait if this was all missing, “ It looks like someone took very specific things and in a hurry too, its messy, looks rushed and oddly enough all the missing stuff was things the guys loved more than anything. Something isn’t right here Michael, I think we need to get the Frog brothers again so don’t you dare touch anything. There is definatly something more than we can see scratching the surface of this.” His eyes widened as I let the words shake out of my mouth, I was for sure pale, looked sick and you could feel the mood of the room become fridged with horror, confusion. This was something we needed advice on.

-- Michael Pov--

It was still early morning as Star and I made way to Edgar and Alan’s comic book shop. They looked rather incredulous to our arrival and asking for help. “But they are gone? Has a new coven come in and replaced them that quick?”

Star shook her head, her frizzy curls bouncing around her face. “ No their stuff was missing but only the things that were important to them, and before you say it was Laddie before he ran away, there was too much stuff gone. Paul’s boom box and tapes, David’s books, Marko’s pigeons and their cage, Dwayne’s skateboards AND all of Laddie’s toys and his favorite bear and blanket are all gone. It looked like it was done in a hurry and something just dosen’t add up here. Something sinister is hiding in this situation. and yes we checked the ENTIRE cave, they are not in thier sleeping quarters or any of the old rooms that were still accessable. Nada.” Sam pops out from a shelf area with a comic book limp by his side. “But they all died. Are you positive that the surfers didn’t go and take things they didn’t go and take things they liked before the kid got got his stuff and he ad gotten it later?” I only nodded with a look of grim worry shattering my face. We had to find out what what was going on so we decided to take the kids there to let them look around. The shop got closed up and we all made our way back to the cave at the edge of Hudson’s bluff.

A/N: 

Im sorry this took so long to get this up. My anxiety and depression are pretty rough right now and I don’t have my own computer so updates are a little crazy. I hope you enjoyed this! im going to get caught up on this and then I will also go through the family tree I have made. 

[onlyssca]

Would you date me ? // byler fic

Summary:  Mike asked Will to be his fake boyfriend at a relative's wedding, so he could piss off his homophobic family. And if they're going to pretend to be boyfriends, might as well act like real ones right?

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338424?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#main 

“I’m gay”

Those 2 words sucked all the noise of the room, making it an agonizing silence longing between the two boys. It wasn’t the first time Will had said those words out loud but, this time he felt a lot more nervous. Probably because it was his opinion that he valued the most.

The first person he ever came out to was his mother. He and his mother were always really close. He knew she wouldn’t be mad but it stayed tough to admit. He then planed on coming out to his brother, Jonathan, but didn’t have to. Jonathan had made it pretty clear in the past that he was aware of his attraction to boys and was okay with it. Will knew he knew, and that was good enough.

He wanted so bad to tell his sister as well. They had grown really close and were almost inseparable. And this part of him he wasn’t sharing with her started to create a gap. El was somehow aware of it but also of the fact that Will wasn’t ready to explain why, and she respected that.  But it felt wrong to come out to her before him.

Him being Mike Wheeler, of course. His best friend. The person he told everything, maybe more than to his own mother. Mike, the one boy who was always by his side, the boy who stood up for him, the boy who was always there when Will needed comfort. Mike Wheeler, the boy who he was madly in love with.

So yes, coming out to Mike was difficult.

They stayed silent for a couple of second, Mike lying on his belly on Will’s bed, him sitting legs crossed a foot away from him; and right before Will started to regret his confession Mike spoke.

“Okay”

Will looked up to meet his eyes. Mike almost looked emotionless; like Will had just asked something as mundane as if he wanted mustard or ketchup on his hotdog. “You- you’re not mad?” Will stopped pulling the tiny part of skin near his fingertips.

“Mad? Will, why would I be mad?” Mike sat up, ruffling the paper sheets next to him. He gave Will a reassuring smile.

“I don’t know, some people would find me disgusting if they knew and I don’t know I-”

“Yeah, but I don’t. To me you’re still the same” He smiled and put his hand on his best friend’s. “It doesn’t matter who makes you feel fuzzy. Boys, girls who cares right?” Will wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction. He had hoped with all his heart that Mike would be accepting but his speech was weirdly open minded, too open minded.

“Are you…” He couldn’t be but Will had to be sure. “Into boys as well?” He finally found the courage to ask.

“Who me? No.” Mike said shaking his head. He didn’t sound offended. He even smiled. “Why? Are you interested?” Mike teased Will, oblivious that the answer was a big fat yes.

“N-no! It’s just you seem so chill about it, sorry”

“No it’s cool” He casually said.

“Cool” Will repeated.

“Anyway, what’d you got for question 5?” Mike simply went back to their homework as if that conversation meant nothing, or never even happened.

“Um, 25”

“Shit I got 56”

Years passed but Will’s crush didn’t, it was slowly turning into something more intense. Back in 10th grade, he tried dating a boy he met at the arcade to get over his best friend. It didn’t work. Will didn’t date anyone else after that. Mike on the other hand, had become quite the womanizer. Will couldn’t blame him; he went from a soft cute child to the hottest boy in the whole school.

So yes, Mike dated a lot. Always coming back to Will at the end of the day, saying that he’ll never find the one. Will’s heart sank when, one day, Mike mentioned that he’d need someone like Will. And of course both of them acted like Mike had never said that. It took a couple of other months for Will to inform the rest of the party that he liked boys. Everyone was accepting and supportive.

***

“Would you date me?” Mike asked out of the blue. Will who was inconveniently drinking at the same time choked a little on his drink.

“Excuse me?” Will managed to say after catching his breath. He placed his glass on the coffee table.

“I mean hypothetically would you?” Mike still had that serene expression when evoking that kind of subject, compared to Will whose head was always on the verge of exploding.

How was he supposed to answer that? Saying yes would mean hinting his attraction towards the boy, too close to the truth, saying yes meant danger. But saying no would mean lying and risking to hurt Mike’s feeling.

“I mean yeah” Will said after almost a minute of reflection which might have been worse than answering right away.

“Cool… because there’s this wedding I need to attend and I was hopping you’d be my date” Mike saw Will’s confused expression and clarified his proposition. “like pretend to be my boyfriend?” Will couldn’t believe what was happening. His heart was going full speed at this point.

“I mean yeah but wouldn’t it be easier to find a girl? Also more believable” Will tried to reason Mike but more importantly, himself.

“Well maybe I’m into boys as well as girls” Whatever was going on inside Will’s mind seconds ago got deleted by this one sentence. “I mean Johnny Depp’s pretty hot but so is Phoebe Cates, you know what I mean?”

“Not really but-”

“And I mean it’s not like I’ve never… you know” Will’s mind was a total blank at this point, still not processing the idea that Mike could like boys the same way he did.

“I really don’t” Will said.

“All I’m saying is that there is not much differences between kissing a boy and kissing a girl” Mike said and that was what broke the glass wall Wil was hiding behind. The wall that would hold the informations from going to Will’s brain. He stayed silent for a moment still in shock, but tried his best to keep a straight face.

“I guess, although there are differences” Will added.

“Oh yeah I know” Mike said, a little bit, too confidently. If Will was shocked before he now had lost the ability to function. Body frozen, his brain overheating as he tried to connect the dots. And the conclusion he came to kind of scared him for some reason.

“Wait, just so we’re clear. Are you telling me you’ve had sex with a boy?” Will didn’t know if he wanted the answer but his mouth was faster than his brain.

“Not all the way but, yeah pretty much I guess” Mike said nonchalantly. “So what do you say?” Mike changed the subject, looked at him right in the eyes.

“Sure,” Was all Will could say. “When is it?”

“Next week, 21st of July” Mike said.

“Okay, do I need to wear anything in particular?” Will had never been to a wedding.

“No, just a button up shirt I guess. You don’t have to go full tuxedo, unless you want to” Mike said.

Will went home that day looking for an appropriate outfit. He looked through his clothes but he found nothing he liked. He thought of asking his mother but went to look through Jonathan’s old clothes. He had left for college a couple of years ago but some of his stuff were still around.

“Hey buddy, what are you doing?” Will jumped not expecting anyone home. He turned around and saw his brother, leaning on the doorframe of the room.

“Jonathan! I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break!” Will said going for a hug.

“I told mom on the phone a couple of days ago. Didn’t she tell you?” He hugged his brother back.

“I guess not... El’s at Max’s but I can call if you w-”

“No no, don’t worry I’m staying so I’ll see her later”

“Okay” Will said enthusiastically. He had missed his brother.  Jonathan looked over Will’s shoulder and noticed the box of clothes on the floor.

“What’s all this?” He asked, his head nodding towards the box. Will turned around.

“Oh um, I’m looking for a button up shirt, a nice one” Will replied.

“Why? Do you have a date?” Jonathan smiled and lifting his eyebrows up. Will blushed.

“Oh no! Just going to a wedding” He explained, although his brother looked even more confused. “Mike asked me to be his date for one of his relative’s wedding” He quickly regretted his choice of words seeing the facial expression of his brother. “Don’t give me that look it’s, it’s not like that. He asked me to be his fake boyfriend.”

“Fake boyfriend? That’s pretty odd… why not just ask you to come as a friend?” Jonathan asked really confused. Will frowned. Somehow, in his state of ethereal panic when Mike asked him, he didn’t realize how weird it was.

“I-I don’t know…” Will looked down feeling like an idiot for still being in love with the same person for almost 10 years and them not reciprocating the feelings.

“I’m sorry” Jonathan put his hand on Will’s shoulder giving him a pitiful look. He knew. “Come on let’s find you the most stunning shirt we can!”

***

On the 21st the Wheelers came to pick up Will. Nancy couldn’t make it, which was why they only took one car. Mike got out of the car and walked to the Byers-Hoppers’ front door. Will opened the door to see Mike who was wearing black tuxedo pants, a light blue, almost white, shirt with a loosened navy tie. Will was wearing dark grey pants, his shirt was white with a red tie around the collar, and a dark grey vest matching his pants. He held his tuxedo jacket in his hands.

Will didn’t have time to greet Mike because as soon as the door was open and he was reachable, Mike slid his hand on Will’s wait bringing him closer. He leaned in and kissed Will right on the lips. Taken aback Will almost dropped his jacket on the floor. The kiss lasted about five seconds. Will couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes like Mike did.

“Why did you do that?” Will asked, eyes so wide.

“We’re supposed to pretend to be boyfriends, might as well act like real ones” Mike explained. “You look great by the way” Mike said before taking his hand and leading him to the car. Will forgot to thank him as worry started to take over his shock.

“What about your parents?” Will asked.

“They’re cool with it” He said climbing in the vehicle. Will following him and sat next to him as he greeted everyone.

“Hello kid” “Hi Will!” “Hello honey” All of the other Wheelers said at the same time. “Come on boys buckle up we’re a bit late” Karen said.

Will was a bit surprised by the fact that no one was bothered by the fact that Will was dating Mike. Mike explained, that he himself had thought his father would’ve been angrier about it but he simply didn’t care, totally unaware of the fact that his parents knew that if their son had to date a boy it would’ve been Will.

A moment after they had started driving Will felt Mike’s hand slid in his. He gazed at their hands then at Mike’s face. He was smiling at him. Will took a deep breath then relaxed into the touch and even leaned onto Mike’s arm. If he was going to pretend to be his boyfriend, he was going to enjoy every second of it because as soon as this day ends so does this.

They drove for about forty minute and finally arrived at the venue. The biggest area was outside where all the chairs and tables were, for the reception, as well as a dance floor with a faux ceiling of fairy lights. The place was huge and beautiful. Everything looked expensive and screamed ‘we have money’. Will knew the Wheelers were wealthier than his family but even the extended family was rich.

They entered the room where the ceremony would take place. Still holding hands Mike and Will followed Karen leading the way to the 5th row. They all sat down but Will felt nauseous all of a sudden. He felt stares on him and Mike and whispers here and there.

At first he thought that he was being paranoid, when they stood up for the bride’s entrance he met disgusted faces looking at them.

“Um... Mike?” Will tugged at his sleeve.

“Yeah?” Mike looked at Will giving him all his attention.

“Is your family homophobic?” Will asked the question that was bothering him as soon as he sat down on the white velvet chair.

“Uh yeah, some of them, why?” Mike said eyes wandering around the room.

“And you didn’t tell me?!” Will scream-whispered.

“Didn’t I mention it?”

“No you didn’t!!!” Mike didn’t understand why Will was so mad.

“Well, that’s kinda why I wanted you to come, so I could piss them off. My uncle’s a homophobic asshole so I thought I’d piss him off if I had a boyfriend.” Mike said calmly.

Will’s heart stopped. His shoulders dropped and he felt something in his stomach. His guts getting heavy. Was it the only reason? It would explain the ‘fake boyfriend’ thing… Will thought.

“Hey what’s going on?” Mike noticed Will’s sudden change of mood. He approached him, looking at his face closely trying to figure out the reason his best friend looked so down.

“Mike we could get hurt…” Will said and yes it wasn’t the main reason he felt sad but it was a big concern of his at this moment.

“Will look at me” Mike said lifting Will’s chin using his hand. “I will never let anything happen to you, you understand? Never” Mike said so seriously and with such sincerity in his voice. Will looked at him and saw the boy he fell in love with, and all his worry vanished.

“Okay” Will said nodding and smiling.

After the ceremony all the guests were invited to go eat the meal followed by the party that started right after the now married couple’s first dance together. The whispering and weird looks continued but Mike did everything he could to distract his boyfriend, and that meant kiss him by surprise, asking for, no, drag him to the dancefloor to swing to the music.

Will had seem to be distracted enough to forget all about it. Until one of Mike’s cousin, he assumed, went up to them.

“Hey Michael! I didn’t know you were a fairy?” He said supported by his friend’s laugh behind. Will let go of Mike and took a step away from him. Mike instantly put himself in front of Will, protecting him.

“Do you have a problem George?” Mike almost spat out.

“Yes actually. I don’t want faggots at brother’s wedding” He walked closer to them.

“Take that back!” Mike shouted over the music.

“No, you see I’m quite surprised. You don’t look queer” He said poking at Mike’s shoulder’s multiple times. Then pointed at Will. “Him on the oth-” Mike’s fist interrupting his cousin’s mouth.

It happened so fast that Will didn’t registered the action until he saw the man on the floor, lip bruised and already bleeding. He got back to his feet and punched back. Will was petrified and felt powerless. He watched the scene screaming in his head for them to stop.

His voice finally coming out when his eyes fell on Mike’s bleeding lips and red cheek. “Mike!” The fight didn’t go any further as people went to separate them. Will threw himself at Mike. He took his face between his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asked voice shaking, translating his worry.

“Sure! Never been better” Mike tried to lighten the situation with a joke that did not make Will laugh. Karen arrived near them and brought them in the kitchen of the venue to get some ice.

***

“Ouch” Mike winced as Will placed the ice patch against his cheek. Mike was sat on a counter, Will standing between his legs. They were no stranger to proximity and closeness, but this night, it became so natural for them, as if they were magnets.

“Sorry” Will said mimicking the boy’s facial expression.

“It’s okay” Mike said placing his hand on top of Will’s. They stared at each other’s eyes for god knows how long. They leaned a little eyes going down towards lips. Hearts racing but abruptly stopped when a member of the staff passed by, making Will drop his hand and them break eye contact. They waited to be alone again before they started speaking again.  “Please don’t say it” Mike said.

“Say what?” Will asked.

“I told you so” Mike replied

“I told you so” Will did it anyway. Mike gave him a small smile. “You didn’t have to do that you know…” Will softly said.

“Do what?” Mike asked confused.

“Getting beat up just to defend me” Will looked down.

“Hey no! I couldn’t stand there listening to that asshole say those things about you, about us.” Mike placed the ice patch next to him and took, between his hands, Will’s face, who winced a little because of Mike’s frozen hand. His burning cheeks helping the hand getting warmer.

“Don’t ever do that again. Promise me.” Will looked so serious.

“No I can’t promise that, I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you and I meant it! You’re so important to me okay!” His brain was so dazed from his swollen lips and bruised cheeks, pain radiating in his whole face, which was why he had let this information slipped out of his mouth. Even though they both knew it, hearing Mike say it out loud felt different.

“Mike you don’t understand, I got so scared when I saw him punch you I… please” Will’s eyes getting wet as his voice was shaky. Mike licked the blood on his lips, thinking.

“Okay”

“Promise.” Will held his pinky finger in front of them. Mike looked amused, it’s been so long since they pinky promised something. They used to do it all the time when they were kids. Mike locked their fingers together.

“I promise” His hand quickly moved to hold his entire hand instead of just his pinky. His other hand on the back of the smaller boy’s head, bringing it closer allowing Mike to kiss his forehead. He stayed like this for some time, Will felt his whole body melt. He wiped off the blood stain after his lips left Will’s skin.

He looked around them, checking if anybody could see them, and no, no one was looking. He looked up and saw a bloody smile.

“You can stop pretending, no one’s looking” He took a wet cloth and gently rubbed the blood off Mike’s lips, which was useless as it was still bleeding a little.

“I’m not pretending” Mike said, putting Will’s hair behind his ear. The light touch made Will so weak. His heart was pounding in his chest; it was almost painful. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please stop, I’m begging you” Will desperately said avoiding eye contact.

“Stop what?” Mike got worried for half a second.

“Making me feel like this” He said. What do you mean? Was what Will could read on Mike’s face when he finally decided to raise his head. “Like I have a chance, like you could actually love me back”

“Back?” It was Mike’s voice’s turn to shake.

“Yeah Mike. I’m in love with you, have been for years. I honestly don’t know how you never noticed because I’m so weak for you” Will admitted. He was expecting a shocked expression painted on Mike’s face but his eyes met the boy, beaming at him. Will’s eyes flutter out of confusion.

“Why are you smiling?” Will asked.

Will started to panic. Was Mike gonna laugh at his face because of how stupid he was to love someone who will never love him back? He regretted telling this, he regretted coming to the wedding, he regretted agreeing to all of this. He… He tasted blood on his lips.

In his panic state he didn’t notice Mike leaning in to kiss him. Will closed his eyes and they moved their lips together spreading the iron taste on Will’s tongue. Will wasn’t aware of it but his whole body was shaking lightly. The kiss was slightly painful for Mike who didn’t kiss him for too long. They parted but stayed close nonetheless.

“What was that for?” Will said finally coming back to reality.

“For loving me back” Mike said softly.

“B-back?” A glimmer of hope shined in Will’s eyes.

“Yeah I did actually notice you loved me. It just took me a long time to fall for you too, or rather realized I had already fallen” Mike took Will’s hands in his. Will felt like he was floating on a cloud, not even noticing when staff members passed by anymore.

“When did you realized that?” Will had a lot of questions but this one came out first.

“Last year” Mike said looking down. Will let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A mix of anger, sadness, confusion but mostly frustration took over Will.

“So you knew I was in love with you for years, then realized you loved me back but did nothing for a whole year?” He exclaimed, raising his voice a little.

“Yeah but I actually thought your feelings were gone because you dated that boy and… there’s college approaching and I don’t know I-” Mike struggled to explain. Will listened and waited for Mike to be finished, then waited a little longer, installing a silence between them.

“Now what? What do we do?” Will asked rubbing his thumb on Mike’s knee.

“I don’t know…” He looked at Will whose eyes were stuck on his own thumb drawing circles on Mike’s pants. “What I do know is that I love you.”

“You do?” Will glanced up, finding Mike staring directly at him, smiling.

“Yes! Hell, Will, you’re the love of my life, always have been, always will be, even though the love wasn’t romantic at first it sure is now!” Mike said like it was the clearest thing in his life, because it was. The words made Will melt into Mike’s arms. They also felt like a breath of fresh hair, like Will had been waiting all his life to hear them, like he could finally breathe again.

His eyes sparkled. “So what do you say? You want to give this a shot?” Mike asked, looking at Will through his eyelashes.

“Yes!” Will almost didn’t let Mike finish his question. He crashed his lips against Mike’s, who winced and pulled back.

“Ouch” Mike went to touch his bleeding lip.

“Sorry” Will’s awkward smile grew wider when he felt Mike’s lips back on his own.

[thejacketandthehook]

The Art of Pretending 5/?

Title: The Art of Pretending 5/?

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere)

Summary:  Killian Jones needs a family and needs one now. In order to impress his boss, Killian hires a single mother and her son to pretend to be his wife and son for the weekend. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Rating: Teen (for language)

Words:  16,587

Author’s Notes: Hello all! Here is my submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon! This is based off of the Lifetime movie, “Borrowed Hearts,” starring Eric McCormack and Roma Downey. The movie came out in 1997, and I consider it to be one of the first made-for-tv Christmas movies.

A couple of years ago I was watching it and thought this would be a fantastic scenario for our favorite Captain and Savior. I wrote it and then stopped, and then started it again, only to stop again. When I saw this movie marathon, I knew instantly this was the movie I wanted to do and I wanted to make sure that I finished it this time.

I hope you enjoy it!

A30

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

And because she asked, @kmomof4. I’m so glad you’re enjoying this! 

“So it has come to our attention that perhaps a dinner between the three of you would be a good idea.”

Emma looked over at Killian who was looking up at Regina, like an obedient student following the teacher’s instructions. She then looked over at Henry, who was playing with his napkin. Okay, maybe he wasn’t playing with it as much as he was trying to get it to lay smoothly across his lap.

“Great idea,” Emma replied looking up at Regina. And it was a great idea, honestly, when David first brought it up to her. This way they can take care of all the details. All the small things that form when people spend a lot of time together, hashing out the particulars.

And the fact that they were eating hamburgers at Killian’s fancy ass dining room table made the whole juxtaposition that much funnier to Emma for some reason.

“I agree,” Killian piped up, taking the napkin off the table and placing it across his lap before reaching for the mustard bottle. “This way we can—”

“You like mustard on your hamburger?” Emma asked, probably more forcibly than she should have.

Killian looked at her before he finally grabbed onto the bottle. Opening it up with one hand, he replied, “Aye. Is that a deal breaker?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I just don’t think…I’ve ever met anyone who prefers mustard on their burger as opposed to ketchup.”

“I don’t like ketchup.”

Emma was squeezing the bottle itself when he made that declaration, and she almost squirted it all over herself. “How can you not like ketchup?”

“I just don’t.”

“I thought that we could discuss other kinds of details about ourselves,” Regina sighed, “then what condiments you liked on your food.”

“Right. Okay,” Emma replied placing the bottle back on the table before putting the top bun on top. She passed the bottle to Henry, who took it gladly. “So. What kind of questions?”

“How long have you two been married?”

“Ten years,” Killian replied at the same time Emma replied, “Twelve years.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “These are the kind of details I’m talking about, Ms. Swan.”

“Mrs. Jones,” David piped up, his mouth full of burger.

“What?” Killian asked, leaning forward.

“You’re not going to be ‘Ms. Swan,’ for the weekend, you’re going to be ‘Mrs. Jones.’”

“Oh,” Emma took her glass of soda and quickly took a sip. Why the idea of losing her last name (even temporarily) was something that made her want to blush was not something that she wanted to think about too deeply. “‘Course, yeah. Right.”

“Is this a problem, Mrs. Jones?” Regina asked pointedly.

“Nope. No problem at all,” she weakly responded.

“Do I have to change my name?” Henry piped up.

“Only for the weekend,” Regina said a nicer tone. At least Regina was nice to her kid, Emma thought. She had that going for her. “For that one weekend, you’re going to be Henry Jones. Is that alright?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, sounds good.” He then took a bite of his burger, the ketchup falling out of the other side. “What else do we need to know?”

“Okay,” Regina looked at Henry before giving an almost warm smile. “Henry, where was your favorite vacation?”

“Disney World!” he replied happily, bouncing in his seat. “I met Mickey Mouse and Peter Pan and Cinderella!” He then jumped up out of his chair and held out his arm, like he was holding a sword at the end. “Peter Pan was standing in front of the sign—”

“Adventureland sign,” Emma added, giving a small smile to Regina and Killian, who, she couldn’t help but notice, was intrigued with her son’s story and was actually looking at him when he spoke.

“Right, that sign. Anyway, we were walking along, and Peter Pan came out and said to me ‘Any pirates come this way?’ And I—” He looked at his mother, not sure on how to continue. “Mom? What did I say?”

“You cried, Henry,” she said with a chuckle. She looked at the adults at the table and informed them of the details Henry was leaving out. “Henry was like three at the time, and Peter Pan came out of nowhere. He got scared.”

“Oh, right. I got scared.” Henry sat back down before picking up his burger. “Anyway, I liked Disney World.”

“Okay,” Regina smiled before looking at a notepad next to her plate. She was using a knife and fork to eat. Figures. “Let’s see. Now, you should know some details about each other. Just in case.”

Just in case. Emma has heard those words so many times over the course of the week she’s ready to scream. “Like what?”

“Family.”

Emma gestures to Henry. “You’re looking at it.”

“She means more than that, love,” Killian piped up, before sipping on his rum.

“I’m not your love,” she replied more harshly than she should have. “And that’s it. Just Henry.”

Killian looked at her, his eyes wide before asking in almost a dumbfounded way, “You don’t have anyone else?”

“Mommy’s an—” Henry starts to say before Emma cuts him off.

Emma, herself, however, looked down at her plate and asked, “Do we really need to get into all of this? I thought this Mr. Woodman guy was only staying for forty-eight hours. I don’t think he needs to know my life story.”

“Normally, I would say you were right, Emma,” David says as he wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin. “But we want to make sure that we’ve covered every spot. That includes,” he pauses before looking at her, “backstories.”

“No.” Emma puts her napkin next to her plate. That’s all she says before she pushes back her chair and gets up from the table, walking towards…well, she’s not really sure until she feels the cold air biting at her cheeks and realizes that her thin long sleeve shirt is not appropriate for the outdoors in December.

But she can’t do this. She can’t have a virtual stranger know her story. No way. Yes, she’s attracted to Killian, she won’t deny that. But one kiss in the badly lit hallway does not mean that he gets to know her story. That he gets to know her. Besides, after the weekend is over, Henry and Emma will walk out of Killian’s life, and this Mr. Woodman guy will never see either of them again. So why does everyone need to know her story for one lousy weekend?

“My father abandoned my brother and I.”

Emma quickly turned around and saw Killian leaning against one of the pillars leading up to his front door. He was so casual about it, she was sure that she misheard him, because there was no way that he just—

“What?”

He looks up at her before straightening himself and walking closer to her. “My father abandoned my brother and I. I was seven years old when I woke one morning and he was gone.”

Her mind is racing from the conversation inside and now this one, that she shakes her head because she just can’t keep up with these conversations. “That’s, um –”

Because what do you say in reply to that?

“I’m telling you this,” he says, taking a step closer, though remaining a distance away from her, “because I want you to know that you don’t need to share your story if you’re not comfortable. I get it. I had a horrible childhood, but I don’t think Mr. Woodman is going to quiz us about it.” He pauses for a moment before saying, “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Killian—”

“I know that I’m asking a lot, but knowing your backstory…that’s obviously private, and I don’t need to know it for this weekend. So,” he shrugs, “we make something up. If you want.”

“Make up my backstory?”

He nods. “Yeah. In case Marco asks. I don’t think he will, but you know. Something for us. Just in case.”

She huffs. “I’m so sick of those three words.”

He chuckles. “I know. Me too.” He looks at her for a second, and Emma thinks about that night, two years ago. It was clear that they made a connection, even if it was just lust. But it seems that they’re making another one right now. “I can’t do this without you. And I know you’re getting paid, and I know you don’t feel right about it—”

“Oh, I’m definitely taking your money. There’s no way that I’m not.”

He shakes his head with a small smile. “Of course. But you need to be comfortable about this.”

“Just like you need to be comfortable with your furniture being moved around,” she retorts.

He stills for a moment, asking, “How did you…” He sighs. “David.”

She nods. “Yeah, he and his wife are not great at keeping secrets. FYI.”

“I hope they can keep one for a weekend,” he mutters.

Emma crosses her arms, rubbing them as she says, “I’m sure they can.”

He looks at her for saying, “Bloody hell, you must be freezing.” Before she can say anything in response, he takes off his zipped up sweater and stepping closer, places it against her shoulders.

“You don’t have to—You’re going to be cold.”

He takes a step back. “Ah, the cold doesn’t bother me.”

She shakes her head before replying, “Okay, Elsa.”

He grins. “That’s my sister-in-law’s name.”

She smiles now, like she can’t believe it. “Get out. I didn’t think there was anyone actually named Elsa.”

“Oh yeah. When they met, my brother asked her if she wanted to let it go.”

She starts laughing before saying, “Oh God, no! He didn’t!”

“He did!” he laughs along with her. “She almost punched him! I was dying.”

“And she married him?”

He smirks. “Well, the Jones Brothers have a way with the ladies.”

She snorts as she shakes her head. “I think you just think you have a way with the ladies.”

He takes a step closer and gives a wicked grin. “I have a memory from two years ago that disputes that, love.”

Emma looks to side and scoffs, hoping that he thinks the redness in her cheeks is nothing more than the wind. Clearing her throat (and her mind from the memories from that night), instead she replies, “Listen, I’ll help you out. ‘Cause I’m nice like that,” she gives a big smile and he grins back. “But my private life is that. Private.”

“Duly noted, love. If he asks, and he won’t, but if he does, just make something up.”

She agrees, muttering a “Yeah,” under her breath. She looks back at the house and sees Henry looking out the window. She gives him a small wave, and he waves back before she turns to Killian. “Thanks. For coming out and for…” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. About your dad. That…that sucks.”

He breaths out heavily before looking away, putting his thumbs through the loopholes of his belt. “Thanks.”

He holds his elbow out for her to take and leads them to the door as he says, “Oh, by the way, my favorite color is blue. Just in case.”

Emma chuckles and for the first time this began thinks that maybe everything will be alright in the end.

~*~

Marco Woodman was due to arrive by Friday, December 20 at 6:00pm local time. Killian kept looking at the calendar. It was Thursday, December 19, 9:00 am local time and Killian has already panicked. This was going to end in disaster. He just knew it. Not because of Emma or Henry, no. Of that he was certain. He has spent the equivalent of six hours with them (more than that if he counts how much he and Emma have messaged each other), and he knows that he has nothing to worry about when it comes to either of them. Henry’s a great kid and Emma…

No, he’s not worried about them. He’s worried about himself. Killian may be a lot of things, but he does not like to lie or be deceitful. What you see is what you get, that’s Killian’s motto. He may have some skeletons in his closet, to be sure, but nothing that would be deemed absolutely horrible. Mostly bad mistakes and things he wishes he could have done differently.

But this whole situation with Emma and Marco…He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like lying. He’s sure that he will be the one to mess up; he’s so sure that he’ll say or do the wrong thing and blow his chances of ever getting to run the corporation in London.

33 hours. But you know, who’s counting? :p

Killian smiles at the text from Emma. Ever since her minor…well, panic attack basically, she’s gotten a tiny bit more open with him. And he likes it. She’s funny, and incredibly intelligent, and….

Well, it’s nice having someone in the same boat as him. True that she doesn’t have the same outcome as him, but she’s also pretending here. Anyway, it’s just nice having someone in his corner.

He types back. Aye. Not like anything big is happening, right?

I think the Mets are playing

Love, I don’t follow baseball, and even I know they don’t play in the winter.

Argh! I was trying to go for a joke

Anyway, Henry and I will arrive tomorrow at your place at ETA 4:00

You can’t get there earlier??

Dude I have work and he has school. You’re lucky it’s 4:00 and not later

Please don’t be late.

I’m going to ignore that because we haven’t been late once

How come you end every sentence with a period? You know you’re not writing a paper right?

Because I like it.

Period.

Weirdo

He laughs before putting his phone back on his desk. His secretary, a young man named Arthur who, while good at his job, needs to learn the meaning of the word ‘humble,’ pops his head in. “David is here for you,” he says.

Killian waves him in and Arthur closes to door behind David. He looks back to make sure the door is closed before asking, “You ready for tomorrow?”

He nods. “Aye. I believe so. I’m so bloody nervous, though.”

David laughs before sitting in the seat opposite Killian. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s just my future on the line, nothing more.”

“Killian, they’re going to be fine.”

“I know.”

“And so are you.”

He pauses. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Killian releases a breath before looking at his watch. “32 and a half hours to go.”

“Stop worrying. It’s like a damn rocking chair.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re going to need to explain that one.”

“Worrying is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but you’re not going anywhere.”

Shaking his head, Killian gets up from his desk and walks over to the filing cabinet. “Well, thank you so much for that bit of fortune cookie wisdom.”

“Sure.” He’s quiet for a second as Killian gets out the file he needs. “You know I’ll be there every step of the way. Regina too.”

“Regina better be there. She’s the reason I’m in this mess.” He turns back around and walks over to his desk.

“She meant well.”

“I know.”

David sighs before asking, “33 hours?”

“33 hours.”

~*~

Killian looks at his watch. It’s ten past 6 on Friday, December 20, and David messaged that they were on their way back from the airport, but just got stuck in traffic.

The house currently smells like cooked meat and spices, and while that smell usually makes his mouth water, right now it’s just making his stomach turn.

He’s barely gotten a second to talk to Emma or Henry, since they were both taken immediately by a team that Regina hired to “spruce up their imagine,” whatever the hell that meant. They were currently upstairs in her guest room, doing God knows what, and all Killian can think about is that Emma and Henry both looked fine the other night.

When Regina comes down the stairs, she looking at her phone and how she doesn’t trip is something that is beyond him. “What’s going on up there?”

“Just making them look like they are a family that has money,” Regina replies nonchalantly without looking up.

“They were fine the other night.”

That makes her look up at him. “Killian, I hate to break it to you, but you have money. Your “wife” is supposed to look like she shares that money. Rich wives don’t weather red leather jackets they found at Goodwill.”

“I like the red leather jacket,” he mutters.

“And when it’s Sunday night, by all means, you can tell her. But for right now, she needs to look a tad more elegant.”

“And Henry?”

She shrugs. “He wants to talk to his mother about something.”

“Does he look elegant?” he asks, stressing elegant like it’s a word associated with horrible bodily functions.

“He looks like an eight-year-old boy. He’s fine.” Her phone beeps and she immediately looks down at it. His phone beeps too. His stomach sinks and his heart pounds. His head is rushing from the amount of bloody pumping into it (maybe? He’s not sure.)

She clears her throat before lifting her head. “He’s here.”

Killian nods and tries to remember how to breath. This was such a stupid idea.

Regina walks towards the door.

He never should have agreed to this. He should have told the truth from the beginning.

“Wait!” he shouts, just as she’s about to put her hand on the doorknob.

“What?” she hisses at him.

“The ring!”

Regina’s hand drops towards the pocket of her pantsuit. “Shit, I have it somewhere,” she mutters before pulling out a silver circle. She walks back over to him and grabs his hand roughly and tries to get it on, but he mutters, “Wrong finger, wrong finger, wrong finger!”

“God!” she huffs before shoving the ring in his hand. “You do it!”

“Thanks,” he mutters as the doorbell rings. He quickly put it on the correct finger and fixes his suit (Regina insisted) before he walks over to the door. “Show time,” he mutters before he throws open the door.

“Mr. Woodman! Welcome!”

[ubernoxa]

The Dare

A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 16: Cream Cheese Hotdogs

(Mastarlist)

Taglist: @queen-crue

Neither one dared to speak as Duff drove the truck to no certain destination, just away from the beach.

Delilah glanced at herself in the truck’s right mirror. With her makeup ruined by all the tears from earlier, she looked more like a demon than a girl on her first date with a guy she really liked. His silence was speaking volumes to Delilah. She knew he was disappointed. He probably had an elaborate night planned, and she ruined it.

She fidgeted with the necklace that Duff had gifted to her before everything went to hell. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a chain with a pick. It was perfect though.

“Thank you,” Delilah didn’t know why she said it, but she needed to say it.

He turned and nodded, but remained silent, she wanted him to say something, ANYTHING.

“The pick is the one I used the first night I met you,” this time it was Duff’s turn to break the silence.

“When I walked backstage that night, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Not because of your outfit, it was because of your eyes, your hair, your smile, and your laugh. I love your laugh. It was impossible for me to ignore you,” Duff added.

Delilah’s stomach was storming with butterflies. Her face had turned tomato red and she couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face.

She knew it was her turn to talk.

“It’s hard to describe, so please don’t interrupt me before I’m done. The first thing I noticed about you was how you made me feel. It was like a shot of electricity went through my body, in a good way. I’m not saying that in an ohhh Duff I need you to survive or some shit like that, I’m saying it as I felt something I’ve never felt before. You made me feel that. When I snatched that bottle of vodka from you the first night we met, I didn’t know what my next step was. All I knew was that I wanted that next step to be with you....Can you...can you pull over to the side of the road?”

Duff nodded and pulled over on the shoulder of the road. It was silent as if the two of them were the only two left on the entire planet. There were no engines roaring, no cars honking, no music playing, and no children screaming. All that it was was pure silence.

“May I?” Duff nodded as Delilah grabbed his half drunk water. Duff lit one of his candles for a light source as Delilah pulled her hair back. Duff watched as Delilah took a deep breath and poured the water over her arm revealing a large bruise. She drizzled the water over her left cheek revealing another. She lifted her dress, but Duff stopped her. He didn’t need to see anymore. He didn’t know how much more his heart could take. Without thinking he pulled Delilah in close and held her promising to never let go.

The candle was gone as the two stood hugging on the shoulder of the road. Delilah pulled back and wiped the tears way from Duff’s eyes.

“Growing up, my brother would always say that there is beauty in everything, but not everyone sees every beauty. My entire

life I thought I was hideous. I don’t only mean in physical appearance. I mean it in a hideous personality. I always tried my best but I broke plates, said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing or was just unlucky and in the wrong damn place at the wrong damn time. Somehow you saw me and you thought I was beautiful. You saw my beauty.”

“You are beautiful,” Duff quickly replied. Delilah laughed and Duff immediately pulled her into a kiss. Not a kiss like earlier on the beach, this kiss made Delilah’s heart warm. A kiss that made her feel more than loved.

Delilah slowly pulled away from the kiss. “I left because I was engaged to the person who gave me these bruises. I left because that...place...I used to call home had become a prison. Duff I like you I really do, I just need you to know that I didn’t leave my old home for you. I left it for myself,” Delilah confessed.

When their eyes met again, Duff pulled her in for another kiss. The two of them kissed again under the stars, neither one wanting to end the moment. Sadly like all things, the kiss ended, but with Delilah’s stomach grumping.

“Give me a quick moment Delly and I’ll get food ready,” Duff walked over towards his truck and setup the dinner in the cargo bed.

“Do I have to put a blindfold on again?” Delilah teased as Duff was setting up the stuff.

“Don’t tempt me, Delilah. Save if for later though. Get in the cargo bed,” he teased back as he helped her climb in the back.

“Here it’s cold,” he passed her his jacket and she immediately put it on. She looked beautiful in his hat and jacket that she was practically swimming in. He wondered how he got so lucky.

Delilah could feel Duff staring at her, “What are you looking at ?”

“You,” his simple replied made Delilah blush.

“You’re beautiful when you blush,” Duff added only making her redder.

“So I heard you made food,” Delilah said attempting to change the attention from her.

“Coleslaw, roasted corn salsa, tortilla chips, hotdogs with cream cheese, and Hom Bow,” Duff proudly showed Delilah the food as he spoke. She felt like a judge on a cooking show.

“Looks delicious, but what the fuck is up with the cream cheese on hotdogs? That’s just wrong,” Delilah teased as she grabbed a fork to begin eating.

“First of watch your language, who the fuck taught you to talk like that? Second of all it’s good,” He passed her one of the hotdogs.

Delilah took a bite, and she had to admit, it tasted pretty good.

“So what’s the inspiration behind all of this cooking?” Delilah asked now trying the corn salsa which was also delicious.

“Well first of we made good money at the last gig and this only costed me like $10, so don’t go all Mags on me and worry. Secondly, the cook makes the food for everyone else, but who cooks for the cook?” Duff words were simple, and she cuddled in closer to him as she ate.

“Ohh god no, I’m gonna puke!” Delilah teased as she watched Duff put some mustard on his cream-cheese hotdog.

Before Delilah knew it she had mustard on her face. She didn’t know if Duff put it there on purpose, but without hesitation she shot the ketchup back at him. Within a few minutes, the pair was covered in food. Laughter cut through the silence that once filled the space between them.

Delilah snuggled deeper into Duff as he began to tell the story of his cooking adventure. She sat silent and listened to his riveting tale, wondering what she did to deserve someone as amazing as Duff.

[captainchrisfics]

Out of Fenway Park

About: A SoCal born-and-raised reader relocated to Boston, where the very last thing she expects is to run into Chris Evans at a Red Sox game with beer dripping down her head and his hotdog plastered to her shirt. Literally, running into him, and then somehow still getting a date out of it.

Word Count: 3,365

Requested By: Anon. Thanks so much for sending this in! Absolutely love this story, thanks for giving me the opportunity to write it. Feel free to send in any other reqs!

P.S. I’m sorry but, as deeply as I love Boston, I’m just a New Yorker, posting a fanfic on the internet, asking you to forgive me for my inability to give the Red Sox the dignity of winning- feat. the best gif I could find of him repping the team

The sun was the only reason I agreed to go to this baseball game anyway and even that had failed me. I was looking forward to sitting back with its warmth washing over my skin so I could close my eyes and try to pretend like I was back on a beach in Southern California. Instead, it was borderline freezing rain and all I could think about was the ground being even muddier with the still melting snow and how I couldn’t tell if there really was rumbling thunder or if it was just the shouts of countless Bostonians surrounding me, cheering on the Red Sox. They were up against the Yankees and even I could tell it wasn’t looking good, but that didn’t dampen their home-team spirits.

My coworkers were maybe the worst of the bunch, drunkenly yelling profanities at the players while they sloshed their beers in agreement with one another’s profane criticisms of the pitcher. I was almost regretting giving up SoCal for a job offer I could hardly dream of fresh out of college with the only downside being that it was on the east coast. Anyone could’ve told you I despised the cold, being too far from the ocean, and the Patriots, maybe not in that order. But even more than that I knew I’d hate myself if I passed up this opportunity. So, without giving more thought than I maybe should’ve, I packed everything I could into three suitcases and a carry-on and moved across the country, hopes probably higher than the plane. 

Winter, however, brought me crashing back down to reality. Everything in nature either died or got the right idea to chase the sun south. I was stuck with snowbanks higher than my knees and a proper coat was nowhere in sight. Not that it mattered much anyway, the weather felt like it was freezing my bones to their core no matter what I wore. Initially, I had this glamorous idea of curling up by the window with a blanket on my lap as the fire crackled, holding a book in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other. Hitting the pavement after slipping on ice knocked the ignorantly blissful can-do attitude right out of me the first time. And the second and the third and I lost count after that.

Which is exactly why I agreed to come to this baseball game in the first place. Back home, spring meant warmer days and blooming flowers and short sleeve t-shirts. I thought I’d get to enjoy a little bit of sunlight at the very least, maybe get to finally connect with my coworkers in a meaningful way outside of asking for help to unjam the copy machine. However, the start of the season in this hell hole apparently included a lot more of the lion than the lamb and a rowdy crowd of Red Sox fans who thought it was good enough for shorts anyway and drank like alcoholic fish to top it all off.

A girl I shared the wall of my cubicle with, Alex, wrapped a lazy arm around my shoulders, pulling me too close into her Heineken haze than I was comfortable given the fact that I barely knew her. Plus, being the only sober one was never any fun. I had a feeling they only invited me under the guise of getting to know each other better considering all I’d become familiar with was the smell of their beer burps. After all, being barely of-age and the new kid made me their permanently designated driver, even though we’d taken the T here. 

“Know the difference between a Yankee and uh,” Alex paused to laugh at her own joke and let out a hiccup, “a pothole?” She was hanging onto me for support, speaking close enough to my ear that it could’ve been a secret though she was saying it loud enough for the rest of our group to hear over the boom of other fans. “I’d swerve for the hole!” 

I chuckled a little to be nice, although I didn’t think it was very funny. Our coworkers to Alex’s right, on the other hand, guffawed as if it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Preferring their reaction and acting almost in slow motion, she raised her cup in cheers of herself and simultaneously turned to the others, sloshing the frothy drink until it rained down on me.

I shot up out of my seat as the cold beer trickled down my back. Everyone paused, eyes glued to me for my reaction as I tried to maintain my temper. I used my hands like windshield wipers, tossing the liquid on my face to the floor with an angry snap of my wrists. Alex started to profess a slurred apology, but I held up my hand for an extra second or two to compose myself. “It’s...” I paused to suck in another deep breath. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I’m gonna go clean up.” Before she could offer to help, I whipped around and jumped down the stadium’s stairs two at a time.

My cheeks were hot with embarrassment as I scanned the hall, looking for something resembling a bathroom sign frantically. People were probably busy enough with their own agendas, be it getting back to the game or buying a baseball hat, but I still felt every set of eyes boring into me. So I tried to put my head down and run to the closest restroom until I hit a wall instead. 

Literally, it sent me tumbling to the floor until I landed on my ass, melting into a messy puddle of beer mixed with my former self. Contrary to my belief, someone said, “I didn’t see you there.”

My eyes left my hands, where I’d tried to bury my face like an ostrich in the sand, to see a broad man bending down on his knees before me. He had a Red Sox cap pulled low over his face, a thick beard, and a light grey t-shirt with a dark wet patch in the middle of his chest. Must’ve been where we collided. “I’m so sorry,” he continued with the exaggerated o’s and r’s that sound like ah’s, still so wrong to my west coast ears. I spotted an empty disposable food tray in his hand and looked down to see the hotdog it’d previously housed glued to my stomach by its condiments. Exactly what I needed. 

“Are you alright?” He extended a hand to help me up, but I couldn’t move. Instead, I just sat sprawled on my butt at Fenway Park, reeking of somebody else’s alcohol, staring at this beautiful stranger. His concerned look turned a little suspicious the longer I sat there without grabbing his hand, my mouth moving like a fish out of water. All I had to say was yes or I am or something, anything really, but I couldn’t even manage a three-letter sentence.

Instead, I peeled his hotdog off of my shirt and returned it to its little white boat. “Oh, uh, thanks I guess. Or sorry, I mean.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat before extending his hand again. “Is there anything I could do to… help?” His eyes scanned me again as if he were sizing me up, making me even more self-aware of the awful state I was in. 

“Bathroom,” I blurted out as my mind caught up, barely able to rip my eyes from his biceps. He stitched his eyebrows together, back to confusion again, though I didn’t give him any time to ask questions before I all but snatched his hand and he hoisted me up. 

“Nice to meet you, Bathroom. I’m Chris,” he said with a smirk, teasingly shaking my hand. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” He tried to subdue a laugh, but the playful look in his deep blue eyes betrayed him as he reached to brush off my shoulder.

“Very funny,” I shot back with an exaggerated roll of my eyes, betting my smile gave me away. “As in Evans, right? You look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.”

He played with the sunglasses tucked into his shirt’s collar, probably wishing he’d kept them on for the sake of a disguise. Chris only shrugged, claiming he would neither confirm nor deny. I didn’t need him to though, I’d been stuck watching Marvel movies with my brothers long enough to recognize those cheekbones anywhere. “I’m more of an Iron Man fan anyway,” I tried to emphasize my nonchalance in the hopes that I wouldn’t scare him off. “What I meant was I need help finding the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah. Just passed one over there I think…” Chris trailed off as his eyes swept over the stadium, looking with much more of a level-head than I could. He found one almost immediately and laced his fingers between mine so it was more like we were holding hands. In a silly school-girl kind of way it made my cheeks flush, which was awfully embarrassing that, given my condition, holding hands with a cute boy was what had turned me into a tomato. Then he tugged me in the direction he came from and I wasn’t in the position to protest.

There was only so much I could do with thin paper towels, lukewarm water, empty soap dispensers, and a tide stick from a kind woman who took pity on me. Still, I spent a while scrubbing at the mustard and ketchup stains and wringing my stringy hair over the sink. It was long enough that I was more than surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall coolly. One foot was pressed against the wall and his arms were crossed over his chest while he whistled a tune.

���Is that The Little Mermaid?” I asked with a wrinkled nose, sounding more dumbfounded to hear this burly, bearded, lumberjack-looking man all but belting out Under the Sea than I was to see he’d been waiting for me.

Chris only shrugged, a crooked grin softening his features. 

“Is that a problem?” He cocked an eyebrow and flexed his arms as he crossed them as if to challenge me. But there was this twinkle in his eye that betrayed his demeanor so all I did was shake my head. I tucked some hair behind my ear as I glanced back at Chris, who looked far too satisfied with himself as he said, “Good thing since I owe you some ice cream.”

Chris started walking away, taking quick steps so long I had to take two for each of his to keep up. I called his name but he ignored me until I grabbed his hand to get his attention, which it certainly did as he squeaked to a halt. He squeezed mine before letting it go, looking at me curiously. 

I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was going to say until it was already tumbling out of my mouth. “If anything I owe you a hotdog,” I muttered, avoiding his stare. Not that I was uncomfortable waltzing off with a stranger in the limelight, which I totally was. Not that my coworkers were waiting for me and would never believe I’d been getting ice cream with Chris Evans, which was also true. Not any of the totally valid reasons to feel a little funny about this whole thing. Instead, I insisted on buying a hotdog for a guy I was sure had more cash sitting in his bank account than I’d ever see. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lunch had it coming,” Chris insisted with a swipe of his hand, playfully brushing me off. “Your shirt, however, did not deserve that stain.” His pointed finger dropped to the orangey Rorschach test permanently painted just below my chest, getting a laugh from me. 

“Here,” Chris said as he untied the hoodie around his waist. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering to his stomach, where his shirt lifted a little higher than it should’ve been allowed, revealing the curve of his chiseled hips and the beginnings of a fuzzy trail dipping below his belt. “Take this to cover that up.” He handed me his sweater covered in pet hair and I slipped it on immediately, hoping it would hide my wild blush for a few seconds at least until I popped out the other side. It smelled like a dog had been curled up to it coupled with an intoxicating cologne I didn’t recognize and crisp air right before it rained.

I thanked him but Chris shrugged and puffed out his bottom lip before resuming his long strides to the concession stand, tugging me behind like luggage. “Plus, the game is already over. I don’t have to watch my boys actually lose. Maybe if you’d been a Yankees fan, I could’ve excused the whole sweeping you off your feet thing... but come to think of it you aren’t repping the Red Sox either.” He side-eyed me suspiciously without pausing until he nearly hit someone else’s back. 

“That’s an awfully nice way to put sending me tumbling to the concrete,” I scoffed, skidding to a stop at Chris’s side in line. “And sports culture is just misplaced nationalism if you ask me.” I crossed my arms to emphasize my point when I was met with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw. 

“Then what are you doing here exactly?” He asked, keeping one eyebrow perched a little higher than the other. There was something about the way he smiled at me, all genuine and gentle, and this look in his wide eyes. Whatever it was, I felt like I could tell him everything. So I did.

“All I wanted to do was sit in the sun,” I started, completely aware of how much I sounded like a toddler who missed her nap as I launched off into everything as if he’d been the one pulling up to watch my origin story with popcorn in hand. I told him about how much I missed California and how I felt like I hadn’t met anyone here who got me the way my friends did back home. And how much I loved the work I was doing, the way the end of every day left me feeling complete until I left the office, and how I didn’t think I could survive another Nor’easter for it. I spilled my guts along with the can of worms Chris didn’t mean to open as the concession line grew shorter until we were at the front. 

He ordered chocolate and vanilla cones, giving me the choice between the two once they were handed over so I thanked him.  We walked around the stadium for a while, bumping hips on occasion and crunching on our cones while we chatted about anything and everything except what I’d said earlier. That was until Chris suddenly stopped to sit on a bench, grabbing my hand to take me down with him. He cleared his throat before speaking with more of a serious air to him so I knew to brace myself for what was coming. 

“You’re young, yeah?” he asked, shoving his napkins into a nearby bin. I nodded as I sucked what I could out of the bottom of my cone, though I felt like I’d done a lot of growing up lately. “You’ve got a lot of time to figure these things out. Trust me, I know California is nice, but there’s a reason why I keep coming back to Boston.”

I thought about what he’d said for a beat or two, but I’ll be honest, it was difficult sitting next to him. It was awfully cold with the sun tucked far behind the clouds all day so I was grateful that Chris was so warm. Even his hoodie retained his heat, although I still curled up a little deeper into his side than I might’ve if he wasn’t a human radiator. “Mind telling me why?” I asked, popping the last of my ice cream into my mouth.

He shook his head as he said, “Sure, oh man. So many reasons…” I watched as his blue eyes rose as if he could see the sky through the stadium ceiling, the corner of his jaw flexing as it clenched and relaxed as he thought about it. “Other than my family being in Mass, there’s always something to do. We’ve got the best museums and such a rich history, if that’s your sort of thing,” he paused to scratch his beard as he thought a little more. 

His blue eyes nearly popped out of his head as another thing occurred to him. “The culture is something else. There’s something really special about a middle finger being a sign of affection to some poor sap giving tours in colonial clothing and everyone joining in to sing Sweet Caroline on the T on the way home from a game,” Chris continued with animated, sweeping waves of his arms, talking with a kind of passion for a town I couldn’t imagine having in my heart. He shook his head as he added, “And the food is great, too. I mean, where else do they have a whole word for cod that isn’t really cod?”

I laughed from the bottom of my stomach, where I expected a heavy pit of anxiety to be sitting at the beginning of a conversation like this. My homesickness and unhappiness here wasn’t something that I told anyone before out of fear of disappointing someone or being unable to admit my failure out loud. Chris was easy to talk to, more than a stranger usually was. Their judgment never really mattered to me, knowing that I’d probably never see them again. It wasn’t like that with him though, it was easier than that. I felt like he didn’t really judge me at all. He only tried to understand, help, and make me smile while he was at it. And I couldn’t deny a part of my heart that hoped I’d see Chris again. Not only again, but a lot.

“The people aren’t too bad either,” he smiled sheepishly, bumping our shoulders together and looking at me through his dark eyelashes in a way that made me feel like the only person here. As if I was the only one he was talking about. Chris took a deep breath that puffed up his chest, one he didn’t release until after his arm was comfortably slung over my shoulders. “Just give the city a shot, I think it’ll surprise you.”

I wanted to tell him it already had, really he had, but instead, I laughed dryly and said, “Hell, this city makes me feel like I need a shot.” I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder as it shook with his chuckle, looking up at him to see how he rolled his eyes even though they were scrunched by his smile. 

“Know what?” he said like he was asking himself with a deep, shaky breath. He shot up from the bench as if he’d been shocked. I obviously didn’t know Chris well, but even I could tell he was nervous as he rubbed his palms dry on his jeans. “Let’s go get a drink then, instill a little Boston pride in you. There’s this great pub down a couple blocks with live music and everything. I mean, if you want to…?” He scratched the back of his head with one hand and extended the other to me with his offer. 

When I grabbed it, Chris broke out into a grin that made my stomach feel like I was on a rollercoaster. “I’d love to,” I said with a smile that barely held a flame to his. Neither of us made an effort to let go so Chris tugged me toward Fenway’s exit. As we left, I heard tens of thousands of Red Sox fans sigh like deflated balloons before the screams of just as many obscenities broke out. Probably another point for their opponents, but it certainly didn’t make me feel like I’d hit anything short of a home run.

Tags: @patzammit​ , @thegetawaywriter​ , @coffeebooksandfandom​ , @captainsteveevans​ , @intrepidandabitcrazy​ , @super100012​ , @spilledinkindumpster​

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[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: PG Warnings: Swearing, Homelessness,  Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now) Characters: Tony Stark, Thor(Marvel), Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Managerial Differences

Summary:  As it becomes clearer that your immediate superior hates you, and clearer that Tony needs to put someone somewhere else, you get caught up in things that are way above your paygrade.

“Mr. Stark!”

“And now I gotta deal with this.” He muttered, closing a holo-screen and whirling in his rolling stool to face her. “Florence! Surprised to see you. Isn't there somebody else to see to whatever problem you have?”

“It has to do with that new hire, Whom you forced on us. Since it has to do with her, I bring it to you.”

“Hey, do I pay you for sass?”

“No, you pay me because I am the best at what I do. I mean to continue doing it.” She slapped a paper down in front of him.

“I don't like being handed-”

“That's why I didn't.” She tapped the paper. It was an application. “She has falsified information. Look.”

He looked. He couldn't help it. Florence reminded him altogether too much of one of his old nannies. He could never disobey that woman either.

On the application, next to Secondary Gender, you had scrawled not the usual α, β, or Ω, but a θ instead.

“Maybe...it's a sloppy Beta? Like just a really sloppy B?”

“Except she writes a perfectly legible B later on. Also, this address is false. No one lives there, it's a storage center. I wouldn't put money on that phone number being legit either. On top of that-” She said, cutting Tony off. “I have caught her filching food from the employee cafeteria.”

“Oh yeah? What did she take?”

“Creamers, jelly, crackers, and salad dressing packets.”

“So...all the stuff we offer for free?”

“With purchase of something else.” Florence sniffed. “Also, I caught these this morning.”

She held her phone out, showing slightly blurry pictures of a person who might be you climbing out of the dumpster behind the building.

“Okay, that doesn't necessarily prove anything.”

“And I've caught her sleeping around the building.”

“On the clock?”

“On breaks, and sometimes before her shift.”

“So, not on the clock.”

“Sir, she is breaking the law!”

“Well, so did you when you took that picture without her consent. I don't tolerate spying on my employees.”

“Sir!”

“What's the real problem here, Florence? That she's homeless? Don't we want them to go get jobs? Then suddenly she's got one, and you're like, no not like that?”

“I just don't understand why you are rewarding a stranger for breaking the rules. Indecent exposure in the bathroom, and you give her a job. Lying on her application, and you defend her. You don't even know this girl, you don't know why she was on the street, what warrants might be out for her, what problems she might have, what havoc she might cause. That nonsense symbol on her gender identification alone shows she's not taking this seriously!”

“Theta.” He murmured.

“Pardon?”

“It's not nonsense, it's a Theta. It's just another letter. We use it in mathematics all the time; it means there's an angle.”

“Is she trying to tell us she's crooked?” Florence demanded.

“She's probably just a Beta who thinks secondary gender inquiries are an invasion of privacy. It's all the rage among the young people these days. In any case, just keep her on for a week or two. If she's gonna wash out, you'll know by then. It'll give you the chance to do a few more interviews. You're still looking for extra help, right? You've got permission, go on ahead and do it. Two, three more people.”

“Well...Alright.” Florence said, mollified. “Thank you sir.”

“You know I got your back. But we gotta shake things up every now and then, keep things fresh. Get in people from all walks of life, keep in touch with the pulse of society, all that. Now run along, dear. You've got a ship to keep shape, don't you?”

“That I do, sir.” Florence left, forgetting the application behind her. Tony held the paper up, examining it. Fake address for sure, and likely the number was for a burner phone. Age, education, and work history looked legit. There was a year and a half gap between your last job and this one: it probably marked the amount of time you'd been on the streets.

A Theta symbol. Why that, specifically?

“You're not too fond of Florence, are you?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked.

Tony shrugged. “Not really, but she's damn good at her job. That's all I really need from her. Would you do me a favor and look up gender expressions pertaining to Theta? There's a lot of new terminology I need to get caught up with. This might be one of them.”

                                                                                  *****

You sneaked another sugar packet from the ground floor coffee shop, fully aware that the amused barista was watching, and didn't care in the slightest.

You sprinkled a tiny bit into a little container of coffee creamer, then knocked the whole thing back like some kind of shot.

Everybody knew now that you worked here, and if they speculated about your bizarre eating habits, none of them said anything to you about it.

As long as you didn't break any rules, nobody seemed to care.

Fine by you. Even though they were small, simple snacks; salad crackers with tiny packets of jelly, butter, and salad dressing, sugar, salt and pepper packs, creamers, ketchups, mustards, and mayonaise, these were quick and easy sources of calories that hadn't been readily available to you before.

Having a fresh uniform each day was kind of amazing. Florence insisted that all uniforms be cleaned and disinfected properly, which meant they all got left behind at the end of the day, and were clean by morning. It had the added bonus of no one seeing you wearing a Stark-affiliated uniform while you were sleeping on the fire escape, or hanging around near the dumpsters outside

You weren't exactly friends with the baristas here, you never even talked, but ever since you had run a creeper out of the shop by being generally stinky and unpleasant to be around, they had started disposing of their expired muffins and cookies by wrapping them in wax papers or bags. Their boss hadn't caught on yet, but you were deeply grateful to them for every bite you salvaged from the trash.

Soon you would get your first paycheck, and then you could buy a decent meal. You'd been planning and dreaming of what it would be. Steak and potatoes? An omelet? Maybe just a regular old hamburger and Coke?

It might be the only paycheck you saw from Stark Industries though. You'd overheard Florence and Khalil talking, and she was determined to be rid of you. Khalil didn't really seem to agree, but he had kids at home, and probably couldn't afford to argue.

It didn't matter. Even if it was less than a week, you could put Stark Industries on your resume forever now. That would get you in the door. Janitorial training was a pretty good skill too. Every business needed cleaning staff, no exceptions.

Things were really looking up for you.

No one had even called you on all the weird stuff you'd put on your application.

You hadn't lied, exactly. Not exactly. Sure, you didn't live permanently at the address you'd provided, but you did sleep there sometimes. And you had gone to the school you named...before your parents completely succumbed to their paranoia and pulled you for homeschooling. The hadn't wanted public educators to fill your head with 'propaganda'.

And that was your phone number, though you'd have to buy some minutes when you got paid.

It was all at least semi-true.

Even the Theta was a symbol you had picked up off the internet, when researching what was wrong with you.

You tossed back another sugared creamer.

Having a routine again felt good. It had been over a year, but you slipped back into civilization pretty easily. You were so lucky. You always told yourself that.

Yeah, even if Florence gave you the boot, you still had options. This chapter in your life might soon be coming to an end.

Soon. You just had to wait, and work.

                                                                                                                                                    *****

Tony looked over the long, primly written list with amused disbelief.

“Is this...Is he serious?” He asked Thor. “I literally cannot tell when he is being serious, and when he is trolling me.”

“Welcome to the last thousand years of my life.” Thor said dryly, taking the list from Tony, and skimming over it. He held his hand out for a pen, and when Tony handed him one, he began crossing things off of the list.

“No...No...Absolutely not...Oh, he just put that one in there to annoy me...” Thor handed the list back. “But for the most part, yes. He is serious. Whatever else he may be-” He paused at Tony's muttering of 'war criminal' then forged on. “He is still the Crown Prince of Asgard, and the true King of Jotunheim. He is entitled to certain amenities. And then there is his...condition to think about.”

“Crown Prince of-no offense-a set of postage stamp sized fishing villages in Nova Scotia, and true King of a planet so far away that they can't even reach us to take him back. What exactly does he think he's entitled to on an enemy planet? He's here for punishment, right?”

“He's here for rehabilitation. And so that we can try to winkle out the information that we need. The goal is that he comes back to one of Asgard's 'postage stamp' villages eventually. But that man is still out there, and it's altogether too likely that he will make his way here. We're going to have to indulge my brother a bit, if we are to get information about it. Besides, he has proven himself a hero already, and suffered for it. He has earned a bit of leniency.”

“So you say, your majesty, but...” Tony scanned the revised list. “...I think I can provide most of this. But...servants? We don't really do that around here.”

“He will need assistance. And Loki has never been unduly cruel to servants who had done nothing to trouble him.”

“Okay, but what do you mean by 'trouble'? I mean, I have a few people in mind, but they all live here, and might not be instantly comfortable around him. Is he gonna whip someone over dropping a plate, or folding a cape wrong?”

“He is in no position to do so. And he never went so far back home, so I honestly doubt he would do so here. He knows full well the effect he has on the people of this world.”

“Anger and terror?”

“Pretty much.”

“Look. I'm not going to send him a servant. He'll get a maid, and nothing more. If he drives them off, he won't get a replacement. One chance. I'm not putting people at risk for his whims.”

“I couldn't ask for better than that. But time is of the essence my friend.”

“I better get some royal kickbacks for this.” Tony grumbled.

“I'll send you some Asgardian postage stamps.” Thor joked, leaving the lab.

Tony turned back to his desk, pulling up his holographic display. A short list of Greek letters that he'd been learning about popped back up.

“Okay, Theta.” He said. “Time to show me what you're worth.”

                                                                                *****

The fight started out as an accusation of theft. Florence had caught you with an Iron Muffin-a specialty of the ground floor coffee shop-which you had filched from the dumpster that morning. You'd tried to claim that you'd bought it, but then she'd demanded to see your receipt, and it had just escalated from there.

You were two words away from just quitting then and there, mostly so that she couldn't fire you, when Tony Stark had reached out of the elevator behind you, yanked you into it, waved goodbye to Florence, and shut the doors. As the elevator began to rise, you wiped a few angry tears out of your eyes, embarrassed that he had seen that.

You seemed altogether too prone to show this man your worst sides.

“I'm sorry sir.” You said. “Florence and I don't really get along.”

“She needs to be challenged sometimes. However, I am perfectly able to sass her myself, and I can't have disruption in the janitorial team. Can you imagine the uproar if the floors didn't get waxed properly at night?

Anyway, I thought we might chat about some of the information on your application.”

You were screwed. Could you be arrested for lying on an application?

“Oh geez. I'm sorry about that, but-”

“Yeah, I know. You have to write down an address, but you don't really have one, do you? But you can't leave it blank, so you improvise. I looked you up though. Your family seems to have a history of...shall we call them 'rebellious acts'?”

You hung your head. Fuck. He knew about that too.

“I'm not like them.” You muttered. “I'm not that stupid.”

“Sure hope not. Anyway, wanna tell me what a Theta is? Like, in your words.”

“You won't believe me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Nobody does.”

“I can fly. I've been finding things easier to believe since then.”

Well, that was fair. He was Iron Man. He'd been involved with aliens, and killer robots, and terrorists. Why would this be too weird?

“It's kinda like a Beta, but I have an Omega's sense of smell.”

“And Alpha's pheremones don't effect you. Right?”

“R-right...” How did he-?

“You presented me with a conundrum, and I couldn't leave it alone. I needed to find out what you meant, but it wasn't exactly easy. I had to get on tumblr to figure this out. I had to learn what a demi-omega was, to figure this out. I never thought I was out of touch, but damn if you young-uns haven't come up with some creative new lingo.”

“It's just that the world is more complex than a mark on a paper.” You said.

“Don't I know it!” He laughed. “But that's not too bad, is it? Not being overpowered by Alphas? Sounds nice.”

“It's not so bad, but most people think there's something wrong with me. It's not just the Alpha pheremones, I just don't feel-wait a minute, where are we going?”

The elevator had passed the labs, far above the highest floor you were supposed to be allowed to access.

“We're headed to the residential area. Me and Pep aren't the only ones who live up on the top floors. Top dozen or so are basically penthouses, though they aren't all consistently occupied these days.”

You remembered watching footage on the news of a fight at an airport. Avenger versus Avenger. It was terrible; both you and your old roommate had cried a little. It was an awful thing, watching your heroes come apart.

You were kind of glad you didn't have any superpowers or anything like that. You wouldn't want to be at the beck and call of any government, much less more than one. It was something you had actually agreed with your parents on.

“Why are we going up there? I'm not supposed to be here.”

“You're with me kid; you can be anywhere. And anyway, the best way to keep cats from fighting is to separate them. So, from now on, you are a maid.”

“A maid? I don't know how to be a maid, I just started being a janitor!” You protested, then told yourself to shut your trap and not argue with the boss for not firing you.

Tony shrugged. “What's different about being a maid? You still clean stuff, only it's a home instead of a museum. You might need to cook something every now and then. Can you cook?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Not gonna lie; it's not a walk in the park. But it comes with a pay upgrade, and an apartment off the penthouse, so that's two of your problems solved.”

Suspicion began creeping in. This was all way to good to be true.

“Why me? You have to know that I'm not as qualified as the other janitors. What's the catch?”

“Well, the catch-” The elevator dinged. “Oh, look! We're here!”

The elevator doors opened. Standing right in front of them, in horned helmet and armor, stood Loki, the destroyer of New York.

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 4: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Lucifer is an asshole, and Sam is worried.

Editor: @cherrypierowena

Bollocks!

As if it wasn't bad enough that she was stuck having to tutor you this entire semester — you and your little gang just had to be at Biggerson's.

Some bloody luck she had.

Poor Sam. The lad deserved better than to be stuck with the likes of you and Lucifer's awkward brother. Not to mention her own brother. Fergus was the lowest of the low. What made Sam want to hang out with him, she didn't know. It certainly wasn't his personality.

"It's our bros," Lucifer said snidely while they waited for their orders to arrive.

"We're so bloody lucky," Rowena deadpanned.

He snickered. "It's like a family reunion."

"Ugh."

Hell to the no.

She resented every cell, every drop of blood, every atom she shared with Fergus. If there was a way to sever familial ties with him, to stop being related to him, she would do it. She would jump at the chance.

Sadly, all she could do was pretend he wasn't there and make snarky commentary. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something.

The server brought their orders over; Rowena's sandwich and iced tea, and Lucifer's disgusting greasy burger with mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, and a few other things she didn't recognize and Coca Cola. She didn't like to admit it, but the boy was a pig. Even worse than Dean Winchester. Sometimes she wondered why she was dating him.

Which was stupid, because she knew why.

She needed him.

His horrible sides she just had to deal with.

Nothing in life was free.

"So," Lucifer said, taking a huge bite out of the abomination that was his burger. Red and yellow smears circled his mouth. "You really agreed to tutor Y/N?"

God. Not even Gavin, Rowena's five-year-old brother, ate that messily.

She was dating a toddler.

"I was basically forced into it," she said, shuddering at the memory. Why did Mr. Shurley have to do that to her? She thought he liked her.

He made her tea — bloody good tea — every time she came to visit Lucifer. Was nice to her. Never talked down to her.

Only to pull this nonsense.

It wasn't fair.

She didn't want to tutor you.

She didn't want anything to do with you or anyone else from your little gang. Aside from Sam, who, unlike the rest of you, wasn't a loser.

"Your father's an arsehole."

Lucifer snickered. "Told you so."

He did. Plenty of times. And every time she shook it off, said she thought he was nice.

Biggest mistake of her life.

Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Lucifer asked, "You gonna do it?"

"I have to, don't I?" Rowena responded, helpless, dejected. Pathetic.

She'd said yes. Had signed a verbal contract. There was no getting out of it now.

He snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Which it kind of was.

If someone had told her a week ago she would agree to tutor a loser girl, she would have thought them mental. And said so to their face in far less nicer words.

"It's not funny!" she hissed.

"It's hilarious," Lucifer countered, grinning like the arsehole he was. She sure knew how to pick them. "You're not gonna get anywhere with her. She's dumb as a stump."

"Don't you think I know that?"

She would be wasting her time, and for what? A barely solid D? If you even got that. Any future F of yours was on her. If you failed, in the eyes of Mr. Shurley and Ms. Hanscum, she failed as well.

The dumb were incurable, but she doubted they cared about that.

She was expected to perform a miracle. All for a clean record and extra credit.

Some would call it a fair exchange.

Rowena called it nonsense.

"You're smart, babe," Lucifer said, nodding, "but not that smart."

"Thank you," she said sarcastically.

What a supportive boyfriend he was.

"Y/N's a moron. I heard she almost failed math two times."

You failed two whole years, Rowena wanted to say, but she elected to keep the retort to herself. She didn't want to look as if she were defending you. Even if it was true.

When it came to school, Lucifer was a tool. But what he lacked in brains he made up for in brawn. Evened things up a tad.

"She was close to it Freshman year, as well," Rowena added.

"My, you won the lottery with that one!" Lucifer laughed.

She groaned. "Thanks to your father."

"Like I said, told you so."

One thing was for sure — she didn't find Charles Shurley cool anymore.

With a father like that, no wonder Lucifer was a bastard.

"You should teach her wrong. Make her fail every test," he said, beaming as if he'd just come up with a cure for cancer.

Rowena was mortified. "Do you want my record to get worse?"

He chuckled as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "You're taking this way too seriously." His tone was nonchalant, like he was talking about the weather. "You got a few smudges on your record — so what? Look at me!"

Aye, look at him. Look at his grades. And his attendance. And his behavior. The way things were going, he wasn't going to graduate — again. One more slip and he might get kicked out. Not even his father could get him out of that one.

It was easy for someone like him to judge someone like her.

"Who cares about college?" he added.

"I care!" she snapped. She bloody cared. She cared about her future, which she hoped would take her far, far away from this blasted town. Lucifer could always count on his father to have his back with money. She wasn't so lucky. Her mother barely made ends meet on her minimum wage job. "Not all of us have a daddy with money to take advantage of!"

She knew she'd made a mistake as soon as the words spilled out.

Lucifer glared at her with murder in his eyes. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, tight as rope. Dug into her sensitive flesh. Nails bit crescent marks into her skin.

Rowena returned the glare, hers just as deadly, just as threatening. Fear shimmered under the surface; she willed it back, begged it not to show. She could handle this. She always did.

"Watch your pretty mouth, Rowena," he hissed.

Hit a nerve, did she?

One of her most impressive talents.

"Let go of me," she hissed back. He couldn't grab her like that in public. What if someone saw?

He stared at her for a long moment, let his threat sink in. Then he released her, and clasped his hand over hers softly, gently, as if nothing bad had ever happened. As if he hadn't grabbed her so hard bruises had already started to blossom over her wrist.

There was a time she was terrified of this side of him. Now, after many months, she just accepted it. It was who he was. A part of him she couldn't change no matter how hard she tried. The only thing she could do was accept it.

So he got a bit rough with her from time to time.

He wasn't perfect. Neither was she.

What was she supposed to do? Leave him?

She'd worked so hard to get with him to do that.

A few bruises were nothing in comparison to what he gave her. To what being with him gave her.

Nothing in life was free.

A few moments passed in silence so uncomfortable it could be cut with a knife. Then Lucifer smiled and said in his sweetest, kindest tone, "You'll be a great tutor."

As if nothing had ever happened.

*****

Rowena's phone rang at exactly nine PM, startling her from her thoughts of boredom. Lucifer and Olivette had invited her out with them and their gang, but after the day she'd had, she didn't feel like being around people.

People were a bother.

Even her friends and boyfriend.

They were, dare she say, an even worse nuisance.

One she'd chosen, but still. She couldn't deal with them. Didn't want to deal with them.

Let them get blackout drunk and make absolute fools of themselves without her.

Seeing Sam's name on the screen brought a smile to Rowena's face. He was her favourite friend. Her only true friend, if she dare say so. He liked her as she was. Treated her with nothing but kindness. Never talked down to her or acted as if she were lesser, as if she owed him something.

The lad was the definition of a best friend.

"Hey," she said in her happy tone she always uses to greet him. He deserved nothing less.

"Hey," he said back. "How come you're home? I thought for sure you'd be at Garth's party."

Garth was the only loser boy the popular kids tolerated, mostly because he often had the house to himself and happily let them party there. And sometimes supplied them with alcohol.

Rowena scrunched up her face in disgust. "No bloody way!"

She hated parties like that. People drinking like animals, and afterwards acting like animals… It was disgusting. Undignified.

Her idea of a party was something more classy, with suits and evening gowns and alcohol in reasonable amounts. Saying that out loud usually earned her raised eyebrows and mocking snickers, but those didn't bother her. After all, she wasn't the one drooling on the floor after shagging a couch thinking it was a person.

Sam laughed. "Figures."

Rowena let out a chuckle of her own. "Why'd you call me if you were so sure I was there?"

"Thought it was worth a try."

"Fair." She had to give him that. "I take it Dean's there."

"Mhm. Texted me a few minutes ago. I can't really make out what he was trying to say, but I'm pretty sure he'd just earned the title of keg master."

Of course he had.

"Impressive."

"Really impressive," Sam agreed through laughter.

"Seriously, though, what's with the call?" Rowena asked, clearing her throat. Usually she and Sam chatted. Quicker and more comfortable than phone calls.

"I, uh, wanted to ask how you're doing. With everything."

Her hand instinctively flew to her wrist, started rubbing it. The place Lucifer's fingers had stabbed into were raw, sore, light bruises already blooming.

She would have to hide them with makeup tomorrow before school.

Not a big deal, she told herself. She'd done it before. No one would notice — they never did. She was a professional.

"The whole tutoring thing," he clarified. "And Y/N."

"I'm… good."

Sort of.

"That's great." He was silent for a few moments, took a couple of breaths for courage, then said, "I know you two don't like each other, but it's gonna be fine. Y/N's not that bad."

It took everything in Rowena's power not to explode into laughter.

You were bad. You were a loser. A bum. The kind of girl who was perfectly content with her place at the bottom of the barrel.

She, on the other hand, had fought tooth and nail to never be there again.

She couldn't understand people like you. Happy in their misery. Lifting not a single finger to change it, to better your lives.

You disgusted her.

"I suppose we'll make it work," she said.

As long as you listened and did what she asked of you, it would work.

Sam sighed. "Can you give her a chance?"

No way in hell.

"Sam—"

"Please. She's not the best student, but she's smart. She just needs a chance."

She could picture him giving her the puppy eyes.

Bollocks!

"Fine." The word tasted foreign on her tongue. Foul somehow. "For you. But she'd better be on her best behaviour! I've no patience for slackers!"

"She will be," Sam said, relieved. Elated. "Thank you."

"Like I said, it's for you," Rowena said nonchalantly.

She didn't like you, not one bit. But for Sam, she could pretend. She could tolerate you. For a few measly hours she could forget about the school hierarchy and look at you like a person rather than a loser.

In theory, that was.

It shouldn't be hard, she told herself. After all, it wasn't like she loathed you. You were just an unappealing person, that was all. She could deal with that. Maybe. Sort of. Hopefully.

She did deal with Lucifer.

One loser girl shouldn't be a problem.

"Well, I appreciate it," Sam said.

She knew he did. Thing about him was, he was genuine. A good person. A good friend.

Rowena sometimes wondered what he was doing, being friends with her. What was it that he saw in someone like her?

You, she understood. You were a loser, but, as much as she hated to admit it, you stood for your principles. You were truly, unapologetically you, no matter what she or other popular kids thought. You believed in something.

Rowena wanted popularity. Wanted to be on top of the food chain. And she'd worked her hardest to get there, no matter how many people she had to put down on her way up.

She wasn't proud of it, but it got her where she was now. That she was proud of. Her hard work. Her dedication and effort and drive. Her aim that could, if she wanted so, reach the stars themselves.

People like you looked down on her for that. She didn't particularly care what you — any of you — thought, but…

Sam was one of you.

Technically.

His opinion mattered.

Strange as it was, he seemed to think highly of her. Highly enough to be her friend.

She couldn't comprehend what it was that he saw in her, but she hoped it was something good.

Because, the way things were, she needed someone to see the good in her.

She'd lost the ability to long ago.

*****

@werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne

[thepopatochispfren]

UT/UF/HT/MT Sans proposing to their s/o

UT SANS

Youalways stopped by to visit Sans at his hot dog stand during yourlunch break.  It was sort of like having a half-hour date every day,and you told him this at some point, making him giggle.  Giggle,and turn the prettiest shade of blue.  That was why it became anormal part of your routine.  And today was no different, though Sanswas fidgeting as you took your first bite into the hot dog heprepared for you.  You were a little concerned, but when you asked,Sans dismissed your concerns with a smile, so you dropped it.  Youtook another bite of the hot dog and nearly spit it out when yourteeth came in contact with something hard.  You reached into yourmouth, Sans’ eye lights locked onto you the entire time, and pulledout a ring.  You wiped it off with your sleeve, watching as itchanged from blue to yellow.

“Isthis a mood ring?”  you asked, cracking a grin.

Sanschuckled, though it sounded off – nervous.  He clicked hisfingertips together.  “sorta?  um, alphys helped me make it.  ithas my magic in it.”

Thatmade you look at it in an entirely different light.  You knew Sans’magic took on a blue hue, but the only time you’d seen the othercolor involving his magic was when he woke from night terrors, withhis left eye light flickering between blue and yellow.  Sans roundedthe hot dog cart so he was standing in front of you, taking the ringand holding your hand.

“uh,human customs are weird, but monster customs might confuse you,so…”  He dropped to a knee, sweat beading his skull and hischeeks flushing.  “i love you a bun-ch.” His eyes darted to the hot dog sitting in your other hand and yougave a surprised laugh, face burning.  “and i didn’t think i’d everget to this point with anyone.  but i have, with you, a-and…”

Hetrailed off as you set the hot dog aside, raising your hand to wipeyour wet eyes.  His eye lights turned to stars when he saw the grinstretching across your face.

“i’dreally like to share my life – and soul–with you.  wh-what do you say?”

Heslid the ring onto your finger and it was a little big, but as youwatched, it shrank that little bit it needed to to fit your fingersnugly.  He looked up at your hopefully and you beamed back.

“Howcould I say no?”

UFSANS

Sanshad been acting nervous all day.  Now that in itself wasn’t somethingunusual – with the life he lived Underground, paranoia was anoccasional symptom of the day, and you’d learned to work around it. But the kind of anxious behaviour he was exuding was just…different.  You found out why that evening, when Sans appeared beforeyou while you were reading a book on his couch.  When you glanced up,he was sweating heavily – again, nothing new, but something aboutit was making you worried.

“hey,sweetheart,” he started.  “d-do you wanna go stargazing with me?”

Youagreed, of course, and took Sans’ hand when he offered it.  You twotook a shortcut to the park – it was spacious, dotted with trees,and had a decent-sized lake that was usually pretty crowded in thesummers.  In fact, the lake was where Sans had taken you, and layingin front of it was a quilt you were pretty sure belonged to Toriel,and a picnic basket.

“Aw,Sans,” you cooed, “you could’ve told me it was a date.  Iwould’ve dressed for the occasion.”  You were clad in loosesweatpants, a simple t-shirt, and a pair of Sans’ slippers.

“it’sfine,” he said quickly.  “y-you look great in anythin’.”

Yourskelebae could be such a charmer.  Still hand-in-hand, you twosettled onto the blanket and enjoyed a simple meal of sandwiches. You even dared to take a swig out of his bottle of mustard, thoughyou had to wash it down with a cup of Sea Tea afterwards, Sanslaughing as you gagged.  You didn’t mind making a fool of yourself,though, because he looked so much more relaxed now.  Once you’dfinished with the food, you two laid back and watched the starstwinkle far above, occasionally passed over by wispy clouds.  It wasa nice night.

“Thisis nice,” you whispered.

“yeah,”Sans said just as softly, and when you glanced over, he was watchingyou, his eye lights forming hearts.  He sat up abruptly, and gentlypulled you upright as well.  “listen.  i, uh…”  He cleared histhroat, beginning to sweat again.  You squeezed his handsencouragingly and that seemed to bolster his confidence.  “i’vewanted to ask you for a while now…”  He released one of yourhands, digging into his jacket pocket.  He found whatever he waslooking for and pulled it out; when he uncurled his fingers, in thecenter of his palm sat a ring.  It was a simple silver band with aninscription in WingDings on it.  “sweetheart, will you marry me?”

Youwere speechless, and Sans was beginning to look like he might passout from nerves, but with the effort Sans put into the date, thestars shining down on you and reflecting on the still lake, and thelove you felt for him, what else could you say except, “Yes.” You laughed, tugging Sans close enough to bump your forehead againsthis.  “Yes!  Of course I’ll marry you!”

Sanslaughed, too, sounding very much relieved as he slumped against you,fumbling as he put the ring on you.  You spent the rest of the datehuddled close and swapping kisses.

HTSANS

Youpicked at your cuticles nervously as you stood in front of theskeleton brothers’ apartment.  You’d never had a problem before withjust walking in like you lived there too – you practically did, butyou kept your own home because you had three cats and the brothers’apartment building didn’t allow pets –, but your nerves weregetting the better of you.  You wiped your sweaty palms onto yourhoodie, taking a deep breath, and finally raised a hand to… knock? turn the doorknob? when it flew open suddenly, making you jump with ayelp.  Papyrus stood there, looking down at you with a confusedexpression.

“HUMAN. YOU’VE BEEN STANDING OUT THERE FOR ALMOST TWENTY MINUTES.  ARE YOUOKAY?”

Youblushed heavily – you hadn’t realized you’d been procrastinatingfor so long.  “Sorry, Paps.  Um, I was actually planning oninitiating, um… Code Love?”

Hiseyes widened, and you weren’t sure if you seeing things or not, butit looked like anime-esque sparkles were twinkling around him. “REALLY?  EXCELLENT!  TODAY HASN’T BEEN ONE OF SANS’ BEST DAYS. THIS IS JUST THE THING TO CHEER HIM UP!”

Youreyes widened when you heard your skelebae was having a ba d  d a y. “Um…  Maybe I should wait a bit longer…”

“NONSENSE! COME IN, I’LL GO GET THE LAZY BONES!”

Papyruswas practically dancing in place as he waited for you to step inside,and once the door was shut behind you, he took off for Sans’ room. You scraped at your cuticles again as you hovered by the door,wondering if you should just sneak away before Papyrus can get Sansout of bed.

“heykitten,” Sans drawled from behind you before you could decide toleave, hand landing on your shoulder and making you jump again.

Youwheezed, clutching your chest, and turned to him.  He looked tired,his eye light a bit smaller than normal, but otherwise he didn’t seemtoo under the weather.  “Hey, babe.  I heard you weren’t feelingwell today.  Are you alright?”

“fine,now that you’re here,” he said, grinning as you scoffed for lack ofa coherent answer, ears burning.  “paps said you wanted to talk tome about something?”

“Uh,y-yeah.  I wanted to take you out to lunch, if you’re hungry…?”

Hechuckled.  “i’m always hungry.”  Though his tone was light, youknew it was… partially true.  The hunger was psychological, ratherthan physical, but he never turned down food, and he never wasted it. “let me just tell paps-”

“NONEED, BROTHER!”  Now Papyrus was standing behind you, hands on hiships.  “GO ENJOY YOUR DATE!”

“'kay. see ya later, bro.”

Papyrusflashed you a thumbs up as you followed Sans out the door.  You andSans ended up at Grillby’s, because not only was it Sans’ favoritefood place, but you’d also had your first date there, and that madeit the perfect place for what you had planned.  You had a feelingthat Papyrus had called Grillby ahead of time, though, because whileSans wasn’t paying attention – telling jokes to the other patronsof the bar –, Grillby whispered a crackling, “good luck,” as hedelivered your food.

Afteryou and Sans had your fill, and he was beginning to work on hisketchup, you shifted in your seat so you had one knee under you –because you were too short to kneel on the floor for this and notlook ridiculous because of the bar stool heights.

“Sans.”

Hehummed, glancing over, then turning in his chair to face you. “what’s wrong?”  he asked, squeezing more ketchup into his mouth.

“Ilove you so, somuch.” He coughed, blue magic making his cheekbones glow.  “And I don’tknow how monsters would do this, but…”  You pulled the ring boxout of the hoodie pocket, opening it and holding it up to Sans withshaking hands.  His eye light had disappeared and ketchup wasdripping down his chin as he stared blankly.  Only Grillby’s discreetgesture out of Sans’ sight forced you to keep talking.  “I wouldn’twant to spend the rest of my life with anyone else, s-so, will youmarry me?”

“g-geez,”Sans stammered, skull beading with sweat.  “how long have you beenplanning this?”

Thatthrew you off a little, but you replied anyway, “Maybe a month?”

“iwanted to beat you to it, but i guess i hesitated too long,” hesighed, scratching the back of his skull, then reaching into hispocket to pull out a ring dotted with small jewels.  They were eachsoftly glowing the same color as your soul, pulsing in a rhythmsimilar to that of a heart beat, and when your breath caught, thelight flickered.

Youtwo made eye contact, then burst out laughing, the other patrons ofGrillby’s – who’d been watching with baited breath – cheered asyou exchanged rings.

MTSans (forthose who don’t know, Sans and Papyrus live in an abandonedwarehouse; the front half is a fake storage area, the back half istheir home; also, sorry this one is so rough.  I don’t know Mobtale too well)

“…andthen he pasta-way!”

Grillbysighed heavily as your audience – consisting of the other barpatrons – joined in your cackling.  You were enjoying your day offfrom work while your favorite skeleton brothers were busy, even ifyou could already hear the betrayed “Nyeeeh!”you’d receive from Papyrus when (not if, when)he discovered you’d taken to following in Sans’ steps in the masteryof pun-making.

“Thanksfor humoring me, guys!”  You slid off of your stool, dropping goldonto the counter, not because you ever drank in Grillby’s, butbecause you were “secretly” chipping away at Sans’seemingly-infinite tab for him.  “I better head out; got somegroceries to collect.”  As the crowd dispersed away from the barand back to their normal tables, you patted Grillby’s hand as he idlyscrubbed at a spot on the counter.  “If Sans stops by here, let himknow I went home?”  After the bartender nodded, you gave one lastwave to the other customers and left.

Yourshopping trip was pretty short – you bought more spaghetti to fuelPapyrus’ attempts of running a stand, some bread and hot dogs, asmall variety of fruits, and a few new flowers to replace the wiltingones in the kitchen.  The trip home was longer, as you double andtriple-checked to make sure you weren’t being followed.  You didn’thave to take the precaution when your boys were around, but it wasalways better to be too-cautious than not careful enough when youwere on your own.

Thewarehouse the boys called home seemed quiet as usual without Papyrus’energy, but when you entered the actual “house” portion of thebuilding, you immediately felt a presence when you should’ve beenalone.  Entering the kitchen, you nearly dropped your bags at thesight of blood smeared around the area where the hidden trapdoor was,and fainter streaks of red leading across the living room, behind thecouch.  You set your groceries onto the counter to worry about later,digging out a knife before slowly following the trail.  It endedbefore the bathroom door, which was only cracked open enough toreveal the lights on inside.  You could hear someone digging throughthe cabinet under the sink, and you held your breath as you preparedto shove the door open to catch the intruder by surprise.

“…babe?”

Sans’voice both made you nearly jump out of your skin and slump to thefloor in relief.  You could hold your own just fine, most of thetime, but you definitely felt better knowing you wouldn’t be dealingwith a foe who’d somehow found your home.  You tossed the knifetowards the couch, not wanting to startle Sans by having a weapon onyou, and nudged the door open enough to inch inside the smallbathroom.  Sans stood from the cabinet, setting the first aid kit inthe sink, and when he met your eyes in the mirror, you felt some ofyour concern melt away.

Sansdidn’t look like he was on the verge of death, despite what the messof blood had implied, but he’d definitely seen better days.  Bruisesdecorated his face, swelling (you weren’t quitesurehow that worked on bone except… magic?) already under way beneathhis eye socket, and some smears of marrow beneath his nose and grin. His clothes were rumpled and would have to be repaired in someplaces, though with all the blood stains, you weren’t sure if hisshirt would be salvageable; you’d have to ask Papyrus, it couldn’t betoo different from tomato sauce stains, right?  All you knew was thatSans was hurt, but the blood wasn’t his, for the most part, and thatwas a load off of your mind.

“mindpatching me up, doll?”

“OhSans,” you muttered in a playfully-scolding manner, guiding him tosit on the edge of the tub.  “What happened?”

“doesn’tmatter,” he replied, and though you pouted, you’d expected thatanswer; he and Papyrus never let you in on the details of theiroutings unless it was important or you took part in them.

Youlet Sans distract you with a story of a bar brawl he’d accidentallystarted when he first discovered Grillby’s as your cleaned up hisminor injuries, tsking and humming under your breath.  He had a fewmore bruises hidden under his shirt, which were quickly discoveredwhen you had him take it off so you could soak it in cold water untilPapyrus got home, and you ended your doctoring task by wrapping acouple of his fingers, which held spiderwebs cracks that would healin a few days as long as he didn’t aggravate them.  When youfinished, you kept hold of his hands in yours as you looked up athim, registering his sudden silence.  He squeezed your hands,permagrin wavering, and for just a moment, you swore you could see awisp of blue magic around his left eye light.

“…marry me.”

Thestatement came out of nowhere and you were struck soundless, staringat Sans with large eyes.  His grip on you tightened, as if he wasafraid that you would flee if he let go.

“sorry.” He sounded as uncharacteristically nervous as he looked.  “i mean,willyou marry me?  i know that there’s already some potential danger justbeing with me as we are, and i hadn’t planned this, so i don’t evenhave a ring, but… well, what do you say?”

Youchuckled breathlessly, pulling your hands from his.  His eye lightsflickered for a moment, before you wrapped your arms around him in ahug, careful of his wounds, resting your forehead against his bonyshoulder; his arms dropped to your waist in return.

“Idon’t care about the ‘dangers,’ Sans.  Of course I’ll marry you.”

Aloud, excited squeal suddenly erupted from the living room.  “OH MYGOODNESS!  BROTHER, YOU FINALLY DID IT!  AND THEY SAID YES!”

Sanschuckled, the sound traveling straight to your bones, and you laughedwith him as the other skeleton burst into the bathroom and scoopedyou both into a crushing hug.

[fantasticescapism]

Brothers in Everything but Blood - Chapter 1: Meeting Peter Parker

Summary:  Harley knew Peter Parker but they weren’t close, not yet at least. More like long-distance classmates? Fellow interns? Something like that. In an alternate universe, it may have been different. Maybe they could’ve been best friends, brothers even, but now that they’re only link was gone, Harley’s sure - as with most things in his life - this one’s gonna end as well.

Part 4 of the Never Truly Gone series

Also available at AO3.

Harley’s first impression of Peter Parker was of a perfect student, then again, he first heard of the guy from Tony Stark. It was in one of Tony’s frequent calls, around a month since Peter became Tony’s official intern.

“He’s really good. Awesome in robotics and mechanical engineering but definitely a genius in chemical engineering.” Tony sounded happy and excited. “I think you’ll like him.”

“If you say so, old man.” Harley was a bit distracted as he drew up a few schematics for one of the SI projects Tony assigned to him.

“Hey, I’m not old!” Harley snorted at Tony’s mock indignation.

“You saying that proved my point, old man.” He grinned as he made sure to emphasize the word ‘old’. “Next thing I know, Pew-pew Man’s got a cane.” Tony scoffed.

“Okay first, the suit in itself is a high-tech prosthesis. No cane needed.” Harley smirked as he pictured Tony’s narrowed eyes. “And second, stop calling it that.”

“What? Pew-pew Man?”

“Yeah, that.”

“The kids here like it, just like Iron Patriot.”

“Oh lordy!” Harley cackled at Tony. His mentor didn’t need to know that Harley introduced the nickname to the local kids and it stuck. “You’re a menace, Harley! I should’ve run the other way when I had the chance.”

“Oh please, you won’t get rid of me. We’re connected.” Tony chuckled at that.

“I guess you’re right.” Harley could hear the smile from Tony’s voice. “Okay, so when should I expect the schematics?”

“It should be done by tomorrow morning.”

“Kid, take your time. Don’t lose sleep for that. I don’t want to get another phone call from your mom complaining about your lack of sleep.”

“That was one time! And that’s rich coming from you!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I expect those two days from now. Not earlier, Keener.”

“Fine.”

“Then we’ll set a date for you to come to the compound so you could meet Peter.”

“Okay.” Harley’s a bit apprehensive and it seemed Tony sensed it.

“He’s a good kid, Harley. I know you’ll be good friends.”

“If you say so.” And that was that. Harley didn’t think more on that impending meeting. He thought Peter’s just some guy Tony found in some high school field trip in SI or something; just someone Tony knew and will be out of his hair after.

---

Boy, was he wrong. Peter’s like an… an… an overeager puppy. The abundance of positive friendly energy from him was overwhelming! He’s just so… genuine.

Tony, with a wide grin, introduced them to each other in his workshop; his arm around Peter’s shoulders as if to rein in the guy’s excitement.

“Harley, this is Peter. Peter, Harley.”

“Hi, I’m-I’m Peter.” Peter held out his hand for a handshake. “Mr. Stark’s been telling me a lot about you.”

“Really?” He looked at Tony with disbelief. Tony just smirked at him.

“Y-yeah. Like the time you helped him with Mark 42’s repairs-” Peter stepped closer and Harley knew Tony had been hyping him up to the guy.

“After I broke off one of its fingers-”

“Then designed the retroreflective panels for the quinjet-”

“For stealth mode-” Harley looked at Tony as if to ask where he found Peter but all he got was a fond smile as the man enjoyed the scene in front of him.

“The machines you designed and built for SI, they’re so cool!” Peter finished with a grin.

“Dude, I’m just a mechanic.” He patted Peter on his arm. “I just build stuff.”

“Awesome stuff!” Peter was genuinely at awe that it flattered Harley but, in true Harley style, he simply smirked and shrugged. He kinda felt bad that he knew next to nothing about Peter. He should’ve asked Tony more.

“Okay boys, gotta go for a bit. Pep’s been hounding me to go to this meeting for days.” Tony looked at them both with a stern glare and pointed. “Do not blow up the workshop. No dangerous machines or chemicals. No hacking of any government servers, I’m looking at you Harley.”

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.” Harley said as Peter looked at him with disbelief. “Besides, it’s your fault,” he smirked, “you’re the one who taught me how.” Peter’s wide eyes turned to Tony.

“Shut up! FRIDAY’s in charge. Got that baby girl?”

“Got it, boss.” FRIDAY’s amusement was evident in her voice.

“Okay, see you boys in two to three hours or so. Then, it’s movie marathon tonight.” Tony waved back as he walked towards the elevator.

“See you, Mr. Stark!”

“Yeah, yeah, just get out of here, Tony.” Tony raised his hand in a peace sign before he disappeared from view.

“Hey, you must be hungry.” Peter walked towards the pantry. “We should have enough for a sandwich here.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Harley started to follow but a sudden idea struck him like lightning that it stopped him in his tracks. Peter sent him a questioning look. “Peter, what if...”

---

Harley found that the best way to get to know a person was via working on a project. He got to know who the slackers, the opportunists, the cocky shits and the know-it-alls were in only a few hours of work. It didn’t take long for Peter to open up though. Apparently, Tony found him through the September Foundation grant application. Harley thought that was odd. The foundation doesn’t offer grants to high schoolers and Harley’s familiar with every program Tony and Pepper started. He shelved that info for later.

He’s delighted to find out that Peter’s a very fast learner. Not only that, Harley could really see that Peter’s eager to learn. He understood why Tony likes the guy. Even he liked the way Peter understood the concepts without overly explaining them. He wouldn’t admit it but working with Peter was kinda reminiscent of the times Harley taught his little sister some stuff, mostly for pranks. Damn, this guy triggered his big brother emotions.

“You okay there, Peter?”

“Yeah, almost done… There.” Peter wiped his brow with his sleeve, socket wrench in his hand. “That should do it.”

“Let me see.” As he expected, the work was perfect. “Awesome, let’s test this baby!”

“Umm…” Peter nervously picked on the socket wrench in his hand. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yeah.” Harley frowned a little. Was there something wrong with their work? “Why?”

“It’s just that- Won’t Mr. Stark get mad?” Oh. Harley chuckled.

“Nah! Don’t worry, I got you. Besides, this isn’t dangerous, right FRIDAY?”

“Yup. Potentially messy but definitely not dangerous.” FRIDAY answered.

“See?” Harley grinned. “You do have quick reflexes, right?” Peter nodded. “There you go. It’s gonna be fine. Alright, FRIDAY log ASM Mark 1.0 test 1.”

“Sure, Harley.”

---

It worked beautifully! Well, granted they had to make some adjustments here and there; also there were some unfortunate mishaps but it was awesome. Harley smiled as he bit his tuna fish sandwich. He’s sure Tony would-

“What in the-” Tony walked in the workshop, bewilderment plainly seen on his face. “Why is- is that a plate stuck on my wall?!” There was indeed a plate on a hole in the wall. The plate remained remarkably intact.

“H-hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter was beside Harley as he nervously waved at Tony, grilled cheese sandwich in his hand. “Sorry about the mess.” Tony visibly sighed and closed his eyes. A giggle was heard by the elevator and sure enough, Pepper was there.

“Tony, what do you expect? You introduced two genius kids to one another.” Pepper walked closer and carefully walked over spots of mustard, mayonnaise and slices of pickles on the floor. “Hi, kids.”

“Hey, Pepper!”

“Hi. Ms. Potts!”

“Okay honey, you got me there.” Tony must’ve finished with his round of cleansing breath. He was calmer when he turned to them. “Boys, what’s this?”

“It’s an automatic sandwich maker or ASM Mark 1.3.” Harley stood proud as he presented their joint creation.

“Three?!” Tony exclaimed.

“Yeah, umm.” Peter walked closer to the machine. “In the first version, the machine blew up-”

“Blew-blew up?” Tony looked like he’s gonna blow up himself.

“That explains the food everywhere.” Pepper looked around.

“Yeah and then after we fixed that, we thought it would be cool if the sandwiches come with plates but…” Peter said.

“But it came out too fast and too hard.” Harley pointed at the plate on the wall. “Projectile plate.” Tony facepalmed. “You guys got heavy duty plates!”

“Any of you hurt? Please tell me no one was in front of that thing when it happened.” Tony pleaded.

“Well…” Peter scratched the back of his head.

“This guy’s got crazy quick reflexes!” Harley playfully punched Peter’s arm.

“Didn’t I specifically say ‘no dangerous machines’?! FRIDAY?!”

“Peter does have quick reflexes and therefore not in danger. Besides, it only happened once.” FRIDAY cheekily answered.

“Did she just-” Tony sighed. “My children rallied against me. Oh god, is this karma? This is karma, isn’t?” Tony looked miserably at his fiance but Pepper just laughed.

“It seems so honey, but it’s okay. Now you know how I feel when you do crazy stuff. You’ll survive.” She smiled at him and rubbed his arm before she turned back towards the kids. “Is this version good then? Would you boys make me a sandwich?”

“Yeah, what do you want?” Harley walked closer to the machine and gently tapped the side. “This baby can make any sandwich. Well, depends on the available ingredients.”

“So far we got mustard, mayo, butter, ketchup,” Peter pointed at the containers on the machine, “tuna, pickles, cheese, ham, bacon, white bread and wheat bread.”

“Ham and cheese in wheat bread, please.”

“Alright, one ham and cheese in wheat bread sandwich coming right up.” Harley entered the order via a holo-screen and they all watched as the machine did its job. Harley was proud of the machine he made with Peter and when he looked at the guy, it seemed he was too.

“Wow,” Pepper was impressed when a plate of beautifully made sandwich was gently pushed out of the machine, “would you boys modify this so we can place it at the canteen at SI?”

Harley and Peter looked at each other, excitement in their eyes and twin smiles on their faces.

“You got it, Pepper!”

“Sure, Ms. Potts!”

“Okay but,” Tony interrupted, “you’ll only work on this when I’m here. You guys need supervision.”

“But we did fine!” Harley protested.

“Uh-uh, my workshop, my rules.”

“Fine.” Harley sighed.

“Got it, Peter?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Good, now,” Tony looked at the mess around the workshop, “clean this up then we’ll order pizza for movie night. Dum-E and U will help you out.”

As both boys retrieved the mops and rags from the closet, they listed the modifications and features they could add to the ASM. They had a lot of work to do but that only made visiting New York a lot more exciting. At the end of the day, Harley not only had fun, he also gained a new friend.

He cannot deny however that there’s still something unusual with Peter. The Stark Foundation grant? The crazy quick reflexes? At first he brushed it off but, the nagging feeling that something’s going on was still there. Ah well, he’ll find out sooner or later.