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dragonologist-phd · 5 years ago

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This My Blood, This My Bone

It’s been a while, but it’s Watcher Wednesday so here’s another prompt fill for @pillarspromptsweekly ! This one is for #48 Summoned, featuring my Watcher Miervaldis, and I’m just happy to have finally finished something for him.

Also on AO3!

The Watcher didn’t look as dead as he should.

There was a sick kind of humor in that, Eder thought. As he watched over Miervaldis’s body, Eder couldn’t help but be reminded of the cold morning in Gilded Vale when he’d first caught sight of the elf. He’d been a strange sight, all right, and honestly it was no wonder the other villagers didn’t trust him. He looked every bit the type of strange, unnatural foreigner that the duc had warned of.

He’d stood in the middle of the village, underneath the hanging tree. A man pale as snow, long silver hair half-hiding the vacant expression in his eyes as he stood, wreathed in mist, looking up at the swinging bodies. For a fleeting instant, even Eder had thought he was looking at a ghost.

But it was just Miervaldis. A strange guy, to be sure, but despite the whole ‘communing-with-the-dead’ thing, he was just as much a living kith as Eder himself. Or at least, he had been.

Now, Eder wasn’t so sure. After what happened at Caed Nua, Miervaldis should be well and truly dead. But for reasons Eder didn’t understand, his body was still intact, still breathing. At a simple glance, he could be sleeping. Only problem was that he wouldn’t wake up. The healers had tried everything, and now the only shot was to chase after Eothas and hope that proximity would trigger some sort of reaction in the Watcher’s soul. Eder didn’t know if it would work. At this point, there was nothing to do but try.

He kept watch over his friend. It was uneventful work up until the day Eder’s drifting thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gasp from the sleeping body. Miervaldis lurched forward, eyes wide open for the first time in days.

��You’re awake!” Eder exclaimed, shock and relief overtaking him for a moment. Miervaldis didn’t answer immediately. His hands went to his neck, then moved along his chest, searching for something. He moved to get out of the cot, but his legs were shaky and Eder had to reach out and steady him. “Easy there, Mierv, you’ve had a rough time of it. Eothas-”

“I know.” Miervaldis waved him away and staggered to the wardrobe at the foot of the cot. Eder had guessed what he was looking for, and wasn’t surprised when Miervaldis pulled his Berathian amulet from the drawers and held it tightly in his hands. The Watcher’s balance was still unsure as the boat rocked underfoot, but he relaxed slightly as he ran his fingers over the familiar token.

“How do you know?” Eder asked, although even as he posed the question he knew the answer was something to do with his Watcher state. Miervaldis didn’t immediately answer, and Eder forced a chuckle. “You been faking on us?”

Miervaldis didn’t respond to the joke, which was normal enough. What was strange was the way his eyes were still fixed on his amulet, and when he finally spoke his voice was a fervent whisper. “They told me. Eder, I saw them- this wasn’t just a vision, or like in Twin Elms, I was with them!”

Eder frowned. “With who?”

At last Miervaldis looked up from his amulet to smile at Eder, pale blue eyes now burning with conviction, and Eder realized who he meant the second before he whispered the answer.

“Berath.”

Aloth was still trying to decide whether he believed the new title Miervaldis had bestowed upon himself- although, to be fair, the Watcher claimed that it was not from him that the title came, but from his god.

The Herald of Berath. Was it any more fantastical than anything else that had happened to the Watcher? He had, after all, communed with the gods once already, something Aloth had witnessed firsthand. And then there was the fact that according to Eder, Miervaldis should by all rights be dead.

But a lot of things had happened that ‘should’ have killed Miervaldis. Why should this instance be divine? And as for the visions he claimed… well, Miervaldis had been claiming visions from Berath long before Caed Nua was destroyed, before he’d even become a Watcher.

So when it came to a matter of whether he had literally spoken with his god or whether this was another of his mystical notions…Aloth still couldn’t quite say. What he did know was that Miervaldis was capable and dedicated. He could only hope such qualities were enough to stop Eothas.

“What is our plan?” Aloth asked, approaching Miervaldis where he stood on the deck of the ship. Miervaldis leaned against the railing, gaze distant. His long white hair was tied into braids that stirred slightly in response to the ocean breeze.

“We go to Neketaka,” Miervaldis answered, not shifting his gaze away from the horizon. “Seek an audience with the queen so we can warn her of Eothas. Follow Eothas to the next adra pillar.”

“Right,” Aloth sighed. “Simple. How do we plan to gain an audience with the queen?” It was not the largest hole in the plan, but it was the most immediate. One problem at a time, Aloth thought to himself. He’d found that was the only way to deal with problems of ‘Watcher’ nature.

“If she is wise, she will heed our tidings and invite us in. If not,” Miervaldis shrugged. “We go in anyway.”

Aloth couldn’t exactly argue with that plan. He knew it would be pointless anyway; he had rarely seen Miervaldis be successfully persuaded from a course of action he’d already decided upon.

The dock workers at Neketaka did not know this. When The Windchime made port, Miervladis and his group disembarked only to be immediately blocked by a stubborn-looking amaua woman. Aloth watched the ensuing battle of wills between her and Miervaldis play out before him with equal parts amusement and trepidation.

What should have happened after the initial rebuttal was for Miervaldis to calmly and methodically chip away at the woman’s hostility. The man could be diplomatic when he wanted, strange though it seemed. But the debate and negotiations never came. Instead, after conversing with the woman for scarcely a minute, Miervaldis lifted his head up as if hearing someone call his name and muttered something too quiet for Aloth to hear.

And then a flash lit the docks, and the Watcher was surrounded by a vortex of swirling energy. Dock workers and crew alike leapt back in alarm, but Miervaldis didn’t move. He stared straight ahead, bathed in the dark purple light of whatever power possessed him.

Of all the acts Aloth had seen Miervaldis perform… there had been nothing like this. The wizard shuffled backwards almost against his own, anxious not to get caught within the range of the strange spiritual energy.

Then Miervaldis lifted his arms, and in another flash of light ghostly apparitions appeared one by one in a circle around him. Gods, Aloth thought as more spirits joined the circle. Is this what he sees all the time?

The spirits moved, hazily but undeniably there, toward the dock workers, who finally broke ranks and ran in terror. As soon as they were gone, the light began to fade, and the spirits with it, until it was only Miervaldis once more.

He blinked rapidly, the strange glow disappearing from his eyes, and then fell forward with a ragged breath. Eder rushed to catch him, Aloth close behind, and together they helped the Watcher back to his feet.

“That’s new,” Miervaldis said wryly once he’d regained his breath. Aloth couldn’t think of a response. His heart was still racing from the spectacle he’d witnessed.

One thing was for sure- he no longer doubted Miervaldis’s title as Herald of Berath.

Pallegina had never thought she would be traveling with the Watcher again. She’d also never thought Eothas would rise in the form of a giant adra statue, so her predictions of the future obviously didn’t count for much.

For his part, Miervaldis didn’t seem surprised to see her. He rarely seemed surprised by much at all. His odd mannerisms were nothing new or alarming for Pallegina. She had already heard the whispers amongst the crew, that their strange captain had been altered by his connection with the gods, but Pallegina knew better.

Miervaldis had always been odd, from the moment she’d met him in Defiance Bay. The religious ones always were. Miervaldis, Durance, Xoti… in Pallegina’s mind, it just went to show what devotion to the gods led to.

She wasn’t exactly impressed with his new claims. His new Herald title, his little show at the docks, the new powers he’d claimed were granted by Berath- it was all typical, fanatical Miervaldis, right down to the claim that he’d actually been brought back from the dead by his patron. It was enough to make Pallegina consider asking the ducs for a reassignment.

It had been different, back in the Dyrwood. Back then she and Miervaldis had at least been united in the desire to end the Hollowborn plague. Pallegina could ignore his devotion to the useless gods and get along with him well enough when they were both focused on other things.

But now? Now the gods were the only thing on Miervaldis’s mind. He’d been given a holy mission, and Pallegina was being dragged along with him.

Pallegina seemed to know what was going on, but Xoti certainly didn’t. One minute, they’d been on their way to Vailian Embassy. The next, her new Watcher friend was blank-faced and immobile.

“Uh… is he alright?” she asked, poking him softly in the side.

Pallegina nodded, arms crossed and fingers tapping impatiently. At long last, Miervaldis returned to the present moment with a jolt.

“Still speaking with spirits, I see,” Pallegina observed. Oh. Xoti had seen Miervaldis communicate with spirits before, but… there weren’t any spirits here. At least, none that her lantern could sense.

“Gods, this time,” Miervaldis answered, voice distant with distraction. Xoti’s eyes went wide at the statement- gods?- but Pallegina only huffed in annoyance.

“You should tell them to leave well enough alone. We have enough to do without dealing with their interference.”

“Pallegina!” Xoti interjected. “You shouldn’t say such things!”

“Its fine, Xoti,” Miervaldis said calmly, with the barest hint of a smile. “The gods are well aware of her feelings. For now, they choose to focus their ire on me.”

“You?” Pallegina sounded surprised. “You follow their every command. Why would the gods be unhappy with you?”

“I follow Berath’s commands,” Miervaldis corrected. “And their commands are to uphold order and balance. To maintain the natural cycle of the world. Some of the others want the opposite. Wael, Magran, Woedica… they do not like where my allegiance lies.” As he spoke, he fingered the amulet around his neck, the one upon which Berath’s doorway was engraved.

Xoti knew the Watcher shared a bond with Berath. She hadn’t known until now just how strong it was. She wanted to ask about it, but Pallegina spoke first.

“I do not understand why you continue to follow Berath at all. The gods will only ever know how to take. Even yours. You give them everything, and they repay you only with greater hardships.”

“I serve Berath for the same reason you continue to serve your Brotherhood, I suspect,” Miervaldis answered, with the tone of someone who’d had the same argument many times. “I believe in them.”

Pallegina scowled. She obviously didn’t care for the comparison. “The Brotherhood gave me a home. A life. Your god gives only death. You would serve them until death comes for you, as well?”

“Without death, there can’t be life,” Xoti interjected. “Like night and day. Sowing and reaping. One has to follow the other.” Pallegina glared at her, but Xoti just glared right back. She’d had plenty of people think she was wrong; one more didn’t hurt anything.

Miervaldis, however, nodded as if Xoti were speaking perfect sense. “Berath serves that balance. And I will serve Berath for as long as they wish. Until my death- and after, as it turns out.”

Pallegina narrowed her eyes but said no more, only stalking ahead down the road. Miervaldis watched her go, something like regret in his eyes. “She thinks I’m crazy. She’s always thought that, at least partially. Now she really believes it.”

Xoti didn’t know what to say to that. Truthfully, the Watcher intimidate her a bit- he was hard to read, hard to talk to. But now, he seemed like he could use some cheering up.

“Hey, being crazy ain’t so bad,” she said. “Trust me on that. It’s worth it if you’re following your calling, isn’t it?”

Miervaldis smiled- just a little, but the guy was so darn serious to begin with that Xoti counted it as a win. “Yes, yes it is.” He fingers closed around his amulet again, and when he spoke again his voice was certain. “And I’ll keep following it.”

#watcher miervaldis #miervaldis #hes hard to write but im happy with how it turned out #oh and its watcher wednesday #pillars prompts weekly #fic: miervaldis #ch: miervaldis

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impossible-rat-babies · 6 years ago

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Writing Snippet #40

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I’ve been sitting on this for weeks and I finally finished this out. I’ve wanted to write their first kiss for AGES and I’ve finally gotten something I’m happy with. Also just in time for Watcher Wednesday! Run by the wonderful @ariela-of-aedyr!

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Aoife silently ran his fingers along the edge of the book, the motion stinging a little as the pages cut along the growths on his knuckles. The gentle rock of the ship came with the smell of fish and the sea filtering in through the open windows. He bit his lip and his long tail snapped against the bed in frustration, trying to read the pages in front of him for the fifth time. But the image of the priestess in Tikawara kept coming back to him, the image of her glaring daggers at him like an uninvited guest in his head.

They still sat docked not far from the shore of the Huana settlement, sorting their cargo and charting their next course.

A knock on the door pulled him away again and he heaved a sigh, dog-earring the page.

“Come in...” He spoke with as much professionalism he could muster, which wasn’t much. Thankfully, it was only Aloth who silently poked his head in before stepping inside. He lightly closed the door behind him, foot idly tapping on the floor.

“Did you need something?” Aoife asked, setting aside his book. Ciara chittered, hoping from her perch to Aoife’s shoulder, looking anxiously at Aloth.

“May I sit?” He asked and Aoife gestured to the end of the bed. Silence passed between the pair as he sat, Aoife occasionally glancing to Aloth as he worked to put his thoughts into order. He saw the thoughts drifting around his head. Aloth was even too distracted to shoved Ciara off as she flitted to his shoulder, affectionately nibbling at his hair. His brow furrowed and relaxed many times, his mouth opening and closing. His hands clenched in his sash as he heaved a sigh.

“I wanted to say...I wanted to say that you...well, us, but mainly you since you the one who—“

“Aloth.” Aoife cut off his fretting with a hand on his shoulder and he slouched as a breath left his lungs. He gave him a grateful look, eyes shifting away. He stroked Ciara’s beak and she cheerfully chittered.

“I wanted to say...we had to make some difficult choices these past few days...In Tikawara, I mean.” He reminded and the memory soured in Aoife’s mind.

The Luminous Adra pillar had been saved and would be mined like any other outpost. The money would help Tikawara, but for how long? Would they be trampled upon as many had been before? Would they live as they all had hoped? The sinking feeling of having done both good and bad weighed in Aoife’s stomach.

“I am uncertain of what to say for my actions.” Aoife admitted and Aloth turned his head, ears twitching. He chewed his lip, pulling his hair around to his chest, tail returning to its fast paced fluttering rather than slow waving motions.

“I am uncertain if the adra will provide what Tikawara wants...or needs for that matter. Will it help them? Or will the Vallian influence leave them worse for wear in the end? When the adra runs out, what will happen? The Vallian’s aren’t going to stick around for charities sake.” Aoife babbled not unlike Aloth in his own moments of indecision. It was strange to hear it in his voice—Aloth rarely knew him to be one to not have an answer. He stroked the feather’s on Ciara’s neck, much to her enjoyment.

“But if you had destroyed the adra...” Aloth poised the question and Aoife sighed, Ciara chittering softly. Silence once again filled the space between them and Aloth scooted closer to him.

“Your turn to say I’m overthinking it?” Aoife chastised himself and a sympathetic smile crossed Aloth’s face.

“It’s obviously been bothering you.” Aloth replied and Aoife grumbled, squirming in place.

“I want that which is best, but it’s—“

“Hard when the truth is uncertain.” Aloth finished for him and Aoife chuckled.

“Back to finishing my sentences?” He inquired.

“Merely sharing a thought between us.” Aloth smiled again. “If it is any consolation,” he spoke, quietly taking Aoife’s hands in his own, “I do believe the choice you made will provide some prosperity for the people. If nothing else, they have proven resilient and can meet the challenges ahead. The Deadfire is far from an easy place for one to live, but they have made it this far. They will be strong enough on their own.” Aloth gave him a smile and Aoife returned it, ears still tipping slightly.

“I do believe that is the most amount of words I have heard you say in a long while, Aloth.” He spoke and the elf clicked his tongue.

“If only the others weren’t so keen to praddle on.” He implied more than one person aboard the ship and Aoife laughed.

“I’ll pass your glowing rapport onto Tekehu.” Aoife gave a cheeky grin and Aloth groaned, pulling his hands away from Aoife’s like some punishment for the joke.

“How easily you bounce back.” He noted, his voice not as grumpy as his words would lead one to believe, and Aoife shrugged.

“Good company reminds me that perhaps not all of my choices spell the end of the world. That I needn’t worry over every little thing.” He confessed and the tips of Aloth’s ears reddened.

“You’re too kind, Aoife.”

“I am not...!” He jokingly protested.

“As I recall you have changed little from the same man who offered help to anyone who needed it. Not to say it is wrong, however, but your welcoming hospitality does have its moments.” Aloth reminded him with a droning tone and Aoife was unable to hold back a snicker, waving his hand back and forth.

“I could be worse, you know. An ignorant doormat for one.” He kindly pointed out, waving a finger. Ciara sqwaked, jumping from Aloth’s shoulder back to Aoife, nuzzling his head.

“You are far too concerned with freedoms to be a doormat to anyone.” Aloth countered, raising a brow, arms folding across his chest. Trading quick witted barbs back and forth with Aoife was a staple despite how the Godlike possessed little humor beyond deadpan remarks.

“Is it being a doormat or be kindhearted?” Aoife wondered as the barbs kept going.

“I suspect it depends on how much you like someone.” Aloth replied.

“Then I would have to say your are the furtherst thing from allowing me to be a doormat to you.” Aoife gave him a smile and Aloth flushed red again, ears turning pink. “I mean it, Aloth.” His voice grew softer along with his expression “And I am not one to lie.”

“I know that, Ee. Just...you say things like that and they’re....” He held the word in his mouth, but couldn’t think to speak it.

“Embarrassing flattery?”

“Yes. And you know exactly about overt flattery.”

“That it will get you everywhere?” He teased and Aloth gave him a look akin to a punch in the arm for the cheekiness. It was a worse look that if he had given him a punch in the arm.

“You’re insufferable.”

“True, but I’m your insufferable Watcher.”

The words struck Aloth harder than the should have. Your insufferable Watcher, akin to mean he belonged to him. A foreign concept since everyone deemed Aoife a comedity to be shared readily; he wasn't above sharing himself with others either, always eager to help, to lend a hand or coin to the needy. But Aoife was one to pick his words and he rarely said things of the like without meaning them. He never said things of the like without meaning them--he didn't have the stomach for anything but compassionate truth.

“Your...Watcher..?” He asked hesistantly and Aoife’s ears twitched, knowing Aloth had caught on.

“Yes...I meant what I said, Aloth.” He said clearly and Aloth’s breath caught in his chest, not having to guess what he meant at all. The look in his golden eyes left none of that to chance.

“You’re...serious...?” Aloth questioned yet again, a lit of uncertainty painting his tone.

“I don’t want to give you wrong the impression of my affections.” Aoife quickly told him quietly, flush coloring the tips of his ears as if he was suddenly shy, twin eyes looking away.

Aloth managed a quiet chuckle that sounded more like he was clearing his throat. “I do not think you impression is missed. I ask to see if it is are true.”

“They are true. I care a lot about you, Aloth. More than I would the others...” His voice grew quiet near the end, like the declaration had just hit him. Aoife looked back at him, quickly speaking. “I-If you do not share my affection, I wouldn’t be upset. I understand completely and wouldn’t wish to impose or presume upon you...”

“No, no...” Aloth quickly spoke to quell his nerves and he sighed softly. “I....have always been solitary, as you know. Peace has been a hard thing to grasp in many years and I’ve grown to value privacy when I can find it. I just...I am unsure if I can give that up, Ee...” He admitted quietly.

Aoife spoke quickly, warmth in his voice. “I’m not asking you to change, Aloth. That’s the last thing I would want for you is to change because of my caring for you. I don’t wish to take that away from you.” Aoife held his hands out before him, an open invitation for Aloth to take them or not.

Aloth took a breath, a long pause stretching between them as he looked down at Aoife’s deep grey colored hands. He knew his feelings...and his own misgivings. But when was Aoife ever one to not take all of him into account? He never let Aloth be anyone but himself, always there to support and tend to him when he wanted it. Aloth couldn’t deny the affection he had for him had only grown over the months. But would the risk be worth it? Death laid a hairs breath away too often to admit and things were far beyond complicated within the Deadfire. But, there were things to have been learned from Aoife, and living in the moment was one of them.

“Then....I do hold great affection for you, Ee. Also more than I thought I could have, or perhaps deserved for that matter.” He turned his head and Aoife carefully pushed a hair aside, tucking it behind his ear.

“You deserve that affection, Aloth.” His touch lingered for a moment longer, like perhaps he was remiss to depart. Still, his hand fell back to beside his other, invitation still before him.

Aloth took a deep breath. “Even with everything going on around us and no idea where we will be taken? You still wish to be....together?”

“Are you doubting my commitment?”

“No, no...just wondering if this is the best course...” Aloth mumbled, looking up at Aoife with apprehension in blue eyes.

“We...” He started, but closed his mouth. “Let’s not make demands of each other. We’ll see where this takes us and...I want us to define together how we want to define it.” Aoife spoke instead and Aloth breathed out, but a small smile rose to his lips as he met Aoife’s gaze.

“Yes, I think I would like that.”

Aloth slipped his hands into Aoife’s deep grey against pale, scars and tattoos against clear skin. Aoife’s hands folded into his and he leaned forward, easily planting a kiss to Aloth’s forehead. His cheeks flushed red, but he still smiled. Aoife grinned, leaning in to kiss his nose.

“Ee!” Aloth giggled and leaned back, a smile painting even his eyes with joy.

“What? He asked cheekily and Aloth rolled his eyes, meeting his gaze. His cheeks flushed as Aoife looked back at him, joy in his own twin eyes.

Aloth shifted his gaze away, but before he knew it, lips pressed against his own. They were soft, incredibly soft, a tingle racing down his spine, heart hammering in his chest. Aloth slowly found himself kissing him back, squeezing his hands despite how they shook. Aoife squeezed back, pulling away much too soon. Their lips still shared the same air, eyes meeting, still half lidded.

“No more doubt about how genuine my feelings are?” He questioned with a tease and Aloth couldn’t stop the small giddy giggle rising from his lips.

“No more doubt...” He repeated and Aoife giggled, leaning in to kiss Aloth yet again. It was like touching the stars and each moment left him breathless in the best way, heart swelling in his chest.

Maybe a small affection was underestimating the feelings he had for Aoife. It was like a weight had been pulled from his shoulders and a warmth sat in his heart, blossoming up and across his shoulders and neck, gently cradling him like how Aoife’s hands cradled his face. For once in the past five years and the months of disaster that had happened, something wonderful had happened.

Aoife pulled away once more, smiling brightly, twin eyes glowing. Aloth giggled, leaning back in to kiss him again.

And both of them intended to hold onto it for as long as they could.

#pillars of eternity deadfire #pillars of eternity #poe #aloth corifser #watcher x aloth #watcher wednesday #oc tag #oc: aoife #owen writes #otp: a dozen unsent letters #oh gosh this has been sitting in my drafts for ages #but i finally finished it!#its still wednesday here

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awigglycultist · 3 years ago

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hey quick question, i wanna get into watchers content, but im not sure where to start. too many spirits looks like a fun show where they just drink and tell stories, are you scared kinda looks cool, puppet history looks great, esp since i saw the last ep after i saw the hype and really enjoyed it, and there may be something else im forgetting, so what do you reccommend i do first?

OH SHIT SORRY JUST SAW THIS IDK WHEN YOU SENT IT

Okay so yeah there's a lot of Watcher shows and they're all great so I'll give a little break down of each so you hopefully decide based off what kind of stuff you like most, then I'll list my favorites

This will be in order of when the first ep of the series was uploaded:

Puppet History: it's a history show! And Shane Madej plays as a puppet called The Professor who teaches history the guests. Ryan Bergara is always a guest every episode, then theres one other person who will come onto the show as a guest, Ryan and the guest compete to answer questions throughout the show and who ever wins becomes History Master and gets the coveted history cup. Ryan never wins and becomes nemesis with The Professor. There's also songs each episode! And they're very fun! Also there's lore and it's insane. It has 4 seasons, 27 eps, and I would say is Watcher's most popular show, there will be many more seasons of this I'm sure. If you like history, songs and mysterious lore, then this is the show for you.

Watcher Weekly: This show was a weekly talk show that happened every Wednesday where the boys would talk about the lasted thing uploaded, what would be uploaded next, and would play some games or talk about random stuff. It's no longer going on, it had 39 episodes. If you wanna watch the boys talk more about bts and also see the boys just talking and stuff, then check this out.

Spooky Small Talk: Ryan goes into a haunted house (at Knotts Scary Farms) with a guest and interview them. Very fun learning about more these people and seeing them and Ryan get scared, or in Shane's case somehow not flich even a centimeter, at the same time. It only had 1 season, 4 eps, and its one of the less popular shows, and it's probably not likely to make a return, at least not soon. However if you like watching ppl get scared and talk about their life then maybe watch it.

Weird Wonderful World: Shane finds fun places to go and takes Ryan along with him. Super fun show of Shane and Ryan just going places and having fun. It's 2 seasons with 9 eps in total. It stopped due to covid but it was popular show so I'd say it'll hopefully return one day (I least I really really hope so I miss it alot).

Homemade: Steven Lim and sometimes a guest go to a restaurant and learn how to make a food from there, then they go to someones home and learn how their family makes the same food and then decide wether the restaurant or the homemade version is better. Great show if you wanna learn more about food and also if you wanna more chill show. Unfortunately it only has 1 season of 4 eps (it deserves more, I want this show back, I miss it okay).

Top 5 Beatdown: Shane, Ryan and guest(s) talk about their top 5s on random, meaningless topics. Basically 3 people, mainly Shane and Ryan, auguring for 20 mins, it's very fun. It has 2 seasons, with 10 eps, and I also miss this show and am waiting for its return.

Grocery Run: Steven and guest go to a grocery store, vibe and talk to each other, buy a bunch of food, Steven pays for it, and then they go home and the guest has to use those groceries to cook for Steven. Another pretty chill show. Also 1 season of 4 eps.

SD&D&D: short for Social Distancing and Dungeons and Dragons. This started when covid started ofc. Shane, Ryan, Steven and Katie LeBlanc play D&D and its very fun. Shane's the DM, Ryan, Steven and Katie's characters are extremely fun. It's 1 season with 8 episodes. I miss this show so damn much. If you like D&D check it out.

Are You Scared?: Ryan reads spooky stories to Shane. If you like horror you'll like this. And there's also awesome art to go along with the story. Great mix of scaryness and jokes & having fun between Ryan and Shane. For the first two seasons some of the stories were false, some were true, and the two would guess which it was. But now they're all fake. It's 4 seasons with 24 total eps.

Too Many Spirits: Steven makes alcoholic drinks, Ryan and Shane drink them and read spooky stories sent in by the audience. It's a very fun and chaotic show. Steven's bartending is insane and he seems drunk despite not drinking in the show. Ryan and Shane get drunk and ofc thats hilarious. The stories that are sent are also very funny. If you like chaos then this one you'll want to watch.

Dish Granted: Steven asks someone what their dream dish would be. Then he has 24 hours to make the perfect dream dish for them. It's fun and Steven is pretty chaotic and very stressed in the show, but then it's very sweet at the end when we get to watch the guest eat the dish.

There's also the one off Tourist Trapped: Shane and Ryan go to LA and Ryan takes them around to tourist attractions and Shane takes them to hidden gems. They were hoping that this would become a series but they couldn't immediately make it into a series due to money and then ofc covid happen which really ruined the chance of it happening. Which is really unfortunate cause the episode that they did make is really great, it's super fun and wholesome.

Oh and ofc finally: theres the upcoming Ghost Files, aka Buzzfeed Unsolved (Watcher's Version) aka Shane and Ryan quit Buzzfeed and then made their own ghost hunting show. But ofc this won't be out til 2022, but without it even being out yet we all already know this is gonna be a great show when it comes out.

Now finally my own personal favs: Puppet History, Too Many Spirits, Are You Scared?, Werid Wonderful World, Dish Granted. But really all of the shows a great and worth checking out.

#watcher #watcher entertainment #we are watcher #inbox

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nancypullen · 2 years ago

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Time of Death 1:39PM

I’m calling it. I have religiously watered, fertilized, and pampered the pumpkin vines, but there’s still no evidence of baby pumpkins. I’ve had dozens upon dozens of blossoms, didn’t see any female flowers, and even if there’d been a girl bloom or two, I rarely see pollinators around here. There will be no Great Pumpkin at the Pullen house this year. Please respect my privacy during this difficult time. On a happier note, I’m not mad at the weather today. It’s wonderful. Normally this time of afternoon is like an oven. Could this be a hint of fall or am I reading too much into one cloudy day?

The mister and I have a date after he finishes work today. We’re crossing the state line and shopping at the Lowe’s in Camden, Delaware. It’s just 30 minutes away and they have a bird bath that I want. I’m trying to lure song birds to our patch and a water source is one way to do it. I could have been there and back while he’s upstairs working, but I may need his help lifting my purchase. Besides, maybe we’ll pick up dinner while we’re out. There’s a method to my madness. Always. Did I mention that Mickey has been asked by the Caroline County Tourism Board to photograph everything from parks to businesses for their new book/marketing launch? Yep, he’s only been here four months and he’s got fans. Here’s the best part - last week he went over to Ridgley to snap the historic train depot and the very popular Ridgely Pharmacy Cafe across the street. The cafe is known for its ice cream and it’s good lunches. It’s also a pharmacy...and there’s a gift shop upstairs. One stop shopping, folks. Have a cone while you’re waiting for your prescription, then pop upstairs and get granny’s birthday present. Anywho, as he chatted up the nice gals at the cafe and let them know what he was doing they insisted that he take home a container of their famous chicken salad, on the house. How nice! He dropped that off in the frig and said that he wanted to run over to Craft Bakery here in Denton and take a few snaps as well. Craft Bakery is HEAVEN. Pure, decadent, delicious heaven! We’ve had their quiche and I swear it compares to the quiche that made my eyes roll back in Paris. We’ve tried a variety of their baked goodies and can’t decide what’s best. They also do lunches - sandwiches and soups with flavor combos that will blow your mind. So I waved him off to Craft Bakery with my blessing. You guys, same scenario - he eplained his task and they sent him home with scrumptious goodies! Oh my.

#1 - Mickey’s favorite, the Prosciutto Everything Knot - warm & yeasty roll with prosciutto rolled in, topped with Everything Bagel seasoning

#2 - Another Mickey favorite, a bacon and scallion biscuit - tall, fluffy, and flavorful. #3 - Pumpkin Cheesecake Danish w/ Salted Toffee Drizzle - I mean, honestly, do I have to say anything else? This was TO. DIE. FOR. I cut off about a quarter of it and immediately went back for another quarter...until it was gone. #4 - The Morning Roll - I haven’t tasted this one, but they’re VERY popular at the bakery. Looks like a cinnamon-sugary delight. Mickey loves them. Disclaimer: Mickey has never met a baked good he didn’t like. #5 - Blackout Cookie - a delicious, deep, dark chocolate cookie with sea salt on top and it is FABULOUS. So thanks to Mickey’s snapping finger we enjoyed yummy chicken salad sandwiches for lunch and had amazing desserts for days. At this rate I’m going to need him to go photograph a Caroline County Weight Watchers group so I can get a free membership. Just kidding, I’d never give up Craft Bakery. That’s all the news I have to share on this Wednesday afternoon - just stuffing our faces and shopping for bird baths. We’re classy like that. I hope that your afternoon is peaceful, and if it’s not I hope you get a cookie. Just get the cookie anyway, you deserve it. Stay well, stay safe.

(still missing that key) Nancy

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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From Eden: One

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.

I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.

The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.

Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.

The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing.

I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.

Monday

I have a new neighbour.

Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up.

The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.

A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult.

My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.

I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.

Tuesday

Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.

I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes.

She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.

I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop.

She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the--

Later

The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.

I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.

I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Wednesday

Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.

I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.

Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.

He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias.

“Hey again.”

He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer.

“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.

“You don’t want them?” He asked.

I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.

“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.

He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked.

I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.

Thursday

Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer.

I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.

I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.

He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.

Friday

The flowers are still there.

I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.

The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.

The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought.

There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.

I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much.

It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.

Saturday

The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.

I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him?

It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. What does he want?

He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x oc #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x oc #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #series #from eden #au #marvel #mcu

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #prompts #date night #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfic to a tea

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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VII. Try Again

Summary: Reconciliation has arrived. And it hurts. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Phew! I got one more chapter for ya and then we’ll be finished, my loves.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

You watch Sam take off into the crowd and groan lightly at the way he almost resembles the road runner from those old Saturday morning cartoons, billowing dust clouds behind him and all. Steve clears his throat beside you and finally, you turn begrudgingly to regard him.

It’s been three weeks since the parking lot catastrophe, and almost two months since you’ve broken up. He stands now, blocking the sun, so that you’re eclipsed by the cool shade of his figure. It feels ominous, like a foreshadowing of how he might always be someone who takes the light but gives the shade. In this moment, you are both thankful and wary of the shade.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and careful. “I uh--- just wanted to say hi.”

“Yep, you said it.” You smile back, so that any passerby or watcher might interpret the look as one of warmth; no one is close enough to hear the stiff tone. But, to make polite conversation, since he did stalk you all this way, you ask, “Sarah with you?”

Steve points to the popsicle truck where Sarah bounces on her feet with Marnie holding onto her hand. There is a baseball cap on her head and a slight residue of pasty sunscreen on her arms that are quickly becoming ruddy in the sun.

It’s a little disappointing to see her like this, attached to her babysitter’s hip rather than her father’s. You’ve always wondered what the point of having a child was if parents don’t consistently spend time with them. It seems hypocritical that Steve and Peggy’s relationship fell apart because of her inability to spend time with Sarah—but here he is, too: not spending time with Sarah.

As if he could read your souring look, Steve shoves his hands in his pocket.

“I took your advice, you know.”

Your eyes flicker up to his as he kicks at a patch of vibrant green grass inattentively, “She’s been seeing a counselor... there’s-- as you said, lots of discussion. About the divorce. It’s getting better.”

A family comes up behind you to grab a piece of pie, so you and Steve find the right moment to move away from the front of the dessert table, taking your conversation away from possible eavesdropping ears. Chatter rises from the background, full of laughter and children's joyful shrieking. Popsicles shine in the daytime sun, sugary ice in dazzling and flamboyant hues, waving in the air as their owners run across the lawn. Colorful celebration flags flop noisily in the wind, adding their own percussion.

“And I… listened to the other thing you said, too.”

Sarah calls and waves to you from the line, pointing to the menu. You wave back with your best excited teacher face.

There’s no memory of that conversation sparking in your mind. You’re sure you’ve always thought so because he works so damn much—but can’t recall when it came up until your eyes begin to roam over the faded shirt stretched tightly over his chest. Speckled and gray, and perplexingly familiar. “What th—"

Suddenly the hazy sensation of your knees softly thumping against wood cabinets doors rushes into your mind. Soft grunts. A breathy laugh and low moans.

Oh.

Embarrassment creeps over your cheeks when you remember the last time you saw that shirt.

No, it wasn’t much of a conversation then, rather, more like a plead—a sigh passing your lips to encourage his hands as they slid over your body. The shirt, that Monday, had stayed on you for the rest of the day, even as Steve aligned his hips behind yours on the other side of the mirror.

You remember, too, its hem being rucked up when he took you back to bed again only a few hours later, sunlight pouring over you both and illuminating the thread-bare stipples of grey and white as he busied himself between your thighs. Steve couldn’t stop grinning each time he mentioned, “I really like this shirt on you,” even as his face was pressed into your lap.

The same grin graces his mouth now as you pull the brim of your hat down over your face once more. It’s a futile attempt to shield yourself from him and his knowing look, catching you in that burning memory.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I know this isn’t the best time...”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You hiss, but Sarah comes flying back with two popsicles in her hand, one melted orange drop splattering on your knee.

“Sorry!” She laughs before pushing it to Steve’s face, “Here you go, Daddy!!”

Then, she’s off again, tugging Marnie along as she finds Christine Parsons in the distance and jumps into her arms. It makes your heart hurt just a little, how easy it is for children to find solace in new caretakers. Even Sarah, whom you’ve grown so close to and spent personal time with, has seem to have forgotten all about you.

You can’t blame her, though, because it’s only the third week of class and all you think about every second of the day are your own twenty-four litter of students. Such is life in an elementary school. At least she’s not proclaiming her hatred for her teacher anymore.

But you watch Sarah dance around Christine now, tossing a beanbag in the air and catching it clumsily. In the small timespan of three weeks, she’s shot up another inch—growing so quickly from the already rapid change during the summer break. Her face has shifted slightly, elongating, nose becoming less round and taller, so many little details that add up to one seemingly giant transformation.

Yes. You understand Peggy Carter’s envy.

A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Steve hands you the popsicle in his fist and you take it without thinking.

“I hired Sam after we--- you know, well…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “I realized my life needed some reupholstering. I had been too comfortable—falling into complacency, when I should have been paying more attention to the things that really matter.” His mouth turns into a forlorn crescent.

You glare, turning side to side, catching the eyes of the crowd shifting all around looking at the conversation that seems too serious to be in the middle of a bustling school picnic. He really has no sense at all, you think. Big, dumb, man.

Big, dumb, stupid, man.

Steve, unaware because he’s a big, dumb, stupid man, sighs as if he’s holding the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. “You told me you loved me, do you remember?”

To your right, a mother stops midway while reaching for a cut of brownie and you can see her eyes widen briefly before she quickly grabs the fudge square and plops it on her plate. She shuffles a little further away, but still in earshot as she pretends to look for another dessert for her tray. You think about saying something, but your eyes glaze over, trying to find the particular memory he’s referencing, instead.

No. Nothing. A cold trail slips down your palm and you realize the popsicle in your hand is dripping orange all the way down to your wrist.

Steve produces a tissue from his pocket and begins dabbing the melted ice away.

“I got ya.”

Your uninvited and eavesdropping audience member opens her mouth in a small round shape. Her eyebrows slope together as she absently places her hand to her chest, as if saying “aw.” Steve is tenderly wiping the bright orange trickle from your skin before he motions from the popsicle to your chin.

“You gonna eat that?”

When you stand too shocked and frankly flabbergasted to respond, he takes the opportunity to grab it and stick it in his own mouth, crunching the ice between his teeth and sucking the stick dry. A drop of sugar water lands in his beard.

“Huh--” He muses, “Thas pretty good!”

Your teeth gnash together in an attempt to push your suddenly growing smile away. Your eyes slip shut, frustrated with him. What the fuck, you think. Why is he like this? A smile weasels its way onto your face, tugging the left side of your mouth upward into a lopsided grin before you bite it down.

The mom, now taking an inordinate about of time to get a plate of dessert, smiles too.

“Is that a yes?” Steve whispers, peering down into your eyes. “You remember?”

“No.” You respond. “You’re being annoying. And messy.”

“Really?” He laughs, “Is that the best you got?”

Now you are glaring, because no, you’ve got so much more. He seems to pick up the cue and puts his hands up defensively. Then, out of reflex, Steve wipes your hand one more time for good measure. “Sorry, shouldn’t push it. Hey...” his voice grows softer now, and he leans in until you’re both sure the mother who is – goddamn it, still there—can no longer hear.

“Please give me another chance. Please, sweetheart. I really do love you.”

“Steve,” You snap, “That’s not something you say lightly. And it’s not something you say when you’re desperate, either. I have to go, and you should too because your daughter needs to spend time with you and not her babysitter, don’t you think?”

A sad smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah,” he admits, “Yeah. That’s why I hired Sam. He’s really good, you know? I wanted to show him the ropes around our fundraising events, but he’s been at the shop for almost a month now.”

It makes you pause.

“I’ve started taking off on the weekends. Come in just a few times—Wednesdays, for inventory. Fridays to prep for the Sunday rush. This is the first time I’ve called Marnie in almost a week.”

He looks so proud of himself, but he tucks his chin to his chest and regards you with shy eyes like a student waiting for a prize. Even his hands are inside his pockets again and he rocks back and forth on his heels, teeth tugging his heavy bottom lip gently. Big blue eyes. Stupid pretty eyelashes. Steven Grant Rogers knows exactly what he’s doing.

You begin to dig around in your purse in retaliation. Your fingers touch the edge of your phone—no, that’s not what you want. So, you continue to search as he waits.

Truly, you’re very proud of him-- beyond thrilled that he’s taken your advice to heart and has put Sarah first. Over at a game of cornhole, she cheers and claps when her teacher makes a beanbag in. Three weeks ago, that little girl was falling apart and cursing all of second grade.

The idea of him, finally not waking up at three in the morning and working until he literally drops seventeen hours later sweeps over your chest like a soothing current. You remember how exhausted he always was when you’d see him—and it was only summertime. His workload doubled with Sarah during the schoolyear. You remember coming over for spaghetti, and him, about to burst into tears while rolling meatballs.

It makes you relieved to know he would finally be taking care of not just his daughter, but himself as well.

Yes, you’re very proud of him.

Your fingers finally catch what you've been searching for. Slowly, with a ruinous smile, you peel off the points from the thin sheet of plastic and take it out of your purse.

“Congratulations, Steven,” you announce, sticking a quarter-sized and iridescent gold star over his chest. You hold up two thumbs and push them under his nose. “A-plus. Would you like a high-five, too?”

No, you’re not going to let him get away with his shit so easily.

Down the table, three more women have congregated, and they clap and cheer when Steve chuckles and leans his head back in mock defeat.

It’s four-thirty and you are slathering aloe vera on your shoulders when a knock pounds at your door. “No!” You yell, “Go away, Steve!”

You avoided him for the rest of the PTA Picnic, mingling with parents and your colleagues instead, but every time you would accidentally find his eyes over the yard, he’d smile at you. A few times, he actually waved. The star sticker, meant to be an insult, he wore as a badge of honor.

Big. Dumb. Stupid. Man.

Eventually, it got to the point where other people (other, other people, not just the eavesdropping mothers) noticed too. After the third person of the day asked if you were seeing Steve Rogers, you excused yourself and went home to nurse your growing sunburns.

“C’mon, hon!” Steve calls from the door, exceedingly pathetic.

“Fuck off!” Even though a laugh might escape.

“Sarah’s here!”

You yelp, because the f-bomb is fine and dandy, but not to her ears. When you yank the door open, wet glistening shoulders and all, ready to apologize... there’s no one there but Steve and two dozen roses freckled with baby’s breath and pearly wax flowers. Your arms cross and you think you might put your fist right through that outrageous arrangement. “Are you serious?”

Steve peeks over the massive amount of deep red and a river of words tumbles out.

“Yeah, Sam was positive that he clocked a flowers-and-chocolate girl from meeting you just one time and wouldn’t let me go without these. Figured it couldn’t hurt... but I got you something else...” He pulls a brown paper bag from behind his back and dangles it one-strapped from his pointer finger.

Two loaves of banana bread sit sandwiched next to each other inside- not even wrapped, just embedded in crinkled confetti-colored butcher paper. On top, a similarly colored scrap has scrawled in rushed and sloppy all-caps handwriting: UNLIMITED BANANA BREAD-- CAP&CO!

“You’re such an idiot.” You berate.

“I know!” Steve cries, “I know! I know! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, please let me come in so I can talk to you. God, please? Even if it’s just so you can yell at me some more?”

“I am not yelling at you.” You retort, but let him in, anyway. “You’ll know when I’m yelling.”

Steve sits cautiously on the couch, places your gifts on the coffee table, and then looks around curiously. Things are a little different since he’s been here last. There are more plants, and you’ve gotten a little square bookshelf positioned in the corner of the room by the T.V. The kitchen even hangs a few wooden panels with abstract strokes and your corkboard of polaroid photos has been changed out for small doodles and tiny watercolor pieces.

He realizes, as he peeks over into the dining room, that you’ve been painting in his absence. Each picture is more refined than the last, as if you’ve been practicing. His little hobby that he pressed upon you hastily, you’ve taken to heart and improved on, even though he’s been gone.

It probably hurt so bad, he thinks, to have those paints in your house, to be reminded of him. Steve shuts his eyes and counts to ten. He doesn’t deserve you, but he wants you. He wants you so much.

“So?” You ask, brow furrowed on the sofa chair to his right. Now that he’s physically inside your apartment, the mood has changed considerably. The snarky banter in public and goading at the door has transformed into solemn and dead air. You don’t know what he might say, and even worse, you don’t know what it is you’ll do in return.

It’s easy. So easy to care for him. So easy to fall back into that routine of being with Steve Rogers.

But he’s shown you that he finds it easy to return to Peggy, too. And you— the easiest one of them all, will just forgive him for it? Your breath sticks to your lungs and refuses to come out. If you could go back to that day in bed and have pleaded with him not to pick up the phone, you probably would.

No, that’s too simple. It’s childish, and naïve, too.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally speaks into the silence of your living room. His hands are folded over his knees, and he is looking at you like he is trying to bury those words inside your body. He calls your name. “Baby, I am so sorry. I am so goddamn sorry.”

It hurts. It hurts all over, but you won’t let him see you cry. “Okay.” You reply tepidly. Sorry isn’t enough.

“The truth is, I made a mistake. A really big mistake, and what’s worse is, I was too scared to admit it. I could think up of a million reasons why —about Peggy, or Sarah… It’s… so hard.” Steve puts his head in his hands, “The hard thing is that I have always been… stubborn. I was stubborn enough to move Sarah here by myself. I was stubborn to think that I could raise her on my own. Obviously, I couldn’t; I was falling apart, working too much, didn’t know how to talk to my daughter… and hadn’t spoken to Peggy in months. God, I hated being away from Sarah. And when an easy road made its presence known to me— I went right for it.”

You want to focus on his words, because you know he means them, but a part of you begins to disengage to ease your own suffering.

“You got caught right up in the middle of it.” Steve whispers, choked on his sentences. “I wanted to badly to make my family work again, I didn’t realize that family doesn’t need to mean… what I think it means. It can be anything. And love can be anything.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Steve?”

The both of you are in tears now. Your breath comes out in short and sharp puffs as you try to contain the pooling wells of your eyes. Steve’s own face is flushed pink, as wipes his cheeks with the heel of his palm.

“Honey,” he stutters, “I love you. I love you so much. I know your love and it’s wonderful.”

“Y-you didn’t even c-call— I’m not— I’m not a fucking back up plan, Steve!”

He rushes off the couch in a fumble of noisy limbs and falls to your feet on his knees. You retreat into the cushion of the sofa chair, legs drawn and wrap your arms around yourself. Instinctively, you want to be protected from the hurt-- from him. You’re a jumble of wracked sobs and groans as your head begins to pound.

“I know you’re not.” His arms wrap around yours, digging behind your back as he shifts to move onto the seat as well. You’re an absolute mess, completely shattered into pieces in his embrace, jaw clenched and frozen as your eyes leak all the way down to your neck.

Steve holds on tighter, buries his head into your neck where droplets run down your shoulder and onto your back. He rubs your spine gently, shushing your cries.

He feels so warm and good to lean into. And in this moment of weakness and sadness, all you want is that warmth again, just for a single minute— even if it’s foolish.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was afraid and stupid. I thought it would be easier to go back to something I had already known, but I know now that being with you is what I really want. Your love is a wonderful thing. I’m so sorry I ruined it.”

He says it into the top of your head, his warm breath washing over you with each exhale. Steve pulls you to his chest and you can hear his heart hammering in his ribcage. Your own is near identical to his, deafeningly loud in the quiet rest of the apartment. His hands rub up and down your arms.

“Could you love me again?” He asks softly. “Could you try? I won’t let you down this time... I swear.”

His words are sweet like the very honey he stirs into his recipes. They slide down his tongue and out his mouth and soak you in their sticky, syrupy promise. You pull away and look into his eyes, red and blue, glassy and crawling with veins. He wipes a tear from your cheek, and you do the same to him.

Everything is fuzzy. You feel worn down and scattered about, pieces of you lost and trying to find each other.

The two of you sit there, looking at one another on the tiny sofa couch. Then, distractedly, you sniff.

“Where is Sarah?”

Steve erupts into a sharp, wet, laugh before he inhales and blinks his tears away, “God, I thought you were going to headbutt me.” He admits.

“She’s with Marnie at a movie. I asked her to give me an hour and a half before dinner. Time’s almost up.” When you hum softly, he takes the opportunity to press his nose against yours. When you sigh, he does it again before sliding his lips over your mouth.

“I love you.” He whispers against your cheek. One then the other, he places kisses over your face. “I love you.” Your tongue sits swollen in your mouth, unable to find the right words for this moment. “I’d never say it if I didn’t mean it.”

You feel both heavy and weightless, wavering between acceptance and denial. “I--I don’t know, Steve.” You whisper.

“Let’s try again, baby,” he pleads, trailing his lips over your jaw, the two of you scrunched up like pretzels, legs entwined, arms linked and gripped tight.

It’s obvious why clichés like breakup sex and secret relationships are exciting. The aspect of having a potentially glorious thing one last time is a thrill. This, too-- this apologetic, tender, intimacy-- is thrilling. Steve Rogers, torn open and laid bare for you, waiting for you, pleading for you, makes your stomach flip and sink.

He smells like sandalwood and pine. Clean shampoo and summer sun. You try to swallow the deadened weight of your tongue away, but it only grows larger.

Finally, you sigh, wipe your face one last time, and wipe his eyes too. With a crooked smile, you say, “Let’s go get Sarah.”

The car ride to Steve’s house is as quiet as a funeral. Your radio remains off the whole time and your brain is wiped completely blank by sheer emotional exhaustion. Any time a thought of whether you’ve done the right or wrong thing arises, it turns into snowy static and disappears. Maybe you’re a saint. Or an idiot. Maybe idiots can also be saints, and maybe that’s what you are.

What you really want is to stop feeling so much. The ache has subsided but its now replaced by unease laced with a steady drumbeat of something that resembles elation. You can’t help but feel excited again, because Steve is here. Steve is back. Steve has promised. And you hope he will deliver. Your chest thumps noisily and at light speed when you remember how happy he made you just a few months ago.

The reality of that approaching happiness resurrects itself inside of you, taking off on eagerly flapping wings.

Yet, the concerned part of you still stands planted on the earth, arrow raised and nocked, waiting to loose the bolt to shoot that bird down.

The two of them watch each other guardedly as they grow further and further apart.

You turn off the engine and meet him on the sidewalk where he stands waiting patiently. Marnie’s car isn’t here yet, so he leads you inside by the hand and brings you a glass of water, observing you all the while.

“What?” You ask hoarsely after a big gulp.

He smiles—wide, blindingly white, reminiscent of the old wallpaper on your phone. “Just glad you’re here.” He says, suddenly shy.

“Yeah,” You reply sadly, “Me too. I think.”

Steve takes the glass from your hand and sets it on the countertop. “It’s okay.” He whispers, tugging lightly on your finger like a lost child, “It’s okay.”

A knock from the front door pulls your attention away and you can hear Sarah chattering on the other side. Marnie opens the door with her spare key and Sarah leads here in with a half-eaten bag of popcorn clutched to her chest. She does look so tall now, you think, and older with her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her jawline beginning to angle just slightly more like her father’s.

“Hi daddy!” She says in-between a crunching mouthful, and then pauses when she sees you behind her father. “Hi!!! Wow! Are you gonna stay for a sleepover? Daddy doesn’t work tomorrow! Can we go somewhere?”

She places the bag on the nearest counter and runs over to where you stand by the coffee table, jumping right up into your arms.

You stumble, because she’s even bigger than the last time she did it, and your life flashes before your eyes.

This time, because he was expecting it, Steve catches you against his chest and sets you right. Marnie smiles and waves goodbye from the doorway.

You wash dishes side-by-side in the kitchen after Steve tucks Sarah into bed at eight. She’s worn out from spending her day outside and running around so much that over dinner you watched her nearly doze off while eating her vegetables.

Steve had made dinner with fluffy brown rice and sautéed shrimp and lemon zest. On the side, he steamed summer squash and cut fresh slices of sweet peppers. Once more, you and Sarah set the dinner table and poured the drinks while he arranged the plates.

Dessert was simple: plump, blood red cherries from the farmer’s market. Sarah splashed burgundy over her shirt, and you dabbed some vinegar on it before rinsing it out for her in the restroom. Her nose had scrunched up at the smell and she pretended to barf until she actually dry heaved a little.

Huh. Second grade, you thought, as you backed away from her.

Patting the dishes dry, you stack them neatly into their respective cabinets before washing your own hands. Steve brushes a strand of your hair away from your face and leads you back to the couch where it’s safe: neither too forward nor too modest. Appropriate enough for two adults to talk while Sarah sleeps in her room with the door cracked.

Her bedtime playlist slips down the hall as a tinny, melodic voice. The lights are dimmed low, just enough for the two of you to see each other and not much else.

His hands sandwich yours and he places them in his lap. As he turns to look at you, the lamp behind his head illuminates his long hair, casting radiance all around him. Your breath quickens.

Big. Stupid. Beautiful. Man.

“You know what I thought the first time I met you?” He asks suddenly, a sly smile growing on his face. You frown. The hand on top of yours brushes over your knuckles, fingers rubbing back and forth slowly as he continues, “I thought—”

“I was too young.” You interject, rolling your eyes at the memory of his crass words at Open House.

“Yes.” He laughs. “I did think you were too young. Inexperienced. I had this idea of what a teacher should have been… But then—” he snickers again suddenly, clapping his hand over yours, “then you handed me your resume and flicked me off at the same time.”

You grin, because yeah, you remember that, too. It was a pretty audacious move on your part, but he had really pissed you off. “Is that what won you over?”

“Yeah. It really was. It was impressive—your resume, and your middle finger.”

“I didn’t like you very much when I met you.” You admit, “Didn’t like you … for a long time.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart.” Steve chuckles, “You would literally run away from me. I had to chase you down with a plate of food-- with specially made banana bread! Jesus, that recipe was so hard.”

“Well, Steve Rogers,” You sigh, “Thank God I like you now.”

“Not God,” Steve corrects, “Thank Bucky. He really set me straight— twice.”

Steve told you once over a conversation all about Bucky and Natasha, the two old friends you briefly met in early June. Bucky was the one who had encouraged Steve to ask you in the first place. You remember replying how you’d have to thank him next time you see him for giving Steve the idea. Apparently, you’ll have to thank him again, too.

“He pretty much yelled at me for twenty minutes after… you know.”

“You deserved it.” You say.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, “I really did.”

Then, after a moment of silence, because both of you are unsure where to take this conversation next—too soon to apologize again and too soon to start acting like nothing is wrong again, Steve clears his throat.

“I talked to Peggy, after the airport.” He says carefully, as if the very mention of her name might make you burst into tears. You’re pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t, but again, it wasn’t her you had been upset with. So, you nod quietly and wait for him to continue.

“I think... we’re all on the same page.”

“Which page is that?”

“That you’re too good for me.”

It’s supposed to come out as a humorous thing, a thing you would laugh at and tell him the opposite. He even holds his breath in wait for the moment when your laugh would escape in a joyful exhale, but instead you glare. “I’m just a person.” You say grimly, and he doesn’t quite understand why the joke that was supposed to be funny has suddenly turned serious.

“I’m just a person. Not a substitute. Not a replacement guardian. Not an idea of a lover or mother or--”

“Woah!” And then the tears are falling down your face again and Steve’s chest feels like it might break open. “Honey, I don’t love you as anyone but yourself. I love you as the caring teacher. The… new painter?” He offers you a sweet smile, “The funny, beautiful, glorious, and gracious girlfriend…”

“My girlfriend?” He asks bashfully.

A small laugh escapes as you wipe your eyes, “Don’t forget I’m good in bed, too.” You tack on jokingly.

Steve puts his forehead in his hand, “Jeez, you gotta meet Bucky again. You two are two of a kind.”

He peeks at you between his fingers. A slow, tender gaze, full of affection and promise. Steve bites his bottom lip, looks at you with hooded eyes and takes a deep breath in. His tongue rubs against the edge of his teeth. “Can’t wait to spend time with just you.” He says in a single quick breath. “I want to make you feel better, baby.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “Don’t disappoint me, Rogers.”

The comment that is meant to be a joke flips on its head. Steve surges forward and tucks both arms under yours, pressing his chest to your chest, burying his face into your neck. “I won’t.” He murmurs, pained. His beard tickles when it scrapes against your skin, but his hot breath wicks it away.

“I won’t ever again.”

“Okay, Steve” You sigh, cheek resting on his head, “Okay.”

Last Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #modern au #fanfiction #reader insert #slow like honey heli0s

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agentbarton12 · 5 years ago

Text

Old People Teenager Watchers

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

the advice - 3

Tony trusted Peter.

He doubted he’d say it to his face, but he hoped that Peter knew it anyway. He trusted that, when in a situation, Peter would make the right decision. Okay, more like hoped, but whatever.

The point is, when Peter came to him saying that he was ready to reveal Spider-Man to world, Tony thought he was being a complete idiot.

Why would he want to give up anonymity? What could possibly make him think this would be a good idea? Hormones, was the first answer that came to Tony's mind. Peter wanted to impress someone and he thought the best way to do that would be to reveal his identity. Then Tony got to thinking about all the people Peter could want to impress, but the only one he could think of was MJ (that’s right. She’s MJ now. Take that Steve) and that didn’t make sense — she already knew about his not-so-secret identity. Which meant that there had to be another girl.

Ugh.

Just the thought of Peter liking anyone except Michelle made Tony sick.

He tried very subtly to figure out why Peter wanted to do this (“Why, Peter? This could ruin your life. Don’t go public, Pete. Don’t do it. You’ll give me a heart attack. Ah, there it is. Do your super spider ears hear that? That’s sound of me dying. You really wanna kill me?”), but for some reason, it never worked.

He had been so lost and confused for a full hour, and that was the longest he had gone not understanding something, when MJ sent him a picture.

Emmjaaay

[image attached] chill out, dude. they were gonna figure it out anyway. besides, he feels like its “time” or whatever now

The picture was of Peter in his Spidey suit sitting on a roof without his mask on. It was a grainy picture, but if you knew who Peter was, you would be able to tell it was him. Honestly, of all the reasons to reveal your identity, it’s because someone took a photo of him. Not because it would benefit humanity or some noble thing Steve would talk about, but because of a picture.

Tony was tech genius, for crying out loud! He could make this picture disappear and Peter wouldn’t have to do something rash, like reveal himself.

TonyMan

How do you feel about this?

Emmjaaay

eh, im kinda, dare I say it, proud of him. that hurt so much to type.

TonyMan

Ha. But really, you think he’s ready? This is a big step up.

Emmjaaay

arent you, the same guy who tried offering him a spot on the avengers team when he was what, 12? he turned you down because he didn’t feel ready, now like three years later he does. just sit back and trust he’s making the right decision even if you feel he isnt. its the only reason I have put up with his self-sacrificing tendencies.

TonyMan

Do me a favour and activate the auto-correct on your phone.

TonyMan

Like, seriously. Please.

They held a press conference the next day. No, Tony was not announcing him as an Avenger, just the identity thing, which still wasn’t sitting well with him.

Really, he thought Peter was being irrational, and he even told him as much, which resulted in Peter saying that he wasn’t a kid anymore and was allowed to make his own decisions, no matter how rash Tony thought them to be.

As it turns out, it went pretty well. Peter even had an original speech planned that was so clearly written by MJ, Tony thought it was her up on the podium. He answered questions quickly and curtly, going into detail where necessary, and where not, giving vague answers. He was so clearly taught by Pepper, that Tony thought it was her up on the podium.

The press ate it up and even got Peter to demonstrate some of his powers. Of course, the kid decided that climbing the walls was a good idea and when he saw MJ somewhere at the back, even though she said she didn’t want to go, he lost his grip and fell on his face. MJ laughed the loudest.

So, maybe Tony should’ve trusted Peter’s decision, because it seemed to have worked out okay. The world knew he was Spider-Man, but didn’t know where he lived, which was great for May and his friends. The press knows his school and Tony knows that the first couple of weeks back are going to be hectic.

Tony apologised to Peter for not trusting him and promised to trust him so much, he might as well be his Magic 8 Ball. He explained that he was worried he was doing it because he felt forced, but Peter explained that he has been thinking about it for a while, and that picture just gave him the push he needed to go through with it.

Like Tony expected, Peter was swarmed at school, and as a result, Ned and MJ were too. MJ was undoubtedly the best at handling press, because she was never interesting enough for them to get any information. She hardly spoke when she saw any camera, always burying her face in a book, and making sure Peter and Ned don’t do anything dumb, like exist too much.

All in all, nothing bad had happened since then. Sure, a couple villains tried to use Peter’s open identity as a means to get to him. One guy thought that kidnapping Ned and MJ would be a good idea, but he didn’t count on them practically being the adopted children of the Avengers and was in for a surprise when not one, not two, but all the Avengers showed up to his basement hideout thing.

No one’s tried anything again.

Sadly, like Tony expected, there was — ahem — another girl. Name was Gwen Stacy or something dumb like that. Pepper says the only reason Tony doesn’t like the girl is because he wants Peter to end up with MJ.

And Tony isn’t denying it.

He’s discovered that Gwen and Peter aren’t dating, which means there is still a bit of wingman-ing that can be done. For Peter and MJ. Not Gwen. Gwen could go ahead and be hit by a bus for all Tony cared. In fact, he should make that make that happen…

The only thing that sucked more than Gwen and Peter getting chummy together, was that the only one who was determinedly unbothered by it, was the one it concerned the most.

MJ responded to their relationship (or lack thereof, if Tony had anything to do with it) with a slight furrow in eyebrows and the tilt of her head, as if figuring out if she was okay with this (she wasn’t) or if she had any say in it. But, when she saw Peter’s dumb grin, she gave them the slightest of smiles and told them not to be gross. Sometimes, Tony hated how diplomatic MJ could be.

At the end of the day, Tony had a semblance of hope that they could end up together. This hope dropped marginally when he walked into the kitchen and found MJ's face in his freezer.

“You got any ice cream?”

Tony nearly got a heart attack. “What? — How do you keep getting up here?”

“Like, I know you have ice cream, but you got any good ice cream?” she went on, ignoring his question.

Tony crossed his arms. “I have good ice cream. I don’t know if you noticed, but all that dairy goodness in there is ice cream Ben & Jerry's named after me. Stark's Raving Hazelnuts.”

MJ slowly shut the freezer door. “I just remembered I’m lactose intolerant.”

The billionaire rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha. It’s good, though.”

“I hear it’s chalky.”

“From where?”

“Around.”

When Tony realised that she wasn’t going to elaborate, he changed the subject. “What are you doing here? Thought you and the dudes got together every Wednesday to celebrate the fact Friday’s around the corner?”

MJ shrugged as she continued looking through his fridge and various cupboards. “Yeah, well I guess Idiot Number 1 realised that Peter Parker is just as popular as Spider-Man. He’s gone to a party with Ned.”

“A party? On a Wednesday?”

“Could be. Could be a fundraiser, could be a charity event, could even be a wedding — all I know is that Peter is a very high demand right now.” She had given up one finding anything and stood on one end of the counter and pulled out her phone.

“Why didn’t you join them?”

Another shrug. “I’d like to hang out with my friend when he’s my friend. I understand that in public, he’ll either be Spider-Man or Peter Parker: Teen Avenger — ”

“He’s not an Avenger.”

“ — But, I prefer Peter Parker: Dork Extraordinaire.”

Tony hummed in thought. “Have you told him this?”

“Partly.” She looked up from her phone. “I’m getting ice cream, you want anything?”

“Thought you were lactose intolerant?”

“Fine I’m bad-ice-cream-flavours intolerant,” she deadpanned. “Now, you want anything?”

“Cheeseburger and fries. Coke, too.”

MJ hummed. “Cool. Cash or card?”

“I knew it,” Tony sighed. “Cash.”

MJ visibly deflated. “Dammit. I was hoping to get your pin number.

“Not happening.”

She shrugged and pocketed her phone after she made the order. Tony followed her to couch were they sat staring at a blank T.V. screen. He watched as she pulled her feet underneath her and absentmindedly started tugging on her hair — even though it was in a bun. It seemed to be a habit.

“So,” Tony started, “when are you planning on telling Peter you like him?”

“Don’t know if I want to.” MJ sighed.

Tony was taken aback. Mostly, because he wasn’t expecting her to answer, but also because she wasn’t denying it. When Tony said as much, she rolled her eyes and said, “I know how to acknowledge things, Tony.”

He raised his arms in defense. “Never said you didn’t, just that I’m surprised you did.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not gonna make a difference, is it? He’s fawning over Gwen and vice versa — it’s kinda cute, honestly. Like, I catch him staring at her while she’s studying, or working on an equation and it’s like he’s just in that moment. Like it’s just Gwen working and nothing else.”

“Oh, so it’s exactly how he acts around you?”

Her nose scrunched up as she looked at him. “He does that?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. There’s a betting pool we have to see who’s gonna break first and ask the other out. I bet one of my suits that it’ll be you, so don’t disappoint me,” he said jokingly, trying to subtlety instill the prospect into her mind. It didn’t work because she just continued to stare at the screen.

FRIDAY then alerted him that their food had arrived, and Tony asked her to have it brought up. He got up from his spot and moved to the elevator to collect their order, when they dinged open and Scott walked out holding the bag of food.

“’Sup, Stark — ooh, is MJ here? Why’s MJ here? It’s Wednesday, right?” Tony held up a hand to silence him and opened his palm.

“Food first, questions later,” he said, motioning with his fingers to indicate that Scott should hand over the bag. Scott ignored him and walked away to sit next to MJ on the couch.

“Hey, Scott,” she greeted, with a two finger salute.

“Hey. Whatchu doin’ here?”

She shrugged before holding her hand out and Scott more than happily handed over her ice cream. He took out Tony's cheeseburger and bit into it. That was when Tony rushed to intervene with his teammates mouth and his food. Scott merely held the food at arms length away from the billionaire and told him to get his own food. Tony huffed in annoyance about how that was his own food. Scott ignored him and proceeded to take a huge gulp of the drink. MJ just watched in amusement, a smirk playing on her lips behind her ice cream spoon. “See, Tones. Why would I want to hang around a bunch of fame-hungry and genetically modified teenagers when I have front seat tickets to the lamest argument ever?” she asked while Tony and Scott where still bickering over the food.

Tony frowned. “Ned’s not fame-hungry or genetically modified.”

She replied shrugging, “Ned’s special.”

“That he is,” Scott agreed. “Where are they, anyway?” he asked referring to Peter and Ned, shoving a handful of fries in his mouth. Tony hit him upside his head so hard, he sputtered out half-chewed potatoes on the couch. He eyed Tony without a single regret. “I hope you know that you’ll have to clean that up. Because we both know who it’s gonna bother more,” he said in a challenging tone.

Tony stared at him defiantly and MJ mentally counted to fifteen before Tony snapped and went to the kitchen for napkins. Scott celebrated childishly when Tony moved to wipe away the food. He did not account for Tony dropping the napkin in his lap with a devilish grin.

“I hate you,” Scott said. He got up and threw it away. When he came back, he found Tony finishing off the burger while slurping down the Coke. He gave Scott a smirk and Scott responded by flipping him off.

“Totally better than some movie premiere,” MJ said grinning.

“Who’s at a movie premiere?” Scott asked sitting back down on the couch.

MJ responded, shrugging, “Peter and Ned. Maybe. I actually don’t remember what event it was.”

Scott hummed, continuing to stuff his face with chips. Tony looked at Scott evilly then grinned and said in a sing-song voice, “MJ misses Peter.” MJ rolled her eyes, while Scott looked like he wanted to smile, but was fighting against it.

“How do you know?” he asked eventually.

“She told me,” Tony answered in the same voice that got him in the head with a cushion. “She also told me that she likes him.

Scott couldn’t help it and smiled the biggest grin he could muster. He practically squealed with delight and clapped his hands excitedly, then suddenly, he stopped. “Wait. How come you told Tony and not me?”

“He asked first.”

“Fair.” After a moment of silence, Scott asked curiously, “When are you gonna tell him?”

“Why does everyone feel like I need to do something?” she mumbled. “And besides, he’s practically almost in love with Gwen, so I’m not going to bother myself.”

Scott sighed. “There is no way he can be ‘practically almost in love’ with anyone when you’re a person that exists. And, trust me, if there is one thing you can do with these things, it’s try. I mean, look at me,” he gestured to himself wildly. “Hope thought I was just an idiot who stole her father’s suit, but now — ” MJ snorted “ — What?” Scott asked frowning.

“Nothing. It’s just funny how you say thought like she used to think that and she doesn’t now.”

Scott scowled while Tony gave her a fist bump. “Anyway, point is: I thought I had literally no chance with her, but turns out she liked me too! Or learned to like me too. Or is learning to like me too...I need to make a call...” Scott stood up slowly and walked out of the room silently.

Tony looked around and breathed out. “Wow, MJ, you made him question his relationship.”

She shrugged. “Oops.”

A beat. “That was good advice though. You should try.”

She didn’t answer. After a moment she said, “Yeah, well maybe Gwen deserves a shot too.”

Sometimes, Tony hated how diplomatic MJ could be.

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ariela-of-aedyr · 6 years ago

Text

Fierce Battle

Haven’t really had time to do anything for Watcher Wednesday this week, but I did write a very silly thing featuring Ari, Aloth & Vela on the way to and from work today, so figured I might as well share that.

"Alooottthhhh!" Vela's excitable squeal was the wizard's immediate greeting as he stepped through the doorway into Ariela's quarters. The orlan girl rushed up to him, practically bouncing, as though her body could hardly hold all of the energy inside of her, and Aloth flashed her a gentle smile.

"Good morning, Vela."

"Have you come to play with us!? You can help me rescue Mama!"

"Rescue...?" Aloth glanced across the room towards his lover, who was sitting cross-legged amongst the unnecessary amount of cushions adorning her sofa, sipping from her favourite mug, and flashed her a questioning look.

"Princess Ari has been captured by a fearsome dragon, and she needs our help to escape!" Vela informed dramatically, and Ariela gestured towards a stuffed toy in the shape of a dragon that was standing guard on the floor before her.

"Brave Knight Vela-" Ariela began, before her daughter cut her off, pointedly.

"Princess Knight Vela!"

"Oh, my apologies, my good lady! I had forgotten that you were also a princess like me!" Ariela giggled, before continuing. "Princess Knight Vela was just about to come to save me. Not that I couldn't save myself, if I needed to."

"Hmmm, yes, you are quite good at talking dragons out of fights." Aloth agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully. While Ariela's skill set was almost certainly useless against the small plush toy, he couldn't deny that Ariela's quick wit and silver tongue had been quite effective against its real life counterparts.

"I'm quite good at talking anyone out of fighting, Darling." She announced, with a triumphant grin, as she tossed her hair back behind her shoulder, before quickly reaching up to stabilise the paper crown perched on top of her head before it toppled off. "Well, anyone other than Iselmyr, at least. But we're working on that."

"So, will you help me rescue the beautiful Princess Ari?" Vela asked, with the most intensely serious expression that Aloth had ever seen from the young girl, as she held out a little wooden sword in his direction. "It could be quite dangerous."

"I'm sure you can handle it alone if Aloth is too busy, though, my little honey bee." Ariela assured, diplomatically, meeting Aloth's eye with an expression that fell somewhere between questioning and apologetic.

He couldn't deny that he had been busy. He'd spent the morning- and most of the night, in fact- working his way through a stack of research on the Leaden Key and their activities, and was fairly certain that he had finally made a breakthrough. But he also knew that they were still a few days travel from any land, and so anything that he had found would have to wait for now. And besides, Ariela was always telling him that he should take a break from his work every now and then.

That's the spirit, Lad.

"I'm sure that I'm not too busy to rescue a beautiful princess." He smiled, accepting the toy weapon from Vela, before glancing up at his lover, who beamed brightly in response.

The 'battle' went on for nearing an hour, a number of Vela's other toys joining the fray to slow them down and prevent them from reaching the captive Ariela- who called out from the sofa to warn them about imaginary attacks whenever Vela's imagination faltered, and occasionally got up to add or remove stuffed animals from the battlefield- all leading up to a final showdown between the two knights and the fearsome dragon.

Vela charged in, swiping at the stuffed dragon with her sword, and then retreating behind a paper shield when Ariela called out to warn her about her foe's retaliation. Feeling more carefree than he had in as long as he could remember, Aloth moved in from the other direction, poking at the toy with his own wooden sword.

Ariela gasped dramatically from her seat a couple of feet away. "Quick, Vela, you can get him while Aloth has him distracted!"

With an expression of intense concentration, Vela unleashed a barrage of attacks against the stuffed dragon, tossing her paper shield off to the side, and letting out a loud battle cry as she did so.

"I think you've almost got him!" Ariela informed, encouragingly, leaning forward in her seat with a bright smile. "If you both join forces, it might just be enough!"

Aloth moved across to Vela, dropping down to her height to whisper quietly into her ear. "If you get him with your sword, I can use some magic while he's distracted."

"Yes! Then we can rescue the princess!"

Aloth smiled softly as Vela rushed forward once again, gripping her little wooden sword with both hands as she bashed the toy over and over again. As she pulled back, he held out a hand towards the dragon, murmuring a brief incantation, sending a weak gust of wind in its direction, just strong enough to knock the toy over, falling somewhat anticlimactically onto its side, and marking the end of the battle.

"Yesss!" Vela cheered, dropping her weapon to the ground and launching into a victory dance. "We did it!! We're the bravest knights in all of Eora!"

Ariela hopped off of the sofa, moving over to them and striking an elegant pose. "Thank you, kind knights, for rescuing me from that terrible and ferocious dragon! As a reward for your bravery, I will present to you each a gift. Princess Knight Vela; you may have my crown, so that all may know that you are the most capable and wonderful princess in all the realm." Ariela plucked the paper crown from her head, and reverently settled it on top of Vela's, before turning her attention to Aloth with a cheeky smile. "Ser Corfiser, you may have a kiss. Or two. As many as you'd like, really."

"You're too kind, Princess Ari." Aloth chuckled, leaning in towards his lover, and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Ariela closed the distance between them, claiming his lips in a lingering kiss that tasted of sweet tea, and then nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck once she eventually pulled away. She felt warm and comfortable against his body, and he reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair, relishing in the happy hum that she let out as he did so.

Dropping her voice so that only he could hear, Ariela murmured; "Thank you for that, Aloth. She really enjoys spending time with you, you know." She smiled gently, snuggling against him once again. "And so do I, for that matter."

#pillars of eternity #aloth corfiser #aloth x watcher #vela #watcher ariela #em-j writes #Watcher Wednesday

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