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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

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Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Part Four and Conclusion)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front Introduction and Part One Part Two Part Three

PART FOUR: Thematic Problems

For all that portions of the Western fandom look at the MLA and see Evil Quirk Eugenicists and Hypocritical Ultra-Rich, they had legitimate complaints, and their goals, while overly radical if taken to their logical extremes—see Geten[51]—still offer a way to address a huge number of the problems this society faces. Locking them up and throwing away the key is shutting off one of the most prominent angles on addressing those issues. Consider:

The Problem of Heroics

Quirk-based prejudice is real, and a huge amount of it is based in the hero/villain dichotomy. This isn’t surprising; when you set up a group of people as “heroes,” it follows logically, linguistically, naturally that the people they fight must be villains. Villains are bad, are evil, are black-and-white figures with no motivation worth considering. Toss them in jail; who cares? They earned being in there with their Bad Actions. But that kind of thinking is insidious—it spreads.

If someone looks like a villain, if someone has a bad quirk, they may well be a Bad Seed. And if they aren’t, well, the responsibility is on them to rise above that prejudice, to become better than the people around them think they can be—but no one asks the people around them to maybe stop being so damn prejudicial all the time.

A horrifyingly stark example shows up in Chapter 310, in which a woman is being attacked by a group of three men for no reason save that they think she looks like a villain, so they assume she must be a villain. Her obvious villain trait? She’s a heteromorph—unusually tall, with a vulpine face. That’s it. She’s not dressed in a threatening or antisocial style; she’s not aggressive or angry. She’s just a heteromorph who didn’t go to a shelter right away because she thought things would calm down if she waited it out.

Love Midoriya following this up with, “I bet they were just scared too.” Way to chase an aggression with a micro-aggression there, hero. (Chapter 310)

Of course, tensions are running high right now, higher than would ever be the case under normal circumstances, but even in “normal circumstances,” this uncomfortable bias persists. Consider Class 1-A’s Shoji: Shoji wears a mask because he's a gentle soul who doesn’t want to scare small children, but maybe instead, people should be teaching their kids not to judge by appearances? Then maybe their kids wouldn’t grow up to be the kinds of people who attack others for looking a little scary and not going to sufficient pains to hide it?

As far as bad quirks go, meanwhile, Shinsou is the classic example on the hero side. He was told by classmates, laughingly, that he had a good quirk for a villain; he carries himself at all times like he’s got something to prove. I suspect the only reason he’s at U.A. and not running with the League of Villains is a supportive home life,[52] but either way, people are all too ready to apply a villain label to him based on an ability that was nothing but genetic lottery, and that’s because the existence of heroes defines itself by the existence of villains.

Of course, the otherization of villains and people-who-kind-of-seem-like-they-might-be-villains is only part of the problem. The other and frankly larger issue is the effect that limiting quirk use to heroes-only has on the cultural mindset—heroes, villains, and civilians alike.

Japan in real life fosters a sense of community support so profound that children as young as four can be sent on small errands[53] around the neighborhood, safe in the knowledge that if they need help, they will be able to get that help. It’s far more common for young children to walk or take public transit to school than it is in the U.S. Another example is the country’s enthusiastic embrace of publicly available AED machines, complete with easy-to-understand printed and audio instructions about how to use them on people suffering heart attacks, a movement that has saved the lives of many who might not have otherwise survived long enough for an ambulance to arrive.

In My Hero Academia’s Japan, though?

You wind up with people who don't even particularly want to become heroes enrolling in hero schools anyway because it's the only way they can imagine contributing to society. Uraraka and Gran Torino are obvious examples—Uraraka becoming a hero less because she felt a calling to and more because it seemed like the best way to ameliorate her family’s hardscrabble lot in life; Torino getting a hero license not because he cared about being a hero at all, but because he was in on the One For All situation and needed to be able to use his quirk freely to help fight that secret war.

An even more telling case is that of the main character himself. Midoriya desperately wanted to “save” people, and from all the evidence we have in the early manga, as far as he was concerned, the only way for him to do that was to become a hero. He never even considered e.g. signing up for any volunteer programs around his neighborhood or joining the police. It’s like he never even considered the possibility of helping people via other channels.

And this is a consistent issue! People who don't think that they can become heroes train themselves (and are trained by society) into believing that they are powerless, that it isn’t their responsibility to help when they see trouble, leading to things like Shimura Tenko's “long walk,” where countless people look at a child of five, bloody and alone, and then make the conscious decision to look away, because “a hero will help.”

Hell, it even spills over onto actual heroes, who in the first chapter stand around like chumps waiting for “someone with a better quirk” to come and do something about the sludge villain, because they don’t have the perfect quirk to solve the problem themselves, so they don’t even try.

Of course, even if they did try, it might not be welcomed. Consider cases where people wanted to do good, like Gentle Criminal or Vigilantes' Koichi, but had their road to heroism blocked—this led them to villainy or vigilantism, which in turn can lead to arrest and possible prison time, with all the attendant stigma.

Restricting quirk use to heroes-only has impacts beyond just how it distorts people’s desire to help, too. Evidence in the manga suggests that some people feel a stronger biological drive to use their quirks than others. What options do those people have, then, if their quirks—or their personalities—don’t seem naturally cut out for heroism?

In Tamaki Amajiki’s flashback in Chapter 140, a teacher tells his class, “People make fine use of their quirks at any number of jobs. Being a hero’s not the only option. How will you be useful to society in the future? That’s what we’re here to explore in quirk training.” This is the scene in the manga that most explicitly tells us that other avenues for quirk use exist, but we’re never once shown what those avenues might be. At best, this suggests that those avenues are drastically limited (e.g. only available to those whose quirks are deemed “useful to society”) and/or poorly explained to people in-universe—else why would Uraraka have chosen heroism despite her lack of interest in it if she could have just gotten some kind of job license for her quirk? At worst, it’s an example of Horikoshi throwing in a line that contradicts the surrounding canon. Either way, we’re left with people who feel a strong drive to use their quirks being pressured into heroism or straying into villainy for lack of other acceptable outlets.

All of these issues could be mitigated by less draconian restrictions on quirks—which Destro's followers are the only characters in the manga we've actively seen pushing for, rather than just heard about second-hand—and by not using an ideologically charged word like “heroes” to describe a glorified independent police force. Allowing people to freely use their quirks[54] means fewer people being pushed into a heroics job they're unsuited for, means fewer people being pushed into villainy, means a more rounded view on how quirks can be used, leading to less quirk-based prejudice and less—well, let’s talk some about false dichotomies.

All For Nothing, Nothing For All

Shigaraki stands as a fundamental accusation of the way the hero/civilian dynamic exacerbates the Bystander Effect, making people think of themselves as powerless, while at the same time putting untenable pressure on heroes to be perfect victory machines who don't experience pain or doubt or weakness. He further attests that this dynamic pushes out people who don't fit either category—victim or hero—making them villains. This is one of the fundamental thematic conflicts of the series—is one hero enough? Are heroes themselves enough? What are heroes, what do they fight, and what should they be fighting? Who deserves to be “saved” and what does it mean, anyway, to “save” someone? What happens to the people who aren’t saved? How will the world grapple with the consequences, the resentment, that stem from that failure?

In his work Underground, written to grapple with and criticize the way Japanese media covered the sarin gas attacks, author Murakami Haruki talked about the response to the incident being to call the members of Aum Shinrikyo evil, insane, diseased, other. They were spoken of as a monstrous fringe that could not have been predicted, about which nothing could have been done, rather than examined as bright, well-educated young people who by all accounts ought to have had good futures ahead of them but instead spiraled down into a doomsday cult. Murakami asserted that, because the Japanese public was unwilling to ask how and why that happened, was unwilling to self-examine, the country was locking itself into a repeating cycle. Memorably, he wrote, “Most Japanese seem ready to pack up the whole incident in a trunk labeled THINGS OVER AND DONE WITH,” to describe this resolute incuriosity, the strong aversion to looking into the face of evil and trying to find the humanity within it.

In this post and its follow-up, tumblr user @robotlesbianjavert discusses the problems that stem from that exact tendency as portrayed in My Hero Academia. She says, “Only making decisions that benefit the greater good is not the real solution that the narrative is rooting for. Not so long as it fails to recognize and address the needs of the victims that still come of it.” Hero Society will never stop creating its own villains so long as, every time it fails people, it does nothing but shrug and write off the victims as unavoidable, inevitable sacrifices for the greater good.

I would also like to highlight her point—which I hope she one day posts her own full essay on—about the way All For One and One For All serve as two extreme poles of equally unsustainable visions for society. This dynamic is all over the manga.

There are the characters of AFO and his younger brother themselves, each forever locked in battle to prove the correctness of his own way of thinking, and forever talking past the other even when they’re face to face.

There’s the contrast of heroes, giving their all to help strangers even when it hurts the people they love, with villains, giving their all to help the people they love even when it hurts strangers.

The flaws in the One For All model can be seen in the multilayered ravages it inflicted on All Might physically, emotionally, and socially. Thus, one for all is not always ideal.

The strengths of the All For One model can be seen in a team of heroes and police combining their efforts and will to help one single person—Eri. Nighteye even highlights this with his speech about everyone’s efforts coalescing into Midoriya and helping him to “twist fate.” Thus, all for one is not always about selfishness.

Once you start looking for it, this duality shows up everywhere, and I think—I hope—it’s an angle Horikoshi is conscious of. The obvious solution is that the extremes of this society are all undesirable—that total selflessness and total selfishness are equally unsustainable, and both are, ultimately, damaging. A more holistic approach is needed, yet if a holistic approach is what the manga ultimately proves to be seeking, it makes the mass arrest of the PLF particularly problematic, if it’s allowed to stand unchallenged. You cannot just choose not to see 115,000 dissatisfied people—some way or another, you have to reckon with them, and if you don’t do it in a way that actually helps them address whatever their core problem is, you’re just setting yourself up for more of the same further down the line.

The MLA believed that they were fighting for a just cause, for freedom, for the future. They absolutely had issues—Geten’s words indicate that much—but they were issues that would have been much better addressed by actually challenging them openly, rather than suppressing them. If they couldn’t get society to agree right away that the use of one’s quirk should be as unregulated as the use of one’s hands, maybe they would have accepted a tiered license approach to quirk use as a good starting compromise. If they wanted totally unhindered quirk use, such that people could murder with impunity? Well, that would never have gotten past the House of Representatives, but maybe a bill declaring that crimes committed by quirks should be treated no differently than crimes committed via any other means would have. A weeklong debate on the Diet floor would have stood a much greater chance of e.g. addressing the needs of the quirkless than the MLA alone would have bothered with.

The MLA didn’t get to have that kind of debate. Instead, they ran headfirst into Shigaraki Tomura, who made them far more dangerous. And yet… For all that Shigaraki twisted them, he didn’t change them so much that Re-Destro couldn’t still see the light of his ideals within them. Furthermore, even though the PLF didn’t win the battle we call the War Arc, it may be that they’re well on their way to winning the actual war.

“The Seeds Are Already Sown”

So what did the PLF actually want? Well, we have a few sources on that—Shigaraki’s desire to destroy “everything,” the cloned Re-Destro’s vision of liberation through “order without order,” and so forth. But a very instructive place to look is Hawks’ doomsaying in Chapter 258. While the PLF is a bit too scattered or imprisoned to appreciate it, a shocking number of the things Hawks laid out for the audience have actually come about, even if they didn’t happen exactly as the PLF planned. Consider:

Bring down the status quo by annihilating all heroes. Heroes—a number of whom died the day of the raid—are retiring in mass numbers. As the manga describes it, they are “being put through a sieve.” They certainly haven’t all been annihilated, but the ones remaining are having to do the work with little in the way of thanks or glory—the false heroes Stain spoke of have left the table.

They plan to attack all major cities at once throughout the nation. Gigantomachia stampeded over more than twenty cities in the space of less than an hour. A bunch of them were surely not major cities, but all the same, it was a rampage that caught the heroes almost completely off-guard (because they were all tied up arresting the PLF and didn’t think Machia would be an issue), leading to massive collateral damage and unspeakable loss of life.

With society brought to a lawless standstill… Thanks to AFO’s prison breaks, a bunch of villains are now out there raising hell to their hearts’ content, and there aren’t enough heroes around to always respond in a timely fashion. They’re having to open up schools as shelter zones, evacuating entire cities, which the common people respond to predictably poorly, leading to groups of people who were not previously villainous deciding to take the law into their own hands.

…Re-Destro and the Hearts & Minds Party will storm the political world. In Chapter 297, the less openly fascist guard worries that the remaining factions of the HMP[55] will still be stirring up trouble on the political front, especially given the enormous wave of brand-new complaints about human rights violations that he doubtlessly figured were incoming.

They will distribute weapons and extol the virtues of self-defense, calling it true freedom. Whether Detnerat picked up the pace of its black-market support goods sales, bankrolled Giran doing the same, or some other groups—yakuza, perhaps—stepped up, we already know that there are weapons and support goods circulating throughout society, and that people are using them for self-defense.

These people will throw the world into chaos and enthrone Shigaraki atop the rubble. The second coming of All For One. Far more so than anyone in the PLF would have wanted, this one has come horribly true with the AFO vestige’s possession of Shigaraki.[56]

While it is perhaps karmic that the PLF is in no position to enjoy the fruits of their villainous efforts, it’s striking how much of what they wanted has come about anyway. And how much of this can really be undone or wound back? Complete societal breakdown isn’t the kind of genie you can easily rebottle, and this, I think, is particularly illustrated by the civilians Yo and Tatami encounter in Chapter 307.

I’d like to wind this essay down by zooming in on that encounter somewhat.

The group of people the Ketsubutsu pair encounter in 307 are not nice, but neither are they violent. Having, like so many others, lost faith in heroes to protect them, they want only to protect their hometown and for heroes to leave them be. They’ve fended off a few small-time villain attacks and are bluntly uninterested in cooperating with condescending heroes (an impression Yo is not helping to mitigate) who have done nothing but disappoint them.

The spokesman in particular feels to me like someone who’s suffered a significant personal loss. The shadow over his eyes here is telling. (Chapter 307)

When Muscular shows up, they are 100% ready to put their lives where their mouths are. They are all in the process of charging outside, first to stop their town from suffering more damage, then to back up a hero kid they just got done telling to buzz off. And you know? It’s possible—probable, even!—that Muscular would have murdered every last one of them, and them charging in to fight him would have led to a horrific tragedy, one more to stack atop the pile.

And yet, while the narrative doesn’t allow them to actually assist,[57] neither does it entirely rebuke them, in the end. When all is said and done, the civilians agree to hear Tatami and Yo out, and they help Tatami get Yo inside for medical attention. The leader is a little abashed, but he doesn’t bow his head and admit to being wrong; his group doesn’t meekly submit to being herded to shelter. And that’s because the narrative is—wisely—unwilling to say that they’re wrong.

After all, how could it?

Midoriya Izuku and the jaded civilian's instincts. (Chapters 1 and 307)

For a last comparison, remember that in the first chapter, Midoriya Izuku—quirkless, untrained Midoriya Izuku—dove into a fight he had no way of winning, no way of even affecting. All he was doing was endangering himself and making the sludge villain even harder to target. Still, All Might and the narrative alike praised him for his action, because it was driven by a “desire to save.” In Chapter 307, a group of undertrained civilians witnesses a high school boy being attacked by the highest tier of villain their society knows, a Tartarus escapee, a gleeful and unrepentant serial killer with a devastatingly powerful quirk. Their response is to gather up their weapons and numbers and dive in to try and help. Regardless of the weakness of their quirks, regardless of their lack of training, regardless of the danger to their lives, their instinct is the same as Midoriya’s was back then—“the desire to save.”

How could the narrative possibly tell us that they're wrong?

And if they aren’t wrong, this group of people who are so very close to the vision the PLF had for the world after their revolution, the narrative simply cannot expect to retain the slightest hint of credibility if it tries to tell us that the PLF are worth nothing more than an authorial handwave and the slamming of a cell door.

Conclusion

What we are seeing in the manga now is a society that is fumbling towards a new way. It isn’t perfect; it has a lot of wrinkles to iron out. Yet in some ways, if this is a society that has gone back in time, it is also a society that has a chance to chart a different path forward than it did before, a more inclusive path, a more balanced one. Heroes can still exist in the same way that surgeons and emergency responders exist, but that doesn't mean people throw their first aid kits in the garbage.

People protest that untrained civilians using their quirks leads to collateral damage, and that's true. The same would be true, however, if a nation that relied solely on public transit suddenly faced the total breakdown of that system and found that, if they wanted to get anywhere farther than walking distance, they had to get behind the wheel of a car and drive there themselves with no previous experience handling a motor vehicle. With some basic training, or perhaps a test and associated license that is as ubiquitous as a driver's license, how much of the collateral damage caused by civilians fighting might be reduced? How might people feel more empowered to act when necessary?

I very much want to see that future in the manga. It will feel terribly bitter, however, if the people who always believed in that future the most don’t get to see it themselves.

Bit characters are bit characters, I know. Terrorists in fiction don’t typically get to walk away scot-free. But numbers aren’t just numbers, even in fiction, even when they’re villains. If all Horikoshi wanted was a sufficiently large, scary threat to throw his heroes up against, he should have stuck with mindless Noumu or maniacal robots. He didn’t. He chose to make that threat human. He cannot now choose to dehumanize the threat, just because those humans are no longer convenient to his story.

Or at least, he can’t make me look at his doing so as anything other than appalling—ahistorical, absurd, and unsustainable.

Come back next time for sources and further reading.

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[51] And yes, as always, I do think that Geten-whose-name-means-Apocrypha is a radical, not a reliable barometer for the MLA norm.

[52] Contrasting Toga, the standard-bearer for bad quirks on the villain side.

[53] We don’t know if that practice—so widespread it became the subject of a long-running TV program—survived the Advent and raised crime rate, but if it didn’t, that only further suggests that kids wandering the streets unattended are probably in need of assistance.

[54] Within the same bounds other freedoms exist, e.g. they’re not unduly burdening others.

[55] Small political parties in Japan merge and fragment all the time, particularly in times of crisis, so it’s not surprising that the HMP has some sub-groups. I am somewhat surprised that these factions themselves weren’t dissolved as well, given the heavy-handedness on display everywhere else. This is about the only thing that suggests that the arrests might not be as totally over-the-top as is otherwise implied, though really, if that’s the case, it just brings us back to the problem of all the people who probably slipped the net if the HPSC did opt to undercompensate.

[56] Another enormous thematic issue I have with tossing away the PLF like this is that it renders Shigaraki and the League’s hard-fought victories in My Villain Academia all but meaningless—worse than meaningless, since settling into the villa instead of staying on the run or bunking up with Ujiko wound up losing them Twice—but that’s more a problem with the writing of Shigaraki’s arc than the themes of the series as a whole. Certainly, fumbling Shigaraki’s arc will have a nigh-incomparable impact on the themes of the series as a whole, but there’s time to salvage his situation yet, so I’m crossing my fingers and reserving judgement on that for now.

[57] It should have.

#bnha analysis #bnha meta #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #my writing #plf arrests #stillness has salt

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stonerz4sokka · 4 years ago

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the gaang (& co.) on zoom

aang: ALWAYS mixes up his class times and it isn’t until sokka helps build his schedule and set reminders on aang's phone that he actually shows up to the right class at the right time, always excited to be there but is constantly getting distracted by the littlest things (doesn’t help that his window is behind his computer), isn’t afraid to tell the teacher when the hw assigned is too much (the whole class thanks him for that), types jokes in the class chat, wears his appa print pajamas to class everyday, motivates people to stay optimistic during these ‘troubling times’ (and it works)

katara: wears sweatpants and a crewneck everyday but NEVER forgets to do her hair, talks shit about the ugly white girls in their class (some are sokka’s exes) with zuko, wants to do pranks with toph but is too scared of getting caught (though she eventually does a few), takes the lead in breakout rooms bc she can’t stand the awkward silence although if aang is there they’ll both be very distracting, will literally laugh on camera every time she hears a stupid comment, gives emotional speeches to help motivate her classmates which are well-intentioned but come off as a little preachy :/ people still try though bc they weirdly don’t want to disappoint her, refuses to let a man interrupt her so she will continue talking even if their voices are overlapping for a good 20 secs

sokka: has an insane amount of reminders, alarms and organizational tools on his phone and computer so he doesn’t forget to go to class, he tries so hard to focus but ends up doing something that’s completely unrelated yet still educational, wears his same dumbass science pun t-shirts to class but he has his hair down more which makes the white girls in his class go crazy, starts all his sentences with ‘i think’ or ‘maybe we should’, tried to be clever once by setting a video on loop for his zoom background so the teacher didnt know he went to the bathroom but forgot to mute himself so the entire class heard him pee :(( his teachers enjoy him more in a zoom setting bc he's less of a distraction but they hate how he never stays on topics and asks questions they dont have the answer to, whenever katara sees him getting increasingly neurotic she’ll send him links to cool small businesses and they’ll ignore their classes n go online shopping together

zuko: always looks tired and grumpy even when he’s well rested, his camera is at 256p even when he has the newest macbook (azula messed w his computer & he still hasn't realized), extremely paranoid around accidentally unmuting himself so he just never talks, cannot figure out zoom and never screen shares for projects bc it takes him 15 mins every. time. is weird in breakout rooms because he's bad at social situations but he's trying!!! he could try harder tho :/ is able to empathize well with his fellow classmates n tries to lift their spirits (it rarely works but the effort feels nice), the teacher once saw him scream and punch his desk during the desmos activity and sent iroh an email about local therapists who specialize in anger management, spends his breaks between classes crying

toph: she will pick her nose, eat food, clip her toenails, do anything gross on camera to get back at her history teacher who told her she needs to be more ladylike, is actually cool in breakout rooms she seems like she would be super distracting but she would complain about the shitty teachers n provide insightful thoughts for the discussion/assignment at hand, does her zoom classes in her backyard so she could play with bugs, gives very helpful advice for maintaining ones sanity during online learning

suki: is always wrapped up in her blankets to the point where u can barely see her face, eats on camera & doesn't realize that no one wants to see that shit, she laughs at all the teachers' bad jokes bc she genuinely thinks they're funny, refuses to let sokka outperform in zoom learning so she does actually pay attention although it doesn't look like it, is really chill in breakout rooms n pretends she doesn't really care but will edit the work after class so it fits her expectations, she once farted in the middle of when she was talking and just pretended like she it didn't happen, actually is fine with online learning and likes the flexibility and doesn’t get why sokka is spiraling all the time ://

azula: oh god, she wears entire outfits with khakis and polos and SHOES!!! for her zoom meetings!!! she. wears. shoes. her hair is always perfect, tries WAY too hard and everyone knows when she wants to speak in class bc she literally starts vibrating on camera, one time someone won a debate against her in class and she turned off her camera for a good 3 minutes, when she turned it back on her eyes were watery and her entire face was red, doesn't understand how people are underperforming over zoom, has the second highest gpa in the school (after sokka) and managed to convince herself he is actively trying to ruin her life but he's just........ sitting there. constantly messes with zuko's google calendar so he's late for class, can clearly see the art of war by sun tzu on her bookshelf in the background

mai: yawns on camera whenever azula talks just to piss her off, doesn't talk often because her teachers & peers underestimate her but she's smart and when she does talk it's always something rlly insightful, one time her and ty lee were paired with jet for a project where he spent the whole time 'explaining' the topics at hand while they did the entire project on another tab and pretended to pay attention to him, tom tom will sometimes join her during class bc he misses her n she acts like she hates it but she does love spending time with him, is actually secretly extremely anxious about maintaining her grades during online learning but only sokka and ty lee can tell, her and sokka gossip through heavily layered inside jokes that only the two of them understand

ty lee: built a completely new daily schedule and organizational system the minute she learned they were switching to zoom, is always ready for class 20 mins before it starts but joins the zoom 2 minutes after class started so no one thinks she’s an overachiever, a great student but she waits too long to speak in class so she barely joins in on the discussions, is seemingly the regular ty lee but every so often she’ll pretend to go to the bathroom & turn off her camera to recollect herself bc she’s always on edge :/, would have the best gpa in the school but doesn’t want to seem intimidating so she purposefully scores lower on certain assignments so she has a 3.75 gpa,

jet: he tries to subtly vape during class by turning off camera his camera but its really obvious bc when he comes back he’s coughing and waving the smoke out the air, only participates in breakout rooms when the teacher comes in and immediately turns off his camera when they leave, staged a kidnapping during one of his lectures as an elaborate prank but no one cared noticed, someone else recorded the prank and posted it on tiktok where it blew up & all the comments were insulting him, he didn’t care though because ‘there’s no such thing as bad clout’

chan & ruon-jian: has not gone to a single one of their zoom classes sober (honestly barely attend), still tried throwing houseparties even when the cases were at their peak, tried to one-up jet's kidnapping prank by calling SWAT on themselves but ended up getting arrested because they forgot to hide their stash (they sell counterfeit juul pods), worst part was that their prank only got 250 views on yt :(

#ik this is pretty late considering it's been a year in quarantine but i made this for ME #the gaang #mai #ty lee #azula #jet #god azula would be SO FUNNY in zoom classes #tag urself im sokka #and sort of suki n mai #sokka and mai #ty lee and mai #my sokka n mai tag is sooo weak its my biggest flaw smh #chan #ruon-jian #didnt feel like tagging everyone but my otp chan-jian deserved the love💗#chan and ruon-jian

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fuzzyporcupine · 4 years ago

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lead me with your hands tied | chapter 6

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

rating: explicit

word count: 13,130

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 6:

The knock at the door had woken him with a start, loud and forceful as it echoed through the tiny room. The light shining in from the singular window blinded his sight, straining the already sleep-addled eyes. It couldn’t have been soon after dawn, and he had no idea who could possibly need to disturb him this early. Levi grumbled lowly as he sat up in the bed, throwing the furs to the side. Bare feet slid onto the stone floor, pale toes flexing on the ground. Dressed in only a thin white shift to cover his nakedness, Levi stepped to the large door. He unlocked it with quick, deft fingers, sliding the thick iron rod out of the latch.

The hinges squeaked painfully as he tugged the entrance open. Levi expected to be greeted by an annoyed Petra, maybe even the frightened servant girl, though the latter seemed highly unlikely given the fright he had caused her. However, neither was standing beyond the entryway. The only people meeting his gaze were the goddamned Royal Guard.

A cold sweat began to form on the back of his neck as a twitchy thumb tucked into a sweaty palm. The men were decorated with fine golden armor and a green silken cloak that wrapped around their wide shoulders. The uniform was customary of the Royal Guard and signified their importance to the court. His eyes flicked down to the long silver swords and black slender rifles strapped menacingly to the soldiers’ sides and backs. Swallowing hard, Levi lifted his gaze back to brave the stone-faced men. He didn’t know what could have possibly warranted the Royal Guard to arrive at his doorstep. Perhaps Eren did tell his father of Levi’s disrespect inside the studio. Perhaps this was a reckoning.

The thought had Levi’s throat tightening.

Regardless, Levi refused to be afraid. Fear was a terrible emotion. One that never seemed to do anything but scramble the brain and cause unneeded anxiety. He’d boarded that feeling up long ago and would be damned if he let it boil back up again.

One of the guards shuffled. “His Majesty requests your presence.” That sounded ominous.

He steeled himself, a pointed chin turned upwards, almost mocking. “May I be dressed or does His Majesty wish to see me prance about in my bedclothes?” If they were going to make an example of him, he’d rather it not be with his cock out.

The man’s gaze narrowed then drifted down to Levi’s bare legs. “Make haste. His Majesty does not like to wait.”

Levi grunted, quietly closing the door behind him as the guards moved to stand against the wall.

Well, wasn’t this just a right old mess?

A thought of jumping out the window and making a run for it briefly fluttered through his mind before he disregarded the idea entirely. He had no notion if the king intended something sinister or just wanted to chat. Levi decided it was not worth snapping his ankles over.

Pulling the shift over his head, Levi made quick work of getting dressed. If the king was truly impatient as the Royal Guard stated, then it was in his best interest to not dawdle.

The men were still standing outside when he exited the room. However, now he appeared to them much more decent - a linen shirt tucked nicely beneath the waist of his darkened breeches.

Without so much as a verbal cue, the Royal Guard began to march towards where Levi assumed the king was residing. He found it a good sign that the men were not dragging him along by the backs of his arms. At least they weren’t yet, anyway.

The grounds were ghostly as he was led through. Empty except for a few soldiers and a murder of crows squawking a venomous tune atop the ramparts. Leather boots sunk deep into the mud, the morning dew softening up the already well-trodden soil. It was impossible to tell which direction the guards were taking him based on the prints left in the dirt. There were so many of them, abandoned from weary horses being led to the stables and drunken soldiers stumbling in late from the tavern. Reminded him of a certain soaked fool whispering vulgar obscenities into his ear.

“I would teach you. If you begged.”

Just the memory of the words had Levi’s jaw clenching. He’d never begged for anything in his life. Not when there had been a knife pressed flush against his throat. Not when a stingy noble threatened to dock his pay. Not even when he watched the colors of Shiganshina toss flames onto everything he loved. Shit would sooner rain from the sky before Levi Ackerman begged of anything from that bastard.

“Through the door and up the stairs.” They’d stopped in front of one of the vast spherical towers attached to the curtain wall. Like a dark cloud on a stormy day, the structure cast a leaden shadow over Levi and the surrounding mud. He was close enough to the stone that if he looked up only brick and mortar would catch his gaze. Attached to the tower was a wooden door. Though not near as strong as the immense iron gate separating the village from the castle grounds, the entrance felt just as menacing. With a jaw still tightened, Levi strode forward and threw open the flimsy door with a hard tug.

The spiral staircase greeted him immediately, grey stone steps coated with a layer of dust and debris. Soft footsteps echoed as he advanced upward, almost loud enough to drown out the obnoxious beating in his chest. By the time he reached the top of the tower, his thighs were burning fiercely and an unattractive sweat had formed above his brow. The men below did not tell Levi where he should head once reaching the top, but it was not hard to decipher. A trio of Royal Guard stood behind the king as the slouching man observed the dwindling village from atop the wall. Levi approached carefully, still unsure if the encounter would end with him thrown from the battlements.

“I see the men have escorted you well.” The king continued to stare off into the distance as he spoke, voice mimicking the tiredness that dragged on the man’s expression. In the morning light, Levi saw the streaks of grey reflecting brightly against the dull brown on top of the king’s head. The war had aged the man, as most wars tended to do.

“They have, Your Majesty,” Levi confirmed.

The king hummed, thin hands gripping tightly around the stone. “I understand my son has proven to be quite difficult to work with.” Levi remained stone-faced and silent. He had no inkling of how to respond to such a loaded question. Should he remain quiet or let the king know how much of a complete idiot the prince was? Either choice seemed likely to offend. “Shall I find someone else more competent?” So, this was why the king sent for him. Not to toss him off the side of the wall or to swing a sword through his neck. But to humiliate him.

Rage rose in him like a tide receding from the shore, thumbnail digging an angry crescent into his palm. Levi’s skill had proven him to be more than competent as an artist. His portfolio saw proof of that. What he wasn’t, however, was a goddamned babysitter, especially to an overgrown child such as the prince.

“No,” he bit out dangerously. The king turned to face him then. “I’m the best damned painter in this entire bloody kingdom. By three months’ end, you’ll be able to see that for yourself.”

Are you fucking delirious?

That timeframe was impossible. Even with the best of clients, Levi typically wouldn’t have the piece delivered in under six months. And to cut that time in half? He had to be absolutely insane. That had to be it. Or maybe he just longed for death and wanted to feel the cool slice of a blade against his skin. Which might actually happen sooner rather than later. In his anger, Levi had taken several steps closer, prompting the Royal Guard to grab hold of the weapon hilts. The sight doused his anger like water over a fire. “Your Majesty,” he added quietly in the hopes that the soldiers would release their swords with the two words.

The king looked him up and down, an unimpressed stare settled within the wrinkles on the worn face. A hand was lifted and the sound of sheathed steel cut sharply through the air.

“By three months’ end,” the king said firmly. Goddammit, Ackerman. Levi nodded once, fist unclenching by his side. “You may leave.” He bowed his head, turning quickly on a booted heel. Before Levi could reach the archway, the king regarded him again. “And painter?” Levi cast a wary glance over his shoulder to find the man gazing back out again over the village. “Disrespect me again and I’ll have you flayed and dragged through the streets.”

Levi let out a nervous breath.

Of that, he had no doubt.

_______________________

Levi had not been waiting in the studio long before Petra arrived. She brought with her a remorseful expression and news that the young prince was suffering an unfortunate bout of nausea and would not be attending the session.

Like hell he wouldn’t, Levi thought as his feet marched him closer to Petra.

“Take me to his room,” he insisted, voice unyielding as the stone walls surrounding him.

“But, sir, the prince is-”

“Sleeping?” Levi interrupted. “It’s nearly midday, Ms. Ral.”

“Yes, I understand, but-”

“If the prince is well and truly ill I shall send for a doctor. Now, please.” He looked at her expectantly, watching the way a plump bottom lip wiggled in between her teeth. The woman could easily refuse him. He had not been hired to snoop into the prince’s room. Levi was there to paint, and Petra surely realized this. However, he had only a limited amount of time to complete what was seemingly an impossible portrait. One that he was certain would get him killed if it was not finished on time. He couldn’t allow Eren’s wankered morning after to place any undue setbacks on the schedule.

A tight sigh broke across her lips as she murmured, “Right this way, sir.” Levi’s shoulders relaxed as he followed the woman down the winding staircase. Her pace was brisk, hardly allowing him the opportunity to analyze the route they were taking. She said nothing as they ascended the great set of stairs in the foyer. Just continued marching until they had finally made it to a fine wooden door. “The prince is inside.”

His eyes fell to the small iron handle of the entrance and then to the golden keyhole. “Is it locked?”

Petra shook her head. “No, sir. His young Majesty only locks the door when…” She trailed off, cheeks flaring pink. Ah, Levi understood.

“Of course,” he muttered. Levi silently wondered why Eren would even bother with locks considering the scene he witnessed the night prior. “Thank you for the escort.” He raised a fist to the door, giving it two sharp knocks before closing his hand around the handle. Hopefully, the warning would be able to warn the prince of his arrival. If not, well, Levi wouldn’t necessarily be surprised.

“I shall let the guards know to ignore any screaming.”

Levi thanked her with a slight upturn of the lips as he pulled the door open and entered the bedroom.

The chambers were coated in a shadowy grey, the light from the window being held back by a thick curtain. A small table stood off to the side, a basket of uneaten fruit and a bronze pitcher sitting on top of the surface. A writing desk with a battered leg took up residence against the same wall. Miscellaneous papers were scattered everywhere atop the desk, leaving nary space vacant. Across the room, a large bed, about twice the size of his own, was fixed upon a risen platform of solid stone. Green silk cascaded around the poles holding up the canopy. Bundled in the middle amidst a pile of blankets and furs nestled the prince, a mess of brown hair sticking out from the depths of the sheets.

“Gods be kind, Petra. I said leave me be.” The voice didn’t hold quite the bite that he’s sure Eren was hoping, overly raspy from the man’s rambunctious night. Levi stepped closer to the talking lump, boots echoing off the stone floor as he went. He took in the figure moving slightly beneath the sheets, the gentle breathing causing the blankets to rise and fall in a steady motion. With swift hands, Levi gripped the coverings and ripped them from the bed, exposing the body beneath.

“Are you completely mad, you daft wench?!” Eren screamed, hands reaching out to recover the lost warmth. They paused, though, when the prince noticed who exactly had pulled the silken linens from the bed. “What are you doing here?” Eren asked, wincing as he pushed himself up into a sitting position against the plush pillows. “Come to ravage me in my bed chambers?”

“Get up,” he stated plainly, not in the mood for the prince’s teasing.

“Oh, I am up, artist.” Levi resisted the urge to strangle the bastard, biting the inside of his cheek as he marched over to the curtained window. The fabric was pulled back, and Eren threw up a quick hand against the light. “Gods, you’re fucking cruel.”

“Get up,” Levi reiterated, voice almost a growl as it snuck between clenched teeth. He felt like punching something, preferably the prince’s stupid, smug face.

“My, you are feisty today.” Eren grinned up wolfishly at Levi. “Did my father order you to speak so openly to me?”

“Your father ordered me to paint your portrait, Your Highness.” In only three months, he reminded himself. Though that fault fell on Levi’s own shoulders.

Eren yawned loudly, arms stretching high up into the air. The movement caused the man’s nightclothes to shift up, exposing thick, tan thighs. Levi tore his eyes away, a red heat tickling his neck. He silently cursed his embarrassment. Levi had seen a man naked before. Many men in fact. The communal baths were not exactly the place one would go expecting modesty. So, to have such a reaction to this complete pig of a man was humiliating. “I told you,” the prince said in between yawns, “that I would be bedridden today.”

Levi scoffed, mortification long forgotten as he stomped over to the edge of the bed. “I have promised your father a complete portrait in three fucking months. I do not intend to disappoint him.” His tone was dangerously deadly, causing Eren to nervously drop outstretched arms in a covered lap. “I expect you in the studio within the hour, Your Highness.” He turned away, leaving the prince momentarily speechless. Upon reaching the doorway, Levi paused, looking back over his shoulder to find Eren staring back in his direction with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“You’re the Prince of Shiganshina. Act like it.”

#ereri fanfic #ereri #fic: lead me with your hands tied #thespazzbot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot #attack on titan

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fourdaysofrain · 5 years ago

Text

By Any Other Name

Summary: 5 times Peter called Mr. Stark Tony, and one time he called him something else entirely.

(Still set in the Irondad oasis between Homecoming and Infinity War)

Read on AO3

i. in the lab

It started, as most of their personal conversations do, during a late night in the lab. Peter was alternating between working on a history worksheet and his web-shooters, switching between the two projects when he ran out of steam. Tony was idly tinkering with a box of scraps while he waited for FRIDAY to process his newest idea for nanotech, which would take at least another hour. It was a gentle kind of silence that filled the room, only broken by various lab noises that they had both since learned to tune out-- a whir here, the ting of a fallen screw there, the soft scratching of a pencil on paper.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his voice easily carrying over the room, “What was the main catalyst for World War I?”

There was a short pause while Tony switched his attention from the growing pile of machinery in front of him to the teenager across the room before he answered, “Franz Ferdinand’s death.”

“Thanks,” Peter responded as he quickly wrote something down, “that’s what I thought, but I wasn’t sure about his name.” He laughed to himself softly, but it faded when he looked up to see Tony looking at him intently.

Tony took a breath to center himself before speaking. How could he tell the kid every time he called him Mr. Stark, it just reminded him of shitty fathers and childhoods spent masquerading like adults and drinking to avoid the stares of students and professors alike and-- he cut off his spiral with a short sniff. He decided casual was the best way to approach this.

“Hey kid, why do you still call me Mr. Stark?”

Peter blanched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s just that you’re a billionaire and a literal superhero, and May raised me to be respectful, I guess. There’s nothing more to it.” If it weren’t for the slightly more hysterical than normal nervous laugh that followed, Tony might have believed him.

“You call Rhodey by his first name,” Tony countered, “well, technically by his middle name, but the point stands.”

“That’s different because Rhodey’s not--” the man who spends all of his time either protecting me or poking fun at me, my childhood hero, my quasi-dad parental figure type person “--my mentor.”

“I can safely say that as your mentor, and given that you are also a ‘literal superhero,’” he rolled his eyes, successfully getting an annoyed smile from Peter, “I hereby grant you the ability to call me Tony.” He punctuated his words with a quick flourish of his hands.

Peter sighed before making hesitant eye contact, tapping his fingers against the leg of his jeans, “Okay… Tony.”

“That wasn’t too bad, was it? The world is still standing, the clock is still ticking,” now it was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes, “and speaking of the clock still ticking, looks like we let it tick a little too long. Time for bed, Spiderling.”

Peter reacted quickly to the change in conversation, “I can’t go to bed yet! I still have a few questions on this worksheet, and it’s due tomorrow!”

“You should have thought about that sometime before--” his eyes flitted to the clock and back, “--12:30 am. Jesus kid, you really do have to get to bed. Don’t want you taking after me too much.”

Tony tried to keep his tone light and joking, but it fell flat. Peter and him made eye contact for a second that seemed to stretch towards infinity before Tony looked away, pretending to study something on his desk.

“I mean, red and gold aren’t my colors, but I could manage,” Peter joked.

Tony chuckled at that, letting himself live in a world where his biggest regret was Iron Man’s suit design for a few moments.

“C’mon kid, flattery will get you nowhere. Let’s close up for the night.” He didn’t bother with clearing the scraps off his desk, he would go back down to the lab after making sure Peter went to bed.

“Please let me finish this, I promise it’ll be less than five minutes. I’ll even use FRIDAY so I can go even faster!”

“Kid, only you could make cheating sound like a good thing,” Tony took a beat to decide, as if Peter didn’t already have him wrapped around his finger, “Alright, just don’t tell your aunt that I let you stay up so late, it makes me look irresponsible. Or Pepper, for that matter. Thank God she’s still on her business trip or we would both be in trouble.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Stark-- Tony. I’ll be out of here soon.”

Tony huffed out a laugh at the kid’s antics as he walked across the room to grab some more tools.

True to his word, Peter finished his homework in record time, thanks to FRIDAY’s seemingly endless database of information. Just as Tony was relaxing into the steady back and forth of their conversation, he heard the harsh zip of Peter’s backpack.

“Alright, it’s all finished, so I can go to bed now,” Peter said, looking pointedly at Tony.

“What’s with the look?”

“I think if you’re forcing me to go to bed, you should too.” Peter normally lost his filter when he was tired, so Tony shouldn’t be surprised that he’s getting rightfully called out.

“How about this-- I’ll walk you up, and then you can pretend I went to bed and not listen to my footsteps as I come back down here.”

Peter rolled his eyes but saved the witty comeback. He instead just walked to the door with his backpack and looked back at Tony like a dog getting ready for a walk. The imagery made Tony laugh to himself.

“Alright, I’m coming. FRI, put the lights to 50% all the way to Pete’s room.” A quick confirmation from the AI was all he needed to open the door and lead the way to the bedroom wing. He slung an arm around Peter, grasping his shoulder as the kid walked sleepily beside him.

They walked in amicable, or just tired, silence until they got to Peter’s door. May let him spend the night enough times that Peter finally felt comfortable enough to take ownership of the room, instead of having everyone pretend it was the guest room. It had a small whiteboard on the outside, reminding Tony of his days in the dorms at MIT. Tony smirked when he saw that someone, probably one of Peter’s Midtown friends, had drawn a spider building a web in the corner.

“Last stop, Underoos,” Tony said, softly breaking the silence. Peter mumbled a thanks as he went to open the door. He looked at Tony expectantly for a beat before walking into his bedroom.

“Goodnight, Tony,” came Peter’s voice from inside as the door closed behind him. Tony frowned. He sounded disappointed. He shrugged it off as lack of sleep.

“Night Pete,” he replied.

He stood still in front of Peter’s door. He wanted to go back to the lab to work on his newest idea for nanotech. He knew FRIDAY would be done with rendering the new models by now. Nonetheless, he signed before continuing down the hall to his own bedroom. That damn kid.

ii. in the kitchen

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of warm spices. Peter followed it like a cartoon character after a pie. He expected to find Pepper, or maybe even Rhodey, baking something to share with everyone. He wasn’t prepared to see Tony Stark wearing an apron with the Mark VII’s arc reactor printed on the chest while singing proudly along to the music playing through FRIDAY’s speakers. Peter could have sworn he saw that apron at a tourist shop somewhere downtown. He walked into Tony’s line of sight, causing him to stop singing and tell FRIDAY to turn the volume down, though he didn’t look at all embarrassed at being caught.

“Hey kid, have you ever had my famous molasses cookies? They’re an old Stark recipe. My mom taught me, her dad taught her, his dad... et cetera. It’s passed onto the firstborn. Top secret stuff.” He shot a silly wink across the room.

Peter shook his head, still shell-shocked from seeing Tony acting so… domestic.

“Well, today’s your lucky day. The first batch just came out.” Tony motioned to where a dozen cookies were sitting on a wire rack, and Peter eyed it hungrily.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark!” As Pete moved to the counter to grab one, Tony stepped in to block his way.

“What’s the magic word?” he asked playfully.

“Please?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ with a smirk, “for me, it’s Tony.”

Peter shook his head as he said, “Sorry. Thanks, Tony.” He was rewarded with a clear path to the cooling cookies. He walked over and grabbed one, nowhere near as excited as he was a few seconds earlier. Tony frowned.

“What’s up, Pete?”

“Nothing,” Tony fixed him with a hard stare, and Peter took a second before continuing, “it’s just that calling you Tony is weird for me.” He grabbed a few cookies and a napkin, and sat at the counter across from Tony, not eating them yet.

“Why would it be weird? It’s my name, right?” Peter nodded, so he continued, “Mr. Stark is what everyone called my dad, or what people trying to brown-nose called me. Neither of those options makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You’re better than them, kid.” A flash of guilt went over Peter’s face, but Tony convinced himself he imagined it.

“It’s just I already had the habit of calling you Mr. Stark, so it’ll take me a while to get used to it. No biggie,” he ended with taking a bite of a cookie, “Oh my God, these are insane! Why have you never made them before?”

Tony wasn’t entirely convinced but was willing to let it slide for now.

“Next time, I’ll teach you the recipe so you can make them yourself,” he said casually.

“Um, didn’t you say the recipe was for Starks only?” Peter looked up from his cookies to Tony, his eyes wide and innocent.

“Yeah well,” Tony scratched his eyebrow, searching for what to say, “just don’t tell TMZ and I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Peter smiled softly to himself as he continued to eat. Tony failed to suppress his own warm smile as he started to scoop out the next batch. The unsaid message was heard loud and clear.

You’re family.

iii. at home

May and Peter were eating take-out at the table, May’s failed dinner residing somewhere in the dumpster outside. The clinks of their silverware and their warm conversation filled the apartment.

“So what are your plans for this weekend? Ned seemed excited about something last time I saw him,” May asked as she took another bite. Peter made sure to swallow his own mouthful of food before responding.

“He got a new Lego set, and I’m going to help him build it on Sunday. But Friday night I’m going to spend the night at Tony’s, he said he already cleared it with you, and then Saturday I’ll probably be patrolling and doing homework all day.” Peter looked at May to find her smiling at him. He gave her a confused look.

“It’s so funny to hear you call him Tony. Like he’s a high school friend or something.” Peter laughed along with her goodnaturedly.

“He said Mr. Stark makes him feel like his dad, so I’m getting used to saying Tony.”

“I can imagine. If you called me Mrs. Parker I think I’d have to kick you out.” May and Peter shared a playful smirk.

“Yeah well, that’s different. You’re my aunt, he’s Iron Man!” Peter still couldn’t hide his feeling of awe at personally knowing the Iron Man. May just smiled sweetly at him.

“And being your aunt is the closest to a superhero I ever want to be,” May said as she reached over and rubbed his cheek, “and speaking of Tony, you should invite him over for dinner sometime. I’m willing to let him try to win me over after seeing how much he matters to you.”

Peter blushed but nodded. May hummed in response, and they kept eating dinner.

iv. at the front desk

Peter swore under his breath. He’s supposed to be working on Dum-E and U’s little brother right now, but he has to get to the lab first. He was in the lobby of the tower (Tony decided not to sell it after the whole plane crash incident), and couldn’t think of how to get past the front desk. His suit was still being repaired in the lab, so he couldn’t just crawl up the side of the building. Happy didn’t drop him off today, so he couldn’t use his ID card, and his phone died on the cab ride over, so he couldn’t just text Mr. Stark-- Tony.

He’s gotten better with calling him Tony, but it still feels clunky and strange on his tongue. And now, he had the added guilt of making Tony think of his dad every time he messed up. They didn’t talk about it much, but Peter was good enough at understanding subtext to know he wasn’t a good person to be reminded of. He hated to see the hurt look on his face when he couldn’t say Tony with the same excitement as Mr. Stark. But how do you explain to someone that using their first name makes you think of your dead uncle?

Peter knew he’s had a lot of trauma in his life, especially regarding the death of family members-- specifically, parental figures.

He called Richard “Dad” because that’s what he was, and that’s all he thought mattered at that age. He taught him to tie his shoes, he was there when he was born, and he heard his first word. But then, he died. And Peter moved in with Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

He called Ben by his first name because Dad was already taken. It was a simple decision. They had a conversation one night where Peter said he saw Ben as a father in every way except for the title. Ben’s eyes had been misty as he gave him a hug goodnight that evening. Then Ben was also taken from him, and he was left to mourn with Aunt May.

Enter Tony Stark. Peter has known him since just a few months after he got bit by a spider and fell into the persona of a crime-fighting vigilante. In the short time he’d known him, Tony had already made a big impact on his life. An upgraded suit, access to a high-tech lab with the supplies to make anything he could ever want, and, of course, another sort of father figure. Tony isn’t as confident in his emotions as Ben, or as outwardly paternal as Richard, but their bond is already much stronger than a standard mentor-mentee relationship.

It’s depressing to even think about, but Peter is running out of ways to address the influential men in his life. Richard got the title, Ben got the first name, which leaves an awkward “Mr. Stark” leftover. It didn’t make sense, Peter knew that, but calling Mr. Stark by his first name just made him think of all the times he called Ben by his. But he’d gone through worse, and he could handle saying Tony, for his sake.

He shook his head a bit before finally walking up to the front desk. The best way out of the woods is through, after all. He smiled awkwardly at the woman behind the front desk, knowing he must have seemed very out of place.

“Can I help you?” she said, looking at his nerdy graphic tee and jeans dismissively over her glasses.

“Yes, thank you, I’m just here to see Tony.” Peter tried to give his best I’m a sweet kid, please help me smile.

“Tony…?”

“Sorry, Tony Stark. I’m supposed to be in the lab with him right now, but I was running late so I had to take a cab, and my phone died so I can’t text him,” he started to trail off, looking for any reaction in the receptionist.

“Cute,” she said, her bored expression not changing, “but Mr. Stark is very busy right now. You can check the website for when he does meet and greets. If you have any fan mail, you can leave it with me and I’ll send it to his office.”

“No I’m--” Peter cut himself off by running a hand through his hair, “I’m not a fan, I’m serious, can you just tell him Peter’s in the lobby?”

“Listen kid,” and wow did it sound much icier than when Tony said it, “you seem really sweet, but do you really expect me to believe that not only does a middle schooler get to spend one-on-one time with the owner of SI in his personal labs, but he’s on a first name basis with him, too?”

“I’m in high school,” Peter said, but his confidence had already wilted. He wished that he and Tony had actually set up his internship documents instead of continuously putting it off, so he could just scan an ID and walk in.

“Sure. Do you have any other stories, or do I need to call security?”

Peter murmured to himself as he started to turn away, stopping when he saw the receptionist’s face finally change from bored to shocked. Not a second later, he felt a steady hand clap his shoulder. He instinctively looked behind him, only to see Tony, sporting a pair of sunglasses and a suit.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss…” Tony checked the nametag of the receptionist before continuing to speak, “Debbie. Peter here just got a little lost. He’s a high school intern, who I still need to issue an ID to.”

“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark--” Tony cut her off with a raised hand.

“No need to apologize, I’m glad you’re doing your job well. We’ll be going now.”

Tony led Peter to the elevators, leaving the shocked receptionist blinking to herself. Peter waited until the doors slid shut behind them before he spoke.

“Sorry Tony, I left my suit in the lab, and then my phone ran out of battery on the way here--” Tony cut him off by ruffling his hair as he took his sunglasses off.

“What’s with people and apologizing to me today? FRIDAY let me know when you walked in, I just had to finish some boring meeting before coming down.”

“Oh. Okay, cool.” Peter bounced on his heels awkwardly as the elevator slowed to a stop.

“And,” Tony smirked down at Peter and tapped the sunglasses in his hand when he looked up, “I heard and saw everything through FRIDAY. So if you do have any fan mail, please make sure it gets to my office.”

Peter groaned. He would never live that down.

v. on a rooftop

Peter swung to the top of a nearby building and sat with his back leaning against the roof entrance, letting out a huge sigh as he finally got to relax. He slid his mask off and closed his eyes to work through the withdrawal of adrenaline as he waited for Tony’s inevitable lecture. Thankfully (or not), he didn’t have to wait too long. It was only a matter of minutes before he heard the Iron Man suit touch down next to him. He heard the faceplate lifting before Tony’s voice cut through the silence.

“Are you hurt, Pete?” Peter was too tired to try to analyze his mood through his voice. He just shook his head from side to side.

“FRI, do a scan for me.” He couldn’t hear FRIDAY’s response from where he was sitting, but it must have proved he was okay because Tony just huffed and walked to his side.

“Sorry,” Peter muttered.

“Kid, you can’t just apologize and keep doing the same thing over and over. I told you to not meddle with this… goblin guy. If you’re really sorry you wouldn’t keep going against my direct orders.”

Peter just muttered under his breath as he turned to face away from Tony.

“Hey, we’re having a conversation here, look at me,” he ordered.

“Are we?” Peter swung his head back to face Tony, feeling some of his exhaustion fall away at the prospect of an argument, “because it seems pretty one-sided to me.”

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Tony pointed his finger accusingly, “you could have been hurt, you could have died today Peter, are you willing to face that? What would have happened if I hadn’t shown up?”

“I would have been fine,” Peter said, stumbling as he stood up. Despite himself, Tony automatically started to move to help steady him before he was waved off, “I can handle myself.”

“I wish I believed that.”

“I wish you did, too.”

Tony broke eye contact first, stepping back and rubbing his face as he sighed.

“Kid, you remind me too much of myself, which just makes me end up feeling like my dad. You have to listen to me when I tell you to do something. I do, in fact, have a reason behind what I say to you. If you died out there, I’d--”

“You’d what,” Peter interrupted, his temper rising, “you’d feel sad? You’d be guilty? You know what’d I feel if I died? Nothing. At all. So stop trying to guilt-trip me--”

“Guilt-trip? That’s not what’s happening here. Jesus kid, I’m just trying to say that you have people who care about you, and you need to take care of yourself.”

“Yeah well people caring about me won’t stop me from doing the right thing. He would have killed plenty of innocent civilians who also had people that cared about them if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“Listen, I know you think you know what’s best for you and what’s best for the world, but you’re 16, you have no clue what the world can do to a person.”

“I have no clue what the world can do to a person?” Peter was definitely angry now. His filter completely gone, he continued, “My parents died when I was six. I was there to see my uncle die. Aunt May and I were barely living paycheck to paycheck before I met you. My first girlfriend’s dad tried to kill me. Next time try taking the silver spoon out of your mouth before you try to talk to me about knowing what the world can do to a person, Tony.”

The name shot out like a bullet covered in ice. Peter’s shoulders were still shaking with his heavy, angry breaths. He looked up to see Tony’s face passively blank, the same way it looked when Peter asked about his black eye on the way back from Germany. He instantly felt a wave of guilt.

“Look, I’m sorry--” Tony silently raised a hand, cutting him off.

“I know you’ve gone through a lot, Peter. I’m willing to ignore that outburst. I also know that you feel like you need to save the whole world, but you can’t. No matter how good of a hero you are, there’s always going to be people you can’t save.”

Peter looked to his feet as Tony let his final statement float in the air for a beat.

“That’s why I put you on the bench sometimes. You have to let the people who have already lost fight the battles where they’re going to lose more. You’re still young, and you have to let us protect you. Me, your aunt, Rhodey, even Happy. We all want the best for you, kid. You’re going to be the best of us. We want to make sure you stay safe for long enough so we have someone to pass the torch to.” A beat passed before Peter nodded and put his mask back on.

“I think I’m just gonna go back home now.”

“I can handle that,” Tony said cooly. Peter walked to the edge of the roof, about to jump off, when he looked back over his shoulder.

“Tony?” he heard the clink of the faceplate moving back into place before he saw Tony turn around. They looked at each other across the roof for a beat, through the safety of their masks, before Peter continued.

“Thank you.”

vi. in the lab (again)

It was just an average weekend. That is to say, an average weekend for someone who was bitten by a radioactive spider and then taken under the wing of the local billionaire/superhero. Peter and Tony were tinkering in the lab together on Peter’s Mark III suit. The sun was just starting to dip under the horizon, momentarily painting the whole room pink.

“I don’t know if I want the instant-kill mode anymore,” Peter said hesitantly. He looked over to see Tony’s hard stare focused on FRIDAY’s hologram of the suit between them.

“Non-negotiable. You don’t have to use it, but I’ll sleep better knowing you have it.” Peter looked away, suddenly wanting to change the subject.

“What about the web-shooters? Do you still think I need all 576 combinations?” His attempt to lighten the mood worked and Tony looked over at him with a smirk.

“Have you tried all of them yet?”

“Well,” Peter looked to the side as he tried to remember, “I think I’ve used at least 6 different ones.”

“We can keep them until you’ve tried them all, then.” Peter coughed something that sounds suspiciously like “helicopter mom” and Tony jokingly tapped his fist against his shoulder.

“You still like the red and blue?” Tony asked, “I tried adding different colors in different marks of the Iron Man suits, it keeps things fresh.” Peter screwed his face up in concentration, or maybe in disgust at remembering the Mark XXVII’s color scheme.

“I want people to be able to recognize me still. So let’s stick with the same general design.” Tony nodded his head as he typed something into the projected keyboard in front of him and the phrase “similar design” showed up on a growing list of points next to the suit’s hologram.

“How’s your… stickiness working? Is the suit getting in the way?” Peter sighed in frustration.

“I wish I knew how it worked so we could figure out how to help it, but the suit doesn’t bother it. As long as I don’t think about it too hard I can stick to anything.”

“Next week let’s experiment with the ‘anything’ part,” Tony said as he pushed away from the desk they were sharing. He tapped Peter’s shoulder as he walked behind him, “Be right back, coffee break.”

Peter nodded, his focus on the suit. His brain was going a mile a minute trying to figure out what to improve. He remembered that his phone’s touchscreen couldn’t register his fingers in the suit, and they could easily put conductive material in the gloves to solve it. He turned around to get Tony’s attention.

“Hey, Ben--” and he instantly closed his mouth.

Time froze. Tony turned at the noise, and they both stared at each other like two deer in headlights. The amicable silence in the lab turned oppressive. Peter could pinpoint the exact moment when Tony remembered that Ben was the name of his late uncle by how his eyes went from squinting in confusion to wide in shock. They were both somehow blushing and pale as a sheet at the same time, seemingly stuck in that position for hours. Peter tried to think of the best excuse to leave the lab as soon as he could.

“I forgot something in my bedroom,” Peter said, starting time back up again. He quickly skittered to the lab door.

“Wait,” he felt himself stop at Tony’s words, even though he wanted nothing more than to escape this situation, “as much as we both would much rather ignore what just happened, let’s… talk about this.” At least Peter wasn’t alone in his agony. He slowly turned around to face the awkward conversation head-on. They both stood in silence before Peter finally spoke.

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark, it’s just--”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Tony said, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, “you don’t need to apologize. I’m telling you right now that I’m not offended or upset with you at all about this. I just think we should talk about why it happened.” Peter sighed and ran a hand nervously through his hair as Tony looked anywhere but his face.

“Well… you know how my parents and uncle are dead?” Peter looked over to see Tony’s eyes snap to his as a mix of confusion, sadness, and sympathy. He chuckled a little at the sight before continuing, “sorry, that was a little harsh. But they are. Dead, that is.”

Tony’s face didn’t improve. Peter had to psych himself up a little bit more and took another breath to compose his thoughts.

“Wow, I am just saying… words. But, um, yeah. I called my dad ‘Dad’ because he was my dad. Obviously,” Jesus Parker, get it together, “and then Ben was like a dad to me in so many ways, but I called him by his first name because ‘Dad’ was already taken, you know?” Realization was starting to dawn on Tony’s face.

“Kid…” Peter waved him off and continued, looking pointedly at the ground, trying to ignore the shameful pricks in the corners of his eyes.

“And then you came in, and you do so many things that remind me of them, Mr. Stark,” Peter paused, tears starting to pool up in his eyelids. He forced himself to look at Tony, “so many things. And I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I just latch onto people in my life, and I don’t let them go. Even for a moment. And I’m projecting this idea of all the expectations of people I’ve lost in my past onto you, and that’s not healthy for me because I’ll just be disappointed when it turns out you--”

Peter’s emotions were coming out of him like air rushing out of a balloon. It’s like calling Tony by his uncle’s name took the cork off a bottle that was now pouring all of its contents down the sink. He couldn’t stop talking now, even if he wanted to. He tried to hide his shaky breaths with a sigh, and Tony looked at him sadly, knowing to let him finish before speaking.

“And I just-- hm. I called Ben by his first name because I couldn’t call him dad. And I called you Ben because I’m just--” he cut himself off as his voice filled with more emotion, and started to pace anxiously around the lab, “--I see you as a father figure, okay? Ben was my father figure for over half my life and calling you by your first name when I already see you in the same light just made my wires get crossed. It’s not the end of the world or anything. It shouldn’t have to be this big secret. I’m an orphan one and a half times over, and you’re-- You’re a superhero, my honest-to-God childhood hero, and you take care of me in so many ways. You make me do my homework, you yell at me when I get myself hurt, we watch movies together, you ruffle my hair and call me kid, am I supposed to just treat you the same as any other adult in my life?

“I know that’s a lot of pressure for you, and I know that we’re both shitty with talking about our feelings but this has just been festering inside of me, and every time I call you Tony I just think of Ben, and I--” a sob, this time not hidden at all as he sat down on a nearby bench, “--I miss him so much, Mr. Stark. Every day. I’m never going to get over that. And I called him by his first name. So I can’t call you by your first name, and I’m never going to call you Dad, and I’m sorry. I just-- They’re taken. And now calling someone by their last name will just make me think of you and I’m just so screwed up that I can’t--”

Peter sobbed again, dropping his head into his hands. He kept starting meaningless syllables and cutting himself off with heavy, ragged breaths. Tony quickly went over and sat next to him. He cautiously placed a hand on his back, trying to move it in circles like he remembered Rhodey doing to him when he found out his parents passed away. Peter’s breath slowly became more even as he gathered himself. Tony decided this would be a good time to say his piece.

“Okay, first of all, I want to make sure you are absolutely certain that I am not going anywhere. You’re going to have to put up with me for a very long time.” Peter smiled softly through his tear-stained face at that, which Tony counted as a win as he continued.

“Kid, I know I don’t say it a lot but I do care about you,” Tony hoped he didn’t notice the waver in his paper-thin voice, “I do love you, Peter. In a very paternal way. Don’t ever be ashamed of seeing me as a father figure, because I suppose I see you as a… son figure.” Tony took a second to rub his eyes and steady his breath. He looked over to see Peter’s face red and puffy, but full of adoration, and warmth, and just pure love. Tony swore he felt ten years get added to his lifespan instantly. He wanted to take a picture and tie it to the end of his suit as he flew above the city, showing off to the whole world what love looks like.

“But you have to let me know when you’re hurting, Pete,” he continued, making sure Peter was looking at him still, “you have to. Especially if I’m the cause of it. I don’t care if I’m about to accept the Nobel Peace Prize and the last time we talked was an argument where you said you hated me. If you need help, I will be there in the blink of an eye. You just have to tell me. Tell me what is going wrong so I can fix it. It’s what I do.

“And as for what you call me, Mr. Stark is perfect. I thought I-- well. It used to remind me of my father, but now it’ll just remind me of you.” He finished his small speech with a smile directed at Peter, his eyes wet but sparkling with love as he looked at his kid.

They sat like that for a few minutes. Just basking in the warmth of their shared love as the pink light of the sunset faded and FRIDAY turned on the overhead lighting. Tony eventually decided to break the silence.

“All those emotions certainly tired me out,” Tony joked, getting a grin from Peter in return, “You ready for bed, Pete?”

“I’m ready to lay in my bed on my phone for a few hours before actually falling asleep if that’s what you mean.” Tony rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“Okay whippersnapper, I’ll never understand your generation.”

Tony opened the lab door and led them both out into the hallway. They walked to the bedroom wing without saying anything, the comfortable silence they had in the lab still covering them like a warm blanket. They stopped outside Peter’s bedroom as usual.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite, Underoos,” Tony said as he turned to go to his bedroom.

“I love you, Mr. Stark,” Peter blurted out, causing Tony to turn around, “I didn’t say it earlier. But I do.”

Peter was biting his lip nervously as Tony felt his heart beat a little quicker. He smiled warmly at Peter, more genuine than he had smiled in a long time.

“Oh, come on over here, kid. I think we’re there.”

Tony opened his arms and Peter practically ran into him.

“Watch the spider-strength,” He grunted as Peter laughed and tucked his face into Tony’s chest. His nose was just barely brushing against the metal border of his arc reactor. The blue light made Peter’s hair look like a painting.

Standing there, with Peter’s arms wrapped around him, Tony knew that he would do anything in his power to make sure he stayed safe and happy. He felt a fierce fire deep in his chest that almost dared the world to send something at him, just to let him have something to prove his strength to. He felt like he could take down an entire army. Like he could climb to the top of Mount Everest without even breaking a sweat.

But instead, he just wrapped his arms around Peter and took a deep breath, committing this feeling to memory.

“I love you too, kid.”

Tag List: @ironfamjam

#wooo im real proud of this boy #feel free to yell at me about it!#irondad #spiderman #spider man #iron man #irondad and spiderson #tony stark #mcu #peter parker #tony stark has a heart #art writes

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argylemnwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Life Changes

Pairing: Seth Levine x MC (Jessica Parker)

Book: Red Carpet Diaries (about 5 years after Book 3)

Word Count: ~2000

Rating: PG

Summary: A surprise statement from Jessica might mean doubling a blessing for their family.

Author’s Note: Written for the “Things You Said” prompt 19. The things you said when we were the happiest we ever were as requested by @drakewalker04 and Day 9 of the Choices March Challenge (Euphoria). Trigger warning for discussions of infertility and adoption.

“Come on, Ben. What do you say we stack some blocks? I hear they’re all the hottest thing with the daycare crowd.”

Ben let out a long string of random consonants as Seth laid down on his stomach across from him, watching him bang two blocks together.

“Sorry, sorry! My mistake. No plebeian daycare for the child of the Hollywood elite, only a personal nanny,” he said, picking up one of the yellow blocks laying on the floor and placing it on top of the red one that was sitting in front of Ben. Ben watched Seth’s movements and tried to imitate them, but got frustrated pretty quickly when he knocked the yellow block off in an attempt to add a blue one.

Seth wanted to scoop his son in his arms and just talk to him, as he was finding that usually soothed him pretty quickly, but he kept demonstrating the stacking motion. He knew Jessica would have his head if he quit working on fine motor tasks. He thought Ben was doing fine, all things considered. After all, he’d only been in LA for about three weeks at this point, and he was already more vocal, even if he didn’t have any words yet, and he was responding to his new name like a total champ.

But Jessica had taken him to the international adoption clinic at UCLA earlier this week, and after meeting with a developmental specialist and a therapist had come home with about 57 tasks that she and him needed to work on with Ben to help catch him up when it came to his fine motor and speech development and to try and ease the transition from a Ugandan orphanage to a Brentwood home. This was in addition, of course, to all the research she’d done since they’d first considered adopting.

But after all the pain and heartache and frustration it had taken to get to this point, all the tears and disappointment and fatigue that came with trying and trying for years, all the stress and paperwork and need to let control over anything fly out the window once they’d decided on an international adoption, letting Jessica go back to her Type A ways, particularly when she was focused on making things the best they could be for their son, seemed like a pretty reasonable thing. The truth was that Seth was so insanely happy about finally getting to be a father that he would agree to just about anything Jessica wanted, particularly since her connection with Ben hadn’t been quite as instantaneous as his was. But things were progressing, and they clearly both loved being able to bring their son home.

“So… I’m late.”

Her voice interrupted Seth’s thoughts. He looked up towards the doorway, taking in Jessica standing there in a pale pink jumpsuit. “Relax, Iowa. Chazz isn’t picking you up for…” he trailed off, sliding his phone out of his back pocket and checking the time, “20 minutes.” He looked back down at Ben, who was now just sliding the blocks across the floor, babbling excitedly as he did so.

“No, not late for something. I’m late.”

His head jerked back up at that. It had been a long time since those words had brought him or her any sort of hope. A very long time. Her cycles had been pretty irregular since she’d gone off the pill all those years ago, and anytime they’d thought it had been “too long” to just be her cycle in the past, it had been followed by disappointment.

“How late are we talking here?”

Jessica waited a moment before she answered, “My last period was… four months ago.”

“Holy shi-” but he cut himself off at the look in Jessica’s eyes. It would be just his luck to have his son’s first word be a swear.

“It is probably nothing. With all the stress and travel and everything, I could be this late for no real reason. With everything going on, I hadn’t really notice even, but…”

“What?”

“The dress I was gonna wear to brunch didn’t zip all the way.”

“Okay. Okay,” Seth said, nodding slowly, scooping up Ben into his arms as he stood up, “I think you have to take a pregnancy test.”

She sighed at that. “I know. Do we even have any left?”

“Probably,” he said, joining her in the hallway and heading towards their ensuite. “It felt like we were buying them in bulk for a while.”

“Do they go bad?” Jessica asked as she rummaged through the little cabinet that was right inside their bathroom, digging past extra toilet paper, Kleenex, and tampons, to the ovulation and pregnancy tests that had been shoved away after too many months of negatives. Sure, they’d never gone back to actively preventing pregnancy, but once they’d committed to the adoption path for growing their family, there had been this sort of unspoken agreement to not go back to that regimented, painful, stressful, calculated pattern of trying, and the tests had just been kept out of sight.

After several seconds of hunting, Jessica pulled a little pink box scanning over it quickly, “Well, looks like it’s good for another couple months,” she said once she found the date printed on the side, but she made no move to step further into the bathroom.

“You can do this, Iowa. No matter what it says, it’s gonna be okay.”

She breathed in and out deeply a few times before she spoke, “This was never the plan, Seth. We were supposed to get pregnant within a year of trying, and when that didn’t happen, we saw Dr. Agrawal and she was supposed to help us figure out how to get pregnant, and when that didn’t happen, we were supposed to find our kids through adoption and-”

“Jessica, you’re right,” he interrupted before Jessica could spiral any further. “Nothing has gone to plan here. Why would you expect bringing our son home and settling into being parents to be any different?”

“I just wanted something to go right, just one thing.”

Seth paused for a moment. It was rare when he had to be the optimistic one in their household, instead typically using some self-deprecation and humor to cope while Jessica was usually able to plan their way to better days in her mind. But right now, she needed him to keep spirits high.

“Hey!” he said, settling Ben onto his hip with one arm, sliding his free hand over her jaw and neck, “I think having this little guy in our lives has been pretty alright!”

“I know, I didn’t mean that… of course finally meeting our son has been wonderful.”

“Jessica…” he sighed out, tilting her head up slightly to look her in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I know this is a lot to go through, and I get that having to take another one of these probably brings back all sorts of awful memories I can only begin to imagine.”

“It’s not just that, Seth. I.. I don’t even know if I’m more scared of the test being positive or negative. Because negative, well you and I have been through that in the past, and while it hurts, I know we’ll get through it again. But positive…” Jessica trailed off, taking a deep breath before she continued, “We’ve never been there before. And what if we get all excited and something bad happens? I traveled internationally, and I definitely haven’t been taking precautions like I’m pregnant.

“And what does being excited even mean about us as parents? We just brought him home and I don’t… I don’t want to act like he’s just a consolation prize, and does being happy undermine how wonderful it felt to have him and hold him as ours? And he’s just going to be getting used to us and his life with us, and then what? We throw an infant into the mix?”

Seth shook his head, “Remember how when we first met with the adoption agency, and they told us we had to be prepared to just take this one step at a time? Well, I think the same thing applies here.”

Jessica nodded and let out a big sigh, “You know I’m not always the best at that.”

“Trust me, Jessica. If I could pee on that stick for you and it would be at all helpful, I’d do it. And while biology wasn’t my favorite subject in high school, I’m at least 70% sure that won’t work.”

She gave him a little smile before taking a step back and shutting the door in his face. After a couple of minutes, he heard a flush and the faucet running, so he knocked and entered.

“Alright, just a couple of minutes until the moment of truth,” she said, drying her hands on the teal towel hanging next to the sink.

“How did we use to distract each other while we waited for these things to cook?” Seth asked, bouncing Ben on his hip and handing him the towel he was reaching for.

Jessica actually let out a little chuckle, “I think by the end, we just resigned ourselves to them being negative.” She reached over and grabbed Ben snuggling him close. “Be honest, Seth. What do you want it to be?”

Seth shrugged, “We always said we wanted two or three kids.”

“So you want it to be positive?��

“I mean, yeah? That’s nothing new. I’ve always hoped that we’d get a positive one day. Do you not want a positive?”

Jessica ran her hand over Ben’s curls before she answered. “I don’t know if I’m just so convinced that it will be negative that I’m trying to not get my hopes up, or the thought of having two children under the age of… two,” she said, clearly doing some quick math, “just has me terrified. I mean, I barely am figuring out how to be a mother to him.”

“Pssh, Iowa. You’ve survived a Markus von Groot set. You really think two babies as cute as this guy are going to be worse to deal with than a temperamental Dutchman?”

Jessica genuinely laughed at that, her head thrown back and her blonde curls bounding across her shoulder as Ben continued to pass the towel from one hand to another. Seth figured it was a testament to how worked up she was, waiting for the results of the pregnancy test, that she hadn’t commented on how passing objects from one hand to another was something they were supposed to work on with him.

After a few more tense, painful moments the alarm chirped on Jessica’s phone. They both turned to look at the white plastic stick on the side of the sink, Jessica flipping it over as she’d done so many times before. But this time, it wasn’t one vertical line. It was two.

“Oh my God,” said Seth after a few seconds, finally finding his voice. “Jessica...:”

He turned to face her, taking in her wide eyes, a slight glisten noticeable in the corners, a smile spreading across her lips. “Seth, we’re… We’re gonna have another baby.”

Seth pulled her into a tight hug, Ben sandwiched in between them. Well, Ben and their child currently growing inside Jessica. He felt so full of joy, of hope, and of contentment. It was like the feeling he’d gotten when they’d first seen a picture of Ben, this feeling of euphoric potential. But now not only was there a child coming to him and Jessica, but he had his son right there with him this time. It was everything.

“I know we shouldn’t get carried away,” Jessica mumbled into his chest, “But Seth, I’m just…”

“I know, Jessica. Me too. Me too.”

Permatag: @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

Seth x MC only: @choicesarehard @chaotichuman0090

Events: @choicesmarchchallenge @lovealexhunt

#seth levine #seth x mc #rcd fanfiction #red carper diaries #choicesmarchchallenge #rcd #choices rcd #choices fanfiction #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices #tw: infertility #tw: adoption

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ma-sulevin · 5 years ago

Photo

This chapter is extra long because Avery and James were being extra feral.

Pairing: James Vega/Avery Ryder Rating: E Warnings: No warnings, just smut. Check out the tags on AO3. Word Count: 6862, chapter three of four.

Read it on AO3 instead, or catch up on their story from the beginning.

—

Avery can hear the ocean when she wakes up, the salty breeze coming in through the open windows. She and James are still tangled together, but on the opposite side of the bed, one of his hands resting motionless and loose in his sleep on her breast, his cock hard against her ass.

She smiles into her pillow and gives a sleepy little stretch, flexing her feet and rolling her shoulders and pressing her hips back to see what James will do.

He grunts, fingers twitching against her skin, and his hips seem to cant forward of their own volition. His breath catches in his throat as she grinds against him again, but then he releases it with a soft little snore and she knows he’s still absolutely sound asleep.

Which is fine, he deserves it, but now she’s awake and feeling his body against hers is just sort of stoking her general horniness. If they’re only going to be together for a few days, she wants to make the most of them… right?

She drags herself to the bathroom first, because she’s too pregnant not to, and by the time she makes it back, James is starfished in the middle of the bed, lips parted as he snores a little louder than before. It’s cute, but she’s not in the mood for cuteness anymore.

She yanks the blankets back and crawls up between his legs; he’s not hard anymore, but he will be in just a minute. She nuzzles against his hip, keeping one eye on him, then she just goes for it, holding his soft cock steady in one hand so she can lap at the tip with her tongue.

It gets the reaction she wanted. He starts to harden the second her tongue touches him, his snores catching in a way that makes her laugh against him, and she keeps licking until he’s hard enough to take the head into her mouth to suck on it in earnest.

She forgets to look at him, too busy tasting him and listening to his breathing stutter to remember to keep her eyes open, so she doesn’t notice him waking up until his hands gather up her hair to hold it at the back of her head.

“Fuck, birdie, again?”

She looks up at him and laughs around his cock in her mouth, which makes his grip on her hair tighten. Instead of pushing her down, he pulls her off.

She licks her lips. “I’m just gonna keep going until you get tired of me.”

He laughs and releases her hair, sitting up a bit to cup her jaw instead. He guides her along up his body until he can steal a kiss, which he does before he says, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you.”

She kisses him again to shut him up, because if he says more sweet things like that she’ll start crying or spilling all the insecurities and big feelings she’s been drowning in for weeks, and lowers her hips until she can grind against his cock.

He groans and collapses back onto the mattress, landing with a soft whump. She keeps up her slow grind for another minute, now just teasing herself, and then she reaches down to hold him steady so she can sink down onto him.

It’s slow and exquisite, a hint of soreness from yesterday making her drag it out in slower thrusts before she can rest her entire weight on him. He hits her deep like this, fills her just right, and she wiggles her hips back and forth to get her body fully relaxed for him.

He groans like she’s hurting him, his stomach muscles flexing under her, and she watches the movement and the barely-there flow of green light that follows it, and then she leans forward to brace her hands on his pecs so she has the leverage to start moving.

She keeps it slow at first, easing herself into it so her muscles won’t cramp, and James lets her set the pace even as she can feel him holding himself back from meeting her thrusts with faster, harder ones of his own. His one concession to his desire to fuck her harder is in planting his heels on the bed and putting his hands on her thighs, but he doesn’t try to control the pace.

She moves faster anyway.

It feels amazing, and she loves it, loves having his big hands on her as he moves inside her, loves hearing his earnest groans coming from deep in his chest.

She’s missed this while they’ve been apart.

She meant what she said. She’s going to fuck him until he gets sick and tired of her.

“Christ, you feel good,” she says, voice strained, and he groans in response, fingers tightening on her skin. She wants them to bruise. “How much do you think it’d cost to get one of these 3D printed to take back to London with me?”

James bursts into surprised laughter, but it dissolves quickly into a moan when she lifts herself up on her knees and then pushes back down with more force than she has been. He slaps her ass with one hand, then slaps her again with both before squeezing her cheeks and holding her down on him.

“Fuck.”

“You can take home a toy but it can’t fuck you like I can.” He sits up, unbalances her, and spanks her one more time as he finally starts to fuck her back, like he’s trying to prove his point.

All she can do is wrap her arms around his neck and hold on tight as she starts to spiral up to what’s promising to be a toe curling orgasm.

“You miss my dick that much, you’ll just have to visit it more often.”

He drags them to the edge of the bed so he can brace his feet on the floor and fuck her harder without putting her on her back, and she wails mindlessly into his ear.

This is more than she thought she’d get when she started sucking him, but she’ll be damned before she admits that out loud.

She can’t say anything in any case, not any words, her mind going blank with pleasure as James holds her still and fucks her good and proper, just like yesterday, and she clenches tight around him with each thrust.

“Baby, baby, please.” She’s begging, almost, close to coming, more desperate for it now than when she first woke up to feel him hard, and she scratches mindlessly at his back when he chuckles low in her ear. “Please, please…”

“C’mon then, birdie.” James slides one big hand up her back to tangle in her hair, his thumb pressing unerringly against her amp port, and she flies apart in his arms, head tipped back to scream at the ceiling as the pleasure overwhelms her.

James swears in her ear as he comes too, drawn in by the feeling of her coming around him, filling her as he holds her hips steady against his and buries his face against her throat.

She can’t move. She can barely breathe. “I think you broke me.”

He huffs against her throat, then kisses a line up across her jaw to her lips. “You started it.”

She just grunts and collapses against his front, draping herself over his chest, and he lets himself fall back against the mattress. She grumbles a little as the move puts pressure on her stomach, then slides off him so she can curl up against his side instead.

He makes a wounded noise as he slips out of her, loud enough that it covers up the little whimper she can’t stop herself from making either.

“Mkay, back to sleep.”

He laughs, a low chuckle that makes her smile against his skin. “Sure you don’t want me to make breakfast?”

She opens one eye and peers up at him, weighing the heaviness of her limbs against the hunger she knows is just around the corner. “Well, now that you mention it…”

He sits up slowly, rolling his shoulders out and then popping his neck. She just waits as he leans down and brushes her hair away from her face so he can kiss her cheek, then he’s up and on his feet and disappearing into the bathroom.

How did she get so fucking lucky?

It’s almost enough to make her feel guilty, the way he’s taking care of her like this, going out of his way to make sure she has everything she even thinks about wanting. It’s too much — she’s being selfish, isn’t she? Shouldn’t she be doing something for him, too?

She’s sitting up by the time he finishes up in the bathroom, walking back out completely naked and utterly unconcerned by it. He sees her looking and winks at her, preening, absolutely glowing after their morning together.

He swings by the bed to give her a firmer, minty kiss, and then heads to the kitchen without stopping to put on pants. There are red lines across the top of his back, thin but bright from her fingernails, and she shakes her head because there’s a tin of medigel in the bathroom and he hadn’t bothered to put any on.

Maybe that’s what he’s getting out of this. She’s getting breakfast and he’s getting to fuck as much as he wants for a whole week.

She should… talk to him about it.

She gets up with the intention to do just that, swings by the bathroom and then pauses to pull his discarded shirt on over her head, and finds him starting the coffee maker in the kitchen.

He turns around and lifts his eyebrows when he sees her standing there with her hands on her hips. “No nap?”

“Um, I wanted to ask—”

Twin chimes from their omnitools interrupt her.

She checks hers first, eyebrows drawn together at what kind of emergency would chime them both, and she’s greeted by a message from Sam. It’s sent to them both, a link to some online article, and when she opens it…

“‘Alliance Heartthrob James Vega — Off the Market?’ What the fuck?” She looks up at him, then back down at the article as she keeps reading. “ ‘Reaper War Veteran and recently-promoted Major James Vega has been living in Rio for months, but this is the first time he’s been spotted with anyone hanging off his arm. Who is this mystery girl? Here’s what we know.’ James, this is fucking insane. Look, there are pictures!”

And there are, obviously shot from hidden cameras somewhere, of them standing outside the airport together, and then another of them making out on the beach. That one is a little harder to see since it was dark, the image a little grainy, a little harder to identify her.

She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that she doesn’t look obviously pregnant in either picture. The beach picture isn’t high quality enough to tell, plus she was sitting in his lap with their bodies pressed together — at the airport, she just looks a little chubby.

She frowns.

James is already apologizing. “I’m so sorry, birdie, I didn’t know, I can call and get some security or we can move your flight—”

She cuts him off.

He’s focusing on the wrong thing.

“I am also a Reaper War Veteran! I have medals!” He stops talking mid-sentence and stares at her, mouth a little agape. “Not one person there recognizes me? I was on the news.”

He’s silent for a moment as the coffee maker gurgles. “Uhh—”

“This is bullshit. And that first picture is not flattering.” She frowns at it again, squinting. Should she be wearing tighter clothes at this point? Like to show off her belly? Would that make her look more pregnant and less like she just stopped working out?

She looks down at herself and pulls James’ shirt tighter across her front, watching the way it stretches over her stomach. It feels like it should be obvious she’s pregnant, but…

“Here.”

James waves a mug of coffee under her nose to distract her and it works. She takes the mug from him and settles on one of the kitchen stools to drink it instead of following the weird turn her thoughts have taken.

It’s too hot but he’s made it just exactly right, so she breathes in the steam and lets the liquid burn her tongue because she can’t wait even one more second to enjoy it.

Apparently the silence gives James the space he needs to figure out what to say to her, which he does after making a cup of coffee for himself and leaning against the other side of the counter with his hip.

“So, to be clear,” he says, speaking slowly and looking over her shoulder at the large windows facing the beach, “you’re not upset at the invasion of our privacy. You’re upset that they didn’t recognize you?”

She blows on her coffee to buy herself a second to speak, embarrassment creeping in at his question. “Uhh. Maybe.” She sneaks a glance up at him and is rewarded by the sight of him hiding a grin behind his mug.

”So you don’t want to go home early?”

She puts her mug down and looks at him more directly. He’s still kinda smiling, but it’s almost more of a grimace now, and he’s still not looking at her. He’s just standing with his shoulders stiff and his hip leaning too casually against the counter, eyes on the window like he can see the ocean if he stares hard enough.

“Just because some reporters don’t have anything better to talk about? No.”

He looks at her and his smile relaxes into something that looks more genuine. She grins right back at him.

“I lived through all the Alec Ryder bullshit, I can live through some paparazzi in Brazil on the week I set aside to fuck my boyfriend in this gorgeous house he rented for us. Yeah?” She cups her mug with both hands and rests it against her chin as she waits for his reaction, and she’s pleased when he huffs out a laugh into his own coffee. “Do you want me to go home early?”

He opens his mouth, pauses long enough to take a deep breath, and then says, “Fuck no.”

She blinks at him, slowly, wonders what he started to say, and then decides to let it go too. “Okay, then, that’s settled. I’ll stay here until we get me that toy I want to take home.”

He rolls his eyes, but he still laughs and flashes her a smirk with a hint of white teeth. “Yeah, yeah. Eggs?”

“Please.”

—

James spends literally the whole day reeling at Avery’s reaction to their pictures being on the extranet. She shakes off her anger after breakfast, showers and emerges into the living room in her bikini and hat and a pair of ridiculous mirrored sunglasses, all smiles, ready to go soak up the sun like nothing had happened.

He doesn’t want to push her, doesn’t want to bring it back up and make her angry again, trip over whatever that was that made her so briefly furious at not being identified in the pictures, he just… goes along with her, swims with her, teases her, pulls her in for kisses and, yeah, sure, he lets his hands wander more than he should since he knows they could be being watched, but he wants her to relax.

He doesn’t want anything else to ruin this vacation, anything to stress her out or remind her that, technically, they’re not safe in their little safe house. Someone knows where they are, and if it’s the company that owns the rental he’s going to be livid, and Sam’s going to be mad, and Sam will probably get Liara involved in the whole thing and then it’s really going to get out of control.

So, no, he doesn’t want Avery to pick up on the fact that he’s constantly scanning for drones like he’ll be able to do anything about it if he sees one, and he doesn’t want her to pick up on the fact that he’s now tense as hell despite saying he wants her to relax for the rest of the time.

It seems to be working for the most part. Every now and then she gives him a funny sideways look like she knows what he’s doing, but she doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t push it either, and they spend hours by the water, skin slowly turning red despite the layers and layers of sunblock she keeps forcing on him.

He, at least, will probably be tanned by the morning. He doesn’t know how she’ll deal with it.

She takes a mid-afternoon nap, body still confused from the time change and exhausted from the travel and the baby and the fucking, and he takes the time to contact Sam to see if they can figure out how to keep the press away from them for the rest of the week.

This was supposed to be a family vacation, not a vacation where they have to spend the entire time hiding in the house to keep their pictures offline.

Her suggestion is basically the same as the only thing he’s been able to think of so far — stay home, take advantage of the amenities in and around the house, enjoy each other.

Avery doesn’t want to stay in the house. He doesn’t want to stay in the house.

She says just to be careful, have fun, send Avery back to her in one piece, and try to keep his eyes open.

He thanks her but doesn’t say he doesn’t want to send Avery back to her in any number of pieces, just says goodbye and goes into the bedroom to find Avery asleep on her side curled around his pillow, snoring, a little puddle of drool forming under her open mouth, and he sits next to her and settles in to look at apartment listings on his omnitool until she wakes up.

He finds some that look nice, not too far from N-school and not too far from the Alliance base, and he saves them to share later, after he gets the cojones to just be honest with her, and then he curls around her back and rests his hand on her stomach and tries to make himself relax.

It must work, because he opens his eyes to see Avery slipping free of his grasp, rolling her shoulders and putting one hand on the small of her back as she makes a little noise of discontent. He tries to reach for her to pull her back into the bed, but she doesn’t notice, just slips away and moves to the bathroom.

The shower water comes on after just a minute, and he considers following her in there, but then he hears the lock on the door click damningly, keeping him exactly where he already is.

He drifts back to sleep.

He’s not sure how much time has passed by the time the mattress dips next to him and delicate fingers dance up his spine. He grumbles and shies away from the touch, then relaxes as they smooth through his hair.

“Hey, big guy.” There’s laughter in Avery’s voice, and when he looks up at her he sees her smiling, the lightest of sunburns across her nose and cheekbones. “Are you taking me to dinner, or do I have to go out by myself?”

He grumbles again, a little louder, and she giggles in response. “Yeah, yeah, just gimme a minute.” He rolls onto his back and stretches out his muscles, relishing in the slight burn, and then when he opens his eyes again he can see her watching him with sharp eyes and a wicked smile. “Hmm?”

She arches one dark eyebrow. “We don’t have all night, Vega.”

“No?” He sits up to reach for her, to pull her into his space (and maybe under him), to see what she’s got on under her black dress, and she slaps his hands away without her smile dropping. “Aww, birdie.”

“You promised me dinner and dancing, and I intend to cash in on that.” When he reaches for her again, she lets him pull her into his lap with a little eye roll (but, he can’t help but notice, because he’s looking for it, not even pretending to stop him) and loops her arms around his neck. “Hey. It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m not so old that I don’t want to celebrate.”

His hands creep up her soft thighs, inching under her skirt and heading for her ass. She smiles indulgently at him, brushing her fingers over the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. He knows he’s not going to get any farther right now, not when she’s dead-set on leaving the house, but… it doesn’t hurt to tease a little, right?

There’s another problem too.

“Is it New Year’s Eve?”

She lifts both eyebrows at him. “Uh. Yeah. Isn’t that part of why you suggested this week?”

He shakes his head. “It’s just between levels.”

Her expression flattens a bit, and a pang of guilt hits him square in the chest. “You just forgot?”

“Uhh… maybe.” Shit. “But, hey, let’s go out. I already picked out the places, and you’re going to love them. I just… uh, forgot what day it is.”

She chews on the inside of her lip as she considers him, like she’s trying to decide if she’s going to be mad at him or not. He tries to look innocent, doesn’t want the rest of their vacation ruined because he forgot the date (and, really, why is she mad about it in the first place?) but he must pass inspection because her expression relaxes a bit and she leans forward to kiss him, just a little, not the way he wants to be kissed when she’s in his lap and his hands are almost on her ass.

“You sure?”

He absolutely can’t read her expression. This is like when she wasn’t mad about the news article for the same reason he was mad at the news article — he’s not 100% sure what’s going on in her brain, and he wants her to tell him.

“Absolutely,” he says, because he is sure, but he doesn’t let her go. “You okay?”

She blinks at him, then she smiles. “Yeah, yeah I am. It’s just dumb.”

“What’s dumb?”

She rolls her eyes and won’t quite look at him, but she answers his question anyway. “I just thought you wanted to bring the new year in with me.”

“Well, I do.” He waits until she looks at him to add, “It’s just a happy accident.”

That makes her giggle, and the rest of the little ball of anxiety in his chest relaxes a bit. “I guess we’re good at those.”

His laugh is more like a grunt. “You bet. Now let me up so I can make myself pretty for you.”

“You pulled me over.” She climbs out of his lap anyway, swatting him back when he takes advantage of their positions to swat her ass. “And, anyway, you’re already pretty.”

“Hah. I knew you liked me!”

She rolls her eyes at him again, more dramatically this time, and accepts his victory kiss with a nip of her teeth on his bottom lip that makes a little thrill run through him, so he kisses her again, and then again, and then he’s trying to crowd over her on the bed so she’ll lean back and let him rest between her legs because that’s where he belongs, but she pushes him away with both her hands on his chest and one foot up at his hip bone.

“Quit stalling and go.” She’s laughing, her face pink even under the sunburn, and he takes that as the win it is and follows her directions.

She’s still on the bed when he’s dressed up in slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and out of the way. She’s got something going on her omnitool that she closes out the second after he opens the bathroom door, and she gives him a lingering, appreciative once-over that makes him forget his curiosity at what she was doing.

“Going my way, solider?” She arches one eyebrow at him and gifts him with a particularly dirty looking grin, and he warms from head to toe under her gaze.

He offers her his hand, and he pulls her upright from the bed when she takes it. He looks her up and down too, but doesn’t let go of her, just takes in the way the dark material of her dress somehow hugs both her curves and partially obscures her baby bump, finds himself wishing that she’d give in and let them spend another night locked together in the house.

Dios, he went nearly six months without her, and now he can barely keep his hands to himself for more than an hour at a time… and even that’s a struggle.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking, and she doesn’t even seem to notice that he took too long to figure out what to say because she’s too busy running her fingers up his bare forearm and staring at his chest.

He flexes a little, and she blushes even as she rolls her eyes up at him.

“Okay, then. Show me the town.”

—

No one reacts when they arrive at the restaurant, but Avery’s not sure if it’s because they’re used to seeing James or because they just don’t care about what that particular gossip mag has to say about him.

They just get seated at a private little table without getting any second glances (except for people checking out James, which she doesn’t do anything more than take pride in, because… well, he’s fucking hot, and he’s on her arm) and they order food and they sit and talk over drinks (water for her, unfortunately) with a candle between them to set the mood, like they ever need the mood set.

She runs her bare foot up his leg before appetizers are even cleared away, and she laughs too loudly when he pretends to be scandalized.

What had he expected?

She’s been absolutely waiting to tease him like this for months. She’s not going to pass up the opportunity just because things got a little weird earlier.

They chat aimlessly, about nothing, conversation carefully steering clear of any mention of the gossip, or the surge of irritation she’d felt when she thought he didn’t want to celebrate the holiday, or the weird shadow that her impending return to London is starting to cast on her mood.

So, she teases him as they eat, running her foot up his leg under the tablecloth so many times that he reaches down to grab it once it hits his thigh, holding it in place where it can provide some friction to his cock, hard in his slacks and hidden from the waitress’ view under the table. It’s hard to tell in the dim light in their little corner of the restaurant, but she’s pretty sure he’s blushing, cheeks turning red as his eyes grow dark.

“You’re a monster,” he informs her, voice low, but the effect is dampened somewhat when she makes his voice crack on the last word by successfully pressing against the head of his cock. “A menace, even.”

She arches an eyebrow at him and licks some imaginary sauce off her thumb just to see the muscle in his jaw twitch as he clenches his jaw at her. “Is there a problem I can help you with, Major?”

His response is tempered by his grin and the shift of his hips towards her. “You’re my only problem, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, I can go, if you’d rather.” She starts to withdraw her foot, but his hand is still under the table so he grabs her ankle to keep her close. “No?”

He opens his mouth to respond, pauses to lick his lips, then says, “You keep teasing me like that, something’s gonna happen, birdie.”

The almost-threat sends a thrill through her, makes her wet even though she’s still a little sore from this morning and isn’t totally sure she can back up the way the mood is shifting.

She doubles-down anyway.

“Will I be punished, sir?”

He bares his teeth in a grin that he tries to smother when the waitress comes back to check on them, but he doesn’t release her leg as he asks for the check, and the flush doesn’t disappear from his skin.

As soon as they’re alone again, he leans in closer so he can whisper across the table: “Do you want to go dancing or not?”

She grins right back at him, expression just as sharp as his. “If you don’t take me dancing after I put this stupid dress on, then we’re definitely not fucking.” A lie, and the twitch of his lips lets her know he knows too. “You just gotta behave and keep your hands to yourself for long enough to get to a club.”

He stares at her, lips parted as he sucks in a deep breath. “You started it.”

She wiggles her fingers at him. “Hands-free, like I said.”

It takes a second for him to start laughing, but it’s loud enough when he does that the closest tables glance over at them. He releases her leg and she tucks her foot back into her sandal, trying to look prim but probably failing.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, and she’s had nicer compliments, but she still winks at him and lets the warmth of his words settle deep in her chest.

The back-and-forth in their relationship is familiar, comforting, soothes over the other weirdness in a way nothing else really can. It’s easier in person than it has been over messages and vid calls, and she’s not going to get upset thinking about going back home, not right now when it would ruin their date.

“I don’t want you to go, you know,” he says, and her heart skitters for a second before she remembers what she said when she still had her foot on him.

“I figured you needed a minute to cool down so we don’t give the restaurant a show on our way out.”

He rolls his eyes and the corners of his lips twist down for a second, and she doesn’t really know why but she doesn’t want him to keep making that face.

The waitress interrupts them with the check and a knowing grin, and James pays before Avery can even open her mouth to protest that she should pay for something this week.

It’s only a few seconds before he’s done and his smile is back, no trace of whatever that displeasure was on his face, just a teasing smile and dark eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

They walk to the club, because it’s not too hot now that the sun’s completely set and it’s close enough to the restaurant that Avery’s not worried about her feet starting to hurt before she can dance. She doesn’t tease him again; there’s no subtle groping as they wait for a traffic light to change, no heated, stolen kisses as they wait.

He just keeps her hand tight in his, and she tucks herself against his side when they’re not moving, anticipation at being able to dance and tease him until he drags her home to hopefully fuck her against the front door (possibly gently, depending) thrumming through her, and they keep an eye out for photographers.

They haven’t seen any yet, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

Avery pays their cover charge and drags James to the dance floor without even letting him get a drink at the bar, the steady thumping of the bass thrumming through her body in a way that she’s missed.

He follows along with her, goes where she directs him, and then her back is against his chest and his hands are on her hips and her ass is grinding against his hips and she can tell he’s getting hard again, because she can feel it, because he’s groaning in her ear as one song blends into the next.

It’s everything she’s been looking forward to; it’s perfect and it’s delicious and she doesn’t know if she wants to keep dancing until the new year rolls in or if she wants him to haul her back to the house right now.

His wandering hands make that decision even harder for her as they constantly follow the lines of her curves, up her body and back down, ghosting over her breasts and dipping dangerously close to the junction of her thighs. She can’t handle the intensity of her reaction to him -- she never has been able to, not even the first time they met and she’d decided right then and there to take him back to her apartment.

It’s a challenge, almost, between them to see who’ll break first, a game of chicken where there won’t truly be a loser. Avery clings to that fact as she spins around and loops her arms around his neck, pulling him down to nip at his lower lip in a bid to make him break first.

He does, because he’s as unable to control himself as she is, and he yanks her from the dance floor and then from the club without even hesitating.

There’s a strong possibility she might die before they get back to the rental house, and James doesn’t make it any better by keeping his body plastered against hers like their sheer proximity will keep him from flying apart.

The taxi is a trial of self-control, one she’s failing, encouraged along by James’ lips and tongue against her throat and one of his big hands sliding up under her skirt where she hopes the driver can’t see. She lets him, parts her legs just enough for him to find that she’s skipped the panties like he likes and has gotten wet enough for it to settle on her thighs, and she hears his moan muffled against her skin before he slips two thick fingers into her.

It’s almost too much, and she’s on the edge so fast her head spins, and James chuckles into her ear as she stares at the back of the driver’s head.

“Think you can be quiet, birdie?”

She nods because she can’t think of any other answer that will get her what she wants, and he nips at her earlobe as he curls his fingers just exactly right. She shivers and clenches around him, her right hand finding its way to his thigh to dig into the fabric of his slacks.

“You know, you’ve been teasing me all night,” James says, voice sounding low and rough in her ear. “Do you think you deserve this?”

Her anger flashes bright even as her cunt clenches around him, giving her away. He chuckles again and slows the motion of his fingers inside her, that press and curl only enough to hold her pleasure steady, not to push her any higher.

“I should make you wait a few hours like you’ve been making me. Maybe until tomorrow morning.”

His fingers keep going, his thumb resting next to her clit but giving her absolutely no pressure at all. Her hips move restlessly, chasing what he’s resolutely denying her, and she turns her head to hiss directly in his ear before she can think about it.

“I’ll get myself off and make you fucking watch.”

He grunts, his hips twitching too, but he doesn’t move his fingers.

“That supposed to get me to do what you want? Sounds more like a reward than anything else.”

“Fuck you.”

James laughs, but he doesn’t have a chance to respond before the taxi pulls to a blessed stop. He pulls his fingers free of her and wipes them on her skirt before he reaches past her to open the door for her. She climbs out and doesn’t look back as she stalks up the path to the house, letting herself in and yanking her dress off over her head the second she’s fully indoors.

It’s worth it to hear James’ rumble of surprise, and when she turns to fully face him with her eyebrows lifted and a challenge on her face, he caves in to her, because he always does, lifting her up in his arms and carrying her the few more steps to put her on the kitchen counter because it’s closer than the bed or even the couch, and he’s desperate for it.

He kisses her as he fumbles with his belt, tongue dipping into her mouth just moments before he manages to free his cock. He doesn’t hesitate here either, just holds her hips steady and pushes into her as a needy moan escapes his lips.

He’s not gentle, and she doesn’t really want him to be, holding onto him with one hand fisted in his shirt at the back of his neck while the other slips between them to rub frantic little circles over her clit.

She doesn’t think he’s going to last long, not with the way he’s panting into her mouth and fucking into her as hard as he can manage, and she won’t be able to keep up with this for long either. Her muscles ache but she can’t stop chasing that high as it makes sweat stand out on her skin and her toes curl and her back arch…

She comes without warning, flying apart with her breath locked in her throat and her grip almost tight enough to tear the fabric gripped there. He groans with her, thrusts speeding up then slowing down, pulled in by her pleasure but not quite at the edge yet, and then her whole body goes slack except for the clench of her muscles around him.

The ache grows deeper, overstimulation and overuse warring for attention, and when she whines in a wordless expression of displeasure, he stills right away, shivering in her grip.

“Birdie?”

“Here.” She pushes him away and he slips free of her, a bereft noise slipping from his lips in a way she’s confident is accidental. He’s trembling all over, still in his shirt and shoes, his slacks down around his knees, and she slips off the counter on shaky thighs and pulls him in for a kiss.

He gives it to her, gladly, fingers clutching too tight at her skin as his cock, hard and wet with her pleasure, presses against her belly.

“C’mere.” She takes his hand and starts to pull him, pausing only long enough for him to kick off his shoes and slip free of his slacks as she tugs him around to the couch. He follows her wordlessly, sinks down when she pushes him, and then gathers her hair up in gentle fingers to hold it out of her face as she kneels down and pulls him deep into her mouth.

He tastes like her, is dripping with it, and she cleans him off before she starts sucking on him in earnest, one of her hands coming up to cup his balls while the other strokes him in time with her mouth.

He starts up a steady stream of words in Spanish, some she recognizes as praises or just expressions of pleasure, others she doesn’t, but she knows he’s close when he starts to guide her head instead of just holding her hair, and it sends another thrill through her even though she’s too exhausted to do more than finish him off right here in front of the open windows and the darkness of the night.

He warns her before he comes, a sharp tug on her hair that makes her moan followed by a heartfelt call of her name, and then he’s spilling across her tongue as he curls around her and holds her close.

“Fuck, fuck, dios…” He trails off, shuddering, and she swallows and swallows again and when he finally releases her she has to swallow a third time, a result of all the teasing she’d done.

She grins at him and licks her lips, and isn’t surprised at all when he reaches down to haul her into his lap for a wet, messy kiss.

He breaks away and tucks her head against his chest, and she melts around him, holding him tight as he tries to catch his breath. He strokes a hand up and down her bare back, his body still shivering, and she nuzzles as close as she can.

They can’t see the fireworks from where they’re sitting, but they can hear the cracks and fizzles, and Avery giggles without moving.

“Happy New Year, baby.”

She can hear his smile as he says, “Happy New Year, birdie.”

#james vega #mass effect #oc: avery ryder #x: say you won't let go

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95liners3rdmember · 4 years ago

Text

Worth It

Chapter Sixteen: Heart to Heart

Word Count: 4146

Chapter Fifteen: After Party

After an entire day spent laying around the house, I finally feel a little better. My stomach still isn’t at 100 percent yet but at least I can deal with it. What I’m having a harder time with is trying to figure out a way to act normal around Jimin. After the incident in the van I don’t know how to go about talking to him. If I’m being honest with myself I don’t regret what happened and I wouldn’t change anything either. But I have a feeling that Jimin might have a few. Afterall we both did have a lot to drink, me even more than him.

Pulling open the front door to BigHit, I’m welcomed by Mina who I just give a short wave as I continue down the hallway in the direction of my office. The only way I could keep myself from going crazy with overthinking was by coming into work. Part of me hoped that I wouldn’t run into the guys because we weren’t scheduled to practice today. They mainly had studio time along with getting fitted for new tour outfits. So surely our paths won’t cross. But if we do have practice then I’m screwed because I wore skinny jeans and a sweater today. And I haven’t brought more backup clothes.

Tossing my bag into the empty chair I move over to my desk and plop down into my cushioned chair. My desktop comes to life and there’s an insane amount of email alerts pinging through the speakers. At least everyone wants to communicate around here. To my right I hear my phone vibrate against the surface of my desk. My heart races for a split second but I glance quickly at the screen, it’s Namjoon. Instantly my heart calms as I reach for it.

Namjoon: ‘There’s a meeting in the dance studio in ten minutes.’

Well so much for not having our paths cross. And even more so I’m screwed because there’s no way I can dance in these pants. I can’t even figure out how the guys do it. At least I have ten minutes to go through the endless emails to distract myself. But as always there’s only a few that actually are meant for me. My fingers slam against the keyboard as I put the computer into sleep mode. Might as well just go ahead and head down there. Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I grab my coffee and leave my office. The hallways are dead silent which has me standing on my tip toes. This place is never quiet for long, especially when there's Taehyung and Jungkook that work here. Those two sure knew how to keep things interesting for sure.

Opening the door, there’s no one else in the room. Of course I’m the first one in here. Looking around the room I notice that there’s a lot of things out of place. The rolling chairs are scattered across the room instead of tucked in at the table and there’s water bottles sitting against the walls. Honestly I can’t remember who used this room last but they could’ve at least cleaned up after themselves. Setting my coffee down I start moving the chairs back to where they belong, which takes no time but as I start picking up the bottles I hear the door open. The seven members are too interested in the conversation that they don’t pay me much attention as I continue to clean up. My coffee cup is the only thing that gives away my presence.

“Good morning y/n!” Hobi’s voice fills the room and I smile at him. With an arm full of empty bottles I dump them into the recycle bin on my way over to them. My hands tuck themselves into my backpack as I join the group. Jin rests an elbow on my shoulder which causes me to tilt towards him. There’s days when I hate being as short as I am, even Yoongi and Jimin seem to tower over me.

“Do you guys know who used this room last? It was a mess when I got here.” Looking around the group everyone seems to shrug their shoulders, not knowing the answer. My eyes meet Jimin’s and a blush starts to heat across my face. Maybe they will think it’s from cleaning everything up. Of course Jimin would know better than that though, but there’s something about his expression that confuses me. He almost looks jealous that Jin is the one resting against me. His eyes are narrowed at the point of contact and his lips are pulled tight. It doesn’t last long because as soon as the door reopens, he returns to normal bubbly Jimin.

“Everyone take a seat please.” Manager Sejin comes in with another man that I’ve never met before. None of us question the statement as we move over to the large screen. Somehow in the shuffle of people, Jimin manages to get next to me. He tosses his phone on the table with a loud thud before sitting down. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I sit down a lot quieter next to him. He feels so close to me that I want to explode. Sunday night starts flashing through my mind, the way his hands felt against my skin and the way it felt being so close to him. Now I’m hyper aware of everything Jimin. Fuck me, this is going to be a long meeting,

“We are here this morning because we’ve finally finished the layout of the upcoming stage layout. Also, there has been minor changes to the stage design of the music videos.” Those words bring me out of my Jimin spiral, they changed the music video layouts? Why am I just now hearing about this? Leaning up further in my seat I rest my elbows on the table, my fingers start fiddling with my rings as I start feeling anxious.

“When were the changes for the music video made?” I try to hide the irritation in my voice but I feel like I failed as the man looks over at me sharply. His eyes look over me, like he’s sizing me up. Narrowing my eyes slightly, a folder is slid over to me which I barely manage to catch. Taking my eyes off of him, I open the folder to see detailed prints of the changes and stages.

“Last week.” That hits a nerve as I continue to look through, they’ve increased the stage for the break dance at the end of Idol and they’ve also finalized the location of filming for Mic Drop. I’ll need to teach a few more backup dancers to fill the space and try to distance the members out just a tad more. Which typically would be annoying but it’s really only a day and a half worth of work, but what really bothers me is that this decision was made last week without me knowing. The last time I checked I was head of the dance department. Continuing to flip through the papers I get to the last page which is the schedule and I feel my blood pressure rise.

“Filming starts next week?” That seems to catch the attention of the members. By the look on their faces they weren’t aware at how soon filming was going to start. My legs start tapping under the table as I continue to have a staring contest with the man. I’m so upset that I don’t even notice Jimin moving in the chair next to me. He’s positioned himself in a way where he could hide a hand under the table, and that hand rests against my knee causing me to freeze. He gives me a comforting squeeze before he just lets his hand rest there.

“Yes, we wanted to get everything finished before the holidays begin, which is sooner than we expected. The schedule was finalized last week as well but if your abilities are as good as I hear then you shouldn’t have any problem getting everything and everyone ready.” I have to keep my jaw from dropping onto the table. This is the first person in the company to question my position openly. Which I shouldn’t be surprised at because at least twice a week I question myself. But this feels completely different.

“It won’t be any problem, I was just under the impression that since I’m the head of the dance department I would’ve been notified of the changes earlier.” I won’t let him question me in front of the members who are now more family than anything. Because by the look on Namjoon’s face he isn’t too happy with the way this conversation is going. Jimin’s hand tightens against my knee as he single handedly flips through the folder. If anyone understands my annoyance right now it’s him and Hobi.

“Then I will leave it to you then. I just wanted everyone to be aware of the changes.” Yeah almost a week later….

With that final statement the man rises from his seat and leaves us, Sejin exits right behind him with his phone in hand. No doubt I’ll get a complaint against me after this meeting. Letting out a sigh of frustration I kick my feet out which makes my chair scoot back, Jimin moves his hand just in time so it won’t be noticed by the others. My palm of my hands dig into my eyes as I lean my head up towards the ceiling. There’s no point in hiding my frustration from them, because they all have a habit of getting the truth out of me in the end. My feet kick against the floor making my chair spin in slow circles, no doubt the others are watching my melt down.

“How many more backup dancers are we going to need now?” Hobi’s voice breaks me from my melt down, stopping the chair. I remove my hands so I can see him clearly. They all seem too into thought to even be bothered with me having a moment.

“At least 15, which is fine because we weren’t using everyone in the first place. I’ll have to take a day or so and get everyone together to run through it.” It’s not that the choreo is difficult, it’s the fact that I have to get so many people moving in sync in such a short amount of time.

“The only thing making this difficult is that we aren’t scheduled practice time today, we’re still supposed to be in the studio.” Namjoon’s voice sounds strained as he takes his turn flipping through the papers. They all have so much on their plate already that this change isn’t entirely fair to them. And with every fiber in my being I’ll make sure that they get the holidays off so they can try to see their families. Now isn’t the time to sit here and have a cry session, I need to get to work that way they don’t have as much to stress about. Standing from my chair, I roll it back before picking up my phone. My fingers start typing away emailing my assistant to get all of the company backup dancers together this afternoon in the practice room. Once I’m done I shove it back into my back pocket and bend over the table to get the folder from Hobi. I have to ignore the burning sensation I get from Jimin’s eyes on me. After we get everything fixed and filmed we can figure out whatever happened between us, right now there’s too much to get done.

“You guys get back to the studio, I’ll take care of everything. Our next practice day is Thursday.” Not even letting them get a word in, I start speed walking towards the door. If I want to be able to do my best, I can’t just sit around and discuss what should be done. I have to take action even if it means being exhausted later on tonight.

To say I’m exhausted is an understatement. I’m sore in muscles that I forgot I even had and my stomach hurts from the lack of food. There wasn’t time for a lunch break if I wanted to make sure that everything was going to run smooth next week. After what felt like a thousand run throughs, the backup dancers seemed to get in sync pretty well. Now I need to sit down and get the spacing figured out for the members, which thankfully is something I can do at home. I don’t think my legs could handle dancing anymore in these jeans, tomorrow is going to be rough for sure.

Unlocking my front door, I drop my bag beside my discarded shoes in the entryway. My feet slide against the floor as I make my way into the kitchen. As I turn the corner I notice the lights on and I stop in my tracks. My heart races as I look into my kitchen.

“Jimin what are you doing here?” The only reaction I can come up with to freeze. Here I was thinking I escaped the awkward talk for the day, but no. Jimin is sitting at my kitchen island. I was too shocked to even notice the takeout bags in front of him.

“I brought you dinner. When we left the company and your car was still there I figured you were pulling a late night.” If things were clearer between us right now I would run over and hug him, but I’m even more confused. My chest aches at the gesture and I the feeling of crying gnaws at me but I can’t give into it. Without saying anything, I grab two drinks from the fridge before sitting beside him at the island. My body slumps on the stool and I can’t help but fall into his side. The frustration of the day finally getting the better of me, for the first time today I can take a deep breath.

“Thank you.” I sound weak, maybe because I am. The last little bit of strength I thought I had is fading quickly. He doesn’t say another word as he starts to unpack the bag filled with food. My stomach growls loudly as an open container is placed in front of me, normally I would be embarrassed but tonight I really don’t care. Even though my stomach is screaming at me to eat, I wait for Jimin to get his own food out. Watching him I can’t help but shake the feeling that something is wrong. There’s no spark in his eyes or smile tugging at his lips.

As we eat, neither of us speak. The atmosphere around us feels heavy, so many unspoken words left unsaid. My free hand taps against the counter as Jimin’s leg taps in sync. This is killing me, just a few days ago we were so comfortable with each other. One stupid moment and the friendship we’ve worked so hard on comes tumbling down. I want to scream or cry or even more so kiss him. But those aren’t routes I can’t afford to take. Right now I need to say something, anything to break the silence.

“You didn’t have to wait on me to eat dinner.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, instantly I want to kick myself. Of course he knew he didn’t have to wait on me, there’s another reason for him doing this.

“I know. But I also knew that if someone didn’t bring you food you wouldn’t eat.” He’s right. I probably would’ve grabbed a protein shake and went to bed.

“You’re right. But you waited so much longer to eat than you should’ve.” Guilt tugs at my stomach as I finish the last of my kimchi. My stomach is content as I turn in my chair to face him. Blonde hair blocks his face from me as he bends down, reaching over I tuck a few strands behind his ear so I can at least see him. My fingers tingle from the contact and I slowly retract my hand.

“I went to the gym while I waited for you. It’s not a big deal y/n.” It’s after those words a small smile tugs at his lips. Finally a little hint of emotion from Jimin. He’s so hard to read right now that it’s giving me a headache. Or maybe that’s from working over twelve hours.

As soon as he’s finished eating, I grab both of our containers and take them to the trash. Standing across the island from Jimin I can finally see all of him. I didn’t realize a few minutes ago that his hair is damp and his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the shower or the workout. Resting my elbows on the counter I lean forward so I can get slightly closer, his eyes don’t break contact with mine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The words escape my lips and instantly I want to take them back. It’s inevitable that we have this conversation but I can’t help the twisting and turning that my stomach is doing. I can feel my pulse quicken slightly the longer he doesn’t respond. If this wasn’t my home I’d walk out of the door and pretend that nothing was said.

“Only if you want to.” What? Of course I want to talk about this, we need to talk about this. I can’t take the tension anymore. I want my friend back, I want my Jimin back. But there’s a chance that all of that is completely ruined now.

“We need to. You and I both know that we can’t pretend that nothing happened.” Why do I feel like this isn’t a conversation I can have sober? As I let the words sink in, I turn around to get out a bottle of wine from the cabinet. Might as well get two glasses. The silence is deafening as I pour both of us a decent amount. Reaching out I offer the glass which he gladly accepts. Returning to my resting stance, I take a long sip. Once again our eyes are locked on each other.

“Do you regret anything that happened y/n?” Do I regret anything? Truth be told I regret passing out as soon as I sat on the bed. But no, I don’t regret anything that happened in the van.

“No, I don’t regret anything. Do you?” Now it’s my turn to be nervous, what if he said yes? I’d look like a complete moron. Nothing would be the same if that was his honest answer. It feels like a lifetime waiting for his answer. I can almost see the wheels turning as he tries to figure out exactly what he wants to say. The only thing I can do while I wait is drink, and it’s not long before the glass is empty.

“I don’t regret anything.” Why did I think that answer would make my pulse lower? If anything now my heart is about to beat out of my chest. There’s no hint of lying in his eyes and there’s a look of relief on his face. Bringing my glass up to my face, I down the remaining liquid to try and calm myself.

“But I guess what we need to decide is where to go from here?” Huh? Coughing, I feel the wine burn in my throat more than usual as it ends up going down the wrong way. Jimin’s eyes widen in worry but I throw up a hand, waving it to let him know I’m fine. As the coughing subsides, I take a deep breath to ease the burn. But it’s what Jimin said that I’m more focused on. Where do we go from here? Is there anywhere to go from here?

“Where do you want it to go?” I can’t but bite my lip lightly while I wait for his answer, I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous and that’s saying a lot. Even when I was packing my life into boxes I wasn’t this worried.

“Dating an idol isn’t easy, especially if the media finds out. There’s always the risk of being found on social media, some fans can be dangerous.” The way his tone shifts scares me and even more so the way he air quoted ‘fans’ made my stomach drop. I’ve seen what can happen when idols decide to date, it gets ugly. Nothing is private anymore, every detail of your life is exposed and used against you. And given my rough dating past, the last thing I want is for my secrets to be exposed. Also given BTS’s growing popularity and demand, a dating scandal would hurt them more than anything. Yes there would be some Army that would support the relationship, but there’s also some that would hate the idea and not support that member anymore. Which is completely idiotic but that’s how the idol life goes.

“I’ve lived as an idol long enough to also know that you need to take a chance every once and awhile. And I’ve made up my mind but I’ll also respect and understand whatever you decide on. Because there’s more at stake for you than me.” How could there be more at stake for me? His career could literally take a huge hit if he were caught being with me. And this decision doesn’t just affect him, there’s six other people this could hurt.

Now this is the part where I need to decide if I want to be selfish and tell him that I want to try being with him or potentially hurt the both of us and reject him. I would be lying to myself if I say I don’t want to date Jimin, and no it’s not because he’s Park Jimin of BTS. No it’s because he’s Jimin. He’s my shoulder to cry on when days are tough, he’s the person I can talk to without worry of judgement, and he’s the person I’m most excited to share my accomplishments with. In a short time he’s reminded me what it’s like to trust someone with my secrets and to let down my guard. And I also know that I’m his person too, the other night after the concert proved that. The fact that he trusted me to hold him as he cried is proof enough.

“Jimin, if I want to try to make this work what would you say?” My lips are fighting the smile tugging at the corners. But there’s still a few things that need to be said and figured out.

“I’d say I was hoping for that answer.” His voice seems happier and I can see the smile starting to form. My heart skips a beat as Jimin’s eyes start to disappear creating his signature smile.

“But what if I said I wanted to keep this between the two of us for now?” That causes the smile to lessen but not to completely disappear. Part of me thinks he knew this was coming. It would make sense for one of the main dancers to be around the choreographer a lot and the members are already used to us being glued at the hip. I’m really surprised that Namjoon hadn’t said anything yet. But then again he can be oblivious.

“It won’t be easy and I don’t like keeping anything from my brothers, but if that’s what will make you feel more comfortable then I will. Although I won’t want to keep it a secret for too long, it will make things worse.” That’s the truth. If we were to keep something from them for too long a huge fight would be inevitable. Nodding in agreement, I pour myself another glass with a smile. This isn’t how I imagined our conversation going but I’m glad it ended on a happy note.

“Now that that’s all settled, I could use some help.” I say before taking a long swig from the glass. Running over to the door, I fetch out my folder from to take back. When I came back Jimin’s standing where I just was pouring himself more wine. His eyes look at the folder and the chuckle he does makes me want to laugh as well. But right now I’m struggling with work and the opinion of another dancer would really help.

“Between the two of us we can figure it out.” He winks at me and I feel like I’m on cloud nine. Right now I’ll try not to worry about anything or overthink everything. For now I just need to enjoy how I’m feeling and focus on work, after all I can’t let this distract me from my one reason for being here in the first place.

#worth it #park jimin #BTS jimin #jimin #park jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #bts #bts smut #bts story

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murasaki-murasame · 5 years ago

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I’m still a little salty about how few units actually got mana spirals this month, but the ones we did get were surprisingly powerful, and the new banner also introduced some surprisingly meta-changing units, like the sentient potato who just wants to be vored.

There’s a lot to talk about so I’m gonna put my rambling under a cut, lol.

OK so first of all. Pipple. This fuckin’ non-limited 4-star water wand built with defense and energy buff skills, who is LITERALLY A TALKING VEGETABLE, is somehow the actual meta-changing start of this banner. After waiting more than an entire goddamn year for our first 5-star water blade, he ends up getting overshadowed by a goddamn potato. And as much as I love Valerio as well, I wouldn’t have it any other way, lmao.

It feels insane to even say it, but with the way his kit works, he honestly feels like a lite version of Gala Cleo. He can probably do just fine on his own in a normal water team, but if you get four Pipples together and give them something like Odd Sparows, they become a group of tanks who can deal surprisingly high damage, while sustaining themselves with healing doublebuff.

When I first saw his skills I thought that he was basically just a slightly better version of Pia, and that he’d basically just be a meme character, but honestly his passive abilities are enough to make him genuinely great. They give him a really unique play-style, especially with how he approaches energy.

I wasn’t sure what to make of his first ability at first since it’s description is super vague, but apparently it makes it so that his basic combos are 120% or so better than those of a normal wand unit. Which is pretty insane on it’s own. But then you have his third ability, which is basically just the one Yaten already has, where he gets buffs along with his energy level, up to a maximum of 40% strength and 15% crit rate when he’s energized. But unlike basically any other unit in the game, who wants to dump their energy stacks into an attack skill or a heal, Pipple doesn’t do that at all. He doesn’t even have any attack skills or heals, so if you ignore weapon skills and dragon skills, he doesn’t have anything to use energy on like that. Instead, he’s meant to basically stay permanently energized so that he doesn’t lose the buff that comes along with it. So once you get him energized, it basically means that he has a 40% strength and 15% crit rate buff for the entire rest of the fight. Plus he can trigger strength doublebuff with his S1 to give him even more strength.

I don’t think the DPS charts do justice to his true potential because of how weird and indirect his kit is, but I think he’s genuinely really strong. He’ll probably work really well with the eventual water element 6-star weapons, since the skills on those are just buffs, so he can use it without losing his energy buffs.

People have already cleared expert and master HBH with 4 Pipple teams, and apparently it’s not very difficult at all, and it’s basically impossible to get killed with that comp. It’s probably slower than other water team comps, but it seems very tanky.

I think he does enough damage on his own to be very good in a team with other units, but I’m not as sure about that. You’d probably end up designing a team around him like you do with Patia, to make full use of strength/healing doublebuffs.

At the very least I think he’s immediately better than Lily. Which probably isn’t a huge achievement, but still, lol. If he ends up being good for regular teams and not just 4-Pipple teams, I think he’ll help let Gala Elly run without Chocolatiers, which could be nice.

I was thinking that, until Thaniel eventually gets a buff, I might use Xainfried for HBH now that he’s gotten his own mana spiral, but once I get a HDT1 water wand, I’m kinda tempted to just play Pipple instead, lmao.

In general i really like units like this who have weird and unique play-styles, and it’s really fun to get some silly and non-human adventurers like this. And since he’s a non-limited 4-star, it’s not a bad thing if he ends up being really meta-defining. Overall his existence is just a net positive for the game and I’m wuv him :) I’ve been kinda bitter lately about how the non-limited water roster as a whole just doesn’t stack up well against limited water units like Gala Elly and MH Sarisse, but Pipple [and Xainfried getting his mana spiral] really helps with that. I feel like Pipple might end up being a popular budget entry point into HBH.

He also might be basically the only unit in the game to make good use of The Petal Queen in order to immediately energize himself, which is fun. I like how these sorts of units who don’t use attacking skills end up benefiting from some weird and niche wyrmprints that you usually don’t use otherwise. It seems like Chocolatiers is better for HBH, but for basically any other fight I think The Petal Queen would probably be better, since the immediate jumpstart on his offensive buffs would probably be better than the immediate defense buff.

And on the topic of the mana spirals we got, I’m still super salty that Norwin didn’t get one, or even any of the other gacha 4-star shadow units, but at least the three mana spirals we got were really great.

Xainfried’s probably getting overlooked by Nefaria and OG Cleo’s mana spirals, and also by Pipple being the hot new water unit everyone loves, but his mana spiral seems like it’s really helped him, and I don’t regret getting him up to around 64MC immediately. I think the DPS sims put him at around the level of Victor and Kirsty, which is a pretty big deal considering how underpowered he was before this. There’s also the fact that we don’t have a frostbite punisher wyrmprint or dragon yet, so his true damage potential probably hasn’t been reached yet. I think he’s probably going to end up being readily accepted into all levels of HBH after this, which would be great. I think he’s always been perfectly viable for HBH, but never ‘meta’. But he seems really strong now. And once we get a frostbite punisher print, he might become a really meta unit since he and Valerio are currently the only frostbite enablers in the game, though I think Mitsuba will probably get frostbite too, and they’ll probably give it to some of the existing water units through their mana spirals. He’ll probably be one of the better frostbite enablers, though.

OG Cleo getting a buff wasn’t exactly a surprise, and it mostly went the way I expected, but her getting buff dispel was a surprise. I think she’s probably the best healer for Kai Yan, but I dunno if buff dispel will be a huge deal in HJP. But since Nefaria also got buff dispel, I think S-Verica is still gonna have a space in the Kai Yan meta. People probably won’t want to run much with Heinwald in that fight, sadly, lol.

Nefaria, on the other hand, was a huge surprise, since it looked like they’d just skipped over her entirely. But she got a mana spiral out of the blue, and apparently it’s made her extremely powerful, maybe second only to Gala Cleo herself, lol. I’m still annoyed at how their approach to fixing her was just ‘slap the poison meta on her existing kit’, but oh well. It did the job with making her extremely good, I guess. I’m happy that she’s finally a good unit, even if I wish they had been a bit more creative about it.

Since they have basically the same kit, and wind also has it’s own poison meta, they’re probably just going to give Hawk the exact same buff [maybe without the buff dispel, though], and hopefully that’d also lead to him being extremely strong.

The Kai Yan fight also came out, which is it’s own whole thing. I’m currently just grinding standard to get the materials to max out the shadow tree, but from what I can gather, both difficulties are apparently a lot easier than Volk, which is . . . kinda surprising. Maybe it’s just because the shadow roster is stupidly powerful, but it sounds like the requirements to get by in Expert aren’t very high at all. Which probably means that the meta surrounding it will probably be more accepting of a variety of units. But probably with a preference for the 70MC ones.

I was worried that they’d tune the fight too much around Gala Cleo and just make it super punishing and impenetrable, but it feels more like they just didn’t even bother putting effort into designing the fight in a way that shut her down. Which is probably a good thing in the long run, since it makes the fight more accessible. I thought they’d at least make the satellite things absorb some of Gala Cleo’s S1 hits, but apparently not, lol.

I’ll see how expert goes when I get to it, but I wonder if in the long run, it’ll be easier to break into Kai Yan and get a MUB 6-star shadow weapon to take into HJP, instead of doing HZD first to get a shadow HDT weapon. That’d be interesting.

The shadow 6-star weapons also seem to have some interesting effects. I thought that all the 6-star weapons might just get alternating strength and regen buffs, but the shadow ones have attack rate and defense. I guess it’s probably designed with each Agito fight in mind, since healing is important to Volk, while Kai Yan has more unavoidable damage.

I have no idea what they’ll do with the other element types, but one way or another I think, as I said, Pipple’s gonna really benefit from a water Agito weapon, since it won’t have an attack or a heal [hopefully] for him to waste his energy stacks on.

I kinda hope the wind one gives a crit rate buff, since wind needs more of that in general.

Oh yeah, and Valerio also exists, lmao. I still really want him, but I can live without him at this point, especially with how much I’ve come to love Pipple as a character. I do like how unique and interesting Valerio’s kit is, though, and I’m glad that he seems to be pretty strong overall. I wish they’d stop designing blade units that are dependent on high combo counts, though. It’s just not a good weapon type for that, lol.

I don’t think Nimis is particularly amazing at the moment since there’s not many water units who can reliably get high crit chance in the first place, but since Pipple can pretty easily get a more or less permanent 15% crit rate buff, Nimis might be pretty good on him. Basically water needs a unit like Ezelith to really make use of him. And thus far we don’t really have that, but I still feel like Laranoa might end up getting basically the exact same buff that Ezelith got when she gets her mana spiral, in which case she’d probably use Nimis. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mitsuba ends up being based around crits when she comes out, as well.

And on that note, the second part of the current banner should be starting in the next few days, and it’ll almost certainly give us Mitsuba as a 5-star water dagger, and Picaro as . . . some sort of 4-star. Unless they invent an entirely new dragon for the banner, I think they’ll just have Nimis on rate-up for it again, or feature an existing water dragon like Leviathan. In general I’m just not very interested in the idea of the part two banner at the moment. Mitsuba’s a fun character, but I like both Pipple and Valerio more, and in terms of burn res water daggers I think I like Orsem more, too. I also just kinda hate Picaro so I have no real interest in the idea of getting him as a playable adventurer, lol. I’m not even sure what type of unit he’ll be, honestly. I think he’ll be a flame 4-star, going by his character design, but I’ve got no clue about his weapon type. He doesn’t really seem to be holding a weapon in his art like Valerio and Mitsuba are, so it’s hard to guess. I’m also not even sure if the flame roster has any notable gaps that can be filled by a new 4-star. I guess it might be neat if he’s a sleep res healer that has sleep cleanse, but I guess we’ll see.

I still think Pipple’s gonna end up being the real star of his banner as a whole, lol.

Anyway, for the time being, I’m gonna keep grinding Kai Yan, and I’ll probably do a few runs of HMC to get Pipple his HDT water wand. After that I’ll see if that’s enough investment to let me break into eHBH with him. I’ll probably end up having to max augment Odd Sparrows first, but I’ve at least started on that already. I at least have Xainfried as a good alternative option to get into that fight, but I just really really like the idea of taking a sentient potato creature to fight a flame dragon :v

#dragalia lost #LONG HAVE WE WAITED. LILY INVALIDATED. PIPPLE ACTIVATED #although on the other hand *cries in dy-xander being even more useless*

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shall-we-imagine · 6 years ago

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Lovely. (Sigurd Curtis×Reader *AU*)

Requested: 15. "If my day gets any worse, I'm asking hell if they're having an exchange program." + 22. "Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops." From the prompt list.

Genre: Fluff.

(Second Person Point of View)

"I'm telling you, Amelia! This psycho lady kept insisting I give her a cheese burger with no cheese! And when I tried to explain to her that this is basically just a burger not a cheeseburger, she went nuts!" You complain into the phone, as you struggle to open the door to your apartment without dropping your grocery at the same time.

"Like what even is this?! And when I finally gave up and told her I'll get her that cheese burger with no cheese.." you recite the customer's words in a tone of mockery, "She just still wasn't having it! She asked to speak to the manager who wasn't even there at the time! All my coworkers and even some customers had to intervene before she tries to kill me or something.."

You hear loud laughter from the other side of the phone. "I'm sorry; it's just-" your friend pauses to laugh even harder, "it's actually hilarious; I'm sorry."

"Amelia!" You whine dramatically, "Stop laughing at my sorrows!" Even though you let out a little laugh yourself, you were still willing to demand she doesn't laugh...just because.

After locking the door, you slip off your shoes, placing it near the door frame, then walk into the kitchen to put the items you bought in their correct places.

"At least it's over, though, right?"

"Well, that's not all. After waiting at the bus stop for like 15 minutes, I realized I had forgotten my purse in the changing room, so I had to go back to get my purse then walk to the bus stop again, and by now, I'd already missed the bus, of course. Therefore, I had to wait for 30 minutes for the next bus." You sigh, "And don't even get me started on that weird guy from the supermarket!"

"What happened?" Amelia giggles, still amused by your irritation.

"So, you know how I prefer buying groceries alone because it makes everything quicker and helps me focus better and not forget anything?" You begin placing items on shelves and in the fridge, not planning to stop the phone call before you're done ranting.

"Yeah?"

"Well, this random dude that I never even met before decided that my angry aura wasn't enough to keep him away, no! He decided to just walk up to me, for no reason at all, and make conversation. Now, this wouldn't be too bad if he didn't follow me throughout the entire time I was shopping. Even after I expressed my discomfort and annoyance, he just couldn't take a hint! And I was in no mood for being flirted with or being talked to at all actually." You huff.

"Woah, it's like the universe is just purposely pissing you off."

"Tell me about it! If my day gets any worse, I'm asking hell if they're having an exchange program."

Amelia laughs. "Just get some sleep; you'll be fine." She assures.

"Yeah, I'm really exhausted; I just want to pass out for a week!" You become more and more eager to drown in your own bed the closer you get to your room.

"Well, I'll let you nap for now, but don't forget the essay; we have to hand it over on Tuesday!" Knowing your habit of procrastination, Amelia never fails to remind you of the stuff you need to do. Multiple times.

"I know I know; I'll get started right after I wake up..and eat..and maybe watch an episode of-" She cuts off your already clear intentions of procrastinating.

"(Y/N)! Right after you wake up and eat! Don't make me come over there and supervise as you write!" She threatens.

You groan, "Fine; I'll do it."

After Amelia declares her temporary victory, you end the phone call and get comfortable in bed, ready to get some rest before you have to do your assignments. You set your alarm for an hour after the current time then place your phone on the nightstand.

The mattress and pillow partly engulf your body in heavenly softness, and you happily let the irritation from earlier float away.

However, life seemed to have more troubles to throw at you today.

The sound of drilling coming from the other side of the wall behind your bed startles you into full consciousness. Frowning, you wait a few minutes in hopes the drilling would stop, but, sadly, life still hated you and had no plans of having mercy on you. Trying to ignore the drilling was a hopeless case, too.

"Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with my neighbour?! It's been 25 minutes! What's up with all the noise?!" You complain to yourself, pushing your face into the pillow out of frustration.

You let out a huff. "I'll go talk to them. I'm not sacrificing my sleep for them to put up some decorations or whatever the fuck they're really doing."

Smoothing down your hair to make it look presentable, you contemplate whether you really need to change your pyjamas to go knock on your next door neighbours and ask them to keep it down. Nah.

You rub your eyes, still feeling sleepy and exhausted, as you wait for your oh-so-lovely neighbour to answer the door.

"Hello?" Greets a male about your age. Well..let's just say he certainly is really really really lovely. And suddenly, you regret not changing into something nicer than your my little pony print pyjamas.

He gave you a sweet smile as if he wasn't just chasing the sleep away from you with his drilling.

"Uh, hi." You shuffle your weight from leg to the other awkwardly. "Would you mind..um..not drilling into the wall right now? I've had a long day, and I'm trying to sleep.." You waited for a rude reaction, but the expected response never came.

Instead, the purple-haired male pokes his head back inside the apartment. "Vincent! Hey, Vincent!" He yells.

You hear a faint yeah? come from inside before the neighbour you never knew was so handsome shouts again, "I told you you're gonna bother our neighbours, but did you listen?! Nooo, you decided to try it anyway! Just stop drilling!"

"What neighbours? There's only one other apartment on our floor; don't make it sound like I'm bothering the entire buildi-" the other voice kept getting louder, indicating the person was walking closer to the door. When he finally reached the door and pulled it open, Vincent that was yelling from inside paused mid-sentence.

"Ooh, I see why you're so concerned about the noise." The redhead shoots a wink towards what you assumed was his flatmate before walking back inside, leaving good-looking neighbour flustered.

"Uh-um, never mind him. He just likes joking around; it's nothing, re-" His embarrassed rambling was cut off by a yell from inside.

"Shut up; you know you were calling her cute earlier, Sigurd!" Sigurd's panicked eyes meet yours, and you could practically feel the temperature rising in the hallway, due to the heat emitting from both your faces.

Despite how embarrassed you are, you were still absolutely flattered, which caused you to let out a small giggle, further increasing Sigurd's blushing.

"He's only joking; don't take him seriously. He just likes to embarass me." Sigurd tries to indirectly deny his flatmate's comment. You would be disappointed if it weren't so amusing and adorable watching him sheepishly sputter out excuses and defences.

"Are you saying you don't think she's cute then?" A blond pokes his head outside. You could tell he wasn't wearing a shirt, but he didn't seem to mind being seen like that.

Sigurd falls into another spiral of panicked, embarrassed babbling. "No!" He quickly turns to look at you, "I don't mean you're not cute! You're certainly cute- I mean if I were asked, I'd say you're cute- Like I wasn't just thinking about you being cute; not that I wouldn't think you're cute- oh my god, I'm sorry; just forget about this! Klaus, just go put a shirt on and leave me alone!"

By now, you were full on laughing hysterically at the interaction between Sigurd and his other flatmate.

"It's only fair, compared to how much you tease me." The shirtless male shrugs, walking back inside.

Sigurd sighs. "I'm sorry about Klaus and Vincent; they're practically family, so we tease each other all the time." He scratches the back of his head.

"It's okay." You smile. It was as if you'd completely forgotten you came here, ready to fight whoever disturbed your sleep. "Must be really fun living together like that, though."

"Yeah, I suppose." He nods. "Things sometimes get insane, but we're used to it by now. Insanity runs in my family. it practically gallops." He chuckles.

You let out a laugh, "Yeah, I totally know what you mean."

Seeming to have forgotten about being sleepy just a while ago, you allow yourself to have a full conversation with Sigurd. It may have lasted for a full hour, and you wouldn't even know.

"My goodness, just ask her out already!" Vincent yells from inside.

"Shut up!" Sigurd yells back.

"You really have no idea how to get the ladies, huh?" Klaus joins the yelling fest.

"Says the guy that thinks insulting the girl is a good way to encourage and motivate her!" It seemed like Sigurd had gotten comfortable around you, so he was no longer affected by their teasing; he was ready to talk back now. It somehow made you feel warm inside.

"I'm just being honest!" Klaus defends.

"You're just being mean!" Vincent argues.

"I'm not mean!" Before long, Vincent and Klaus had gotten in an argument in the backgroud, allowing you and Sigurd to retrieve your one-on-one conversation.

"Well, um, do you wanna go grab some coffee later?" Sigurd smiles. "You know..to prove them wrong?" He fakes an innocent smile.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's why." You giggle. "But, sure, why not?"

After deciding the time and day, you said your goodbyes, and you went back to your apartment.

At least now when Amelia calls again you can distract her with news about your date, so she doesn't have to scold you for not working on the essay until now.

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

Note

Prompt: The Many Trials and Tribulations of one Sam Jones as he attempts to lose his virginity

Right, I have several prompts/requests for more in the Swan and Crossbones universe, so I am going to get started on some of them, surprising nobody. They will be done chronologically, starting soon after chapter 32 of The Rose and Thorn and looking at bits of the pirate family’s life through the years. This one comes before flesh and bone and is the first in the one-shot series.

Philadelphia

June 1741

Having assured himself one last time that there were nostray socks or underthings or other odds and ends hiding under the bed ordraped on the sideboard or otherwise on the verge of escape, Sam Jones shut thetrunk, sat on it, and flipped the tongues down, locking them with a satisfyingthunk. He hated packing, as it always transpired that you owned far more thanyou thought you did when you were trying to force it into one small space foran extended period of time, and given as said time was six weeks aboard the Dora Mae, a two-masted brigantine ownedby a local Scottish tobacco merchant, he had to be strategic about it. Theywere sailing to Newport, in Glasgow, then taking a coach to Edinburgh, thenstaying in a guest house for probably at least a fortnight while in search ofpermanent accommodation, and whatever else. The clothing and personal belongingsthat Sam was placing into this trunk now needed to be arranged under thepossibility that he might not be able to properly unpack until Michaelmas.Practical bits on top, things he could live without below, fragile or importantbits well cushioned between. Bloody nightmare, really.

Straightening up, he regarded his efforts with somesatisfaction. He had been vacillating between excitement and apprehension asthe date for their departure grew ever closer, a scared but eager knowledgethat he – that they – were actuallydoing this. Jack had decided to take Uncle Thomas’ advice, wanted to trybecoming a doctor, and he had to be in Edinburgh to take the universityentrance exam in September. If he passed that, he would be formally extended anoffer of matriculation at the medical school. If he didn’t… well. It waspossible that they would be back here next year with nothing but an extendedvacation to Scotland for their trouble, and Jack was entirely aware of theessential insanity of what he was attempting. He had to cram years of missededucation into six months of intensive study, and had shaken off suggestionsthat he take his time about it and prepare at a normal pace. He wanted to go, he wanted to start something new,after spending the rest of his life as he had, and Sam had to admit, if anyonecould pull this off, it was him. That was why it was helpful to be inPhiladelphia. There were plenty of books and scholarly tracts that Henry and Mr.Franklin had scouted up for them, and Sam assisted as much as he could.

Sam took a deep breath, once more reconciling himself to thereality that this was actually happening. It wasn’t as if he was a novice toadventures – last year had, if nothing else, showed that – but this wasdifferent. He was growing up, leaving home, going across the bloody AtlanticOcean to bloody Scotland, and with JackBellamy, of all people. Going as a unit, a pair. Together. They’d beenliving at Jack and Charlotte’s house in Philadelphia, with Alix and Cecilia,and Henry and his family just down the lane, and while this had certainly been useful,it did make it slightly crowded. Geneva had sailed them here on the Rose along with Uncle Liam and AuntRegina, who had left last week to return to Paris and begin the process ofselling their house and packing their things to move back here permanently.What with one thing and another, Sam and Jack had not really been alone (or atleast not without considerable risk of interruption) since they left Nassau,and that was starting to become annoying.

Nor could Sam see much hope for a reprieve in the future.They were sharing a cabin on the DoraMae, but because the captain was Scottish and thus saw no reason notto pinch pennies to their utmost, they would have a third companion: ayoung barrister-in-training, Edward Crouch, hoping to be admitted to the Innsof Court in London after a visit to a wealthy old uncle in Glasgow. Sam hadonly met their unwanted roommate once, and was not enthused for a repeat engagement.Crouch looked like a weasel, twitched like a rabbit, and sneezed constantly, as well as having a habit of peering judgmentally at the world frombehind fingerprinted spectacles and clicking his tongue with a sound like smallordnance exploding. A person less conducive to an atmosphere of luxuriousseclusion and romance (relatively speaking, this was still a cramped cabin on atobacco merchanter on a long ocean crossing) could hardly be imagined.

Sam grimaced. He supposed it was unchristian to hopethat Crouch caught an ague and died mid-voyage, but how in damnation he wasgoing to manage sharing six weeks with Jack in small spaces, and not being ableto touch him at all, he had no idea. He had offered to compensate the captain withthe extra money he might lose by canceling Crouch’s passage, since he did haveplenty of that now, but it was probably a bad idea to make an enemy of abarrister who might proceed directly to lawsuits upon being thwarted. Thecaptain had refused, anyway. Sam, Jack, and Crouch it was going to be. Bloody wonderful.

Perhaps, Sam rationalized, it was for the best. He and Jackwere cautiously venturing to be more physical with each other, but they stillhadn’t gotten much past the enjoyable fumbling stage of things. Sam had alsodecided that he wasn’t going to say a word about it, as he was still mortifiedover his too-forward behavior during his convalescence on Nassau. In hisdefense, he had been a total mess, he hadn’t known, and it was a good thingGeneva had stepped in to take that nonsensein hand, but still. The last thing Sam wanted was for Jack to think that he wasonly in it for the carnal side of things (not that he had any idea what thosecarnal things were, aside from briefand lurid fantasies) or that he was unsympathetic to the terrible things he hadbeen through and simply who he was, and he didn’t want to distract Jack fromhis studies. Thus, even though it made him feel like a pot constantly about toboil over, he had kept his hands, thoughts, and general mood of frustrated lustto himself.

Sam took one more look around, then threw a few more thingsinto his rucksack and set it on top of the trunk. They would be taking it alldown to the docks to load aboard later this afternoon, and the room lookedoddly bare, not that it had been extensively furnished before. He was the onewith the most luggage, anyway. Jack’s clothes and possessions barely filled abattered carpet bag, and Sam felt almost guilty that he had so much to bringalong, and Jack so little. The money frommy share of the Skeleton Island treasure is as much his as mine, I’ll tell himhe can buy whatever he wants. How he would convince Jack to accept it, hedidn’t know, but still. Even if Jack didn’t want things, he should at least know that he had the option. With UncleThomas’ help, Sam had converted some to cash, some to stocks, and the rest tothe care of the Bank of England, who were supposed to handle stashing it safelyfor future use. Barring a really major disaster, they should never be pooragain.

After a final pause, Sam took a deep breath and wentdownstairs, where Charlotte, Alix, and Cecilia were eating lunch in thekitchen. At the sight of him, Charlotte looked up and smiled. “Packing allfinished, then?”

“I think so,” Sam said, sitting down and helping himself toa generous spoonful of cold shepherd’s pie. “It strikes me that we’re… thatwe’re actually going. It’s weird.”

“Aye,” Charlotte said. “And strange for Jack, I’m sure, tobe going back to Britain. Take care of him, all right? Please?”

“I will,” Sam promised her solemnly. He could not possiblybe unaware that Jack had to overcome a great deal of instinctive and ingrainedrevulsion to even set foot on a ship bound back for the soggy little island hehad spent so long trying to escape. Edinburgh wasn’t London, but still. “Isthere anything else I really should know? I mean, I’ll stick out like a sorethumb anyway, but…” He shrugged self-effacingly. “Just in case.”

“You’ll be fine,” Charlotte said. “Though it rains probablyrather more than you’re accustomed to, and is that bit colder, as well. Nobodymoves to Britain for the weather.”

“I might not mind getting out of Philadelphia,” Sam admitted.The place tended to stink like an open sewer in high summer, not that Edinburghwas going to be any more savory, and he had passed the time by helping hisbrother Henry in Mr. Franklin’s print shop. This was well enough, but the printshop was hot, close, noisy, and sweaty, with a lot of inking rolls and settingtype and hauling heavy things and invariably ending up with black stains allover his hands and sleeves. It also made him miss Nathaniel, Franklin’s latenephew, who had been his best friend for his entire life and who Sam had gottenkilled (he had never managed to absolve himself of the blame) at Robert Gold’sestate in Barbados last year. He tried to tell himself that it was done, itcould not be changed, and then he felt even guiltier at the idea that he couldmove on from it, start this exciting new chapter in his life, while Nathanielwas still dead, and nothing could ever fix that or take it away. Sam’s head hada tendency to go in spirals on these things, and a change of scenery might nothurt.

“Will you miss your family at all?” Charlotte asked. “It’sthe first time you’ve left the Americas, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Sam said. “And I will, a bit.” His parents andgrandparents had seen them off when they left Savannah, and he had foundhimself momentarily clinging, even though he was normally an independent-mindedlad. “But it’s not forever. At least I hope not.”

“I’m sure,” Charlotte said. “And I’m bloody proud of him. Iknow you are as well.”

“I am.” Sam met her gaze, and they experienced a brief,wordless moment of understanding in their shared love for Jack, different as itmight be. Sam had come to quite like her, and it was also why, even though Jackand Charlotte had had their marriage annulled, he did not feel entirely correctabout pursuing intrigues with Charlotte’s former husband before her face andunder the same roof. Not that there was any jealousy. Charlotte and Alix werehappily together, Charlotte and Jack had never consummated their marriage, andwhile their bond was deep and real, it was not of a sexual nature. Sam knewthat Charlotte would not have cared whatsoever if he wanted to roger Jack everyday and twice on Sundays (which he did, but never mind) and that this wasreflective of his own hang-ups, but still.

They finished lunch, and Sam went out to find a hirecarriage, loaded the trunk and bags in with the driver’s help, and rode down tothe wharves and the Dora Mae. Astheir things were carried on board, Sam looked hopefully at the cabin for anyevidence that Edward Crouch might be detained on an urgent engagement and thusmiss the sailing, but his stern black valise was already set on one of thebunks, and the place whiffed faintly of weasel. Damn it.

With a reminder from the captain that they were departing onthe early morning tide tomorrow, and hence might wish to take up their berthtonight, Sam went ashore and took the carriage to the house, where he paid thedriver, told him to return in a few hours, and went back in. Now thateverything was over except for the waiting, he felt jittery, restless, not surehow to occupy this last bit of time on American soil. Jack should be home soon,they were having a farewell supper at Henry’s place, and after that, would headdown to the ship. This is it. That’severything. It seemed rather impossible to have actually accomplished.

Sam paced, then went out to the back porch and sat for abit, then paced some more, until he heard the front door bang and Jack’s voicegreeting Cecilia, who had run to meet him. It was clear that she was strugglingwith the idea of their upcoming parting, and Jack had tried to pay specialattention to her, promising to write and to send little things from time totime. As Sam emerged into the hall, he saw Jack balancing Cecilia on his hip,and grinned to himself; the sight would never fail to be adorable. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jack put Cecilia down, though she still kept her armsaround his waist, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “All done, then?”

“Aye, I took the luggage to the ship earlier. Crouch madeit, unfortunately.”

Jack raised the other eyebrow. “He’s not the worst berth mate to be stuck with.”

“No, I suppose if he was actively dying of consumption, orsmelled strongly of boiled cabbage, we could do worse. Wait. He does smell of boiled cabbage. And hesneezes, so frankly, he might be dying. I’m not sure I would mind.”

Jack looked as if he was trying to hide a grin. “Why do youhate him so much, exactly?”

“He’s – ” Sam attempted to think of a way to phrase this indeference to the child listening in. “He’s a bit of an… obstacle, don’t youthink?”

“Obstacle?” Jack looked genuinely confused. “To what?”

“Never mind,” Sam said, fighting his usual stab of insecurity.If Jack was peachy keen at the prospect of a six-week voyage with no physicalcontact at all, he had no right to say anything different. “Who knows, maybewe’ll end up best mates.” He doubted it in the extreme, but trying to keep acheerful outlook was always the first step.

Jack looked at him as if sensing that something had remainedunspoken, but consented to let the subject drop for the time. He went upstairs,freshened up, and then returned for them to head over to Henry’s. They spentsome time chatting with Violet and playing with Richard and Lucy until Henrygot home from work, with a few special treats. “Ready to go, Sam?”

“I think so,” Sam said, half-wishing that everyone wouldstop asking him this question, as his answer could not have changedoutstandingly in the few hours since they’d last enquired. Besides, the morethey asked, the more he’d start worrying if he was or not. Still, he managed asmile. “Going to miss having me to boss around at the print shop?”

“It’s good for you,” Henry said, with an older brother’sprerogative to lord it over a younger one at every opportunity. “But I’mexcited for both of you. Oh, Jack, I have this for you. It’s a portfolio thatthe Edinburgh medical school published just last year, it should have somethingto say about the most recent version of the exam. Here.”

“Thanks.” Jack looked surprised, as he was still not in thehabit of having a family who casually picked up things they thought he mightlike and that would be helpful for him. Then Charlotte, Alix, and Ceciliaarrived soon after, and they all went to have dinner together. Henry offered atoast to new opportunities and new adventures, and they drank to it, even asSam’s chest had contracted into a knot of anxiety and he couldn’t quite get outan answer. Theoretically, he supposed, he could still change his mind and staybehind. Not that he was going to do that, not that he even wanted to. But atleast it was there.

Once it started to get somewhat late, everyone began toglance at the clock and clear their throats self-consciously. Jack and Sam pushedtheir chairs back and stood up, and Henry did as well. “Send a letter when youget to Scotland, all right? I’ll make sure Killian, Mum, Granny, Grandpa, andUncle Thomas get it. They’ll want to know.”

“Aye, of course.” Sam’s throat felt dry. He held out hishand. “I’ll – well, I’ll see you sometime, then?”

Henry took it, shook it, then pulled him into a brief,brotherly hug, clapping him firmly on the back. “I hope you have a wonderfuladventure.”

“Better than the last one, at least,” Sam cracked weakly. Hehugged Violet as well, then his niece and nephew, then glanced over at Jack,who was hugging Charlotte and Cecilia ferociously, one with each arm. Ceciliawas trying, with no success, not to cry, and Jack and Charlotte looked ratherbright-eyed themselves. Finally, they stepped apart, and Charlotte took Jack’sface in her hands and kissed his forehead. They clutched each other’s hands forone more long moment, then let go.

Charlotte turned to Sam, and they hugged quickly as well.Sam thought he felt her trembling slightly, but she was customarily brisk whenshe pulled back. “Well, then. Off with you, both of you. Go on.”

Jack hugged Cecilia one more time, kissed the top of herhead, then put her down. “Indeed, we should be on our way. We’ll write fromGlasgow. Come on, Sam.”

Sam trotted up next to him,pulled on his shoes, gathered his things and took one last look at theirfamily, gathered on the doorstep and waving them off. The summer sky was adeep, streaky red and rose and purple, hints of sunset still lingering in thewest and the air thick and hot, as they started down the muddy road, in theflickering shadows of street lamps. Sam glanced back once, but by then, theyhad turned the corner, and the past was out of sight.

To his credit (or so Sam strongly felt) he managed a wholeweek out to sea before the Crouch situation started to get really intolerable.The weather was good, which was nice; Sam was not fond of sailing to startwith, and a bumpy ride would not have done anything to improve this opinion.They were paying passengers and thus not expected to assist with the vessel’soperation, and Jack spent most of his time studying anyway, crammed at the tinydesk with his various books and squinting in the light through the smallporthole. The only problem was, there was only one desk, and Crouch felt that he was entitled to use it at leasthalf the time as well, since it was uncomfortable to work when stooped over ina small bunk. This had been cause for a low-level feud brewing between him andJack, as they tried to elbow the other out of it or stealthily get to it firstin the morning, before the other woke up. The cabin was small enough that Samwent stir-crazy after a few hours stuffed in there with both of them, so hespent most of his time above. Perforce, without Jack.

Not to mention, Crouch apparently had the hearing of abloody bat. Not that it was really needed: Jack and Sam had one berth, Crouchthe other, which meant there was perhaps six feet of space between them at anygiven time, and if they turned over or otherwise made the berth creak too muchwith totally innocent rearrangements, Crouch would glare at them from under hisstriped nightcap and hiss if they really had to make so much noise. It was asif he had never considered the possibility that a long voyage in close quarterswith strangers might just beinconvenient, or he had the nervous disposition of a baby dormouse, or he hadbeen sent expressly to ensure that no heathenish behavior would take placeaboard this ship, no sirree, not on his watch. There was clearly no way totry anything without it instantly coming to his wretched attention, and that,well, that would definitely be a disaster.

Thus, Sam was obliged to sleep close alongside Jack, pressedup against him in body and limb, breathing his scent and able to touch him, butonly in passing and unsuspicious brushes, and not do a damn thing else aboutit. He was fairly sure that some of his blood might never return to his headafter how long it had spent hopefully and painfully elsewhere, as if imploringhim to put it to use one of these days before it went blue and fell off. Samwould have liked nothing better than to do this, but, well, Crouch. There wasthe possibility that he and Jack could sneak off to the hold, but that was, tosay the least, risky and uncomfortable, not to mention unsanitary. Sam didn’twant their first time to be against some moldy damp beams in the pitch black,listening every second for one of the sailors coming down. Besides, Jack didnot appear to be suffering in the same way, so maybe it was just Sam consignedto purgatory on this whole thing. He still wanted to be with Jack even if allthey ever ended up doing was sleeping together like this, with nothing extra,but… he wanted the extra too.

It was thus coming up on a fortnight out of Philadelphiawhen matters really came to a head. The last few days had been rather rough, ofcourse Crouch was prone to seasickness, and rather than spend anothergodforsaken instant in the faintly vomit-smelling cabin, Sam had escaped to thequarterdeck. To his surprise, Jack joined him in a few more minutes, hairblowing out of its ribbon as they looked out to the misty horizon together.“Bloody hell, I’m sick of skeletal diagrams. And if Crouch farts one more time,I’m wringing his neck.”

Sam looked at his beloved with a rather triumphantexpression, as if to say that his hatred of their third wheel had thus beenvindicated all along. “Not to mention the puking.”

“That too.” Jack leaned on the railing. “Besides, we haven’treally had a chance to, well.” He waved a hand awkwardly, as this was still notsomething he was good at doing. “Talk.”

In Sam’s opinion, talking was the least of what they had notbeen able to do, but he forbore from offering this up. Trying to change thesubject, he said, “How’s the studying going?”

“I should pass the damn thing. Maybe. Hopefully. They couldstill decide not to offer me a place, if I barely make the cut.” Jack’s handstwisted on the rail. “It might have been wiser if I went out first, alone, andthen sent for you if I got in, rather than dragging you along and uprootingyour life when there’s still a chance I won’t. If you – ”

“I’d… honestly rather be here.” Sam tried to keep his voiceoffhand. “With you. And I don’t think you wanted to sail back to Britain byyourself, did you?”

“Not really, no.” Jack’s lips were grim. “I just keepforgetting there’s the both of us now.”

“Aye.” Sam decided to refrain from pointing out that strictlyspeaking, it was three, as he didn’t want to keep bellyaching about Crouch andmake Jack think he was hating every minute of this and wished he was at home.“It’ll be… it’ll be all right.”

“We’ll see.” Jack glanced at him again. “What have you beenthinking about? All this time. You keep looking like you’re going to saysomething, and then you don’t.”

“It’s not important,” Sam said quickly. “As long as you’rehappy.”

“Well, happy is astretch, but this is a necessary evil.” Jack caught his hair as it started toblow again and tied it back, a brief, easy gesture which was among the many Samfound inordinately attractive about him. “But I care what you think too, youknow.”

“I just…” Sam hesitated, glancing around to every side forunwanted eavesdroppers. “Three’s a crowd, you know? Especially with our bloodymate Edward goggling at us the whole time. There’s no chance for… anythingelse.”

Jack still looked confused, before understanding belatedlylit on his face. “Ah.”

“Yes.” Sam looked down at the blue-green waves, the curls ofwhite wake, peeling away from the DoraMae’s hull. “Really, though, it’s not important. I know you’re – well, it’snot necessarily something you’ve had a great experience with, and I… I don’thave any experience at all, so…” He stopped. “I’m rabbiting on, sorry.”

“Hey.” Jack made a slight motion as if to turn Sam’s face tohim. “What’s wrong? What’s bothering you? If this is about Nassau, I told youI’m not upset about that, remember?”

“I am,” Sam said, almost inaudibly. “I’m upset about it. Ibehaved like a… like a total boor, and it embarrasses me every time I thinkabout it, and I… I shouldn’t have. I should have just… I don’t know. Done itdifferently.”

Jack blinked. “What? You were a bloody basket case. Besides,you’re beating yourself up over – what, telling me that you wanted me? Jesus,Sam. That’s the sweetest thing that anyone’s ever done in the state that youwere in. It’s not like I did anything to tell you or help you out or… God. Youreally think I’d be upset about that?”

“Like I said, maybe you weren’t, but…” Sam stared intentlyat the worn wood of the railing. “I should have known better.”

“Hey. Hey.” Jackmoved to grab his hand, briefly and fiercely. “Is that really what’s beeneating you up this whole time? Just that?”

“Well, no.” Sam blew out a slow breath. “I just hate thethought that I’ve ever hurt you in any way, and if you – ” He stopped again.“Look, if you really don’t want to, well, go in that direction, I’ll live withit. I swear. If it’s what you want.”

Jack looked as if he’d been hit over the head with a pavingstone. “Wh – you think I don’t want you? Physically?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, in a very small voice. “Maybe youwere just humoring me and I was the one making you uncomfortable again.”

Jack took several moments to collect himself, almost lookingas if he might laugh, but refraining from it in the name of sparing Sam’sfeelings. “Sam,” he said at last, very gently. “Bloody hell, you don’t want to hurt me? You’re the kindest person I’ve evermet. You forgive everybody, all the time, and you worry so much about whetheryou’re doing the right thing, and you never give yourself any credit. I… it’s askill I don’t even understand. I think I’ve hurt you more, eh? I still wonderwhy you’d want to leave home and put up with me.”

“Because I – ” Sam bit his tongue. What he might have beenabout to say was not a conversation for the deck of a ship, out in public, not likethis. “I… want to, all right? So, like I said. I’ll just not bring it up again,and we can – ”

“What?” Jack said again. “You think that’s what we shoulddo? Ignore it?”

“We don’t have much choice, do we?” Sam tried to shrug. “Bemore helpful, yeah?”

“Maybe, but… I don’t want you to take that to mean that Idon’t want you. Because I do. I just…” It was Jack’s turn to look hesitant. “Ireckoned it would be no good since Crouch was there anyway, and I don’t knowhow to show that, and I never have. Besides, a relationship, a realpartnership, isn’t about what one person wants all the time, and the otherperson having to crush their own feelings and thoughts down and never speakingup and never feeling they can have what they want. I don’t know much, but I dobloody know that. That’s not what I want for you. For us. I just wanted it – wheneverit did happen – to be perfect. And since I didn’t know enough to make itperfect, I just… didn’t say anything, and if that’s made you think I don’t wantit… you…. I’m sorry. Because I do.”

Sam looked up at him tentatively. “You – you do?”

“Of course I do,” Jack said, half-exasperatedly,half-tenderly. “I’ve never felt about – well, I’ve never felt this before, andit… it scares me too, eh? I have no bloody idea what I’m doing either. You evenbeing here seems like more than I deserve.”

Sam blinked again, biting a shy smile and thinking thatwhile he had wanted to hear this more than anything, it was really awful to doit in a place where he could not do what he wanted to do next, which was tograb Jack by the collar and kiss him cross-eyed. This new and excitinginformation, however, would also make their unavoidably chaste bunk-sharingeven more excruciating, if Jack might actually try flirting. Sam did not thinkhis heart was capable of withstanding that without giving out. Bloody hell, hejust really liked this boy. Sue him. “No way to get rid of Crouch,” he managed.“So we can’t get too carried away, eh?”

“No.” A faint smile tugged at the edges of Jack’s mouth.“You’re right. He’s obnoxious.”

Seeing some of the sailors giving them curious looks, sincethey’d been standing close together and speaking in such confidential tones,Sam felt rather hot around the ears and stepped quickly back. He did not wantto return to the Puke Palace just yet, and he was not sure he wanted to put hisself-control to such a test as standing there nonchalantly next to Jack withoutbeing able to do bleeding anything. Thisvoyage might actually kill him.

The next several days, therefore, were straight out of theDevil tempting Jesus in the desert. Crouch had gone topside for some fresh air,after which Sam and Jack barred the door and took full advantage of their firstfive minutes of privacy on the damn trip to date. They had just progressed fromkissing on the mouth, to kissing down necks and shoulders and chests, when thepestilential bastard started banging on the door and demanding to be let backin because he had forgotten some essential item of barrister existence,apparently. Jack was shirtless and Sam’s was well unbuttoned, they were bothbreathing as if they’d been chased by a coach-and-six, and Jack stomped acrossthe floor with an extremely aggrieved expression to grab the book from Crouch’sthings, open the door a crack, and shove it through. Crouch began to gripeabout this, whereupon Jack slammed the door again.

They were just trying to pick up where they had left offwhen Crouch was back, this time because he was cold and wanted an extrablanket. Jack was thus obliged to give him that as well, while Sam calculatedthe easiest method of killing him without raising suspicion or making a mess. “Smotherhim in his sleep?”

“Too much work to smother someone in their sleep,” Jacksaid, with the air of someone who had tried to do exactly that at some point.Sam decided he would rather not know. “I’d suggest we’d get back to it, but – ”

“Aye, the mood’s been lost.” Sam blew out a rumpled breathand sat dejectedly on the rickety chair. “I knew there was a reason I hatedsailing.”

Jack grinned. “I don’t think this was it.”

“Hush,” Sam said. “It was so.”

Jack grinned again, turning away to pull his shirt back on,which Sam regarded with a mournful expression. Much as he approved of the factthat they were now actually doing something with all this pent-up interest, itmight be even worse if they were constantly allowed to snatch moments here andthere, but never full satisfaction. Crouch would need his wart plaster orwhat-bloody-ever else, or they might forget to bar the door, or they could becaught, or… paying customers or not, this wasn’t something Sam wanted the crewknowing. Outside his family and home, this was still the sin that politesociety considered too depraved even to be spoken of, and men could be hangedif the Navy caught them doing it. Attitudes at large were not generally moretolerant. For their own safety, they had to be discreet.

They thus struggled through the next few days in thisheightened state of awareness, which obliged Sam to think about the leasttitillating subjects he possibly could in a desperate attempt not to beobvious. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, they were again confined to thecabin, and after endless rounds of Crouch sneezing, clicking, tutting, andotherwise making Sam very seriously consider strangling him, he couldn’t takeit anymore. He jerked his head at Jack, and they slithered out of the cabin,down the gantry, and into the sheltered spot behind a lashed canvas, with someboxes and barrels heaped up behind. There was no privacy from being overheard,if they were indelicate enough to make noise, but at least they could not bespotted. With a brief, daring look at the canvas, Jack sat down on one of theboxes and cocked a wicked eyebrow at Sam, who perched straightaway on his lap.Before he could bother talking himself out of it, Jack was kissing him.

To Sam, who existed in a more or less constant low-levelstate of wanting to kiss Jack, this was utterly delightful and he had noobjection whatsoever. He gripped Jack’s face with both hands as Jack’s armscame around his waist, and they thus managed to get in close to ten wholeminutes of blissful, Crouch-free, amorous solitude. If you could ignore thestrong smell of pickled herring and tobacco drifting up from the casks, it wasalmost perfect.

Unfortunately, they did have to return to their cabin beforeany of the sailors came down to check the cargo, or before things could getmuch more carried away, and that night was particularly agonizing. Crouch hadexcused himself to visit the head (there was a pot in the corner for numberone, but number two required a trip out to the deck) and the instant he wasgone, Jack wrapped his arm around Sam, pulled him close, and kissed the nape ofhis neck, rolling his hips snugly up against Sam’s backside and running a handdown his thigh. “Bets on how long he takes?”

Sam emitted a small squeak.

“Aye, could be a while. Climbing out there when it’s dark,the business, then back…” Jack moved his hand deliberately lower. “Might bejust me and you here, eh?”

“Talking about Edward Crouch’s loo habits is not alluring,”Sam managed. Even that was slightly too horrifying for him to picture in anattempt to restrain the situation, which he was quite sure Jack was well awareof. (And actively encouraging, damn him.) He uttered another strangled noise asJack nipped lightly at the shell of his ear, then mused deliberate kissesacross his neck and onto his shoulder. “You’re – very evil, you know.”

“Mm-hmm.” Jack sounded horribly self-satisfied, but with atimbre of easy amusement in his voice that, despite the fact of this being a lessthan ideal time for it, made Sam turn to warm jelly. He would do just aboutanything to hear that sound again, to know that he had been the cause of it,that Jack was happy and comfortable enough to let his guard down like that. Thenhe nuzzled at Sam again, kissing the underside of his jaw as his hand continuedits explorations, and Sam wriggled in abject fear of actually expiring on thespot. Jack chuckled into his ear. “Christ, you’re such a bloody ball ofnerves.”

“That’s your fault.” Sam made another interesting registerof noise as Jack got really familiar.“Right now at least. Oh God.”

Jack ghosted another laugh against his warm skin, bodiesentwined in the small bunk, sleepy and comfortable and tangled together, a glowthat could not be entirely dispelled even when Crouch made his inevitablereappearance. That, then, was how Sam made it the rest of the crossing. Noteven the stolen moments, but the joy.

They arrived in Glasgow on a cool, drizzly day in the lastweek of August; indeed, if it was supposed to be summer, there was no evidencethat Scotland was aware of it. They berthed at Newport, since the River Clydewas too shallow for large ships to navigate all the way up to the city, andtook the coach in, thus to get their first look at their new homeland. Glasgowwas a jumbled stone maze, its steep, muddy streets crowded with a jostling throng of people, and much as he tried, Sam could not understand a single thinganyone said. Jack, who had more experience with strong regional accents, wasobliged to serve as translator, though even he struggled at points. They werefinally offloaded at a traveler’s inn, shamelessly paid double to get their ownroom, and shut the door at long bloody last. Sam kept waiting for the floor tomove under his feet, as it felt unnaturally still and solid after close to twomonths at sea. “Well, we’re… we’re here,” he said. “Jesus.”

“Aye.” Jack smiled at him. “We made it. Privacy, eh?”

“I’m too tired to do anything more than eat a meal thatisn’t hardtack and sleep on a bed that doesn’t rock and doesn’t have EdwardCrouch six feet away.” Sam was already yawning so hard that his jaw cracked. “Imight even actually just go to sleep if supper isn’t soon.”

He indeed ended up sleeping close to fourteen hours, and wasstill dozing on Jack’s shoulder as they set off the next morning in thestagecoach to Edinburgh, just under fifty miles east. A messenger on a fasthorse could theoretically have made this in one day, but as stagecoaches wereone of the most horrendously inefficient forms of transportation known tomankind, they would be lucky if they got so far as Linlithgow tonight. Therewere a few times, as they bogged along roads only discernible as roads becausethe mud there was flatter than to the surrounding sides, that Sam thought theymight make better time if they got out and walked. Nobody had been lying aboutthe weather, unfortunately. It was piss.

In all, it took them three days to get to Edinburgh, wherethey finally settled into a rented room near the Royal Mile and prepared toofficially go by the university and enroll Jack as a candidate for the exam andother such administration, tomorrow.They were once more too exhausted to do anything then collapse into a vaguelyhorizontal position, totally oblivious to the muffled banging and shouting fromthe inn’s taproom below. Upon their very belated awakening, Sam remembered towrite a letter and put it on the coach headed back to Glasgow and the shipsscheduled for the last crossing of the season. If all went well, his familywould know sometime this year that they had made it safely.

Jack took the entrance exam on a crisp and sunnymid-September day, likely the only one they would get all autumn, while Sam satwith a book in a coffee shop a few streets away and tried not to act as ifthere was a hedgehog in his chair. It was a three-hour exam, and he counted itoff by the bongs of the (numerous) church bells, waiting tensely until a veryhaggard-looking Jack finally came in and bought the largest size cup that theestablishment offered. “Bloody fucking hell,” he said, collapsing into the seatnext to Sam and rubbing both hands over his eyes. “I’m sure I failed every partof that. They’ll probably have to invent the Jack Bellamy as a new mark forcandidate ineptitude.”

“Hush,” Sam said. “I’m sure you were brilliant.”

“Only because you’ve been helping.” Jack gave him a faint,wry smile. “Look, if – well, likely when– I don’t get in, we could… I mean, it’s a bit late to return to theAmericas this year, and I don’t want to spend another six weeks on a ship. Wecould stay here anyway and see what comes up, or…” He paused, shaking his head.“I didn’t even realize how much I wanted this until I’m convinced I can’t… thiswas stupid. This was stupid.”

“Hush,” Sam said again, more ferociously. Doubting himselfwas all well and good, but he would not permit Jack to do it. “You’ve workedyour arse off for this. You were competing against boys who had private tutorsand expensive school places all their lives. And you learned enough to be areputable candidate in what, not quite a year? Whatever ultimately happens,that’s amazing, all right? It’s bloody amazing.”

Jack gave him another smile, this one softer and moretender, and they finished their coffee and headed back to their room. Theresults would be posted at the end of the week, and while Sam might haveoffered to distract Jack, there was no distracting him. He sat all hours at thedesk and obsessively reviewed practice questions and scribbled-on tracts andall the books he had brought over from Philadelphia, muttering about variousmedical miscellany that Sam only rarely understood. It was clear that therewould be no reasoning with him or reaching him until the verdict was passed,and Sam felt a sort of anxiety by association, trying to calculate the oddsthat a distinguished establishment such as this would ever accept someone likeJack into their ranks. He can do it. Iknow he can do it. Just give him a chance.

On Saturday morning, there was a knock on the door from theinn’s manservant with a letter for Mr. Bellamy, and since Jack had gone green,Sam was obliged to take it and hand over a halfpenny. His hands shook as heregarded the handsome wax seal of the university, incised with sigil and motto.“Do you want me to open it?”

Jack shook his head, looking as if he might be sick if heopened his mouth. Then he got up, practically snatched it out of Sam’s hands,and tore it open, as if determined to rip off the scab and get it over with.His eyes remained fixed on the paper, unblinking, face dead white. Finally, hemade a sound like a small animal being stepped on.

“What?” Sam was about to have kittens. “Jesus, what? Didthey – Jack, you did your best, maybe they can let you sit the exam again inspring, we can stay and try some more – ”

Jack uttered the same sound again and shoved the letter atSam, who took it tentatively. He looked down at it, and his eyes went verywide. “O… oh. Oh.”

“You think…” Jack managed, speaking in a hoarse croak. “Youthink they mixed me up with someone else?”

“Unless there just happened to be another Jack Bellamystaying here, I…” The paper rattled in Sam’s hands. “They want to know ifyou’ll accept your place by the end of the week following. Tuition fee threeguineas, payable upon registration. Oh my god.”

“Three guineas?” Jack looked wild. “I – I don’t – Christ, Iforgot, I – ”

“Hush,” Sam said, for the several-odd time recently. “Jack,you got in. You got in. I have money,remember? We have money. That’s not a problem. You got in, I’m so proud of you.I am so proud of you.” His throat felt thick, eyes bright and stinging, hismouth unable to stop stretching itself in an absolutely lunatic grin. “You got in!”

Jack tried to say something, utterly failed, reached out,and crushed Sam in his arms, the two of them clinging together so ferociouslythat Sam thought they might mold into one, They spun across the floor, stopped,and kissed harder than they ever had, still giggling with breathless disbelief,elated and giddy and gulping for air and not wanting to pinch themselves, notwanting to wake up. Toppled onto the bed together, and moved thoroughly andtenderly and carefully to the road they had always gotten a few steps down, butnever any further. This time, though, knowing that they were staying, that thiswas real, they’d done it, that they were beginning something strange and solidand true, there was no reason to stop the journey, only to go forward, and toexplore everything that awaited. So Sam Jones (finally, bloody finally) losthis virginity to the man he loved, and discovered that he was right. His heartcould not possibly bear it.

After, as they were lying entangled and naked and vaguelyaware that it was quite a heathen hour to still be in bed, and even more soconsidering their recent activities, they could not bring themselves to care.Sam wriggled up next to Jack, put his head on his chest, and before he couldstop himself, he whispered, “I love you.”

Jack went completely frozen, so quickly that Sam wanted tobite back the words while they had barely left his tongue. He cringed, alreadycastigating himself for ruining the mood so thoroughly, and apologies cametumbling after. “Jack? Jack. I’m – I’m sorry, I – just please ignore that ifyou – I didn’t mean to insult you, I just… Jack, I didn’t…”

“Jesus,” Jack said, even more hoarsely than before, when Sam’sbabbling had finally trailed off into mortified silence. “You know, I don’t…how could you ever think that it would insult… you… you beautiful, generous,sweet, bright, brave soul, I just… I don’t… I don’t.” He shook his head, unableto finish his thought. Finally he managed, “Don’t understand how this could bereal. All of this. It. This world. With you.”

Sam blinked. “You’re not… angry?”

“Why on earth,” Jack said, reaching up to tangle his handthrough Sam’s loosened hair, “would I be angry with you? Bloody hell, Jones.Bloody hell. You’re going to kill meone of these days, I swear.”

“Aye, well.” Sam looked down. One more time, a small smilebegan to break free. “I think you’re going to return the favor.”

(They were horribly late to breakfast.)

#the rose and thorn #trat #swan and crossbones #jack x sam #cs next gen #anonymous #ask

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johnbizzell · 4 years ago

Text

Goodbye, Dolly

Ocado sent me a 20% discount voucher in the same month that David died. It felt like fate was telling me never to go out again, so I didn’t. It’s not the grief, I joked, it’s the means. He left me the flat and some very successful investments – and honestly when you can have a boneless organic chicken thigh delivered straight to your door, why risk getting your hair wet?

He loved this flat. He used to say he loved me, Barbra Streisand and the flat, mostly in that order, but Barbra and I were interchangeable if I’d forgotten to put the rubbish out or if she really hit that high D5 at the end of A Piece of Sky. It’s a recording, I’d say, she hits the same note every time. Yes, he’d say, but sometimes I just feel it more.

The flat is on the top floor of Ben Jonson House on the northern edge of the Barbican estate in London. It has two rooms, side by side, each with a barrel ceiling. From the inside the rounded white roofs make you think you have more space than you really do. From the outside I like to imagine it looks like two sleeping giants cuddled up under a duvet.

David started renting the flat when he was studying at the Guildhall School of Music, or Downstairs as he always called it. When the owner sold up in the early nineties David had to buy the place because he’d filled it with too many records to move. 1423 records line an entire wall of the living room in orange crate shelves. They are mostly original cast recordings of musicals in all the languages of the countries he visited. Only sixty-seven of them are by Barbra, but she does have her own crate. I got my own crate in 2006. Well, it was a drawer. David was twenty years older than me and everyone assumed I was more in love with his south-facing balcony in Zone 1 than with him, but I would have moved into one of his orange crates under the Hammersmith flyover if he’d asked. Me, David and 1423 records living happily ever after. Or, in the end, about twelve years.

The Barbican estate was built over the wreckage World War II left of this part of London. David loved that it was someone’s vision of optimal living realised on such a large scale, that from a bombsite they thought they could rescue the future. His balcony overlooks the entire complex, the terraces and tower blocks, the mewses and the museum, the Arts Centre and its plazas. From that angle all the odd shaped buildings and covered walkways form an insane Escher print. When I’d go out there to water the plants he would wrap his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, and let his hand trace a path for some new adventure across the cityscape. With all there is, he’d sing in my ear, why settle for just a piece of sky?

Even then I used to think it all depended on the piece of sky you were looking at.

I haven’t been out on the balcony since he died. I’ve barely opened the curtains. Half of the plants dropped their leaves over the side like desperate passengers jumping from a sinking ship. The half that couldn’t reach the edge just curled up on the floor. David left me the flat and the money and the records and the plants, but do you need me to tell you he took away more than he left? Because I can’t be bothered to go into it – actually, that sums it up: David died and I couldn’t be bothered anymore.

***

When anyone remarked on the twenty years between us, and anyone often did, David would rush his hand to his cheek as though he’d been slapped. I was born on the 26th June, he was born on the 27th. There were nineteen years and 364 days between us. It never mattered to me, but since other people seemed so keen on numbers he liked to make sure they got it right.

On my birthday, the first thing he’d do was fling the covers off and crow about how young he felt. On his, the morning after, he’d play the ancient crone. Of all the time we had together, those twenty-four hours in between were often our happiest.

Sometimes we never left the flat. Sometimes we never left the bed. Once, on the day I turned thirty and he’d failed to cook the chicken for long enough, we spent most of it in the bathroom. He claimed it was because he’d heated it on the dying embers of his forties. If you can find a man who makes you laugh after giving you food poisoning, he’s the one.

David’s warmth evaporated time. Today, those same twenty-four hours yawn with their lack of promise. I am now thirty-eight and I’ve woken up alone in our bed for nearly a year. The same bed that it felt so decadent to stay in as the turning of the world notched up another number for me then him. There’s nothing decadent about staying in bed all day when you have nowhere else to be. Or nobody to share it with.

I get up at 7am and shower. I realised quite early on that it was easier to get rid of time at the start of the day. Also, for all of the talk about optimal living, the walls between the Barbican’s flats are thin enough that I know when my bedroom-side neighbour Bianca has had an overnight guest – because I hear her shower going twice, not because she’s a screamer (though the guests sometimes are). With the noise of her, possibly plus one, and Pete and Soph on the living-room side all getting ready for work in the morning there’s really no point in trying to lay in.

I eat breakfast and get on with my Big Job of the day. There’s only ever one. If you don’t work or even leave the two rooms you live in, your To Do list is minimal. The art is to spread it out over the course of the week: one day for cleaning, one day for washing, changing the bed gets a whole day of its own because it usually takes everything I have. One day I throw things in a casserole dish. Everything tastes the same anyway and one bucket of stew will last me all week. That’s unless Soph is away and Pete comes over. But if it runs out I usually eat cereal for dinner. Or nothing.

By 9am everyone in bothering radius will have left the building. If I put on one of David’s records I’m either feeling brave or the exact opposite. Usually I stick to some quiet, measurable task: today I will knit fifty rows of this scarf or today I will read two-hundred pages of Persuasion or today I will open at least three of the letters that continue to get forwarded for David and try to forgive the writer for existing in a world where he is still alive.

At 6pm I heat up my dinner. If any of my neighbours are going to knock to check that I haven’t made their lives awkward by killing myself, it’s usually now. If they don’t, I put on David’s ancient headphones that are attached by a spiralling wire to a radiogram thing on a shelf above the bed. I lay down and listen to a crackling Asian radio station that could be broadcasting cricket scores or prayers, but that completely drowns out the sounds of Pete and Soph making their evening meal together or Bianca laughing into her phone on the balcony as she lights another cigarette. I’d take the sounds of endless morning ablutions over their easy early evening chatter and hopefulness.

It’s meditative, listening to a language you don’t understand. After long enough you can hear the music in it. Music that doesn’t remind you of anyone.

He would’ve been fifty-eight tomorrow.

***

My dad and I get on fine, thanks for asking, though we joke that he threw me out at eighteen. He just wanted me to want more than the generic comfort of middle class Bristol. He stays because it makes mum happy and he loves her. He’s a doctor who wishes he’d been a sculptor or a fashion designer or a maker of anthropomorphic miniature ceramics – it all depends on what documentary he’s watching at the time. I was quite happy pulling up weeds and laying turf for the housewives of Clifton Village, though I was well aware that I didn’t want to lay anything else for them. I applied to art college for him really. And, fair enough, to sleep with someone other than the barman at the Queenshilling.

My mum was more comfortable with my lack of ambition. She called it being an old soul. When they dropped me off at Ravensbourne she gave me a backgammon set and enough tinned soft fruit for a lifetime of untroubled dentures. Following a succession of diabolical paintings and haircuts, a Duke of Edinburgh Award in navigating my way home from a different part of London every other morning - before the advent of Google Maps - and absolutely no backgammon, I graduated and got a job as an estate agent.

The most creative thing I was doing was arranging the pictures of other people’s homes in the window. I told my parents I was having a fabulous time and they believed me. I told myself that too, but it was less convincing.

***

Pete is on my balcony sweeping up rotting leaves and quite a few of Bianca’s discarded cigarette butts. He does this whenever he comes over for dinner since I never go out there now. He has a broom in one hand and his phone in the other, into which I hear him shouting to his wife Soph that he’s about to eat one of Dolly’s famous one-pot wonders. I am Dolly. I am microwaving a five bean chilli I made using only two kinds of beans and the entire last jar of fucks I had to give. I’ve barely moved from the sofa in five hours, but have only been trying to ignore Pete’s questions for the last fifteen minutes.

Pete was already David’s neighbour when I moved into the flat. At the time I had a quiff that my friends used to say was maintained by all the comments that flew over my head. I was twenty-five, I’d been passed around London’s vibrant gay Soho like a tray of unwanted cakes and I was finally getting bored of butching it up and dumbing it down. Maybe it’s different now that kids have to build a personal brand online before they’re old enough to drink, but back when I was fresh meat it wasn’t what came out of your mouth that guys were interested in. I met David in the toilets at the Green Carnation – don’t worry, it wasn’t as seedy as it sounds. We were standing side by side looking in the mirror wearing matching Joe 90 glasses; me tall and dark, him short and bald. He said we looked like Dolce and Gabbana. I looked down at my designer-imposter daps and his wide-fit loafers and said we were more like Dolcis and Garden Centre. When he laughed it felt like someone had heard my real voice for the first time. I came back to the flat with him that night and four months later I lived here.

Dolce having instantly become Dolcis then became Dolly. That’s how he introduced me to Pete. Say hello to Dolly. Pete had been a DJ on the rave scene in the early nineties and still shouted everything inches from your ear like he was trying to be heard over Josh Wink’s Higher State of Consciousness. He smelled so straight and alien, like weed and the hot plastic of a Gameboy. It was the forbidden smell of someone’s older brother’s bedroom and on reflex I stayed silent in case I got kicked out. He looked into the tops of my boxes and asked me if I played backgammon then, with no response from me, reached in and pulled out a Prodigy CD. He waved it triumphantly in David’s face, delighted to finally have a neighbour who might play something other than Color Me Barbra through the wall. David was unfazed. Neither then nor at any time since has there been a CD player in the flat.

Now of course we can instantly play whatever we want to hear on our phones, but Pete and I are both at an age where eating two bean chilli at Prodigy speed could cause intestinal woe for days. He comes in from the balcony and selects a record to put on. It’s Je m’appelle Barbra, the original 1966 Colombia LP. Side two, track six: I’ve Been Here.

We were going to knock on your birthday but the lights were out, says Pete. And on his too. Then, after a deep breath, he tells me that Bianca has told Soph who has told him that she’s been doing some PR for the promoters who put on summer concerts in Hyde Park and that she’s heard that this year Barbra Streisand will be doing one of them and she could get us all tickets and we should go. VIP entry, away from the crowds. It will be the first time she’s performed in the UK for years and might be the last. David wouldn’t have missed it. David would’ve been there in a Fanny Brice sailor suit.

Over on the record player Barbra is assuring us that she is not a frightened dove.

I say I’m not ready.

The record finishes and there’s only static to fill the silence. Pete takes our half-empty bowls and puts them in the sink, where he stands as the whispering record turns and turns and turns and turns.

I need to go Dolly, he says. And I don’t know if I can go without you.

David and Pete had both done a lot of drugs, though it was never part of David’s work like it was for Pete. David travelled – he’d been a singer and then an internationally renowned vocal coach – but when he was home, he was home. Ask Pete if he ended up with a drug problem because it’s hard for a DJ to draw a line between his professional and private life, he’ll tell you that he doesn’t know because he never even tried. He was having a brilliant time and getting paid a lot of money. He got a mortgage for the flat next to David’s in 1999 with the advances from a series of Millennium gigs that he wouldn’t end up playing. Instead he went on what he now calls the Bender Of Destiny. His bookings disappeared. He went from sucking MDMA off a model’s nipple to sucking fag ash from the footwells of Mondeos at a car valeting service. He could barely afford enough speed to get him through the weekend. When he finally got so desperate that he sold his speakers, David knocked on his door. This was years before I'd met David, years before Pete met Soph. At the time they may not have had much in common except a very thin wall, but David was probably the only neighbour in the world who had a problem if you weren’t playing music. Pete’s existence had descended to skirting board level and the flat was basically empty. The highest vantage point was a stack of unopened post. Recently Pete must have fallen off or into or in front of something or someone and there was a dried trail of blood weaving back and forth between the two filthy airless rooms. David sat down on the floor next to Pete anyway and put his arms around him whilst he cried.

David took Pete next door and ran him a bath. He washed his clothes and his bedding. He cleaned Pete’s flat, he cooked for him. He sat with him every night, made him tea whilst he opened all the terrifying post, sorted out his payment plans. He helped him find some furniture, a job at a friend’s recording studio, a reason to go on. He played him the 1964 Original Cast Recording of Funny Girl and the 1970 soundtrack to On A Clear Day You Can See Forever and every single studio album Barbra had ever released. When you can afford your own speakers again we can listen to what you want, David would say, until then let’s have something ageless and evergreen.

Pete gave the eulogy at David’s funeral. I couldn’t speak. He said that David had saved his life. He chose all the music too. People kept thanking me afterwards and telling me how perfect the songs were. I tried to say that Pete had chosen everything but he said it didn’t matter. He took me home and said I didn’t need to explain anything to anyone. I didn’t need to see anyone or speak to anyone if I didn’t want to.

Pete takes Je m’appelle Barbra off of the record player, returns it to its sleeve and its place on the orange crate shelves.

There’s seven months until the gig, he tells me, we’ll start small. He opens the balcony door and steps outside, then he turns back and holds out his hand for me to join him.

#barbra streisand #barbican #short story #fiction #lgtb

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