#so yeah. Of course he spends four and a half billion years working his way to gallifrey for the chance to save her

[the-force-awakens]

Fully obsessed with the fact that the Doctor is confronted with a dream where Clara lives out her life without him and it frightens him so deeply he's immediately moved into proposing and asking her to come back with him and travel with him again...and the absolute utter tragedy in that by doing so…..clara's recklessness and suicidal inclinations get stoked until she finally runs out of luck and he can't save her in face the raven.

[whoficky]

Until Morning

Rating: T

Pairing: 10th Doctor X Rose Tyler

Notes: I'm a sucker for reunion fics and I've been playing around with this idea for years now. After much procrastination, I figured the best way to get me to finish writing the thing was to jump in and start posting. Hope you like it!

 

Work Summary: As a weary Doctor, Martha Jones and Jack Harkness prepare to take on the Master, they find their hideout isn't as secure as they thought.

In a burst of blue light, a dimension hopping Rose Tyler finally finds the Doctor, but time is still not on their side.

What if you only had one night to spend with the love of your life?

Chapter 1

The rumbling in Jack’s stomach interrupted his attempt at hacking into the Master’s digital database.  He glanced up to see if Martha had heard, and sure enough, she was looking at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Bit hungry?” she asked from where she was perched on one of the chairs they’d scavenged. 

“More than a little,” Jack acknowledged as he leaned back for a stretch.  “God, I’d kill for something hot and fried right now.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Martha sighed, “I’m so hungry I think I’d even eat Mum’s cooking.  And she’s never met a vegetable she hasn’t boiled into mush.”  Jack chuckled along with her, but neither of them really had their hearts in it.  

It had been a long, rough day for both of them.  

Was it really only this morning that Jack had finally caught up with the Doctor again?  He tried to calculate the hours, but it was as much of a hopeless task as it had always been when time travel was involved.  He hadn’t slept or eaten more than half a protein pack since he’d hitched a ride to the end of the universe, and being immortal unfortunately didn’t prevent him from hunger pangs or the affects of sleep deprivation.  If he listened to his body, he figured it had been about a day, Earth time.  Two at the most.     

The fact that he was already loosing track of his usual twenty-four-hour cycle wasn’t surprising.  That was typical when adventuring with the Doctor.  That man sucked you right into a different sort of reality.  Running for their lives and helping the last sentient life in the universe seek Utopia was par for the course.  Despite a complicated history the Doctor and Jack had needed to work out, he’d been having a hell of a good time.  At first.

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But then the bumbling professor Yana had opened up an old pocket watch and everything had gone to hell.   In some ways it was a miracle - another survivor of the Time War.  But out of all the billions of refugees who could have survived, it’d had to be the Master - an utterly insane Time Lord who’d stollen the TARDIS, taken over the government, and captured Martha’s family.  The poor woman was beside herself waiting to learn what had become of them.  Jack knew it had killed her to run away when her parents were being hauled into that van.  He could relate.  His own sort of family, his Torchwood team, were MIA and his guts clenched when he thought of what the Master had done to them.   Even the Doctor could barely hide how all this was pushing him towards that edge he always danced around.  Jack had seen him go over it only once before, when they’d thought the Anne Droid had vaporized Rose Tyler.  He never wanted to see his old friend go there again.  The problem for all of them was that the Master had shown himself to be very good at hitting them where it hurt.  

So, here they were - holed up in this abandoned warehouse.  Hunted, anxious, and left with limited time and resources.  The Master had had eighteen months to put together a government takeover and whatever other schemes the madman had planned.  Jack doubted the three of them even had days to come up with a way to stop him.  It was very likely that humanity was on the brink of peril.     

Jack was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost flinched when Martha spoke again.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, getting up to look over his shoulder at the computer screen.        

“Almost there, I think,” he reported as he pushed his unease aside to resume working on Martha’s laptop.  “Tosh is usually the one to do this kind of thing, but I’m not too shabby at it.”   

“Tosh?” Martha asked confused.

“Oh, she’s part of my team at Torchwood.  Great with computers.  Gets along better with tech than people most of the time…And, hang on…BINGO!  I’m in!” Jack leant closer to the screen as he searched for various key words in the database.  “Oh yeah!” he said with relief, “Torchwood Four was sent off to the Himalayas.  Well that explains why they wouldn’t pick up the phone.  But hey, I’ll take it!  Better sent on some wild goose chase then mixed up in all this at ground zero.”  The knots in his stomach loosened a fraction as he plowed into a new search.

  “Aaaaand…” he said to stall as he clicked through a few folders, “Here we are, Martha!  Looks like Mom, Dad, and Sister have all been taken into custody for ‘questioning.’  They aren’t hurt though.  Just in custody.  See there’s some video footage.  And…” he scrolled down to make sure, “No mention of Leo,” he winked at her.

Martha seemed to take heart from that, “Guess he’s not as daft as I thought!” she laughed.  “My god, I’m talking about my brother on the run.  How did this happen?  And where is the Doctor?  He said he’d be right back.”

“Still setting up a security perimeter, I guess.  Though he’s certainly taking his time about it.”  Jack had the suspicion the “security perimeter” was really more an excuse for the Doctor to get some air and collect his thoughts.  God forbid the Time Lord showed an emotion in front of the humans, Jack thought with a smirk.        

“Maybe he can get some takeout while he’s at it.  I’m starving,” Martha plopped down on top of a large crate next to the fire they’d started in an old barrel.  

“So we’re back to food again?” Jack asked, shooting Martha a playful look to try and ease the lines of tension on her face.     

“Oh, I don’t know,” Martha chuckled, “I’m caught between fantasizing about it and trying to think of anything else.  Same goes for sleep.”

“Yeah I -” 

A flash of blue light illuminated the warehouse and the sharp sound of static filled the air.  Jack’s body reacted without thought, his training taking over as he leapt to his feet and moved into position to protect Martha.    

“Stay back!” he hissed at her as he stepped forward and pulled the gun from the holster at his hip.  The Doctor had disarmed it hours ago, but the intruder emerging from the crackling light wouldn’t know that.  It could still be a handy negotiating tool.  

“Hands up!” Jack barked as the light faded to reveal a humanoid who was still facing away from them.  His brain, now cleared from the fog of exhaustion, took a mere fraction of a second to catalogue the threat.  The figure was small, dressed in contemporary clothes and had shoulder length bleach blonde hair. He though he saw a flash of metal, maybe a small weapon strapped to her belt, but her hands were empty.  The figure had stumbled when she first appeared, but now was standing completely straight with her hands in the air.  There was something familiar about her posture though…

Then she spoke. “Jack?” 

He nearly dropped the gun when he heard that voice.  

But…it couldn’t be.  It was just traveling with Doctor again - she’d been on his mind was all.  He was tired and hungry and his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Who’s asking!” it was more a command for identification than a question.

“Oh my god!  Jack!” the figure turned around and this time Jack did drop the gun in favor of the blue and yellow blur that ran into his arms.

“Rosie?” he said amazed as his arms automatically folded around her.  His brain that had worked so quickly moments earlier slowed down as he tried to process this.  It was Rose.  Rose Tyler.  Rose Tyler had appeared out of nowhere in a supposedly secure building and was now in his arms hugging him hard enough that he’d be worrying about breathing if he was still mortal.  This wasn’t supposed to be possible.  The Doctor had said…ah, but then this wouldn’t be the first time the Time Lord had underestimated her.

“Oh god Jack, I’ve missed you!  But how are you here?  I thought you had di-,” seeming to catch herself, Rose stepped back out of his embrace, folded her arms, and looked him over.

“When is it for you?” she asked cautiously.  Looks like she’d kept her time traveling skills sharp, he thought grinning.

“Long after the Game Station,” he replied.  Just from a quick once over, Jack could tell that this Rose was a little older and a lot harder then when he’d seen her last, so it must have already happened for her too.  Still, a little caution wouldn’t hurt.  “And you?”

Rose stared at him in astonishment shaking her head slightly, “But Jack,” she said, “How are you here?  On Earth, right?  That’s where we are?  Oh Jack, you died!  The Daleks…”

“Yeah well, didn’t stick,” he shrugged, “Takes more than a fleet of pepper pots to kill me.  Although, I mostly have you to thank for that, sweetheart,” he winked.  “And as for why I’m here, well that’s a long story.  But the short of it is, I used my vortex manipulator to go back in time and then the damn thing burned out. Been looking for you and the Doc ever since.”

Rose’s face fell, “So we left you?  On that ship, all alone?  Jack, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey,” he said resting a hand on her shoulder, “You didn’t know.” And it was true. She hadn’t known.  Jack wondered what story the Doctor had told her to make her think he’d died.  He wondered how much she knew about her part in it all.   “And hey,” he assured her, “I’ve done alright for myself, don’t worry.”    

 She nodded and offered him a small smile, “Good Jack, that’s good.” 

She took a deep breath as if steeling herself for something.  “The Doctor…we got separated,” she admitted, eyes drifting away from his.  “I have no idea where he is, Jack.  I’ve been looking for him too.  For so long…” she looked so tired and Jack wondered what she’d been through in that parallel universe.  

“Yeah, well I may be able to help you with that.”  Her eyes snapped back to his as he continued, “Me and the lovely Miss Martha Jones here,” he gestured to Martha who was still standing a few steps behind him, “are hiding out in this stinking old warehouse because we are currently number two and three of Britain’s most wanted.”

“Two and three…” Rose said slowly, working it out, “and…Number One?”

“He’ll be back any minute,” Jack said smiling, overjoyed to be the person who got to give her the news that her search was over.  It looked like it had been a rough one for her.      

“Jack,” she said half laughing and shaking her head in astonishment before leaping back into his arms. He swung her around a few times until he faced Martha who had remained very still and quiet the last couple of minutes.  

“While we’re waiting on his Time Lordiness…Rose Tyler, meet Martha Jones.  Martha Jones, Rose Tyler.” 

Rose turned to face Martha.  Jack held his breath, wondering how this would play out.  There was a tense moment as both women sized each other up before Martha stepped forward, offering her hand, “Good to meet you,” she said perhaps a touch too formally, “The Doctor talks about you all the time.”

“He…he does?” Rose took Martha’s hand, but glanced back at Jack as if for confirmation, “He mentioned me?”

“Er…yeah,” Martha said stiffly, “Won’t shut up about you sometimes.”

“I…I didn’t think he’d…,” Rose began before breaking out in a wide grin as she gripped Martha’s hand in a firm shake, “Good to meet you too, Martha Jones!  I bet you’ve had a time of it, keeping those two blokes in line.  How long have you all been traveling together?”

“Er…” Jack’s heart really did go out to Martha as she struggled to keep her composure.  “Well, first it was just me and the Doctor - that was for, oh I don’t know, bout a year?”

“It’s hard to keep track,” Rose sympathized.

“Yeah, it is,” Martha agreed, “And, well, I just met Jack actually…”  

Before she could finish, a rain-slicked Doctor bounded through the doors already jabbering, “Alright, that should do it.  This is now a surveillance free zone!  We’ll be able to keep here safely until…”

Jack could tell the exact moment the Doctor noticed Rose.  If he lived to be five-billion years old, he was sure he’d never forget the utterly gobsmacked look on the Time Lord’s face.  

[mxargo]

some days

spencer reid

summary: spencer takes his time with a girl that he thinks may be it for him.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of past deaths, spence being in prison, age gap of ten years. honestly lmk if I forgot anything.

word count: 2475

most of this is from spencer's pov

○○○○

some days are better than others, some make it and some don't. that's just how life is now. people get hurt, good people.

bad things happen to good people. good people who decide to live their own lives fighting other peoples wars just so they don't get hurt.

they're total strangers so why do it? why do others let themselves feel great pain just to save someone they don't know?

if we started questioning the good and their good intentions, there wouldn't be any left. that's why we don't do it.

when new cases come around, we push the why in the back of our minds and focus on the how. how are we going to save these people in time? and what if we don't? how many bad endings can occur during these cases before we start questioning our own sanity?

that's where spencer was.

questioning his sanity.

after prison, everything was different. he wouldn't want to admit that because it was the truth. a truth he wasn't yet ready to face, especially not by himself.

he saw the world differently, things he used to be able to do before just faded away in a locked compartment he built for himself in the back of his mind.

the part of him he'd never want to open. why do we do this? what happens if someone takes away the important. the reason he'd believe kept him steady.

his mother.

she wasn't well. he knew that to be true, didn't mean he liked to admit that.

he would defend her world without a thought of his own, but that tasks he kept only for himself is what started to strip him of what he once was.

thirteen years ago, the once smaller man who was so innocent. the man who just joined the bau thinking that this, this is my way out.

his way out of his mothers world. he loved her no doubt, no one needed proof for that but he wanted his own.

that's what he that he was doing when he met maeve. only knowing her for his own redemption, his migraines.

he wanted her. he loved her but he couldn't admit it. he didn't want to. if he told her he loved her everything he once built for himself would be gone.

she was being hunted and he couldn't handle any more loss he was sure to happen, and when she did die, It was like a part of his soul broke apart and fell deep inside his locked box.

after gideon died, he thought he'd almost lost it. in a way, he was like a father to him after his own abandoned him.

in some ways more than most, some days are better than others, some make it and some don't.

after he got realised for prison early, he went straight back to work. that's just the kind of man spencer reid was. he wanted to continue to help others even though he clearly needed the same for himself.

so when emily decided to send him home, he was alone again, and he wasn't used to living in something bigger than a 6x6 cell.

but it didn't feel very much like a home anymore. he knows what it used to feel like, a warm place away from the harmful rays of the terrible people outside his green walls.

he couldn't stay here, at least not right now. so when he left his apartment walking around dc, he started to realize what he was losing. his sense of happiness, and he'd do anything to get it back.

maybe if he did his house would start to feel like a home again.

♡♡♡♡

sitting in a small cafe sipping on the same coffee he's had for the last hour he started resembling the coffee to himself, he loved coffee. it was one of his favorite things in the world, aside from books.

but as now, he couldn't finish it. on any other days he'd at least be on his fifth cup by now having read already a few of his books.

but he didn't have any with him now. just him and his now half empty cold cup of back coffee. since when did he stop putting sugar in his coffee? was it before or after prison? what changed?

when did the sweet and softness in his like go away?

it was all his could think about now, which was a good thing come in handy, since thinking about what was really bothering could have ended up with him causing a scene in the same cafe he's been going to for the last two years.

it was a bit far out from his apartment but there was a girl here. a girl he like to watch, not in the senseless creepy way but he liked to watch her.

he liked the way you laughed, the way you smiled as you passed along coffee to other people. he loved the way you'd hum soft melodies to yourself as youd clean coffee stains of the counters. he loved the way youd listen to him on his rambles and ask him questions as you made his coffee. and the first time he met you, he knew he couldn't walk away forever, but it was all by accident.

walking into a cafe, he was in a hurry. it wasn't the same one he'd been going to that was across the street from where he lived but it was close now to where he was and he needed energy.

as he waited in the small line inside the small building, he realized there was only one person working there.

a girl.

she smiled at the elderly woman who was complementing on the younger womans earrings.

"those are lovely, I would've loved to wear those and walk around like you when I was as young as you. so beautiful"

and after that she couldn't stop smiling, but by that time it was my turn and she was attempting to revive my attention after I'd zone out.

"oh I'm sorry"

"don't be, it's alright. what can I get for you?"

her voice was so sweet sounding, intoxicating, in the good way. she sounded almost angelic. the kind penelope liked to remind us are the best of this world, and now that I've heard it for myself, I couldn't wait to see her and thank her for it.

but as I waiting on the other side of the counter as she made my cup, I didn't like the silence. I wanted to hear her again and the only thing I could think of was the same thing I always do, rambling.

coffee facts, of course.

"did you know that coffee is originally from Yemen?"

she looked up a me and when her eyes met mind, my heart felt like it was going to crawl out of my chest and land in her hands.

"I didn't"

"yeah, coffee is consumed in such great quantities, it is the world's 2nd largest traded commodity, surpassed only by crude oil. It is our most beloved beverage after water. It's worth well over $100 billion worldwide"

"that's interesting, I don't know much about it I've only been working here for a couple months"

"why are you working here?"

"just extra cash, figured I could use it if I want to graduate college"

college. that word kind of hit me like a truck.

she must be what then, twenty-two? I felt almost weird trying to get her attention more.

"I just turned twenty-three a few weeks ago and having to work five years instead of four has been hard"

I didn't know what to say by then. ten years. ten. that's the distance between us and it felt dreadful.

he never did it. he never asked her out or poked around to see if she was every seeing someone.

he wasn't hers and a part of himself hated that. but what would his friends say if they knew he was with someone so much younger than him.

they wouldn't be very supportive. he didn't need that from his family, but this one girl. shes the only one that's been able to get under his skin since maeve. the only girl hes been able to admit that he had feelings for, and strong ones because if they weren't. he wouldn't be going out of his way to walk four blocks away from his apartment everyday to see this one girl. if his feelings weren't real he wouldn't spend his time sitting in the cafe from the time it opened till it closed on the days that he could.

he just liked seeing her. and they were friends, he didn't think they were. they didn't talk as much as he wished but when she told him that he was her best costumer he figured everyone else had heard the same. but when she told him that she'd probably quit if she didn't see him everyday, he couldn't believe that she had cared for him that much.

"refill?"

hm?

"what? oh hey y/n"

"hey"

she smiled at me and looked around the table sending me back a confused look.

"no books?"

"oh um no. I forgot to bring some"

"you forgot?, I thought your brain was all mighty, never forgetful. I remember when you told me that I also should tell you I remember all the little gifts youd leave me"

"wha-"

"what? you didn't think I'd know it was you? I've known since I found a copy of gaspty on my car. youre the only one I told I'd accidentally ruined my old one"

"yeah.."

"are you doing alright spence? you've been here only an hour and no books and only one cup of coffee which I'm sure is cold by now"

by now she sat across from me pleading those very same eyes I'd fallen for two years ago at me.

"just in a bit of a mess"

"I know that your job is super hectic but I haven't seen you in three months"

how could I tell her? would she look at me differently? would she leave me alone?

"just work stuff"

"oh. well whatever it is, I'm sorry and I'm here for you. you know that right?"

"of course"

she smiled at me grabbing the coffee pot and ruffling my hair as she walked away.

being in prison reminding me of how much I loved her. how much I'd miss the way she'd sit with me after hours reading books with me and listening to my ramblings. it took me a bit to admit that I love her, but when I did I'd made a promise to myself I wouldn't let her go, but I wouldn't let her get hurt either.

by the time the cafe started to empty and the clock hit 9pm I'd notice her walk up to me handing me a book.

"I figured you could use it."

"thanks"

when she sat by me she didn't too close, giving me space but not too far where I couldn't feel her next to me.

"what's going on with you spence? I'm really worried about you"

"it's just work"

"you serious?"

"yes"

"then why don't I believe you?"

"I just-

"you can trust me. I care about you spencer. you disappeared for months and I just- I was worried something bad happened to you. at one point I thought you mightve-

died? I couldn't do that to her.

"no. no, I'm okay. sorta I guess. about a week ago I was realised from prison, I was framed for uh- murder"

that was the first time she bad been made speechless. she didn't say anything. she didn't look angry, or upset. just sad.

"I'm really sorry. why didn't- god I should've-

"should've what? there wasn't anything you could've done"

"I could have been there for you. I just- I feel like I should've been there thats all. your not alone, are you?"

sitting back, resting my head against the back of the booth meeting her eyes, I realised if I'd told her how I felt, i couldn't have anything else to lose.

"I have you"

she looked in my eyes for what I'm guessing is the answer to her confusion.

"what?"

"I have you. you're here. you always have been, and I'm grateful for it. I really am. i- I didn't know how to tell you before but I care for you. in ways I probably shouldn't. I don't know of this would work or not but if there is even a 1% chance there would I'm willing to take it. I love you y/n, I always have. since I met you. y'know I didn't normally go to this cafe. I live four blocks away from here. I came here on convenience and after I met you i couldn't stay away."

"I'm glad you didn't"

grabbing her hand, she didn't pull away.

"me too"

she pulled herself closer to me letting her head rest on my chest.

"you're such a good person. I hope you believe that. some days are better than others, some make it and some don't. i really want you to make it, and if youd let me, I'd really like to be here and help you with it, because I love you too and I like seeing you happy. I'm sorry for what happened to you, I know it wasn't your fault. I hope you understand that."

"I do now, thank you hon"

I could feel her smile again the thickness of my coat, I guess she just had that ability. and when she leaned up to kiss my cheek, I had pulled away.

"oh, I'm sor-

and when I kissed her. I stopped feeling guilty about how other people might feel about us. I stopped worrying about the fact that maybe one day, this might all blow over, but if it did, at least I'd known I'd done something about my feelings instead of wallowing in regret of what could've been.

derek once said that penelope was his god given solace, and the only thing I ever wanted was to find mine.

to be honest I believe I did.

I have her now, and hopefully it doesn't ever end. another reason to keep me steady other than my mother, and being hopeful for the both of us in whatever this will be wouldn't hurt.

she makes me feel things, things I've never felt before. I used to hate it, I used to want to make her take it away but now, it's all I cant think about and I don't believe i could ever let it go.

spencer reid finally found the one piece of his soul and he let y/n gracefully put it back into place.

[starkeristheendgame]

If you are okay with it, I was wondering if you could do a body switch soulmate au. When you first make eye contact with your soulmate you switch bodies. You stay in each other's bodies for 24 hours. I feel like this could cause some shenanigans on both sides. Tony hasn't had to be taught anything in awhile and Peter doesn't know how to run a company.

I was a little apprehensive about this idea at first but honestly? I adore it. I am afraid, however, I took this away from the ‘humor’ pathway and plopped it straight down into ‘light angst’. Please accept my apologies for that - And I’d be happy to write something more lighthearted if this doesn’t hit the spot. Keeping your own emotions and mindset out of what you write is hard sometimes. 

Slight AU in that they meet differently to CW. 

TW: Light angst | Slight hurt 

He was going to lose his fucking mind. He could feel each one of his IQ points disintegrating as he stared at the board (an actual digital board, what fucking year were they in? 2015?) and tapped his pen restlessly on the desk. He hadn’t been to school since he was eighteen. The last time he’d been in a classroom was January, giving a motivational speech to Princeton graduates. 

He felt too small and too stifled and if this woman pronounced Epinephrine wrong one more time, he was going to launch his desk at her and snap that stupid board in half. 

Because he could do that, now. Displays of sheer power. Because Peter Parker had been bitten by a genetically modified spider and Tony was currently occupying Peter’s body. 

Soulmates were so, so overrated. 

“Hey, wonder kid. Tap that pen one more time” the girl to his left whispered, and Tony shot her a cool side-eye. MJ quirked a brow at him, equally unimpressed, and nodded to the board. Tony scowled but knew the effect was ruined by the soft, pretty baby-face he currently wore. Curse Peter and his lopsided brows and his huge eyes. Curse soulmates for existing. 

MJ was thus far the only one who’d noticed The Switch. It was only sheer coincidence that Peter and Tony both had brown eyes of a similar enough shade that the telling switch of eye colour between soulmates hadn’t given them away. MJ, however, was astoundingly attuned into her best friend, and it had only taken three minutes in her presence for her scowl at him and ask who the fuck was wearing her friend’s meatsuit. Tony had to begrudgingly admit that he could see why her and Peter were good friends. She’d looked unimpressed at his claim until he’d pulled out his (Peter’s) phone to show the frantic texts from that morning, and then she’d huffed, rolled her eyes, and dragged him to first period. 

He thought lunch would be a reprieve when it came, but instead he found himself staring with growing dismay at a tray of food that he’d refuse even if he was a prisoner, blanching in disgust when a sloppy excuse for a mac’n’cheese was dumped into one of the slots. “I’m going to die” he complained, ushered along by an unsympathetic MJ. “This is cruel. This is inhumane. Dogs don’t even get fed this”. 

“Yeah, well. You’re a billionaire, so. Put up or shut up. I have no sympathy for capitalist elitists”. And, wow, rude. But understandable. He sank down onto one of the bench seats and tried to stop his stomach from rolling at the way the meal wobbled when it was set down. He’d been poking at it for several moments, largely ignored by MJ, when a shadow fell over his table. He looked up and stared with disinterest at the sneering figure above him, before he sighed. 

“Which one are you, then? Neb? Flake?” 

“Flash” the form above him frowned, and Tony waved a dismissive hand. 

“Yeah, whatever. Class killed off half my IQ points and I’m not wasting the rest on you. Off you pop”. He turned back to his pitiful excuse of a meal, prodding the macaroni distrustfully with his fork. The boy besides him gaped, flustered, before turning on his heel and stomping off. When Tony glanced up, the girl was looking appraisingly over her book at him. 

“Maybe you should leave your balls behind. Peter could do with them” she noted, before dropping her gaze again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“How much money does he actually have?” 

“Sir’s total net worth including assets, liabilities and investments are currently estimated at just short of a trillion, Mr. Parker. In terms of ‘real time currently’ Sir has £515,268,385,012 as of the current hour”. 

Peter was gonna pass out. He was wearing the body of a man with five-hundred billion in the bank. He’d known Tony Stark was rich, obscenely and un-necessarily so, but that was a whole other level. Vaguely unsteady, he sank down on the plush couch, feeling a little green. It had already been a few hours since waking, but he had yet to get used to the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Stark. 

“Does that bother you?” The artificial voice asked after a moment, sounding impossibly curious. Peter hadn’t thought AI of this level possible, but here he was, talking to a voice that was more realistic than some of the living people he knew. 

“Its...A shock, I guess. I mean, it does bother me, I suppose. Nobody needs that much money. That much cold cash alone could eradicate homelessness in America. But...I don’t know. Its his money, he earns it. He saves the world and stuff. I don’t know how you could put a value on some of the things he’s done”. 

The AI was quiet for a moment, pensive. “Sir’s ‘profession’ is high cost also, Mr. Parker. The worth of the Mark IVII alone is £6,000,500,000”. Peter thought about it for a moment, then gave in, humming softly. He supposed in that sense, having that much money kind of didn’t matter, then, when a huge chunk of it was consumed by saving the world. He’d seen how often that suit got dinged up, and had no doubt repairs and replacing parts was costly. 

“Am I allowed to get something to eat?” He asked after a moment, stomach rumbling a little. He’d spent so much time this morning freaking out and being consoled by JARVIS that he’d missed breakfast and lunch had slipped him by. 

“Of course, Mr. Parker. Several components of the kitchen are automated, but I am capable of guiding through any recipes or devices you are unfamiliar with”. 

JARVIS had apparently activated something called ‘Romeo and Juliet Protocol’ when it had been revealed that Tony had been Switched, and a large majority of the Tower was closed off and protected. Peter couldn’t leave the penthouse and JARVIS had strict control of everything, even down to the doors. Peter was happy enough to just sit there and wait it out, though. As amazing as being here was, snooping was rude, especially when what he could find could potentially compromise the entire world. 

He chose to make a simple, small sandwich which involved nothing more than a single knife and plate, marvelling at the giant fridge and the ridiculous amount of food within. Apparently Mr. Stark had a chef that stopped by once every other day with prepared meals, and was on-call for whenever he required a fresh meal without having to cook it. The produce was organic and far different to the sad, wilting lettuce that could be found at the local Cheap Fresh. 

Technically, if it was plausible, when you Switched you were supposed to follow a specific protocol set up by the Government, but Mr. Stark had ultimately lost his entire mind at discovering his soulmate was fourteen and had immediately demanded Peter stay locked up like Rapunzel while he pretended to be him for the day to throw off suspicion. Peter couldn’t deny that had hurt a little, but he understood it. Soulmates or not it would be the scandal of the century - Tony would be called all sorts of things at best and investigated at worst, and the nature of their age difference meant a lifetime of interference and monitoring by the Government and protective services. He knew it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, to hide it from the world. Tony had suggested a private agreement, a ridiculous sum of money in exchange for Peter’s silence. 

He realised he’d been staring morosely at his plate when JARVIS prompted him softly, and he sighed, taking a bite. There was no physical remote for the TV but JARVIS helped him to access a cache of movies and he settled on Inception, his weakness for Tom Hardy and Leonardo DiCaprio soothing the ache of his new reality. 

“Am I allowed to ask what running a business is like?” He asked after a while, head balanced on his palm. 

“In what regard, Mr. Parker?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’m fifteen. I don’t know how to run a company, let alone run a company and be a superhero. What kinda stuff does he do? Does he attend meetings? Does he fly around the world on company retreats like in the movies?” 

JARVIS sounded lightly amused when he replied. “Sir has delegated much of the daily company operation amongst several trusted employees, but he is still the namesake, owner and CEO of Stark Industries. He does attend frequent meetings, but most of Sir’s ‘flying around the world’ is done for leisure or Iron Man related activity”. 

“Sir spends most of his time in the lab, conducting important work for both his priorities. Sir also does a respectable amount of charity work, investment work and supportive work. I believe his latest venture is funding the entirety of MIT’s PhD graduate projects”. 

Wow. That was...That would be a lot of money. And being supported by someone like Tony Stark was bound to be something to boast about, something that would fluff up your resume a little. 

“Does he enjoy it?” Peter asked after a moment, fingertips raising absently to the arc reactor in his chest. It ached constantly, a low-level background pain that never quite faded out of touch, the odd sensation of a gaping maw in his chest something that had made him heave earlier that morning. Mr. Stark was tired, burnt out, but still going. It made Peter want to spend his twenty-four hours just sleeping, to try and soothe the man’s headache. 

“Sir finds great gratification in his duties” JARVIS replied quietly, though he did not specify which. Peter gave a hum and succumbed to the desire to nap, curled up on the corner of the couch with Inception fading quietly into the background. 

He ate again when he woke up, and blinked when he saw the time. Mr. Stark’s phone had been heavily locked down, but he could still access the message channel between this number and his own. The messages there were disheartening. 

Told your hot Aunt I’m staying at that Nate kids house tonight. I’ll be coming to the Tower, but you won’t see me. I’ll stay on the level below.

Sorry, kid. Seeing someone else wearing me like a Givenchy suit is just too head-spinning. 

JARVIS will keep you safe up there. We switch back at midnight, so try and get some sleep. You’ll wake up as yourself and I’ll get the plan in motion. 

“JARVIS, when was the last time Mr. Stark cried?” He asked timidly, and the AI was silent for a moment. 

“Four years ago, Mr. Parker”. 

“Oh,” he breathed out, vision blurring. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m about to ruin that” and he let the teardrops fall.

[chilling-seavey]

Heartbreak Hotel (d.s.) - Chapter One

A/N Hey there, ladies and gents! It’s time to be swept away into an alternate universe where 1950s LA is the place to be. This is my first ever soulmate au and it took a lot of planning to make everything fit just right so I hope you all enjoy! 

Summary: It’s 1958 and summer has just begun, sending the teenagers of Los Angeles into warm weather freedoms and part time jobs. Eighteen-year-old Daniel finds himself spending his days trying to find his soulmate and he refuses to give up until he has her.

Los Angeles in 1958 was a thriving city of luxury and fame; housing many of the greats and certainly more to come in upscale Beverly Hills mansions with top dollar views. They lived in their own worlds in the coastal city; unbothered by the working class with 9-5 jobs and single-family bungalows in the suburbs. To the everyday person, life in Los Angeles was more than nice with the beach on one side, the mountains on the other, and enough cultural entertainment to hardly ever be bored. People were happy you could argue and, in a sense that was true. Happy that they were able to settle down in that warm American Dream with the one they were destined to be with. Their soulmate.

This wasn’t a world full of lonesome heartbreak – unless one would choose to live that way – as everyone was assigned someone that they were meant to be with. By their eighteenth birthday, strange habits started to arise where you could taste whatever your soulmate was eating at any given time. It started faintly the day of your eighteenth birthday, as just a light sensation on your tongue, sort of like what it feels like to have a craving for a specific type of food. As weeks progressed it became more pronounced until after a month or so you could taste nearly exactly what they were eating as if you were eating it yourself.

It was something to get used to at first, but it was reality, and everyone went about their day to day lives with this invisible connection to the one they were destined to be with. Some people never found their soulmate – after all, the world had a population of almost three billion, so the odds weren’t always on your side – but eighteen-year-old Daniel refused to let that be his fate.

The second the clock hit midnight on April 2nd, 1958, Daniel shut his eyes really tightly in his bed and swirled his tongue around his mouth to try and taste something. You see, he was in love with the idea of love for as long as he could remember, and he had been counting down the days until he turned eighteen since he was old enough to know what numbers were. His parents had that perfect love story; high school sweethearts in 1935 where his father knew she was the one from the first week he turned eighteen, married and expecting their first child by 1936 and had three boys with a baby girl on the way before his father was drafted into the war in 1942. His father returned home in 1945 just as in love with his mother than ever before and the rest was history. Daniel wanted a story just like his parents; one where it all just fell into place.

The two-and-a-half months from the day Daniel turned eighteen to his high school graduation gave him absolutely no clue as to who his soulmate was. He tried scrounging the cafeteria at lunch time to see if any of the girls were eating that turkey sandwich he could taste or drinking that cold bottle of Coca-Cola, but he was met with no luck again and again. His soulmate seemed to eat something different everyday for each meal, but he soon came to realize that the only consistent thing was strawberry milkshakes. Usually around the time Daniel got off the school bus at home he’d lick his lips with the sweet flavour of strawberry and whipped cream that was rolling its way along his tongue.

He was just glad it wasn’t chocolate. He hated chocolate.

On the first real day of summer vacation, after graduation and their final high school dance, Daniel was staring out his bedroom window towards the street, impatiently waiting to see his older brother’s shiny red Thunderbird turning onto their street. Sure enough, he got a glimpse of the shiny red sports car in the distance and with an excited gasp, Daniel took off for the stairs.

“Christian’s home!” he shouted through the house, hopping the last three stairs and whipped open the front door just as the car pulled into the driveway.

He jumped off the porch as his parents came out of the house behind him and Daniel rushed to set his hands on the pretty red hood of the car that was still warm from the long drive from upstate.

The tired nineteen-year-old stepped out from the driver’s side and pulled off his sunglasses to offer a dimpled smile to his family, “Hey, you guys. What’s shaking?”

“Christian! How was college?” Daniel asked with a grin.

“Just swell, little brother. Why don’t you come help me bring my things upstairs? I have something for you.”

Daniel absolutely idolized his older brother, so he didn’t need to be asked twice to carry his things. As Christian headed for the porch to greet his mother with a kiss to her cheek and his father with a handshake, Daniel opened the trunk of the car to unload the bags. Out of the four Seavey children, Christian and Daniel were closest in age; Christian was only four months old when their parents fell pregnant with Daniel; leaving the two boys at only thirteen months apart. This made them very close and they shared a bedroom up until their oldest brother Tyler moved out for college a few years before. It was safe to say that when Christian was next to leave for school, Daniel had a hard time adjusting to life in the house without him.

But he was finally back, dressed in his usual slicked back dark brown hair and finished with a leather jacket. Leather was never usually Christian’s choice and Daniel let his eyes linger on the back of his brother’s jacket as he helped him carry his things upstairs to his room.

Christian stopped in the doorway to the left at the top of the stairs, poking his head into the light pink painted room, “Hey, ankle biter, I’m back. Did ya miss me?”

Their younger sister, Anna - a moody force to be reckoned with at fifteen - glanced up from her magazine she was reading on her bed, her record player playing quietly from on top of her dresser, “Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

“Did you get that Elvis guy to marry you yet?”

“Oh, shut up, Chris.” Anna blushed, throwing one of her stuffed animals at him before getting up to slam the door in his face.

Christian glanced back at Daniel with a small smile before heading into the room adjacent to toss his bag on his bed. Daniel set his suitcase by his closet and leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“What’s with the new getup?” Daniel finally asked.

“Oh, this old thing?” Christian grinned, pulling at the hem of his leather jacket. “A buddy in the dorms threw this little bash back in the fall and there were all these swell guys there talking about this new fashion tread. Said it was what everyone’s doing now. I think it looks pretty good, don’t you?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Christian scoffed. “Well something’s coming to you of this whole business too.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. The guys got me a job at the car shop upstate for the year, I made a bit of dough, fixed up some wheels, and I’m even transferred to another shop down here for the summer. But with the big bucks I made since the fall I can afford a new car.”

“That’s great, Chris.” Daniel said slowly, unsure of where his brother was going with that.

“So I want you to have my T-Bird.” Christian tossed over the keys.

Daniel tried to grab them in his shock but fumbled them and they fell to the carpet. He bent down quickly to pick them up, “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Nope. Car’s all yours. That or I’ll resell it but I know you’ve had your eye on it since I first got it.”

“Yeah! Oh, boy! Thank you!” Daniel grinned.

“Only thing I ask is that you tell me how your birthday went.” Christian smirked, flopping back onto his bed. He leaned back against the headboard with his hands tucked behind his head and his shoes resting up on his bag.

Daniel bit back a small smile, sitting gently at the end of his older brother’s bed, the car keys still in hand, “It was nice. Mom made me a cake. Vanilla, of course. And I had a few friends over to watch a movie on tv and we ordered a pizza.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Christian kicked him with the toe of his shoe lightly.

Daniel’s whole family knew about how excited he was to turn eighteen, solely for the purpose of finally being able to find his soulmate. The younger brother blushed lightly through a smile.

“I haven’t found her yet. But she likes strawberry milkshakes.”

“Strawberry? Well, thank God it’s not chocolate or you’d be miserable.” Christian chuckled. “Think she goes to your school?”

“I dunno. High school’s over anyway. But I want to try and find her this summer. She’s gotta be in the city, right?”

“It’s a big city, little bro.” Christian said.

“You’ll help me, right?”

“I gotta work.” Christian shrugged. “Besides, I gave up on that junk.”

“That junk? Finding your soulmate?” Daniel frowned over at him. He thought back to the late-night talks in their shared bedroom when they were nine and ten, sitting up facing each other on their adjacent twin size beds, talking about what it would be like to grow up and find their soulmates.

Christian hummed, sliding his tongue over his lips and in his mouth, an obvious unaware habit that meant his soulmate was eating something right then. Daniel wondered what he could taste.

Christian clicked his tongue and sat up with a deep inhale as if to pull himself out of his own thoughts, “Yeah, no use stressing yourself over it. Plenty of swell birds around to find, right?”

“I guess.” Daniel mumbled.

“I gotta unpack my things. Why don’t you take the car for a spin before dinner?” Christian suggested, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“Sure.” Daniel stood up, glancing down at the keys in his hand. “Thanks again.”

Christian only sent him a dimpled grin and Daniel left his brother’s room without another word. He walked down the stairs and to the front door, calling over his shoulder to his parents that he would be back in a little bit before heading for the driveway. Daniel hopped over the door of the convertible and settled into the red leather seats with his hands falling gently against the steering wheel. He let a small smile come to his lips as the engine roared to life and the familiar taste of strawberry milkshakes grazed his tongue.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Playing With Fire

The Flash stars in: Playing with Fire  

Dramatis Personae

Wally West, the energetic and cheerful third Flash

Iris Allen, a charismatic reporter, the wife of Barry Allen, and the aunt of Wally

Heat Wave, alias Mick Rory, a dim witted and surprisingly friendly pyromaniac

The Pied Piper, alias Hartley Rathaway, a Robin Hood-esque thief

Mirror Master I, alias Sam Scudder, a melodramatic thief and talented inventor

Script

Act I

(Iris is onstage, writing. Enter Wally)

Wally: Hi, Aunt Iris!

Iris: (Looks up from her paper) Hi, Wally! What’s up?

Wally: I was just dropping by to see my favorite aunt.

Iris: Well, it’s nice to see you. How’s my favorite nephew?

Wally: Aunt Iris, I’m your only nephew.

Iris: So? Can’t you be both? (Wally nods)

Wally: I’m doing great! How are you?

Iris: Wonderful! You see, I’m writing this terrific exposé on corruption in the mayor’s office, and my editor really thinks it could win me an award-maybe even a Pulitzer!

Wally: Wow, Aunt Iris, that’s awesome! The award, I mean, not that there’s corruption in the mayor’s office. I always knew you’d be world-famous someday!

Iris: In speaking of world famous, is there anything new on the superhero front?

Wally: Surprisingly, no. I haven’t heard anything from any of the Rogues for more than a month. It’s kind of nice to have a break, honestly.

Iris: I’m sure Linda and the kids appreciate it, too.

Wally: Yeah, it’s been great! It’s always nice to have more time to spend with them, especially since, with my speed, we’ve been able to tour half of Europe’s museums.

Iris: I never thought of you as a culture buff.

Wally: You don’t know everything about me! I mean, part of my charm comes from my air of exotic mystery! (Iris laughs)

Iris: The tour was Linda’s idea.

Wally: (Sighs) Yeah, it was her idea. How did you know?

Iris: Because you’re a terrible liar. Seriously, “my air of exotic mystery”? The only thing remotely mysterious about you is how you thought that that would be a convincing story.

Wally: All right, you’ve got me there. (Pause) But museums are so boring! Nothing ever changes, and everyone moves so slowly! In the time it takes Linda to look at one statue, the kids and I could ��speed through the museum a hundred times, but we aren’t allowed to! It’s like watching sports, only a thousand times worse! It’s just too slow!

Iris: Everything is too slow for you, Wally.

Wally: I can’t help it! I’m a speedster!

Iris: So are Barry and Jay, and I’ve never heard them complain about museums. I don’t think this is a speedster problem. I think this is a Wally problem.

Wally: Because I’m impatient?

Iris: Well, yes, but also because you got your speed much younger than Jay and Barry did. Your uncle thinks that because of that, your powers had a greater effect on your body and your mind than it did on theirs-and that your kids will probably be even more affected than you are because their powers are natural.

Wally: Oh, joy. I’ll never be able to deal with two mes on steroids for fifteen years!

Iris: Look, if I was able to deal with a ten-year-old you with no powers, you should definitely be able to deal with your kids. You’ll be fine.

Wally: If you say so, Aunt Iris.

Iris: I do. If you can save the world, you can do this.

Wally: I think saving the world is easier.

Iris: So, what are Linda and the kids up to now?

Wally: They’re at the library. Linda’s been taking Jai and Irey to Storytime for about a year now, and they seem to like it. The only complaint I’ve heard is that they enter and leave the library way too quickly, but given their powers, that might be unavoidable, at least for awhile.

Iris: I’m glad your kids like the library. Bart avoids it like everyone in it has the plague.

Wally: Even with all the great comic books there?

Iris: Yes. He just seems to hate books on principle. He says that he has trouble processing words because his eyes move too fast for him to fully comprehend what he’s seeing. Did you ever experience that?

Wally: All the time! It was lucky that I liked to read books before I got my powers, because otherwise I’d probably never have opened a book again. Speedster brains work so much faster than average that if we don’t focus, it’s basically impossible to read anything, and since he was in the Speed Force for such a long time, Bart probably never learned how to focus. If you want him to read more, you’ll have to teach him how to focus first.

Iris: Could I employ your help on that?

Wally: Of course! Who do you think taught my kids how to focus?

Iris: Thanks, Wally. Barry’s been trying to help him, but Barry loves to read, and, like I said, he got his powers in his twenties. His brain chemistry isn’t as altered by his powers as Bart’s brain chemistry is by his.

Wally: Hey, no problem. What else are favorite nephews for?

Iris: In your case? Comedic relief.

Wally: Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week!

Iris: (Laughs) Never change, Wally. Never change.

Wally: I’m not planning to, Aunt Iris. (Pause) Hey, are you hungry?

Iris: No, but I’d imagine that you are. Do you want to get a mid morning snack?

Wally: Aunt Iris, you read my mind. Let’s go eat!

(Exit Both)

Act II

(Pied Piper is onstage, playing an instrument. Enter Mirror Master and Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: (To Mirror Master) See, Scudder? I told you he’d be here!

Mirror Master: (To Heat Wave) How did you manage to find him? Even the Flash can’t find him when he doesn’t want to be found!

Heat Wave:  It ain’t really that hard, Sam. Our little buddy over there’s a bleeding heart, so when he ain’t with us and ain’t  in jail, he’s almost always on or near Baker Street.

Mirror Master: What does the Piper want with Skid Row?

Heat Wave: Where’s Skid Row? I just told you that this is Baker Street!

Mirror Master: (Sighs) It’s a figure of speech, Mick. “Skid Row” is just a term for a rundown, dirt-poor neighborhood like this one. Why would the Piper come here?

Heat Wave: Because it’s rundown and poor. Don’t you know that Piper gives everything he steals to poor people?

Mirror Master: Well, yeah, I know, but I didn’t think he lived with them.

Heat Wave: He lives with us , don’t he?

Mirror Master: We aren’t poor!

Heat Wave: Scudder, both of us are high school dropouts. Neither of us has ever had a legal job. We almost never get to spend the money we steal ‘cause the Flash busts us before we can. I grew up in a one-story, two-bedroom farmhouse, and you grew up….hey, you grew up here! In what world are we not poor?

Mirror Master: I had a Ferrari….

Heat Wave: That you stole. And that the Flash returned to its original owner after three days.

Mirror Master: Not the point! I’m the most skilled inventor on the planet! I invented solid holograms and teleportation and a weapons system more sophisticated than any army’s! I discovered another dimension, for Pete’s sake! I’m not poor! (Piper stops playing)

Heat Wave: You’ve never made money off of none of that, Sam. I know you’re real smart-I’m just saying that neither of us is real rich.  

Mirror Master: Okay, maybe not, but I’m not living in the slums.  

Heat Wave: Yeah, because prison is so much better.

Pied Piper: The two of you are aware that I can hear you, correct?

Mirror Master: HOW?

Pied Piper: My parents spent 20 million dollars on ‘curing’ my deafness with hearing aids, and they received their money’s worth. My hearing range goes up to 45,000 hertz, about the same as a dog’s, and is generally extremely acute. I hear everything, and even if I did not, you two were not exactly being quiet. (Pause) Why are you looking for me?

Mirror Master: Wait….your parents spent twenty million for one operation?

Pied Piper: My parents have a net worth of 55 billion dollars. They could have spent five times that amount and not even felt it. (Pause) But I digress. What brings you two here?

Mirror Master: You.

Pied Piper: My skills or my companionship?

Heat Wave: Both!

Pied Piper: I trust that one of you has a target in mind, then?

Mirror Master: Of course I do. You see, a certain Ms. Portia Storme, a famous actress and debutante, is coming to Central City to donate some of her jewelry to Central City’s History Museum at 2:30 PM but I think that those jewels would be a lot more useful to us than to any museum. I can get us into the museum, and then you can hypnotize Ms. Storme and the patrons long enough for us to steal the jewels and split. What do you think?

Pied Piper: And if one of the Flashes shows up?

Mirror Master: That’s what Heat Wave’s for. He’ll wait outside the museum and, if the Flash shows up, he’ll distract him long enough for us to make our escape. Once we’ve gotten back to my pad safely, I’ll pick him up via Mirror Realm.

Pied Piper: That sounds like a solid plan. I’m in!

Heat Wave: Great! The more the merrier!  

Mirror Master: Okay, now that that’s established, we can shoot the breeze for a bit. How have you been, Piper?

Pied Piper: Physically, I’m as fit as a fiddle. Otherwise….I’m homeless.

Mirror Master: Again? How’d it happen this time?

Pied Piper: Well, I actually bought a little apartment a couple of weeks ago, but then I ran into this couple who were raising their granddaughter because their daughter is addicted to heroin, and their apartment was falling apart, so I gave them mine, and I was going to get another one with money that I swiped from a movie star, but then I met this poor man who was suffering from some sort of mental illness, so I had to pay for him to go to a mental hospital, and then I gave the rest of the money to help pay for the cancer treatment of a young father with four little children.

Heat Wave: I’ve got some money saved up, buddy. Do you want me to give you some?

Pied Piper: No, but thank you. I’m young and quite robust. I’ll be fine.

Mirror Master: Yeah, until you freeze to death.

Pied Piper: It gets that cold here?

Mirror Master: We’re covered in snow for half the winter! Yeah, it gets that cold here! Have you never ended up homeless in the winter?

Pied Piper: Well, no. I was only evicted from the apartment I was renting with the money I took from my parents six months ago. My sporadic homelessness is a recent thing.

Mirror Master: Word of advice, then: don’t give any of the money from this heist away.

Pied Piper: What? Why?

Mirror Master: Because it’s already November, and if you don’t get a place to stay soon, you’re going to be out on the streets in the dead of winter.

Pied Piper: Better me than a child!

Mirror Master: Dude, your hypothetical child is ten times more street savvy than you are.

Pied Piper: And has none of the luxuries I was spoiled with as a child.

Mirror Master: So? They don’t know what they’re missing. I should know. I was one.

Pied Piper: And yet you now deny being poor so vehemently.

Mirror Master: (Pause, searching for response, but not finding one) Fine. Do whatever you want. But don’t blame me when you’re sleeping on the streets in that threadbare jacket in single degree weather!

Heat Wave: (Trying to change the subject) Hey, who wants lunch? After all, it’s never good to rob a  museum on an empty stomach.

Pied Piper: Well, now that you’ve mentioned it, I am a little hungry. Where were you thinking that we would go?

Heat Wave: Uh, whatever makes you guys happy, I guess.

Mirror Master: Hmm…. I’ll have to reflect on that.

Pied Piper: I didn’t really have anything in mind, either.

Heat Wave: Okay then. Um….how about that barbeque place that opened a couple weeks ago?

Mirror Master: Sure, why not?

Pied Piper: That works as well as the next place, I suppose.

Heat Wave: All right, then I guess it’s settled. We’re going to eat some barbeque!

(Exit all)

Act III

(Wally and Iris are onstage)

Wally: So, do you have anything else planned for today, Aunt Iris?

Iris: Yes, I do. Portia Storme, the famous actress, is donating some of her family heirlooms to Central City’s History Museum at 3 PM, and I found out this morning that Picture News is sending me to cover the story.

Wally: Portia Storme? As in the Portia Storme who starred in The Superhero who Loved Me ?

Iris: Yes, that Portia Storme.

Wally: Are you allowed to bring a guest? I'm her biggest fan!

Iris: No such luck. I’m attending for business, not pleasure.

Wally: Darn it! I’ve wanted to get her autograph since I was fifteen!

Iris: I wonder what Linda would think of that.

Wally: Aunt Iris! It’s not like that! I just think that she’s a talented actress!

Iris: And the fact that she’s widely considered to be extremely attractive has nothing to do with it, right?

Wally: Aunt Iris !

Iris: Don’t worry, Wally, I know you love Linda. I was just teasing you.

Wally: Oh. Okay. Then tell Portia hi for me.

Iris: I will. In  fact, I’ll even get her autograph if I can.

Wally: Thanks, Aunt Iris! You’re the best!

Iris: You’re welcome, Wally. (Pause) Oh, and would you mind telling your uncle where I am when he gets off work? I didn’t learn that I was covering the museum story until after he left for work.

Wally: Of course I’ll tell him!

Iris: Good. I don’t want a repeat of the “Flash Marathon” debacle.

Wally: The Flash Marathon debacle? What’s that?

Iris: You don’t remember that time that I was assigned to cover the Flash Marathon of 2010 at the last possible second and Barry didn’t know so he ran halfway around the world looking for me?

Wally: Oh, yeah, I remember that now! He took me out of Calculus to help find you!

Iris: Poor, dear, Barry. He was so embarrassed when he found out that I was fine.

Wally: He was embarrassed? I had to explain to my Calculus teacher that I had cut class to rescue someone who wasn’t in any danger and then I got detention!

Iris: That may have had something to do with the fact that you’d cut class the previous week to get Chinese food from China, Wally.

Wally: What can I say? I was-

Iris: Hungry. I know. (Wally vanishes and returns with food) Wally: Want some authentic fajitas? Or some escargots?

Iris: No, thank you.

Wally: Okay. More for me. (Eats food)

Iris: How does Linda keep up with your appetite?

Wally: Oh my gosh! Linda! I told her I’d pick her and the kids up from story time, and I completely forgot about it! I’ve gotta go get them! See you, Aunt Iris! Bye! (Exit Wally)

Iris: That’s my nephew. (Pulls out paper) Let’s see. Now, where was I? Oh, right! (Begins writing) “A careful examination of the city’s funds reveals that 20% of the city’s funds have been diverted to an undisclosed project which does not correspond to any known public works project that has been discussed by the city council. Detective Jared Morillo, who headed the investigation, stated that “We’re almost certain that at least one of the elected officials of the city has been misappropriating funds,” but declined to provide further details, so I did some digging of my own and uncovered a document that revealed that four members of the mayor’s cabinet have been funneling tax dollars into their own private accounts, and that one of them, Mr. Franklin Jones, failed to press charges of robbery on the Pied Piper out of fear that his own misdeeds would come under scrutiny.” This article is going to be great!

Act IV

(Enter Pied Piper, Heat Wave, and Mirror Master with a water bottle)

Mirror Master: (To Heat Wave) How did you manage to eat two buckets of that barbeque? My mouth felt like it was on fire after I ate one piece!

Heat Wave: You should try a ghost pepper sometime, buddy. If you thought that was hot, you haven’t seen nothing yet!

Mirror Master: I’ll pass. (Guzzles water) I’ve had enough eye-watering for a year.

Pied Piper: I’m so glad that I ordered the salad.

Heat Wave: You don’t know what you’re missing, little buddy.

Pied Piper: When I was seven years old, I had lunch with the President of India. That meal contained enough spice to put me off strong seasoning forever, so I am quite aware of what I’m missing.

Mirror Master: You’ve been to another country?

Pied Piper: (Embarrassed) Actually, I’ve been to twenty other countries, and to several more than once. My parents wanted to maintain their global connections, so the visits were a necessity.

Heat Wave: (To Mirror Master) His parents are stupid rich, remember?

Mirror Master: (Enviously) Right. (Pause) Well, if this heist goes right, by 5 PM tonight, we’ll be stupid rich too. Let’s get to the museum! Heat Wave, you’ll be alright by yourself?

Heat Wave: Of course I will, buddy.

Mirror Master: In that case, we’re set to go, Piper. It’s time to make some money!

(Cut to another room, where Iris is. Pied Piper and Mirror Master enter)

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Where is everybody?

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master) How should I know? This is your heist!

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Captain Boomerang told me that Storme would be here at 2:30, so where is everybody?

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master) Wait….you learned about this from Digger ?

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Yeah. Why?

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master; growing increasingly louder) Because he’s Digger! If he knew about a potential target and didn’t go after it himself, it could only be because he was drunk! He must have given you the wrong time!

Iris: Who’s there? The museum’s closed to visitors today! (Gasps) You!

Mirror Master: (To Pied Piper) Nice going. Now somebody knows we’re here! (To Iris) Hey, Mrs. Allen. Long time no see.

Iris: What are you two doing here? Pied Piper: Our intent was to steal Ms.Storme’s jewelry, but apparently we had some erroneous information and so we showed up before she did. What are you doing here?

Iris: I’m here to report on the donation of the jewels, and you two are under arrest.

Mirror Master: And you’re going to stop us from escaping how?

Iris: (Pulls out a gun) I’m licensed to carry a firearm, that’s how.

Mirror Master: YOU HAVE A GUN? (To Piper) This would be a good time to do some hypnotizing.

Pied Piper: (To Mirror Master) Before or after she shoots me? (To Iris) All right, we surrender. (Iris handcuffs them)

Iris: I’m so glad that Barry let me borrow those in case I ever needed to pull a citizen’s arrest.

Mirror Master (Aside) Beaten by a girl...this is so humiliating….

Iris: Really? That was way easier than I anticipated.

Pied Piper: Well, I didn’t want you to get hurt, Mrs. Allen. I really admire you. Your exposé on the plight of inner city schools was phenomenal!

Iris: You read my articles?

Pied Piper: Of course! Your crusades to better this city are worthy of the highest respect. You are quite as much of a hero as your husband, Mrs. Allen.

Iris: Why does a thief care about the betterment of anything? Pied Piper: Mrs. Allen, I only steal from those who can afford it, and, quite frankly, who deserve it, and only to give to those who need it. I may operate outside the normal legal parameters, but I only do it because working inside them will get me nowhere. The 1% control the system, so until the system is changed, I have to work outside it if people are going to get real help.

Iris: So why don’t you just help better  the system legally instead of breaking the law and getting yourself into trouble?

Pied Piper: Because someone has to help even the score in the interval, and, frankly, because it helps absolve me of my own guilt. I spent the first twenty-two years of my life living in scandalous luxury, without a thought for anyone but myself. My parents paid to cure me of deafness that would have been a permanent disability in anyone else, I had a closetful of clothes I never wore, I owned three cars before I could drive, and I had more toys than I could ever have used. My parents paid my tutors to ensure that I made high grades, and then they bribed my college to make sure that I was on the top of my class. If I’m on the streets and being thrown in jail now, it’s no more than what I deserve.

Iris: Do you mind if I record that? I always thought that there was something fishy about your family’s empire-other than you, I mean.

Pied Piper: You’d better not. My parents would pay through the nose to make sure that that story never got out, so there’d be no point.

Mirror Master: Uh, as much as Pied Piper’s daddy issues fascinate me, would you mind calling the police or the Flash already?

Iris: Oh, right. (Pulls out phone) Hey, Wally, I have some supervillains for you to pick up. (Pause) What, are you surprised? I didn’t become a famous reporter by being timid. (Pause) Yeah, I’m just fine. (Pause) No, no one else was in danger. Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. (Pause) No, I’m not going to fight supervillains on a regular basis. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and facing the right morons. (Pause) All right. See you soon. Buh-bye. (Puts phone away) Back to jail for you two.

Mirror Master: I’m thrilled . (To Piper) Let’s pretend this never happened, okay?

Pied Piper: That sounds good to me!

Act V

(Heat Wave is onstage. Enter Wally)

Heat Wave: Hey, Flash! Seeing you really burns me up! (Shoots fire plume in the air)

Wally: Heat Wave?

Heat Wave: Yeah, that’s me! I hope you aren’t going to fight me, because that would be-

Wally: Playing with fire. Yeah, I know. Heat Wave: (horrified) You stole my pun!

Wally: Hey, you know what they say: It takes a thief to catch a thief.

Heat Wave: But you’re not a thief!

Wally: Yeah, I am! I stole your pun!

Heat Wave: (Laughs) Hey, that’s pretty good. You should’ve been a comedian! (Shoots fire at Wally, who dodges)

Wally: That’s what my aunt tells me. So, what are you doing here?

Heat Wave: Making stuff burn.

Wally: Well, yeah, I can see that, but I know you can’t be operating alone, because where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and when there’s fire, there’s you, and when there’s you, there’s the other Rogues. What are you guys planning? (Dodges another blast from Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: Stay still! (Misses again)

Wally: Why, so I can move out of the frying pan and into the fire? No, thanks!

Heat Wave: Hey, stop taking all my puns before I can use them. I don’t have that many!

Wally: Aww, stop being such a hot-head, Heat Wave!

Heat Wave: I bet you think you’re so smart! Well, you won’t feel so smart when Mirror Master and Pied Piper escape with all the loot they stole because I distracted you!

Wally: Oh, so that’s why you’re here. Well, I hate to break it to you, but they’ve already been captured. (Takes Heat Wave’s gun)

Heat Wave: They’re captured? I gotta go rescue them!

Wally: Uh, you might find that difficult without this. (Waves gun)

Heat Wave: Hey, give that back!

Wally: Nope. Finders keepers. (Handcuffs Heat Wave, then brings out Pied Piper and Mirror Master) Here’s your pals. If it makes you feel any better, you get to go back to jail with them.

Heat Wave: Hi, guys!

Mirror Master: Hey, Mick. I guess you got caught, too?

Heat Wave: Yeah.

Mirror Master: Ugh, I don’t believe this! How did we get defeated again ?

Heat Wave: Don’t feel too bad, buddy. You know what they say: If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again! We’ll get lucky eventually.

Mirror Master: Shut up and let me mope.

Pied Piper: (To Wally) Tell your aunt to keep up the good work, won’t you? Wally: Um...sure. And just so you know, my offer still stands: serve your time and then help us help people the right way.

Piper: I’ll...I’ll keep that offer in mind.

Wally: Great! And we’re off! (Exits with them, re-enters alone. Enter Iris) Great work, Aunt Iris!

Iris: Aww, it was nothing...and hey, I’ve got a guaranteed front-page story! (They high-five)

Wally: You know what? All that fighting made me hungry! I’m gonna go eat! Love you, Aunt Iris!

Iris: I love you, too! (Exit Wally) Ooh, just wait until I tell Barry I defeated two supervillains!

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The young man – boy, really – was sleeping on the love seat in his office, snoring ever so slightly.

Vaughan Kuāutli popped his head in the open door and rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, “Luca?” The sleeping boy simply snored and smacked his lips together. Vaughan sighed and said louder, “Luca, wake up. RPL needs the probe courses.”

Luca sprang up, his mop of unruly hair facing every which way. “Oh, hey, Vaughan.” He stumbled to his feet, yawning as he made his way to his desk and computer, where graphics of the course projection were spinning around. He grabbed an opened can of some energy drink and chugged the rest, crushing the can in his hand and tossing it into the wastebasket. He missed.

Vaughan didn’t blink an eye, knowing this was normal behaviour for the son of Malakai Scéalaí. Despite the fact that he was TNSB legacy, Luca had worked harder than anyone he knew to get here, where he held the position of astrodynamicist. The boy was near genius status. “I know we’re coming at this from the wrong way, but we can’t commit to launch dates with these many unknowns.”

Luca waved his hand as he sat down in his wheeled chair, nearly missing it. Why did I let him get a wheeled chair, Vaughan thought. There’s so many things that could go wrong. “It’s fine. All twenty-three models will take four-hundred and four days to reach Farnor. They only slightly vary in thrust duration and fuel requirement is almost identical.”

His boss entered the messy room. Messy might have been an understatement. Vaughan thought that ‘biohazard’ was fitting for Luca’s office/bedroom - he ended up spending the night here more often than not. “Four-hundred and four days. Not a good launch window, huh?” His eyes roved over the calculations.

Luca snorted, “It’s terrible. Like, it’d almost be easier to…” his chestnut-brown eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up behind his floppy fringe.

“Almost easier to what?”

Luca got to his feet slowly, looking as though he’d seen a ghost, “I need more RedBull. And coffee.” Honestly, it was a miracle Luca hadn’t dropped dead from cardiac arrest yet.

“Almost easier to what?” Luca was too lost in his head and scrambled for the door, pushing Vaughan out of the way. Vaughan stared after him, “You do remember that I’m your boss, right?”

The only indication Luca gave that he heard him was a thumbs-up over his head and then he disappeared around the corner.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“Am I reading this right, five-hundred million?”

Sartaq nodded, looking like he was about to drop dead right on the carpeted floor of his office. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

Weylan’s brows rose, the only indication of his shock and he turned his gaze from the screen to the table in front of him, Manon and Asterin somber on the other side. “And now for the expensive question, where’s your team at?”

“…we’re behind.” Sartaq said, sounded defeated. “If I had fifteen more days, I could get it done.”

“All right. Say I can get you fifteen days, then… what? It’s thirteen to mount the probe?”

The RPL director tilted his head to the side a few times, “It actually only takes three days to mount the probe. I can get that down to two and the other ten are for inspections.”

Weylan drummed his fingers on his briefing folder, contemplating something. “How often do those tests present a problem?”

Everyone froze and Manon asked, her voice almost aghast, “Are you saying we don’t do the inspections?”

“Right now, I’m asking how often they present a problem. Sartaq?”

The exhausted man looked nervous and almost as if he resented saying, “One in twenty, but that’s still grounds for countdown halt. Weylan, we can’t take that chance.”

“If you have a safer way, by all means, tell me. Anybody?” Nobody answered him and he nodded, “Right then. Manon, tell Dr. Towers to stretch Aelin’s rations four more days. She won’t like it, but it’ll get us to fifteen. Cancel the inspections.”

“Sir-“

“It’s on me, Gavriel. Sartaq, you have your two weeks. Get it done.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin was standing by the microwave, watching her plate of food spin around and around until the machine beeped and she hastily grabbed the plate, hissing at the heat as she put it down on the counter. Meatloaf and potatoes. Again.

Grabbing her knife and fork, Aelin cut up the meatloaf, “So. I have to hold out here until the probe arrives with more food. This is what minimal calorie count looks like,” pointing to the meager plate, “standard issue ration.”

She snorted a laugh, “Usually, it’s three of these every day and now… one every three days.” The meatloaf was cut into thirds and she transported two of the pieces onto a separate plate. “This is today’s allotment. Which I get to supplement with potatoes. Which I am beginning to abhor, happy, TNSB? I watched my language. Anyways, I am beginning to loathe these things with the passion of seven billion million burning suns. I’ve been told to do this,” she cut her potato in half and put one of them on the plate with the meatloaf. “You know, I used to like Yrene Towers. Point is, ‘stretch the rations four more days’ is a real tit punch.”

She walked over to the desk, where there lay two white pills. Aelin sat down and crushed the pills with her knife. She looked to the computer camera, her eyes conveying just how done she was, “I ran out of ketchup three days ago.” Moving the crushed powder into a neat circle, she said, “So I’m dipping my potato in Vicodin and no one can stop me.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

The energy in Mission Control was electric as they all waited for Manon’s signal. She slipped on her headset, “Mission Control, this is Flight Director Blackbeak. Begin launch status check.” This is where Manon was in her element and it was obvious to everyone around her.

“Roger that, Flight Director,” the Launch Control director answered. “Launch Control test is complete and we are ready.”

“This is Flight. We are a go for launch.”

The timer controller started its countdown, the robotic voice booming through Mission Control. “T-minus 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…”

Asterin paced behind Manon’s seat, praying as liftoff was announced and the rocket was launched from the holding hull.

The flight was clean and when Manon let go of a held-in breath, the room relaxed, all smiles and happy faces as the rocket flew high. But something changed.

“Flight, this is Guidance Control, we’re getting large shimmy in the tail.”

“No…” she whispered, shaking her head as the rocket began losing guidance and telemetry, absolutely powerless as it exploded right before their eyes.

The probe was gone and Weylan Darrow had just signed Aelin’s death certificate. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Kashin and Hasar Dalavtchai were in her office in Antica, watching the head of TNSB do an interview. The woman spat to her brother, “They forced our brother to skip inspections and now their astronaut is going to die.”

“Perhaps,” Kashin replied, sliding a document her way, “The Rukhin’s booster. We ran the numbers and it has enough fuel for a Farnor injection orbit.”

Hasar, the director of the Southern Continent National Space Administration, looked over the document thoughtfully, flipping through the pages, “And they haven’t approached us, why?”

“They don’t know. Father kept the booster technology classified.” It was one of the reasons Sartaq had left. He believed that all of their knowledge should be public access.

“Hm.” Hasar narrowed her eyes and stood up, walking to her office’s large floor-to-ceiling windows. “If we do nothing… the world will never know we could have helped.”

“Yes.” Kashin hid his satisfied grin. He knew what Hasar was thinking and agreed with her wholeheartedly. “If we give them the booster, we will be effectively cancelling The Rukhin.”

Hasar turned to him, her mind already made up. She was tired of her father’s secrecy. “We keep it between SCNSA and TNSB. An exchange between scientists…”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“Yes, we understand.” Manon watched Weylan where he was pacing on the phone, with whom she didn’t know. “Yes. Yes… thank you.”

He hung up the phone, relief flooding his face. Manon sat up from where she had been slouching in his office chair. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“Ok, Luca, you need to listen to me,” Vaughan said, serious as he rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders, trying to make him stop shaking. Mala save him, how much caffeine had he ingested? “These people run TNSB, do you understand? You need to be professional. They will not be as easy on you as I am, they don’t understand your thought pattern. And if they ask you to explain, do not, do not, let them know you think they’re stupid, alright?”

Luca nodded, trying to contain his bouncing. “I know, I know. I had some coffee, so I think I’m good to speak to the normies, boss man.” 

Vaughan just shook his head and whispered a prayer of protection as he herded the boy into the conference room, where Weylan Darrow, Asterin and Manon Blackbeak, and Gavriel Aryeh were.

Luca tripped over the threshold, sending his papers flying. Vaughan just hung his head and sat down beside Gavriel, “I’d like to introduce Luca Scéalaí, astrodynamicist.”

To his credit, Luca didn’t piss himself as Manon and Asterin helped him gather his papers, their sharp sharp nails shining. Gavriel rose a brow, “Scéalaí?”

“Um, yeah, my dad’s Malakai? He did some rover thing a while ago.” Luca shrugged, as if it was no big deal of one his fathers had built the first craft ever to reach Farnor. With a deep breath, he put a thick folder on the table. “This is it.”

“And what would that be, Luca?” Asterin questioned him, exchanging an amused glance with Manon. To Vaughan, it looked like two predators who found their next meal to be adorable.

“Oh, yeah, duh,” Luca slapped his forehead. “I can get The Lani back to Farnor by day five-sixty-one.”

That had everyone in the room choking and shooting up. “What,” Manon breathed, eyes wide. “How?”

Luca looked around the room, spying a half-empty mug of coffee which happened to be Gavriel’s. He snatched it up and chugged the contents, to the half-horrified audience. “Ok, let’s pretend that this is The Lani and you…” he pointed at Weylan, moving his finger to indicate the man to his feet, “sorry, what’s your name?”

“Weylan. I’m the director of TNSB.”

“Oh, deadass? That’s sick, man, but anyways, you’re Farnor and you,” he pointed at Asterin who eagerly stood, relishing the chaotic way that the meeting was going, “you’re Earth. So, right now The Lani is beginning the month-long de-acceleration to enter into Earth’s orbit, yeah?” He walked the mug towards Asterin, who was shaking with her attempts to control her laughter as he made a rocket noise with his mouth and slowed with every step. Vaughan closed his eyes and groaned quietly. “But what I’m proposing…,” Luca walked faster to Asterin. He froze, looking around for something. Without a care, Luca jogged back to Weylan and plucked a pen out of his breast pocket, hurrying back to Asterin. “This is The Rukhin, alright?”

He bopped the pen off her head, causing Manon to cackle, and dumped it in the mug, “We grab whatever provisions we need and now we’re speeding up, like, nyoom, and we fly around Earth and kinda, I guess, slingshot back to Farnor.” He puttered back to Weylan, making more rocket noises.

Luca hovered the mug over Weylan’s head, “But now we’re going too fast to slow down so we do a flyby.”

“How?”

Vaughan spoke up, “By using The Crone’s FAV.”

Luca snapped his fingers and pointed at his boss, “Yes, that. I did the math. It checks out.”

“Luca?”

“Yeah?” He turned to face Weylan.

“Get out.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea, I need some coffee anyway,” Luca mumbled, leaving his things scattered about the room. “Deuces, dudes and dudettes.” 

Weylan turned to Gavriel and Vaughan. “So is he right?”

“Yes, he is,” Vaughan replied. “His math is correct; the boy is a genius. Crazy, space-cadet, can barely take care of himself, but a genius.”

“And we need to use The Rukhin?”

“Yes, sir.”

Asterin frowned, “Am I missing something?”

Manon nodded, “There’s only one booster. And both plans require it.”

“What about The Lani crew? Luca’s proposal adds…” she did the math in her head, “five-hundred and thirty-three days to their mission.”

“They wouldn’t hesitate,” Manon said, standing up and seething, because she knew what Weylan was leaning towards. “Not for a second. That’s why you made this meeting a secret, isn’t it?” she accused him, meeting his eyes until he looked away. “You want us to decide.”

Weylan nodded.

“You gods-damned coward. It should be Commander Salvaterre’s decision and you know it.”

“It’s a matter of life and death, Manon.”

“He’s the Mission Leader, life and death matters are his decisions.”

Gavriel interrupted the fight before it could escalate, “Can The Lani even do that?”

“Yes,” Vaughan said, “it was built to do all the Three-Faced Goddess missions, so it’s not even two-thirds through it’s lifespan.”

“But if something went wrong, we’d lose the crew.” Asterin furrowed her brow, fighting between siding with Manon, who she agreed with, or with Weylan, who’s option was safer. “So… what? We either have a high chance of killing one person or a low chance of killing six? How do we make that decision?”

“We don’t. Weylan does.”

All eyes turned to him and they waited for what seemed like an eternity before, “We still have the chance to bring home five astronauts. Safe and sound.”

“Let them make that decision,” spat Manon, murder in her eyes. Weylan was grateful for the table separating them, not that it would be a hindrance to her if she tried anything.

“Manon. We’re going with option one.”

She made a disgusted sound and looked around the room. No one dared to meet her eye, not even Asterin. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin trudged up the hill to the solar panels, getting ready to scrub them clean. Again.

As she crested the small incline, she paused. No. She couldn’t do it anymore. 

Without another thought, she sat down, staring at the crimson sun.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Nox was sitting before his computer, tracking Aelin’s course. Gavriel was next to him and wondered aloud, “Where is she going?” She would walk for three-hundred metres in one way, pause for ten minutes and repeat the process in another direction. “RPL didn’t ask her to do this, what is it?”

“I don’t know, oh… she’s at the rover, incoming data dump… what is this, Chem analysis, batch 1A-17A?”

Realization dawned on Gavriel and admiration coursed through him. “She’s finishing the mission.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“We evac’d on day eighteen of thirty-one, which means we still have thirteen days of labs to do.” Aelin crushed up a rock sample, “Commander Salvaterre, your work’s in good hands. Whitethorn… um… I really have no understanding of chemolithotrophic detection. Did I say that right? Anyway, I’m doing my best. Faliq, I know you hate it when I touch the ChemCam but guess what? You left me on a desolate planet, you’re not allowed to get mad at me. Lochan,” she carefully tapped the fine powder into a container and screwed the lid on tightly, labeling it with a black marker, “I got a new cataloguing system that you’ll really like. As for Marama’s jobs… there are none. Really, I don’t know why we even brought you along.”

Aelin sighed through her nose, “I know keeping everything organized and ordered isn’t my strong suit but I want it to all make sense for later. Maybe you can teach it in a class, the Galathynius syllabus. ‘How to make water out of rocket fuel’ or ‘how to grow plants on a planet with no living organisms’, I don’t know, but be creative with it, please. I refuse to have my name attached to some boring class.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide was sitting in her bunk, muttering curses at her computer when it wouldn’t let her load the attachment’s from Lysandra’s email. Eventually, she gave up and called Nesryn over the radio, “Nessie darling, can I bother you?”

“Yep, what is it?”

“There’s this email from Lys, subject line: Your Bachelorette Party. I can’t open the attachments, it’s all this code.”

“Ok, well, bring it to me and I’ll see what I can do. I’m in the rec room.”

“Copy that, on my way.”

It only took a few minutes for Elide to float her way to Nesryn. She may have been distracted by her fiancé and his lips for a short while, but that was a moot point as she slid down the ladder and walked to where Nesryn was stretching on the floor. “Hey.”

Nesryn reached out for the laptop, looking like a young child on Yulemas morning, “Gimme gimme.” She lived to solve computer problems. Elide chuckled and sat down on the floor next to her friend as she worked. “Huh. These aren’t JPGs. It looks like plain TSCII files. Math equations, does this make any sense to you?” She angled the computer screen to Elide.

“’Luca Scéalaí Maneuver.’ Yeah, it’s a course maneuver for The Lani…” As the navigator for the mission, Elide tried to make sense of the equations, one phrase sticking out to her. “Day five-sixty-one. Oh, my gods. Nes, bless you, I could kiss you right now!” 

Without another word, Elide jumped up and hurried to the radio, her voice blasted through every speaker on the ship, “This is Lochan, emergency meeting in the rec room, ASAP.”

Nesryn stood up, bewildered, “E, what is it?”

“Just wait, I’ll explain everything.”

Soon after, the boys had made their way to the worktable and Elide told them everything.

They sat in shock. Fenrys was the first to speak, “Would this really work?”

Elide nodded, “Yeah, I ran the numbers. It checks out.” Respect flooded her eyes, an excited gleam that Lorcan hadn’t seen in months. “It’s a brilliant course.”

“So why all the cloak and dagger,” Rowan asked, the ink on his face scrunching as he wrinkled his brow.

“TNSB rejected the idea. They want to put a big risk on Ae as opposed to a small risk on us,” Lorcan spat, indignation in his tone, “whoever snuck it into E’s email obviously disagrees.”

“So, we’re talking about going against TNSB’s orders?”

“Uh-huh. If we do the maneuver, they’ll have to send a provisional probe. We’d be forcing their hand.”

“Are we gonna do it?” Nesryn asked, a determined tilt to her chin.

Lorcan sighed and spread his hands, “Look, if it were up to me, we’d already be on our way.”

Fenrys’ eyes narrowed in confusion, “I’m confused. You’re Mission Leader, isn’t it your decision?”

“Not this time,” Elide answered for Lorcan. “TNSB expressly rejected the plan.”

“We’re talking about mutiny,” Lorcan said and that was not a word any of them used lightly. “We either all do this together, or not at all. Before you answer,” he leaned forward, looking everyone in the eye, “think of the consequences. If we mess up the supply, we die. If we mess up the gravity assist, we die. Even if we do everything perfectly, we still had five hundred and thirty-three days to our mission. Five hundred and thirty-three days without seeing our families. Five hundred and thirty-three days of unplanned space travel.”

“Sign me up.”

Everyone let loose a dry chuckle and Lorcan turned to Fenrys, “Slow down there, pup. You and me? We’re military. Chances are, we get down there and they’ll court marshal us.” Fenrys made a face. “As for the rest of you, I can guarantee, they’ll never let you back up here again.”

Now Rowan spoke up, “Say we say yes. How does this work?”

Everyone turned to Elide and she shrugged, “It’s really not that hard. I plot the course and execute it. No biggie.” A sly grin grew on her round lips. “Nes?”

“Remote override. But Mission Control can remotely pilot the ship.”

“You can’t disable it?”

“No, I can. I’d have to disable remote override on each control, which is tricky – I’d have to jump over a lot of code-“

“Just so everyone knows, Faliq’s hacker handle was ‘Mrs. Robot’ all through high school,” Elide cut in, cackling as Nesryn shot her a dirty look and then continued, daring anyone else to laugh.

“Lochan is a liar. And should keep our conversations private.” She paused. “I can do it.”

“This has to be unanimous. If anyone says no, we go home as planned.” Lorcan tapped the table, emphasizing his point, “But I vote yes.”

“I vote yes,” Fenrys said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Elide mused aloud, her face growing sad, “If we do this, it will be over nine hundred days of space travel. That’s enough space to last a lifetime.” She smiled at Lorcan as he rested his hand on her thigh and traced soothing circles with his thumb, not looking at anyone else as she said, “Yes.”

“Let’s go get our girl,” said Rowan, a glimmer of a smile on his lips.

And then there was one.

“Faliq?”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“Flight, CAPCOM.”

“Go CAPCOM.”

“Unscheduled status update from The Lani.”

“Roger. Read it out,” the night shift was much quieter than the day. Usually.

“It’s… just a single sentence, sir.”

“What? What’s it say?”

“Um… it says: ‘Perranth, be advised: Luca Scéalaí is one steely-eyed missile man.”

“Who is Luca Scéalaí?”

Alarms rang out around Mission Control. “Uh… Flight, Guidance.”

“Go Guidance.”

“The Lani is off course.”

That had him sitting up straighter in his chair and he leaned forward, “CAPCOM, tell Lani they’re drifting. Guidance, get a correction ready-“

“Negative Flight. They’ve adjusted course. Deliberate rotation.”

“What the hell? CAPCOM, ask Lani ‘what the hell’.”

“Roger Flight.”

“Guidance, calculate how long they can stay their course before it’s irreversible and someone figure out who in Hellas’ realm is Luca Scéalaí!”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Manon entered Weylan’s office and he made her wait as he stayed staring out the window.

“Asterin will go to the media and tell them of TNSB’s decision to reroute The Lani to Farnor.”

“Seems like a smart move,” she said mildly, picking at her nails. “Is there a reason you called me in here?”

“You may have killed the whole crew.”

“Whoever sent that to them only passed along information that was their right in the first place. The crew decided to switch course.”

Weylan turned to her, his face red with fury as he hissed, “We are fighting the same war, Manon! Every time something goes wrong, the world forgets why we fly. I am trying to keep us airborne, this whole program, the reason everyone here gets up and goes to work every day is bigger than one girl!”

“She is not a girl. She is a grown woman; how dare you belittle her right now? Aelin Galathynius is braver than anyone on any planet. No one in this agency is not better or bigger than her,” Manon answered, her voice dripping with cool condescension for her boss. “Especially not you.”

He straightened. “Once this is over, I expect your resignation.”

She just laughed coldly, “Yeah, we’ll see about that, won’t we, Weylan?”

“Get out of my sight.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“Five hundred and thirty-three days extra? And you said yes to this?”

Fenrys was attempting to placate his wife’s rage through the computer, but he remained unapologetic, “I did. She would’ve done the same for me, Mia, you know that.”

Nehemia scowled at him and traced a hand over her swollen stomach, “You really think I am going to forgive you for this and knocking me up with your demon spawn before you left for a year and a half?” 

Fenrys grinned at her, “I do. Look at this face, no one can stay mad at me for long.” His grin was blinding and Nehemia sighed, pressing her lips together to suppress her grin. The smile won and Fenrys’ only grew wider, “There she is.” He didn’t think he liked anything more than seeing Nehemia smile like that at him. 

Nehemia lifted her hand to the screen and he mirrored her. “Bring her home.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: i told y’all it would all be ok! comment to be added/removed from the tag list! 

@mythicaitt @kandasboi @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @that-other-pineapple @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @faerie-queen-fireheart @chemicha @rowaelin-cressworth @mynewdreamwasyou @candid-confetti @bat-wing-rhys @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear @feyrethedarklady​ @booklover41802​ @rowaelinforeverworld​ @jamesxdaisy​ @julemmaes​ @hellas-himself​ @kayjaybea​ 

[jjwritten]

Yum.

Can’t believe that BTS brought me a) back into fandoms shenanigans, b) back into writing. Almost 10 years without writing a full thing, 10 years without publishing. 

For Yum, I went with the flow of how I imagine Yoongi's “best” romantic relationship. I have a few more drabbles for this specific dynamic :) To anyone who might find this and reads, I hope you have a decent time.

tags: bts!Yoongi, fem!reader, fluffy fluff, a short smut, gender neutral additionnal characters, overworking, did I say fluff because fluff, domestic au, slice of life

warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex, health (nutrition and physical activity), overworking, a tiny bit of cockwarming, fingering, 

7,902 words

Remind me what you said you were going to do to me, please.

You waited a few seconds. Yoongi was looking at his screen, you knew it because he just had answered you at lightspeed. Yet the 3 dots wouldn't stop dancing. When they did, no answer appeared. Cool. Left on read, nice. You laughed it off, your boyfriend of three years being prone to this type of behavior. You also predicted to receive an elaborate answer in a couple hours, once the moment was gone. In the meantime, you should get back to work.

It had been about a month of overworking yourself for this massive new project. You were working on it with your best friend, in the interest of a big client. The stakes were big. Within this single project, you would provide a job to about 1000 artists, show engineers, students who wanted to debut in the business, and another thousand jobs in merch production. The reflexion upon finances was mind wracking, but was also the most rewarding. Everyone should be paid as much as possible. The show should be of the utmost quality which would require hours and hours of paid rehearsals. You and your best friend had to figure out the whole plan, the whole system, in order for the buyer to have no reason to refuse. They had called your duo, especially, to invest in a larger-than-life show, given that your ideas would blow their minds. People with big money who were dangling a whole pack of carrots in front of two ambitious passionate creators. Your motivation was simple : gathering all kinds of story tellers. With the experience you and your friend had, the show would border perfection in execution, with people from all over the globe, hired for their talents and work ethic.  A month of intense focus would hopefully transform the dream into reality.

Your success depended on your and your bf’s efforts. It also relied on the people around you. Min Yoongi loved you for your creativity, your humanity, the way your ears were shaped, the way you stopped seeing your surroundings to immerse yourself in the picture you were trying to paint when telling a story. The observant Jimin never missed to point it out: Yoongi became silent everytime, all heart eyes. "It's just my favorite thing ever," the rapper shrugged. To you, it was incredibly comforting. Being loved by him and loving him provided enough security for you to challenge yourself to be better. Never before in a relationship could you have become a zombie in your personal life to favor a work project. But Yoongi got it. Silently, he took care of your personal life’s reality: the construction work in the bathroom, the packages, the finances, the groceries, and making sure you ate nutritious foods and slept a healing sleep. He was a soft presence, making sure you had everything you needed to hustle. Everytime you would try paying attention to him in the midst of an overwhelmed brain and painful exhaustion, he'd reassure you. "We have time, baby. Sleep, eat, work. Don't worry about me. I'm proud of you." I love you, you whisper out loud, smiling. You let yourself indulge a little more in the recent memories.

"Y/n, come back hug me in the kitchen. It's almost ready." Yoongi whined, his head peaking at the door of your bedroom. "I think you need a little break. That frown has been on your face since Monday." You nodded. "I'll be right there." He doubted it, but turned back humming. You closed your computer and put it on the floor on your side of the bed. Yoongi had moved the bed on the right side of the room when you moved. Before, when you walked in, the right side of the bed was right next to the door. You wanted the left side because it was closest to the window, which, capital-D Dramatic Yoongi-ssi could not comprehend how you could POSSIBLY imagine he would sleep on the right side of a bed..  "I need the window!!! I always sleep on the window side!! - Since when??! - Since the day I was born, and most likely in my past lived too, you said through your teeth. - You slept on the right side of the bed all right in New York, huh? - BECAUSE IT WAS NEXT TO THE WINDOW!!! I can’t sleep next to the door, what if robbers come in?? I need the right side! - What do you mean, if robbers come in?? You plan on leaving me for dead?! - You bet. It's each human for their lives, oppa." Despite your sarcastic tone at the word, Yoongi still smirked. Run BTS editors' would have put a blushing filter on his cheeks. "You're mean", he whined. You smiled at his flushing face, and wrapped your hands around his waist. His hands landed automatically on your shoulders. His instincts said to push you away, but his body maintained you in place. Back then, you thought Yoongi would never admit how much he loved how tactile you were. Skip forward a year and a half, and he demands his cuddles, like a big boy. "Let's just put the bed on the other side of the room, mh?" The softness of his tone made your heart flutter. You kissed his cheek. "You are such a great problem-solver, oppa. I love your mind. - ‘ehh"

You stretched in the bed, and rolled on your stomach, taking a deep breath in of yours and Yoongi's smells in the sheets. His lazy footsteps in the corridor were the last thing you heard before drifting off.

"My love..." Yoongi's hand was stroking your hair, his mouth landing little pecks on the side of your face. "Come eat, babe." His voice was so soft. "I'm sorry, honey boy. I'm just too tired. - It's been four weeks, y/n. You need a break now. Come eat, and take the morning off tomorrow. I'll take care of you." You sat up at the temptation. Bed hair and pouty lips did not take away the worried look on his face. "Two more days. Just two more days, and I'll be back. - I can do 24 hours at best. It's getting too much, you don't even sleep well anymore. I have received my fair share of slaps in the face in the middle of night." You laugh. "24 hours is not possible. I'm leaving at 6am tomorrow for Tokyo. bf and I have meetings all day. Then again on Friday. I should be back home Saturday morning. I'll wake you up in your favorite way. - With coffee? - And with coffee, sure. - Don't tease me. By Saturday, you will be close to decomposing from how dead you look right now. - Oh, thanks." He laughs. "Fine. Except you don't take care of me, I take care of you. Massages, cuddles, movies, bulgogi and fruity dairy free ice-cream... - Ooooh, dairy free ice cream? Sounds like you'll be taking care of yourself too. - Yeah, I deserve it. Plus, taking care of you is taking care of me. I need it, you need it. - Fair enough. Is there still room for sex? - Haha. Is there room for sex, haha. Hahaha. He shakes his shoulders as he pretends to laugh. - Does that mean a lot? your eyebrows question too. - I can't say for now. It depends on whether I'm dealing with a decomposing girlfriend, or if she's feeling herself. - Double standards. I see. - You better sleep well in the plane."

Five minutes of daydreaming have passed, and that's all the time you have. Back to work.

2 billion dollars. Two. Billion. Dollars. USD $2,000,000,000. 2,198,960,000,000 KRW. You and your best friend have been sitting in the airport lounge, processing. You thought you were developing a project for Japan. Turned out, the investors had planned to make it international all along. Tokyo, Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, Paris, El Jadida. The project will be ten times as big as you initially thought it would be, and extend over the course of three years. The team would be huge to help. Your dream had become reality five years ago when you both launched the company. You don't even know how to react to it being stretched like that.

The key-card to your door weighs a ton in your hand. You clumsily make your way inside, pushing your carrier in front of you. Shoes off, you drag your heavy body to the bedroom and let it crash into the bed. Naturally, Yoongi’s body is where it’s supposed to be, his knees in an L shape. Your face is planted in the blanket. Deep sigh. End of the road. Disconnect system. It’s break time. Long fingers find their way to your hair. “You good, baby? - Dude. Get up. Have so much to tell you.” You hear muffling. He's not moving. “Dude. Bf and I got a two BILLION check, get up. - Two billion?!” Yoongi is up. You proceed to tell him everything. Finally, you can explain to him what this project was about. He listens carefully, cheerfully, sometimes reacts excessively. You don’t care, you do the same because it feels like a reunion and you’re both overly excited to meet again. The both of you on the bed feels like being on your own island. Your tummy tickles with joy for the present, the moments you are going to spend with Yoongi and for the bigger picture with the unfolding of your project. Within a few hours of talking, the month of intense focus and routine is released. You fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, utterly relaxed. Yoongi presses a kiss between your nose and lips, first spot that came, before falling asleep too.

12PM. Eternal question: is it good morning or good afternoon? Knowing your boyfriend, you better think of it before you open your mouth. “Hi.” You say smiling. That will do. “Hi, love.” He breathes you in loudly. You wriggle your nose in his neck. His arms are wrapped around you, yours around him. Couldn’t think of a better place to be in. You both scratch yourselves on each other, rubbing your forehead on his cheek, him massaging your hands, kissing your hair, ears, kissing his nose, lips. For some reason, his bottom lip looks especially plumped to your half-open eyes. You spend more time nibbling on it, kissing it on its own without him giving the kiss back. Delicious. Hands rubbing all over, your brain starts working properly. Wait a minute? Yoongi’s usually soft tummy feels particularly toned. You lift the covers. “Mh, did I miss something? - Whatever, you hear him smirk though. - Come on, show me. - Aw, leave me alone, it’s cold.” He lies on his stomach, a big smile on his face making his cheeks look all soft and bite worthy. You allow yourself the indulgence. You are all excited now! You jump out of bed. "Okay, so coffee and then abs, okay?" With smily mhmhs, your adorable boyfriend rubs his face in the pillow. He's shy, you know. His body image is important to him. You feel bad for not having noticed. Knowing the man, he probably flaunted his buff bod as if it were nothing on week 1. Damn! Then on week 2, he most likely tried to have you feel them, "naturally". You're a little sad to have missed those cues, and some of them resurface in your foggy memory. Your routine was so strict during the past month: wake up, meditate, work out, to make sure your brain worked optimally during the day. Work outs were intense because serotonin helps a ton. Food was rich and nutritious, cooked with the most important ingredient in this household, the love of Min Yoongi. Not noticing the changes in your own body was a thing, but to miss out on your buff boyfriend? A no go. You grabbed everything to make him his iced coffee in the largest cup you could find, knowing he would l-o-v-e the look of quasi-eternal quantity. You were light on your feet, smiling at the peeled pineapple and singing to the pack of nuts. Yoongi’s face was slightly round a month ago, and he looked a little buff already. The first week, the fat must have melted a little bit to turn into juicy muscles. Then, with him making sure your brain was working full power, he fed himself the same foods. Your focus spur basically fed your boyfriend buff food. What did you do to yourself and above all, HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE IT?! As you put the spoons in the greek yogurts, you think of his little face smushed in the pillow as he pretended not to be excited by you finally noticing. You know that he's proud of himself and happy that you finally got all of your senses back. What a fun day ahead. With a smile up to your ears and a plate of things that should power up the man, you mini-skip back to your room.

Being with Yoongi meant you had about 10 boyfriends behind the same deep brown eyes. He could be a giggly chubby boy with his little bucket hats that he loved, making him look like an elf. He could be a meaty dude with an attitude and deep stare. He could be a skinny tech-boy with quick witts and always a book in his hands, and he could be business-Yoongi, dressed in all black and loving the sound of his big rings clinging together. What was even more beautiful was that all of these traits were interchangeable. Skinny Yoongi could have an attitude and a bucket hat. Buff Yoongi could be giggly and nerdy. He could do it all at anytime. Beneath it all, the constant of his intellect and emotionality made Min Yoongi appear as if he adorned a bow and ribbon at all times, ready to be gifted and unwrapped and enjoyed. Yum, you think.

"Coffee!"

Yoongi is on his phone in the bed. The AC is blasting hot air in a soothing sound. You can't help but laugh when you notice the naked skin of his chest peaking over the sheets, and his pyjamas thrown on the floor.

"Why-why-why? Why are you laughing? - Min Yoongi, I love it when you're feeling yourself. Please, drink this and put on a show for me. - Aren't you being a little dramatic? he hisses and bubbles his saliva. It's just abs and pecs, he says as he drinks, eye brows raising up his forehead. Five and six are barely defined.” He’s referring to his six-pack. You squint. “You..." He cocks his head as to say "I know, I'm hot" and your body is warming up.

Breakfast is made more delicious by Yoongi's feet rubbing against yours under the blanket. You're sitting cross-legged in front of each other, on the little island that is your bed. TV's turned on for some light background sound but you only hear Yoongi's giggles in between his smart clapbacks and mouthfuls of yoghurt. Eventually, the plate is moved to the side so your legs can extend on his lap and you feed him pieces of pineapple. Your fingers go a little too far into his mouth, and he relishes in your squirming when his lips brush them softly. Soon enough, his tongue is licking the tip and there's no pineapple left. Meaning, no reason to take your fingers away. Your leg on his hip tells your brain that in classic Yoongi fashion, he's not wearing any underwear. It's getting really hot between the sexual tension and the heater being turned all the way on. It is one of your favorite thing to do on days off: the heat allows you both to stay naked without worry. Positions can change as much as you like. Sweat drops make the whole thing more slippery and sexy. It's messy and delicious. You can't wait to be in the middle of the action, but remember to enjoy the foreplay. Yoongi's tongue acts as a wet bed on your ring finger. You relish in the look of his hollowed cheeks and suck on your skin. Your free hand has a great idea, on its own: exploring that built up chest. It's firm and the skin is soft and milky. It still holds a little bit of fat that makes his pectorals bouncy. He's going to fuck you, and they're going to move. Ugh. You swallow your saliva. Yoongi's eyes are getting rounder with arrousal. His traits go slightly down, showing he is getting hot and needy. You can feel pins and needles tickling your labia. Your boyfriend treats all of your fingers with the same lubbed up care. He opens his mouth to lick them from the stems to the tips. "I'm taking care of you today, remember? You relax and enjoy, understood?" You gulp and nod. Your first feeling is disappointment: when Yoongi says "I'll take care of you" it mostly means he won't put his cock in your mouth. That's okay. It will be for the next round. You're salivating. Meanwhile, Yoongi's mouth is going up your arm, on the sensitive thin skin inside your elbow and upper-arm. His tongue glides along. He creates the pattern: plumped bottom lip first, lubbed tongue, top lip. The three tightened together and make a wet sound when he moves onto another spot. Your legs feel numb. You're amused by Yoongi's needy look, but worried about your own. You feel so empty and deprived. Your head is already reversed back. Yoongi's special care is getting your muscles to relax one by one, better than any guided meditation ever. He stops for a second to take off your -his- t-shirt. He guides you to sit against the head board and his mouth latches on your right nipple instantly. The position is making you anticipate what you know he's leading to, but the nipple in his mouth is bringing you back to the present. The tongue is playful. Saliva dripping. Wet. It's the word that comes to your mind and you feel your pussy overflowing. Soft moans escape you. Your eyes are closed. You notice how relaxed your body is. Your arms are splayed on your sides and your back is one with the headboard. You're getting too relaxed. Yoongi makes his way to the other nipple and your body tenses up suddenly. Hands to his hair, ruffling. You realize his hands are on both sides of your stomach, keeping you still. You can't help to wonder for how long they've been there. "Yoongi..." It's not a prompt. You don't want him to go faster. Saying his name feels right. Yet, the air shifts. "y/n, mh" his raspy voice sends chills down your back. He kisses your mouth passionately and everything quickens. Shorter breaths, instant sweat. His hands cup your face to bring you to sit up. They slide down to your waist and you get up on your knees to let him grab your ass cheeks. He spreads them, making you moan as you feel your pussy more exposed. Your hands now cup his cheeks to get him closer, before sliding in the back of his head to plunge your fingers in his silky hair. Yoongi's hard bare cock is pressing against your cotton underwear.  Both your hands go down to his shoulders in a light touch. In the midst of anticipation, you both are melting under each other's touch. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips, yours in his shoulders. "You're leaking" you say, looking down at the wet tip of his cock and the wetness sticking to your lower stomach. "No kidding." You smile into another kiss. He dips in your neck to leave wet kisses. As your head angles to give him more space, you catch a glimpse of your reflexion in the mirror. His perky toned ass is jerking up and down as he slowly ruts against you. Your hands powerlessly fall on his ass, and the image brings you back to the urgency. You squeeze and get his mouth back on your own. He spreads your legs bringing his hands in between your thighs. He is so needy. Yoongi slides his member up and down your slit and starts slowly penetrating you. Your pussy fills up slowly. He pushes himself as deeply in as he can, stays still for a couple seconds and slides back out, his tip still lightly touching your entrance. You open your eyes to look at him in the mirror, slim legs steady on the bed. Your hands still on his ass cheeks, he pushes himself back in. It's slow, controlled, powerful. He goes in the same way for a third time: "Fuck, I love you." You smile. He's not talking to you, but to your pussy. You kiss him and press on his hips to have him go faster. "I turn around? - Yes." His arms wrap around your waist softly as you press your back against his front. One hand holding onto the wall, the other on the back of his neck. You arch your back to give him better access. His cock fills you up again, this time offering your G-spot some electrifying friction. His rythm accelerates, senses slowly getting lost. He starts groaning, you start moaning. Somehow, your brain manages to list very quickly everything you'll do to him, and everything you'll have him do to you. It turns you on even more, fantasizing about Yoongi and you having more sex while having sex. His long middle finger comes pressing your clit, going up and down to your entrance, where he invites the tip of it to join his dick. You always thought of his fingers as fingering fingers. They’re the perfect shape. Your pussy is pliant and delirious. She's directing your body and your mind. None of what she says makes logical sense but, fuck, she happy. The chills in your spine, your erected nipples, Yoongi tightly pressed against you. His head often reverses back, chasing his own pleasure, hipsRemind me what you said you were going to do to me, please.You waited a few seconds. Yoongi was looking at his screen, you knew it because he just had answered you at lightspeed. Yet the 3 dots wouldn't stop dancing. When they did, no answer appeared. Cool. Left on read, nice. You laughed it off, your boyfriend of three years being prone to this type of behavior. You also predicted to receive an elaborate answer in a couple hours, once the moment was gone. In the meantime, you should get back to work.It had been about a month of overworking yourself for this massive new project. You were working on it with your best friend, in the interest of a big client. The stakes were big. Within this single project, you would provide a job to about 1000 artists, show engineers, students who wanted to debut in the business, and another thousand jobs in merch production. The reflexion upon finances was mind wracking, but was also the most rewarding. Everyone should be paid as much as possible. The show should be of the utmost quality which would require hours and hours of paid rehearsals. You and your best friend had to figure out the whole plan, the whole system, in order for the buyer to have no reason to refuse. They had called your duo, especially, to invest in a larger-than-life show, given that your ideas would blow their minds. People with big money who were dangling a whole pack of carrots in front of two ambitious passionate creators. Your motivation was simple : gathering all kinds of story tellers. With the experience you and your friend had, the show would border perfection in execution, with people from all over the globe, hired for their talents and work ethic. A month of intense focus would hopefully transform the dream into reality.Your success depended on your and your bf’s efforts. It also relied on the people around you. Min Yoongi loved you for your creativity, your humanity, the way your ears were shaped, the way you stopped seeing your surroundings to immerse yourself in the picture you were trying to paint when telling a story. The observant Jimin never missed to point it out: Yoongi became silent everytime, all heart eyes. "It's just my favorite thing ever," the rapper shrugged. To you, it was incredibly comforting. Being loved by him and loving him provided enough security for you to challenge yourself to be better. Never before in a relationship could you have become a zombie in your personal life to favor a work project. But Yoongi got it. Silently, he took care of your personal life’s reality: the construction work in the bathroom, the packages, the finances, the groceries, and making sure you ate nutritious foods and slept a healing sleep. He was a soft presence, making sure you had everything you needed to hustle. Everytime you would try paying attention to him in the midst of an overwhelmed brain and painful exhaustion, he'd reassure you. "We have time, baby. Sleep, eat, work. Don't worry about me. I'm proud of you." I love you, you whisper out loud, smiling. You let yourself indulge a little more in the recent memories."Y/n, come back hug me in the kitchen. It's almost ready." Yoongi whined, his head peaking at the door of your bedroom. "I think you need a little break. That frown has been on your face since Monday." You nodded. "I'll be right there." He doubted it, but turned back humming. You closed your computer and put it on the floor on your side of the bed. Yoongi had moved the bed on the right side of the room when you moved. Before, when you walked in, the right side of the bed was right next to the door. You wanted the left side because it was closest to the window, which, capital-D Dramatic Yoongi-ssi could not comprehend how you could POSSIBLY imagine he would sleep on the right side of a bed.. "I need the window!!! I always sleep on the window side!! - Since when??! - Since the day I was born, and most likely in my past lived too, you said through your teeth. - You slept on the right side of the bed all right in New York, huh? - BECAUSE IT WAS NEXT TO THE WINDOW!!! I can’t sleep next to the door, what if robbers come in?? I need the right side! - What do you mean, if robbers come in?? You plan on leaving me for dead?! - You bet. It's each human for their lives, oppa." Despite your sarcastic tone at the word, Yoongi still smirked. Run BTS editors' would have put a blushing filter on his cheeks. "You're mean", he whined. You smiled at his flushing face, and wrapped your hands around his waist. His hands landed automatically on your shoulders. His instincts said to push you away, but his body maintained you in place. Back then, you thought Yoongi would never admit how much he loved how tactile you were. Skip forward a year and a half, and he demands his cuddles, like a big boy. "Let's just put the bed on the other side of the room, mh?" The softness of his tone made your heart flutter. You kissed his cheek. "You are such a great problem-solver, oppa. I love your mind. - ‘ehh"You stretched in the bed, and rolled on your stomach, taking a deep breath in of yours and Yoongi's smells in the sheets. His lazy footsteps in the corridor were the last thing you heard before drifting off."My love..." Yoongi's hand was stroking your hair, his mouth landing little pecks on the side of your face. "Come eat, babe." His voice was so soft. "I'm sorry, honey boy. I'm just too tired. - It's been four weeks, y/n. You need a break now. Come eat, and take the morning off tomorrow. I'll take care of you." You sat up at the temptation. Bed hair and pouty lips did not take away the worried look on his face. "Two more days. Just two more days, and I'll be back. - I can do 24 hours at best. It's getting too much, you don't even sleep well anymore. I have received my fair share of slaps in the face in the middle of night." You laugh. "24 hours is not possible. I'm leaving at 6am tomorrow for Tokyo. bf and I have meetings all day. Then again on Friday. I should be back home Saturday morning. I'll wake you up in your favorite way. - With coffee? - And with coffee, sure. - Don't tease me. By Saturday, you will be close to decomposing from how dead you look right now. - Oh, thanks." He laughs. "Fine. Except you don't take care of me, I take care of you. Massages, cuddles, movies, bulgogi and fruity dairy free ice-cream... - Ooooh, dairy free ice cream? Sounds like you'll be taking care of yourself too. - Yeah, I deserve it. Plus, taking care of you is taking care of me. I need it, you need it. - Fair enough. Is there still room for sex? - Haha. Is there room for sex, haha. Hahaha. He shakes his shoulders as he pretends to laugh. - Does that mean a lot? your eyebrows question too. - I can't say for now. It depends on whether I'm dealing with a decomposing girlfriend, or if she's feeling herself. - Double standards. I see. - You better sleep well in the plane."Five minutes of daydreaming have passed, and that's all the time you have. Back to work.2 billion dollars. Two. Billion. Dollars. USD $2,000,000,000. 2,198,960,000,000 KRW. You and your best friend have been sitting in the airport lounge, processing. You thought you were developing a project for Japan. Turned out, the investors had planned to make it international all along. Tokyo, Buenos Aires, Los Angeles, Paris, El Jadida. The project will be ten times as big as you initially thought it would be, and extend over the course of three years. The team would be huge to help. Your dream had become reality five years ago when you both launched the company. You don't even know how to react to it being stretched like that.The key-card to your door weighs a ton in your hand. You clumsily make your way inside, pushing your carrier in front of you. Shoes off, you drag your heavy body to the bedroom and let it crash into the bed. Naturally, Yoongi’s body is where it’s supposed to be, his knees in an L shape. Your face is planted in the blanket. Deep sigh. End of the road. Disconnect system. It’s break time. Long fingers find their way to your hair. “You good, baby? - Dude. Get up. Have so much to tell you.” You hear muffling. He's not moving. “Dude. Bf and I got a two BILLION check, get up. - Two billion?!” Yoongi is up. You proceed to tell him everything. Finally, you can explain to him what this project was about. He listens carefully, cheerfully, sometimes reacts excessively. You don’t care, you do the same because it feels like a reunion and you’re both overly excited to meet again. The both of you on the bed feels like being on your own island. Your tummy tickles with joy for the present, the moments you are going to spend with Yoongi and for the bigger picture with the unfolding of your project. Within a few hours of talking, the month of intense focus and routine is released. You fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, utterly relaxed. Yoongi presses a kiss between your nose and lips, first spot that came, before falling asleep too.12PM. Eternal question: is it good morning or good afternoon? Knowing your boyfriend, you better think of it before you open your mouth. “Hi.” You say smiling. That will do. “Hi, love.” He breathes you in loudly. You wriggle your nose in his neck. His arms are wrapped around you, yours around him. Couldn’t think of a better place to be in. You both scratch yourselves on each other, rubbing your forehead on his cheek, him massaging your hands, kissing your hair, ears, kissing his nose, lips. For some reason, his bottom lip looks especially plumped to your half-open eyes. You spend more time nibbling on it, kissing it on its own without him giving the kiss back. Delicious. Hands rubbing all over, your brain starts working properly. Wait a minute? Yoongi’s usually soft tummy feels particularly toned. You lift the covers. “Mh, did I miss something? - Whatever, you hear him smirk though. - Come on, show me. - Aw, leave me alone, it’s cold.” He lies on his stomach, a big smile on his face making his cheeks look all soft and bite worthy. You allow yourself the indulgence. You are all excited now! You jump out of bed. "Okay, so coffee and then abs, okay?" With smily mhmhs, your adorable boyfriend rubs his face in the pillow. He's shy, you know. His body image is important to him. You feel bad for not having noticed. Knowing the man, he probably flaunted his buff bod as if it were nothing on week 1. Damn! Then on week 2, he most likely tried to have you feel them, "naturally". You're a little sad to have missed those cues, and some of them resurface in your foggy memory. Your routine was so strict during the past month: wake up, meditate, work out, to make sure your brain worked optimally during the day. Work outs were intense because serotonin helps a ton. Food was rich and nutritious, cooked with the most important ingredient in this household, the love of Min Yoongi. Not noticing the changes in your own body was a thing, but to miss out on your buff boyfriend? A no go. You grabbed everything to make him his iced coffee in the largest cup you could find, knowing he would l-o-v-e the look of quasi-eternal quantity. You were light on your feet, smiling at the peeled pineapple and singing to the pack of nuts. Yoongi’s face was slightly round a month ago, and he looked a little buff already. The first week, the fat must have melted a little bit to turn into juicy muscles. Then, with him making sure your brain was working full power, he fed himself the same foods. Your focus spur basically fed your boyfriend buff food. What did you do to yourself and above all, HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE IT?! As you put the spoons in the greek yogurts, you think of his little face smushed in the pillow as he pretended not to be excited by you finally noticing. You know that he's proud of himself and happy that you finally got all of your senses back. What a fun day ahead. With a smile up to your ears and a plate of things that should power up the man, you mini-skip back to your room.Being with Yoongi meant you had about 10 boyfriends behind the same deep brown eyes. He could be a giggly chubby boy with his little bucket hats that he loved, making him look like an elf. He could be a meaty dude with an attitude and deep stare. He could be a skinny tech-boy with quick witts and always a book in his hands, and he could be business-Yoongi, dressed in all black and loving the sound of his big rings clinging together. What was even more beautiful was that all of these traits were interchangeable. Skinny Yoongi could have an attitude and a bucket hat. Buff Yoongi could be giggly and nerdy. He could do it all at anytime. Beneath it all, the constant of his intellect and emotionality made Min Yoongi appear as if he adorned a bow and ribbon at all times, ready to be gifted and unwrapped and enjoyed. Yum, you think."Coffee!"Yoongi is on his phone in the bed. The AC is blasting hot air in a soothing sound. You can't help but laugh when you notice the naked skin of his chest peaking over the sheets, and his pyjamas thrown on the floor."Why-why-why? Why are you laughing? - Min Yoongi, I love it when you're feeling yourself. Please, drink this and put on a show for me. - Aren't you being a little dramatic? he hisses and bubbles his saliva. It's just abs and pecs, he says as he drinks, eye brows raising up his forehead. Five and six are barely defined.” He’s referring to his six-pack. You squint. “You..." He cocks his head as to say "I know, I'm hot" and your body is warming up.Breakfast is made more delicious by Yoongi's feet rubbing against yours under the blanket. You're sitting cross-legged in front of each other, on the little island that is your bed. TV's turned on for some light background sound but you only hear Yoongi's giggles in between his smart clapbacks and mouthfuls of yoghurt. Eventually, the plate is moved to the side so your legs can extend on his lap and you feed him pieces of pineapple. Your fingers go a little too far into his mouth, and he relishes in your squirming when his lips brush them softly. Soon enough, his tongue is licking the tip and there's no pineapple left. Meaning, no reason to take your fingers away. Your leg on his hip tells your brain that in classic Yoongi fashion, he's not wearing any underwear. It's getting really hot between the sexual tension and the heater being turned all the way on. It is one of your favorite thing to do on days off: the heat allows you both to stay naked without worry. Positions can change as much as you like. Sweat drops make the whole thing more slippery and sexy. It's messy and delicious. You can't wait to be in the middle of the action, but remember to enjoy the foreplay. Yoongi's tongue acts as a wet bed on your ring finger. You relish in the look of his hollowed cheeks and suck on your skin. Your free hand has a great idea, on its own: exploring that built up chest. It's firm and the skin is soft and milky. It still holds a little bit of fat that makes his pectorals bouncy. He's going to fuck you, and they're going to move. Ugh. You swallow your saliva. Yoongi's eyes are getting rounder with arrousal. His traits go slightly down, showing he is getting hot and needy. You can feel pins and needles tickling your labia. Your boyfriend treats all of your fingers with the same lubbed up care. He opens his mouth to lick them from the stems to the tips. "I'm taking care of you today, remember? You relax and enjoy, understood?" You gulp and nod. Your first feeling is disappointment: when Yoongi says "I'll take care of you" it mostly means he won't put his cock in your mouth. That's okay. It will be for the next round. You're salivating. Meanwhile, Yoongi's mouth is going up your arm, on the sensitive thin skin inside your elbow and upper-arm. His tongue glides along. He creates the pattern: plumped bottom lip first, lubbed tongue, top lip. The three tightened together and make a wet sound when he moves onto another spot. Your legs feel numb. You're amused by Yoongi's needy look, but worried about your own. You feel so empty and deprived. Your head is already reversed back. Yoongi's special care is getting your muscles to relax one by one, better than any guided meditation ever. He stops for a second to take off your -his- t-shirt. He guides you to sit against the head board and his mouth latches on your right nipple instantly. The position is making you anticipate what you know he's leading to, but the nipple in his mouth is bringing you back to the present. The tongue is playful. Saliva dripping. Wet. It's the word that comes to your mind and you feel your pussy overflowing. Soft moans escape you. Your eyes are closed. You notice how relaxed your body is. Your arms are splayed on your sides and your back is one with the headboard. You're getting too relaxed. Yoongi makes his way to the other nipple and your body tenses up suddenly. Hands to his hair, ruffling. You realize his hands are on both sides of your stomach, keeping you still. You can't help to wonder for how long they've been there. "Yoongi..." It's not a prompt. You don't want him to go faster. Saying his name feels right. Yet, the air shifts. "y/n, mh" his raspy voice sends chills down your back. He kisses your mouth passionately and everything quickens. Shorter breaths, instant sweat. His hands cup your face to bring you to sit up. They slide down to your waist and you get up on your knees to let him grab your ass cheeks. He spreads them, making you moan as you feel your pussy more exposed. Your hands now cup his cheeks to get him closer, before sliding in the back of his head to plunge your fingers in his silky hair. Yoongi's hard bare cock is pressing against your cotton underwear.  Both your hands go down to his shoulders in a light touch. In the midst of anticipation, you both are melting under each other's touch. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips, yours in his shoulders. "You're leaking" you say, looking down at the wet tip of his cock and the wetness sticking to your lower stomach. "No kidding." You smile into another kiss. He dips in your neck to leave wet kisses. As your head angles to give him more space, you catch a glimpse of your reflexion in the mirror. His perky toned ass is jerking up and down as he slowly ruts against you. Your hands powerlessly fall on his ass, and the image brings you back to the urgency. You squeeze and get his mouth back on your own. He spreads your legs bringing his hands in between your thighs. He is so needy. Yoongi slides his member up and down your slit and starts slowly penetrating you. Your pussy fills up slowly. He pushes himself as deeply in as he can, stays still for a couple seconds and slides back out, his tip still lightly touching your entrance. You open your eyes to look at him in the mirror, slim legs steady on the bed. Your hands still on his ass cheeks, he pushes himself back in. It's slow, controlled, powerful. He goes in the same way for a third time: "Fuck, I love you." You smile. He's not talking to you, but to your pussy. You kiss him and press on his hips to have him go faster. "I turn around? - Yes." His arms wrap around your waist softly as you press your back against his front. One hand holding onto the wall, the other on the back of his neck. You arch your back to give him better access. His cock fills you up again, this time offering your G-spot some electrifying friction. His rythm accelerates, senses slowly getting lost. He starts groaning, you start moaning. Somehow, your brain manages to list very quickly everything you'll do to him, and everything you'll have him do to you. It turns you on even more, fantasizing about Yoongi and you having more sex while having sex. His long middle finger comes pressing your clit, going up and down to your entrance, where he invites the tip of it to join his dick. You always thought of his fingers as fingering fingers. They’re the perfect shape. Your pussy is pliant and delirious. She's directing your body and your mind. None of what she says makes logical sense but, fuck, she happy. The chills in your spine, your erected nipples, Yoongi tightly pressed against you. His head often reverses back, chasing his own pleasure, hips jerking quickly. Your hand keeps ruffling his hair. It’s rough and soft all at the same time. The movement of his hips become uncontrolled and erratic. Mh. The climax has him groan louder while you let out a deep audible sigh. He stays in, enjoying your warmth, catching his breath, humming softly, almost whining but in a low register. You come down from your high and kiss his cheek. He kisses yours, your neck, your shoulder before pulling out, your juices dripping down his veiny pale shaft and your legs. His hands settle on your sides, encouraging you to turn around. You embrace each other, tightly, both your hearts pounding. "I missed you. - I missed you too." Kiss. His tongue intertwines with yours and you're reminded of the dripping mess he made in your pussy. You put both your hands on each side of his precious head: "Clean me up, will you? - Mhmh" Yoongi pushes you back, spreads your legs, and laps away. Slowly and langidly. Cherry on the cake.Yoongi showers first to leave for his one meeting today. You'll have about two hours to yourself. Enough time for you to clean up the house, unpack your carrier, and take care of any little mundane task you overlooked this month. You both agreed on a 2000 pieces puzzle to order for when he comes back. What you don't think about is that sometimes, when you make plans, your cunt sneakily laughs. A puzzle? Not today.g quickly. Your hand keeps ruffling his hair. It’s rough and soft all at the same time. The movement of his hips become uncontrolled and erratic. Mh. The climax has him groan louder while you let out a deep audible sigh. He stays in, enjoying your warmth, catching his breath, humming softly, almost whining but in a low register. You come down from your high and kiss his cheek. He kisses yours, your neck, your shoulder before pulling out, your juices dripping down his veiny pale shaft and your legs. His hands settle on your sides, encouraging you to turn around. You embrace each other, tightly, both your hearts pounding. "I missed you. - I missed you too." Kiss. His tongue intertwines with yours and you're reminded of the dripping mess he made in your pussy. You put both your hands on each side of his precious head: "Clean me up, will you? - Mhmh" Yoongi pushes you back, spreads your legs, and laps away. Slowly and langidly. Cherry on the cake.

Yoongi showers first to leave for his one meeting today. You'll have about two hours to yourself. Enough time for you to clean up the house, unpack your carrier, and take care of any little mundane task you overlooked this month. You both agreed on a 2000 pieces puzzle to order for when he comes back. What you don't think about is that sometimes, when you make plans, your cunt sneakily laughs. A puzzle? Not today.

[searchingforstarss]

failure’s a stranger we all dream about

febuwhump/fluff fic #5! written for the fluff prompt missing you and the whump prompts revealed secret, creators choice (i’ve gone with some classic college stress) and mental disorder. 

Summary: Peter’s college workload and anxiety makes him worry that maybe he’s not good enough for Tony.

read on ao3 here!

--

The only thing coursing through Peter’s veins is Red Bull.

May would probably go into cardiac arrest if she could see how many empty cans of the stuff Peter has littered on the desk around him. It's not like he can help it. He just burns through it so fast and he really needs to stay awake tonight - his Circuits and Electronics assignment isn’t going to write itself, as much as he wishes it would.

So, here he is, with an assignment due tomorrow and an empty word document in front of him. The questions on his laptop screen are blurring together, burning into his eyeballs in the dim late-night light of the library and he has to blink a couple of times to refocus.

Which of the following is an effect of reflective radio frequency power?

What is the frequency of the source if the capacitive reactance is 0.06?

Compared to bipolar transistors, field effect transistors are normally characterized by what?

He knows all this. He does. Or at least, he should know all this. He should be able to do it in his sleep. He’s been doing this stuff with Tony in his lab since he was fifteen. He’s had adults telling him that he’s a genius his entire life.

So why is it so hard to think?

He just has to focus. That’s all it is. He hasn’t been putting enough work in lately, letting himself get distracted.

He takes another gulp of his Red Bull determinedly as he feels his eyes start to slip shut again.

If his hands are shaking from the caffeine as he picks up his calculator then nobody needs to know.

 ---

Peter glances up wildly to a tap on his shoulder.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he’s gotten through four pages of his assignment questions and one more can of Red Bull.

At this point, he wonders whether it would be cheaper to kick the Red Bull habit and just take up drugs instead. Tony and May have been encouraging him to experiment in college. He thinks they probably just mean meeting new people, putting himself out there, maybe having a drink or two every so often. Drugs might be a bit extreme then.

Another tap on his shoulder.

The librarian is standing behind him. Her name’s Gale.

She really is very nice. Her greying hair and rounded glasses remind him of May’s mother that he only knew for a few years before she passed away when he was younger. She's always the one that has to ask him to leave night after night when the clock strikes midnight. Usually, he’s the only one left. Especially on a Thursday night like tonight, when everyone seems to be out partying to celebrate Friday’s imminent arrival.

Peter wonders whether May and Tony would be disappointed that all he’s really managed to accomplish in the way of meeting new people and putting himself out there is being on first name terms with the librarian.

Who's he kidding? Of course they would. He's been doing a lot more to disappoint them than just that. 

“Mister Parker, you know I have to tell you to leave.”

Peter sighs. He still has at least two pages of questions left to go. “Yeah, Gale. I know. Thanks.”

She watches as he gathers his things, and as he does, her eyes sweep over the cans of the Red Bull on the desk and pointedly up towards the sign on the wall reading “Strictly NO Food or Drink.” She never explicitly mentions it and Peter’s grateful because he’s not sure how he’d make it through without the pick-me-up, but he’s sure the second he goes anywhere near her library books with it rather than just his own laptop he’ll be hearing all about it. Especially if it’s her precious history section. He swears she spends half her time arranging, then rearranging it, seemingly for the hell of it - hardly anyone ever ventures into that section of the library.

Peter sheepishly gathers all of his mess into his arms and dumps it into his unzipped backpack, along with his laptop. The metal of the empty cans clink together as he slings his bag over one shoulder.

“Get out of here and get some rest,” Gale tells him pointedly, shooing him towards the exit.

“I will,” Peter says, nodding dutifully. He hopes that he isn’t lying through his teeth. Getting some rest sounds great. A faraway and unrealistic ideal maybe, but great all the same. It’s a shame all his mind can focus on is the rest of the assignment still sitting unfinished in his laptop files. “Have a good night.”

She gives him a wave as he steps out into the cool night air and as the doors shut behind him, she turns back towards the stack of books she’d been shelving behind her desk with a sad sort of smile. She always looks just a little bit sorry for him and Peter isn’t sure why.

He’s surely far from the only student at MIT who's overestimated their own skill and fallen victim to it.

---

The thing is, Peter really just didn’t expect college to be this hard.

That sounds kind of obnoxious whenever he thinks about it. Of course, he knew MIT was going to be a challenge. That was why Tony kept pushing him for it, telling him that it would extend him and allow him to ‘spread his wings’ in a way that not many colleges would.

He just didn’t exactly expect to be spending almost every night in the library.

He didn’t expect every new assignment to feel like a new weight on his chest until suddenly it’s the middle of the semester and he can’t breathe from the stress.

He didn’t expect to be falling behind.

He could keep up in high school without even having to try. He could skip studying, go out as Spider-Man and turn up to school the next day on barely a wink of sleep and with a freshly stitched up bullet wound in his side and still ace all his tests. He had Tony and May at his side, supporting him every step of the way.

Now they’re miles and miles away and he misses them. He tries not to wallow in it. He doesn’t want to look like a fool. He definitely doesn’t want to have to return to New York with his tail between his legs and have to admit to Tony and Pepper that actually they’ve made a mistake naming him as a joint heir to Stark Industries, that he can’t even handle a basic college education let alone running an entire company - especially one that’s worth billions.

It doesn't help that all of his professors seem to know Tony either. They don’t call Peter out for turning in the odd piece of homework late or getting distracted in class like they might do for anyone else. Instead, they give him pats on the back in hallways and tell him fondly that, “Tony must be so proud of you, following in his footsteps.”

Tony wouldn’t be, though. Not if he knew how much effort Peter was having to put in to keep his head above the water.

He just wants Tony to be proud of him.

He has to work harder - that’s the only way.

---

Completely disregarding his earlier resolution, Peter falls asleep in class the next morning.

He made it through the first fifteen minutes at least. Enough time to turn in his assignment as he stepped through the doors of the lecture hall (even if he did have to stay up until four am to do it, along with the Computation Structures homework he forgot about) and find a seat.

He ends up to a girl he’s fairly sure is called Angela. He’s paired up with her for one of their classes. Nanoelectronics, maybe? He’s convinced that she harbours a very strong dislike for him (he doesn’t like to admit that it’s probably because he never really gets his share of their work done in time) but it sure beats sitting through a two-hour lecture by himself. He’s always at more of a risk of nodding off if he holes away alone in a corner of the room.

But as it turns out, even sitting next to Angela and the furious tapping of her nails against the keyboard as she struggles to get down everything from the PowerPoint at the front of the room isn’t enough to keep Peter awake.

“And now we’re going to move on to…” Peter zones out the rest of the sentence just as their lecturer is just foraying into something about electrical current. He gives in to his losing battle with consciousness and falls asleep with his head in his hands.

 “... will be all for today. I’ll see you all next week.”

Peter jerks awake fifty minutes later to the sound of rustling and movement around him, hundreds of people stowing their laptops and notes away in their bags to go.

Angela is staring at him, clearly waiting for him to stow his desk back up so she can get past. He fumbles a little drowsily as he puts everything away, and as he stands she steps past him and towards the exit of the row. He stares down at his note page for today’s lecture which has nothing but the date scrawled at the top.

“Hey, wait, um, Angela?”

She turns around.

“It’s Angelica, actually.”

Peter cringes. Shit. “Sorry, I knew that, I swear,” he says, trying to sound as confident as he can. Angela (No, Angelica) cocks one eyebrow. She’s clearly seeing right through it. Peter feels his cheeks heat up. “I was just wondering whether, uh, do you reckon I could get your notes for today?”

She stares at him incredulously for a second.

“Get lost, Parker.”

--- 

Peter’s living in a single room this year, courtesy of Tony.

He wasn’t a massive fan of the idea at first, and at the moment he’s honestly not even sure why Tony’s bothering to pay for it when over the last month or so he’s been spending so much time in the library. He figures Tony would have been better off just forking out for a sleeping bag for him to set up under one of the tables instead (he doesn’t think Gale would like that all that much though).

It was their compromise. Peter let Tony pay for him to have a single room, and he got to carry on Spider-Manning when he’s needed. Sure, it’s not exactly the nightly patrols and throwing himself in the direction of danger every time his spidey sense so much as prickles like he might get up to in New York - but maybe that’s a good thing. At least he’s still in control. He can head out whenever if he needs to get involved, and return to patch himself up, however bloody he may be, without scaring one of his poor fellow already-stressed-out-enough-as-it-is undergraduate students.

Sure, maybe it means that everything seems a little quiet. There isn’t the sound of May’s soapy TV shows that she loves floating through from the living room or FRIDAY humming in the walls. He’s not used to the quiet, to being alone. Ned’s here though, so at least he doesn’t have to miss him. He lives a few floors down, rooming with a guy called Daniel - he’s cool enough and he doesn’t seem to mind Peter hanging around their room. Peter went to a few of the O-Week activities with them. Sometimes they all get together and play video games in the common lounge on a Saturday night.

So he’s not lonely. Definitely not.

He doesn’t even have time to think about being lonely.

It’s just sometimes, he needs to see a familiar face, and then he’s really glad that Ned’s here as well.

---

“Dude, I asked Angela - uh, no, Angelica, for her notes for that circuits lecture I just had and she just totally refused to help me. That’s like, uncalled for, right?”

Ned doesn’t even turn around at the sound of Peter’s voice as he walks straight in the door of the dorm room.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will next time, promise. But I need validation.”

Ned shrugs and spins around in his chair to face Peter. He looks well-rested, no dark circles under his eyes like Peter caught on himself in the reflection of the glass doors as he stepped into his lecture this morning. He kicks his feet up onto the bed. “Okay. Well, I need context."

Peter grimaces a little and Ned stares at him accusingly. Peter groans, taking a seat heavily at the end of Ned’s bed and throwing his head back against the wall petulantly. “She literally straight up just looked at me and was like no.”

Ned doesn’t look all that sympathetic. “Did you fall asleep in class again?”

Peter nods reluctantly. Ned thinks it over.

“I mean, it’s shit, but it’s also kinda your fault. Sorry to break it to you, but you really gotta stop doing that, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.” He groans. “Why did nobody tell us that college was going to be this hard?”

Ned’s forehead creases as if he’s trying to work something out. When he speaks, it’s slowly. “I don’t think it’s been too bad so far…”

Great. Peter’s just the stupid one then.

“Is everything going okay with you?”

Peter nods out of reflex. He’s never found anything academic difficult in his life. He can’t admit it now. Deflect, deflect, deflect. “Oh yeah, course. Just a little stressed. I keep leaving homework until the last minute, shit like that.”

Ned nods like he understands. Peter’s not sure he does.

---

“Mister Parker, could I speak to you for a minute?”

Peter’s heart begins thumping unnecessarily forcefully when his biological engineering professor calls this out as he’s leaving class a few days later.

He’s more than a little bit intimidated, to be honest. Not only is the man singling him out of the hundreds of students flooding out of their lecture hall right now, but he’s friends with Bruce. Bruce was the one who suggested he take this Ethics for Engineers paper back when he was course planning with Tony. Tony insisted that if he was going to be granted an exception to take five courses in his first semester then one of them had to be an elective - something he could kick back in a cruise through a little.

Bruce had suggested something like this, no matter how much Tony protested that he was absolutely not going to lose Peter to anything to do with biology. But Bruce said that William Nicholson was the bioengineering professor to learn from, and now here Peter is, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans before shoving them into his pockets altogether, standing in front of the man himself.

“I - uh, yes, Professor Nicholson?”

The man smiles kindly. “Call me William, Peter.”

Peter just nods stiffly. “Is everything okay?”

“I just wanted to have a quick chat with you about your grades so far. I know the first semester of college can be tricky to navigate and I’m just a little concerned about how you’re faring.”

“I’m fine,” Peter blurts, nodding his head furiously. “I’m fine, honest.”

His professor looks unconvinced. “I have to say, when Bruce Banner got into contact with me before the year started, and he told me that he knew this brilliant kid starting college and taking one of my papers, I-”

“I get it,” Peter breaks in. He doesn’t need to hear the rest. He knows he’s a disappointment. “Turns out I’m not as brilliant as everyone thinks I am.”

Professor Nicholson raises his eyebrows over the top of his glasses. “That’s not what I was going to say at all Peter. What I was going to say is that I don’t think he was wrong, not in the slightest. I think you just need to keep your head screwed on straight and maybe just pull your socks up a little, put a bit more work in.”

Put a bit more work in.

Peter doesn’t know how much he has left in him. He doesn’t know how he could physically be doing more in a day.

“I - I, um,” Peter stumbles, trying to wrap his head around the words. “Uh, okay. What can I do, how do I put more work in?”

I can’t.

He’s already spending practically every waking minute either studying, or performing the basic functions necessary for human life like eating and showering, whilst simultaneously worrying about not studying.

I can’t put any more work in. I might drown.

“I don’t know how to put this lightly. You’re getting grades for attendance but everything else so far has been handed in late, or otherwise, may I say, completed fairly mediocrely. I don’t know if others are willing to let that slide, but I for one, am not. I understand this class isn’t worth as many units as others, and you may not view it as equally important, but if you carry along this projected path you’re setting for yourself, you’ll fail this class, Peter.”

Fail.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Peter’s never failed a class before. He’s never even failed a test (apart from once when he was in a medically induced coma after nearly drowning in the Hudson the night before but he really thinks he should have been given a make-up opportunity for that).

He can’t fail.

Peter Parker doesn’t fail. Peter Parker is a genius - that’s what everyone’s always told him. Has he been fooling the people around him for years? Tricking them into thinking he’s smarter than he is?

Starks’ definitely don’t fail. That’s a fact. Peter’s expected to run Stark Industries one day. He can’t do that with a failed class imprinted onto his college manuscript forever.

Tony will be so disappointed in him.

“I can’t - I, no. I can’t fail, s-sir. I really can’t.”

Professor Nicholson’s mouth settles into a regretful line. “You won’t, necessarily. I just thought it would be wise to warn you. I can assign you a few pieces of extra-credit work if you wish, but mostly I just need to see better work. Get a few Bs, maybe an A, and that should pull you up over the line.”

“O-Okay, I can do that.”

Can I?

“Thanks for chatting with me, Peter. I just thought you should know.”

Peter nods dumbly. He thinks maybe he stumbles out a goodbye but he’s not too sure, his breathing stuttering and catching in his throat as he hastily turns to exit the room as quickly as he can.

He’s a failure.

The hallway outside the lecture hall is full of students waiting for their next class to start. They’re all unfamiliar faces, he doesn’t recognise any of them, and he pushes his way through people. His heart is still racing in his chest.

He’s failing.

He just needs to get away, but he can’t remember where he’s going or what class he has next. His phone screen blurs in front of him when he tugs it out of his pocket, and he hopes he’s not crying because god that would be embarrassing.

His breathing quickens again. He’s panicking, he knows he is. He’s well acquainted with this feeling, the way his chest contracts and his mouth dries out and the world spins around him. The way his limbs tingle and his mind narrows in on one specific thing.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

He shoves open the door to the first bathrooms he stumbles upon, keeping his head down and hoping that he doesn’t draw too much attention to himself. He nearly knocks someone over in his rush to hide himself away inside one of the stalls, and he bumbles out a stupid sounding apology before he slumps down on a toilet seat and locks the door firmly behind him.

Nothing seems to be working as Peter screws his eyes closed and tries to force his breathing back down to a semi-normal rate and ease the ache in his chest. The word failure keeps floating around in his head, emblazoned to the front of his mind. He may as well have it tattooed on his forehead.

The only semi-coherent thought he can conjure up in his panic-addled mind is that maybe he isn’t cut out for this after all.

He has to admit, that when he finally unlocks the toilet stall half an hour later and gets a good look at himself in the mirror, he’s a certified mess. Red blotchy cheeks, puffy eyes standing out against the dark circles underneath them, his hair manic from tugging it in his grip.

He even looks like a failure.

---

The only reason Peter leaves his room for the dining hall later that night is because he’s run out of ramen and microwave burritos.

He’s had a reminder scrawled on his whiteboard since last week to pencil in time to go grocery shopping, but he’s spent day after day ignoring said reminder so he’s landed himself in this situation. Out of venturing down the road to the grocery store or just across the quad to the dining hall, this seemed like the lesser of two evils.

It would be kind of nice to not be alone right now, but Ned and Daniel ate earlier - or at least that’s what Ned said when Peter had sent him a text to ask half an hour ago. The two of them did used to invite Peter to the dining hall with them. They’d all meet at the front doors of the hall and go together, but they stopped a while ago when Peter started declining the invitations more than he was accepting them. He doesn’t blame them, really.

He’s just pushing the doors open, the smell of buffet chicken tenders hitting his nose when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, hoping that maybe it’s the email with his extra-credit assignments from Professor Nicholson. He could add that to his already extensive to-do list for tonight.

Instead, it’s just a text from Tony.

Is now an okay time to call?

An emotion that Peter can’t quite figure out settles heavily at the pit of his stomach. Maybe it’s something akin to dread. Either way, he’s suddenly not all that hungry. Tony can read him like an open book - even over the phone. Speaking to him is an absolute no go.

I’m having dinner. Talk later, he types out in reply, before glancing back over it and adding a :) for good measure at the end. He hits send and turns his phone off. He tells himself he has too much work to do tonight to afford being distracted, anyway.

---

His phone rings again the next morning as he’s walking to class, interrupting the music he’s got blaring from his headphones.

He’s running on an hour of sleep. He got a head start on the coding for his algorithms class and finished half of the extra-credit work that Professor Nicholson emailed through to him. It would have been easier if Peter could concentrate without the pen he was gripping trembling the whole time with his pent-up nerves, but he thinks he managed to do an okay job.

He glances down at the screen blearily and isn’t at all surprised to see Tony’s name flashing across the top. The man didn’t even bother to text first this time.

Peter hits decline and types out another text.

Heading into class rn, sorry

He presses play on his music again and wonders how he’s going to stay awake in class without it.

---

Tony calls for the third time when Peter’s lying in bed a couple of nights later.

He has a pile of work waiting for him on his desk, but he’s so beyond tired at this point that he figured a quick nap can’t hurt before he sits down and starts to work through it all. He might even head down to the library. He hasn’t seen Gale in a few days, and the guy in the room next door to his has been arguing with his girlfriend on the phone for an hour now.

He doesn’t even have an excuse to text Tony tonight.

Friday nights are the one night he left wide open - when he doesn’t have night labs or study groups or some extracurricular that he signed up for at activities fair but hasn’t found time to attend in weeks. He did that on purpose, so that Friday’s were the night that he could let loose and have fun.

He misses the days when he’d been optimistic enough to think that would even be a possibility.

Peter knows that Tony knows that he’s free right now. Pepper texted him a photo a few weeks ago of a copy of his own college timetable taped to the fridge at the lake house.

He wants so badly to talk to Tony - to pick up the phone and hear that comforting voice that he’s been missing. But he can’t.

He’s a failure. Tony wouldn’t even want to talk to him if he knew that the kid he’s entrusting his entire company - the one he’s completely turned around with his bare hands and sheer will - can’t even handle one of the most necessary of human experiences: college.

He hits decline and shoves his phone under his pillow.

---

“You need to call Tony.”

Peter groans. It was a refreshing change when his phone rang this morning and it was May’s name instead of Tony’s, and he picked it up because Ned’s gone home for the weekend and honestly he’s just really starting to miss human contact. The last he had was ten hours ago when Gale ushered him out of the library with a warm pat on the shoulder and a warning that Red Bull will rot his teeth before he hits twenty-one.

Now, once he realises what the call is about, he’s kind of regretting picking it up in the first place.

“Morning to you too,” Peter grumbles as he paces impatiently back and forth in front of his microwave waiting for his breakfast burrito to be done. He finally made a trip to the grocery store yesterday.

“I’m serious Peter,” May says. “Why am I getting agitated texts from Tony every hour telling me that you’re ignoring him and asking if I’ve heard from you yet? You know I love him but there’s only so much Tony I can handle at a time. I have no idea how Pepper does it.”

“I’m not ignoring him… I just haven’t had the time.”

May hums a sort of disapproving sound like she doesn’t quite believe him.

“I’m not! Seriously,” Peter protests. “I’m busy, that’s all it is. Tony’s just reading too much into things. You know what he’s like.”

“Well, you need to find time in your incredibly busy college student schedule of partying and studying to call him, okay? I’m worried he’s constantly about one step away from getting in the car and kidnapping you to bring you back here himself.”

Peter groans.

“Not that I would mind that at all,” May continues. “I haven’t seen you since when, your birthday?”

“I’ll be home soon, I promise. I just gotta get all my work done first.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” May tells him. Peter can practically hear the smile on her face and he misses her so much. “Call Tony. And I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will. Love you too.”

---

Conveniently, Peter’s much too busy to get around to calling Tony for the rest of the day - or at least that’s what he tells himself. He turns his phone off anyway, just in case. Distractions are extremely unwelcome right now.

He ends up holed in the library by two in the afternoon, attempting to finish his extra-credit work and study for his nanoelectronics quiz.

He has a panic attack at seven when he realises that there’s no way he’s going to get any of this done in time. He can barely even read the words in front of him in his textbook, his brain jumbling them together, unable to sort the information into anything vaguely coherent.

Gale brings him out a cup of tea from the staffroom at eleven, despite her own ‘no food or drink’ signs she enjoys pointing out to Peter. It’s warm and comforting, and for a second Peter can almost pretend that he’s at home instead of sitting in the corner of a soulless college library.

By the time she has to send him back to his dorm at midnight, the cup of tea is empty in front of him and his eyes are drooping but his list of work he still has to get done seems just as long as when he started.

---

Peter feels like his entire life is just stuck on loop.

He gets up, drags himself to lectures and labs, sits in class and tries not to fall asleep, takes notes, does homework, studies for tests, steals as much sleep as he can in-between all that and then does it all again.

Sometimes, he catches himself thinking about Muffin, the pet hamster his elementary class used to have. Shy and quiet Peter would always end up by himself sitting at the table at the back of the classroom no one else wanted to sit at. It was next to Muffin’s cage though, and whenever he inevitably finished his work early he’d just sit, enthralled and watch the hamster run around and around on its neon green running wheel.

He feels a bit like that at the moment. Always running, not really getting anywhere. Except, he keeps tripping, struggling, can’t quite manage to pull himself back up onto his feet.

He’s leaving a lab that afternoon, still feeling like poor old Muffin on the running wheel because he can barely remember anything that was said and he knows he’s going to have to go back and re-read the entire chapter later tonight, when he hears excited murmuring around him.

He pays it no mind at first. The only thing he’s focused on is heading back to his dorm to grab a granola bar as a late breakfast. He didn’t have time to eat anything before he rushed out the door this morning.

Then, he hears a familiar name.

“Dude! My roommate just texted me, he said they saw Tony Stark walking across the quad.”

Peter freezes. His brain short-circuits a little bit but he snaps himself out of his thoughts to try and rejoin the physical world around him to hear what’s going on. The chattering continues.

“No way. Do you reckon he’s doing a lecture?”

“Someone else I know said they saw him getting out of a car like an hour ago.”

If he shows up to one of his lectures this afternoon and Tony’s standing up there, guest lecturing or some shit, like he always threatened to when he was wallowing on about how much he was going to miss Peter when he left for college, Peter might actually die.

When May mentioned that Tony was on the verge of coming up here himself, Peter didn’t think she was being serious.

Someone nudges him in the side as he grabs for the door handle, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get out of the building - but also cautious of venturing anywhere he could run into Tony.

“Hey, Parker. You know Tony Stark, right?”

Peter glances around. He doesn’t even recognise the guy that’s asking him. He wonders whether he should know his name as well.

“I, uh, yeah I do,” he manages to get out as eloquently as he can manage. “No idea what he’s doing here though,” he adds.

Secretly, as much as he doesn't want to think about it, he thinks he might have a fair idea.

Tony must know Peter's failing.

Professor Nicholson could have spoken to Bruce. Bruce probably would have told Tony. That's the only possible reason.

What if Tony’s only been trying to get hold of him to tell him how disappointed he is in him, how he knows now that he’s made a mistake naming Peter as one of his heirs? What if he wants Peter gone, never wants to be associated with someone who doesn’t even have the brains to pass his first-year college elective?

Somewhere in the back of his brain, Peter knows he must be overthinking. Tony loves him. He shouldn't be feeling this insecure about their relationship at this point. But even knowing this, it doesn't help the fact that Peter really doesn’t want to have to face him. If he could go forever not having to see Tony and own up to his horrifically embarrassing failures then he would. But somehow, he’s pretty certain that Tony will never let that happen.

Tony’s always been able to smell his mistakes from a mile off.

It used to be a good thing. It used to keep him safe. Now though, as he makes the first few tentative steps along the pavement that will eventually lead him straight to his dorm it just makes Peter feel like he’s headed off to the gallows.

The inevitable death of Tony’s pride in him.

---

He’s expecting it, knows what’s waiting for him behind his door when he makes it back to his dorm, but it still shocks him back a little, jarring to see Tony perched on the edge of his stupidly uncomfortable single bed. He’s in jeans and a sweater, nothing ostentatious, baseball cap and sunglasses he’d obviously had on resting on top of the nightstand. Clearly, he still managed to get recognised anyway and Peter’s sort of glad. It gave him a bit of a heads up even if he still feels woefully prepared to face the man that he’s been dodging calls from all week.

“W-What? Tony, uh, what are you doing here?” Peter stammers. He tears his eyes away from Tony and he can’t bear to look back, focusing on the ground instead, how the fraying carpet scuffs beneath his shoes.

Tony makes a small sort of surprised noise. “That’s not exactly the greeting I was hoping for, but I guess I can't exactly expect much when you’ve been ignoring me all week.”

“M’not ignoring you,” Peter mumbles in reply. He wishes Tony would just cut to the chase. They both know why he’s here. The longer he stands here in the doorway the more he feels like his heart’s about to explode out of his chest from how rapidly it’s beating. He knows Tony’s disappointed in him. He just needs to hear it so he can start forcing himself to come to terms with it.

He hopes he doesn’t cry. His eyes are already aching whenever he blinks from all the late nights and time staring at his laptop.

“You blowing off every one of my calls kinda sent me a different message,” Tony says, clearly trying to keep his voice nonchalant. “I was a little worried. Thought I better get up here, see how my favourite college student is going. Make sure you hadn’t gotten too carried away with Spidey and bled out on the floor of your dorm by yourself. Oh no - wait. I didn’t have to worry about that, because you picked up May’s calls. Just not mine.”

Peter’s cheeks heat up at being so blatantly called out. Tony still doesn’t sound mad yet. Just confused. A little hurt, maybe. He didn’t mean to hurt Tony.

“I just couldn’t… I dunno. Couldn’t speak to you. Not right now.”

The confusion on Tony’s face deepens. “Any reason why?”

Peter takes a closer look at Tony’s face. How can he not know? Why else would Tony be here if he genuinely doesn’t know about Peter’s college fuck ups, if he’s not here to break the news that Stark Industries can’t ever be linked with someone like him?

If Tony doesn’t know, somehow, then he can’t find out. “I can’t tell you. I can’t,” Peter stammers out.

Tony stares at him, eyes studying him carefully. Peter squirms under his gaze, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He still hasn’t stepped forward out of the doorway, but when a few people walk through the hall outside and crane their heads to peer in, he takes the smallest step forward he can manage and closes the door behind him with a thud.

He feels a lot more closed in now, just him and Tony in his tiny shoebox of a dorm.

“I thought we weren’t doing secrets anymore?” Tony asks. “Open communication, healthy family relationships? All the shit my therapist said to me after the snap. I know yours said the same.”

Peter worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He hopes Tony can’t see the way he’s shaking. For a split second, he toys with the idea of just telling him. Taking a deep breath and spilling everything, the fact that he’s failing his biological engineering class and that he can’t handle college. That he misses everyone at home like crazy, he’s lonely all the time and he feels like his mental health has taken a dramatic nosedive off a cliff.

But he doesn’t. The words feel heavy in his dry mouth. Instead, all that comes out is a sharp, “can we not do this?”

He regrets his tone as soon as the words leave his mouth, but Tony doesn’t push harder or demand that he spill. Instead, the man just shrugs. “Okay. If that’s what you want. I didn’t drive all this way to argue, so if you don’t want to talk about it then we won’t.”

Peter practically reels back in surprise. He suddenly feels bad for losing his cool. “Um, okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, I’m just-”

“But you know what we do have to talk about?” Tony cuts in, waving off Peter’s awkward apology. “The state of this room. I thought I was paying for a single room, not for you to make the place so filthy that you could adopt a herd of cockroaches and rodents as roommates. I hope you’re charging them rent.”

“I’ve been busy,” is all Peter has to offer. Then, frowning, he adds, “and there aren’t rodents in here.” He takes another tentative step forward into the room just as Tony leans down to toe an empty ramen cup out from under the bed. His nose wrinkles in disgust.

“What, too busy to take the two seconds to put your trash where it belongs?” he says, leaning over to his right to toss the cup into the garbage can by the door. “See? Didn’t even need to get off the bed.”

“Show off,” Peter mutters.

Tony grins at the snark. “Seriously, when was the last time you actually opened your eyes and looked at this place, Pete?”

Peter’s not sure. Usually, he’s far too preoccupied to be concerned with something as mundane as what sort of living standard he’s upholding in his dorm room. But when he does look around, there are more ramen cups everywhere, stacked on top of rare free surfaces, peeking out from under furniture. Scattered graphing paper screwed up into tight balls litter the carpet. His duvet is scrunched up in the corner of the room after he spilt coffee on it the other night and never got round to washing it. It’s been a bit cold the past few nights but whatever.

“Did you come all the way here to pick apart my room? Because we could have just video called for that.”

“You wouldn’t have picked up,” Tony says plainly.

“Wait, no, I-”

“Nope. No excuses. I came to see what was going on, whether I could help with anything,” he explains. “And I have found my calling - elevating you up out of this filth.”

“I don’t know if I have time for this, Tony. I have things to do. Assignments, lots of assignments.”

“You can spare half an hour, kid.”

Peter relents.

---

It doesn’t actually even end up taking them that long. They clear out the mess of granola bar and burrito wrappers, ramen cups, old receipts and scrap paper that he’s let accumulate on the floor. Vacuum the carpet. Tidy the explosion of books and worksheets covering his desk. Make the bed - something Peter isn’t even sure he’s done since he first took the sheets out of their pack and put them on the mattress on his first night.

In the end, all it takes the two of them is twenty minutes and a couple of trips down to the trash chute at the end of the hall.

It puts Peter’s racing mind at ease a little bit, the monotony of it all, and as he tugs a final stray sock out from the bottom of his wardrobe to chuck into his laundry hamper, everything slips out and he reveals what he was so sure he desperately wanted to keep a secret.

It's probably been Tony’s plan this whole time, honestly.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this, Tony.”

Tony looks up from where he’s shoving one of Peter’s windows open to let some air in. The hinges on it squeak as he does. “Cut out for what exactly? You mean cleaning? Because I’m with you on that one, bud, but this place really needed-”

“No, not that,” Peter says. He might laugh if he wasn’t so nervous. “This whole, um, this college thing.”

“What makes you say that?” Tony’s turned to face him now, leaning up against Peter’s desk in a fashion that Peter suspects is entirely faux-nonchalance.

“I just can’t do it. I suck at it.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony holds his hands up. “Slow it down there a little, kid. You don’t suck at it. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to not be able to do absolutely anything you put your mind to.”

Peter hates that. That is entirely his problem. So he tells Tony so. “That’s the whole thing though. Everyone thinks I’m super smart, like I’m meant to be flying through college, just like you did but I’m not. I can’t get anything right. I’m failing, Tony. Failing.”

Confusion is written all over Tony’s face. “Failing, what exactly?” he asks carefully. Peter bites down on his lip again. It’s already feeling kind of ragged. This was probably a mistake.

“My bioengineering paper. The ethics one.”

Tony furrows his eyebrows. His head cocks to one side a little as he thinks and Peter wonders whether he even realises he’s doing it. “Okay…” he sinks down back onto the newly-made bed, creasing the covers a little bit. “You wanna come sit down here for a minute? Have a chat?”

“I, uh, I think I’m good here.” Peter can’t bear the thought of letting himself get close only to be pushed away.

Tony shakes his head. There’s disappointment on his face, but not the kind that Peter was expecting. More like disappointment that Peter had even thought Tony would be mad in the first place, but he doesn’t quite understand that. How could Tony not be upset? He’s trying his best to live up to everything wonderful about Tony Stark but he keeps falling short. He’s still just unlucky old Peter Parker.

“Get over here,” Tony says, but his words aren’t commanding. They’re reassuring. He pats the space beside him, and Peter makes the few short steps to perch himself next to Tony. The man wraps a steady arm around his shoulders. Peter tries to force himself to stay upright, back stiff. He can’t just lean into every touch that he gets from Tony, no matter how much he’s missed having him close. He’s not a kid anymore, after all. He’s a college student.

“Is this why you were ignoring me?”

“I dunno,” Peter mumbles. “I just didn’t want you to find out.”

Tony squeezes the nape of his neck gently and all of Peter’s resolve disappears. He crumbles against Tony’s side.

“I can’t do it, Tony. I can’t. I’m trying so hard, I promise. I spend like, every night in the library and I barely even sleep anymore trying to keep up but I just can’t. Every time I sit down it’s like I just freak out and I can’t concentrate.”

“Can’t concentrate how?”

“I’m just worried about everything all the time. Worried I won’t get things done on time. Worried I’m not smart enough to even do the work. Worried about impressing my professors… worried about impressing you,” Peter adds finally, under his breath.

Tony’s arm tightens around his shoulder at this, and he stares down at him with a sort of understanding dawning across his face that Peter can’t quite make sense of. “Have you been taking your meds?”

That throws Peter a little. Taking his meds? He’s not sick.

“It’s not like, the flu or something,” he says blatantly, not quite sure how Tony got it this wrong. “It’s all the time. I’m not sick, I don’t have an excuse. I’m just not smart enough for this.”

“No, no, no. Not like that, sorry,” Tony says gently. “Has it occurred to you that maybe your anxiety might be acting up?”

Peter frowns, shaking his head. They sorted out all the issues he was having with his anxiety a few months after the reversal of the snap. He took the medication that Tony and Bruce synthesized for him for a while and that was that. Nothing overly traumatic in his life has happened since then. He shouldn’t need them anymore. He’s better.

“No, no, that was just when I got back from the snap. This is just college. Everyone does college.”

Tony takes a second to consider his words. When he speaks, it's careful and calm. “I’m no expert, bud, but your anxiety isn’t just going to disappear like that. It’ll come and go. Plus, sure, you’re right. Everyone does college-” Peter’s stomach knots nervously as Tony says that. He can’t help but feel that any moment now will be the moment that Tony turns around and tells him that he should be better. “-But, not everyone does college with as much pressure on their shoulders as you put on yourself. That’s a Peter Parker exclusive. You don’t have to be the best at everything all the time.”

“I do. You were. How am I ever going to take over Stark Industries one day like you want me to if I can’t even pass Ethics in Engineering? Bruce told me to take that as a fun paper.”

Tony winces at that. They really should have phrased it better.

“You don’t want to know how many classes I failed because I was too constantly hungover for even Rhodey to force me out of bed, Pete. The real world isn’t dependent on passing or failing. One class isn’t going to matter, even if I’ve got total faith in your ability to turn it all around before the end of the semester,” Tony says. Then he pauses. He looks over at Peter again and Peter can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Unless college isn’t something you want to do? Because it isn’t for everyone. You don’t need a degree, not really. You can already outrun me in the lab and Pep could teach you double the stuff you'd need to know about the business side in half the time, probably.”

“No, I want to do this. I do,” Peter says after a moment. He’s telling the truth. He wants a degree, he wants to see this through and come out the other side - just preferably not feeling like he does now. “I just wanted to make you proud of me at the same time. I... I've really messed that part up. How can you be proud of a failure?”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath at Peter’s words. His face twists like they've physically hurt him. “See, now I can see where we’ve gone wrong here. I’m always proud of you. Completely unconditionally and unequivocally. You don’t need to graduate as valedictorian to make me proud. All I want you to do is grow up into the best man you’re capable of being and you’re already doing that, buddy - far too quickly for my liking, I might add. You’ll be taller than me soon.”

“That’s not hard,” Peter murmurs before he can help himself and Tony snorts.

“There he is. Hijacking my sappy dad speech to make a cheap joke about my height. I see how it is.”

---

Peter sits cross-legged on his neatly-made bed later that night.

Tony’s sitting on the desk chair on the other side of the room, thumbing through his phone. “I’m ordering pizza. I’m not braving a college dining hall, I’ve been there, done that, and you need a proper meal. You want pepperoni?”

“I’m kinda feeling a Hawaiian tonight, to be honest.”

“You disgust me,” Tony retorts immediately but he returns his attention to his phone anyway, likely doing exactly as Peter’s asked.

He reaches over to grab the nanoelectronics textbook from his bedside table where he’d left it last night, all his unfinished work still piling up in the front of his mind, despite Tony’s reassuring presence. Before he can draw it off the nightstand and into his lap though, Tony’s hand closes around his wrist and shoves it away. He gathers the textbook up into his own arms and adds it to the neat pile they formed on his desk while they were cleaning.

“I kinda need those,” Peter protests. All he gets in response from Tony is a stern shake of the head.

“Not right now you don’t. Not a chance. What you need is a nap. I’m gonna sort through this and figure out a game plan for us to tackle all of this tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to help me,” Peter protests, no matter how appealing it sounds to have someone by his side to help him sort through the slog of his schoolwork. He wonders whether this is what it would have been like if he didn’t inadvertently shut Ned out in favour of desperately trying to get everything done.

“What? You think I’m just gonna sit around and watch you flail about and try to sort it yourself? What sort of parent would that make me?”

Once upon a time, maybe that word would have made the two of them freeze uncomfortably. Even now, they just stare at each other for a long moment. They’re family, indisputably, but even then the whole 'parent' word doesn’t get thrown around a whole lot. Peter thinks Tony’s still scared of stepping on the toes of dead people. Personally, he’s sure his parents would be glad that he’s got people in his corner apart from just May looking out for him. Especially Tony. Tony does a good job of it. 

“I guess you’re right,” Peter offers. “That would probably make you a pretty shitty parent.”

Tony grins, tinted with relief. “You got that right. So I wanna see that head on that uncomfortable looking pillow of yours for a little while, okay?” Tony commands, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Peter’s temple. “Just sleep.”

Peter does.

---

By the time Peter’s woken up by the smell of takeaway pizza filling the small space, Tony’s used his class planner and assignment schedule to organise his workbooks into piles of urgency on his desk - what needs to be completed right now and what can wait. He’s also listed everything on the whiteboard and is in the middle of removing every single can of Red Bull from Peter’s minifridge.

“Hey,” Peter grumbles blearily. “Mine.”

“Nope. Not anymore. They’ll rot your teeth. If you need your caffeine fix then just drink coffee like a real man. None of this sugary rubbish.” Tony tosses the four cans he has in his hands into the trash and reaches back in to grab the last few.

Peter snickers. “You sound like Gale.”

“Who the hell is Gale?”

“Our elderly librarian. She’s very nice.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re on a first-name basis with the librarian?" Tony asks incredulously.  "And second of all, I entirely resent being compared to someone you labelled as elderly, thank you very much.”

Peter grins. “I mean, if the shoe fits.”

“I’ve changed my mind all of a sudden. I haven’t missed you at all.” Tony's words are punctuated with an affectionate ruffle of Peter’s hair, and Peter knows that he doesn’t actually mean a word of it.

For the first time since this tiny little dorm room has become his home, he can breathe. Tony’s here.

Everything is always okay when Tony’s here.

[mysweetestcreature]

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 1: Had Me from Hello

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat <3)

***

Masterlist

***

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

��       The car parks right at the entrance of the school, where some students are gathered around making conversation and trying to out-do the other in who’s had the most exotic vacation, while others swarm through the doors on a mission to get back into the flow of the semester. Harry eyes the building up and down from the window cautiously. Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to be attending Ashwood Prep this year, especially considering the fact he received a hefty amount of scholarship money when he had gotten accepted. It’s just that being the new kid at a K12 school might as well be like getting thrown into open water when all one knows is how to backstroke. 

        “I could drive around the block again, if you’d like?” Harry snorts at the suggestion as he turns back to his mum. “I can just feel anxiety coming off your aura,” she adds, circling her hand just around the side of his head. Over the last few months, she’s been very interested in trying to read his aura, whatever that means (he isn’t sure how this obsession started, but he’ll admit that she’s getting quite good).

        “Mum...” he whines, shrinking further into the leather of his seat as he covers his face from any overly curious eyes that may find him and his mother a little too interesting. 

        Anne feigns offense and lets out a dramatic huff. “Not even a day in high school, and he’s already ashamed to be seen with me.” 

        Both remain silent for the time being, and only the chatter from outside fills the void of unsaid between them. It’s when Harry takes the chance and subtly tries to take a peek at her from the corner of his eye, does he find her doing the exact same. They burst into giggles, and Harry shakes his head as he sits up. Once he’s recovered, his gaze falls back towards the window, where the number of students has decreased in just a matter of minutes. 

        “’m nervous,” he admits despondently a few seconds later. 

        A hand falls over his, squeezing it tight as its thumb pads over his skin to calm him. “And that’s completely normal, but, darling –– it’s going to be alright. I know this because I know you, and you’re never one to back down. Besides, I think you look quite handsome in your uniform.” He’s dressed in black dress pants topped off with a white polo, a cool-toned dark blue cardigan and a black tie with school’s emblem printed in the middle. 

        As Harry lets the rest of Anne’s words sink in, he thinks about how he’d been in this position not even two years ago. A year and eight months ago, to be exact, he’d moved from his childhood home in Holmes Chapel in England to New Jersey. Anne had received a stellar job opportunity as marketing head at a consumer goods company, and Harry and his sister, Gemma, felt like that had to support her in this new chapter of her life. Unfortunately, that included leaving behind their friends, family, and all that they’ve ever known. So, in mid-January, he’d been the new kid to insert himself into the seventh-grade at JW Middle School. For the most part, everyone in his year had been kind enough, sans those few jerks who made fun of the way he talked and yelled ‘bloody hell’ whenever they’d see him in the halls or at lunch, but even that only lasted for a month. Other than that, he felt as though he’d really tried to make the best out of their situation.

        Now here he is again, in nearly an identical position as the last. It’s a lot better now, he supposes. For starters, he’s starting school on the first day, so he’s sure there are going to be at least a dozen new students like him. By now, he’s also used to living in Jersey (loves it, his mum would say), even knows all the best diners within a thirty-mile radius of his house and where to get the freshest bagels on a Saturday morning. 

        The eighth grade had even been immensely enjoyable for him, he had made a lot of friends, had his first kiss, and he even graduated salutatorian of the class, only falling a thousandth of a decimal behind Andrea Chung. 

        “You know what? You’re right, mum. I can so do this,” he affirms himself. 

        “Hey, I didn’t say to be cocky,” Anne teases, pinching his cheeks before she unlocks the doors. “Now, get out of my car. I have a meeting in less than an hour, and I still need to stop for coffee. Love you!” 

        Harry lets his feet fall onto the sidewalk toes first, and pulls the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. Ashwood Prep looks even bigger now that he’s stood on the ground. Everyone is dressed in their uniforms, but of course there are those who obviously chose to customize theirs. He looks to his left, and swallows hard as Anne’s Mercedes merges onto the main road. “This is it,” he tells himself. This is where he’ll be spending the next four years of his life. 

        Suddenly, he feels something knock into his back, causing him to stumble a few steps forward. 

        “Oof!” 

        Before he can catch a glimpse and ask if whoever it was is okay, a figure manages to dodge his eyes as she speeds off up the stairs. 

        “I’m so sorry!” the girl yells back at him, but all he can really make out is the side of her face and a silver and pink checkered scrunchie that holds her hair back in a half do style. “But I have to get these ready before Pattern A or else Mr. N is totally gonna be on my back about it!” Her echo sounds panicked as she disappears into the building, and even the students still remaining towards the entrance part a path for her to pass. 

        “You’re fine!” he shouts after her. 

***

        “You’ll find that your locker assignments and schedules are laid out for you in alphabetical order,” the homeroom teacher, Mr. Bartolome says in his most unenthusiastic tone. “If you have any questions...ask each other.” Harry heads towards the back in search of his last name, until he finds it at a desk right by the window, its position is in perfect view of the entire room. There are some small things he notices, like how the walls have barely a scratch on them and how the floors are so we'll polished that even the slightest of movements elicits a squeak.

        Just as he takes his seat, a voice booms from beside him. “Excuse me!” His head leads the rest of his body as he pivots on his heel. A girl with magnificent auburn hair tied back in a high ponytail and freckles that dance across her face almost perfectly stares inquisitively at him. “You’re new, right? I’m Zoey” 

        “Oh, uh...yeah. I’m Harry,” he replies with a polite nod. As he sits down, he can feel Zoey’s eyes scan him up and down. 

        “Wait!” she gasps, her mouth falling open. “Are you...are you from England?” She looks at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to say that he’s related to the Queen or Churchill or something just as outrageous as that.

        He nods before speaking. “Cheshire,” he replies, but she stares at him blankly. “It’s North from London.” 

        “Oh,” she tries to hide her disappointment. “Well, if you need help with anything, you can always ask me.” 

        “Thanks,” he offers her a tight-lipped grin. She sends him a wink in return before turning to her friend seated to her other side.

        Harry takes the opportunity to look down at the gridded schedule laid out before him. Thank god he’d looked over his schedule ahead a time when it was posted online because it had taken him about an hour to fully comprehend, and if he’s being honest, Mr. Bartolome kind of scares him. The school works on a 6-day cycle, and each class is referred to as a ‘pattern’ rather than a ‘period’. Each day, one subject drops, and the one that had dropped the day before is added in at the beginning. He looks up at the board, where Mr. Bartolome has written an outline of how today is going to work out. Day 1, it says in green marker, followed by the order of classes. Harry looks back down at his schedule, and his eyes linger on his Pattern A. 

***

        His first class of the day just happens to be his favorite subject. Harry isn’t sure what it is, but he loves reading and learning about the past and drawing maps of how the past has contributed and affected the present. It might be because his grandad had been a university history professor at Oxford and would tell Harry tales from World War 2 in place of the usual bedtime stores (that’s not to say that Harry isn’t well versed in fairytales, of course). 

        Luckily there hadn’t been assigned seating, so Harry was able to snag a table in the third row when he had first come in. The seats are now slowly filling up as the rest of the class staggers in a few tired looking students at a time, and the teacher makes it a point to note that it’s the first day...the first class of the day nonetheless! Harry recognizes a few from homeroom, like the boy who had dared asked Mr. Bartolome a question, and Zoey, who flirtatiously waves at him with before being forced into the back by a few of her friends. 

        Their teacher pushes out of his chair and heads to the whiteboard. He takes a dry erase marker in his hand, and in big letters writes what looks to be his name, but Harry can barely make it out without squinting his eyes.  

        “Welcome to US History Honors!” he exclaims. “As I’ve just written in my embarrisingly horrendous handwriting...which is why we’re definitely using PowerPoint, so I don’t get a billion emails about what’s written, don’t worry...I’m Mr. Noone!” 

        Mr. Noone walks over to the door, but just as he’s about to shut it to start the lesson, someone calls out to him from the hall. “Wait! I’m here, I’m here!” Everyone watches as the elderly man lets out a knowing sigh, shoulders falling in defeat, but it’s followed by a genuine chuckle as the final student speeds into the room. 

        “Sorry, Mr. N!” she says, still trying to catch her breath. Harry immediately eyes the same pink and grey scrunchie that had knocked into him earlier. “But I had to wait for these to cool before packing them up or else all the sugar would fall off!” In her hands is a medium-sized Tupperware, and he recognizes the faint yet alluring scent of freshly baked treats.

        “Earl grey short bread?” Mr. Noone cocks a brow at her as he finally shuts the door. “I don’t accept tardiness for just any average cookie.”

        The girl shakes her head animatedly. “I’m insulted that you even have to ask that question!” Mr. Noone strolls towards his desk with his hands behind his back, then peaks over the top of the container. A pleased expression dances across his face as his fingers fish for a scrumptious cookie to bite in to, and he’s even more ecstatic as the shortbread touches his palate. 

        “You did good, kid. Now find a seat before I write you up for loitering,” he threatens lightly, and the girl lets out a little huff as she turns around.  

        And that’s when Harry finally sees her face. 

        His stomach flips over, and he’s left in that awkward position of will he or won’t he see this morning’s breakfast again (and he’d eaten a hefty meal). Her eyes have a glimmer to them, like a star on top of a Christmas tree or better yet, the real ones he watches from his bedroom window when he can’t fall asleep. He’s so in awe that he stops breathing when those sparkling eyes land on the empty seat right beside him. Whatever amusement he’d been feeling when he’d first sat down is now replaced with something else. It’s like heat that creeps up to his neck originating from the base of his spine. 

        The closer she gets, the sweatier his palms become, so bad that he has trouble keeping his pen firm in his grasp. “Hi, I’m Y/n!” she says as she stops in front of him, a warm smile embedded on her lips and a warmth that seems to radiate off her so naturally. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit here?” 

        “Y-yeah, I mean, no! I mean, of course. It’s...it’s all yours.” What was that?! Jesus Christ, Harry. It’s like you’ve never talked to a girl before! She giggles as he trips over his words, but thanks him graciously before sliding into the seat and getting herself comfortable. He tenses at her presence being so close to him and he couldn’t tell you why. “Harry,” he blurts out like vomit. 

        “What?” She looks up from digging through her bag.

        He bites on the inside of his cheek, suddenly feeling conscious under this self-imposed pressure. “My name’s Harry,” and he shyly repeats before turning back to the board.

        Y/n tilts her head at him, and the soft smile returns to her face. “Nice to meet you, Harry.” 

        At that, he’s finally able to breathe normally. He steals a couple glances at her as she sets everything down on their table, and he notices how her lips quirk to the side as she sets everything down with such precision. A printed Beatles-themed pencil case catches his eye, and he smiles to himself as he thinks fondly to all the times his grandad had played their records over and over. 

        “I love the Beatles,” he says almost as a whisper, but she picks up on it and perks up immediately. 

        “They’re my favorite band and all I listen to most days.” She picks up the pouch and twirls it in her hands. “My dad brought this back when he visited London a few years ago. I’ve never been, but hopefully one day!” There’s hope in her voice as she stares sheepishly at the print.

        “Alright!” Their conversation is cut short as Mr. Noone chews up his last bit of cookie. “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s start class!” A projection screen starts to pull down over the whiteboard, followed by a slowly brightening white light. “While we’re waiting for this to load, I want you to take a good look at who you’re sitting next to because you’ll be partnering up for various projects and presentations over the course of the year.” 

***

        After class, Harry sits back as he watches a bulk of his classmates file out of the room en route to their next destination. As their voices carry out into the halls, it’s just him and a few others left, including Y/n, who appears to be taking her sweet time packing everything up in her bag.   

        “So,” the “o” carries out longer than he’d anticipated. He scratches the back of his neck as he searches for something, anything, he can say to her, so she doesn’t think he’s a complete and utter fool for not being able to speak without fumbling over his own tongue. “I’m not really sure where my next class is.” 

        “Oh!” Her eyes grow wide as she zips up her backpack. “I could help you, if you’d like?” And gosh, does his chest pound when she leans in close and takes a peek at his schedule in front of him on the table. “You’re actually just on the second floor!” she exclaims, pointing up towards the ceiling. “I’m like ninety-seven percent sure it’s the third door on the right if you take the stairs right outside this room.” 

        Harry takes a quick mental note of her instructions before pushing out of his chair. “Thank you,” he starts, and both of them head towards the door, with her leading the way.

        Just as she takes one step outside, she suddenly turns around, and Harry nearly crashes into her. “I’ll be back for my Tupperware, Mr. N! There’s no way I’m letting you swipe another one from under my nose!” The old man waves her off and mutters something under his breath that Harry thinks might have been a “whatever you say”. Y/n looks up at him, and signals for them to continue into the hall. 

        “He’s a real sweetheart,” she says as they climb up the stairs.  

        “Who?” 

        “Mr. Noone,” she explains. “I think you’ll really like him! His classes are pretty chill for the most part and he’s super understanding, too. Like last year I had the flu for about a week and a half since my brother had gotten me sick because his whole kindergarten class had come down with for some strange reason, and Mr. N was the only teacher who didn’t have me make up any work.” 

        “Yeah?” he smiles at her. 

        She promptly shakes her head in confirmation. “Yeah! He just gave me this mini test with all the material I’d missed, and he even gave me a study guide to study off to help me with it!” Her face falls into a small frown when they stop in front Harry’s next class. “Oh, well I guess this is you.” She digs her foot into the marbled floor as she peeks into the room. “It was nice talking to you, Harry! I’ll see you around!” she says with a more upbeat tone. 

        “Bye, and thanks again for helping me get to class. It probably cut down the anxiety time by at least two minutes,” he confesses, a slight blush spreading around the area of his nose. She smiles before heading her own way, and he doesn’t know why he feels this sudden decline in his mood as she grows further and further. He just stands there, watching her walk down the corridor while the rest of the students laze into the classroom. Just as he’s about to head in, he chances one last look in her direction, and it’s just in time see her looking over her shoulder. 

***

        Harry’s managed to make himself a new friend in Debate class. His name is Max, and he’d been a transfer student from JW the year before Harry had started attending. They bonded over that, as well as a mutual love for movies made during the Classical Hollywood period (they’ve even made plans to watch a Hitchcock film this weekend), and even how they live in the same neighborhood –– a few streets apart, to be more specific!

        “I think it’s cool that you have an accent,” Max says to him as they stop at Harry’s locker before heading to lunch. Harry empties out his books from his first three classes. It’s no wonder his back had been aching, he’d forgotten to take out his US Politics textbook, and he doesn’t even have that class today. He’d had a free (also with Max) before this, and he’d managed to finish up all the readings and homework for history and biology that are all due tomorrow. He likes to be efficient with his time, especially when the teachers start putting on a heftier workload. “Did you see how all those girls freaked when you introduced yourself? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it!”

        “Everyone has an accent, mate. It’s just mine sounds a lot different from yours.” Everyone in Debate had freaked over the way he spoke, and as Max had pointed out, it had garnered a lot of attention from some of the girls in class. 

��       “No need to get all technical with me. You have a gift, my friend. Use it wisely.” Harry shuts his locker, and the two continue towards the cafeteria. This morning, Anne had packed him his favorite roast beef and swiss on rye, a tradition on the first day of school that they’ve kept since he was small. Although, Max had been going on about how amazing the food here was, which is hard to believe that any school lunch can be anything but subpar, so he may have to test that out, as well. On the way there, they turn into a hallway, and are immediately hit with a sweet-smelling aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar.

        Harry stops just outside the door, humming happily to himself as he pictures whatever magic is happening on the other side. “Kitchen?” He points in its direction with his thumb.

        “Home economics room,” his friend smirks. “A friend spends a hell of a lot of time in there. She’s a really good baker, I can’t even count how many of her lemon bars I’ve had since I started going here.” 

***

        Y/n is late for lunch, but it’s really not her fault! She got caught up in decorating a cake with fondant roses and fancy piping that she been working on all period long because she wanted to impress Miss Genevra with a new technique that she had learned at a baking seminar she’d taken over the summer. And it turned out nearly perfect (there was one flower that looked a tad lopsided, but only Y/n fussed over it), and the flavor was just as impressive. 

        All that aside, she now only has about ten minutes left to buy lunch and scarf it all down before her Pattern J starts, and she still has to stop by her locker to get her art kit and sketchbook, not to mention she has to make time to hound Mr. N for her Tupperware back, or else her dad will throw another fit. 

        So, she quickly grabs a Snapple and a basket of chicken tenders from the hot rack, then brings it all to the cashier. A woman, about forty years old sits on her stool, and smiles at Y/n as she approaches. “Hi, Layla!” Y/n greets her, handing her over a crisp ten-dollar bill. “How was your trip to Ecuador? I’m sure Benny and Sammy loved it!” Benny and Sammy are Layla’s twin boys that Y/n babysits from time to time when Layla and her partner go out for a date night. They’re about her brother’s age, so Mason is always so happy when she brings him along to their house for an impromptu playdate. 

        Layla smiles, handing back her change of four dollars and fifty cents. “They did! Thanks for asking, sweetheart.” She stares down at her watch, then gives the young girl a knowing look. “Now you better finish that up before your next class. I think I saw Maxxie sitting somewhere in the back.”

        “Oh, thanks for the heads up! And by the way...” Y/n looks into her bag and pulls out a stack of fudge bars neatly wrapped in tin foil. “The boys’ favorite! Made fresh today.”  

        “Ah! You’re just an angel, aren’t you?” Layla gushes before sending her on her way. 

        Y/n searches for Maxxie’s mop of dirty blonde hair as she maneuvers around all the busy tables. They’d met a few years ago, and she considers him to be one of her best friends. He’d texted her earlier saying he’d be bringing a friend to sit with them at lunch, and that he was totally cute and had a smile that would surely make her weak at the knees. Think Zach Anderson, but 100x better, his message had read. She smiles widely when she sees him. 

        “So, last night I saw this movie made in like the 40s and I totally got this ince-” She cover his eyes with her hands and does her best to bite back the erupting giggles.

        “Guess who?” 

        “Well, you smell strongly of vanilla and...” He takes a long whiff through his nose. “...and...is that orange zest?”

        “Lemon, but close enough, I guess.” Y/n takes the empty seat on his right. Maxxie leans in for a hug, and only then does she notice the familiar company. 

        “Hey, you! I was beginning to think you’d drowned in a tub of frosting or something,” he jokes, picking something out of her hair before settling back. He turns to his left. “This is-”

        “Harry,” she says it like it’s a dream. Gosh! When she’d met him earlier, she did everything she could to stay with it, when all she really wanted to do was scream into a pillow about how unrealistically green his eyes are. Instead, she thinks she might have overshared some details with a complete stranger because regardless of how cute she thinks he is –– and that’s very much –– she doesn’t know one thing about him besides his name. 

        “Y/n, hi,” Harry replies just as whimsically. They hold eye contact for a while, but as Y/n feels the heat begin to rise from her neck to her cheeks, she soon turns away and begins to pick at her chicken, while Harry bites his lips inward and looks down into his lap to check his phone. 

        The boy in between them looks back and forth between the two. His eyebrows rise to his forehead and his mouth parts slightly in confusion. 

        “So... I’m guessing you’ve met?”

***

[badmcuposts]

A New Favorite Thing

No warnings

Good ole irondad and spiderson as suggested by @dantedeletes

Set like, a week or two after Civil War this is very very very early in their relationship.

Tony wants to learn how this slightly annoying snot-nosed kid from queens manufactured webbing that a genius billionaire can’t replicate for the life of him. In the end, he learns the slightly-annoying-snot-nosed-kid-from-queens is actually a miniature version of himself, and decides to keep him.

-

All Tony wanted was to find out how the kid designed that stupid webbing.

He had spent five-no-six days holed up in the lab over this, and nothing. Pep was getting concerned, rightfully so, that he hadn’t just asked Peter to show him. But how was he supposed to do that? ‘Oh hey buddy can you teach me how to do the thing i have multiple phds in because you’re smarter than me at 12?’ The whole thing was god awful embarrassing.

Which would be exactly the reason as to why Tony was about to burn the whole tower down if she pulled something like this again. Inviting the kid herself like she owned the place. Well, she did, but that wasn’t the point of it all. He didn’t even know what to do with an annoying little kid!

It wasn’t that Tony didn’t trust Peter in his lab. He had seen the kid’s grades. It was more or less worrying about what he was supposed to do in the highly unlikely event that the kid wasn’t as trustworthy as he seemed. If they got in there and Peter couldn’t hold his own, he would be at a total loss to keep control in the lab. There were so many questions, so many worries in case something went wrong.

Was he even old enough for the energy drinks? What else was in the minifridge up in the lab? Bagels? Did he like bagels? What if Peter got scared up in the workshop? Would he fit into Tony’s spare safety goggles? What if he didn’t like the way the workshop was organized? What if Peter didn’t want to be around Tony after this and got himself hurt?

And this would be why Tony really hadn’t contacted Peter, huh? His own insecurity about how he was supposed to continue on with his relationship with a something-year-old child after no doubt traumatizing the poor thing in a battle and then embarrassing him via benching halfway through.

He’d read the countless articles in old newspapers, seen the police files involving the kid. The Parker boy was a ticking time bomb, no doubt about it. If Tony didn’t keep him in line and make sure not to hurt him any more, those special abilities might turn into weapons of mass destruction. And he really didn’t want to start planning for the kid to go to the dark side.

But, it was time to man up and face the music. Or, rather, the child standing three feet away with the most worn duffle bag to ever grace the eyes of someone with the Stark name. Tony gently smiled, raising his hand for a polite shake that Peter took with innocent eagerness and aptitude. God, this kid is definitely gonna break something up there.

“Peter, nice of you to join me. I’d love to talk a bit about that webbing we discussed before.”

Peter’s smile faltered a little, but returned within the second.

“Yeah, Miss Potts said to bring my stuff. Though, if you wanna do me a favor, let’s not break any of it. Technically, I’m borrowing it from the school labs.”

“You don’t have your own equipment?”

Tony was honestly shocked. Where had Peter been making all of this? He couldn’t have been using public school half-ass production level equipment this whole time, could he?

“No, sir. I just make the web fluid during chemistry when the teacher turns around.”

Well, that answers that question. How smart was this kid? A few years of straight As indicated intelligence but, at this rate, shouldn’t he have skipped a few grades?

“Well then, looks like it’s time to get down to business, isn’t it?”

Peter’s breathing managed to begin to replicate the tune of “I’ll Make a Man Out Of You”. This kid...

“Yessir.”

And as they reached the elevator, Friday automatically carrying the pair of nerds to floor 79, Tony finally said it.

“Stop calling me sir, you make me feel older every time you speak than most people do when they remind me that my father was young and spry in the smack dab middle of World War Two.”

“Only if you start referring to this stuff as “web fluid”, Mr. Stark. It’s very important to repect scientific nomenclature in the form given by the original scientist.” “How much of that was a the answer to a science class pretest?” “The whole thing.”

Fair enough, you little-

The elevator came to a halt (smoothly, of course. It’s stark tech) at the workshop. Luckily for Tony, he had plenty of extra space so Peter would feel comfortable. He pointed to a desk a few feet from his own and briefly stated “Set your gear up over there, tell me what chemicals you need.”

Peter, however, didn’t seem to willing to let his host take the lead.

“Oh no, sir, I brought my own stuff. Midtown is loaded with spare bottles. They won’t notice.”

Two could play at that game, couldn’t they? Well, there was always one way to find out.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna leave them in the bag and put them back tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow’s saturday.”

“Monday, whatever. My cabinet has a billion variations of every science-related doohickey known to man and it could use some more use. No point wasting all the money that school probably spends with the intent of it being used in class, huh? And what did I say about calling me sir?”

“Sorry, sir.”

The kid was smirking. What did Tony do to deserve such cruel treatment from the universe?

Peter tossed his bag onto the desk with enough force to make any non-enhanced teenager look like they were about to throw a tantrum. But, Peter merely glanced at his hands, sighed, and checked that none of the gear had gotten damaged.

Right, super kid. Not a normal intern. Not an intern at all, technically. Unless...

Nope. Later, Tones.

Tony quickly assisted in the set-up, hoping he could rush this and memorize the formula as quickly as inhumanly possible. And that’s when he noticed, Peter’s notes were in the back of his chemistry notebook. How in pointbreak’s name had nobody figured this kid out yet?

Pushing his lack of faith in humanity and all of its company, Tony unlocked the cabinet of infinite chemicals.

“Alright can you grab me some... uhhhhh.... Salicylic Acid, Touline, Methanol, Carbon Tetrachloride, H-Heptane, Potassium Carbonate, Ethyl Acetate, Hexate, BHA, Sodium Tetraborate, and why not just jump the gun and grab the Cactivator Activated Silica Gel now instead of waiting until later?”

Jesus christ this might as well be a liquid bomb with how little he trusts a child with any of these products. Especially silica gel. Don’t kids get high off of that stuff? No, no, Tony, be a good mentor-figure-thing. Now was the time to let the kid have a little room to make mistakes. Let him blow up the lab now instead of later. Sounds responsible.

“Gotcha, Wiz Kid.”

“First off, if I was a sim, my childhood aspiration would be Rambunctious Scamp.”

Tony deadpanned at Peter for another three minutes and twelve seconds before finally responding.

“I literally have no idea what you are talking about, ever.”

Well, ain’t that the truth. However, if Tony was being honest with himself, a little back and forth did wonders to calm his nerves. Maybe the kid wasn’t all too frightening. More like a kitten in the freezing rain.

“What’s next?”

Peter grabbed the worn notebook and examined the page closely.

“Uhhhh, now we add activator degas for 30 minutes, I think. Or is it 45? Wait a sec, I’ll find it somewhere in my notes.”

“You don’t have it memorized?”

“Well, usually I don’t have an audience.”

“Touché.”

Time continued on like that for the next half hour. Back and forth, quip after quip, each remark from the thir-fif-twe-si-fourteen year old “August 10th, 2001, the day the world wishes had never happened. No, it’s a joke Mr. Stark. More of a gen z kind of thing.” reminding Tony of himself. Perhaps, in another world, he could have been as amazing as Peter Parker was proving to be.

He even introduced Peter to the bots, who immediately decided they had a new brother to play with and went hog wild trying to play ball with the kid who was far more interested in marveling at their hotwiring. To Tony, their designs were juvenile and messy. However, to the teenaged dumpster diver next to him, they were beautiful.

And once time slowed, they finally went back to work.

“Now we need to heat it, slowly! Don’t hurt my baby, Mr. Stark!”

“Your baby?”

“You literally just called a little robot your baby but I’m the weird one, ok.”

“Dum-E has artificial feelings, your super glue wouldn’t care if you magically turned to ash.”

Ok, too far. But the kid took it as a joke, no doubt. He snorted the whole way through his laugh. Snorted.

“How slowly is this supposed to be anyway?”

“For the next 24 hours.”

“24 HOURS? What are we supposed to do until then?”

“I dunno. I can swing over tomorrow and we can finish it up then.”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good.”

Tony helped Peter load his equipment back up, hoping the kid wouldn’t get caught stealing school property.

“Heck, maybe make it a tradition. Lab days until one of us explodes from too much science.”

And Tony smiled. The brightest, most genuine smile he had ever given in his lifetime.

“You got it, kiddo.”

Yeah, Lab days.

He could get behind that.

It might just be his new favorite thing.

[simonjadis]

Anon I’m ASSUMING that these are from the same person; apologies if they are not

I would say that my feelings are similar to yours, but not quite identical ...

Disney’s handling has been imperfect, and some of the mistakes have been made the highest level (I know that people give Kathleen Kennedy a hard time, but if rumor is to be believed, some of the interference that made IX kind of weird came from higher than that)

for example, Kennedy said in an interview that she tries to find people who just make big, successful movies to make sure that these are also big, successful movies. I can understand that as being a safe bet from a business stand point, but that’s not the same thing as finding someone passionate about very specifically telling good, new Star Wars stories, which we did not really get in the Sequel Trilogy

(one of the most common theories that I saw from TLJ apologists was that people didn’t like that it was new/different than what they were expecting, which was really not the issue for me or my friends. Also it was just a speedrun of parts of Episodes V and VI)

I think that I’m “too close” to Star Wars to see it as a financial asset rather than a beloved universe full of characters and stories that I adore, but I don’t think that “literally just rehash the Original Trilogy for two movies and barely acknowledge any other part of Star Wars until IX” was a good idea

Rey deserved her own story. and Luke deserved to not be retroactively robbed of his

as for George Lucas, I do think that years of backlash over the Prequels sucked the fun out of it for him. Also, who doesn’t want four billion dollars? it was a sweetheart deal for Disney, of course

the sad thing is that this meant the end of Clone Wars, because Disney took one look at Lucasfilm’s budget and was like “OH NO YOU CANNOT SPEND THAT KIND OF MONEY ON A CARTOON” which is why Season 6 was paid for by Netflix and why Maul: Son of Dathomir was a comic

I love Star Wars Rebels and I’m not trying to knock the show at all, but the budgetary difference was palpable. Clone Wars did have it a little easier because of the Clone Troopers (all having the same face), but on Rebels, you notice that 90% of the Imperials are the same guy wearing a hat with his visor obscuring most of his face. market scenes show just a few people (but plenty of Storm Troopers)

the designs of the main characters -- Ezra, Hera, Sabine, Zeb, Kallus, Thrawn, Kanan, etc -- are great and loving and detailed and most of those change a little over time, but there’s a reason that we only see so many planets on Rebels. look at the huge armies and crowds in Rebels. my friend @drunkkenobi​ is the first who pointed out to me that in Clone Wars, you sometimes see lines of ships (Space Traffic) and each ship in line will be unique, distinct from the others

it’s not Rebels’ fault that they didn’t have that kind of budget. that’s also why their space battles (and space ships) never quite look right. meanwhile, for Clone Wars, if they wanted a particular scene or ship that went over their planned budget, all that they had to do was ask Uncle George

eccentric billionaires funding expensive media isn’t necessarily the most sustainable model for storytelling, but it sure worked out well for Clone Wars and for The Expanse

(Jeff Bezos personally called up the head of Amazon Prime programming, who had already been considering acquiring the extremely good but expensive show, and was like “hey the cast from this show is at a thing where I am, I’d love to just tell them that their show is saved, give me it?” and we saw as many new locations in Season 4 as we did in the first three seasons)

but streaming -- where you actually get money directly from customers who then, through their activity on your platform, show you exactly what they want to see aka what is keeping them on your platform -- offers a new opportunity for high quality genre media. remember, scifi and fantasy were EVERYWHERE in the ‘90s and the early aughts, and then because too expensive for regular TV unless they had huge audiences. only through streaming do we have these new Star Treks, The Witcher, and the real possibility of a new Stargate series

why do I bring up streaming? because

The Mandalorian goes to show that Disney can 100% do good Star Wars. Rebels was good, despite its budget, but can you imagine how much better it would have been if it had aired on Disney+

as with the DC movies (three of which are good and I’m also excited for Birds of Prey), the solution to the our-movies-made-a-lot-of-money-but-aren’t-strictly-speaking-good is literally just “let the people who do the cartoons make the movies”

and now we’re getting a final, seventh (half) season of Clone Wars! twelve episodes looking better than the show has ever looked!!

if you’re like me, you probably thought to yourself “gee, only 12?” and, cynically, you figured that it’s a trick -- announced at ComicCon in 2018 to build up the first wave of hype for Disney+

and it is ... but it 100% worked on me, I signed up for Disney+ and will pay anything for Clone War

my HOPE is that this is a test run to see if people really like high-quality animated Star Wars stories enough to continue with it. there’s only so much clone wars that one can cover (my suspicion is that we will see Ahsoka fake her death during Order 66 in these eps, so yep, that’s the end of the Clone Wars right there)

imagine a well-written series with everything that Clone Wars had in terms of content and visual quality, but it’s set after Episode IX. to my frustration, IX ends with effectively the same worldstate as VI which essentially means that nothing much happened in the Sequel Trilogy. but imagine a series set after IX. we could see a new set of (Force-wielding) characters. we could see Rey, Finn, Poe, and Rose during some episodes. Rose could finally get to do something that’s not an insulting fool’s errand (she deserves so much better!!!!!)

we don’t need a new Big Scary Empire/First Order thing, just organized crime and pirates and Hutts and bounty hunters and individual planet systems going to war as the characters try to assemble a NEW New Republic (gods I hate the unchanged worldstate)

now, I know that Star Wars Resistance is not ... reassuring. this is the only screencap that I have from it because I couldn’t get into it. it’s not the animation (I enjoyed Tron Uprising and Iron Man: Armored Adventures and this is the same kind of deal), but three things:

-I watch Star Wars for the Force primarily; other stuff can be cool but I need the Force

-I will never care about ships racing and really I don’t care about an individual ship flying; I’m a Command Ship kind of space nerd

-apparently the writing doesn’t improve much during the first season. people tell the main character to not do something, then he does it, and disaster ensues. that’s ... it’s fine, it’s fine to exist as a show, it’s just not for me

obviously, not all Star Wars media is for me, but when something -- like TLJ or the Sequel Series as a whole (even though VII and IX are enjoyable) or Resistance -- disappoints me, I would never accuse it of “ruining Star Wars”

Star Wars is a whole franchise. the breadth of canon isn’t all wiped away by some disappointments. was the MCU ruined by Age of Ultron? no. it was a bad movie but from the same franchise that gave us The Winter Soldier and Thor Ragnarok. hell, Dawn of Justice doesn’t “ruin” Wonder Woman or Aquaman or Shazam. bad movies aren’t contagious

for the past several years, the Entitled Dude crowd has felt empowered. they were radicalized in the altright/redpill/MGTOW/meninist/nazi/gamergate/comicsgate/etc spheres of the internet and now they just have a reflex where they see any sort of representation and decry it as “SJW,” which they also seem to think is a bad thing

in the same way that well-meaning people on tumblr can get radicalized into being antis/puriteens, people with certain vulnerabilities on reddit or youtube can get sucked into a world that tells them that they are the default and that other people existing is “political” in media and in real life, and that people being upset by outright cruelty towards them is both funny and means that the cruel person is the victor. they need therapy and studios need to not listen to them

unfortunately, sometimes there are movies that are bad despite having things like solid representation. Ghostbusters 2016 was a delight, but my friends and I with whom I saw TLJ (all of us queer feminists) left the theater angry. we’ve bitten our tongues a lot (even if it seems otherwise) because publicly criticizing the film too often leads some incel monster to chime in with agreement, and we’re just like

the redpillgate crowed et all is a natural ally of conservative white evangelicals, even though the former group is generally made up of New Atheists (the short version is atheists who hold socially conservative views because racism/misogyny/transphobia benefit them without using christianity as an excuse). it’s kind of like how terfs will side with conservative hate groups because, though they’re natural enemies, they both despite trans people just for existing

unfortunately, when you’re looking at who went to see a movie or who hated it, not everyone posts with an ID card saying exactly their demographic. which is only going to make studios like Disney even more nervous about including queer content in Star Wars and in the MCU (I mean real queer content with characters whose names don’t have to be searched on a wiki)

that was a bit of a tangent, but yeah. sorry if I missed anything

[fullstop-official]

A Scheduled Four Hours of My Local Drugstore Hell

AKA: Chapter Two

Once upon a time, two high school sweethearts were married. They’d already fallen head-over-heels in love, so they tied the knot, bought a house, built successful careers, and even started a family together.

Then, they got divorced when their son was in seventh grade.

Since the divorce, I’ve lived with my mom in the Valley. Not too long after their marriage dissolved, my dad got a job offer to teach English at Purdue, and he couldn’t possibly pass up such a sweet deal, so he moved to Indiana. I only get to see him in person a few times a year, less and less since he started teaching spring and summer courses. At first, it was pretty tough and kind of hit me hard, but it probably could have been worse. It was a fairly clean break – there wasn’t really a lot of fighting. Instead, they just both sort of realized they’d married the wrong person. They’re still friends, which is better than what Bryson had to deal with when his parents split up, so I figure I’m one of the lucky ones.

***

After band practice, I’m back in the Gator’s passenger seat with an altered mood and the dread caused by the clause of a hastily written contract looming over me. At the very least, Travis is always musically prepared, so I don’t have to sit through the overplayed crap on the radio. Not all of his stuff is particularly to my taste, but it’s absolutely nothing like Selena’s so I can deal with having to hear a Nickelback song every once and a while.

I don’t have a car of my own, so this is all commonplace. Travis is basically my ride everywhere. We usually aren’t too far apart anyway. Both of us live in Woodland Hills in the third quadrant (as bisected by the highways and major streets) where the roads start to mercilessly curve in order to work with the mountains. The bends, levels and hills made it an equally exciting and terrifying experience learning how to drive, so more often than not, I graciously decide to leave that part up to Travis.

I live in one of the two-story homes, which is pretty rare because Woodland Hills is basically made up of single-story ranches that were definitely built during that bold period between the fifties and the eighties – low, gradual rooflines, giant stone on the same building as ugly siding, the whole nine yards. I wouldn’t be too surprised if half of them still have shag carpets, faux wood panels, and flower power wallpaper from the seventies.

Travis pulls into my driveway behind my mom’s car, and we both climb out of the Gator. We head inside through the front door. The smell of spices and grease hits me the instant we step from the LA summer heat into air conditioning. The scents waft from the kitchen in through the living room.

“We’re home!” I call out as Travis and I kick off our shoes. We follow the aroma, and the crackles and pops that start to become clearer, into the kitchen.

My mom’s still in scrubs which means when she got home the hunger and thought of dinner overruled everything else, including changing clothes. She’s standing before the stove with stir fry sizzling on the element.

“Doctor Scott!” Travis uses his standard greeting – a high, breathy, surprised gasp in his best impression of Janet from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It does not suit his voice at all, but it’s been his go-to hello for my mom since we first saw the movie back in middle school. I’m sure that must be why it’s one of his favourite scenes because, honestly, it’s thirty straight seconds of people yelling names. And it repeats.

“Travis is here,” she states, half sarcastic and wearing a grin. “Big surprise.”

“Yeah, I just can’t seem to get rid of him,” I joke.”

Travis scoffs back teasingly as he drops into one of the chairs at our kitchen table. “Em fo dir teg ot gniog reven er’uoy, Nagrom,” he says in reverse.

“Taht tuoba ees ll’ew, Sivart.”

“Stop speaking in tongues or I’m hiring an exorcist,” my mom chimes in. She turns a bit to look over her shoulder while I open the fridge. She asks, already knowing the answer, “Are you staying for dinner, Travis?”

“If you insist.” I don’t have to see his face while I’m digging around to know that he’s smirking as he says it.

“Intercepting my leftovers before they even had a chance,” she sighs playfully.

“Is it vegetarian stir fry again?” I ask, only because I notice from the corner of my eye that her pan seems to lack protein. I kick the fridge door shut, hands occupied by two sodas. I toss the Cherry Coke to Travis and he, thankfully, catches it. There have been a few tragic instances where one of us has missed, and the can exploded as a casualty, and it really isn’t fun cleaning liquid sugar off of every surface in a seven-foot radius.

In response to my question, my mom lets out a little disapproving hum. “It wouldn’t be if you’d ever listen to me and take the chicken out of the freezer when I ask you to.”

Travis laughs as he cracks open his can.

“At least I know it means you’re eating your vegetables.”

“I mean, I don’t really have many other options. Between driving to somewhere for a burger or staying and eating your rabbit food, this one’s the simplest.”

“Kind of an Occam’s Razor for food choices,” Travis interjects.

“Precisely.”

“You two are weird.” She looks up from stirring the pan and focuses on me. “Work tonight?”

I nod. “At six. Short shift. But I wouldn’t be stuck in CVS purgatory if I already had a car and didn’t have to save for one.”

“I gave you a choice. Car now or tuition later.” She points the spatula at me. “And you, my friend, picked the smart option. Even if it means Travis gets to steal my food and camp out in my home. Will I be seeing him later, too?”

“Likely,” Travis answers. “I am his ride everywhere, after all.” It’s his small attempt at helping my cause and rescuing me from part-time retail, but it ultimately doesn’t end with my mom seeing the light and offering to buy me an alternative mode of transportation.

Travis changes the subject after taking another sip of his drink.

“Coming to the gig Friday night, Doctor Scott?”

My mom has told him many times that he can call her by her first name, or even just call her mom at this point. Travis refuses. She’s stopped trying to fight it.

“Nope. Date night.”

My mom has seen a few other guys since the divorce, but she’s been with her current boyfriend, Derek, for about six-or-seven months now, I believe. Ironically, he was my dad’s best friend all through high school. They were even in a band together back then, too.

“Besides, Ray’s Underground is kind of sketchy. Don’t they pay you in beer?” She gives me a “mom look,” one brow raised.

“They pay us. We get about four-fifty a show. Bryson funnels it back into the band.”

“The free beer is just a perk, not currency,” Travis adds with a grin.

“Why can’t you be like normal teenagers and just lie to me about your illegal shenanigans?” She shakes her head. Her hair is still pulled back, so the low ponytail flops between her shoulder blades. “I’ve heard you guys a hundred times anyway. You’re good. I don’t have to go watch every show.”

“Too bad. You’ll miss Morgan’s lead-singing debut.”

I feel the physical part of me freeze up, and others inside die instantly with that kill shot that came out of nowhere. My mom’s head whips up from the stove and her light, wide eyes spend a second bouncing between me and my best friend. He’s still wearing a smug face. I’m just trapped in that “stay perfectly still and nothing bad will happen” mindset like some stunned piece of prey. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, her gaze settles on Travis in disbelief.

“Morgan?” she asks. “Morgan Scott? Morgan Jamie Scott the Second?”

My parents are both uncreative, naming-impaired, cruel narcissists. I have my dad’s first name and the middle is my mom’s, so I guess it’s a good thing they were both stuck with unisex names. I’ve been told it would have been reversed if I’d been a girl: Jamie Morgan.

“My son?” The spatula tip is pointed my way again. The tenseness has begun to fade away and now I just want to roll my eyes at her theatrics. “Him?”

“Even signed a contract,” Travis confirms. “He’s going to sing our encore, front-and-center.”

“Wow,” she remarks. “I’m almost sad I’m going to miss that.” Her curious stare briefly finds its way back to me before her focus moves back to her cooking again. “What are you singing?”

Travis jumps in and answers before I can. “Blank Space.”

I notice a second too late that he refused to elaborate on which version we’re doing.

I feel that sinking pressure of remorse mixed with something that’s bordering on annoyance because my mom bursts out laughing after putting the title to a song, and the song to the original singer’s face, and then probably that face on my face. She’s obviously thinking about the overplayed pop version she’s heard a billion times.

“Thanks, Trav.” Monotone. Sarcasm. In response, he just raises his can of Cherry Coke to me like a small, mischievous salute. He’s grinning and practically glowing with schadenfreude.

When she stops mocking me, my mom turns. She shoves her spatula into my hand. “Watch the food, Taylor Swift; I’m going to go get changed.” As she steps around me to leave, she reaches up the height I’ve got on her and messes my hair, only adding to the humiliating taunting. “God, you need a haircut.” She says this about once a month to me, and every few days to Travis – not that it accomplishes anything.

I sigh silently as I take her place before the frying vegetables, and she disappears from the kitchen. I hear her laughter start up again – she isn’t finished basking in the sheer hilarity everybody except me seems to find in the deal I was bribed into making.

“She’ll be calling me Taylor Swift for the rest of my life.”

“No doubt.”

“I hate you,” I say.

“I know,” Travis replies, definitely still smirking.

***

When I get off of work at ten after a scheduled four hours of my local drugstore hell, Travis is waiting for me in the Gator, parked in a space by the door and blaring Sum 41 so loud all of Winnetka is liable to complain. He turns the volume down when I climb into the passenger seat to something more suitable for conversation.

“Fun night?” he asks to tease me.

“I think a piece of my soul died.”

Travis chuckles in response – he’s heard enough of my CVS horror stories to know I’m not exaggerating. He encounters some idiots at his job, sure, but there’s a special brand of general-public stupidity that I’m exposed to every single time I walk into CVS wearing a nametag and a polo.

“What did you do while I was being tortured?”

He’s wearing another conceited look as he backs out of the space in the vacant lot. “I met up with Sweet Caroline Wu for a little while.”

Sweet Caroline Wu goes to our school and had a major Neil Diamond obsession back in the tenth grade, hence the nickname. (She’s hot too, which is also pretty sweet, in my opinion.) Travis and Sweet Caroline have been hanging out as a pair for a couple weeks now, usually whenever I’m working. They both say they’re not dating or fooling around, but they absolutely are. Travis talks about her a lot in that dopey, smitten way. I end up hearing a lot about how her lips taste like strawberries, and how her hair smells like coconut, and how her breasts feel (perfect, according to him).

So, yeah, they’re totally dating.

“Is she coming on Friday?” I ask. I know Sweet Caroline doesn’t really like the kind of music we play, but she likes Travis enough that she’ll sit through an entire band practice just to fawn over him.

“Of course. I promised her a backstage tour after the set. And she can be another witness when you dump your girlfriend.”

Those words sound like a choir of angels to me. I almost expect the night-darkened heavens to part, and a beam of light to shine down on the promise of mine and Selena’s contractually-destroyed fake relationship as it’s so close to coming to an end. It’s the clause of my agreement with Bryson, however, that stops this from happening. It weighs heavily on me like a cloud of smog blocking the Godly illumination’s full radiance.

By the time we’re back in Woodland Hills and pulling into my driveway, the music has shifted to blessthefall. Travis shuts the Gator off in the middle of Hollow Bodies. He hauls a familiar overnight duffel bag over his shoulder as we walk to the door, which means that, at some point between making out with Sweet Caroline Wu and coming to pick me up from work, he went home, at least for a few minutes.

“How is it over there?” I ask him.

“Not safe. Have to wait it out another month.”

Travis’ older brother, Tyler, is home for the summer. He’s majoring in structural engineering at UCB, which means that Travis’ parents are asking him about his courses, and also asking Travis what his plans are after he graduates high school. They don’t like the answer that he gives.

Both Longfield brothers got in part-time at this garage during the summers, and, while Tyler sees it as a source of a few extra bucks, it’s what Travis wants to do – I mean, not the cleaning and administration stuff he’s stuck doing, but the fixing part. His parents think he can do better than “just a lowly auto mechanic,” even though he’d definitely have an apprenticeship lined up after vocational school, and a guaranteed full-time job after that. When his brother is home, that all goes out the window, and he has to spend most days and nights over at my place. He’d end up in a straightjacket otherwise.

My mom is still awake in the living room when we enter. She’s sitting in front of the TV, watching one of her recordings of some drama on NBC that makes her cry. I always tease her and tell her she should stop watching if she can’t handle the tragedy they’ve scripted, but she holds true to her claim that it’s all just too beautiful, and intricate, and deserves to be viewed. She keeps watching and crying over fictional characters.

“How was work?” She’s already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“Hell.”

“That’s nice.”

She’s not really listening.

Travis and I go upstairs and leave her be.

I think my bedroom is relatively normal for a teenager – posters, books, clothes, a mother who’s constantly trying to make me clean it all up to no avail. The only uncommon thing is Travis’ bed. It’s a futon, but it’s never put back into couch mode, nor do the extra pillows and blankets ever leave it. Travis sets his bag down at the foot of it.

“What magnificent wonders of the past are you forcing me to watch tonight?” I pull off my polo – my glorified prison uniform – and toss it aside. I’d burn it if I didn’t need the money in my car fund.

Travis already has three DVDs in hand. He’s sort of a movie buff, which means I’ve seen just about every piece of cinema produced between 1927 and the present, regardless of whether or not it’s actually good.

“Psycho, The Searchers, or Casablanca?”

“Psycho.”

“Shower scene. Implied nudity,” he remarks. He’s smirking, mostly because he’s an ass, and also because he isn’t wrong.

“Beats cowboy racism and a movie I’ve watched a hundred times.”

“Casablanca is a classic,” Travis defends, already putting in the disc for Psycho. “Three Academy Awards.”

“I know,” I say, teasingly, “Because I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

He flips me off playfully, and we fall into something familiar and comfortable, despite the creepy motel vibe and plenty of chocolate syrup blood.

Chapter: 1

[nevermindthewind]

the question queen

shoutout to @fourdrinkamy for helping me come up with this idea and for being my fave hype girl, @amyscascadingtabs for the constant support and encouragement, and to everyone else who’s let me yell about this fic for the past three weeks. I love y’all sm <3

Zoey Peralta loves to ask alllll the questions. When Amy gets pregnant again, the questions become even more frequent and even more hilarious.

read on ao3 or under the cut.

I.  “Mommy, why won’t you open the door?!”

This is the question Amy is bombarded with not even seconds after entering the bathroom. She had just left Zoey in front of the TV, seemingly entranced by the episode of Paw Patrol currently on the screen in hopes that she could use the bathroom in peace.  

Not entranced enough, apparently.

Dammit.

Really, Amy knows she shouldn’t be complaining. She’s gotten to spend her day off snuggled up with Zoey on the couch, alternating between reading and working on the puzzle sitting half-completed on the coffee table with Paw Patrol on in the background. It’s the type of day she often dreams about when she’s in the midst of a crazy, exhausting case. So, yes, Amy knows how lucky she is.

But she also knows if she hears “Chase is on the case!” one more time she will freaking lose it.

So as soon as Zoey is settled with a bowl of cheez-its Amy slides out of her daughter’s grip and scurries to the bathroom, snagging her purse off the kitchen table as she does so. For the first time in what felt like years she actually turns the lock after closing the bathroom door. Part of her is surprised they still work.

She had just opened her purse and pulled out a small CVS bag when she hears the banging on the door, followed by her daughter’s incessant yelling.

“MOMMY! I said, why won’t you open the door?”

Amy squeezes her eyes shut as her hand freezes inside the bag.

“Baby, Mommy needs a minute to go potty.”

“But why can’t I come in?”

“Because...because I’ve got a surprise for you!” Amy says wildly, internally cursing herself because now she has to figure out a surprise for Zoey on top of everything else.

“Oooh a surprise?! Is it candy? A new binder? GUMMY WORMS?!”

Amy can’t help but smile. Zoey really is such a combination of her parents.

“Go finish your snack and I’ll come show you when I’m done, okay?”

“Okay!”

As soon as she hears Zoey pitter patter back down the hall she turns her attention back to the bag in her hand. She slides the obnoxious pink package out before plopping herself on the toilet.

It’s a weird feeling, the combination of excitement and dread that courses through her veins as she takes out the pregnancy test. She’s taken what feels like a billion of these at this point and she’s felt pretty much every emotion in the book. This one, though, feels different.

Once Zoey had turned three they’d decided to try for another kid. However it turned out to be much, much easier said than done. After almost a year of trying, three close calls, and one particularly heartbreaking conversation where Amy had admitted to Jake she was convinced the universe didn’t find her worthy of another baby, they’d finally decided to leave it up to fate. It was just too damn hard. They weren’t going to stop trying, but they weren’t going to force it either. If they had another baby, amazing. If not, that’d be okay, too. They already had the most incredible, beautiful daughter. They didn’t need anything else.

That was four months ago.

Fast forward to today. Amy’s period is five days late (which never happens), her boobs hurt like hell, and she hasn’t been able to stop eating for the past 72 hours. All signs that point to her possibly being pregnant.

She wants to be excited, Christ does she want to, but she can’t help the nagging fear telling her it’s going to be negative. There’s no way she’s pregnant.

And yet…

There’s still the tiniest glimmer of hope as she awkwardly places the test between her legs (that part never got any easier either). Maybe this is it. Maybe there’s another Jake-and-Amy combo residing in her belly. Maybe.

Amy’s just placed the test on the counter and set her alarm when she hears Zoey once again trampling down the hall.

“Mommy, the show is done. Are you done with my surprise?” The question is followed by what sounds like Zoey attempting to break apart the door with her own two hands.

Amy winces, eyeing the timer still open on her phone. Two minutes, forty-six seconds.

“Not yet, Zo. I had to order it online.” Again with the lies. Get it together, Amy.

“Oh…” A pause, and then, “Can I come in now? I miss you!”

Amy can’t help but laugh as she stands up to unlock the door. The door swings open to reveal Zoey with her tiny fist up in the air as if ready to strike.  Zoey looks up, her eyes widening with excitement as she sees her mom.

“Finally!” she says dramatically, flinging herself into Amy’s legs. “You were in there forever.”

Amy rolls her eyes as a smile flickers across her face. Since the day she was born Zoey Peralta has always been one for dramatics. “It was only two minutes, Zo.”

Zoey lets go of Amy’s legs and crosses her arms, making her look fourteen instead of four. “Yeah, two whole minutes!”

Amy can tell her daughter is trying to look mad, but her eyes are sparkling and there’s a mischievous grin attempting to show itself beneath the angry facade. It’s a look that screams Jake Peralta and it’s enough to make Amy’s heart burst with (exasperated) affection.

“Well I am very, very sorry.” Amy reaches out and lifts her daughter into the air, rousing a giggle out of Zoey before resting her on her right hip. She kisses Zoey’s forehead, sweeping her brown curls out of her face. “I missed you too, Zo-bug.”

She carries Zoey over to the toilet and sits so she’s straddling her lap, pausing to check the timer. Thirty-three seconds. Oh shit.

“Mommy?”

“Hmm?” Amy snaps back to look at her daughter.

Zoey cocks her head. “Why’s your face all scrunchy? Is something wrong?”

Amy gives Zoey what she hopes is a convincing smile. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are we still here?” Zoey asks, wiggling in an attempt to get out of Amy’s grasp. Amy steals another glance at the test. This look does not get past her daughter, who immediately reaches for the counter.  “Ooh what’s that, Mommy?”

It’s all Amy can do not to burst out laughing. Of course Zoey wants to get her hands on a used pregnancy test.

“Well, it’s a test that Mommy took,” she explains, grabbing the stick and shoving it into her pants pocket. She doesn’t look to see the results.

“I love tests!” exclaims Zoey. She turns back to Amy with an inquisitive look. “Can I take one, too?”

Amy snorts before shaking her head. “No, baby. This is a test for Mommies only.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zoey thankfully isn’t too upset she isn’t included in this particular activity. She does, apparently, have more questions. “But why did you take it on the potty?”

Just as Amy’s about to try and explain herself the timer goes off, causing Amy’s brain to officially go into panic mode. This is it, the moment of truth.

But wait -- Should she look with Zoey right there? Part of her wants to, wants her first baby to be there for the moment she becomes a big sister -- or for comfort if she doesn’t. But there’s another part of her that knows if Zoey finds out she will tell Jake, and their parents, and every stranger she meets on the street before Amy even has a chance to open her mouth.

Maybe she should just wait for Jake. He should be home any minute. She can make it til then, right? Right.

Amy lifts Zoey into the air as she rises off the toilet seat and sets her on the ground.

“Alright, Bug. Should we go see what Ryder and the rest of the gang are up to?”

“Yeah! No job is too big, no pup is too — ”

Down the hall they hear the front door click open, followed by a booming voice calling out, “Anybody home?”

“DADDY!” Zoey’s eyes light up before she sprints out of the bathroom and down the hall. “Daddy, you’re home!”

“Hey Zozo!”

Even from her spot in the bathroom Amy can hear Zoey collide with Jake. She giggles to herself as she follows her daughter’s path towards the entryway. Once in the hallway she can see them; Zoey wrapped around Jake’s leg while Jake places his keys on their designated hook.

“How was your day with Mommy?” Jake asks, lifting Zoey into the air. He blows a raspberry on her cheek, causing Zoey to burst into giggles. Amy’s pretty sure it’s scientific fact that Zoey giggles are the cutest sounds in the entire world.

See, they don’t need a second kid. Just look how amazing their first one is.

“Good. We watched Paw Patrol and started a puzzle,” says Zoey, now clinging to Jake’s neck.

Jake’s eyes light up in over-the-top excitement. “No way! You’ll have to show it to me.”

“Okay. Mommy helped but I did most of it,” Zoey adds proudly.

“Yeah she did,” Amy confirms, smiling as she reaches the two of them. “Hi there.”

Jake returns her exhausted smile with one of his own before kissing her gently on the lips. “Hi.”

“Guess what, Daddy?” Zoey pipes up, inserting herself right between her parents. Jake and Amy snicker at each other. God forbid there be a single moment where Zoey isn’t the center of their attention.

“What?”

“Mommy took a test today for Mommies in the bathroom. Isn’t that a funny place for a test?”

Jake’s eyebrows as shoot up while Amy closes her eyes. This was so not how she wanted him to find out.

If there even is anything to find out.

Amy opens her eyes to see Jake looking right at her. She can see the gears in his head turning, quickly putting two and two together. He tilts his head slightly, as if looking for a confirmation.

“Oh really?” His question is directed at Amy. She nods, feeling a blush spread down her neck and cheeks.

“Question Queen over here caught me just as I’d finished taking it.”

“Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool.” Jake lets out a nervous laugh. The corners of his mouth are attempting to smile, but it’s like he’s trying to keep it hidden. Like he’s just as scared as she is.

“And?” he asks in a terrible attempt at being casual. They both know this is anything but casual. “What’d it say?”

“Yeah, did you get all the questions right?” Zoey asks.

“I don’t know,” Amy answers honestly, not taking her eyes off Jake. “We got a little sidetracked.”

“Right.” Jake runs his free hand through his hair.

“I have it here. We should look, right?” Amy asks, slowly reaching her hand down to where the test was currently residing and burning a hole in her pocket. “Get it over with?”

“Sure, yeah, that sounds good,” says Jake, hoisting Zoey over to his other hip. “It’s your call, babe.”

There’s a shift in the air, as if they’ve been suspended in time. Amy grips the test, but freezes just before pulling it out. She doesn’t know if she can do this again, if she can handle another heartbreak.

“Ames?”

Amy looks up to see Jake giving her the sweetest smile with Zoey still tucked into his side.

“It’ll all be okay.”

“Yeah, Mommy!” Zoey adds with a toothy grin of her own. She doesn’t have the slightest idea what her parents are talking about, but both her and Jake’s encouragements are all Amy needs to take the test out of her pocket.

They will be okay. Baby or not, they will all be okay.

She gives them a nod and a tiny smile, takes a deep breath, and finally flips the test over.

“Oh my god.”

A gasp escapes from the back of her throat. She brings her hand to her mouth.

“Ames, what’s it say?”

“Did you get the questions right?”

Amy can’t speak, she can barely breathe as she holds up the test for Jake to see.

A dark pink plus sign.

Turns out Zoey’s getting a surprise after all.

—

II. “How’d the baby get in your tummy?”

In retrospect, Amy probably should have seen this coming.

As soon as they found out Amy was pregnant, both Jake and Amy had been researching ways to make the pregnancy less confusing for her and to prepare her for having a little brother or sister. They’d spent hours scouring the internet and talked to the Sarge and probably bought WAY too many books about the subject.

One thing Terry had suggested was using a doppler to hear the baby’s heartbeat. Apparently he and Sharon did that with the twins before Ava was born and they thought it was the coolest thing ever. They’d even let the girls take turns using the wand, following the baby around as she moved. So last night Jake had rummaged through their closet and dug out the doppler they’d bought when Amy was pregnant with Zoey.  Amy, on the other hand, read through the Zoey tab on the pregnancy binder for the thousandth time.

It’s a win-win really and honestly, she’s surprised she didn’t think of this sooner. They hadn’t heard the heartbeat in a few weeks, and Amy already misses hearing it. Even though she’s showing now, she still wants — no, needs that extra reminder that her baby is there, that this is really happening. Sometimes she still has trouble believing it.

So now here they are; Amy’s propped up on the bed with her (Jake’s) t-shirt pulled up and gel all over her belly while Jake sits with Zoey in his lap, the doppler ready to go in between them.

“Alright. You ready for this, Bug?” Jake asks.

“Uh-huh.” Zoey starts to nod then stops herself. “Ready for what?”

Jake and Amy lock eyes and smirk to themselves. Their daughter, they’ve realized, has inherited her father’s goldfish brain.

“To hear the baby’s heartbeat,” Amy reminds her gently. She places her hand on the machine. “Remember? We’re gonna use the doppler so you can hear its heartbeat from inside my tummy.”

“We did this all the time when you were in there,” adds Jake. Zoey looks up at him with raised eyebrows.

“You did?”

“Oh yeah,” says Amy with an exaggerated nod. “We listened to your heartbeat all the time. In fact, it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Until I heard you cry.” She reaches over and pokes Zoey’s belly, causing her to break into giggles. “And heard you laugh.”

“Silly Mommy,” says Zoey, still giggling. “Heartbeats aren’t beautiful! And neither is crying. Crying is so annoying.”

Annoying is Zoey’s new favorite word. Everything is annoying these days.

“Maybe most crying is annoying,” says Amy. “But hearing you cry when you were born was the least annoying, most amazing thing in the entire world.”

“Okay…” Zoey says, clearly unconvinced. However she moves on rather quickly, now turning her attention back to the doppler. “How does it work?”

“How about we show you?” Jake asks in reply. “Give me your hand.”

Zoey obliges, extending her arm out towards Jake. Jake, in turn, places the doppler wand in her hand before wrapping his own hand around hers. He guides the wand towards Amy’s belly and helps Zoey place it just below her belly button.

“What is this, Daddy?” Zoey asks. Her eyes are still trained on the doppler wand in front of her.

“This,” Jake starts dramatically, “Is a magic wand.”

“For realz?” Zoey’s eyes are wide as saucers. Jake nods, his eyes matching his daughter’s intensity.

“For realz. It sends a special message into Mommy’s belly and then plays the baby’s heartbeat into this little speaker.”

Part of Amy wants to interrupt, to give Zoey a more accurate depiction of what’s happening -- that’s what all the books say to do and it’s in subsection five of the Zoey tab.  But as she listens to the two of them talk about magic and how the gel on her skin is actually a secret potion, she can’t bring herself to do it. Zoey’s completely enamoured. Her gaze keeps switching from Jake to the doppler to Amy’s belly with infectious excitement. It’s the most she’s really engaged with the baby since they first explained the pregnancy.  How could she interrupt?

“How are we gonna find the heartbeat?” Zoey asks after Jake’s done explaining.

“Well, first we need to turn on the machine,” says Jake. He looks up at Amy. “Mommy, will you do the honors?”

Amy grins. “Of course.”

She reaches over and flicks the switch, and instantly a static noise fills the air

“Is that it?!” Zoey asks, already excited. “Is that the heartbeat?”

Jake shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he says gently. Using his hand to guide Zoey’s, the two of them begin to move the doppler across her stomach. “Now we have to find it. It’s like a treasure hunt.”

“It’ll sound different, Zo. Kind of like a galloping horse,” Amy adds. “That’s how Abuela always described it to me.”

“Like this?” Zoey beings clicking her tongue, jumping up and down in Jake’s lap in what Amy assumes is a horse impression. She gets so into it she almost throws Jake off the bed.

“Easy, cowgirl!” Jake grabs the headboard and pulls himself back towards the middle of the bed so his knee is bumping against Amy’s side.

“Yep, kinda like that,” Amy says with a giggle.

It takes them another minute or so to find the baby, specifically the heartbeat.  She knows they found it a second before Jake does. It’s fast -- very similar to Zoey’s horse impression if she’s being honest -- and absolutely breathtaking. Amy’s never been as into music as Jake, but this? This is music to her ears.

“There you are,” she whispers. One corner of her mouth curls into a smile as she instinctively brings a hand to her belly and raps her fingers against the bump. She’s almost immediately rewarded with a nudge under her hand. It’s too early to feel it from the outside, making it all the more special. Right now the kicks are just for her, her own secret code with her littlest baby. “You’re excited too, aren’t you?” Another nudge. “That’s what I thought.”

Next to her she can hear Jake talking Zoey through the whole experience.

“You hear that, Zo? That’s the heartbeat. That’s your little sister,” he says. His voice is soft, almost reverent. His hand is still wrapped around Zoey’s as they continue to press the doppler onto Amy’s belly.

“Wow…” says Zoey, clearly in awe.

“I know, isn’t that awesome?”

“Yeah, so awes -- Hey! Where’d it go?”

Static replaces the heartbeat, causing both Amy and Zoey to look up at Jake with identical annoyed expressions.

“Hold on, ladies. Give me a second. She must be moving around in there,” Jake explains, bringing his attention back to the doppler. “We have to move the wand around a bit so we can find her again, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

It doesn’t take them long to find it again, the familiar whoosh once again filling up the room within a minute or so. Amy can hear Zoey firing off more questions, to which Jake gives a multitude of answers. She probably should be paying more attention, but it’s just so hard to focus on anything other than the heartbeat and the little kicks she’s getting to her side.

However there is one question that manages to bring her out of her trance real quick.

“How’d the baby get in your tummy?”

The room falls silent as Jake lets go of the doppler, letting it fall onto the bed with a soft thump.

Amy snaps her head up to see Zoey looking right at her, her eyes furrowed with curiosity. She’s seen that look hundreds of times; it’s the same look Jake gets when he’s thinking through all the possible outcomes of a case.

“Mommy?” Zoey asks again. Her eyes flicker between Amy’s eyes and her belly. “How’d the baby get in there?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

For all of the binders and all of the tabs she’s created for this pregnancy and how to explain it to Zoey, Amy never even thought about making one for this particular question.

Rookie mistake.

Amy looks up from her daughter to Jake, who’s just as shocked as she is. Amy raises her eyebrows, hoping he would have some brilliant idea for how to answer their daughter’s latest question.  He merely scrunches his face up with an alarmed shake of the head.

“Well,” Amy starts, “Mommies grow babies in their tummies.”

“I know that,” huffs Zoey. “But how did it get inside?”

“It’s -- uh, well it’s kinda like…”

“Like what?”

Amy shoots Jake another panicked look, trying to telepathically get him to step in. Thankfully he seems to get the message.

“It’s magic, Zo,” he explains, pulling something out of his ass based on his wild expression. “Yeah! When two people love each other a magic spell gets placed on them and it takes part of the mommy and part of the daddy and puts them together in the mommy’s tummy. Then it grows and grows until it’s a baby and it’s ready to come out. How cool is that?!”

“Yeah that is kinda cool,” Zoey says thoughtfully. She’s quiet for a second, then, “Will I have a baby in my tummy?”

“If you want to, baby,” Amy says, pursing her lips as she tries not to laugh at Jake’s terrified expression. “But not for a long, long time,” she adds.

Zoey furrows her eyebrows before nodding. “Okay. Can I hear the heartbeat again?”

“Yes!” Jake exclaims a little too quickly as he fumbles for the doppler. Amy covers her mouth to hide her giggles, which earns her a flick to the shoulder. “Rude,” he mouths.

“You love me,” she shoots back.

She expects some snappy comeback, but as always Jake continues to surprise her. He leans over, catching her lips in the softest kiss.

“Yes I do.”

—

Later on after Zoey’s had her fill of the baby she decides to go play in her room, leaving Jake and Amy alone.

“So magic, huh?” Amy asks at once, giving Jake an amused smirk. “Did our Hogwarts letters just get lost in the mail, or…?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you coming up with better!” Jake says defensively. “Besides, at least she bought it. Now hopefully she won’t ask about it again for a while.”

“That’s true…” she trails off before letting out a groan. “God, our daughter is too curious for her own good.”

“And just think, soon there will be two of them,” says Jake, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Amy can’t help but melt as he lowers himself down so he’s laying on his side, propping his head on his hand. “I love you, baby girl.”

Amy feels the slightest nudge right as Jake places his other hand on the swell of her stomach. Based on Jake’s non-existent reaction, the kick isn’t strong enough to be felt on the outside. Usually she tells Jake when the baby moves, but this one she decides to keep to herself. It won’t be long until the kicks aren’t just for her. For now she’d rather keep it that way. Instead she runs her hand through the curls at the nape of Jake’s neck, relishing the rare moment of tranquility as Jake continues to trace patterns all across her stomach.

It’s Jake who finally breaks the silence.

“Wanna listen to her heartbeat again without a four-year-old asking a billion questions?”

Amy grins. “Oh you know it.”

----

III. “Is this my baby?”

Amy is nervous.

Well, she’s a multitude of things. She’s tired and sore and excited and terrified and so, so, so deliriously happy. But right now, she’s mostly nervous.

It’s not that she thinks anything bad will happen. They’ve been preparing for this. Not to mention Zoey’s been asking everyday for the past month when the baby will get here. She’s constantly been telling both her parents -- and everyone else she knows for that matter -- all the things she wants to do with her baby sister when she gets here. They’re gonna play Ninja Turtles, watch Moana, read all her favorite books, you name it. Amy and Jake have tried explaining that the baby won’t be able to play for a little bit, but Zoey doesn’t seem to care. She’s just too excited. She even made a little to-do list of all the activities. Granted, it’s a piece of paper with a bunch of colored squiggles, but still. The point is, the girl’s excited to have a little sister.

So really Amy shouldn’t be nervous at all. They’re ready for this.

But still, there’s a part of her that remembers the horror stories she’s read about where the older kid threw a tantrum when they realized they weren’t the only child getting mom and dad’s attention. It’s that very thought that’s been running through her head since Jake left to pick up Zoey from his mom’s. What if that’s Zoey’s reaction? What if she hates her sister?

The tiniest movement from the hours old bundle in her arms grabs Amy’s attention. Her gaze is brought back to her daughter, who’s face scrunches up before stretching into the most adorable yawn.

Amy can feel her heart exploding into a million little pieces. God, her daughter is breathtaking.

How could anyone hate her?!

Truth be told, there’d been a tiny part of her that was worried she wouldn’t love this baby as much as she loves Zoey. It was a fear she never voiced, not even to Jake. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was going to be a terrible mother, or that she’d already somehow picked a favorite child.  But sitting here in her hospital bed with their beautiful baby who has the darkest hair and tiniest nose she can feel all those fears disappear.

“Because I love you so much, yes I do,” Amy whispers, bringing the baby up to eye level. She closes her eyes and plants the softest kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “You beautiful, beautiful girl.”

The baby blinks before looking right back at Amy and she thinks there’s no question who’s eyes she inherited.

Jake had put it best before he left to pick up Zoey.  

“She’s like an opposite Harry Potter, babe! Looks just like her mom except her eyes. Pretty sure those are mine.”

“He’s right, you know,” Amy says, kissing the baby’s cheek this time before tucking her back into her arms. She runs a finger over her cheek. “Your dad is actually right a lot of the time, but we don’t tell him that. Can’t have him getting cocky.”

Her phone buzzes on her bedside table.

“I bet I know who that is,” Amy sings as she picks up the phone to check her texts. Sure enough, she’s right. She types up a quick response before turning her attention back to her daughter. “Your daddy and sister are on their way up. Zoey’s so excited to meet you. Although, you might want to clear your schedule. It sounds like she’s going to be keeping you pretty busy,” she jokes.

The baby lets out a tiny squeal.

“I know!” Amy exclaims softly. “You two are gonna have so much fun.”

With her free hand she grabs the plastic bassinet over to her side before gently lowering the baby onto the bedding. She doesn’t want Zoey to feel threatened, so she’s decided open arms would be her best option. Besides, she needs her hands to be free so she properly hug her firstborn; it’s only been 24 hours but she misses her question queen so much it hurts.

While she waits for the other half of her family to arrive, Amy takes the opportunity to study her daughter‘s features. Looks wise the girls are pretty similar, but there are a few differences she’s picked up on; they share the same chin and eyes and they both have the Santiago nose, but while Zoey has her dad’s mouth and hair color, their newest addition definitely favored Amy. And while she’s only been in the world for eight hours, this little girl is proving to be much more, well, chill than their eldest.

Although that could be because of the fact that she was born right on schedule on a sunny morning in July rather than almost three weeks early in the middle of a Halloween Heist.

“But who’s to say. Right, cutie?” Amy coos, running a finger over the baby’s fine, dark hair.

A quiet knock on the door echoes through the quiet hospital room, causing Amy’s grip on the bassinet to tighten. She doesn’t have time to even invite them in before the door bursts open.

“MOMMY!!!”

Zoey races into the room wearing the “World’s Best Big Sister” shirt they’d bought for her a couple months ago followed by a slightly frazzled Jake. His hair is still stuck up in a million directions and Amy’s pretty sure his shirt’s on backwards, making him look just as exhausted as she feels.

“Zoey, remember what we talked about?” Jake asks softly, causing Zoey to stop in her tracks in the middle of the room. “We need to be gentle, okay?”

“Oh yeah. Sorry.” Zoey drops her voice to a whisper before continuing to inch towards the bed. She gives Amy a toothy grin. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hey, Zo-bug,” says Amy, returning her daughter’s smile. She pats the spot to her left and Zoey immediately climbs up and curls into Amy’s side. “How was your night at Nana’s?”

“Good,” Zoey replies, her voice muffled by the hospital gown and her mom’s side. “We had ice cream with oreos in it.”

“Ooh that sounds so yummy. Maybe we should get some of that for our apartment,” Amy says, brushing a hand through one of Zoey’s curly pigtails. “Did Daddy do your hair?”

But Amy’s question goes unanswered, as Zoey is now looking curiously at the bassinet, or rather the tiny bundle inside the bassinet. Amy smiles up at Jake, who returns it with an excited grin of his own.  He’s got his phone out, already taking copious amounts of photos.

“What do you see?” Amy murmurs into her daughter’s ear.

In true Zoey fashion, she answers with a question. It is officially the cutest, best question she’s ever asked.

“Is that my baby?”

Amy lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, Zo, that’s your baby sister. That’s Sarah. Sarah Grace Peralta.”

“Oh.” Zoey’s still mesmerized. She sits up so she’s no longer in Amy’s arms and reaches out, pressing a finger against the plastic. “Hi, Sarah.”

Sarah flails her arm free from her swaddler.

“Look, Bug! She’s waving at you,” says Jake. Out of the corner of her eye Amy can see him moving closer, taking a spot on the couch to get a better view.

“Yeah…” Zoey trails off before looking up at Amy. “Can I hold her?”

“Of course,” says Amy. She sits up and carefully lifts Sarah into her arms before looking up at Jake. “You wanna grab the hand sanitizer from my bag?”

“Oh yeah.” Jake jumps from his spot and sifts through Amy’s overnight bag before pulling out the giant bottle of Purell she’d bought a few weeks ago. He sits down on the bed and pours a dollop into his hand. “Come here, Zo. Let’s get your hands squeaky clean.”

“Why?”

“Because Sarah hasn’t had time to get used to germs like we have. So we want to make sure she doesn’t get sick,” he explains.

“Oh okay,” says Zoey, holding her hands out for Jake. “Kinda like when we go to your work? There are germs there too, right Mommy?”

“Exactly,” says Amy with a nod. “Now, how about you go sit in Daddy’s lap and he’ll help you hold the baby?”

Zoey nods fervently, scrambling across the bed and plopping herself onto Jake’s legs. “I’m ready!” she announces.

Amy bites her lip as she smiles back at her daughter. She can already feel the tears forming and Zoey hasn’t even held her yet. But seeing Zoey so excited and watching Jake help her hold her arms the right way is just too much for her hormonal brain to handle.

“Okay, baby. Here you go. Be gentle, okay?” Amy carefully places Sarah in Jake and Zoey’s arms, making sure her head was supported by Jake.

Zoey is silent, her eyes growing wide as she felt the baby’s weight in her arms. She’s more still than she’s been in months, which honestly is freaking Amy out. Zoey is never this quiet. Is something wrong? Does she already hate her? What could possibly be going through her daughter’s brain right now?!

Jake, on the other hand, is completely calm.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?” he asks, his voice low, steady.

“Mmhm,” Zoey says. She doesn’t take her eyes off the baby. “She’s so cute.”

Jake smiles, leaning down to nuzzle the top of Zoey’s head with his cheek. “You’re doing so well, Zo. You wanna give your baby a kiss?”

Zoey nods, slowly leaning down and planting the softest kiss on Sarah’s cheek.

Oh god, if Amy wasn’t crying before she definitely is now. This is better than anything she could’ve imagined. Her three favorite people are loving on each other and being so sweet it actually hurts her heart. It’s so pure, so warm. It’s better than anything she could have possibly imagined. She’s honestly surprised she hasn’t completely melted into a puddle in the middle of her bed.

While Jake and Zoey keep fawning over Sarah, Amy reaches over and grabs both her phone and a box of tissues off the table. She hastily wipes at her eyes before snapping picture after picture, hoping at least one of them turns out. Jake’s going to want to remember this. Hell, she’s gonna wanna remember this.

At one point Jake looks up and makes eye contact with Amy, and that’s when she sees he’s been crying too. Amy cocks her head, wanting to make sure he’s okay. Jake nods back, his eyes shining.

“Just happy,” he mouths.

She juts her lip out. “Love you,” she whispers. Because she does. She loves Jake Peralta with all her heart.

He grins, biting his lower lip. “Love you too.”

Not to be outdone, Zoey looks up to see where her dad’s attention has gone.

“Mommy, why you crying?” she asks, looking alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Amy laughs, wiping at her eyes again. “Oh nothing, baby. These are happy tears.” She reaches out and runs a hand down Zoey’s arm and squeezing her hand. “I just love you and your baby sister so much.”

“I love you too, Mommy,” says Zoey. She gives Sarah another kiss. “And I love my baby.”

And that’s how Amy Santiago-Peralta died.

Just kidding. She doesn’t die.

She does, however, go through a whole box of tissues as Sarah gets passed from Zoey to Jake and back to her. Zoey’s never far from her sister, always wanting to hold her hand or give her a kiss.

Between Amy and Jake they take almost a hundred photos, and Amy already has one of them picked out as her new desk photo (Holt says to not keep photos on your desk but she can’t help it, she likes to see her daughter -- no, daughters -- faces while she works). It’s a selfie Jake took. He’s smiling his softest, close-lipped smile with Zoey in his lap, not looking at the camera but at Sarah. The baby is fast asleep in Amy’s arms, and Amy herself is smiling so wide you can see her molars if you look hard enough. It’s not a perfect photo -- Zoey’s a little blurry and the bags under Amy’s eyes wouldn’t fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane -- but it’s perfect to her.

It’s her family.

[simplycarrie]

yeethaw and welcome to ‘sierra drops a muse because she’s bored’ i’m your host sierra. and i’m here to introduce you to my smol kid Carrington, who might i add broke my streak of space names but whatever. also i’m 110% sure this bio is going to be a) long and b) something v different from what i usually do

╰☆╮ HALEY LU RICHARDSON ─ CARRINGTON ‘CARRIE’ ALDERIDGE-SANGSTER identifies as CIS-FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns. they’re a SINGER-SONGWRITER/ACTRESS, and they’re only TWENTY ! they’re said to be WARM-HEARTED, but also DOGMATIC. i guess that’s why they’re known as THE FERVOUR in the tabloids. ( florence welch / lauren jauregui )

the baby doll + the contingent — aka her early years [ infant to 12. musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]

carrington amelia elizabeth alderidge-sangster was subject to the same cruelty as her half-sister anastasia, getting the longest fucking name possible. although she doesn’t go by carrington, both her friends and family call her ‘carrie’

she was born june 30th making her a cancer: ‘ the crab. cancerians are seen as sensitive and emotional, and in fact they are. they’re the cry babies of the zodiac, though they’re a lot tougher than people give them credit for. they’re maternal and caring and empathetic as all heck, with a tendency towards traditional values- deep down, they want the white picket fence. along with virgo and libra, they’re one of the most romantic of the signs.’ but this information won’t be relevant until later

was v spoiled as child, and got basically anything she wanted? caused her to be a bit of a brat as a kid and she constantly needed validation from others. she had the picture perfect childhood if we’re being completely honest

always wanted attention, always needed to make sure that she knew other people were aware that she needed their attention

then she was shipped off to le rosey to follow in her sister anastasia’s footsteps and boy oh boy thing changed for her

the sovereign + the opulent — aka her teenage years [ 13 to 18. musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]

remember how i said that carrington was very needy and constantly wanted validation? yeah just about the moment she stepped foot on the lush green grass of le rosey she changed

was immediately the girl who was colgate smiles and perfect posture on school brochures, brandishing a tennis racket beneath a blurb about the institute’s proficiency in churning out well-rounded pupils, but underneath? she was the devil’s reincarnate of blair waldorf.

although her sister was two years ahead of her but left a reputation behind with her, and so in turn carrington was immediately popular, and she used it to her advantage

mixing in her family’s pre-established wealth ( which she flaunted at literally every opportunity she got ) with new-found popularity carrington ruled the school brandishing a fashionably velvet fist

she was bitchy to everyone, she disregarded other people’s feelings was callous and abrasive, and didn’t care what anyone had to say about her ( because she’d end up ruining their reputation and smiling in their face afterwards )

although her family wanted her to be like anastasia playing tennis and being the model student ( which she was for her first year ) she ended up finding her passion for music, quickly joining and leading le rosey’s school choir

carrington was smarter than anyone ( including herself ) gave her credit for, she aced all of her classes, and was on the road to becoming le rosey’s next valedictorian

then, she met him. the supposed ‘love of her life’. the one who was so close to making her soften and lose track of her studies, and just run away with him. until, she found someone ‘better’ stabbing him in the back, and promptly sashaying away from the damage

though leaving him was perhaps the biggest mistake she ever made, the ‘better’ thing she found turned out to be much worse. she was abused emotionally and physically, and they had sex whenever he felt like it.

suddenly she was with child, and in a panic she called stas, who took her to get an abortion without her family knowing, to this day stas is the only person knows about her daughter that never came to be, supposed to be named cornelia anastasia daphne alderidge-sangster

finally senior year approached and not wanting to break her facade carrington continued on her studies, and when she graduated she was given the honor of valedictorian ( along with winning prom queen at both her junior and senior prom )

the fervour + the fallen angel — aka the current years [ 19 to present. musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]

carrington had plenty of offers to go to college, but the one she settled on was the juilliard school in manhattan, new york she earned her aa in both acting and vocal arts, and also has full intentions of returning to juilliard in the spring to achieve her ba in those same two things

of course carrington’s talents didn’t go unnoticed, she was quickly offered a netflix show which is currently recording it’s first season, being one of the top rated netflix comedies/dramas ( think ‘one day at a time’ and ‘brooklyn nine-nine’ )

she’s very different from when she was a teenager, after her mother fell ill, and her step-father passed away she’s become very sensitive to the feelings of others, and her own feelings, she’s very maternal and will try to protect everyone, no matter how atrocious of a job she does

she’s very much a hopeless romantic, she’s read each and every single one of stas’s books at least five times, and she wants a love so deep she won’t have enough words in the english language to describe it

falls in love with just about anyone, no matter how bad they are for her, you could do something as nice as hold the door open for her, and immediately she’s falling head over heels for you, thinking about you, and planning your wedding together

wanted connections: ( there’s a lot skskksks )

familial —

half sibling - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] anastasia daphne margeurite sangster. when they grew up carrington was a bit of a brat, and they didn’t get along to well, but after spending so many years together they’ve not only become sisters, but also best friends.

romantic —

high school sweethearts - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] the boyfriend that she met and dumped at le rosey, she was in love with him, truly she was, and maybe a huge part of her always will be but she like to think that ship has long since sailed.

long distance relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] an online relationship; something that actually lasted for a good while? he would’ve still been at le rosey so they’ve never met in person but something soft where they called and skyped all the time but over time things fizzled out because she got so busy with his school and work.

secret relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] although carrington still isn’t out as bisexual, this was always the case, at one point she had to hide the relationship between her and the girl she loved, which is perhaps why it ended, but despite it all carrington will always love her to some degree.

toxic relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington probably got cheated on by this person, and dumped multiple times, but there was something about them that just made her keep coming back for more, and she did every single time. until one day, she just didn’t. Or maybe they didn’t come back, or maybe she moved on, either way they haven’t spoken since.

pr relationship - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is essentially america’s sweetheart, i mean imagine an heiress, turned singer-songwriter, and now a house favorite sitcom star, where’s the blemish in her status? that’s exactly what happened when their agents set these two up, i mean after all, how hard can faking a relationship be?

skinny love - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington has an extremely bad habit of falling in love with people, the only twist is this time this person fell back, except carrington is much too afraid to admit to herself that they’ve moved their relationship past being ‘just friends’ and so she doesn’t.

unrequited crush - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] like i stated previously carrington has a really bad tendency to fall in love with those who don’t want her back, and this time is obviously no different, she’s probably never told them about her crush, and has absolutely zero intention to do so, but we all new york has a funny way of making people confess.

fwb - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is far from being known for her sexual prowess, but she is known for getting her heart broken, and that’s exactly what happens every time these two hook up. carrington tries convincing herself that it’s normal, and most of the time she’s successful, but every now and then she can’t help but wonder if they should stick to being just friends, after all she gets attached far too easily.

platonic —

squad - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] oh gosh these four have been inseparable from the moment they met, sure they fight but in the end, no matter what, they promised each other that they would stay friends until the very end.

best friend -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] after being the devil’s reincarnate throughout high school, carrington kinda pushed away the idea a best friend, she simply shrugged off the thought of finding someone who could understand herm and then suddenly she found them, her best friend, she loves them to bits and pieces, and somehow they just feel like an extension of her, nowadays carrington could never imagine going about life without them.

roommate - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]  carrington has a fairly big penthouse, alright more than fairly big, and to keep herself from getting lonely she got a roommate, and about a billion animals for, although their house looks like a zoo, carrington actually loves her roommate? they’ve seen her at her highest and lowest points, and have decided to live with her dumbass through it all, they don’t even have a problem with the millions of animals living with them, honestly where would she be without them?

good influence -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is known for her impulsive decisions and irreversible actions, but with this person by her side the world seems like it’s at carrington’s fingertips. she’d probably rank them very high on the list of the best things that have ever happened to her, right next to anastasia and hot cheetohs.

bad influence -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington has never been one for parties, maybe it’s the fact that she’s not old enough to drink, or that she’s a hermit half the time, but she’d much rather hang out by herself taking pictures of her pets, and going on her own little adventures around new york. but with them, her adventures seem to be hard to remember, and parties seem so much more fun.

unlikely friends -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] carrington is probably the exact opposite of this person, personality wise, fashion wise, but yet despite the odds these two are still friends, and she actually enjoys it? sometimes she wishes she was outspoken and brash as they are, that she could learn to distance herself so easily, but they constantly prove themselves to be one of the closest friends she has.

frenemies - [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] one minute they’re insulting each other, the next they’re getting mani-pedis and getting brunch together. no one can quite tell if they love or hate each other most the times, not even them.

enemies -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ] it’s just every little thing this person does just irritates carrington, for one reason or another, and at this point she’s given up trying to be cordial, or even pretending to be.

ex-best friend -  [ musings: 01. 02. 03. 04. ]  maybe they were best friends back in their le rosey days or maybe they met and immediately clicked but somehow in some way it just stopped. and carrington hates knowing that people don’t like her, plus they were really close and carrington really thought maybe she could glue their friendship back together, or that somehow if she held on tight enough then her best friend would stop slipping from her fingers, but it turns out the tighter you grip something, the easier you lose it, she definitely still misses them, and still probably accidentally texts them from time to time.

[harrieatthemet]

Holiday: Ch. 7 ;)

A/N: You guys............... I wrote this and it still makes me scream. FUCKING ENJOY. 

Though Christmas was always one of my favorite holidays, Harry had always favored it a little bit more. Nothing put a bigger smile on his face than waking up just before the sun, traipsing downstairs and taking a seat on the floor next to the kids. His eyes would dance as the kids tore off the wrapping paper, eager to see their new toys. The rush they got and the excitement painted on their faces was enough to make Harry’s heart feel like it could burst. Though he traveled and hadn’t been around much, there wasn’t anyone in the world who could get him to smile quite like his kids. 

“Please Santa don’t forget my polly pockets, cos those are my best toys.” Penelope whispered to herself, pressing the crayon down on the paper as she finished her Christmas list. 

She squirmed in her seat, half dancing to the low toned Christmas music Harry had put on loop for majority of the day, and partly because she was working herself up thinking about all the presents she’d be receiving tomorrow. I was elbow deep in sugar cookie dough before Brayden came barreling in, tracking snow with his damp sneakers as his clothes were dripping wet. His chocolate colored hair was drenched, cheeks a light pink from the bitter air outside as he sported a smile that ran from ear to ear. 

“You’re soaked!” I laughed, grabbing a towel off a chair before waltzing over to wrap him up.

“Dad and I,” He panted, out of breath and excited, “he asked me to help him outside and when I got there he threw me! He actually threw me, mom, into the snow. And we played in it, in the snow with our clothes on.” 

Just then Harry came trudging in, dripping wet as well as he shook out the excess water from his hair. He, too, was smiling wide as he came into the kitchen. Brayden was hysterical laughing, which evoked Penelope to laugh too even though she didn’t know what she was laughing at. As Brayden warmed himself up in his towel, wrapping it around his upper half, Harry brought his hands to the bottom hem of his shirt. Slowly, he peeled it off his body like it was a sticker, heading towards the sink to wring out all the snow that had dampened it. I was quick to look away, but not before staring long enough to keep a fresh picture in my head. All the tattoos that were plastered on his chest, the butterfly on his upper belly moving as he laughed at Penelope who giggled at her daddy, sent a familiar chill down my spine. Every few seconds I stole a quick look, gnawing at the inside of my cheek as his back muscles flexed each time he gave his wet shirt a good tug. I was doing my best to keep my focus on Brayden, rubbing a dishtowel on his hair to help aid the drying process. 

“Mind drying this f’me?” Harry appeared in front of me, torso a little damp from his wet shirt that he extended out towards me.

His smirk was devilish, his eyes twinkling a little as he waited for me to form a word. I knew what he was doing, because this was straight out of his playbook. Going back as far as 10 years ago, he always had to get what he wanted and would go by any means to get it. The innocent flirting, the harmless teasing, it was all a familiar trick to me. He had even done it when we first met, at that dingy bar in downtown New York. I didn’t take to him at first, and whined to our mutual friends that I found him to be egotistical and a little full of himself. But, he didn’t let up, and practically jumped through hoops just to get me to agree to a date. And during fights, he’d ‘accidentally’ forget to put a shirt on, or he’d ‘accidentally’ brush up against me with his body or his arm. But, I never said I didn’t enjoy the subtle teasing. 

“Give it.” I stated simple, reaching out my hand so he could place the shirt in it.

“Soaked, isn’t it?” He shot me a wry smile, Brayden standing between the two of us watching in disbelief at how well we were getting along.

I knew what he was getting at, and I snatched the shirt from his hand before rolling my eyes. My stomach was turning a little bit, just from the idea of seeing all of him naked and not just his upper half. As my mind started to wander, so did my eyes, and they landed right on Brayden. He had been watching Harry and I like a hawk, his eyes fixated on our body language and how we were exchanging flirty glances and harmlessly flirting. It wasn’t until I saw the hopeful look on Brayden’s face that I remembered why I had put such an abrupt halt on Harry last night. 

Harry often jumped at an idea before really giving it thought, which in some cases was admirable and in other cases dangerous. It was one of the things that we frequently bumped heads on, because it would really frustrate me when he would do something without thinking about the outcome. Last night was a perfect example of that. It was so easy for us to fall back into old patterns, as I’m sure he was aching to be with me much like I was. After being apart for a year and not having slept together, it wasn’t hard to push boundaries in attempt to fulfill the burning curiosity and desire. But, what he didn’t realize what kind of strain that would put on our relationship, which would ultimately effect our kids. 

Leading up to our divorce, our relationship had been tumultuous, and it didn’t get much better after. Harry was devastated when I told him that I was done, and he went on a wild binger for three or four months after signing the papers. As for me, I was so angry at him for letting our marriage and the family we had built come second to everything else in his life. The both of us, harboring all this hate and resentment, lacked any kind of proper communication. For a while, we didn’t even speak. Well, in person that is, and when we did it was strictly businesslike and nothing more than a few words. He would come to pick the kids up to spend a weekend at his place, and I would wait by the door as he stood beside the car. Any other time, it was a short worded text to make sure he knew dates for extracurricular activities or birthday parties. It took a while to build up to a somewhat civil relationship, so for us to skip a billion steps just to have sex held the potential to put us in an extremely provocative place. The divorce was just as hard on our kids as it was for Harry and I, which is why the idea of Harry and I giving it another shot seemed irrational and unfair. All Brayden wanted was for Harry to come home, and his family to be a whole again, and I couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if Harry and I gave it another shot only for it to not work out again. Though it was the first thing I thought of, I know the only thing Harry was thinking of was how I’d look writhing underneath him. 

“Lets put everything on the table f’Santa, and get you guys t’sleep. Big man won’t come if y’not sleeping!” Harry smirked, placing Quinn on his hip as followed the older two out near the Christmas tree. 

Penelope walked, cautiously slow, as she skillfully balanced the long plate of decorated sugar cookies in her little hands. Brayden was leading the way, telling her to ‘be careful!’ And ‘can’t drop the plate or you’ll ruin Christmas’. Quinn was half asleep, as it was almost 11 pm and long past his usual bedtime. I couldn’t help but smile as I let myself take in just how precious my kids were, all dressed in matching red pajamas. Though I had to do all sorts of begging and bribing, I had known that it would be worth it. 

Brayden took a hard look at the tree, staring at it as it towered over his frame. Harry had to swat Penelope’s hand away from the platter of cookies, because the last thing either of us needed was the fussiest of all three to get a sugar rush before bed. Harry put Quinn down, lulling him out of his drowsy state. He lined all three of them up in front of the tree after I pleaded him to get them to listen, just for the sake of one picture. And just as I snapped a few photos, praising my kids for being so well behaved, Quinn went and ruined all praise. His head went back as he wailed in agony, stomping his feet and nearly throwing himself to the floor. Of course, his meltdown triggered Penelope, and Brayden stood and watched them throw a fit in disapproval.

“Alright,” Harry cooed, trying his best to mask his irritated tone, “think it’s time fo’ bed, yeah?” 

Harry swept up Penelope, her head snuggling into the crook of his neck as her sniffles subsided once she put her thumb in her mouth. Quinn tutted up the stairs, screaming at me in protest as I tried to pick him up. Brayden just shook his head, muttering something about his siblings being babies (I mean, they are) before following Harry up the stairs. Putting them to bed was easy, especially since Harry had been fueling their anticipation for the arrival of their presents in the morning. Brayden was easy, as he was old enough to get himself ready. All he really needed to get him to sleep was a kiss on the head and for someone to tuck him in. Quinn, if he was tired enough, would knock out halfway through a bedtime story and sleep like a rock up until the morning. It was Penelope who was the trouble, which is why I stuck Harry to the task of getting her to fall asleep.

As soon as I got Quinn to sleep, I headed back downstairs to get the gaggle of presents I had tucked away in one of the closets so I could place them beneath the tree. Figuring that Harry’d be a while, with the burden of putting the fussiest kid to sleep, I started to wrap the last of the presents so I could get more than three hours of sleep before getting bum rushed in the morning by my kids. In my best cursive, I addressed the presents I had gotten the kids to whoever the present was for and made sure to double check that I put ‘Love Santa’ on every one. I was tired, but I couldn’t afford any slip ups. 

“Putting that girl to bed is a nightmare! She’s an absolute menace!” Harry laughed softly, appearing into the living room.

“You get her to fall asleep?” I was optimistic and hopeful, tilting my neck so I could look up at him as he now stood over me.

“Yeah, took a village ‘nd a half though.” He muttered, sinking down next to me to help with wrapping.

“Ugh” I groaned in relief, “Thank you. Seriously owe you one, ‘cus I didn’t have the energy to get her to bed tonight.” 

He smiled, softly to himself in hopes I wouldn’t see. But, I did. I always saw. A lot of the times, I’d catch myself looking at him a little longer than usual or noticing little things about him that I had forgotten were so cute. Like how he scrunched his nose when he laughed, or how he’d get all giddy talking about the kids that he’d have to fidget in his seat before talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pull his hair back while he taped the wrapping paper to a gift and I had to bite my lip back. He looked so good, and I was mentally beating myself up over brushing him off last night. Towering over me as I sat criss cross alongside some wrapping paper, he leaned over and grabbed a cookie or two from the plate left out for ‘Santa’. I smirked, which earned a lighthearted shrug in response. Christmas had always been Harry’s favorite Holiday, even more so once we had the kids. Everything had to be believable, and he would nibble every cookie and sip at every cup of milk just to see the kids’ reactions in the morning.

I placed the package of polly pocket knick knacks in a stretch of pink colored candy cane wrapping paper, smiling to myself as I thought about how excited Penelope would be tomorrow morning. Harry, cookie in hand as he sipped at the milk, cocked his neck as he looked down at the little present I was wrapping.

“Thought she wanted barbies?” His words were muffled by the massive bite of cookie sitting in his mouth.

“She’s over the barbies, ‘member? Brayden really creeped her out with the whole head thing, now P is just so scared of ‘em.” I shook my head, remembering how much that phase bugged me out.

“Wait,” Harry stated slowly, “Wha’ head thing?” 

“Y’know, kept ripping the heads off? Remember? P couldn’t even sleep without a lamp on for almost two months, totally freaked out.”

For a minute or two, I hadn’t even noticed that Harry fell completely silent. Placing the cookie and half finished glass of milk on the coffee table beside him, he sunk down onto the sofa. He differed with the rings on his fingers for a few minute, staring blankly down at his knuckles as I finished wrapping up another one of Penelope’s gifts. A little sigh slipped out of his mouth, his breath hitting the back of my neck, and that’s when I figured out that something was cleary bothering him. Harry would never want to burden anyone with his troubles, or whine and sound foolish, so instead he would huff and puff and make mopey faces until someone insisted he tell what was wrong. I wasn’t sure what it was that had made him alter moods so quickly, and I was really hoping it wasn’t something I said.

“Bad cookie?” I smiled, doing my best to lighten the mood.

“I don’t remember.” He mumbled, sliding a ring off his finger.

“Dont remember what?” I asked, gliding a piece of tape over the wrapped present.

“The sleeping with the lamp on phase,” He huffed, “Don’t remember it ‘cus I wasn’t there.”

“Oh that? Lucky son of a bitch, wish I wasn’t there for that either.” 

“Jus like I wasn’t there when Penelope lost her first tooth, or Brayden scored his first goal in soccer. Or, how ‘bout Quinn’s first birthday party? Missed that one.” He hissed, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

“Harry, don’t beat yourself up over this stuff.” I sighed, tucking my legs beneath my bum  and turning around as I scooted closer to him. 

“You were right,” he muttered, head hanging a little low, “about not being around much and all, putting my career first. ’Nd the kids, they look f’me Ella, know they do. They look f’me during games, recitals, all that stuff. S’just hard, being around sometimes I guess. Know it’s a shit excuse, but s’true. Feel like, dunno, like all I do is let them down.” 

Hearing Harry, and I mean actually listening to him for the first time in forever, really made me feel so awful. I was very quick to criticize his lifestyle, and unjustly accuse of him for having his priorities out of whack. Maybe he did, but it wasn’t motivated by what I originally thought. After the divorce, I was selfish. All I ever considered was my own feelings, and never bothered to try and see things from Harry’s point of view. It never occurred to me that Harry was dealing with it so harshly, and that he struggled so much with being away from the kids. Since I was the one who woke them up every morning, and kissed them before bed every night, I never stopped to think that maybe that was something Harry wanted to be able to do. I was around almost everyday, and I had the privilege of being there to see all their big accomplishments and even the little ones, which made me so blind to the fact that Harry had no choice but to miss out sometimes. And honestly, I couldn’t even begin to imagine how that felt.

“Hey,” I breathed, scooting in close enough where I positioned myself between his legs as I rested my hands on his knees, “you’re doing your best, they know that. Just cus you’re busy doesn’t mean they love you any less. They adore you, doesn’t matter if you’re here or there or any other place in the world.” 

He lifted his head a little bit, the solemn look starting to fade as his mood picked up. I’m sure a part of the reason it was so reassuring to hear that was because it came from me, considering I hardly ever seemed to have anything nice to say to him most of the time.

“You sure?” He questioned, meeting my gaze.

“Yes!” I laughed, squeezing his knee a little, “we’re you’re biggest fans, you couldn’t let us down.”

In that very moment, it looked like he had been waiting to hear those exact words fall from my lips. He hesitated for a minute, his eyes fixating on my mouth as I smiled softly at him. Both of us were quiet, and he took a sharp inhale of breath before moving to the edge of his seat. Legs still tucked beneath my bum, my body positioned between his legs as he sat on the sofa, I watched as he completely zoned out. Without even so much as a warning, he immediately looped his hand around to sit on the back of my neck before tugging me in. Not even a second passed, and leaving me no time to get my thoughts straight, he collided his lips with mine before we both fell into a familiar pattern. Guiding me up from the floor, he brought both his hands underneath my arms before gently lifting me up and onto the couch, where my legs found a spot on either side of his hips. 

Everything felt so calm, and so natural, that I didn’t even want to try and protest. The way he tugged at my hair, rough enough to turn me on but gentle enough not to hurt, and how smooth his lips felt as they moved with mine and weaseled their way sloppily down my neck, reminded just how badly I missed him. I could feel myself crumbling under his touch, his hands roaming my legs before one laid contently on my bum. His free hand slithered up the back of my shirt, fiddling with the hook of my bra before finally getting it to unclasp. My fingers fumbled roughly with his belt, frantic as I let sensation cloud my common sense. His teeth gently tugged at the bottom of my lip, evoking a moan from me as I innocently grinded up against his thigh. I could tell that there was no way I could stop myself, especially as he went to remove the flimsy fabric of my tee shirt.

“Harry..” I trailed, his lips sucking at the nape of my neck, “you take this off I won’t-” I was practically out of breath, desperate for him to just undress me.

“You owe me, remember?”