#thaddeus said we are going to get this man to feel comfortable about his feelings

[aceofwonders]

vaughn: *embarrassed and ashamed about being obsessed with romance*

thaddeus: well we are going to fix that immediately 

[brown-little-robin]

19: Bless His Heart

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3

The appointment Max scheduled yesterday turns out to be a dentist appointment.

Thad and Max walk to the dentist’s office. It’s… weird, walking in public at normal speed. It makes Thad uncomfortable. Also, it’s hot. But, mindful that he’s trying to be a good soldier, Thaddeus doesn't complain.

“Heavens, but it’s hot! Aren’t you sweltering in that outfit?” Max asks.

Thad shrugs. The button-down and pants aren't the best for walking in Alabama summer, but he only has a few t-shirts and they’re all dirty.

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, you know,” Max says.

Thad twists his mouth. In public, it’s easier to call Max sir… easier not to bother navigating the tensions of their relationship.

“Yes, sir,” he repeats.

“Well, as long as you know. Roll up your sleeves, though,” Max says.

Thaddeus obeys. He has to admit that it feels better to have the wind on him.

The dentist’s office smells weird, like strong chemicals and metal. Thad wrinkles his nose as they go in. The walls are dark and covered in large photographs of smiling people displaying their white straight teeth. There’s a room full of padded chairs. A ‘waiting room’, he recalls. There are people in it. He pulls his sleeves back down.

The receptionist, a woman with short hair, looks at Thad and raises her eyebrows as they walk up to the counter.

“We have an appointment for Sophos Free,” Max says, and the woman raises her eyebrows even further and says, “Oh, not Allen?”

Oh—his face! This is Manchester, Alabama; of course she knows Bart Allen’s face. He should have expected this.

Max puts his hand on Thaddeus’s shoulder and squeezes too tight for comfort. A warning. He doesn't need to be warned not to do anything, he’s too off-balance to do anything but stand there reeling. And anyway, he’s a good soldier.

“Not Allen,” Max says sharply. “He’s Bart’s blood brother, but there’s some complicated family matters involved.”

“Every family has their troubles, hon,” she says cheerfully.

Max gets the appointment set up with insurance or something, Thaddeus is too busy trying not to think about his face and his arms and how his body belongs to Bart Allen, a person who’s known here, to pay attention to what’s happening.

His stomach churns.

They go sit in the waiting room. Thaddeus squirms in his over-padded chair, nauseous and deeply uncomfortable. The chair is all leathery and weird, and the back of the chair only comes halfway up his back, and the waiting room is lined with chairs so that everyone is looking at each other, and there’s four adults and two teenagers and two small children in here. An old man keeps looking at him over his magazine. In this awful chair, Thad feels like he’s on display: Exhibit B: Clone of Bart Allen. He wonders what it would feel like to be a statue in the Flash museum, like his unfortunate successor.

Blood brother, Max said. Max used the word ‘blood’ to distance Thad from Bart; despite Thad’s entire body, his bones and blood and life itself being derived from Bart Allen, ‘blood brother’ means ‘not a real brother’. It strikes Thad as horribly wrong. He’s Bart Allen’s blood brother—blood! The marrow of his very being! The legacy of his body! He’s entwined with Bart Allen at the level of existence. ‘Blood brother’ should be an affectionate term, like ‘brother mine’, not… ‘stop talking about it because he’s only related by blood’. Only blood! Only blood! He is his blood!

He wishes CRAYDL were here to agree with him. CRAYDL understood the complexities of his existence, the sheer power of the legacy that drove Thad. CRAYDL would assure him that blood brother is not a term to throw around lightly.

Max looks down at him, uneasy-looking, and Thaddeus tries to stop squirming, but every time he stops moving he feels an unbearable pressure on him—like someone on top of him, pinning him by the shoulders. He wants to flee to the nutrient womb and go into VR.

He’s not being a good soldier. Thaddeus grips his left wrist tight in his right hand, which settles him a bit. It’s a little like the wrist shackles for the nutrient womb. After a while, Max stops looking so worried.

A woman comes out and calls “Sophos Free?”

Max murmurs, “That’s us.”

They follow the woman down a hallway. Thad confirms that she pronounced “Sophos” right, the o’s pronounced like ‘off’ and then ‘oh’, and then she chats to Max, asking about his hobbies and how Wally is doing and whether Max ended up vacationing in Canada this summer. Thad’s surprised she knows so much about Max’s life, except she’s so… unashamedly curious and cheerful about everything, and Max tells her a lot, although of course not the details.

Thad follows Max and the woman to a back room and sits on a leathery seat thing. The woman leaves to go get something.

Once she’s gone, Max says quietly, “You did good out there.”

“Thanks!” he says, surprised. He did good?! Max said he did good!

The woman comes back and pushes a button and the chair whirs, startling Thad a bit. It tilts Thad slowly till he’s laying down. He can’t see Max. He shivers, cold and a little unnerved. But it gets better when she clasps a papery thing around his neck and tells him to open his mouth. He can do that. He’s used to it. Back in the headquarters, the dentists the Thawnes hired didn’t do any of this fancy stuff like the plushy chair. They just had him on a table and did whatever they needed to do. Compared to that, this woman’s gentle poking is easy.

And she talks to him while she works. It’s very weird. She introduces herself—her name is Connie—and tells him about her husband and two dogs and three kids, and then asks him how he likes Manchester, removes the scraper tool so that he can say “It’s fine,” goes to work again, and tells him what she thinks of the town: mostly she likes it but the old dirt pile down south is depressing but on the other hand the ice cream shop is the absolute best, and then she says it’s a shame Helen’s old boyfriend moved out of town because he was very cute; did you ever meet him? She whisks the tool out of his mouth again, and Thad responds, no?

Well, he was a real looker, and a sweet man, too, she says, and resumes scraping at his teeth. But you know how it is, Helen couldn’t move out of town for him. She’s the only dentist in Manchester! It’s an important job!

The tool slips and cuts his gum, and Thad winces before he remembers that he’s being a good soldier. He’s just grateful he didn’t bite her on instinct. He bit a dentist once for pulling out a tooth without warning him and broke three of the man’s fingers.

“Sorry about that!” Connie exclaims. “Such a nice young man!”

Max’s voice says fondly, “He is, isn’t he?”

Thad feels his cheeks grow hot.

“So respectful and polite!” she marvels. “Now, you are related to Bart, aren’t you?”

Oh, no. Not this, not again, not with Thad laid out on his back like an experiment on a table.

“Sophos is Bart’s blood brother,” Max says sharply. “He was raised by his maternal grandfather. It’s complicated.”

Max is defending him!

“Gotcha,” Connie accepts easily. “My second cousin Violet hosted a foster boy once who had a brother and a younger sister; the placement was just a temporary thing, so they weren’t separated forever, don’t you worry; but you know what, the sister’s last name was different from her brothers? The mother got remarried after her first husband ran off, bless her heart, and soon enough the boys had a sister, and they’d always wanted one, so that turned out all right. What a shame she died so young, though. There!”

She puts down the cleaning tool, having finished the top row of Thad’s teeth, and rinses his mouth out with two tools, one to spray water and one to suck water out.

In the moment before she starts work again, Thad says, “I never really knew Bart,” as calmly as he can, trying to reassure Max that he intends to behave.

“That’s just fine, hon. Open, please? Well, Bart was very… high-energy.”

Max chuckles.

“You can say that again!”

Connie laughs. “He bit me once. Bless his heart!”

Oh. Thad thought the instinct to bite was unique to himself.

“He was having a hard time, you know how it is,” she continues. “But Sophos now you are just the sweetest young man!”

He smiles as best as he can. It’s… maybe a bit nice, after all, to have people know about Bart. Sometimes.

Helen comes in after Connie is done, and she smiles at him and asks about how often he’s been brushing his teeth and flossing. He admits that he doesn't always do it, and she tells him that it’s important to keep his teeth healthy. Then she has him hold some tools to hold his mouth open so she can take photographs of his teeth.

Helen praises him throughout. Thad wishes he didn’t feel so weird; usually he’d be enjoying this.

She gives him a bag with a toothbrush and toothpaste and floss in it before he goes. The doorbell dings cheerily behind them when they go out, and Thad squints in the bright light. He automatically turns left to go back the way they came, but Max says, wait a minute.

Thad stops, heart sinking, and looks up into Max’s face.

“How do you feel about ice cream?” Max asks seriously.

“I—” Thad stammers. “Uh—I don’t know? I’ve never had any.”

“Well, I think we should change that,” Max says. “As a treat. You deserve it.”

“Oh. Uh, can we… go to an ice cream place that’s not in Manchester?”

Max grimaces.

“Definitely. I’m sorry about all the… gossip. It was stupid of me to take you here. I should have realized that would happen.”

Thad sighs. He’s too tired to be mad about it.

“I tried to behave,” he says.

Max’s face softens out if its worry into something… tender.

“You did so well.”

Thad’s mouth pulls into a strange expression, like he’s in pain, although he’s… he’s happy, he really is. He turns his face away, embarrassed.

Thad lets Max pick him up. He’s used to the maneuver now, the way Max walks slowly behind him and leans down and lifts Thad by the back of his knees, bracing him with an arm around his back. Thad knows now how to help Max by lacing his arms around his neck. But the sensation still overwhelms him. He can’t suppress his shudder as Max touches him… can’t help clinging to Max with desperate strength. What must Max think of him?

Max puts him down outside an ice cream shop, or rather “shoppe”. Max must have taken him rather far, because it’s much nicer weather here than in Alabama, although still hot. They order at a window; Max orders Reeses Pieces, and Thad chooses plain chocolate because it’s dark-colored and he doesn't want to think too hard about it.

They sit at one of the umbrella-tables and eat their ice cream quietly. Thad soon discovers that he has to keep licking the ice cream, rotating it so the drips don’t get on his hands. It’s… an interesting challenge. And the ice cream cone is edible; he copies Max crunching into it and grins. Fun.

“What do you think?” Max asks.

“It’s good.”

Max smiles.

“Oh, good,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you’d like chocolate.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s a bit bitter,” Max says. “Some people don’t like it.”

Thad shrugs. ‘Some people’, huh? Strange. As far as Thad knows, Bart likes chocolate.

“Bart doesn't like chocolate anymore?” he asks.

“…he likes it well enough,” Max answers carefully, as if gauging for Thad’s reaction.

Thad doesn't really have a reaction.

“Huh.”

Thad licks up an errant drop of ice cream. He feels… strangely calm. In fact, he feels a bit like he’s floating. Like this is a VR simulation.

He’s faintly annoyed that he can’t taste the ice cream as well as he could a minute ago, but that’s okay. Whatever. If it means he can think about Bart without getting upset, that’s fine with Thad.

Max looks at him for a while.

“I have something for you,” he says, slowly. “Something to… consider.”

“Okay.”

Max pulls out a bluish-grey flip phone from his pocket and sets it on the table between them. Thad looks at it. After a minute, it registers to him that it’s… rather advanced… compared to the usual phones in this time period. Primitive, sure, but not quite as clunky as others he’s seen. Maybe Max wants his insight about it.

“Sorry. I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s a phone.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“It’s meant for you,” Max says.

Thad blinks at it. This is… rather an expensive gift, isn’t it? Top-of-the-line technology. It didn’t even exist when he came back the first time. And Max isn’t that wealthy.

“Thad… it’s from Bart.”

Bart Allen! Bart Allen? …Bart Allen bought him a phone? He stares at it, baffled. The inane question ‘how does he even have the money for that?’ comes to his mind.

“If you don’t want it, you don’t have to take it,” Max says. “I’ll get you a phone. I thought I should give you the choice, though.”

“What…” Thad says. “What’s Bart trying to say? Is he trying to… buy my… tolerance?”

Max sighs.

“Bart… is a naturally… generous soul… that is to say, he doesn't think about how much things cost. He’s not trying to impress you with how much he’s spending. It comes with no strings attached. I think he’s just trying to say that… he cares about you… he wants the best for you.”

Thad shudders.

Is the phone symbolic, then? Does Bart Allen want to speak with him? To… open a line of communication?

His chest is hollow. He wants so badly for it to be true. He wants Bart Allen to be saying I want to talk to you; you’re my brother; I love you. But… no… no, it’s most likely just one of his stupid impulses and Bart Allen will go on with his life feeling vaguely good about buying his clone a present. He’s probably already forgotten he did that.

Thad looks up at Max, trying not to look like a shattered doll holding itself together with wire and hope, and says, “Does he… want… to be in communication?”

“Well… yes, he does,” Max says.

He does! It travels through Thad like a lightning bolt, leaving jangling nerves behind. He stares at Max, wide-eyed, for what feels like a long time.

Max looks troubled. He says, “I’m not ever, ever going to pressure you to form any sort of relationship with him, okay? And even if you take the phone, you’re not saying you’ll be in contact with him. Here…”

Max fumbles in his pocket again, takes out a folded piece of paper, and hands it to Thad across the table. Thad takes the paper and opens it. Bart’s familiar loopy cursive, so difficult to copy.

Everyone should have a cell phone. :) —Bart.

Thad stares at the note and the phone for a long time.

Stupid. He’s so pathetic. Bart Allen doesn't think of him as a brother. Desperate little fool of a clone that he is, he got his hopes up. What a mistake.

He has to go back to his original plan. He has to stay entirely separate from the Allens. He’s… too… much. He’d always be wanting a closer relationship than fickle Impulse is even able to give.

He feels like an open wound.

It’s a beautiful day, a clear blue sky with fluffy clouds drifting along. An elderly man and his wife are talking over ice cream two tables away, and a man is working on his laptop, and a woman and two children are eating together a little ways away. Sparrows and chickadees are chirping cheerfully by their table.

How can he survive this?

“Did you think of him as younger than you?” Max asks. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Thad laughs, and it comes out bitter and cold.

“I thought of him as my twin. Not younger or older. Opposite.”

He shakes his head. He puts the phone down carefully on the table, face down.

Did you think of him as younger than you? Hhh. Max must think his reaction to the gift is confusion about how Bart obtained this, not heartbreak. Thad should encourage that train of thought.

“He wasn’t supposed to survive to adulthood,” he says, mimicking confusion.

“Mmm… he’s a survivor. Like you.”

Thad feels a strange, tragic pride about that. He spared his original’s life at the cost of his own future, and all Bart Allen has to say to him is everyone should have a cell phone. Oh! If Bart Allen was smarter Thad would think he was being cruel.

Thad has to stop thinking about this. Desperate for a distraction, he blurts out: “I don’t think I was supposed to survive either, even if I killed Bart Allen. I was supposed to kill him and then go after the rest of you, and… West is way faster than me. He probably would’ve killed me. He killed me lots of times.”

Max’s eyebrows go up. He says, very carefully, “Thad? Wally… never hurt you…”

Now Thad’s made Max think he’s delusional! He flushes hot and looks at the birds.

“I know that, I don’t mean Wally West literally killed me, just in the VR simulations,” he explains.

Max says, “In your simulations, you died?”

“When I failed the mission ones, yeah. And I failed a lot with West. He was the worst,” Thad complains.

“How so?”

Thad grimaces.

Wally West wasn’t really the worst. Bart Allen was the worst… his innocence breaking into something monstrous as he killed Thad. Bart Allen’s purposeless speed turning into something purposeful and deadly. Bart Allen’s tear-stained face… Bart Allen’s hoarse screams of You killed him!, the hatred on his face hurting worse than his punches… Bart’s knee in Thad’s groin as Bart went utterly feral in his grief… Bart Allen disillusioned… Bart Allen looking at Thad as a free person for the first time as he killed him, over and over and over and over. Bart Allen, in the simulations, only ever acknowledged Thad as a person, not a—a plaything—after Thad killed Max Mercury.

Thad will never do that. So his brother will never acknowledge him.

“Thad,” Max says, and there’s something odd in his tone that Thad really, really hopes doesn't mean Max noticed his agony over Bart Allen.

“West was the fastest person, but he was vindictive about it,” Thad answers hastily. “You were easier—you killed me quickly, at least. Sometimes I didn’t even know what hit me. Jay Garrick too. Wally West was the one who was nasty about it… creative, though, I have to admit.”

He laughs, thinking of a joke.

“Fastest man alive, and he always killed me slowest.”

“Thaddeus, braveheart…” Max groans.

Thad glances at him and flinches. Max looks devastated.

“Can I touch you?” Max asks, in a choked voice.

“Yeah?”

Before he’s even done saying it, Max is vibrating himself through the table and sitting on the bench next to Thad and pulling Thad into a tight embrace.

Thad tenses up, like always, and then he frowns, because Max is clinging to him like he’s dying or something. He’s holding Thad stiffly, one hand clutched around Thad’s back and one buried in his hair, breathing shallowly. He didn’t mean to do this to Max. He wanted the opposite of this. Surely he didn’t let that much of his upset show?

“It’s fine,” Thad tells Max, alarmed. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Max corrects him, voice shaking. “It’s absolutely not fine.”

“…that was abuse?” Thad checks. Obviously, the simulations were part of the overall training, which was abuse because it wasn’t a healthy childhood and they were lying to him, but it made sense. If you fail, you die. It prepared him for the real world.

Max makes a sound. It might be a laugh or a gasp.

“That was definitely abuse.”

“Okay,” Thad says, and wraps his arms around Max.

The void in his chest gnaws at him, like it always does when people touch him. He squirms into a better position, settles his chin on Max’s shoulder, and wishes selfishly that Max was Bart.

Still, he thinks, as Max rubs his back. Still, even though Max doesn't understand and must never be allowed to understand about Bart, it feels good to be held.

[bobapplesimblr]

for the oc ask game thing: 1, 7, 14 for all 5 sims :)

1.What’s their closet like? Do they have a lot of clothes or just a few staples?

Atlas - He's got a lot of neutral and dark tones in his closet, and a lot of comfortable basics. He's not really a staples guy, unless you count a grey graphic t-shirt as a staple.

Kenn - He's definitely got some good staples you guys have yet to see >:) his closet is a lot more colorful, but usually revolves around warm tones like red and orange. Macey - She's definitely got a lot of staple pieces, like that coat(?) from the one time she was really around, over a basic top and biker shorts. I really like stylling my female sims, they just come more easily. Elena - Elena was not made by me, but I can tell you she's got some amazing staple pieces! Her formal wear, WOOO she looks like she's a hollywood star going to her movie premiere! She's really cute, I love her, thank you again @gerbitfizz for making her for me! Thaddeus - Thadd from accounting is a comfy clothes guy. I know we haven't seen much of it, but he's just a chill dude. That said, he is usually shirtless in his own house.

----------------------------------------------------------

5.What is the most used app in their phone?

Atlas - Probably a text app like Whatsapp, Sim spotify, or the sim version of tumblr.

Kenn - Probably Simstagram to show off his paintings and find sponsers. But he also would have Youtube playing almost 24/7, mans doesn't believe in spotify

Macey - Simstagram and Snapchat, which might feel a bit cliché for a 'atractive female with bad personality', but most of the people I met irl that were like her used those two irl apps religiously.

Elena - Idk if she'd use any particular apps really, unless the internet app on phones counts. If so, then she'd use that a lot to check out things related to archeology and stuff. If there was an archeology major in Sims University she'd be taking it, so let's imagine she keeps tabs on the best archeology colleges and is trying to get a schollarship

Thaddeus - tiktok

-----------------------------------------------------------

7.Would they enjoy being famous?

Atlas - Deep down, yes! But he still needs to manage his stage fright and anxiety before he gets into that. So he says.

Kenn - He would love it! It's not his main goal with his art, but it would definitely be enjoyed!

Macey - Technically she's in the criminal carrier, so if she became famous it would probably be for something bad, so idk if she'd like it very much cause it would also mean she would've got caught.

Elena - Yeah, I can see her being happy about being famous, like a famous archeologist!

Thaddeus - He secretly wants to go into acting, so yeah if he went down that route he would very much enjoy getting fame from it!

-----------------------------------------------------------

14.What is something ridiculous they’d impulse buy?

Atlas - A GIANT squishmallow

Kenn - a candy ring, but to use as an actual engagement ring

Macey - a designer bag she definitely wouldn't be able to afford without her parents' help

Elena - an archeologist costume from a costume shop

Thaddeus - front row seat tickets for a play he doesnt even care about, he just wants to feel fancy

[ewritesthangs]

Authors Note: Its coming up on the anniversary of one of my hamsters deaths. Its shaped me into the person I am today. This was a bit hard to write. It may seem silly, but hamsters have become my way of coping with my mental health issues. Seriously. If anyone needs someone to talk to, I will put my own problems aside to help. I will be there. No matter what. I love you guys. I hope you guys enjoy this different style of writing.

Grief. Its a part of life, as we all know. Some experience it differently than you do. As the days draw nearer and nearer to the dreaded day, I grow increasingly anxious, sleepless, and emotional. As the memories pop up on my Facebook timeline of happier times. Times I had with him. My Thaddeus. He was my savior. My confidant. My snuggle bug. My therapy. My hamster. Such a simple and small pet. Yet he held the biggest personality, the biggest amount of joy in my life. I can't help but think all the memories I had with him. Afraid to lose them, I cling onto them. Hoping to one day see him again.

Today, it just one of the days. Closer and closer it gets. The more I think. Kisses and snuggles. The power he had to keep moving even though his time was coming.

Flashback

November 7th, 2019.

The day after Thaddeus fell and seemed to have broken his foot. It was dangling so, my suspicions were most likely correct. I take him to the vet. I have to leave him there. My baby. Corpse rubs my back and kisses my forehead.

"It'll be okay baby." We leave. In the back of my mind, they're gonna tell me he needs to be put down. My worst fear.

An hour later, I get the call. The call I was dreading.

"Hes shaking. We suggest you put him down, im sorry honey." Numbness. I can't feel anything. My whole world comes crashing down. My baby. I can't lose him! Tears of anger and sadness begin to flow. I don't want this to happen. I walk into the living room and look up from my phone. Corpse hears the sniffling and knows.

"Aw no baby. Come here." Arms open wide and I break.

"No! I can't lose him!"

"Its okay baby I've got you. Let it out." I scream and grip his shirt. We stay like that for a good 5 minutes before I calm down enough to go to the vets again.

Upon arrival at the vets, my tears start again. I knew this moment would come. But I didn't want it to be now. Or ever for that matter.

As I held him one last time, my sobs wrecked me. Washed over me like a typhoon. Waves and waves of uncontrollable sobbing. Corpse trying his best to comfort me, he himself getting teared up. He hated seeing me in so much anguish.

I set him on the counter, the needle go into his tummy. One last hurt, and I caused it.

"I'm so sorry baby."

5 minutes pass. Seems like forever.

"Hes still going."

"My fighter." Said through the tears, a small smile playing across my lips that quickly turn into a frown again.

"Hes gone." My baby. Gone. Forever. I'll only see him in my dreams. The sobs wrack my body yet again.

Present Day

Grief. Such a sucky feeling to go through. Am I right?

"Baby? Whats wrong? Why do you seem so down?" Corpse enters the room, dark and cold. My other babies running on their wheels or eating in their food bowls or even drinking their water. Singing the song of their kind.

"I miss him so much Cor." I hiccup.

"E, baby hes with you all the time. He may not be with you physically but I can tell hes always with you."

"I know I just had a dream with him in it and I can't help but miss him."

"What was the dream about?"

"We were trying to keep him and Rufus away from each other. But it didn't work out well." I sniffle. 

"I've got you." Corpse takes me into his arms and kisses my temple.

"I'm okay. Its just getting a little harder as the day rolls closer."

"I know E. I miss him too. He was one great cuddly little guy." Just then, Rufus starts to bite at his cage. Signaling for us to take his cute butt out. "Awww Roofie, do you wanna come see mommy and daddy?" Corpse takes him out and Rufus runs right to me snuggling into the crook of my leg.

"Mommy's little man."

"That he sure is. He knows mommy's is sad."

"He must. He never snuggles unless he wants to get warm or pee on me." We laugh at the thought and I rub my little fluffballs head. And just like that, my heart is full again. I'm reminded that there are animals out there; hamsters, rats, dogs, cats, etc. That need my love. That want to love somebody.

Grief is an ongoing thing, but with support and love from just one animal or one person it won't consume you. 

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Summary: During his two month long sea voyage from Phthia to Skyros, Patroclus makes an unexpected friendship.

Chapter 3: Fate, the final chapter of At the Water’s Edge, is up! Where Patroclus finally reaches Skyros, and has an important decision to make.

Read here or on AO3! Or read from the beginning

The sun had set, and the night birds were gliding into the fast-approaching dusk when we finally returned to the ship.

The rest of the sailors had already gathered for dinner, the wide galley filled with the sounds of jest and song, with the smells of the fish stew that was being prepared. I didn’t usually join the crew during their meals, preferring to take them in my room, by myself, but that evening Xanthos had insisted I stay. He was sitting next to me now, with his cheeks still flushed from our trek through the verdant hills back to the port, and the wind that had combed through his locks had given him a wild appearance. There was a gleam in his eye, that I imagined matched my own.

The fish stew was rich and savoury, heavy with the taste of the sea and spices. Not all ships fed their crew this well, but the captain was a generous man, or so Xanthos had told me. After we had both finished our dinner, a nearby sailor treated us to some watered down wine. It was from the northern plains, near Macedonia, I was told, and quite strong, with a heavy aftertaste of berries and honeysuckle.

“Xanthos,” one of the men called. He was a tall man, strong like an bull, with his large head shaved clean. He had a bright and easy smile, which always made me somewhat uncomfortable, especially now that it was directed at both me and my companion. His gaze fell on the bracelet on Xanthos’ wrist. “What’s that you’re wearing? A little too fancy for you, isn't it?"

Xanthos smiled brightly, seemingly unaware of the laughter that broke out over the wide space. He raised his arm to show his bracelet to everyone who had lifted their heads from their drinks to look. “Do you like it, Thaddeus? I wasn’t aware it would be to your taste. I thought the only place you liked to wear jewellery was on your teeth.”

The other men laughed and jeered, banging their mugs on their tables. The jab did not seem to deter Thaddeus, who grinned even more brightly, revealing several golden teeth. “Everyone knows that, boy,” he said, laughing. “Did your friend choose it for you? You and I both know you couldn’t pick something nice if your life depended on it.”

I felt uncomfortable with everyone’s piercing stares that suddenly fell on me. Xanthos turned his body ever so slightly towards me, as if shielding me from the sailors’ crude jests. “He did,” he said, waving his mug casually. “He has a good eye. Which is more than anyone can say about you lot.”

They all laughed again, and Xanthos and Thaddeus exchanged even more jests, some of them crude, but none ill-natured. Before I knew it I was laughing with them too, and soon some of the sailors had come to sit around our table. Talk shifted away from Xanthos’ bracelet and into other matters, the ship’s journey and the highest price the captain had been able to get for some of the oils and herbs they carried, the details of the trade.

“Barley always sells cheaper here than it does in the mainland,” they would say. “Don’t know why the captain bothers with the Sporades.” Or, "Piraeus has raised the cargo tax to thirty three talents. Soon, they'll be charging an arm and a leg just to let ships into port."

I listened to their talk, quietly sipping on my wine. Trading held little interest for me. I had never in my life had to barter, sell or buy anything, apart from the rare occasions that Achilles and I would sneak away from the palace and go to the harbour to watch the street performers and musicians that sometimes ended up on our shores. It was always fun and exciting at first, but I would soon grow weary of the chatter and noise, of the heavy and sour smells of discarded fish and sweaty human flesh, of the rattling sound of the dice games at every corner. We would quickly retreat back to the olive grove, or our small secluded beach, where Achilles could run and throw his spears undisturbed. I would sit back on the warm sand and watch him move for hours, watch as the muscles rose and fell under his skin, as shadows pooled and stretched across his features with the passage of the dying sun.

A pang of longing drove through me at the thought, before I was able to stop it. My memories of Achilles had always been gold- tinted, as if the brightness of his presence made everything it touched resplendent, just like he was. They had always been a source of comfort for me, yet now they just made me ache for him all the more.

“Do you play, lord?”

I blinked at Thaddeus, jolting out of my reminiscing. At my baffled stare, he nodded at the stretch of table between us, smiling. “Do you play?”

I followed his gaze, and there I saw them. Four dice, their pips staring up at me like eyes. They were not white and made of bone like I was used to; they were red instead, made of terracotta stone. The pips were carved on their flat and smooth surface and painted over with dark dye. The shape and colour of them mattered not, though, as I found myself staring at them for what felt like a lifetime.

It was then that I remembered one of the reasons why I never joined the crew during their meals. Sooner or later, the tables would be cleared, and dice would be drawn out for games that lasted well into the night.

My pulse thrummed in my temples at the images that promptly rushed through me in waves; my anger at Clysonymus, at his blatant disrespect, his mockery. His eyes that widened as he fell back, losing his balance; the crack of his head against the stone. His blood trickling slowly on the dry ground beneath him, mixing with the soil and turning it crimson. I remembered how bright it was, as if it were before me just then. My stomach turned.

“Patroclus,” I heard Xanthos say beside me, but his words reached me as if through wool. “Are you well? You are pale as a sheet.”

I think I muttered a brief apology before standing up, almost making my chair topple over in my haste, then half-running towards the deck. My heart was racing; my mind was spinning, spinning. I was shaking like a fish out of water when I finally reached the railing and clutched it with trembling hands, my breath clawing at my throat.

It wasn’t always this bad. The sight of the dice didn’t always leave me this shaken, but my nightmares, ever since I had boarded the ship, were the worst they had been in years. Almost every night I would wake up trembling and out of breath, with cold sweat running down my spine. Those memories, Clysonymus’ face, the dice that rattled incessantly in my head; all those things were part of me, embedded in my bones. Had I honestly thought that one half day of careless enjoyment would be enough to ward off those ancient terrors?

I squeezed my eyes tightly, willing the images that seemed to be lodged there away. The night was dark upon the world now, and I felt swallowed by it, a pebble sinking to the bottom of the sea. It seemed as though if I let go of the railing for even a heartbeat, the waves would rush up and swallow me, drag me into their dark depths.

I jolted when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to Xanthos, who was watching me with evident concern.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I gripped the railing hard, taking in a deep, steadying breath. My heartbeat was gradually getting slower, and I could feel the fear that had gripped me only a moment before easing away. I stared out into the darkness, at the stars that now shone brightly above me.

“Did, uh…” Xanthos started shyly beside me. “Did Thaddeus do something to upset you? I could talk to him if you wish. He’s a rough fellow, but he didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, of course not. He did nothing wrong. It wasn’t… it wasn’t his fault.”

Xanthos remained silent. He didn't press me to speak further, to explain; still, I felt like I had to.

I took another deep breath, this time to ease the words out of me. I had never spoken about my nightmares to anyone but Achilles. Without him by my side, it felt like every memory, every image from my past was a stone, slowly grinding me to meal. The last thing I wanted was to dig them up again, but the need to share the burden, if only for a moment, was what urged my tongue to weave the words.

“There was a boy, once,” I started quietly. “When I was younger. We fought over… over a pair of dice. I pushed him. He fell and broke his head.” My fingers tightened so much about the railing, that my knuckles had gone white, the wood digging into my flesh. “I killed him.”

Xanthos did not speak then, but I could sense no judgement or horror in his silence. Only patience. His very presence there gave me heart, and I continued. “I did not mean to. It was an accident. Yet every time I see dice… they just remind me of him.” I glanced up at him, fearing what I would see in his eyes, but there was only understanding.

“How old were you?” he asked softly.

“Ten.”

He let out a slow breath. “To have seen something like this, so young…” He shook his head, and his eyes glinted oddly in the night, reflecting the light of the waxing moon above us. “I am sorry you’ve had to live with this burden all those years, Patroclus.”

The sympathy in his voice made a wave of bitterness rise within me. I swallowed thickly, but the knot in my throat remained. “At least I got to live,” I said quietly. “That boy didn’t have that chance.”

I had never admitted those thoughts to anyone, not even to Achilles. I wished to stop my tongue from forming the words, to think of anything else, anything at all, but could not. “Sometimes,” I whispered, “I try to imagine what might have happened to that boy, had I not pushed him. How his life would have been, if I hadn’t been in it. He would have been at marrying age now. He might even have had children. He would have inherited his father’s titles, his lands… He would have been a man, in his own right. But he got to live none of that. Because… because of a pair of dice.”

My eyes burned as I spoke. I rubbed them stubbornly, determined to not shed any tears. I did not want Xanthos to think less of me.

Xanthos kept his silence for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, mingling with the sighing of the crisp sea breeze. “The night before I boarded my first ship,” he said, “I was terrified. The priests of Apollo had spoken of a terrible storm that was to come, the worst we had seen in ages. They’d seen it in the blood of a lamb they’d sacrificed, on Apollo’s holy day. I did not want to go. I sat on my bed while the wind blew outside and shook with fear. My father came in and saw me. He told me something then. It stuck with me.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“He said… 'A man whose fate it is to die in a fire, will never die in a storm'.” At my confused glance, he laughed softly. “What my father meant was, every one of us has a path in life. The moment we come into this world, the three Fates spin their threads and decide what is to come. If my destiny was to die in a sea storm, even if I stayed on land and herded sheep all my life, the storm would eventually find me. ‘Meet your fate proudly, boy,’ my father told me that night, ‘because you cannot escape it.’ ” He turned to look at me, his dark, almond shaped eyes meeting mine squarely. “You have your path. So did this boy.”

“But…” My old pains and fears rose to the surface, the dreams that had haunted me for most of my life. I struggled to find a justification for it, for what had happened to me, for what I’d done, something that would make it all make sense. I could not.

“It is cruel,” I whispered. “Is it not?”

“It is life, Patroclus.”

His hand on the railing was so close to mine, I could almost feel the heat emanating from his skin. I thought of his words, turned them this way and that in my mind. I had my path. So did Clysonymus. It did not change what I  had done, his life had still ended too soon. His death was still my fault. Yet if I had not pushed him…

I would never have left Opus. I would not have gone to Phthia. I might never have met Achilles. I would never have known him, followed him, loved him. My life, as I knew it, would only be a shadow of what it was, what it could have been. It was still cruel, but it was my life. My path, the one the Fates had carved for me.

The Fates had never been kind, nor fair. But they were absolute. Inexorable.

My hand crossed the distance between us to land gently beside Xanthos’. The waves splashed against the ship’s belly, and the night owls at the shore cooed. We stayed silent, side by side, watching the night stretch endlessly before us.

The following evening, when I went to the ship’s galley for my dinner, none of the sailors were playing dice. It didn’t take long for me to notice that it was Thaddeus’ wrist that Xanthos’ bracelet was gracing now. When I glanced at him, the unspoken question lingering in my gaze, he only smiled and winked.

“Fate,” he jested cryptically, and took a large sip of his wine.

I didn’t see another die being thrown for the remainder of the days I stayed on the ship.

~

The day that the rolling hills of Skyros came into view arrived much slower, and much faster than I’d expected. The bay that we pulled up on shimmered golden in the early morning light. I could just make out the last of the Pleiades disappearing into the rosy fire of dawn when the ship was pulled to harbour. I leaned against the railing, my bag with my handful of belongings hanging by my shoulder, my heart beating in my throat. Somewhere on that island, perhaps in that palace atop the hill, Achilles was waiting for me.

Xanthos was by my side when the ship’s ropes were tied to the old and worn out palisades of the long and narrow wharf. I had thought he would go straight to his bed after his shift had ended, to get what little sleep he could before they would be setting off again, but he walked down with me, then followed me to the beach, where the wharf ended.

We gazed at each other for a long moment, standing ankle deep in crystal clear water. I found myself tracing the lines of his features, the slope of his nose, his strong eyebrows, his heart-shaped mouth. His eyes were kind and warm as ever, but there was something else hiding in their depths. During those heartbeats that we looked at each other I noticed everything, even things I had never paid much attention to before, as if I was trying to commit his features to memory, keep them safe with me.

“So,” he said softly, “it is time.”

I nodded. “It is.”

I expected him to leave then, to climb back up to the ship and sail to his own destiny. But he stayed there, gazing at me.

“We’ll be going back to Euboea now. To Kymi.”

“I know. The captain told me.” I smiled when I said, “And then you’ll be setting off for the Eastern ports, right?”

His lips widened in a smile that mirrored my own, but it was not quite as bright and effortless as I was used to. It was almost timid. He shifted on his feet, cleared his throat. “It won’t be for very long. Three, perhaps four months. And then we’ll be back.” A light, barely perceptible flush crept up his cheeks as he said, “I was hoping perhaps… I could see you. When I come back.”

I blinked, taken aback. I wasn’t rightly sure how long I’d be staying in Skyros, whether I would be going back to Phthia next. In my heart of hearts, I wished to find Achilles and leave with him straight away, return to Pelion, where Chiron was waiting for us. Yet all of my hopes seemed uncertain and hazy, like trying to grasp at shifting sand. Three, four months… I did not know if there was any way for me to plan that far ahead. Gods, I didn’t even know if Achilles was still where I’d been told he would be.

My stomach tightened as I told him earnestly, “I… I’m not sure where I’ll be in four months, Xanthos.”

“I know,” he said hastily. “I know that it’s all uncertain now. But… You could wait for me here. I could come back for you. And then we could leave together.”

"Leave?" I frowned a little as he spoke, my confusion increasing by the second. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere at all. We could return to Phthia together, or… or anywhere else you like. Go to the mountains, perhaps. You like the mountains. Right?” His flush brightened, and his eyes flashed with something that I couldn’t quite decipher. Something akin to hope. “After my trip to the East, I think I’ll have enough gold to build a home. A small one. Like... like the one you told me about. With a garden out front…” He let his words trail away, searching my face. His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “We… could stay there. You and I.”

I froze when I finally caught on his meaning. He wanted me to… to go with him. To build a life with him. To be with him. To… love him.

I took a breath, preparing myself for the blow I was about to deliver. “I’m sorry, Xanthos. I… could not.”

I saw the joy and hope that had been there a moment before drain from his features. I saw his smile quiver, and his shoulders slouch. “Oh.”

“It’s not—” I started, then stopped myself. My fists opened and closed by my side, helpless. “I can’t give you what you want,” I said quietly. “This person I’ve come here to find… He’s everything to me. He’s…” I paused, looking about me. My mind worked furiously as I searched for words that wouldn’t hurt him anymore than they had to.

Xanthos spoke the words for me.

“Your fated one,” he said softly. He gave me a wan smile, his eyes kind and earnest as they met mine, but I could still see the hurt I’d wrought there. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” The sun was rising slowly over the mountains in the East, painting his sun-bronzed features golden and bright.

“Pepromenon fyghein adynaton,” he said. Fate is inescapable.

I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. He reached out and tentatively placed his hand on my shoulder. “I wish you all the best, Patroclus.”

“So do I.” I met his gaze, looking deep into his warm, honey brown eyes. “Thank you, Xanthos. For everything.”

His fingers squeezed my shoulder gently, feather-light, before he turned to leave.

I stayed there for a long while, at the water's edge, watching as the ship slowly rowed away. When its sails were nothing but a white speck on the golden horizon, I turned around.

Somewhere on that island, in the palace atop that hill, my fate was waiting for me.

[strawberryswalker]

@unlicenscd 

It was nighttime in the mountains of Ambarino. The chill of an early fall was present, and makes the old man feel comfortable. Thaddeus holds the reigns of Old Ben. Now nearing twenty the poor horse probably didn’t have much longer. But he was still good for a mosey around. But up this mountain, Thad would rather just walk him. They both know these hills, they have been traversing them all their lives together. Ben and Thaddeus. 

Though the chill does not bother Thaddeus, he is bundled up to the point of sweating. It has been many years but one thing he always remembered, was to double bundle up. so he can give his layers to Dante who would be forever suffering in the cold. 

“Almost there boah.”

Thad encourages the old mustang, bringing a hand up to rub at Ben’s muzzle with affection. The smell of iron had been in the air for about an hour now. And Thaddeus had gotten used to that, because it normally meant. Dante was near. 

The woods are dark, but Thaddeus doesn’t need much light. The moon was plenty. He could see the light of a campfire just up the hill. And with a faint chuckle he knows he is close. The hill was a bit steep, but he and Ben both manage to walk up to the camp. 

There Thaddeus see’s a few melting banks of snow, probably from yesterdays light snowing. But he also saw a lot of blood on said snow. And dark spots in the dirt. Which he could only imagine was blood as well. Dante was sitting at the fire, his eyes reflect in the flames like a snakes and a cats combined. 

The old man looks to the then pile of bodies that were in a pile and see’s the ever familiar green colors of his past. Thaddeus lets go of Ben’s reigns. Knowing the horse ain’t goin’ no where. And he moves to sit next to Dante by the fire. Taking off two of his coats and draping them round Dante’s shoulders before he sat down. Dante is so cold all the time, he doesn’t know if giving Dante his jackets ever help..but Dante hasn’t ever said nothing so far, so Thad would always be a gentleman. And try and warm his man up. 

“You know we get more money for them alive.”

Thaddeus teases softly and then leans to plant a kiss to Dante’s cheek. His graying mustache was rough against the others cheek, but Thad's love was as warm as his jackets were too. Maybe a bit musky from him sweating in them. 

Dante’s hand moves to Thad’s thigh and they both lean into one another’s sides. 

“You smell like blood.” Thad chuckles, not ashamed of his lover,  just amused. 

“And you smell like..Poppies?”

Dante turns his head to his old man, his oldest lover, and best friend throughout so many years. And it was still nice, to see him smile. He may look mean and crotchety, like his daddy. His face may be half burned and he may look like and act like a monster sometimes. But deep down Thaddeus was still that idiot who he loves..And who loves him back no matter what happens. Monster or not. 

Dante moves a hand into his lovers silver hair and grips the locks playfully, leaning in and taking in a deep breath as he nuzzles Thad’s neck. Sure he can hear the blood flowing, but he fed off six men, so he won’t take a drop form his old man. 

Thaddeus purrs as he feels Dante nuzzle into his burned side of his neck. Kissing and breathing him in. Thaddeus just gives a throaty laugh, his hands moving over Dante’s back to hold to his immortal lover of the bayou. 

“I rubbed a buncha’ flowers on mahself cuz I knew I'd be sweatin with them jackets on for you. Didn’t wanna be some gross old man, just coming up for some nookie with his man..Gotta’ be a little classier in mah age ya know. Gotta’ keep you interested still.”

That makes Dante laugh, only Thaddeus would think that rubbing flowers over his body as a perfume would keep him interested. Well, the dumbass was right. Thaddeus laughs because he knows he is silly! But he aint got fancy perfumes in Strawberry! That was a Saint Denis luxury he aint had in a long while. 

“You know, you smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Dante praises, and as expected, even in the firelight, he can see a hint of a blush on Thad’s cheeks. 

“And thank you for the jackets, I’ve been freezing up here.”

He lies tenderly, because he knows that if, Thaddeus knew the truth. Well there was a chance sweet moments like this would be gone. And he’d rather get to wear Thad’s sweaty, flower smelling sweat and coat, than just the blood on the wind. The warmth behind the jackets, and his lovers love did warm him plenty though. 

Thaddeus and Dante sit by the campfire, and canoodle by a pile of dead O’driscolls. Tomorrow they will bring the bodies in for some cash. For now, they catch up, and don't let one another go. 

[stark-tony]

Do you have any Tony-centric fic recs? Platonic ones with the Avengers if you have any. 🙃😊

tbh i mostly just read irondad but i think i may have a few that are tony-centric (they’re still mostly going to be irondad though)

a drunken ode to peter parker by floweryfran 

summary: “You’re an emotional drunk,” Rhodey says. Rhodey has his arms straight in the air and he’s staring at his hands like they’re deeply puzzling to him.“

Nuh uh,” Tony says, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You just. You don’t get it.”

“I do get it,” Rhodey says. “I speak Tony language, and Tony language says that you… um, you love the kid. That’s what.”

“I do not!” Tony yelps. “I hate him! A scourge on my life and soul! I cannot stand his squeaky shoes and his stupid big ears!” Tony takes a deep breath and then delicately screams. “Who let him have such big ears, he’s going to fall over when it’s windy there are sailboats with sails smaller than his ears.”

Rhodey lets his arms flop down onto his chest and turns his head on the floor. Tony can hear the bumps in his skull rolling on the linoleum. “Man,” he says. “You love that kid so much it’s disgusting.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Peter's Ghost and one (1) obnoxious orange stone by Bean_reads_fanfic

summary: SPOILERS FOR ENDGAME AND SM:FFH ..."Rest," she'd said. Was this rest? It didn't feel like it. ...But then that's what you get when your soul is tied to Peter Parker's.

(In which Tony's unusual afterlife is explored, and things aren't as permanent as they seem.)

pairings: michelle/peter, pepperony

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

How to Repair a Broken Heart* by InfluentialPineapple

summary: The Mechanic has a lot on his plate; Thanos is coming, the Guardians of the Galaxy are marooned, Thaddeus Ross is reaching right down his throat, and a budding super hero deserves his full attention. He’s also dying. No big deal. He can fix it. He can fix anything.

And he can do it all without even opening that stupid phone.

Now, where did those notes on Extremis go…?(

06/25/19: expect an update within a week, and I thank you all for your patience!)

pairings: happy/pepper

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: alcoholism, suicidal thoughts, torture

the stars the moon they have all been blown out (you left me in the dark) by madasthesea

summary: It starts off with his vision fading in and out.

What kind of demon drug can make someone go blind by inhaling a single lungful? Whatever it is, Tony doubts it’s reversible. And while Peter’s no idiot, he can be idiotically optimistic. He’s determined to fix what appears to be unfixable.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Then How Do YOU Explain Peter? by Asphodelia

summary:  “I DID NOT HAVE SEX WITH A SPIDER, THOR.”

pairings:  none

tags: humor

warnings: none

I Will Soften Every Edge by losingmymindtonight

summary: “You’re telling me,” he swallowed, “that my body thinks I’m Peter’s dad?” “And it has prepared itself for parenthood in response, yes.” – After a simple brain scan, F.R.I.D.A.Y. reveals something that Tony already knew, but may not have been ready to accept. Luckily, Peter’s always there to help him re-find his footing.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

tony stark wanting to die but it's 10 minutes long by jophieso

summary:  "Hammer had managed to ahold of the tower’s security footage from the last few months and had decided to leak it to the public. However, the stunt didn’t have the intended effect. At all. Suffice to say, the two hours of footage that was just Barnes sitting on the floor of the communal kitchen, eating cup after cup of yogurt, didn’t send the general public into some sort of negative uproar. Nor did the solid fifteen minutes of Clint crying over Marley and Me. The only reaction that was garnered was a wildly ridiculous one, from – as Peter had named it – Avengers stan twitter."

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

Lazarus, come forth by iron_spider

summary: Tony’s mind is a chaotic mess but he remembers the moment—remembers his death, remembers the red hot pain and Peter screaming, Rhodey rushing to his side. How he knew he’d never see Pepper again—but they’d fixed it. They’d fixed the world, erased the lost time, set things right—and the kid was back. The kid was crying, the kid hated him for doing what he did, but he was back. He was alive.

Tony Stark was dead. But now he’s breathing again, trying to think, gasping, hands tracing the box surrounding him, covering him, suffocating him.

He’s in a coffin. He’s under the ground. He’s under the fucking ground.

(Tony Stark dies defeating Thanos. But then he comes back to life. He has to find out how, why, and how to live again. And how to deal with the changes in the people he’s coming back to.)

pairings: pepperony

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

The Reinvention of Tony Stark by losingmymindtonight

summary: "There are a lot of things you worry about when meeting Iron Man, and there are even more things you worry about when meeting Tony Stark.” – From playboy to the pinnacle of heroism: Tony Stark’s life has been anything but quiet. In his first face-to-face interview since wielding the Infinity Stones, Iron Man lets the public in on a glimpse of his life as a retired superhero and stay-at-home dad.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood by xxx_cat_xxx

summary: The universe is saved, Thanos is defeated, the Vanished are returned, and Tony has survived (though with severe radiation burns and one less arm). Everything should be good now - except that it isn’t.

While Tony embarks on a painful and frustrating recovery, he wrestles with the fear that he’s no longer capable of caring for his family. Meanwhile, Peter tries to find his place in a world that just doesn’t feel like his own anymore.

pairings: pepperony

tags: angst

warnings: none

Smile! by aatticsaltt

summary:  Taking Peter to Disney World was one of Tony's better ideas.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

[certifiedskywalker]

Just Friends - Steve Rogers

The four times You and Steve insist that the two of you ‘are just friends’ and the fifth time you don’t.

It was almost uncanny, the number of times you and Steve ended up in some situation or setting that led others to assume that you were together. Not that you minded it or that the assumptions offended you. Actually, you envied the ignorance of others because, if you had it your way, you would rather not wear the mantle of ‘friend’ with Steve. Your feelings for him had only grown with time as you had silently hoped that they would gradually fade away. Alas, your affection for Steve seemed to haunt you with every stranger and teasing friend you encountered.

The first time was purely an accident.

“What even is the difference between a mocha and macchiato?” You ask, leaning over to Steve so he could hear your quiet question. When you dare to spare a curious glance up at the man beside you, he is beaming.

“I have no clue,” he admits, “why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know! I just figured you would know.” You bump your shoulder against his, but due to his size, you end up knocking elbows instead.

“Because I’m old?” Steve’s voice is light, usually relaxed. It’s nice hearing him at ease, especially in his line of work. Avenging left little time for one’s self, you would know that all too well, being Fury’s assistant.

“What? No, I would never dare to...no,” you tease before letting a rogue laugh loose. Steve chuckles too, his already bright grin widening.

If it weren’t for his guiding hand on your lower back pushing you forward, you would have never noticed that the customer in line before you both had gone. You could have spent hours studying the way Steve smiled. You would have, had he not directed you to the counter. The two of you were greeted by a larger woman with a handsome smile on her face. Due to her unwavering politeness, you surmise she must have just started her shift.   

“What can I get for you?” Her voice is kind and you smile when you see how her equally kind eyes are glued to Steve. Part of you worried she recognized him as a simple baseball cap did little to nothing to hide Steve’s face. When she continued to ogle him, you felt a frown pull at your lips. All the barista saw was a wildly attractive man.

“I’ll just have a black coffee, Y/N?” When you look over at Steve, he’s fumbling with his wallet. You extend a hand and shake your head.

“No, I got it,” you insist, but Steve cocks his head.

“You should by now it’s pointless to fight me on this,” he presses, “get your drink.” You sigh dramatically, making sure Steve hears it before ordering. The barista is beaming, not just at Steve now, but at the two of you together. She rings up the total and looks back up at you both.

“Can I get you lovebirds anything else?”

“Oh we-”

“We’re not…

“We’re just friends,” you and Steve say in unison. You both glance at each other, cheeks burning hotter than the coffee being poured into disposable cups behind the barista.

“Oh, sorry,” she gushes, “you just are so cute together.”

“That’s uh, alright. Just the drinks,” Steve stammers out, handing the barista a few dollar bills. She nods quickly, taking the money from him. You can’t bring yourself to look Steve in the eyes, so you busy yourself with inspecting the tiled floor below your feet.

“Right away,” the barista shrilled, giving Steve the change before rushing off. It is then you muster enough courage to peer up at Steve. His blue eyes are almost sparkling, his lips press together in a thin line of thought.

“Why don’t we go sit while they make our drinks?” Your suggestion seems to break Steve out of his trance as he nods in agreement. In record time, you both find a table and slide into the booths opposite each other. Now that you’re facing him you can see just how flustered he is. The sight is cute and heartwarming until you realize he is shocked. Offended, perhaps, that the woman thought the two of you were together.

You reach over the table, grab Steve’s hand with your own. Blue eyes lift to meet your gaze and you offer him a knowing smile. Steve does his best to mirror your expression, but a moment later, he’s staring out the window. You’re left wondering why the premise has affected him so badly.

“That was funny isn't it,” you jest, trying to pull Steve back to you. He nods, turning to you with something ready to say. You beat him to it. “Like we would ever....date…”

“Y-yeah,” Steve murmurs, “it would be...strange.”

“We wouldn’t do anything together,” you muse, trying to comfort him, “like we’d just lounge at home because of work! How boring would that be?”

“Pretty boring,” Steve agrees, his smile returning now, “it’s crazy to think about.” You grin, nodding.

“It would be disgusting,” you joke and Steve cringes for a split second. “We’d get one of those houses on the coast….”

“White picket fence?” You’re relieved that he’s playing along.

“Well of course,” you trifle, “we would need something to offset the rose garden!” Steve laughs loudly at that and you can’t help but revel in the sound. “You could really, finally embrace that Mr. All-American lifestyle.”

“I’m not already?” You giggle at Steve’s befuddled expression and shake your head. “I see how it is,” Steve jabs, “you just want-”

“Steve? Y/N?” The barista belts, interrupting what Steve was about to say. You’re about to slide out of the booth but Steve is already standing.

“I’ll get it,” he says before darting off to the counter. You watch him go, silently cursing yourself for growing so fond of your closest friend.

The second time was just a coincidence.

You barely slept the night before due to stress and a touch of stomach sickness, so an early morning meeting was wholly unappealing. Sitting next to Steve at least made the whole show bearable as Thaddeus Ross, the Secretary of State, drilled on about public opinion. The man was dull as he rattled on, leaving no point untouched. Something about his monotone voice simply, over the course of the meeting, lulled you to sleep.

“Y/N,” a sweet whisper filled your ears as you started to stir. “Y/N, honey, get up.” You lift your head, sleep still clinging to your eyes. When you managed to wake, you took in the scene around you. The meeting room was now empty; except for you and Steve.

“What….”

“You fell asleep,” Steve explains, “during the meeting. It was towards the end though, I don’t think Ross noticed.” You groan, rubbing your head softly. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well last night,” you murmur, looking to Steve. “Did I…”

“Fall asleep on me? Yes, you did,” Steve teases, a pleased smile on his features. You groan again and mutter an apology. “It’s fine, Y/N, really.”

“It’s just embarrassing,” you grumble as you gather the paper sprawled out on the table in front of you. Once the files are in your hands, you stand and stretch. You don’t have to look over to know that Steve is watching you. When you eyes meet, his cheeks go pink.

“I, like I said, I don’t think Ross noticed,” Steve says, hoping to curb your nerves. You are thankful for his attempts, but you shake your head.

“It’s not Ross I’m worried about,” you sigh as you walk out of the meeting room with Steve on your heels.

“Who then?” Steve questions and you’re shocked by his naivety. You raise a brow at him as you waltz in the small kitchen inside the Avengers compound.

“I mean have you heard Sa-”

“Well, look who’s finally awake!” As if simply thinking about him summoned him, Sam strode into the kitchen in a sweat soaked tank top. “How was your nap?”

“Sam,” you say flatly, meeting Steve’s eyes. The handsome man seems to understand the ‘who’ you were concerned about now.

“You two were so cute cuddled up together,” Sam drawls, filling up his water bottle. His dark eyes flit between you and Steve who’s smile had faded now. “Like an old married couple. Even Fury was teary eyed.”

“Y/N and I are just friends,” Steve says coolly, looking to you so you know you have his support. Only, that wasn’t the support you wanted.

Sam snickers, shaking his head. “Try telling that to Fury then.” He sips at his water and walks off before shouting, “by the way, that ‘just friends’ line is horribly overused. You should know that, Cap.”

When Sam is out of sight, you pinch the bridge of your nose to relieve some of the pressure that was gathering there. Steve shifts his weight on his feet, that familiar uncomfortable silence that had occurred in the coffee shop returning in full force. This time, you were lacking the will power to diffuse it. Instead, you pour yourself a glass a water and walk off to check up on work. Steve’s eyes trailing after you went unseen as you left him wondering what he had done wrong.

The third time nearly broke your heart.

It had been a few days since that fateful meeting. A few days since you and Steve had been in a room alone together. Part of it was just the way work had picked up and the missions he was sent out on. Today, for instance, Steve was out saving the world while you were haunting the Avenger’s compound upstate like an overworked spirit.

Fury had been persistent in getting you to stay behind. So you found yourself curled up at the desk, sitting in front of a computer for hours on end. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but you had no one around to chat with. Except for Fury and he wasn’t the chatty type. So it was a surprise when there was the telltale rapping of knuckles against a wooden door.

“Y/N,” Fury greeted, his eye taking in the sight of you with an alertness that scared you.

“Fury,” you replied, “I’m working on that last mission report, like you asked.”

“Good,” he stepped into the room, “but that’s not why I’m here. An issue as come to my attention involving you and Captain Rogers.”

“Oh, okay. What is it?” Fury took the seat beside the desk with a heavy sigh passing over his lips as he sank into the cushion.

“At the last meeting, with Ross, you and...you both seemed awfully close and it’s-”

“Against policy, right? It’s okay,” you press, “we know that. We’re not together. Steve and I are just friends so there’s nothing to worry about, trust me. I kno-”

“Y/N,” Fury holds his hand up, silencing you. “I’m not worried about policy. That’s why you do most of the paperwork.” You smile and he continues. “As a friend, I want you to know that with the line of work we’re in, relationships with operatives are at a high risk of termination.” You don’t need to ask for clarification or translation of the professional jargon. You know what he’s trying to say without directly saying it.

“It’s okay, Fury,” you sigh, “like I said: Steve and I are...we're just friends.” Fury remains quiet, unmoving as he reads your features. Can he tell that you’re lying? You’re certain of it because he gives you a half smile as he leaves the room.

You spend the next hour in the room, at the desk, working and ignoring the thoughts that now assaulted your mind every second. When everything has been filed, stacked, and saved, you sit in the chair alone. After a while, the computer enters sleep mode, plunging the room into darkness. You take the dying lighting as signal and pack up your things. The hallway is empty as you traverse down it, spilling out into the kitchen.

“Y/N! Hi! I’ve been looking around for you!” Steve’s voice meets your ears instantly and it takes everything in your to just keep walking. “Y/N?”

“Sorry, Steve. I have work to do.” It’s a lie and Steve isn’t deaf. He runs interference, stepping in front of you until you look up at him. When you don’t, Steve slips a finger under your chin and lifts you to face him. Your eyes are rimmed red from tears you had all too quickly wiped away when Fury had left. Steve was about to ask what was wrong when you muscled your way past him.

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine Steve, go.”

“You’re obviously not fine, Y/N, ple-”

“Go talk with your other friends.” The words shatters something, carving a cut deeper in your heart. Before Steve can press further, you dart out of the room with fresh tears welling up in your eyes.

The fourth time was different, to say the least.

It was a relaxed scene: the sun beaming down, warming your skin, as other beach patrons enjoyed the lapping waves and children forged castles in the sand while they played. Gulls cawed, swooping and soaring gracefully in the bright blue skies. A few fluffs of white clouds dotted the vast azure above you, not daring to blot out the sun’s shine. You were soaking up the feeling, the heat, the buzz while you laid out on a towel with a thick book in your hands.

“Who reads at a beach?” Sam’s voice echoed in your ear, while the man himself remained out of sight. The comm nearly fell out of your ear as you replied.

“I do, Sam,” you grumble quietly. You hear him chuckle on the other end and you shake your head, hoping that he sees it.

“Y/N,” Natasha’s voice cut through the slight static, “stayed focused.” You mumble a ‘sorry’ and crack open your book. As you wiggle around on your towel to get comfortable, you catch Steve’s eyes on you. You hadn’t spoken to him recently, not after you stormed out on him. So being assigned to an undercover mission with him was proving to be difficult. Especially in a beach setting.

“It’s a pretty day out,” Steve muses aloud. You let your eyes flit up from the pages of your book for a split second. His head is turned to the ocean, slightly lifted to the sky as the sun shone brightly against his exposed chest. It was hard to tear your eyes away from the picture perfect image but you had to. You were only friends after all.

“Mmhm,” you hum in response. An array of small sounds and one-word answers had become your vocabulary in regards to Steve. The moment you dared to actually speak, you knew that your heart would spill out of your mouth.

Steve cranes his neck and you feel his eyes on you as you busy yourself with the book before you. Idly, you flip the page, never once looking up at him.

“Y/N-”

“Y/N, you need to act more natural,” Natasha’s voice directly in your ear blocks out was Steve was beginning to say. “The target has been located and he’s heading your way. Play the part of a happy couple will you?”

You lay your book on your lap with a huff. “Why? I mean, we’re just friends, why force it? Steve is obviously uncomfortable with the idea if the past proves anything.”

You all hear Sam cheer on the other end of the comm, only adding to your fire. It is then you gamble and meet Steve’s wide blue eyes; the same shade as the sky, dusted with sea foam. Mouth parted, you could almost see Steve’s brain working to catch up with what you had said. You wanted to look away, escape the beach entirely. Yet, Steve’s eyes had you locked in place.

“Y/N….” Your name was soft when it fell from his lips and you had to force the shudder the tone of his voice coaxed from your body. For once, you didn’t want to respond or lean into Steve’s presence. By now, it was instinct to fall into place with him, just as falling for your best friend had felt like riding a bike. Once you did it, learned the mechanics of it all, you could not forget it; you could not un-love him.

“The target is looking your way, Steve, Y/N.” Natasha’s voice is cold, slightly panicked. The opposite of her usually calm and collected self. The idea of a weary Nat send a trickle of pure fear down your spine. “He’s looking at you! Blend in!”

You freeze up, it’s clear to Steve as you continue to hold his gaze. Swallowing hard, you lick your lips and look to him in terror.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly, “just relax.” So you do. The moment you do, warmth overwhelms you. Soft, skin against skin and Steve’s lips on yours. You had imagined this moment before, rehearsed how it would go in your head over and over again. Never had you thought about how it would feel in reality, or maybe it was simply nothing you had conjured before did the real thing justice. Steve was good at kissing and it surprised you.

Your hands instinctively reach up, cup Steve’s jaw so he stays close. After a beat, you can feel Steve’s own hands, one gripping your wrist, the other on your waist. Testing the water, your fingers buried themselves in Steve’s hair and you tug lightly on the strands. Steve gasped softly at the sensation and you felt yourself smile at the sound.

If it were not for Sam hollering on the other end of the comms, you were certain you and Steve would have forgotten the mission entirely. Steve pulls away first, head jerking back and away from your lips as if you had stung him. His expression read that way too: pained and shocked. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to calm his racing mind but fate had other plans.

“Okay, target is leaving the beach,” Natasha said, not a trace of awkwardness lacing her tone, “Steve. Suit up.” Before you can say a word, Steve is on his feet. You reach up as he passes you by, your fingertips brushing against his. The touch sends a jolt through you and you can’t help but wonder if Steve felt it too because he glances at you with a sorry look on his face.

And then he leaves you alone. Not even the beach is a welcomed sight to you. All you wanted to do now was go home and cry. The mission wasn’t over but you weren’t needed. Those with better abilities and superpowers would handle the rest. You didn’t have a place in that or with Steve. At least not in the way you hoped for.

The fifth time changed everything.

You had taken a few days off work. It was needed, Hell, Fury had been the one to suggest it. Since the beach mission, you hadn’t been the same. More withdrawn, only speaking when it was absolutely necessary. On top of that, you had also were actively avoiding Steve. That alone was enough to cause friction and tension at the compound.

Fury gave you the keys to an unused safe house on the outskirts of the city. It was cozy with clean air untainted by your muddled thoughts and Steve. You had meals delivered, spent all hours inside channel surfing or typing away on the computer. Anything you could do to distract yourself from Steve and that kiss, you did it; but you couldn’t hide forever.

Eagerly, you darted down the hallway and towards the front door. The doorbell had rung and your mouth was already watering with the idea of the food you had ordered. Greasy goodness was just a door length away from you so, without a second thought, you swung open the door. Only the meal you expected wasn’t waiting for you.

“Hi,” Steve’s voice was low, eyes soft as he took the sight of you in. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see but….I miss you, Y/N.” You bite the inside of your cheek to quell the tears that were beginning to well up in your eyes.

“Come in,” you whispered, holding the door open for him. Steve quickly made his way inside and you closed the door behind him by pressing your back up against it. “How...how did you even know where I was.”

“Fury gave me the address,” he admitted, turning to face you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry for-”

“It’s alright, Steve,” you interrupt. You just wanted the conflict between you to die. You missed him too even if it hurt to accept that fact. “It was for the mission that I put at risk because I was being such a-”

“No, Y/N,” Steve cut you off and took a step towards you. “That kiss, I’m definitely not sorry about that kiss.” His blue eyes met your gaze and you felt as if he could see right through you. “I’m just sorry that I didn’t, didn’t see that being just-”

“Don’t say it,” you murmur and Steve falls silent.

“I don’t want to be just that either,” he replies smoothly, “I’ve loved you, Y/N, I still love you. I’m sure I’ll always love you.” The words seem to tingle when they reach your ears. Like a song you had forgotten returned to you in a time of struggle, Steve’s words made you feel whole. It made it all the more easy to close the gap between you.

“I love you too,” your hands trail up his chest to his neck to pull his lips to yours without a second thought. No more ‘just friends’, no more hiding or moping. Steve was yours and you were his, just how it should be.

Steve’s hands grasped at your hips, pulling you flush to his body. Heat wrapped its arms around you just as Steve deepened the kiss. Your fingers tugged at his blond locks, eliciting a small moan from his lips. Never before did you imagine that a sound could make your whole body come to life. You feel Steve smile into the kiss as he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours so he can catch his breath.

Steve’s mouth parts, ready to sigh or whisper sweet nothings in your ear when the doorbell to the safe house rings once more. You let out a breathy laugh and reach for Steve’s hand. After giving his palm a light squeeze, Steve meets your eyes once more.

“Want to stay for dinner?”

“I would love to.”

[sparring-spirals]

ep 98 belated lb, for the sake of not flooding dashes betw this and hopefully catching up on posts after i finish. Don’t be fooled, I will probably still make individual posts for the parts of the ep I still want to yell about. this goes up until the battle, for the sake of length.

- making note of the cad/nott convo about justice and vengeance. fascinating. fascinating.

- THE HAT. all the hat convos. absolutely hilarious. “Someone just up and snatched it in the middle of the party.”

- Marion: “I can get you a new one”. Fjord, with the most pained expression known to man: “s...ure “

- Jester: “Let what you want be known to the world.” Fjord, confused and emotionally turbulent after the back and forth: “Fuckin pick one. which one is it.”

- everyone other than jester is fucking awful at messages, apparently. And lbr jester is her own brand of chaotic with messages. We give them shit for never giving heads up but tbh sometimes its a miracle the M9 communicates info at all. :D

- Case and point, Jester: “he was just going, caleb kissed me caleb kissed me”. The M9, completely unphased by jester-interpretation of messages and/or shadowgast shippers: “...yeah that checks out.”

- fjord caleb interaction re: the argument at the start. damn. what a fascinating callback.

- these dumbasses. encounter a magical storage artifact and their first question is “can WE go in it???” i love them.

- yasha having a self care day!!! :’) good. she deserves it. <3

- “i have no idea whats in it but i’ll sell it to you for 200 gold” is this??? a gacha machine?

- oh man yeza is trying so hard to support her and veth is trying so hard to look at everything pragmatically while doing her duty to her husband. This is simultaneously already resolved and also painfully not. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

-”You are like the greatest husband ever, can I just say.” :’) <3 <3 <3 

- also pshhh what do you mean luc should learn things other than how to use a crossbow. nonsense.

- “Please don’t get in too much danger.”

“I can’t promise that but I can promise my friends will do their best to protect me.” AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH.

“I want my wife. I don’t want a poem.” CHRIST MATT NO PULLING PUNCHES HUH.

- ... beau giving off mild camp counselor vibes. this is the best sign of growth: she no longer effortlessly exudes the delinquent vibes she used to. 

- ngl im surprised that immediately after exploding a bird with wind beau didn’t just gloat at professor thaddeus, wherever he is.

- idk if the gift is related to the whole “got beau high by accident” thing but its a very sweet gift nonetheless.

- Fashion Show Beau :D please tell me there’s art of this. i love the m9 for shit like this. they all got on board (haha) so fast. Shouting suggestions, compliments. Caleb casts dancing lights. these 

- a 26 on a natural 1. what. what.

- Arts and craft on a boat. :D

- I am reminded that i missed so much of the last pirate arc. is “fighting a random storm guy” when the stormlord sent down angels to kick yashas ass?

- Ongoing course, “Getting Ass Kicked By Lightning Beasts”, 3 credit hours, participation required. 

- BEAUYASHSTER CRAFT NIGHT. and Jester opening up about her feelings! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. *makes more notes* 

- (tbh this conversation makes me feel a lot better about the Traveller. :D)

- I’m so glad that they’re all having this conversation, oh my god. Its very good and very open and it makes me very happy. ot3. sorry who said that. 

- i looked away for thirty seconds and it turns from craft night into clay-tasting, wh-

- yasha someone just chucked you into the water until you learned huh.

- also: major green team (i have to rename them maybe) vibes with: “no i won’t do what you ask. but. i will help.”

- oh fuck im gonna have to rewatch this fjord caleb conversation. its so good.

- “I don’t know if I’m more comfortable or if I just care less.” AAAAAAAAAAAAH FJORD. 

- “This is more life than I ever thought I would see.” brjeaus out here bein like “damn weird how life is going okay” aaaaaaaah.

- I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE THAT THEY WOULD LET THIS CONVERSATION HAPPEN AND THEN *redacted redacted redacted* >:((((

- caleb having all these emotions giving me all these emotions talking about how he killed a family and now has this one.

- CALEB AND FJORD SHARING FAMILY FEELINGS? IM? WOW YALL WHAT. “You’re a good person.” “no U” (this whole convo in a nutshell)

- fuck tbh this deserves its own post. 

“If your eyes are on them, our eyes are on you.” GODDAMN. 

- “STORMS A BREWIN-” “why does your voice change-” I adore these two ribbing each other and beau as an overenthusiastic pirate. captain and his first mate <3

--- I took a day long break to handle some shit. Alright. Fine. Lets do this. Lets do the battle. ---

- oh just kidding its not the battle its yasha Goin Thru Some Dream Shit. 

-there is Something Incredibly Poignant about yasha, falling through the air, reaching a hand out at her god, asking for help-ohfuckshegothitbylightning.

- i dont like stormlord taking after ukatoa with the ominous 1 word statements. that is NOT a good role model, stormlord. you dont want to stab yasha in the chest do you. .... DO YOU.

- SCREAMS TRIUMPHANTLY FOREVER ABOUT YASHA OPENING HER WINGS AND FLYING OUT OF THE CHASM GOD HOW MUCH SHIT HAPPENED THIS EPISODE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

- wow no one is getting rest 2nite.

- i am confused if this is happening happening or a dream and also wow he got stabbed real early in

- okay but also i love the cast for how they always collectively scream whenever a battle map comes out. also WOW WHAT A BADASS SHIP/MAP.

- CAN YOU IMAGINE JUST WAKING UP TO BEING FUCKING STABBED AND THEN CHOMPED. GOD. POOR FJORD. MY BOY.

- the psychic damage just sprinkled in there because he is having a Bad Time.

- do you think that initially the crew was like “huh guess our captain accidentally sleep-teleported off the ship, damn- OH FUCK ENEMIES”

- okay yeah i’m gonna make a separate post for the battle just because this is getting unreasonably long

- c h r i s t this battle.

[chocolatechubby]

Encourager in a Blue Dress (part 3)

Thaddeus Jones was the product of a growing black middle class in New Orleans. At the height of the slave trade, many owners trained their slaves for skilled labor. A good deal used these skills later to become blacksmiths, masons, and artisans of many kinds during Reconstruction. Many parts of the city and the surrounding area became strongholds for this class. 

Thaddeus Jones' grandfather had been a mason of great renown. Men like him had created a good deal of the statuary in New Orleans' above-ground cemeteries. His family had been wealthy for two generations. Nowadays, his father was on top of the pile in the new booming Black business: Insurance. 

Thad had been sent to the best schools and found his way to Morehouse College in Atlanta, GA. In a few years, Morehouse would be known as the starting place for a freshman that Thad would copy notes from. Marty King Jr. would put the college in the history books. But right now, it was known as the place for a young Negro to get a first-class education. And party. That's how Thaddeus Jones met Delilah Devereux. 

"She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen." Thad had stopped chewing long enough to take off his coat and get comfortable. As he talked about Delilah, I couldn't help but think, "You ain't so bad yourself kiddo." His hair would've waved naturally without all the processing, and his cocoa skin made his light brown eyes even more penetrating. But it was his body that set my imagination, among other things, in motion. He was gettin' big. Whatever this girl had done to him, she had done it right. He couldn't stop eating. Every time he'd finish one thing, he'd reach in a pocket, and pull out something else. His belly was starting to sag just the way I like: sitting on his thighs and curving towards his crotch. Every time he let out a breath, the buttons on his shirt and vest would strain with the pressure of keeping fastened. Before this thing was all over, this bubba was going to be whale-sized.

"It was at a house party in Baton Rouge. Zeke Howard and me had borrowed one of the caretaker trucks and picked up four other boys on the way. We never had trouble finding girls. Morehouse men were very popular-even the skinny ones like me...well...like I used to be. 

Anyway, I saw her as soon as I walked in. She was standing in a corner with ten guys around her, but it was like she was the only white sheep in a field full of black ones. She was shining. I should have known something was wrong when they put Cab Calloway's "Minnie The Moocher" on the phonograph, but I was hooked. I found myself pushing through all the guys in the front of the room to get over to her. When I got there, I couldn't breathe. She was even more beautiful the closer you got! Her perfume was like a garden of flowers, and all us guys were the bees attracted to her. 

She had brown hair that fell to her shoulders and touched a little cross that she wore around her neck. Her skin was as smooth as the blue silk dress she was wearing that clung to her breasts, stomach, and hips like skin. She had the longest eyelashes I have ever seen, and she was looking through them like a veil. When I came up to the edge of the guys around her, she was playing with the coat of this husky college boy in front of her. He was blushing. 'I like a cat with a little meat on his bones.' Her voice was like a little kitten. She poked his stomach, and he let out a giggle like a schoolgirl. 'I especially like to see a man fill out.' And she turned right to me. 

I felt my heart skip a beat as she politely excused herself from the crowd and stepped forward. The college boys around her parted like the Red Sea. 

'What's your name, honey?' She said. For a moment I forgot. Then I said-well I really kind of stuttered, 'Thaddeus. Thaddeus Jones. Most people call me Thad.' 'Well Thaddie' she said. Nobody had called me 'Thaddie' since I was 5. It sounded good coming from her. 'My name is Delilah. And I could sure use a drink of something, I'm powerfully parched.' Behind me, I was kind of aware of the boys scattering in all directions to get Miss Delilah a drink, but she slipped her arm between mine and sashayed her way towards the hooch. Her dress was covered in flowers too, and when she swayed it was like watching the warm wind of the Bayou move through the magnolias.

'So Thaddie...' she said as she stirred her whiskey with her finger. We had found a place to talk outside. The flies out there were less bothersome than all the men inside trying to get her attention. 

'...Are you one of the college boys down from Morehouse?' 'Yes ma'am,' I said. I knew we were around the same age, but somehow it just seemed right to call her 'ma'am'. 'Mmm, must be nice to have money to drive all the way to N'awlins whenever you want.' 

'Naw, we just borrowed the caretaker’s truck. No big deal.' 

'So you tellin' me you ain't one of these rich college boys?' she said. 'I love a man who can wine me and dine me, and who I can feed.' 

She put her hand on my stomach and traced her fingers up my chest. 'You are practically skin and bones! You need a mama to fill you out. You telling me you can't take me out proper Mr. Thaddeus Jones?' 'No ma'am!" I said. "We can go wherever you want!' She brought her face real close to mine. Her breath was like orange blossoms and her lips were like plump red cherries. 'And you'll do whatever Delilah tells you to do-won't you honey?' 'Yes, ma'am.' 

My first meal was her lips. She plunged her tongue into my mouth and swirled it around my teeth. The taste of whiskey and orange near knocked me off my feet. It was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted. She sucked my mouth like she was trying to suck out my soul. And she touched me all over. She moved her fingers across every inch of my body. When I look back on it, I think she was measuring me-trying to decide how she was going to turn me into this!" He slapped his belly and the little Arty in my pants nearly tore through the crotch. Madame La Palma and her five sisters were going to have a good time under the sheets tonight.

"My next meal with Delilah wasn't as sweet. The next day she took me to Big Mama's, a juke joint on the outskirts of Elysian Fields. It was crowded and smelled like crawfish. You knew it was good eats: everybody there was fat as a hog. Delilah called to the owner, who was over in the corner talking to the musicians. Big Mama lived up to her name. She was at least a head taller than me, and definitely sampled her cooking. There was no need for bouncers because Big Mama could easily toss out any troublemaker who was stupid enough to keep messin' after Mama had told him to hush. 

Delilah waved to her and she came over-taking out two tables on the way. Delilah gave Mama a big hug and kiss and told her to bring the 'usual.' Big Mama smiled and said 'You got your work cut out for you with this one, child.'

The first two plates were fine. Mama made the best seafood gumbo I had ever tasted, and the shrimp étouffée had me in heaven. But when they brought the next course, I put up my hand to stop. 'I can't do no more Delilah. I'm stuffed.' That was the first time I saw the fire. Her hazel eyes lit up and I got scared. She looked like one of the statues in St. Louis' Cemetery that my grandpa had made: hard and cold. But then, just as quickly as the storm clouds grew, they left. She leaned over to me and picked up a big fork full of fish courtbouillion and rice.

With one hand she eased the fork in my mouth, and with the other, she began kneading my crotch like dough. 'Remember what you promised last night Thaddie.' she said-sounding more like a lady lion than a kitten now. 'Whatever Delilah asked you to do—you would do.' I chewed and swallowed, but my stomach was not happy. I ate and ate with her hand down my pants. That night, I had the worst stomachache of my life. I thought I was going to die. But I kept seeing her face and feeling her hand on my Johnson. I endured the pain.

To be continued...

[brown-little-robin]

22: Anacletus

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3

When Max comes back, a stack of books under his arm, Thaddeus is sitting… well… crouching in the chair, feet up on the seat, finger skimming the page. His books are spread in a semicircle around the chair.

He gets up and puts his book down as Max approaches.

“Dissociation!” the boy says, obviously trying to be quiet and not quite succeeding. “It has a name! Losing time, it’s dissociation!”

Max smiles, surprised at Thaddeus’s delight. He looks around, but the library patrons in the area don’t seem to be paying attention. There’s a man on his laptop, headphones on, a teenage girl far enough away not to hear them clearly, engrossed in her hefty novel, a college kid taking notes with earbuds in, and a child reading while nodding along to music from an mp3 player. They’re not being overheard, and no one seems to mind the noise.

He turns back to Thad and asks, “Is that so? I’ve heard of dissociation before, but I thought it was something else.”

“It can be. It’s a term for a lot of related mechanisms,” Thaddeus explains, eyes sparkling. It’s so good to see him happy again! “Dissociation can be losing time entirely and remembering nothing, or a person can remain conscious—aware, to some extent, of what’s happening. It’s defined as a sense of disconnection to the world and/or the self, so some people dissociate by feeling like they’re outside of their bodies for a while, or by ceasing to feel any physical stimuli. Apparently it’s one of the most distinctive signs of severe PTSD. It happens a lot in survivors of repeated physical abuse, because it’s a really useful coping mechanism. If you don’t feel pain or emotions, you can delay your response to harmful situations until a safer moment. Or you can leave the situation entirely by skipping time. It’s perfect.”

Hmmm. That brings up some rather troubling questions.

“Did you learn to dissociate while you were with the Thawnes?”

“No,” the boy answers immediately. He frowns. “Well… huh. Maybe. I guess I’m not sure what’s dissociation and what’s just me.”

“Oh?”

“Feeling disconnected from your body, for instance. That’s not—sometimes it’s more… intense… than other times… but that’s just me, I think.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” Max says, surprised.

Thaddeus laughs at him.

“Of course I do. I’m a clone.”

Ah. Right.

“Sometimes it’s more intense?” Max asks. If talking theoretically makes Thaddeus comfortable working through his feelings, Max can do that.

“Depends on the day.”

His eyes go far away for a minute.

“But losing time is definitely new. The disconnection…”

Thaddeus clicks his tongue softly.

“I don’t know. It just varies. I always feel disconnected from myself to some extent. But again, I think that’s not dissociation as such.”

“What do you mean, when you say you feel disconnected from yourself?” Max asks.

“I don’t know if you’ll even understand if I tell you.”

“Try me,” Max challenges.

Thaddeus grins, as Max expected, baring his teeth. “It’s… I… watch myself. It’s like I’m watching myself. Monitoring myself. Everything I do gets processed by about three layers of mind… or it used to, when I was at my peak. I’m somewhere just behind and above my body, or that’s how I visualize it.”

Max raises his eyebrows. The boy is so brilliant—and so terribly alien. How isolated was he? Max assumed that Thaddeus Thawne I at least set some kind of trainer in charge of Thad, but he’s starting to doubt that. Was it actually just him and CRAYDL in that box of a lair they brought to the past?

“And my body…”

Thad holds his hands out and spreads his fingers. He got Bart’s broad sturdy long-fingered hands. But Bart’s hands are always in motion. Thad’s hands are slower to move, steadier.

Abruptly, he sticks his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Like I said. I’m a clone.”

Thad turns away busily before Max can think of a reassurance, asking “How long do we have?”

Max checks his watch.

“Oh, probably around three or four hours before we should go home and get dinner ready. Helen will expect us.”

“Can I check out the books?”

“Not today,” Max says, and Thaddeus whirls around, looking betrayed.

“Why?”

“I’m getting there,” Max admonishes gently. “We don’t have a library card. We don’t live close enough to the library.”

Thad deflates.

“We can come back tomorrow,” Max offers. “And however often you like.”

Thaddeus smiles his rare delighted smile. Max immediately makes a mental note: buy Thad some books.

Thaddeus steps into the middle of his little circle of books, grabs the book he was reading from the chair, and lies down on the floor on his stomach. He has all of the books open to their tables of contents.

Max sits in the chair opposite Thaddeus’s chair. He opens his first book and skims through it, but he’s mostly watching Thad. The boy has a fascinating way of doing this: he switches back and forth between books, cross-referencing them against each other. He doesn't read straight through but seems to select whatever he’s interested in from each book. He reads fast, finger tracing down the page, but takes quite long breaks between reading sprees, staring into the middle distance and mouthing words to himself.

During one of his pauses, Thad… dissociates?… no, Max will continue to think of it as goes away. Perhaps Thaddeus would scoff at the euphemism, but it feels more right to Max to call it going away. It feels more human, like Max can welcome him back home when he returns.

A few minutes later, Thad comes back. He blinks, shudders briefly, then turns to look up at Max.

They make eye contact for a moment. Then Thad turns back to his book. His finger skims the page as he reads, back and forth, back and forth. And, slowly, he begins to smile.

The boy glances at him, does a double-take, and asks, “What’re you smiling at me for?”

“Because you’re smiling,” Max answers. “You have a wonderful smile.”

Thaddeus’s mouth goes into that charming lopsided grin of his, wrinkling up one half of his face. The boy looks away. Is he ashamed of his strange expressions?

“I love that smile, too,” Max tells him.

“You just like making me confused,” Thaddeus accuses him.

“Sometimes,” Max admits.

Thaddeus shakes his head.

“I need more details. Here. Trade.”

Thaddeus gets up and hands Max his book. Max hands him the book from his lap, amused. Thaddeus opens the book and pauses. He flips it to the cover.

“What is this?”

“A book of names,” Max answers serenely.

Thaddeus looks sharply at Max. Max looks back. After a minute, Thaddeus hands the book back.

Max continues searching for any form of Anacletus. He’s learned what Sophos means: intelligence or wisdom. Fitting for Thad. Such a thoughtful, smart boy. But Anacletus hasn’t been in any of the three name books Max has consulted so far.

He finds it in the fourth book, an older, thicker one. Anacletus is the name of a former Pope; it’s Latin for “invoked” or “called back”, as in bringing out an old trial record. Max traces the example with his finger, concerned. Anacletus, brought out like a disused law. I was created for legacy! Thaddeus said, at the family meeting, and I am the sins of the fathers and the agony of the sons! Is he still tying his identity to that old vendetta? He gave up his mission, but it would be foolish to assume that it’s so easy for him to disentangle his identity from the purpose he was created for.

Max notices that there’s a footnote. He follows it. Anacletus comes from a root word meaning ‘revocable’.

No. Did Thaddeus mean to name himself Revocable? Something that can be thrown away as soon as it’s not useful? Surely not, Max thinks, but he has a sinking feeling that it’s true. A name is not a light decision. Never, but especially not to a clone, especially not to Thaddeus, so concerned with the meanings of things. Thaddeus would not name himself something he didn’t fully understand and accept.

Max looks up from the book. Thaddeus is sitting on his haunches, studying one of his books. Max considers what to tell him: ‘You’re more than a legacy. You’re a human being, kiddo.’ Or should he ask him ‘Why did you name yourself Anacletus?’ He sees the possible results of this conversation right now, all the branching directions that this confrontation could take: Thaddeus defensive, spitting ire at Max for questioning his name, going silent again… But Max can’t let this go. He cannot let his boy think of himself as revocable.

Max decides to ask simply, ‘Why Anacletus?’

And then Thad stands, closes his eyes, frowning, and puts his hands out like he’s miming being trapped in a small box, and it’s so bizarre that Max waits to see what he’s doing.

Thaddeus takes a step backward, moves one hand, and no, he’s not in a box. He’s manipulating imaginary data as if it was a physical object, moving pieces here and there; he seems to have at least five. Is this how he worked in VR? Every so often he opens his eyes and kneels to check one of his books, then returns to his focal point to use that imaginary space around him. He turns, mouthing something—was that ‘what about this?’—and moves one hand like he’s throwing a package out for—

Oh. Oh. Thaddeus is talking to CRAYDL.

Max stands, making excuses that Thaddeus barely acknowledges, gathers up the name books, and flees. Out of sight, he pauses and leans his head against a bookshelf.

Max wanted to fix Thad. He wanted to confront him and argue away his illogical thinking and solve all his problems. He was very close to making the same mistake with Thad that he made for so long with Bart: viewing him as a problem to be solved. Max worried about Bart’s inability to behave normally… and for a long time, he tried so hard to improve Bart that he didn’t spend enough time just loving him. Bart learned to think before he acted eventually; the best things Max gave him were love and safety and patience, not wisdom.

Thad is lonely. Right now, he just needs love.

Max puts the name books away, finds a collection of Canadian wilderness poetry, and comes back to Thad, who’s now crouched on the chair again, eyes closed, frowning.

“I love you,” Max tells him.

Thad twitches.

“Don’t do that. I’m trying to focus.”

Max smiles at him even though he can’t see it.

After a moment, Thad asks, “Did you find my names?”

“Yes.”

Thaddeus closes his book, opens his eyes, and puts his hands in his lap. He’s waiting, Max realizes, for an argument.

“Sophos fits,” Max says. “You’re so thoughtful.”

Thaddeus gives a grimace of a smile. “But you don’t like Anacletus,” he guesses.

“I don’t know what to think of it.”

To Max’s surprise, Thaddeus responds with what sounds like painful honesty: “I thought of it years ago. I never expected anyone to hear it… I hoped you’d forget to look it up.”

“Why?”

“You look worried, old man,” he says tiredly. “That’s why.”

Shoulders bowed with invisible weight, hands limp on his book, Thaddeus looks every one of his six hundred years.

“I do worry about you,” Max says softly.

Thad flinches.

“I worry for you,” Max corrects himself. “You’ve named yourself Anacletus, and I respect your choice, but I’m concerned that it’s… painful… for you. I’d like to talk with you about it.”

Thaddeus sits there silently. He looks like he’s in pain.

“I don’t want to,” he says at last, half defiant, half tired.

“You don’t have to.”

Thad’s eyes grow wide. He stares down at his book unseeingly.

“What, really?”

“Really.”

“Is… is this a test?”

Max did test Bart. He brought this upon himself. It still stings.

“No.”

Thad stares at him.

“I don’t play games with you,” Max says. “I am not going to make you tell me about your name. I just want you to know you’re… you’re precious to me. I want you to be happy. I want to understand how to help you.”

Thad’s expression contorts, and he hides his face in his hands.

Max goes to the other chair and starts reading the Canadian wilderness poetry. After he’s read about a stream and a dead sparrow and the wind in April, Thad puts his hands down and says, in a small voice, “Max?”

“Mm?”

“Do you promise you won’t make me talk about it?”

The childishness of it surprises Max into raising his eyebrows. Thad bares his teeth.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not,” Max says. “Yes, I promise. And you know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?”

Thad nods.

“Can I tell you something?” Max asks.

Thad nods again.

“I don’t think of you as a legacy, and certainly not as revocable. You’re a human being, not a… historical record. That’s why ‘Anacletus’ bothers me.”

Thad sighs.

“I believe you. I just… don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

“Okay.”

They read together for another two hours. Thad continues to circle between the chair and the floor and his imaginary conversation with CRAYDL. They get some odd looks, but Thad doesn't seem to notice, and Max doesn't care. The library is a public space; Thad is allowed to act however he likes as long as he's not being loud or indecent. When Max tells him it’s time to finish up, Thad puts the books away without complaining, although he strokes the back of each one as he puts it back in its place.

As they push out of the glass doors, Thad says, “Max?”

“Mm?”

Thad swallows hard.

“Thank you.”

For what? Max wonders. But all he says is “You’re welcome.”

They go home. Thad slips away to his room. Later, he comes out with the notebook he got from the zoo and sits quietly in the corner of the living room, drawing something. Max is surprised by his presence. Thaddeus is a skittish creature, and heaven knows he has reason to prefer being alone. But here he is.

Thad closes the notebook and gets up. But he doesn’t leave, not right away; he stands hesitating, eyes flicking back and forth from the hall door to the kitchen.

He’s lonely.

Of course he’s lonely.

Max shoves down the shame that threatened to show on his face. He can’t change the past. All he can do is give the boy companionship right now.

“Would you like to learn some more ASL?” Max offers. It’s the first idea that comes to him.

“Uh… sure. Yeah.”

“Good boy,” Max says, and doesn’t miss the way Thad shudders.

And Thad tries, Max can tell, really tries to memorize the things Max tells him. But he starts looking frustrated before Max gets past the basic syntax.

Ah. He’s been studying for hours already, and he’s already so horribly tired all the time. Max overestimated his capability.

Max stops. He waits until Thad makes eye contact.

“Enough.”

“I’m trying,” Thad pleads.

“I know. And you’ve done enough for today.”

Relief flickers over the boy’s face for a split second.

“Have you played Mancala?”

“Yeah, I used to—yeah.”

“I have a board.”

Max digs out the Mancala board from the top of the closet, brushes the dust off of it, and opens it. Thad pulls on the speed force, takes the board and stones, and starts setting it up in the living room, lying on his stomach. Max follows him, sits cross-legged opposite him.

Thad inspects each stone before he sets it in its pocket. They are lovely. Half the appeal of the game is in the polished semi-precious stones, the quartz and agate and crystal pieces, the luster of the mahogany board, and the click of the stones landing in the pockets.

Mancala is a simple game. The only move is to empty all the stones from a single pocket and place them in a line, one per adjacent pocket. It can be quite strategically sophisticated, but it’s easy enough to just play for fun. It’ll be a good game for Thad.

Thaddeus plays slowly, eyes half closed, chin propped on his hand. He looks like he’s going to fall asleep. Max waits patiently for him.

Thad crushes Max.

Max stares at the board, at the heap of stones in Thad’s pocket. It’s visibly larger than Max’s; they don’t even have to count.

“Again?” Max asks.

Thad smiles, a slow, satisfied smile.

They play again. Max actually tries to win this time, and he gets a bit closer. In his deliberate, implacable way, Thaddeus defeats him.

They play again. Thaddeus wins again, and again that self-satisfied smile appears.

“How often did you use to play this?”

“Often,” Thaddeus purrs.

Max shakes his head.

“One of these times I’ll beat you,” he says.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Thaddeus agrees.

There’s only so many times you can play Mancala and win. What will happen when Max defeats him? He hopes it won’t hurt him emotionally. So much of his identity has been tied up in winning and losing.

They play again. Thad wins again. And again.

Max resets the board this time, joking that he wants to make sure Thad’s not cheating. There’s no way to cheat while setting up the game that wouldn’t be obvious. Thad chuckles.

It’s a near game. 11 to 13. Max wins.

“Congratulations,” Thad says softly. “You’re officially as smart as me.”

Thad meets Max’s eyes. He looks sincere.

Then he yawns enormously, and the moment dissolves.

“All right, off to bed with you. You’ve been falling asleep for the past thirty minutes.”

Thad gives a faint smile, drags himself off the floor, and trudges off to bed.

“I’ll wake you up in time for dinner,” Max calls after him. “It’ll probably be late.”

Thad waves a hand in acknowledgment and vibrates through his door.

[elisaphoenix13]

From Cub To Pup

This was certainly new.

Stephen stumbles onto four legs and shakes freshly fallen snow out of his fur. He and Peter were attacked by a zealot during their visit to one of the sanctums, and the rogue sorcerer managed to hit them both with some sort of shapeshifting spell before sending them through a portal. Now they were stranded in a forest, and their nanotech disappeared with their human bodies. Probably not working of course.

The Sorcerer Supreme was currently trying to fight through the spell. At least long enough to get his bracelet off before turning back into a wolf. Then at least the nanotech would work correctly and Tony could find them. FRIDAY probably alerted him that their tech was offline by now.

Stephen releases a frustrated beastly growl when he manages his human form for all of two seconds before being forced back into his animal form. The spell was apparently one that would be extremely difficult to break through (even for him) and right now his best bet was to have another sorcerer reverse it.

Now he just had to find one. What was the chance he would find one in the woods, in the middle of nowhere?

A quiet whine distracts the sorcerer from his thoughts and he turns to find Peter (in wolf pup form) shaking like a leaf. Which was weird because they had fur and Stephen wasn't bothered--

Oh.

Shit.

Peter's spider DNA was probably still playing a role in his inability to thermoregulate. Which meant he had to find them shelter and fast. The fur seemed to help so getting out of the elements should keep Peter out of danger of hypothermia.

So, giving in to his beastly instincts, he rushes over to the shivering pup and picks him up by his scruff before taking off to find someplace to stay warm. It took a little too long in Stephen's opinion to find shelter that wasn't occupied, and he found it in a tiny cave. If one could call it that. It was just deep enough that they could stay out of the wind.

He pads all the way to the back and gently places Peter on the ground before laying down himself, both of his front legs on either side of the pup and his head on the ground right next to Peter. The pup snuggles against him as closely as possible and Stephen huffs when Peter gets comfortable and slowly stops shivering.

Stephen would have to make his attempts to return to his human form later.

___________________

"Stark...did you hear a single word I said?"

Tony blinks and returns his focus to reality and finds Ross glaring at him. He was stuck in another worthless meeting about the Sokovia Accords, and he was ready to tear his hair out. They were rewritten, all of the Avengers signed it, but it was never enough. They were all pretty sure the meetings were only held to let Ross rant since no one was making any motion to change anything.

"Sorry. I kind of zoned out. What did you say?"

"What was the last thing you heard?"

Tony yawns. "Nothing really. You opened your mouth and I drifted off."

His comment earned a few sniggers from the attending Avengers and the general's glare intensifies. "I want to know when your husband and Spiderman will sign the Accords."

"We already talked about this. He's my wife."

Tony could see Steve clenching his hands in front of his mouth to keep himself from laughing. His sarcasm is what probably kept the team sane during these meetings, and he was more than happy to provide. It kept him sane too and Tony had a ball getting Ross's face to turn red because he knew the man couldn't do anything.

It gave the billionaire a sense of sick satisfaction.

His watch beeps with an alert from FRIDAY. "Speaking of..."

Thaddeus grinds his teeth. "Fine. We'll pick this up some other time."

"Yeah...feel free not to let that be...ever." Tony mutters as the general leaves the room and the team releases a collective sigh of relief as Tony puts on his sunglasses. "What's the message Fri?"

"No message, Boss, but I needed to inform you that Victor and Karen are offline."

Tony blanches and the Avengers look at him worriedly after his next words. "What do you mean they're offline? Where are Stephen and Peter?"

"Unknown. Their tracking devices are offline as well. I can't connect to any of their current equipment."

"Fuck. Keep looking. I'll go talk to Wong." Tony takes off the eyewear and looks around at his team before scrubbing his face with one of his hands. "Mama Bear and Underoos fell off the radar."

Natasha frowns. "Is that even possible?"

"It's not supposed to be! Hell, even Stephen's stuff works in other dimensions!"

Rhodey gently grabs Tony's shoulder from the seat beside him. "Try not to worry Tones. It could be something as simple as a malfunction."

They all knew that was unlikely since Tony took special care to make sure everything worked flawlessly when it came to his family's equipment, but it was still a comfort. A bit of an empty one but comfort all the same. There was always the small chance that a malfunction could happen, even from something like banging their bracelets on a hard surface.

"For once, I really hope that's the case."

"Go talk to Wong. We'll look for them. Just let us know if anything changes or if he knows anything."

Tony stands and nods. "If you do find them, please don't pull a Stephen and forget to tell me."

____________________

Stephen was exhausted. The moment Peter was warm enough to unfurl himself from, he started trying to break himself out of the spell again. Whenever he managed enough of his human form and tried to get his nanotech bracelet off his wrist, he would snap back and have to take a few minutes of rest before trying again. Peter eventually caught on to what the sorcerer was trying to accomplish and tried his best to pull it off with his teeth, but Stephen always changed back too fast.

He kept trying though. While shelter from the elements was helping, it only slowed the process of potential hypothermia for Peter. Physical contact kept the pup warm, but they couldn't do that forever.

So he fought through his exhaustion, focused, and when he turned into his human form again, Peter didn't waste any time to finally pull Stephen's nanotech off his wrist. Just in time, too. As soon as it was off, the sorcerer turned back into a wolf and collapsed onto his side in weariness. Peter drops the bracelet to the ground to nuzzle him with a worried whine as Stephen pants heavily (something he might have found embarrassing if he weren't so damn tired), and nudges the pup to ease his worry.

He could rest properly now that his bracelet was a physical thing again. Tony would be able to find them now, so it was a waiting game at this point. Now his main concern was to keep Peter warm. Much easier than fighting a spell that only another sorcerer could remove.

At least it didn't have to be removed by the one who afflicted them with it. That would have been a nightmare.

Peter stops his incessant nuzzling and opts to curl against the sorcerer's stomach instead, and Stephen soon succumbs to sleep once his exhaustion wins over.

___________________

"They were here but they must have been portaled somewhere because I had to deal with a zealot."

Tony sighs. "That doesn't explain why they suddenly fell off the map."

Before Wong can say another word, FRIDAY chimes in. "Boss, Victor is back online. I've traced Dr. Strange's location to a forest in Canada."

"What about Peter?"

"Karen is still offline."

Wong slips on his sling ring and creates a portal to the coordinates shown on Tony's phone. "Peter might be with Stephen."

Tony nods in agreement and follows the sorcerer through the portal and bites back a panicked yell. Wong's portal had dropped them in the middle of a tiny cave, barely five feet away from a couple of wolves, and they were just staring at him. When the pup flounders up to him excitedly, Tony backs away, causing the small animal to whine.

The older wolf didn't attack though.

"Shouldn't we be dead right about now?" The engineer asks carefully, and he balks when Wong approaches the adult beast. "Are you crazy?!"

"I think I know why your technology stopped working." He picks up what Tony immediately identifies as Stephen's nanotech. "They are Stephen and Peter."

The pup at Tony's feet yips excitedly and circles Wong, while the billionaire stares at the other man like he had grown a second head. Wong ignores him, gestures his hands above the grown wolf, and the beast forms into Stephen seconds later.

"Okay. I'd like to say I've seen everything now but I'm sure you'll continue to surprise me." Tony says as he kneels next to the exhausted doctor. "Are you okay?"

"I could use a ten year nap." Stephen replies with a tired chuckle as Wong removes the spell from Peter.

"Yeah, I bet. You look bushed."

"Fighting the spell to get my suit off was difficult. I only managed because of Peter."

"Karen is back online, Boss." Tony rolls his eyes  and Peter laughs from behind him before shivering. "I'm aware FRIDAY. Thank you. Please tell Rhodey that Stephen and Peter have been found."

He helps Stephen to his feet and the group steps into the new portal Wong made to the tower, and gently lowers his husband onto the couch. Stephen stretches out, promptly passes out again, and Tony covers him with the blanket sitting on the back of the couch before turning to Peter.

"You okay buddy?"

The teen nods. "Yeah. The cold still affected me but Mom figured that out pretty quickly and got me somewhere dry and out of the wind."

"...did he scruff you?" Tony asks with a grin.

Peter blushes. "He kind of had to. I couldn't move."

"Why does all the good stuff happen when I'm not around?!"

Wong rolls his eyes. "I'm going to assume I'm not needed anymore."

Tony and Peter look at him. "Thank you."

The sorcerer nods. "Stephen will probably sleep until tomorrow morning. Only the Sorcerer Supreme can fight through a spell like that. If it was any other sorcerer...even a master...it wouldn't have been possible."

"You hear that Underoos? You're lucky Mom is an all-powerful wizard or you would probably be a flea bag for the rest of your life."

"If he didn't freeze first." Wong adds as he opens a portal to the Sanctum and steps through. "Let him sleep."

Tony salutes the sorcerer and the portal closes.

"I didn't have fleas." Peter mumbles and his father chuckles.

"Go eat kiddo. I'm sure you're hungry."

The teen responds with a quiet response of 'starving' as he turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen, and Tony crouches by the couch. A quiet snore escapes the younger man sleeping on the couch and the elder smiles, and then places a gentle kiss on Stephen's forehead.

"You really are a Mama Bear. Peter's lucky to have you." Another quiet snore from the oblivious sorcerer. "I'm lucky to have you." Tony whispers.

[positivelyominous]

Oxfordshire - 2008 AD (Again)

(Previous) (First) 

Azruba’al stumbled hastily out of the cab and tugged nervously at his bowtie. To remove at least a little complication from the evening, he had assumed the form he’d first met the current generation of Sisters in. Cutting around the back of St. Beryl’s Church, Azruba’al jogged to the rear entrance, clutching the picnic basket tightly in his arms. There was a man sitting on the little terrace there, next to the dustbins, smoking a pipe and looking troubled. He glanced up at Azruba’al as he approached and made to greet him.

“Er, hullo–“

“So sorry, can’t stop to chat, very late.”

The man next to the dustbins watched the other man’s form disappear into the building. He let out a small, helpless puff of smoke. First the unexpected contractions, then the oddly behaving staff, and now some strange fellow in a big coat rushing through the back doors with a picnic basket. Mr. Young had liked the look of the hospital when he’d brought his wife inside; it was clean and modern -but not too modern- and the presence of the nuns gave it a warm, serene feeling. But now he was wondering if everything was all right after all…

⧗

“Blast that stupid machine,” Azruba’al snarled under his breath, striding through the empty hallway, “Half an hour late, I am half an hour late! Please don’t have started without– well, they wouldn’t, would they? I mean they couldn’–“

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly ran right into a black-robed figure coming around the corner.

“Oh! Good grievance, I–“

“Master Azruba’al! You’ve come at last!”

The demon in question straightened up, a look of relief brightening his pudgy features.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” said the nun, who was known amongst her Sisters as Mary Loquacious*, and was preparing to live up to her name, “I was barely out of Sunday school the first time– Hell’s teeth, you haven’t aged a bit! I–“

“Yes, yes, it’s lovely to see you again too, dear girl,” Azruba’al interrupted, quickly. He knew what would happen if he let her pick up steam, “I am rather late, I believe?”

“Oh yes, forty-six minutes and twenty-six seconds exactly,” Mary replied, with a cursory glance at the watch pinned to her breast.

Azruba’al scowled, “Right, you’d best be quick about it, then.”

He pressed the basket into Mary’s arms, “Here he is. Get him to the Cultural Attaché as quick as you can.”

“Oh my star– this– it’s him? The Adversary? Destroyer of Kings? Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Dark–“

“Hell’s sake, yes! Yes, it’s him, now hop along, there’s a good girl,” cried Azruba’al, nearly pushing the woman back around the corner, “We don’t want him to be forty-seven minutes late, do we?”

“Of course not, Master Azruba’al,” said Mary Loquacious, lifting one of the lids of the basket to peek at the Long String of Epithets That We Shall Hence Refer To As The Adversary, “Ohh, look at him! He’s got his daddy’s complexion!”

“They’re all like that at first,” said Azruba’al absentmindedly.

“No horns, though,” she remarked.

“I’m leaving, now,” said Azruba’al, letting go of the woman’s shoulders.

“Too young for fangs, and– oh! Yes, Satan keep you! Good night!”

Azruba’al was gone before she’d finished speaking. Mary gave a little shiver of excitement and bustled quickly down the hall. She could hardly believe it. Here she was, Sister Mary Loquacious-You’d-Best-Not-Get-It-Wrong-Again, cradling The Adversary. For all her years as a Satanist -which were indeed all of them, having been born into the faith- she’d never imagined that she would be at the thick of their greatest hour. No more tea-and-cookies duty for her. Speaking of, she’d meant to take a tin to the American Cultural Attaché…

“There you are!”

Sister Mary’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a very flustered Sister Grace Voluble.

“They’re getting antsy in there, they think something’s wrong! Have you got the– oh, for Hell’s sake, Mary, just a tin! They don’t need a whole picnic!”

Mary glanced down in confusion before puffing up a little, smugly, “I don’t have cookies. I don’t have a picnic, either. What I’ve got is the One We’ve All Been Waiting For, The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of––“

“Oh, thank the Fallen One,” interrupted Sister Grace, making to snatch the basket out of Mary’s hands.

Mary drew away, indignantly, “Master Azruba’al has entrusted me with the Child.”

Sister Grace looked as if she was about to argue, before thinking better of it.

“Well you had best get him to the nursery and tag him so we can deliver him to his ‘parents’. We can’t pretend to be weighing them forever.”

Mary nodded primly and marched towards the nursery.

There is a game teachers use to explain probability to their pupils. Each child receives a chart and a bag with a variable amount of red and blue tokens inside. They are instructed to remove a single token from the bag without looking, note its colour on the chart, then put it back in and repeat to their hearts content†. The point of the exercise is to show that the probability of drawing a red token or a blue token changes depending on how many of each token there are. For example, if there were two blue tokens, and one red token, it would be less likely to draw out the red token without looking. It would be even less likely, say, if someone painted the red token blue by mistake. Even if you were looking straight at the tokens, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.

There were three rosy-pink babies in three blue swaths resting in three hospital bassinets. Sister Mary had just wheeled in the last one, the most important one, and was heading towards the worktable for a pen and a tag. At that moment, another Sister entered.

“Mary! What are you doing in– oh! That’s all three, thank Bowels, we can finally send them off!”

Before Mary could protest that she hadn’t tagged the Adversary yet, and what if he got misplaced, the newly arrived Sister was chivying her out of the room, insisting she get those biscuits.

Mary let out a deep, disappointed sigh as the nursery door slammed behind her. Well. At least she’d get to meet the Cultural Attaché.

⧗

Mr. Young had returned to room three by this time. He found his wife asleep, and no baby to speak of. Luckily, a nearby nun explained that the child had been taken away to be examined, and Mr. Young decided it best to retire to his wife’s side in case she woke up and panicked in the interim. By the time his son was finished being ‘examined’ and was delivered into the grateful arms of a flustered Mrs. Young, Mr. Young felt as if he’d been there for an eternity. And it was about to get longer.

“Hello! Oh, your Lady wife’s awake, then, good!”

Another nun was bustling into the room, bringing with her a tin and the air of someone who was about to sit down for a long, enthusiastic chat.

⧗

Harriet Dowling was laying in a cot in room four, surrounded by a complement of six security men in imposing black uniforms. One of them was carrying the latest and greatest in videotelephone technology, through which Harriet was meant to see her husband, the American Cultural Attaché. Thaddeus Dowling was technically on the line. He just wasn’t there visually. Spiritually, he was sandwiched next to his wife with a cool cloth and a strong hand to squeeze. Physically, he was on a business trip.

It was Sister Faith Prolix who was the first to congratulate Harriet, and, coincidentally, the first to suggest a name for the baby now cradled comfortably in his mothers arms.

Wormwood was a bit unconventional, yes, but the kindly Sister Faith was ever so convincing. Besides, Harriet didn’t much feel like naming the child ‘Thaddeus’ at that point.

⧗

The demon Azruba’al hurried through the night, too distracted to even think of calling another cab. He needed to make an urgent phonecall. A phonecall his people wouldn’t be too pleased about, but hopefully one they’d never discover.

⧗

There was a third baby. It didn’t have a tag, and presumably, didn’t need one.

Sister Constance Pleonastic had it in the backseat of the church’s old station wagon, driving it down the darkened midnight road. There were only two families, after all.

“I really can’t believe it’s finally come,” she prattled on to herself, faithfully upholding her convent’s chiefest tradition, “What a time to be alive. My grandmother would have killed to be in my place… if those Warrens hadn’t got her first.”

There was an orphanage in the nearby town. There was also a lake. The baby in the backseat was growing fussy. It could feel that something was wrong, somehow. This was not the same dark, rumbling thing it had been in before, and the endless, droning voice did not belong to the gentle hands that had wrapped it in soft blue.

It wasn’t quite ready to be the The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness. It wouldn’t be for another eleven years. It did, however, possess something of a defence mechanism to ensure that it at least had a chance of getting there.

And so it was that at that moment precisely, a large black cat came padding out of the bushes on the side of the road and into Sister Constance’s headlights.

The cat yowled. The station wagon swerved.

GOOD EVENING, SISTER CONSTANCE, said Death, helping a very dazed Sister Constance Pleonastic up from her body, I AM SURE YOU ARE VERY DISAPPOINTED. BUT TAKE HEART THAT YOU WILL STILL HAVE A SEAT TO THE FINAL SPECTACLE, EVEN IF IT IS LOWER THAN THE ONE YOU HAD PREVIOUSLY.

After sending the unfortunate woman on her way, Death was preparing to leave for his next appointment when something else at the scene caught his attention. Not a death; those were a constant everywhere you went. Creatures big and small; something was always dying. No, this thing was quite unorthodox, as it existed in the living world. There was wailing from the backseat of the ruined car. A wailing that Death would have ignored, had it not come from this particular source.

Death knelt in the wreckage, gently pushed aside the cushion of airbags, and lifted a blue bundle into his arms.

I DID NOT EXPECT US TO MEET SO SOON, he said, thoughtfully, as the child immediately quieted in his embrace, BUT I SUPPOSE IT IS NOT AGAINST THE RULES. I HAVE YET TO RIDE. AND YOU HAVE YET TO CALL ME.

Even still, the child needed protection. It needed a home.

Without another word, Death drew a pitch-black wing of oblivion over the infant, and the both of them disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the smouldering wreck.

———————————————————————————————————

*It was called a Chattering Order for a reason. To explain it properly, however, one would have to do the authorial equivalent of joining up. Hopefully, the name says it all.

†Certain hearts grow content faster than others.

[ardentmuse]

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 4

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.7k

Summary: George agrees to meet his dream girl... but she may not be dreaming of him, at least not anymore.  

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life happens sometimes. :) Love you all! 

“So let me get this straight,” Fred said, tossing back the rest of his beer and slamming the bottle down on the table. He rested his elbows on his knees and eyed his brother with intensity. “You’ve been sending love letters--”

“I wouldn’t call them love letters.”

“Love letters,” Fred emphasized. “Love letters multiple times a day for weeks to a woman you’ve never met but who sounds perfect for you, after years of never being interested in a single woman who’s come your way, and now she wants to meet you and you are just now thinking it is a good time to tell me?”

George was looking at the palm of his hands, still holding your latest letter, Want to meet?, the simplest note in that adorable pen that had his heart completely constricted.The hand that moved so fluidly to create those letters was attached to the body of a woman whose mind had already captured his imagination. A dreamer, a lover, a thinker, a hopeful soul, a soul so much fit for his own. Each word you had shared was easy and each idea novel and intriguing. He spent his nights this past week fantasizing about the face smiling upon reading his words; a bright smile that pulled at one side, soft, warm skin, and eyes that twinkled in mischief much like his own. When he’d try to place details within, he’d occasionally recall the specifics of that cute shopkeeper down the road, but honestly that was all he had to work with as far as pretty young woman who’d captured his eye in recent years.

But thinking of the book store owner was of no use. She hated him now. And if she didn’t yet, she sure was about to.

Bill chimed up, interrupting George from his all-consuming thoughts.

“Of course he didn’t tell you. He needs someone to be thoughtful about this.”

Bill offered George a smile before taking a seat.

“You have to go, George. You have to see what this is, even if just to remind yourself that it is worth putting yourself out there. Even if there isn’t a single spark in person, you’ll have tried.”

George crumpled the note a little in his hands, “But what if she’s nothing like I imagine her? What if this is all just some big joke and I’m going to find Lee sitting at some nice steakhouse laughing his ass off about me bearing my heart to some stranger via owlpost.”

Bill sighed and locked eyes with Fred. Fred only shrugged, confirming that indeed George had been like this since the letter arrived.

Bill rotated his chair to face George fully.

“Can I confess something to you?”

George looked up from his hands to meet his older brother’s gaze. He was earnest, almost apologetic in his expression.

“Sure, shoot.”

“When I first met Fleur,” Bill began, “I felt that connection, the kind you’ve been describing, immediately. But she was so young still and culturally we were from completely different worlds. It just seemed so unbelievable that whatever was between us could become something real. But one day she simply walked into my office and said,” he coughed as he prepared to mimic his wife’s accent, “‘William Weasley, ‘ou are taking me on a date zis Saturday and I won’t hear another word against it.’ And she didn’t even wait for me to respond. She just turned on her heels and left. Once that door shut behind her, I knew that moment I had found the woman I’d marry someday.”

Bill paused, swirling his beer a little before taking another swig. He smiled at his brother as he played with his wedding band and finished, “She put herself out there. She was braver than I was ever willing to be about us. I know you, George. You are brave and bold and brash, just like me. And you need a woman who will be, too. She’s putting herself out there. She’s being brave. All you have to do is say yes.”

George looked down at the crinkled note in his palm, those three words that had caused him so much anxiety since your bird had landed on his window sill late in the night. What he had seen before as a ton of pressure he now saw for what it was, an act of pure courage. And his response to your boldness, to you risking your pride and self-esteem to see what might be, was cowardice.

George unfolded the paper, smoothing out the corners as he stood.

“I think I need to go pen a letter now,” he said with a swallow. “And Bill, thanks.”

And he immediately fled for his study.

“Hey,” Fred called, standing from the couch, “Do you not want to hear my advice.”

George chuckled, “Think I’m good, mate,” as he doubled his stride.

Fred slumped back down against the couch before looking at Bill with real fire.

“Think he’s going to make a fool of himself?”

Bill took a moment to think as he finished his beer.

“Big time.” And then he paused and added, “She’s gonna love it.”

You name the time and place. I’ll be there.

Rhubarb

You had just finished up afternoon story time when the latest letter arrived. It was simple and to the point, something new from your mystery man. But you did respect that he was giving you control, allowing you to find an option that made you feel safe and comfortable.

The smile was still plastered on your face when you heard the door chime and in walk a greasy looking man in a well-cut suit accompanied by two men in overalls carrying clipboards. You only heard the tale end of what he was saying.

“... And Mr. Weasley was very specific. These shelves need to be divided with thick wood and glass. Ingredients cannot contaminate each other. In the front, he’s requested…”

You were seeing red as the man moved through your shop like he owned the place, pointing at your fixtures and shaking his head. You marched over before you could even process.

“May I help you?” you said, your voice turning sickly sweet, all venom to anyone who took the time to read your expression. He was not one of those men.

“Ah, Ms. L/N, I was told you would not be on the premises today.”

“As this is my store, and we are open today, I am uncertain as to where else you expected me to be,” you spat as you crossed your arms.

He at least had the good sense to see a little embarrassed.

“Well, um, then let me introduce myself, I’m Thaddeus Hayes. I work real estate for these parts. I was told today would be a good day to bring my contractors around to plan the renovations for the space once you have vacated but I see now I was misinformed.”

You were fuming now, rage tightening all the muscles of your neck.

You began, trying to keep your voice cool but failing miserably, “It seems, sir, that you have been misinformed about a number of things, the first of which is the certainty that I am vacating this space at all.”

He laughed, “Given the empty state of this place at the moment, I think your landlord was right in informing myself and my clients that you would be gone by the end of the month.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to confirm or deny anything. But you didn’t need to. He knew he was right.

You felt a calming hand on your shoulder. Patty, who had been working in the back office, must have heard the commotion and come to investigate.

“Do you intend to make a purchase, sir?” she said, her hand tightening on your shoulder to avoid raising her tone as well.

“No, no,” Thaddeus said with a mock smile, “I see I’ve come at a bad time.” He turned with a swish of his coat tails and made for the door. As he reached for the handle, he said to you with a smile, “If you need to find a new place, a smaller, more price-appropriate place, I do have a few connections with storefronts in Knockturn, my dear. Don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

You scoffed and were about to shout out an explicative when Patty stops you. Her grip was white-knuckled upon your arm.

As the door was closing, you heard Hayes say to his companions, “At least that little preview should give you enough to talk to the Weasley’s and begin....”

Patty’s voice was like air, “Did he just say Weasleys?”

You slammed for fist into the counter, turning out of your friend’s hold. Your knuckles throbbed with the impact, but it didn’t stop you from doing it again.

“I knew it! Those-- I knew.”

You lifted your arm to hit the counter one more time but Patty restrained you. She cooed softly in your ear, pulling you down into the comfy chair in which you took your morning coffee. Patty kneeled at your feet and led you to breath more steadily.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she finally said after a moment.

And she was right. What did it matter if it was George Weasley or George Harrison who was buying your store out from under you. You still didn’t have the money to keep it open either way.

And then your heart filled the void. You were attracted to the man, hoped maybe a spark might be… you shut the thoughts down before they could continue. You were already angry with yourself. No need for more punishment.

“Rhubarb wants to meet,” you said, trying to redirect yourself to something more pleasant. Patty lit up with a smile.

“See? Silver linings.”

You laughed. A simple dinner was not a silver lining to losing your livelihood. But it did give you a lift of your spirits.

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah.”

You had picked the place. Ophelia’s, the cute little Greek cafe on the other side of London, among the muggles where anonymity was guaranteed. The last thing you needed was one of Tom’s co-workers at Gringott’s seeing you on a date with another man… Not that this was a date. It was just a casual meeting. A nice evening with a potential friend.

That’s the lie you told yourself over and over on the journey down here.

You held a book in your hands, your favorite collection of King Arthur’s tales. The same one George Weasley had purchased, though you tried to keep that thought away, and you wore a white blouse, each to help Rhubarb find you at your table among the rest of the patrons. You watched the clock, just five more minutes until he would arrive.

Five more minutes until you would see the face behind those beautiful words. Five more minutes until you could tell someone about what was going on in your life and hear a supportive, “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.” Five minutes until you’d laugh for the first time today. Just five minutes.

George stood outside pacing. He didn’t want to be early but he was just so nervous. He had called in reinforcements in the form of Bill and Fred.

“Calm down, you’re even making me nervous!” Fred said, grabbing his brother by the arms.

George was wearing his favorite jacket, a woolen knit with elbow patches that pulled out the caramel of his eyes. Some may find it stuffy but to George, it was classic and cozy and very him.

He took a steadying breath and met his twin’s gaze.

“You’re on the pitch. You’re pumped. You’re club arm is strong. You are ready for anything to be thrown at you. You are a fighter, a champion, and you have nothing to fear from anyone ever, got it?”

George laughed, “That’s the same speech I gave you before that match against that Ravenclaw girl you’d been snogging sixth year, right?”

“Pretty much.”

George laughed again but it quickly morphed into a shaky breath. This time Bill piped up in support.

“How about I pop a head in and take a look? At least let you know what you’re getting into?”

George only nodded, but when Bill was almost at the entrance he said, “Large book, white blouse.” Bill nodded in confirmation before entering.

George leaned himself back against the brick facade, so confused as to why he was feeling this tightness. He wasn’t a man who lacked confidence. He was the life of the party, a laugh and a half in his hay-day. But the war and the realities of life had made him a bit more reserved, especially with matters of the heart. Was he really ready for this, to open himself up to another person the way Ginny, Ron, and Bill had? Was he cut out for that kind of love?

After a moment, the door opened and George turned to see a giant smile on Bill’s face.

“That bad?” George asked. Bill just laughed.

“She’s gorgeous, George. Exactly your type. Definitely has that sexy librarian thing going on that you love and she smiled at me and I got to say, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Let me see,” Fred said, making for the window of the door himself.

“Though I feel like I’ve seen her before…” Bill mumbled before shaking his head. He picked up his tone, “Seriously, go get your girl, brother.”

“Um, guys,” Fred said from the door with a grimace on his face.

“You can’t tell me you think she’s ugly,” Bill teased before seeing how serious Fred’s face was.

“Oh, Merlin no. She’s stunning. But I also thought she was stunning when we saw her last week. I distinctly remember Georgie here swooning.”

Last week? Swooning? George’s brain was racing and then all at once his heart sank.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” was all Fred could say in return.

As George ran to press his face to the window, Bill called out to his brothers, “Care to fill me in?”

But George saw here, the rich inviting eyes and pleasantly happy cheeks, that nose that he just wanted to pinch and those damned kissable lips being pulled between those two front teeth. You were his Cherry. The woman who captured his heart on paper and captured his eyes in person were one in the same. His dream woman before him, waiting for him, but hating him all the same.

He was muttering “no” to himself over and over, pulling his hair through his hands like a crazed man. He couldn’t stop pacing. How could so much go right and wrong all at once? Everything he ever wanted, right there and his if he weren’t such a fool.

“She’s that shopkeeper, the one whose lease we’re taking over,” Fred informed Bill.

George took a breath. Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought. Maybe she understood that business was business. Maybe she wouldn’t be so shocked to see his face. Maybe, just maybe, she had felt what he had when their hands touched over the book the other day.

George took two great big strides before pushing past Fred and into the restaurant. He saw you more clearly now, your nose a little too close to the pages as you read, the fingers of one hand drumming slowly against the wood of the table as you reached forward to take a sip of your water. Your legs were buried under the table cloth and he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering if they were crossed or uncrossed, how they were clothed, and if your shoe was hanging lazily off the tips of your toes.

As if you felt his staring, your eyes snapped from your book to meet his. He thought he saw a softness in your eyes, something akin to affection, but when he smiled at you, you lips turned into a scowl quick like lightning. He felt a vice grip in his stomach.

Still he took his steps forward as you closed the book in front of you and crossed your arms in a full-on defensive.

“Great book you’ve got there.”

You didn’t take the bait. Instead you just tapped the cover and waiting for him to continue.

“Thanks again for my copy. I finished it yesterday and I feel like I have a whole new appreciation for British history and culture now.”

“Good for you,” you said, your voice ice. You took a big gulp of your wine, never breaking eye contact.

George grabbed the back of the chair across from you, hoping you might let him sit, might let him explain, but you raised an eyebrow in challenge and so he thought better of it.

Godric, did you have to be so sexy when you were mad at him? He gripped the chair back hard in an effort to prevent himself from kissing that scowl right off your face, from sliding his tongue across your lips until he turned that huff of yours into a glorious moan.

“Waiting for a date?” he asked, though he knew it was a stupid question.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Or is it that hard to believe I might have one, Weasley? Or are you just that determined to destroy all the good things in my life?”

“Who’s the lucky man?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

He watched the smile pull at your lips as you tried to maintain your anger, “Just a guy I’ve been talking to. But he’s kind and funny and incredibly engaging. And he has a soul, a real deep compassionate heart, unlike you.”

That cut deeper than he expected, hearing you love on him and hate on him simultaneously. He wasn’t sure he would be able to recover.

“Listen, Y/N, we never meant to…”

“Save the speech, Weasley,” you said, dropping your wine glass back down unceremoniously before meeting his eyes again. “I know your type, the kind of guy who gets a little bit of success and lets it all go to his head. The kind of guy who completely forgets what it is like to have something small but meaningful because you’ve been swimming in money for years and years, who values efficiency and production over human interaction. I know you. He’ll, I’m practically married to one of you,” that last sentence had you laughing with glee, though George couldn’t understand why.

“You’re all the same. So don’t try to tell me that if you’d have known it was my shop or if you had seen x, y, or z beforehand, things would be different, because let’s be honest, they wouldn’t. Your business comes first and if us little people drown, so be it. Don’t pretend you have a conscious just because you can now put a face to your destruction, okay? Just let me read in peace.”

George didn’t know what to say. There really was nothing to say. You had him pegged.

The last five years of his life had been just what you said, about expanding his business and counting his money and building an empire that might sustain him in his old age. When they initially started looking into storefronts, offering up absurd sums of money to kick out other tenants, he hadn’t thought about the human effect of all of it. He should have, but he didn’t.

But wasn’t that all the more proof that he needed you? An equalizing factor in his life to help him focus on what really matters? Someone with whom to enjoy the small stuff so the big stuff wouldn’t consume him? He needed love. He needed you. Feisty, honest, thoughtful you to put him in his place. 

And in an effort to try and fix things, he decided to walk away.

With a simple nod to you, he turned and walked out the door, past his brothers and into the alley before aparating to the only place he could think to go, to the Burrow and the mother who raised him to be a better man, the kind who you might look upon with fondness.

Three hours you sat there waiting for Rhubarb but no one ever came, no one but that god-awful Weasley with his deliciously masculine scent and beautiful freckles that cover an insanely punchable nose.

Your face was a mess of tears now. You felt completely stupid. You couldn’t manage a business. You couldn’t manage your love life. And now here you were stood up for a date with a complete stranger, one you had your heart fully invested in like a fool.

You hit the buzzer one more time, hoping that maybe your persistence would be enough to get a response.

Just as you were turning to leave, the apartment door opened. Patricia stood before you in her bathrobe and her curls secured in a silk head wrap.

When she saw your face, she opened her arms for a hug.

Once enveloped in your best friend’s hold, you felt a wave of confidence pour through you, the hopeless feeling morphing into a newfound determination.

You were going to see that smirk smacked right off Weasley’s face if it was the last thing you ever did.

“We’re raising that money, Patty. We aren’t going down without a fight.”

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon, @xxsophie-raabxx, @madamcadaver

[readbythestarlight]

c2e48

I’m a day late and I’ve seen just enough to know that something happens and I am both ready and terrified

Sam your ads are so dumb I love you

sAM

I spy a Jareth

Nott the Bright Pink Goblin

Captain Orli ayyyyyyye!

I can’t remember why Cad wants a special blacksmith

Oh yeah the sword

Laura’s stare at Matt after "my mom reads lots of books"

SHOPPING FINALLY

800 miles to get a sword fixed DO IT

"Bo-Beau"

Beau’s bo has a bow

Poor Jester had no friends and it makes me sad

The owner has a cat this person is gonna be the Gilmore to Caleb’s Vax I’m calling it

"Slam poetry right now!"

Jester buying cook books - I wonder if the mushroom one is for Cad?

J: "I don’t have a ‘you can reply to this message’ thing."

Cad: "I said it all anyway."

Nott enjoying the feel of being back on the ground

NOTT omg making the kid cry by accident

Professor Thaddeus??

Aw darn

Jester’s little "hey it’s me!" dance

WE’RE BACK MOM

"Illegal people doing illegal things to illegal people" pretty much describes everything the M9 have done for the past dozen episodes

Mom really wants the dog gone xD

Caleb really trying to make sure Jester has time with her mom and it’s so sweet

Wealthy hermit mage in a tower that defies physical space?

Matt’s like "Liam why with the books please"

Hirling, Tusk Love, and Nein Shades of Blue. What a strangely named trilogy.

J: "The paint is always with me."

"I promise you if we go check it out tonight we’re going in tonight." Nott is not wrong

"You are in charge, you are the god cat, don’t let him push you around."

"I’m not gonna break any rules or anything" Cad is the only good boy in this group

LOL just emptying lanterns for oil

Sheila Bumsnapper???

J: "I don’t think she likes us, Caduceus."

Cad: "That’s nonsense we’re very likable."

Oh Bobsnobber.

YOU CANNOT GO INTO THE TOWER RIGHT NOW NOTT WHERE DID YOUR COMMON SENSE GO

Don’t waste the tree on the tower don’t do it

Fjord just bought himself a fish for no reason xD

Caleb’s like listen I want to go into the tower too but let’s not be rash idiots for once please

"Or he could turn us over to people who we do not want to be turned over to." Ohhh.

Let Cad go in he’s the one with the most questions. The most important valid actual questions

Oh plus one

Cad + Caleb please

Okay sure Beau + Cad the two polar opposites that’s good too.

"I will brew some tea"

Beau stop talking don’t tell him so much that’s a bad idea

Why are we saying so much this is such a bad decision

Happy Fun Time Ball

Sure tell him about the Dodecahedron that’s fine that’s not gonna be a horrible idea

Honestly they didn’t think this through at all and it’s just an awkward mess lol

"I need to stress eat" mood Liam

"I have a few slots open in my loyalty bank, so if you’re willing to pay the price of rental." Beau

I can’t believe they convinced him

Caleb’s real nervous

Matt really doesn’t want them to keep the Happy Fun Tim Ball because he doesn’t want to have to mess with it again xD

TELEPORTATION CIRCLE AW YISS

Time to learn teleportation Caleb

Honestly I’m not sure how I feel about this guy, but I want to trust him

"At a certain level of arcane ability morality becomes ambiguous" mmm don’t like that

I don’t know how I feel about him guys

DONT show him the dodecahedron yet please. Let’s make sure he’s really trustworthy.

I feel like even as an ally, even if he is trustworthy, he could mean trouble for Caleb. Either because he can offer too much knowledge, or because he could in some way be associated with Trent, or just... something.

I wanna trust Yussah I really do. But I almost feel like I trust The Gentleman more which?? I should not.

I got scared and then I remembered the teleportation circle

AW YISS THEY GONNA GET TELEPORTATION

"Where did you train?" noPE DONT LIKE THAT QUESTION

don’t like don’t like don’t like

"I sometimes follow my friends where I shouldn’t"

"That might someday get you killed. Or someday get you what you seek."

I can’t decide how I feel about this conversation but I’m not entirely comfortable

Caleb is definitely drawing lines between Yussah and Trent right now and he’s afraid that they’re going to end up being used or hurt by someone more powerful then all of them. Caleb KNOWS how powerful mages use and manipulate people and he’s definitely afraid of that happening.

Caleb really knows that Jester needs time with her mom, he saw how she was struggling and he want to make sure she has just a little time

Oh Beau honey he didn’t mean that like as in YOU are a liar, he’s just worried about you all throwing in with someone as potentially dangerous as Yussah.

Do you Marion has agoraphobia? Is that why she’s always so anxious about leaving the Chateau? Or is she not allowed to leave? Is something keeping her there? I know Matt’s described her as being that way more than once and I want to know why.

BYE MOM WE MISS YOU ALREADY

Caleb sharing his trashy smut novels with Jester is my fave

CAD TOLD FJORD ABOUT VANDREN

I’m having feelings

"I have some faith in you" LOTS OF FEELINGS

I’m trying to remember, does Caleb have some kind of item that helps him hide from Trent?

"I can’t keep poking my head up like a mole in the ground, because if I do someone is going to cave my skull in. And if you are all with me you will all die too." Oh jeeze. He’s so afraid, for himself, for them.

I love/hate how Caleb went from "I shouldn’t be with you because you’re putting me at risk" to now "I don’t know that I should be with you because you draw attention and if I’m found with you I put YOU in danger"

"I have to be careful, and if we can’t be careful enough I have to go"

No, Beau, he understands you’re WILLING to kick ass for him but he knows it won’t matter because Trent will fuck you all up

He’s saying please don’t go talking to sketchy powerful wizards

Beau it isn’t about the job you did it’s about the fact that Caleb knows how DANGEROUS this is. You’re playing with fire and nobody understands how dangerous that is

Caleb’s message isn’t "I want you to not care about me" it’s "I’m afraid of the fact that I care about you, because thanks to that, if we are caught you will all burn with me". Because they ARE Caleb’s weakness now, and Caleb knows that Trent will see that, see it and use it to finally and utterly destroy him.

And also yeah, Caleb seems afraid that Trent will find him through/because the M9 can’t lay low and not expose themselves to dangerous people, and that’s another reason he would consider leaving, but he’s afraid of that MOSTLY because of what will happen not just to him but to all of them.

I’m just having a lot of feelings.

HI BRYCE

Man my favorite thing is these idiots talking about illegal things in front of poor Bryce and they just always have to be like "noooo because that would be illegal" and they walk away

BYE BRYCE

Awww Jester giving Cad the cook books!

“It never even occurred to me that you could get a book about cooking that’s so great”

Nott backstory time!!?

Sweetheart please don’t start drinking

Oh god Caleb recognizes both that can’t be great

Oh no

Oh Matt where’s Nott’s friend

Is he dead is he taken?

HIS BOY LUKE?

guys guys guysssss

MATT WHERE IS HE

Caleb making himself look filthy again

Oh no a basement

Nott’s voice cracking I’m crying

Oh no I don’t like this

Nott just straight up breaking arcane locks with her badass lockpicking

Okay what’s here

“Gravity, entropy, and time.” Oh no.

Oh goddddd

TRENT

OH GOD

oh god oh god oh god

“What?! It’s your people!”

“Well! Well fuck him!” Oh. Oh no.

Oh no, not Nott and Caleb.

IM REALLY UPSET RIGHT NOW

Oh god Caduceus thank you

Guys I’m in tears

She’s blaming him and he’s blaming himself and I’m fucking CRYING

And I know Nott doesn’t mean it against Caleb I know she’s hurt and angry and scared but oh my god I’m just wrecked

I’m gonna need to find some comfort fic immediately because I can’t have this hanging over me for a week.

I KNEW IT

I KNEW HE WAS NOTT’S SON!!!!

IM SCREAMING

Luke doesn’t even know she’s a goblin I’m fucking sobbing

Oh. Oh wait.

Is Nott actually a goblin? Is she somehow turned into one and she’s actually a halfling? Do goblins live long enough for her to have a 5 year old son?

Unless he’s not her son by birth??

HI SAM THIS IS REALLY RUDE AND MAKING ME CRY PLEASE STOP

Beth??

It’s time to go leave now nO MATT

“If you guys had come here instead of Nicodranus you would have been here when all this went down” THATS A RUDE THING TO SAY MATT

[stark-tony]

Uhm hi I am in desperate need of iron dad and spiderson fics. ASAP Or I might actually die. Pls help

i’m not for sure what type you want but here are some that I’ve read recently

* = incomplete

irondad bingo series* by hailingstars

summary:

pairings: pepperony, happy/may

tags: fluff

warnings: none

heart and nerve and sinew series* by blondsak

summary: 

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff 

warnings: hydra, kidnapping, non-consensual drug use

Up Came the Sun series* by WhimsicalEthnographies

summary:

pairings: pepperony, stucky

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

irondad bingo 2019 series* by sahiya

summary: 

pairings: happy/may, pepperony, ned/peter

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: torture

a very, merry unbirthday by ciaconnaa

summary: “What’s all this, huh?” Peter asks. His eyes don’t leave the table as he wanders over to stand by where Tony is sitting, wrapping him in a gentle hug and pushing his head into his chest. Tony smiles before he tugs gently on the sleeve. Peter gets the message and leans down, allowing Tony to kiss his temple in greeting.

“You threw me a birthday party,” Peter accuses, smile going all dopey.

“An unbirthday party,” Morgan corrects. “Like in Alice in Wonderland. For all the ones you missed!”

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The Hoodie™* by coconutknightshade

summary: The one in which Tony overhears Peter telling his roommate that the MIT hoodie he’s wearing is his dads.The one in which Peter never plans to call Tony ‘dad’ to his face but the universe has other plans.

pairings: pepperony, happy/may

tags: fluff

warnings: none

A Parent Apparent* by happyaspie

summary: In which the author indulges herself in some shameless Irondad/Spiderson with fluff, angst and everything in between because she needs more of that in her life. 

OR

Just another one of those, oh so overdone, fanfics where Tony and Peter’s relationship grows into more of a father/son relationship after an accident involving Aunt May (who lives)

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

oh, darling. by luna_e_stelle

summary: "Peter?“ Tony’s voice wavered with an urgency that cut through the thick haze in Peter’s mind.

There was so much emotion in that one word that Peter wondered how he had ever doubted that Tony loved him. They had never said it out loud, just showed it in a way that spoke louder than words ever could.

–

Peter is taken, and he tries to find his way back home.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, kidnapping, non-consensual drug use

Metamorphosis by art_deco_deity

summary: How Peter Parker changed Tony Stark; seen through the eyes of one Pepper Potts.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Sunlight by ArdenSkyeHolmes221

summary: “Stop pouting and ignoring me. You’re giving me a complex.”

“I am— I’m not pouting,” he sputters, avoiding his father’s gaze.

 “Oooh, but you are ignoring me.”

***

Or the one where Peter struggles reintegrating in his own life after his dad lived five years without him.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

forty miles by peterstank

summary: “I love you,” Peter says. “Father-son styles.” 

Or: the one where Morgan is sick and Tony is in way over his head, so he calls his spiderson for a little bit of help.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

A Little Monument of Stones by YellowDistress

summary: Russia’s royal family has been executed. The little prince is presumed dead.

That is until a boy is brought to Stark Manor, alive, thousands of miles away in rural England.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

How to Repair a Broken Heart* by InfluentialPineapple

summary: The Mechanic has a lot on his plate; Thanos is coming, the Guardians of the Galaxy are marooned, Thaddeus Ross is reaching right down his throat, and a budding super hero deserves his full attention. He’s also dying. No big deal. He can fix it. He can fix anything. 

And he can do it all without even opening that stupid phone.

 Now, where did those notes on Extremis go…?

(06/25/19: expect an update within a week, and I thank you all for your patience!)

pairings: pepper/ happy

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, suicidal thoughts, alcoholism 

Outsider by PinkEasterEggs

summary: “You know,” his Dad mused when they were halfway through the bread and the ducks were all swimming around them. “I used to come here during the 5 years when you were … gone.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, he’d half expected his Dad to of brought Morgan.

 “I never brought any bread,” Tony sighed. “I just sat on that park bench for hours. I thought about bringing Morgan one year but … i wanted this place to be ours and ours only.”

Peter couldn’t even say how much that meant to him. 

“You’ve changed,” Peter admitted. His Dad had created a whole new life for himself, one that Peter wasn’t really sure where he fit. All of his stuff had been thrown out and the Tower was sold. 

“I know,” Tony sighed, ducking his head down to kiss Peter’s crown. “But i’ll always be your Dad.“ 

Peter tries to find his place in the world after the Avengers defeated Thanos. As much as he knows he’s loved, he can’t shake the feelings of being replaced when he comes into a new world where his father is now married and had another child.

(No Spider-Man Far From Home Spoilers)

 #10: Biological Child

pairings: pepperony

tags: angst

warnings: none

Appendicitis by tommyparkerr

summary: In which Peter doesn’t realize until too late that the flu shouldn’t be this painful, and Tony Stark is right there to both lecture and comfort him (and accidentally call him his kid in the process).

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Allston Christmas by Gruoch

summary: “You guys didn’t have to do this,” Peter says from where he sits squeezed into the middle seat of the U-Haul, sweat running down his back. The air-conditioning in the truck they’ve rented is broken, and even with the windows rolled down it’s hellishly hot inside. “Really. I could have handled it myself.”

“We wanted to,” Tony replies as he blasts the horn at a minivan with a “Harvard Mom” bumper sticker that is attempting to cut into his lane. “It’s like a little trip down memory lane. It’s nostalgic—it’s gonna be fun. Right, Rhodey?”

“Absolutely,” Rhodey agrees, with all the enthusiasm of a man being lead to the gallows.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

who ya gonna call? by pparker (vaselseok)

summary: He shrieks and stumbles backward on instinct, slipping in the soapy water. His arms flail out in hopes of catching himself, but instead he snags the shower curtain and ends up ripping it free from the rod as he crashes to the ground. A split second later, the metal rod smacks into his nose. 

 “…Ow.”

 Or, Peter thinks he’s being haunted, and Tony’s just trying to get through the week.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

Do Spiderlings Dream of Iron Sheep?* by blondsak

summary: A mission leaves Peter with narcolepsy. Tony may or may not be freaking out.

pairings: none

tags: humor, angst

warnings: none

chocolate chip cookies (alternate words for i love you) by hopeless_hope

summary: Being a superhero, Tony has come to expect a lot of things. He can’t really afford to be surprised by too much; being flexible is just part of the job. Aliens attacking New York? Sure. People threatening to attack his home? Not uncommon. A teenage spider-kid baking cookies in his kitchen at almost three in the morning?

Completely unexpected.

“You know, kid, when I said you’re welcome to anything in the kitchen, this isn’t quite what I was expecting,” Tony says dryly.

-

The evolution of Peter and Tony’s relationship, as told through late night conversations and chocolate chip cookies. aka 5 times Peter baked cookies for himself and Tony and 1 time Tony did the baking.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

It Hurts to Become by seekrest

summary: “Peter, what is going on with you?”

 Tony sees the look in Peter’s eyes – can recognize the hint of something burrowing behind them. A look of someone who is distracted but is desperately trying to focus. 

Peter looked exhausted, more than usual. Something’s off with the kid, he’d noticed it but now – watching Peter as it seemingly took all of his attention to focus on Morgan – caused something akin to regret to churn in his stomach. 

Something was wrong with Peter.

pairings: michelle/peter

tags: angst

warnings: none

The Chilling Realities Of Hunting And Being Hunted by Buckets_Of_Stars

summary: All Peter and Tony had to do was cross the mountains. That’s it. Just climb a few hills and get to the Convention. They didn’t count on the snow, or the wind, or the fact that neither of them have cell service.

 And they definitely didn’t count on the fact that they would be hunted—stalked—as they sit, freezing and shaking, on the side of the road.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

For Pete’s Sake! by KitCat992

summary: Maybe he’d feel better if he closed his eyes, just for a second. It was too dark to see anything clearly anyway, and he’d be able to concentrate better without seeing how fast the ground was coming up to meet him. 

A rush of wind sent goosebumps across his skin before two strong hands gripped his shoulders tightly, keeping him upright and from nose-diving straight into the alleyway cement.

Peter snapped his eyes open, blinking a couple times to clear his vision. Everything was blurry. Was that…?

“…ice cream man!?”

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none