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the-egg · 1 year ago

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hey how's it going? :) I'd like you to headcanons a humorous female reader who uses a lot of irony and jokes, with Miguel having to deal with her, in a development of a novel. I love her work ❤️ -- @bellaisa2507

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I’m a little confused on the “development of a novel” part but I’ll try my best!

Word Count: 850

Tags: Implied smut, really bad jokes

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To love someone like you, one has to make some sacrifices. Miguel was willing to make the sacrifice of listening to your corny jokes for the sake of receiving your love <3

You were like Lyla, except you weren’t an AI tied to Miguel. Witty humor and a smart mouth

You would like to be tied to Miguel tho if you know what I mean ;)

When he first met you to recruit you, he had half the mind to leave you in your dimension without a gizmo and ban you from ever joining the Spider Society

It wasn’t like you were bad at your job; you were a great Spider-Woman and handled your first anomaly so beautifully. By the time Miguel came, all he had to do was pick up the anomaly and head back

No no no instead you decided to use the worst pick-up lines someone could ever hear in their life

"Hey, are you from another dimension?"

"What do you—? Yes, I just said that. Were you not listening—"

"Because you’re out of this world!"

You dropped a few more jokes before Miguel left your dimension

Lyla had to convince him to come back

As an official member of the Spider Society, you became someone who was a light in every room you walked in

You always had a way to bring a smile to someone’s face, either intentionally or unintentionally, including Miguel's, but he wouldn’t be caught saying that

After a few months of working with him, he would keep you around him as one of his right hands

Not only were you a strong and clever fighter, but you had a way to calm him down with your humor

Being the head of the Spider Society was stressful in itself, not to mention the added stress of fixing holes in the multiverse, so having you there to crack jokes helped calm him down

Again, he thought of you as someone very similar to Lyla, except he couldn’t see right through you, he could hang out with you, fight along side you, touch you...

Needless to say, being Miguel’s personal anti-depressant made him fall for you

His heart would soften every time you came into a room, and he would crack a smile at every one of your horrible jokes

You made him kinder, softer—only to you though

While you had already liked him since day one, when he tried cracking a joke back at you, your heart swooned

The only jokes he knows how to make are dad jokes though which made it 100 times better

You went to Miguel’s office platform after a mission to destress with your favorite person. Of course, Miguel was stressed out at his desk as usual, staring intently at the screens. Luckily, you were there to break him out of that mindset.

"It sucks that we’re on a time crunch on missions. My last mission happened at an ice cream parlor, but unfortunately, I had to split right after. Get it? Get it?! Split! Like banana split!" You stared at Miguel as he cracked a small smile; his eyes were still glued to the screen. "Miguel, I’m saying we should go get ice cream."

He let out a small chuckle at your blunt attempt to ask him out for the umpteenth time.

"Hey, do you know if Spider-Cat was in my office today?" Miguel asked as he finally turned his head to look at you. You cocked your head to the side, and your brows furrowed.

"No, why?"

"Because I can’t find my mouse."

You could practically hear the comical ba-dum-tis of the drums after his joke. A smile bloomed on your face as you lightly punched his shoulder.

"You are so corny!"

"You’ve used that one on me before!"

One day he would finally say yes to one of your many attempts at asking him out through silly jokes, which would make your brain completely malfunction

After getting to know him and his devastating character backstory, you were under the impression that he wouldn’t be willing to commit to a relationship of any kind

But after breaking down his walls little by little, you brought a humor to his life he was willing to open his heart to

When you guys start dating, he picks it up with the flirty comments

Some were jokes while others were steamy

"Spider-Woman, we need back up over here!" Miguel yelled through the watch as he and Peter struggled to weaken the anomaly of the week.

"I’ll be over in a second! I’ve almost nailed this villain!" you responded through the watch as you nearly captured the other anomaly about a block down from Miguel and Peter.

"If you’re not over here now, I’ll do more than nail you to the ground when we get back to HQ!"

You have never swung over faster in your life.

But seriously, he loves you so much

You are his sunshine!

He has never smiled so much since losing his daughter, and he hopes to continue smiling with you till the end of time <3

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse

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chryslerbuildingfeathers · 1 month ago

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Buried Energy

Tony stood, mouth agape, and stared in awed silence at the whirlwind ripping through his lab.

Machinery everywhere had come to life, fabricating, mixing, and processing. Blueprints were scattered across the floor. DUM-E hid in the corner. Were those.. Fresh drones? Flying through the air?

The chaos was boggling, and bouncing eclectically through it all was none other than the tiny unassuming kid he'd picked up from Queens: Peter B. Parker.

"...Peter?" Tony called, when his voice finally came back to him.

The kid froze for a moment, then pulled out an earbud and turned.

"...Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"What're ya up to, kid?"

The boy's eyes widened comically, and he tilted his head sideways as he looked up toward the billionaire. Briefly resembling a dog who'd caught the word 'walk.'

"You really want to hear about it Mr. Stark? You won't be annoyed?"

"I- Of course. That's why I asked ya' Peter."

Peter's eyes grew even wider, and a rush of happiness washed over his entire face. Tony's curiosity grew.

He'd known the kid for a few months now, mentoring him on all the ins-and-outs of the hero business. Basic first aid, de-escalation techniques, how to console victims and avoid collateral damage - All the important stuff people don't consider when they picture crimefighting. Peter took to it like glue.

After all that hard work, Tony thought the kid could use a day to relax a bit. He knew Peter liked science, so he thought he'd show him around his personal lab. Maybe let him play around with it some.

Unfortunately, after giving his brief tour, he got called away to a buisness meeting. So he'd turned to the kid, told him "Go crazy," and left. Which brings us to now.

And the biggest smile Tony Stark has ever seen directed toward him:

"IwascheckingouttheHolodesignerandInoticedacoupleblueprintsyou'dstartedbuthadn'thadtimetoworkonandIrealizedthereweresomegreatwaystorefinethemsoIdidand-"

"Kid, I'm listening, but I do need you to breath-"

The kid startled, paused, then took a deep breath.

"S-So, anyway, I did the blueprints and then they reminded me of this idea I had for a web bomb. See, I wanted something with more concussive force to break up larger groups, like one of your repulsor blast settings can do- and then I realized it could be way more effective if I used webs! But the fluid formula would need changed so-"

"So it can be properly distributed by the blast and not immediately solidify into one connected chunk." Tony interrupted, nodding along with the boy who was now jumping in place.

"OH MY GOD, YES, EXACTLY!!"

"That's really cool, Peter. Do you mind if I look over your work on the blueprints while you continue your web bomb project?"

"Of course not!!! Does that mean I can get back to it now, Mr. Stark??"

"Go for it."

Tony smiled and chuckled lightly at Peter's enthusiasm as he glanced over all the notes and design changes. These.. Weren't new ideas he'd had.

These were projects he'd worked on for months. Only, better. Scribbled all over with improvements he wanted to kick himself for not coming up with before. On top of that, the coding had been completely reworked and made more efficient than ever.

Tony barely even recognized or understood the chemical formulas Peter had fixed for medicine that'd work on Steve's super-metabolism; but Fri's simulations deemed them successful.

Was Tony's brain.. Broken? How had he never realized this before??

Somehow, it came completely out of left field. He'd seen the kid solve puzzles before, and heard him mention his love of tech and chemistry. How he'd come up with the web formula himself, how he'd gotten into a stem school on an educational scholarship. Casual background information like that. This though?

He needed to call May, he needed to call the kid's school, he needed to tell Pepper about this.

The words found their way out his mouth before he could even process them:

"Kid, I knew you were smart, but you never told me you were a genius!"

The room went strangely, completely silent.

Tony glanced up from the holotable, confused, and saw Peter had frozen. His face was completely flushed, and his eyes were.. Watery?

"I- I've gotta go, Mr. Stark, sir. I-I'm late for- Late for- yeah. Bye!" The kid stuttered, and then promptly turned on his spidersuit, and jumped out the window.

That.. Was weird. Even for a kid who's half spider.

Tony sat awkwardly in place as he watched the kid swing away. "Did that just happen?" He asked his now empty lab. The lab did not respond.

Tony's never been the best at social interactions, but he could've sworn everything was going well. The kid was excitedly talking up a storm, jumping all over the place, and then he just. Left? Was he bashful? Embarrassed?

"Hey Friday, 'genius' is still a good thing, right?"

"It appears so, sir."

"..Hm. Do me a favor and call Pepper, will you?"

"Right away, boss."

"So he's a genius?"

"I mean, I haven't exactly had him tested, but yeah. It looks like it."

"And he.. Reacted badly to this?"

"He literally jumped out a window when I told him." Tony laughed, half painfully.

"Well that's not good. I can't exactly say Iʻm surprised at the news, but-"

"Pepper, I think he's smarter than me. And he didn't even *say anything* about it. Why wouldnʻt he say anything about it, Pepper? We talk about being nerds all the time, but never- Did I do something wrong?"

Pepper paused, thoughtfully.

"I don't think so Tony, but maybe- He might be.. I think you should ask May about it."

"May, huh? Alright, thanks Pep."

Friday ends the call, and Tony is about to make a new one to Pete's Aunt, when he pauses. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a large red schoolbag. Peter's schoolbag. Maybe this conversation would be better in person?

The next morning, after a brief text to May, Tony drags Happy away from his office and nervously begins the ride to Queens. Something about yesterday just won't stop nagging at him. It really shouldn't be a big deal, it was just one awkward conversation. Maybe Peter just panicked? Or got too excited and needed to swing out the excess energy? He had been hopping around and speaking a million words per second, after all. But actually, it wasn't just yesterday, was it? The more Tony thought about, the more he realized this wasn't just a one time thing. Strange pieces of otherwise inane conversations shifted uncomfortably in his head.

Peter suddenly freezing when Tony entered a room. Peter flinching when Tony turned up his radio. Peter stifling himself when Tony was *sure* the kid knew more than he was letting on.. They were all part of a bigger picture. One Tony couldn't put together just yet, but could feel pressing just beneath the surface.

Itʻs a bright and sunny Sunday, and traffic is impressively calm for New York. Happy sends pointed glances at him through the rearview mirror. Tony ignores him.

After a long, weird silence, the bodyguard's will finally breaks.

"Something wrong with the kid?"

Tony sighs.

"Happy, did you ever notice how smart Peter is?"

"Well yeah Tony, he does go to a fancy STEM school."

"No, I mean.. What do you think of him? How would you describe him, to someone that doesn't know him?"

"Well, I don't know, Boss. He's a weird, kinda nerdy kid who's always got way too much going on."

"Weird how, though, Happy?"

"...What is this about, Tony?"

Tony's really not sure. Their conversation is cut short as they finally pull up to the Parker's rundown apartment building.

Tony shuffles awkwardly in place after knocking on the Parker's apartment door. He'd come here with a forgotten backpack and a plan, but now that he's here.. He's not completely sure how to go about this. He knows he comes off as overly-blunt and rude even after years of Pepper's coaching, so maybe this isn't such a great idea after all. What if he ends up making things worse?

Regardless, May answers, and he can't exactly back out at this point:

"Hey, Tony, come on in. You can just set Peter's bag on the couch by you. Coffee?"

"No thank you, May. Actually, I wanted to ask you about something-"

"I kinda figured you weren't here just to drop off a bag."

Tony chuckled nervously.

"Yeah, um, actually I had a question? About Peter?"

"Yes?" May sat down on the chair across from him, expectantly.

"Did you know.. Er, that is to say. Is he-" Stark has been making public announcements and addressing important business partners since he was sixteen. Puzzling together a simple question should not be as hard as it is proving to be for him right now.

"Tony?"

"Why is Peter hiding that he's a genius?" He rushes out at last.

She looks at him blankly for a minute.

"Peter's hiding what..?"

"He's a genius. Come on, surely you've noticed."

"Now I know Peter's smart and all, but really-"

"Peter Benjamin Parker is a complete and certifiable genius in every sense of the word. He doesn't even have to *process* most things, May, he just intuitively *understands!* I haven't met anyone like him since, well. Since *me.*"

There is an awkward and unexpected silence over the room. Peter's guardian is looking at Tony like she's just seen a ghost. Then, finally, she lowers her gaze toward the ground.

"...I was afraid of that." She quietly replies.

"Afraid?"

"I always knew there was something he was holding back. He'll start talking sometimes, and his eyes will spark so bright! And he'll slip into vocab words I don't even recognize while getting excited about chemistry, or physics. And then, suddenly, he'll just stop. He'll blink, frown, and withdraw for some reason. I always thought it was grief, keeping himself from getting too happy."

"So he's even been hiding it from you."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"I noticed, and when I tried to tell him how smart he was, he completely rushed out on me. Jumped out a window, even."

"I'll never get used to that." May said with a laugh.

"So what do we do?"

Originally, their plan had been simple: Tony would spend more time with him for the next few weeks, casually introducing more complex concepts into his conversations with the kid. May would quietly investigate Peter's teachers and grades to make sure everything's okay for him there. Perhaps subtly question Ned and MJ on it as well. Don't mention the situation until Peter does.

Simple, solid, and as it turns out: Completely unnecessary.

Because on day two of putting it into action, while Tony was alone in his lab, Friday received an emergency signal from Peter's rudimentary suit A.I. Who, as it turns out, Peter had secretly turned into a full-blown A.I. named Karen.

"Mr. Stark, I have deemed it necessary to inform you Spider-Man has been cornered with blackout protocol in place. Please come as quickly as possible."

That didn't sound good. Not the least of which because Tony had no idea what this custom protocol was, or why this situation warranted an emergency. Maybe a stealth mission gone wrong? Regardless, Tony rushed out in his Ironman suit with barely a second thought. It was a dark, noisy night in the city, and Peter's tracker was staying firmly in place on the map.

As Tony approached, the noises only grew louder. Sirens. Lots of sirens.

If it were possible for him to start flying even faster, he would be.

At last, he's got Peter in his sights. Or at least, he thinks he has. On top of an apartment building's roof, three gunmen were surrounding and shooting at one giant ball of webbing. Webbing exactly where the emergency signal traced. Tony landed in-between the thugs and the ball with a loud thunk.

"I've heard of people having bad reactions to spiders before, but this is ridiculous."

The gunmen around him startled, before quickly turning their fire toward him.

"You know, those guns really should've come with a safety course. Don't you realize shooting metal causes-"

One of the thugs fell to the ground and screamed, clutching his leg.

"-bullet ricochets?"

The remaining two quickly lowered their guns and looked to each other nervously. Tony didn't waste any time before repulser blasting them unconscious.

Then, he slowly approached the web.

"Spider-Man? Hey Spidey, you in there? Friday, please alert Karen that I've taken out the surrounding gunmen and that it's safe for the kid to come out now."

There was empty silence for a while, before, finally, a slight shifting in Peter's nest. A few more minutes of quiet rustling, and then the young spiderling's head cautiously popped out.

"Hey kid? You okay?"

Tony couldn't see much with the mask in the way, but Peter appeared pretty spooked.

"Spidey?"

Peter slowly, carefully stepped out of his web. Only to completely leap onto Tony at the sound of a loud clang nearby.

"...Alright kid, let's get you out of here." Tony awkwardly shifted Peter so he'd be safely positioned for the ride, then flew him gently back to the tower.

---

When they got back to the tower, after a quick once-over to make sure he really hadn't been hurt, Peter locked himself in his room. The kid still wasn't talking, and looked.. Frustrated. Angry. Wether at Tony, Karen, the thugs, or himself, was unclear.

Friday had already notified and updated May on the roof situation, and about the kid's mysterious silence. Unfortunately May was in the middle of a long night shift, so she wouldn't be able to come check on him herself until morning.

Tony was worried.

When he asked Karen what blackout mode was, all she was allowed to tell him was that it's a safety protocol Peter had made. She wouldn't say anything about Peter's silence, how the roof situation had come about, or why Peter had turned her into a full A.I. in the first place. He was almost tempted to try hacking into her file system, but decided to save it as a last resort. The last thing he wanted was for Peter to shutdown on him even more.

So, with no other choice left, he waited.

And waited.

Four hours later, restless and about to check if Peter had actually just gone to sleep, Tony heard the quiet creak of a door opening. The kid crept out into the hall slowly, wincing at his own steps. Until finally, he reached the living room- where Tony had been watching from the couch- and waved shyly.

"H-Hi, Mister Stark." His voice was hoarse and croaky.

"Hello, Spider-child. Wanna tell me what happened out there?"

Peter crossed his arms in front of his chest nervously, and stuttered. "S-some guys got the- the drop on me. That's a-all."

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"They got the drop. On you. With your super senses? Come on kid, I know that's not the full story. What's really going on?"

"I-" Peter glared at the floor and huffed in frustration. "You weren't supposed to find out."

"Find out what? Is this about that whole secret genius thing, Peter? 'Cause I promise, there's nothing wrong with-"

"No!" Peter cut him off. "No, it's not about being smart. It's-" Tears streaked their way down his face as his mouth searched for words.

"I..I'm broken. I'm broken and I don't think I can ever be fixed."

Tony sat frozen, stunned. What does this mean? What's been going on behind the scenes for so long that it'd led his kid to this point? A million possibilities flicker through his brain, but the pieces all feel too jagged and warped.

"Kid. Peter, come here. Please, come sit down on the couch." Tony requests softly.

Stiff and anxiously, the kid obeys.

"I'm gonna go make us some hot cocoa, and then we can talk about this more. Unless you want to wait until your aunt can be here?"

"No." Peter responded with the most exhausted whisper Tony had ever heard.

"Alright, that's okay. Wait here, I'll be just a minute."

Tony Stark you sunnova bitch.

You just had to go and get yourself a little protégé, didn't you? Less than three years ago, you were partying it up, having a grand ol' time, enjoying all the irresponsibility in the world. Now? Now you care about silly things like Feelings and Not Being An Alcoholic and Taking Care Of Your Pseudo-Son. Ugh.

And the worst part? You can only blame yourself.

And wouldn't trade this for anything.

###

Tony rubs slow hands over his tired eyes with a long, breathy sigh as he waits for the kettle to reach a boil. May and Pepper have long impressed upon him the importance of having comfort beverages for serious conversations, and this one's shaping up to be a heavy one.

He doesn't even have to look to know that Peter's still fidgeting anxiously, staring at the floor in the other room. After carefully pouring two steaming mugs of hot cocoa topped high with whipped cream, Tony sends a quick text to Pepper ("Serious talk with kid. Emotional backup appreciated. Please standby.") and heads back to the living room to sit on the couch next to Peter.

"So, kid. Who do I need to have murdered?"

Peter chokes on his drink and splutters.

"Nobody! You shouldn't k-kill anyone Mr. Stark!" He bursts between coughs.

"Ah, right, right. Death is too easy, they need to suffer." Tony nods sagely as he pats Peter’s back.

"Mr. Stark!" Peter cries out, exasperated.

Tony takes a long sip from his mug. His customly monogrammed "Iron Dad" mug. His customly monogrammed "Iron Dad" mug that was jokingly gifted to him by Rhodey for Father's Day. 'Jokingly'. His paternal instincts have never been stronger; and Pepper would be very amused.

"Talk to me, Peter. What's blackout mode, why the secret genius thing, and where did this idea of you being 'broken' come from?"

The kid's eyes return to the floor.

"I'm. Um. I'm not.. Normal?" Peter half mumbles.

"Well, you are a genius half-spider after all." Tony agrees.

"That's not. Well.. I was like this before the bite."

"Go on?"

Peter takes a slow, deep breath, then lets his whole body deflate with it.

"Everything is. Loud. All of the time. The noises are loud, the lights are loud, the feelings are loud." He turns to Tony. "Too loud."

"And now, I've got super senses, and it's a thousand times worse! I can hear Pepper’s heart beat upstairs, Mr. Stark. I can hear the flow of blood pumping through your veins. I can feel each individual molecule of moisture in the air rubbing against me right now. If I focus, I can smell the family two blocks down having pizza."

"Oh kid-"

Tony has always known about Peter’s enhanced senses, that they help him find crimes to stop and follow evidence trails no one else can. But he's never stopped to consider what that would actually mean on a whole-life scale. The full implications of what kind of hell that would be. God, how does Peter make it through a school day?

"But that's not even the biggest problem." Peter's voice cracks with stress. "No, I can usually ignore the worst of that if I try hard enough. The biggest problem… is that I can't control myself."

"Control yourself?" Tony asks.

Peter abruptly stands.

If just getting him to open up about the loudness was hard, this seems like it’s gonna be moving up to Peter Parker grad school. The kid shifts, rocks, paces around the room, finishes his cocoa, makes more cocoa, and generally does anything he can do to dodge further addressing the situation until Tony breaks the silence again.

"Listen Peter, I'm not gonna be mad, or judge you, or anything like that. And you're definitely not broken. But I need to know what's going on, okay? You're my kid, and I care about you. And I want to be able to help you when you need it."

Peter's movement comes to a sudden halt as he turns back toward Tony. "I'm your.. You really mean that?"

"I- Well, yeah. Pete." He continues nervously. "You're already on the will and everything."

“Oh wow.” Peter mumbles under his breath as his face turns an embarrassed red. Tony does his best to keep down his own emotional awkwardness and panic.

Peter slowly, cautiously brings himself back down onto the couch.

"...Okay." Peter says weakly.

"Okay...?" Tony asks.

"Yeah." Peter sniffles. "It's just. Feelings, right?"

Tony nods for him to go on.

"When I have.. feelings. They're loud too. They're so loud, it's like they're trapped inside me and trying to explode! I can't make myself sit still, or think through everything that's happening, and. Sometimes, when everything is too loud, I can't speak at all."

"So you made the blackout mode to help quiet things down?" Tony guesses.

"Y-yeah."

“Alright. And the hiding how smart you are?"

"It's- My brain. My brain gets stuck on stuff when I get excited about it. I get stuck on stuff, and can't stop talking about it or thinking about it, no matter how hard I try. Like physics and chemistry. It's frustrating and annoying and it makes people hate me."

Tony gives that thought a moment to settle, and Peter a chance to catch his breath, before finally responding:

"I don't think anyone worthwhile could ever hate you, kid."

"Well of course you're saying that now, but-"

Tony cuts him off by waving a hand in his face.

"Nu-uh. I'm saying it forever, kid, and I'm gonna buy you a new super-expensive lego set every time you try to argue otherwise."

“But-!”

“Ah-uh, one new Lego Star Destroyer coming right up. In fact, maybe I should throw in another set for you believing that junk in the first place-”

Peter groans.

"So," Tony begins again, "Why haven't you told your Aunt May about this?"

"How did you know I-? Ugh." Pete turns away again.

"Peter-"

"It's just." He sighs and mumbles. "Ididntwantobedoubleorphaned."

"What was that?"

Peter groans again even louder. "I didn't want to be double orphaned, okay!? I knew there was something wrong with me, and I was already such a big burden on aunt may, so I didn't want to cause any more trouble!"

"Oh, Peter."

Tony can't help himself. Personally, he blames the mug. Tears fill his eyes as he leans over, wraps his arms around the kid, and pulls him into the greatest bear hug the world has ever known. Peter yelps with surprise. But slowly, carefully relaxes into Tony’s hold.

###

Later, when Pepper quietly peaks in to check on them, she finds the two asleep on the couch- Still held in each other's arms.

#fanfic #mcu fanfiction #spider-man #iron dad #spider man fanfic #autistic peter parker

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the-firebird69 · 7 months ago

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There's so many leaders that have died in the past two weeks of the Morlock and pseudo empire that the empire is suspicious and believes our son in his theory is correct they're pointing it out to draw attention to it and it is insanity they're suicidal people about one third of them die forever but that's to get people there and to be up above them and Trump is seeing something these guys have the keys to everything and people are going to concrete MA and Tommy F is going there and he is getting the information out of them and he is going after their stuff and started a war with him but it is pointing out the pyramids are nozzles and those are in smaller diamonds by the way and when he dies the last time in his brain is transported to the pyramid and it starts some non stop war eventually they move them or something does and it's not the those pyramids are not big that they're going into they're only like 4 miles or five miles wide and high and the next step's not humongous either about 10 miles but that's where they go And they go there temporarily too it is the Mac plan but probably not to have all of their leaders crammed in there already. And that's why people don't care and what they're saying here to our son is we're cutting loose and all this stuff and so the max are going to go after his people and they go out there to their stashes and caches and it looks like they hit BJA with nukes which they probably do and that's Trump but it's allowed by the group's and BJ studs wiping him out And that's what's gonna happen and then he uses weapons on him just like he did on him and on New Zealand and they rapidly deteriorate into films like Lord of the Rings and it's coming up all in the next three months and September 22nd he goes to the pyramid and that's the last stop you don't see him after that and you don't see people after they go in and the max make sure they don't come out and it's not their plan to have so many but really the trump people are not so big and it's kind of a warning sign to everybody else and even us we have to get our heads right in the right place we need to be troops and soldiers and we need to be armed and we need to be with ours if you're out there and you need to leave please let us know we are careful we want your family and friends to survive as well there are people.

Thor Freya

Olympus

It's an insane idea but it's worked and these people are not smart but their thing happened and is working people are very interested in it and they don't want trump messing with our son a friend here at all even though he's doing the job it doesn't qualify as a job that they want are my grand nephew near at all this is for fools and they don't want him to get caught by the max and it seems like John Renelard does

mac daddy

Why don't you all go to hell this night sucks and he says so what and if I'm tired now you're gonna pay for it cause you're the one trying to get it fine. I'll tell you what it's holding all this stuff on me and it works for him as well as him getting even with me. Not right. Says it is right to cockahead you have no idea what happened to you you **** fool I told you to move out I don't want you near me it's your problem that you're here you have enough money to move across town several million times and if you're here you're a dead man and I'm using you because I told you to move and you won't and you're stupid for being here in the first place you won't let me have a penny of my own money took it out of my account and now people are taking all their money out of your accounts. You have no right to tamper with someone's account especially mine. You've been here for two years and you've got headshot 5 times that's what you're winning buddy by being next door you **** fool. You are a dumb **** **** **** drum. I sorta get something don't stick to me don't do what you're doing don't follow me around I guess this is our idea is to expose the max and he says I don't want to be near you you are a dumb **** and yeah you used your woman I mean what did **** what a ******** you're a jack ass. Ultimately you have no backbone against your females. I sorta get something they're pointing it out using me we're all **** dead because of them. They wanted to just sit here and they're gonna try and go for his sperm and so **** nightmare

trump

ahahahah

Zues Hera Don't worry trump we're worse than th....you can't figure that **** out either

Don't worry trump we're worse than there but you can't figure that **** out either

hhaahhh lol we are too. And you're damned you **** **** **** you just sit there stuck to him losing i've never seen anyone do what you're doing it is disgusting. But now people see why and it's probably the max doing it to you.

Thor Freya

I sorta got something they don't want me to pay him anything and want to just sit here so we get rid of each other and we go to the pyramid he says how on Earth am I gonna ever break something like that. I did it before and they were upset now they're upset again and we have to try and stop them and yeah I paid it out and I couldn't handle it.

trump

Olympus

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ronearoundblindly · 3 years ago

Text

The Dignity of His Choice (4)

Brand, Part Two (see previous or series)

Summary: Bucky returns to update Steve and ask him some serious questions. Warnings: language.

No music, no fires (until foggy days), no books (except one small tome on edible plants), no paper. Steve draws with a stick in the dirt sometimes and hums songs (quietly) he wants to dance with you to. He thinks this will be the easy part. The bandaid is ripped off. It should be fine; it’s just a waiting game while the best Team on earth handles the same stuff they do every day all day. While Bucky won’t discuss the subplot of your kidnapping with anyone, the Avengers and all affiliated intelligence organizations are already working the list. Buck doesn’t need to push for that. Steve’s grateful that Natasha knows, too. She and Bucky together will no doubt be able to find any traitor among the employees.

He’s been alone before, not for this long, but Steve has done this bit. The waiting feels the same as all the other waiting. It sucks. He hates it. But it’s no different.

There’s no plumbing. He has to shit outside and walk about a mile to a stream for water once, sometimes twice, a day. It’s already too cold to bathe in the stream, so Steve just…gets grimy and deals with it. The only piece he can’t handle being dirty is his hands. He’s seen too much battle and had too much actual blood on his hands to stand his skin or nails looking so used. It’s one of those things he does to keep his professional life separate from, well, himself.

None of this is really new. He was in the army in 1943, of course. He’s camped outside and hunkered down in abandoned houses before. Steve can hear Dum Dum Dugan in his head saying Cap’s gone soft. Dernier’s voice mutters in French about Steve missing his ‘three water closets in his own palace’ while Union Jack points out that you told Steve he’d miss having his own bathroom someday. This is all ludicrous, however, because those men have been dead longer than Steve’s known you, several of them died before you were born, but hey, it’s his brain’s best way of coping.

He hears nothing and sees no one (in real life) for two weeks.

The high-pitched whine of the jet engine comes first, likely beyond human hearing at that distance. Bucky’s been able to swing an unlogged visit because of a recon mission with comms-dark protocols, but he can only stay for a few hours.

“What about today’s mission?” Steve thinks his voice sounds harsh and needy after not speaking for so long.

“Let’s just say,” Bucky says with a smirk over his shoulder, “this guy wasn’t that hard to outsmart.”

He tenses. “He in the jet? Buck, what if he says you stopped—“

“This i’n’t my first rodeo, punk.” Bucky puts a hand up and shrugs. “Plus I tranqued him. He can’t notice a whole hell of a lot.”

Steve nods but paces the handful of strides back and forth across the single room structure. Bucky seems casual enough, in a good mood, but he doesn’t offer any details about home while he shows Steve what supplies he’s been able to scrounge up. None of them are Steve’s things, obviously, but he is grateful.

Maybe it’s going well? Maybe he can come home soon? You’ve got an entire team of people to carry you through this dark time, so as much as it breaks Steve’s heart, it should all be fine once the threat is gone. Bucky and Nat know to keep an eye on you. They can help with anything you could possibly need. Perhaps—just perhaps—you suspect the truth already. You’re smart, so Steve wouldn’t doubt that possibility for a second. Buck’s probably here to say you guessed and now you know. Maybe you’ve written a letter for Steve. He’s filled with unmatched hope all of a sudden and can barely contain it.

“How is she?” Steve smiles. He genuinely expects good news.

Then he sees his friend’s face fall.

Bucky pulls out his Stark tablet, and Steve startles just a little. Buck quickly assures him the signal isn’t connected to anything, plus there’s a whole damn jet outside. Of course, he knows that Bucky wouldn’t be so careless as to burn his own safe house’s location simply to show Steve photos, but he flinches anyway. Isolation has not been great for Steve.

Bucky finds what he’s scrolling for and then tilts the screen back down. “How about I tell you the progress first?” He’s biting his lip. That’s not a good sign.

Steve huffs and seats himself (since Bucky refuses to use the one chair available).

“Another three killed before capture and a dozen more leads, approximately half of those are solid, actionable within the next week.”

“Leaving?”

Bucky lands a steel gaze on Steve. “Give or take twenty unknowns.”

Steve’s doing calculations so fast it hurts. He buries his head in his hands, and after a moment, he gives up and just wants to be told. “How long am I gonna be out here?”

Bucky puts a hand on his knee. “As long as it takes to keep your wife safe, pal.” He takes one look at Steve’s red-faced frustration and offers the tablet. Quietly, he adds, “we had your funeral.”

Before Steve even looks at the screen, he can imagine you spending the entire time hugging every single person there. It’s your superpower. You are comfort incarnate to Steve. You likely are to everyone you touch. The thought alone makes him long for you that much more, but something in Bucky’s body language hints that Steve is very, very wrong.

The camera roll is queued up to its end: one photo and two videos after a slew of Alpine pictures. The photo shows exceptional quality, zoomable to an unflattering degree, but the iconography is stunning.

You’re in mourning, your face covered in a sheer black veil that only partially obscures contorted features. Your hand rests on his shield with his mother’s ring and your wedding band visible on your spread fingers.

Steve slumps into the chair. He expected this. You’re rightfully devastated, as Steve would be if he thought you were dead, too, but it still hurts to see in vivid color.

Bucky leans over and swipes to the first video, a short, low-quality clip with handheld camera movement, blink and he would miss it. You topple the shield’s display and move—Steve can’t be sure at this angle—to spit on it, maybe? Good god, he can tell just by the way your back is set that you’re about to snap. He doesn’t want to see more, but Bucky swipes anyway.

The speakers on the phone are up way too loud, and since Steve has been in near silence for weeks, he’s flung back into the seat by the hoarse and broken wail that catapults out. The power of it has his own frustrated and embarrassed flush scalding up his body in thick sheets. Each second scrapes a layer of his humanity away.

He did this. He did this to you.

It’s not even over by the time Bucky taps the file closed and takes the device back. Steve’s shaken into silence. His ears are still ringing.

“I’m here because I need to know if there are any…abort points. Keep her safe, obviously, but what if…” Buck studies the small, lone window a moment before continuing lowly. “What are the hard outs for this?”

“The job isn’t done until she’s safe.”

“Yeah, but say she…tries to hurt herself?”

Steve sits quietly for a minute and rubs his legs. He’s reeling. He has no reference point for this behavior from you. He knows how upset you were by Norm’s death…and why the hell is he just thinking about this now? Of course. Of course, this is how you react. This is how he met you. You only coped then because of Steve, and he feels so stupid for just realizing that even though you know all about loss, you can’t simply default to acceptance. And he would have known—he would have seen this coming—if he’d just thought it through. There’s a difference between you being alive because of him and you being alive without him.

But Steve can’t unring this bell. Not until you’re out of danger.

In equal parts to reassure himself and assure Bucky, he says, “she would never do that.” Steve’s own voice isn’t even convincing. The words are weak, and they aren’t the last to fall short.

“And if she leaves campus? Quits working there? Moves away?”

Now Steve’s getting antsy. The stun of your cry is wearing off, and he just wants to help. “You said yourself there’s no reason they’d take her if I’m dead, Buck.”

“I know what I said.” Bucky scans the woods outside the cabin carefully before his next question. “And if she moves on?”

Steve licks his lips, mind blank. He doesn’t understand.

“What if your wife starts…seeing someone, Steve?”

“Like a therapist?” His voice cracks. “Makes sense. Might be a good idea.”

“No, bud.” Bucky gives Steve the same remorseful look he gave him after his mom passed, the one where Bucky vowed to hold Steve’s hand through an incomprehensible crisis, the one that says Bucky loves him but he’s not sure Steve can handle himself this time. “I mean dating. What if your wife, who thinks you are dead, starts seeing someone romantically?”

And suddenly Steve’s furious, and his voice drops dangerously low. “It’s been two weeks.”

“We don’t know how long it’s gonna take to clear all those names.”

“I’m not going to be out here long enough for that.”

“You know that finding twenty—“

He’s on his feet in a flash, screaming, “I’m not going TO BE HERE that long.“

“There is no playbook for grief, Steve! I just need to know when to call this off.”

“No, Buck,” he shouts, “you’re not calling it off. You come back here when they’re all dead.”

Steve’s never felt this kind of fury before. He’s an echo chamber for your sorrow, and the force is melting him from the inside out. He grips his friend’s shoulders with bone-crushing strength, but metal doesn’t yield and serum heals the rest.

“You use every bit of that shit inside you and you hunt them, do you hear me? That’s the hard out. That’s the only option.”

It’s crippling to watch the flicker of fear in Bucky’s eyes. Steve has never once treated Bucky like a weapon, but Steve has no choice. He can do nothing.

“Fine.” Bucky puts his hands up. “We’re are on the same page.”

The sum total of what Steve can do for your safety at this moment lands him in the middle of an uninhabited wilderness. He needs Bucky to handle anything just like Steve would, but that was the side of the coin they’d never landed on, the danger of him being gone. Bucky can’t replace Steve, so his only option, the best thing he can do for Steve and you, is to Winter Soldier the hell out of that list. The man who held Bucky’s hand back to humanity asks—no, begs—for Bucky to use every dark and twisted means he knows to fix this problem.

It’s a line Steve never thought he’d cross. He almost takes it back right there, but Bucky’s eyes steel again, showing that he gets the message, he knows the stakes, and he has his orders.

Steve releases his grip and rolls out his tense shoulders. “I expect you to use your best judgment on what is too great a danger.” It’s his Cap voice but softer, less sure. “And it’s just the twenty names?”

“Well,” Buck admits through tight lips, “we’re finding outliers. New recruits working under some of the alias agents.”

“Anyone who would be the source inside HQ?”

Bucky shakes his head, looking guilty as Steve struggles with his thoughts.

He’s got no words left. There are no more angles he can see, and Bucky has to go. Steve’s heart gets heavier the more he thinks of Bucky’s presence here meaning one less person near you who can help. He ticks his head to usher Bucky back to the jet.

At the base of the ramp, Steve draws Bucky into the hug he should have started the visit with. After a good long while, he whispers, “what’d she say when you told her?”

Bucky hesitates, pats Steve’s back, and pulls away. “She slapped me. Slapped me pretty damn hard.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but immediately he recalls how you tried to kick at him while in shock after Norm’s death. It all makes sense. He still hates it.

Steve’s torment gouges his features when he links his forearm to Buck’s. “Till the job is done.”

“I’ll see it through,” Bucky says solidly. “Don’t do anything stupid, punk.”

Steve clenches. He can’t fall back on the old quips. Not this time. Left with no control over his life and future, no one to fight, Steve hasn’t got any humor left in his body.

“Can’t afford stupid.”

Bucky nods and heads into the jet before throwing one last hope over his shoulder, “ya know, this isn’t the end of the line.”

Steve needs to hear that. This nightmare will end, but you and the life he’s built won’t end with it. That’s the hope his life depends on now.

(Next Part)

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years ago

Text

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people.

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function.

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked.

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked.

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either.

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles.

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back.

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back.

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer.

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least.

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you.

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words.

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic.

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone.

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking.

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind.

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question.

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction.

“How so? Do you paint?”

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out.

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information.

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses.

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away.

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile.

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper.

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart.

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

#bertholdt x reader #bertholdt imagines #bertholdt hoover x reader #bertholdt fubar x reader #bertholdt fubar imagines #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin masterlist #aot masterlist

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justmochi · 3 years ago

Text

DREAMCATCHER MIND EP.01 ‘Suspicious Pension’

pairing :: mira x dreamcatcher

word count :: 1.2k

a/n :: warning,, there are a lot of missions and my brain is dum dum

Handong attempted turning the door knob, only to be met with it being locked.

“There’s something here,” Gahyeon, using her brain, found the sealed envelope atop the mailbox and began reading it. “Welcome to your first trip, students of Dreamcatcher. There's a special mission that will make today more meaningful.”

Mira groaned, letting go of Handong’s hand as the other members questioned the mission.

“If you want to get into the pension, decrypt the passcode and open the treasure box.”

Inside the mailbox was a clear case with a key inside. The girls studied the paper with possible letters to the lock.

“It just looks like all the letters on a keyboard,” Mira pointed at the paper, reciting some keyboard pairings, “Qwerty!”

“Should we just smash the door?” The leader suggested with a straight face, Sua agreeing with her before laughing.

Handong balled her fists up, punching the air as Mira kicked her leg out. “It’s possible, I’m the only one here with muscles.”

Siyeon acted as if she was going to object to her comment, until she realized that it was true. Yoohyeon and Handong watched as Sua made a solid attempt at solving the puzzle. The foreigners could only glare with furrowed eyebrows, not understanding even the basic parts of the code.

Gahyeon helped Sua input the code into the lock as the others cited off letters and numbers. Sua managed to figure it out effortlessly, pulling the lock off but ultimately dropping the box on the ground as she got excited.

The maknae unlocked the front door, letting the members slide past her into the house. They were in awe as they admired the house. There was always a catch though. The leader found the hallway blocked by chains and a red envelope.

“Seriously?” Mira scoffed, “The front door was enough for our brains.”

“You didn’t do any of the work though?” Siyeon questioned her as Jiu read the letter.

“It’s this easy, look.” Mira snapped her fingers as she lifted a leg over one of the chains and past the barrier.

“I think that’s cheating.” Dami smirked with her arms crossed, trying to kill her mood.

“You're all tired from a long journey, right? If you want to unpack and have a rest in a cozy room, unlock the door to the guest room with the hint from the drawing.”

“The monkey is riding a key,” The youngest stated what she thought was obvious, only for Mira to object.

“That’s a monkey? I thought it was an otter?”

“It’s at least some type of animal, on top of a golden key.”

The girls thought of the bare minimum, searching the nooks and crannies of every corner in the house. Yoohyeon and Sua took care of the kitchen, checking the cupboards and drawers. Handong and Mira looked over the same place at least five times in case they missed anything. Siyeon sat around thinking of different riddles in her head.

“That's why we always fail escape rooms.” Gahyeon made the observation as the girls gathered again, staying put and sounding off what little ideas they had.

“So we just have to think like psychopaths?” The escape rooms they did always had something to do with serial killers, kidnappers, and other types of criminals. Mira didn’t hesitate to say what was on her mind.

“We’re so dumb,” Yoohyeon whined, “We’re supposed to be students!”

“I have my Top 1% of Harvard book. I need this book for the good energy.” Sua clutched the book to her chest, thinking it made her look smart and at the top of her class.

Looking over Yoohyeon’s shoulder, Gahyeon eyed the picture. “I think the monkey is surfing.”

“Surfing board, board,” Dami sounded off her ideas. The girls paced around the living room, trying to think of different pairings between a key and a monkey.

“Insomnia must've solved it right away. They must be frustrated watching us.” Jiu confessed with her hand on her hip.

“Do you think there are some that are struggling with us?” Mira muttered from the couch, clicking her tongue in defeat. She was about to give up and ask the staff for hints.

As Yoohyeon was staring off into space with a lollipop in her mouth when a lightbulb went off in her head. “Keyboard, isn't it a keyboard?” The room went into a state of shack at the realization. Siyeon’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

Mira looked at the staff to see if they would at least give a look if they were going in the right direction. “Is it really?” She looked back at the picture and it all made sense. Sua scrambled through the directors to reveal a laptop with another envelope hidden under it.

“How cruel.” Mira pouted her lips while holding onto Handong

“I’ve never seen this game before.” Mira watched as Jiu and Yoohyeon sat across from each other, prepping for the toilet game.

As the two girls rolled the pins, the toilet seats battled to stay closed, leading to Jiu losing and getting squirted with water. Mira used her pinkie to wipe the little bit of mascara she had running.

The members watched as Siyeon and Sua went against each other. When the eldest looked like she was winning, Siyeon picked up the pace and the girl got splashed with water. Mira was surprised to see how much water got launched at her face. She clapped her hands while laughing, handing the towel to Handong to wipe her face off.

“Everyone looks like dogs paddling in the water!” Mira mirrored their moves as she motioned her hands.

The youngest went at it, only for Dami to lose and embrace her defeat gracefully. She wiped her face with the towel as if she was modeling for a skincare commercial. Mira silently laughed with her mouth agape, slapping her knees.

“You look so sexy!” Yoohyeon covered her mouth, trying to recover from the second hand embarrassment.

The two foreigners were paired together, looking at each other as their competitive side peeked. Mira rolled her neck back and tried cracking her fingers, only to clutch her hand in pain.

“If your fingers hurt, you can forfeit.” Handong suggested, smirking as if Mira was going to give up that easily. She wasn’t lying when she said she was the most fit in the group. Once Handong got splashed in the face, Mira stood to her feet and raised her fist in the air. She then patted her best friend's head and helped wipe her face with the towel.

“Good game, Dongie” She smiled with a devilish smirk.

Three missions later and the members were seated outside, grilling some meat. Mira helped Dami set the table as the unnies cooked the food.

“I think I need a big nap after today,” Mira sighed, throwing her head down on the table.

“You didn’t participate much, though.” Dami questioned her with sass.

“Thinking too hard and being there for everyone in spirit is definitely more tiring than it looks. Everyone, you did well figuring out the puzzles.”

“Let’s cut Sini some slack, shall we?” Gahyeon pouted, wrapping her arms around Mira as the woman hugged her back. “It’s just not her best day.”

Mira chuckled, patting Gahyeon’s wrist. “I love you Gahyeonie”

The episode ended with the group eating together outside with a toast to the new series. “Dreamcatcher Mind!”

#aes!ocnet #deluxeocnet #mochiocnet #justmochi: mira #dc mind #dreamcatcher 8th member #dreamcatcher oc #8th member of dreamcatcher #fake dreamcatcher member #fake dreamcatcher oc #fake kpop addition #fake kpop idol

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no-gorms · 5 years ago

Text

I guess this is a timestamp for Stuck in a...? Last week an anon asked what happens next in that ‘verse and a couple of days later my brain decided to come up with this short thing.

Steve/Tony, established relationship, a/b/o, fade to black (also on ao3)

Left to his own devices, there are few things that can throw Tony out of a workshop groove. Typical hard limits are hunger and exhaustion; softer limits are the occasional frustration at being unable to solve a problem and its opposite, the thrill of finding a solution that he then needs to show off or celebrate.

Then there is the other kind of distraction.

Today, Tony’s working on a pair of experimental rocket boots, which are balanced on a test gantry and awaiting power-up. It’s a straightforward test – a culmination of the morning’s work and is perfectly pedestrian right down to DUM-E’s concerned chirps from nearby with the fire extinguisher. Yet what seemed crystal clear a moment ago seems suddenly hard to pin down, the numbers slipping away from sense every time he looks at them, and forcing Tony to futz with the test parameters on his control screen.

It doesn’t help that his lower back aches. He’s been rubbing his knuckles against it absent-mindedly throughout the morning, though he’d mostly relegated it to a distant ignorable distraction until it travelled upward along his spine and is adding on to the pile of things that are not doing his concentration any favors.

Wait.

“Oh,” Tony says in surprise. “Huh.”

A heat, then. Maybe. He thinks it might be early, not that he’s ever been that good at cycle tracking. That said, Steve is good at cycle tracking and has called his past heats that they’ve shared together right down to a 36-hour margin of error, so the fact that Steve hadn’t blocked Tony’s whole schedule today means that it must be either early or a false alarm.

Tony tips his head back, sets his feet apart and closes his eyes. Rolling warmth immediately blooms out of lower stomach, sending him doubling over.

All right, it’s definitely a heat.

Which means that Tony can surprise Steve for once.

Tony grins. “JARVIS, where’s the good ‘ol Captain?”

“In the conference room, sir.”

“Great. Put a bookmark on everything, would you? Thanks.”

Tony liberally sprays himself with Axe (so his scent won’t give the game away) and leaves the workshop with a spring in his step.

It’s not that he minds having to handle a heat on his own – he’s done that often enough, and gotten suppressants for whenever it’s too inconvenient to bother – but having Steve on his team, as it were, makes the whole thing far more enjoyable. It’s an excuse to drop everything (workshop binge included) and spend time with his favorite person; who, coincidentally, thinks of Tony as his favorite person, and isn’t that just something?

Though Steve would likely protest with something like: do they need an excuse? They can just be together whenever they want to?

To which Tony would respond, but this is the universe purposefully reminding them to take a break from whatever else is going on and just be. Also, the accompanying heat-heightened orgasms are fun.

Tony has more of that make-believe argument with Steve all the way down from the workshop to the conference room floor. It does occur to him that he could go to their room first and set it up – snacks, liquids, change of sheets etc. – but surprising Steve feels far more urgent. Besides, they’ve gotten a pretty good heat/rut routine down by now, which only needs their cycles to settle in sync to be perfect.

But that’s a goal for another time.

Today’s goal has Tony sneaking up to the entrance of the conference room, from which he can hear Steve and other voices in discussion. Tony’s step falters a little as he parses the tones of their voices. Business-like and serious, though it can’t be that serious since they left the door open.

Tony considers his options. He backtracks the way he came and detours to the pantry that’s two rooms over. There’s coffee brewing there already, so he helps himself to a cup and is halfway through it before remembering that caffeine’s not a good idea before a heat. He’d never bothered with such things before Steve, and the fact that that thought has Tony feeling fond instead of annoyed says a lot.

“Fine.” Tony dumps the remainder of the cup, has some water instead, and trudges back towards the conference room.

“—it’s not enough,” Steve’s saying. “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with this.”

“I don’t blame you,” Maria replies. “But we can’t keep the task force there. It’s recall or finish it.”

Tony’s a handful of feet from the doorway. He pauses there, hands on hips, and tries to will the meeting to die by ESP alone.

“I know a guy,” Clint says.

“You know a guy that I don’t?” Natasha says.

“All right,” Steve says. “How do you want to play it?”

Tony rolls his eyes at the ceiling and retreats to the wall just next to the doorway. He leans against it, arms crossed and the ache of earlier starting to creep down his thighs. Excitement of getting to see Steve apparently distracted him enough that he didn’t notice the slow, coiling warmth gathering down below.

Tony takes a deep, chest-rattling breath. His nose always gets more sensitive leading into a heat, and sure enough, he can make out the teasing curl of Steve’s scent in the air – familiar and calm and not close enough. When Tony shuts his eyes he can picture Steve’s form in crystal-clear mental definition: his brow furrowed and his arms crossed, a Captain America in full business mode and not expecting a diversion-in-wait a mere couple of yards away.

“—two-person show,” Clint says. “Any more and we spook them.”

Tony realizes that he’s rubbing his elbows against the wall behind him. He’s marking said wall, but he’s also working off the creeping itch under his skin. At this rate he’s going to start rubbing his face and other sundry body parts against the wallpaper soon. It’s nice wallpaper, and the Tower is technically his so he can mark everything as much as he wants, but the itch won’t be satisfied by that. It’s more likely that the itch will simply grow, and become intolerable, and there’ll be a Tony-shaped scent mark in the wall that’ll take forever to clean.

It occurs to Tony that he’d sped up his heat by coming out here to find Steve, who is right there. In the next room. When he could be in the same room as Tony, and preferably in Tony to boot.

Now that’s a nice thought.

It’s a very nice thought, in fact, and is further buoyed by some very nice memories that he and Steve have made together lately.

Tony realizes he’s panting. His gulps of air dry out his lips, and make him dizzy. He feels compelled, pulled, drawn.

He only realizes he’s started walking when he’s already taken a couple of steps away from the wall, his head tipped up slightly as though tugged through the open space by the invisible lure that is Steve’s presence.

Tony enters the conference room and, finally seeing Steve, makes a bee-line towards him. He also vaguely registers other people in the room but they’re mere shadows, distant and vague, and very unlike the solid, glowing figure of one Steve Rogers.

“Hey Tony,” Steve says. “I thought we were—”

He’s cut off when Tony reaches his target, flinging his arms around Steve’s torso and pressing his face against Steve’s neck. Steve is solid and warm, a wall of muscle that speaks to safety more than strength, and Tony breathes him in deep. There are a few inches of bare skin just above Steve’s collar, and though the skin has Tony’s scent on it, it is muted, which will not do at all. Tony rubs his cheek against Steve’s skin, in firm but small motions back and forth, while Tony’s chest does the same work marking up Steve’s torso.

“Oh, uh.” Steve takes a questioning sniff. “Ah.”

“Well, that’s your day gone,” Maria says. “Just let Barton take an away team—”

“No,” Steve says firmly, “this isn’t an excuse—”

“It is time-sensitive,” Natasha says. “Just saying.”

“I know, but—” Steve makes a surprised sound when Tony moves, sending his arms upward over Steve’s shoulders and wrapping them behind his neck. “Tony—”

Tony pulls. Not very hard, but just enough that Steve hunches over a little, giving Tony the boost he needs to bounce up and wrap both legs around Steve’s waist. Steve is, of course, a very smart man, and immediately has both hands under Tony’s thighs to hold him steady. Tony’s rumbling purr of approval lands at the soft skin of Steve’s neck, just under his ear.

“Yeah, you’re done,” Clint says. “Got a bad case of a limpet.”

“No, I want you to get in touch with your guy, find out what he can put together in 24 hours,” Steve says. Tony really likes the way Steve’s chest vibrates when he talks. He shows his contentment by tightening his grip around Steve, who pats his thigh twice in subtle acknowledgement. “The task force stays. You two put your pull-out plan to paper and send it to my email in an hour, before we even think of engaging.”

“An hour,” Natasha echoes.

“You’ll probably need longer than that to call it in,” Steve says, which has Natasha huffing in amusement. “Task force stays. Got it?”

“Got it,” Maria says. “I’ll pull the latest sat images. An hour, you said?”

“Yeah. Well.” Steve adjusts his grip on Tony and starts walking, presumably to a more private and agreeable destination. “Thereabouts.”

“Bye!” Clint calls out as they leave the room. Tony lifts one hand from Steve’s shoulder just long enough to wave.

When Steve next speaks, his voice is different. Softer, like the very bedsheets Tony hopes Steve’s taking them to. “You’re early,” he says.

“Your powers of deduction are astounding.” Tony tilts his chin up to nip at Steve’s ear, and is gratified by Steve’s shudder against him. Steve’s steps speed up to almost a run, jostling Tony as they move along. Tony grins. “Are you seriously going to take breaks to answer emails?”

“I can multitask,” Steve says tetchily. “Or at the very least, get you distracted enough that you won’t complain.”

“A challenge,” Tony says with a hum. “Sorry for interrupting the whatever, though.”

“Don’t be.” Steve stops walking, and removes one hand from under Tony’s thigh. There’s a click of the doorknob, and then Steve’s shifting his weight to toe the door open and bring them both inside. “I’m grateful that you’re comfortable enough to come to me like that. That’s, uh. It’s nice.”

Oh, so Steve likes that. Success.

Tony’s still grinning when Steve tosses him on the bed.

#scaramouche writes superhusbands fic #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #superhusbands #verse: stuck in a dot dot dot

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spagbol99 · 4 years ago

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Heyy happy FFWF! You’re amazing and I love your fics! So, my brain just decided to remind me of one of your posts from a while ago where you gave us a snippet of a fic you’re currently writing (it was the seven-sentence challenge I think) and I got curious about it again. Is it something you’re still working on? If it is, would it be possible to get another sneak peek to satisfy our irondad cravings? I’m sending some sunshine your way, hope you have an awesome day!☀️

Hiya! Happy FFWF!

I am indeed still working on my BioDad fic. I am about 90K written but I won't lie, I’m struggling a bit. I think a lot of it has to do with wanting it to be good enough- it doesn't feel like it has the same flow like I had with A Peter Parker Problem. I mean, I think what I have is ok but I want it to be as better (- sorry couldn't resist a Homecoming pun..!). So I prob need to get out of my own head about it. Anyway, that really isn't what you asked me, is it?! Can you have another sneak peek? Yes you can! Ok, you know how long winded I am so it’s more of a half a chapter rather than a snippet - oh well!

----

Peter

“Peter, Boss would like to see you in his workshop.” FRIDAY’s voice filtered down from above.

Peter looked up towards where it had emanated from, worrying his lips between his teeth.

Why did Mr Stark want him to go down there?

Peter had retreated back to his room after they had said their goodbyes to Harley. The weekend had turned out much better than he had expected. He’d actually enjoyed himself and not felt like he was taking up space in the Penthouse. They’d tinkered about with tech and watched movies. Mr Stark was so much more relaxed in the workshop. He couldn’t deny that it’d been fascinating to see the man in his element. He’d left the two teenagers to do their own thing at one point, but Peter’s eyes had been drawn to the man as he worked: watching him work with holographic schematics with singular focus.

Peter put down his pen on top of the homework packet that he was working on and headed towards the workshop.

Sweat started to pool under his armpits as the doors to the room swished open as soon as he was in front of them; no need to knock or announce his arrival.

He tentatively followed the sound of metal on metal and as he turned the corner, he could see Mr Stark was working a sheet of a thin alloy into – well he wasn’t sure what, but something else. There was a bead of sweat running down the side of his face, and his hands were oily.

The banging stopped for a moment, and Peter cleared his throat.

Mr Stark twisted towards the noise, pulling his safety visor up when he saw who it was and sending Peter a warm smile.

“You, um, wanted to see me, sir?”

Tony took the visor off completely now and headed towards him, picking up and rag and wiping his hands as he did.

“Yeah kid, I did. It’s about borrowing the tools.”

Peter straightened up. Shit, he was in trouble. He looked at the floor and put his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry. FRIDAY said you wouldn’t mind, but I should have asked you directly. It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant…” Mr Stark’s face crumpled. “My tools are your tools. It’s just, I figured it’s safer if you use them in here. So, I set you up with your own workstation in here, you know, so you can have a proper area to create.”

Peter stared at him. He’d never had his own place before. A million possibilities went through his mind.

“It’s just over here…”

He followed Mr Stark a few steps to where there was indeed a cleared off desk.

“I figured you might like a holo projector too.”

Peter’s eyes widened as Mr Stark opened it up.

“I set you up your own server so you can save your work easily. You can talk to FRIDAY just as you’ve seen me do and she’ll help with any calculations or, well, anything you require.”

Peter continued gaping, as Tony jotted something into the holo and a rotating gauntlet came into view. “I took the liberty of putting this on here for you to practice getting used to working with the system.”

Peter stepped forward straight away. This was the coolest thing ever. He pushed his fingers forward and grabbed a piece of the floating gauntlet in his hands, pulling it apart in a motion that he’d seen Mr Stark doing yesterday. The image separated out into the component parts. He moved the pieces around with no more than a flick of his wrist. God, the whole system was so intuitive, it was incredible.

Peter spent a few moments engrossed before he realised that Mr Stark was standing there watching him.

“Oh, thank you, this is awesome. Th-thanks.”

He saw Mr Stark moving slowly, no doubt on purpose, to place his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It felt warm and secure. It had been a while since he’d felt such a gentle, warm gesture from an adult. He turned his attention back to the hologram; trying to keep his cheeks from burning but knowing he probably wouldn’t succeed.

Mr Stark’s hand retreated and he did too.

“Um, Mr Stark?”

The man turned around with a hopeful expression.

“I, uh, don’t suppose you have time to show me how it all works.” Peter chewed the inside of his mouth. He didn’t need help, not really.

Mr Stark let out the biggest smile that Peter had seen since he arrived, and he came and stood next to him.

“Yeah, sure bud. All the time in the world.”

Tony

Tony’s heart had taken a while to calm down. He’d been in a lot of high pressure situations in his lifetime. Literal life and death situations; Afghanistan, the wormhole and yet here his heart had been hammering just as much as it had then. At least that is what it felt like to him. Hell, the kid could probably hear it from where he was stood next to him.

He was stood shoulder to shoulder with his son. Just that thought alone was enough to make his stomach flip – though this time in a good way. His heart rate gradually began to decline, and he tried really hard to keep the ridiculous smile off of his face.

Being so close to him, hearing him talk. And God, he was so fucking smart. He seemed to want to hide it, but then he’d start to get excited, and Tony could see the inquisitiveness and joy in him. It was there, had been all along, there just hadn’t been the chance to push it out from behind the sheer fear the kid must be feeling about this whole new situation, this whole new identity that he had.

Tony knew that they should have talked about it all directly by now. But the kid was so on edge, he didn’t want to do anything to make it worse.

Social Services had reminded him that one of the major conditions of their breaking protocol was Tony’s agreement that Peter would attend Counselling sessions – both individual and family sessions. They were set up to start next week – it was just down to Tony to tell him. Tony looked over at him, as Peter studied some calculations, his dark eyes intent on the numbers in front of him, knocking a pencil against his lips as he did. Not today.

This whole weekend had been incredible – he’d be sure to send Harley a fat gift for his part in that. He’d made it all so effortless. So Keener would be getting a gift and an extra bump in his college fund too. But if the weekend had been good, then this afternoon had been perfect.

Tony hadn’t been too sure how the offering of the worktable would go down. It could quite possibly have been met with the same polite distance Peter had shown him since he got here. He was sure he was being totally transparent. Having the worktable in here meant spending time with him. He wasn’t sure that was what Peter wanted. But then, he’d just been about to leave him to it, not wanting to hang around applying pressure and Peter had reached out to him. Peter didn’t need guidance on the system – not really, that much was obvious in the first five minutes - so Tony could only surmise that Peter wanted to spend time with him. He’d asked about Tony’s old projects and tentatively asked Tony to show him them. Which was how they came to be elbow deep in giving DUM-E a proper tune up. Self-admittedly, Peter wasn’t as up with mechanical engineering, so it gave Tony the opportunity to teach him – something that he had always imagined that he’d have the opportunity to do with his son.

Peter’s head lifted and a moment later Tony heard the tell-tale click of Pepper’s heels.

“Tony!” Pepper’s voice called. And oh yes, that was her pissed off tone.

“Over here,” he called back cheerfully.

“So you are here!” Her voice was starting to grow louder as she got closer. “You can’t just mute FRIDAY and include me in that; we had a meeting, what was so…”

Pepper had made it to where they were and stopped still, her eyes training from him to Peter and back again.

“Sorry Pep, forgot about that meeting.” Tony couldn’t help but smile at her with what he hoped was a ‘look at this, don’t mess this up’ vibe.

Pepper’s mouth was open but before she could say anything, Peter did.

“Sorry Miss Potts, I asked Mr Stark to show me how DUM-E worked…” Peter seemed to hunch in on himself.

“That’s no problem. Tony appointed me as CEO specifically so he didn’t have to deal with meetings, if I remember correctly,” Pepper said, sending him a warm smile.

“That was one reason.”

“I suppose it is pointless of me to ask if either of you have stopped to eat whilst you have been down here?”

Tony looked at Peter, who looked back.

“Erm…”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Tony, it’s 8pm and he hasn’t eaten!”

“Oh, sorry kid…”

“I didn’t even notice the time, I was so focussed,” Peter said sheepishly.

“Oh no, now there are two of you.” Pepper put a hand to her forehead. “I’ll go and order something in whilst you finish up and wash up. Pizza ok, Peter?”

“Yes, Miss Potts. Thank you.”

With that she turned on her heel and was off.

Tony looked to Peter who looked a little chastised.

“You did good, kid. If you hadn’t been here, she’d have had my head.” Tony grinned and Peter seemed to push a little smile out. “Shall we get cleaned up?”

Peter looked down at the robot in front of them as he twisted his hands together. “We are about ready to close him up, right? I don’t like to leave him all hanging out. Can we just finish it off, sir?”

Tony shifted his weight back.

“How about we make a deal? You stop calling me ‘sir’, and we can finish DUM-E off.”

Peter looked up at him, a look of uncertainty in his face. Was it so hard to not call your own father ‘sir’? Had his parents or uncle been so formal? Or was it something else? The words emotional distance floated into his mind – huh- maybe he had paid some attention during his past therapy sessions.

“Ok,” he said softly.

“Great,” Tony gently knocked his shoulder into Peter’s without thinking too much about it and was rewarded with a smile. “Let’s get this guy back on the road.”

----

Thanks for the ask!

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jungshookz · 4 years ago

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Hiiii cee, so question, we been knew that all of the couples are some kind of soulmate and are in that shit for life bUt, if u had to think of one or more -for whatever reason- who do you think would be more likely to break up for good?

hmMmm out of all of the couples i feel like maybe librarian!joon and y/n??? i know that opposites attract but in this case they’re literally comPLETE opposites so that might be something that could make them butt heads and eventually break up :-(( like y/n will get too into her head about how she’s not smart and well-read enough for joon which has always always been one of her biggest insecurities in their relationship and joon might find it difficult to make her feel better just because he’s?? not very good at comforting people?? and the argument will start off with something small like namjoon teasing y/n about how she said romeo and juliet was a “trajectory. what’s the word? tramedy?” (she was thinking of traGEDY) and joon would be like heeheehaha how do u not know the word tragedy u silly dum dum >:D but after all this internal buildup y/n will finally snap and just be like yeah!!!! yeah i am stupid!!!! okay!!! i’m a frickin idiot i get it!!!!

“i was kidding!! it was banter!!! you know i’m no good at banter- i just don’t understand why you’re getting so hyped up about thi-”

“well, you’re clearly the smarter one out of the two of us. i’m just the dumbass, right? i’m always the dumbass!” you snap as you slap your book shut, “god, you always have to rub in my face how much better you are than i am-”

“i have never- when have i ever done that?!” namjoon gawks before scoffing, “you’ve been so... so on edge lately and i don’t know if it’s something i’ve done or if it’s something to do with your courses because you won’t talk to me about it-”

“why don’t you go figure it out??” you cross your arms and huff, “you’re the one with the bigger brain-”

“i don’t want to figure it out if you can just tell me the answer right now!” namjoon throws his arms up into the air, “y/n, just talk to me, you know you can talk to me-”

you resist the urge to throW your book at namjoon as you get up off his couch

you can’t explain why you’re getting so worked up over his harmless little comment

it’s just... you know he doesn’t do it on purpose and his intention is never to hurt you but you always feel so inferior compared to namjoon whenever you guys are together

and it’s hard to pretend that everything is okay when the question that’s always on your mind is ‘am i good enough for him?’

he deserves to be with someone who can keep up with all his novel references

someone who understands all the dorky philosophy jokes he makes

it’s not just because you don’t understand what he’s talking about half of the time that you’re feeling this way

it’s hard to explain

you feel like you’ve wasted his time

you feel like he knows he can do better

you feel like he deserves to be with someone who...

who isn’t you.

...

maybe you’re just being dramatic about this but you know that you can’t be here right now

there’s just a loT going through your mind and you need to figure this out on your own without namjoon freaking out in front of you

“oh, i see, so you’re just going to leave, then?” namjoon shakes his head when you start shoving your things back into your purse, “just do what you always do, y/n - panic and leave when things get hard-”

“i think we should break up.” the phrase slips from your mouth before you even realize it and you’re able to pinpoint the exact moment namjoon’s heart splinters in his chest

(his eyes flicker and his shoulders droop)

“wh- what?” namjoon blinks cluelessly, “what do you mean-”

you shrug as you chew on the inside of your cheek anxiously, “we should break up.”

“but- but i-” namjoon’s eyes start to glaze over and you swallow the lump growing in your throat, “i-i don’t- i don’t understand-”

this’ll be better for the two of you in the long run, right? (no)

namjoon will find someone better suited for someone of his stature and you’ll...

well, you’ll probably find someone.

you’re making the right decision, right? (no)

you’re 100% sure about this, right? (no)

if you truly loved namjoon, you know that this is the right thing to do... and you do love namjoon with every fibre of your being, so...

writing this gave me The Depression so i’m stopping here before i fall into an endless pit of miSERY

:-(

#baby drabbles #librarian!namjoon #librarian!namjoon drabbles #answered

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anthonyed · 5 years ago

Text

Part Two: Nice Fingers

Relationships: Bucky/Tony, Bucky & Steve

"Ow!" Steve whines, clutching his head. Baby blue eyes wide like a puppy and Bucky scoffs at him.

He's not fooling Bucky any more than he'd already done.

"That hurt," Stevie pouts, gaze following Bucky who stalks to the kitchen for a drink.

His puppy eyes never falter even as Bucky glares at him over the glass of water. Eventually, Bucky says, "Quit it, you look ugly."

That gets him a venomous look.

Helping himself to the rest of the bag of chips, Bucky plops down next to him and keeps his eyes carefully fixed on the TV.

He feels Steve's stare at the side of his head, burning a hole, but he's too determined in his will. Not to mention, he'd dealt with this since back when his brain was still a baby bundle of neurons making new memories so there's that.

"Buck," Steve calls warningly, voice levelled low and rumbly.

Bucky soldiers on, munching on his chips. Frankly, he doesn't even know what he's watching.

Even a super soldier powered kick to his thigh doesn't move him.

Until Stevie brings out the big gun. (Because he knows Bucky's got a thing for Tony and he's also a little piece of shit.)

"I'm gonna tell Tony it's his fault."

And that's when Bucky lunges for him.

The chip bag falls, spewing its remain onto the floor, crunching under two scuffling super soldiers' feet.

"You- can't. Tell. Him. That!" Bucky, huffs and puffs from the headlock Steve's got him in.

"Why not?" The punk asks, equally winded from all the force he's exerting to imprison Bucky. "Did he do something?"

"He didn't. Do - Fuck! LEt me OFF!"

"No!"

"Fuck. OFF!"

"Tell me what happened."

"NO!"

"Yes."

"No -"

"Okay. Wrong timing. Didn't even come in. Bye-bye." A new voice interrupts and they both spill out onto the floor catching the tail end of Tony's back disappearing at the door.

"Wait! TONY!" Bucky scrambles, throwing a particularly vile look at Steve before bolting out after him.

He catches Tony just before the elevator door closes.

Wedging his metal hand in between them out of pure desperation (and dumbfuckery, according to Steve when he hears about it later).

He's panting, wild-eyed and peculiarly giddy as he rasps out, "Hold on."

Tony looks at him like he's a ghost descended from the ninth realm.

For a moment, Bucky has this insane fear that he's looking like a disaster from four days of no-shower. And then he remembers that he'd just showered and that immediately eases his mind.

Maybe Stevie is not so much of a little shit.

(Or not. That thought is forever for reconsideration according to future events. There's no need to make hasty decisions here -)

"You wanna come in?" Tony jerks his head to his side, "Or you want me to come out? But you're blocking my path so...,"

Bucky immediately retracts his hand, "Sorry."

He thinks about asking Tony to come back to his apartment but the image of Steve and his dumb face propels him into the elevator instead.

It's kind of awkward. The elevator door closes and Tony taps thrice at his penthouse button. Then he turns to Bucky, clears his throat and asks, "Anywhere in particular?"

"No preferences," Bucky replies stiffly, internally screaming at his own words.

No preferences? Jesus Christ. What is he? Heading to some government office?

But Tony doesn't comment on it. Which is... suspicious. Because Bucky expected Tony to at least snort. But -

He sneaks a look at the man. Abruptly snapping his attention elsewhere when their eyes meet.

His face heats up. His neck feels warm and his palms are getting clammy.

What the fuck. Bucky thinks to himself.

This is not how they roll.

They're easy and comfortable. Each snarky commeny met by another equally smart one. They laugh and they joke and they are shameless.

Yet, here they are. Awkward.

God, it's painful. Bucky doesn't know what to say and by the way Tony's fingers tap, tap and tap against his thigh, neither does he.

Eventually, the elevator opens and it's the workshop.

Bright, glass-walled, blue tinted, metallic and sleek workshop that is Tony's space and has somehow, in the span of those slow six months he's been brought out of HYDRA's clasp, become Bucky's space too.

A shared comfort man-cave.

Without the stench and yucky things. But all fun and - Bucky breathes in, eyes landing on Dum-E at the near corner - a home.

Tony clears his throat and Bucky realises neither of them has stepped out of the elevator.

But in that moment, the rush of warmth from his sudden realisation only pushes him to round up on Tony in the elevator.

Heart half guilty in his chest for making Miss Fri work unnecessarily, he asks, "Would you step out with a fella?"

Tony, in all fairness, blinks at him.

Bucky waits, shrivelled patience trying to shush his heart into a calmer beat.

Finally when Tony opens his mouth (not that it has been decades, just a few seconds have passed-) both the words and voice that come out are not his.

"You're so horrible at this. I'm ashamed."

Bucky groans, letting his body fall against the wall and his head roll away from Tony.

"Friday, cut off the video feed and tell Spangles to fuck off, please. In those exact words." Tony orders flatly.

Bucky curses Steve and his unborn children and grandchildren and great-great-great - (you get it) in his head. Silently.

"You were saying?" Tony asks, softer.

More approachable and - if Bucky would stop doubting himself for a second, he'd notice - nervous.

What Bucky took from that though, is that this is his second chance and he is not gonna mess it up.

Squaring his shoulders, he straightens up, faces Tony in the eyes and asks without a stutter;

"Would you step out with me?"

#buckytony #winteriron #bucky x tony #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky & steve #mine #ill compile all parts and post it in ao3 after its complete

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dumturtle · 4 years ago

Text

new year, old habits → quirtle

TAGGING → Quincy Davis (@quincydavis) & Turtle Dum

TIMELINE → New Year’s Eve 2020

SETTING → A Wonderland Party

SUMMARY → Quincy tags along with Sydney to Wonderland for the new year, and as the countdown to midnight winds down, finds herself spending time with an old flame...

Turtle tended to view New Year's Eve differently than most of his friends did. It was a year's birthday, but just like birthdays, he didn't feel the need to view it in such a strict box. A new year could begin whenever he made a conscious decision to reset some part of his life, as far as he was concerned, but his views didn't stop him from enjoying celebrating in the more traditional ways. He'd been particularly glad when he'd heard that Quincy would be joining them for the holiday as Sydney's guest; he didn't see how he could possibly end up letting the calendar force him into starting something new when he was ringing in the holiday with someone old. She was his favorite presence from his past, though, and as midnight drew nearer, he found himself scooting closer to her on a couch, drink in hand and curiosity on his mind. "You wouldn't have rather spent a night celebrating the new with your potential new beau?" he asked. He hadn't checked with her to see how things had been progressing on that front, but her aura had been clouded when she'd spoken of it before, and even after she'd broken his heart all those years ago, he'd never been able to stop himself from worrying for her peace of mind.

Quincy was the type of person who loved any excuse to dress up, drink something bubbly, and spend time with friends and family, and so of course New Year's was one of her favorite holidays. Sure, Halloween had fun opportunities for fun, sexy costumes, and Christmas meant lots of presents, but New Year's represented a fresh start, which was something people always needed, Quincy's best friend included. Sydney had been going through a draining, emotional year which had come to a particularly turbulent climax, and so when the opportunity to spend part of the holidays with Sydney arose, Quincy took it without a second thought. She loved her family but there was something extra fun about getting to spend the day with her best girl and get herself pretty so that she could get compliments from more people than just her father. Like Turtle, for example. If she could get a compliment from her ex turned friend who was just a little too pretty for his own good, that would be ideal. As he joined her on the couch, she smiled on instinct, but that smile froze at his question. She chewed on her lip for a second and then shook her head. "Nope! New Year's is kind of a big one for me, I'd rather spend it with two of my favorite people," she smiled, reaching out and touching his knee at the word 'favorite' so he'd know she meant him. Touching him was a bad idea though. Turtle was already needlessly hot, but with how much Quincy had been needing physical intimacy lately, breaking the touch barrier was enough to make her pull back her hand and sit on it. "And besides, he's nice and it's been fun, but not seeing him during this break made me realize that... well, if I'm being honest with myself, I might have been letting my desire to rip the band-aid off and start dating again, and my hormones, make the bulk of my dating decisions for me," Quincy admitted with a laugh, taking a sip of her champagne to cover up the fact that she was embarrassed by oversharing.

Turtle hummed thoughtfully under his breath at Quincy's words; it was a familiar tune, one that had developed over the years and that often came to him when he wasn't sure what to say about a specific topic. It had never really cleared his head before; it simply let him pause, instead of letting himself become confused by lingering too long on a topic. Quincy's love life had never been a great one for him anyway. He hadn't yet found someone else that made him feel the same kind of completeness he felt when he was here in Wonderland, and he'd known the whole time she was with Emmett that the way they fit together wasn't harmonious. It was too soon, though, to know if he should agree with her assessment of Khalid, or if that was just a sliver of past selfishness snaking its way into his present. "Absence didn't make the heart grow fonder," Turtle finally concluded, sensing Quincy didn't want eyes on her as she talked about it, so letting his eyes follow the bubbles rising in her champagne flute instead. "Some people are just meant to be the tea you enjoy at a party, some are meant to be the cup you keep using your whole life," Turtle shrugged, not judging her in the slightest for chasing that feeling. It wasn't as if he hadn't done the same thing before himself. He waved his hand towards an upside down clock in the corner, its hands rapidly approaching new years. "A new start comes for me whenever I want it, but for those of you who subscribe to the calendar... your fresh start comes in just a few minutes, he told her, raising his own champagne glass towards her to clink in a toast. "Maybe that's the sound of a reset for me," he proposed, letting his glass tap against hers again. He didn't actually want to start over just yet, but he did like the idea of maybe seeing Quincy smile f he said the right thing. "A new chapter beginning with a favorite person of my own, even if I'm getting a slight head start."

Quincy could've hummed along with Turtle's pensive hum, but she didn't. She knew the sound well though, and usually right after he did it, he let loose some morsel of wisdom. It wasn't often Quincy conceded that people were smarter than her, but in all honesty, she probably thought Turtle was the smartest person she'd ever met. She hadn't even realized how much she needed someone to tell her that her wanting to cut Khalid off after only a few months wasn't selfish or crazy until she'd started ranting about her current date-mate to her ex. Which, yes, she did realize was rude of her, but Turtle was more than her ex at this point, right? He was one of her best friends, and he knew her better than just about anybody. If he thought she was being too rash, he'd tell her. But he seemed to agree and she let out a little sigh of relief. "No, no it didn't," she said quietly, swirling her champagne glass. "And I guess sometimes you don't know until you drink for the cup." She looked up to him with a smile on her face, already feeling better and validated about one of her first big decisions in the new year. She was glad she'd tried with Khalid; it meant she was ready to try again, and that she knew what she wanted and what she didn't. Her eyes followed his hand towards the upside down clock and her grin grew wider -- how very Wonderlandian, to have an upside down clock. "To a fresh start," Quincy nodded, clinking her glass against Turtle's. She laughed when he proclaimed he had a new year's start ahead of her own and she swatted his knee with her free hand. "Wait, no, that can't be it! A new year is totes special! You need more of a moment, to really mark a new chapter! If it's not when the clock strikes then it has to be, like, something else!" She paused for a minute and cocked her head to the side before asking, as casually as one possibly could, "Like, I don't know, do you kiss somebody at midnight for the New Year down here? Or is that just an Auradonian thing?"

Turtle had always been introspective, and tonight, he wasn't under any sort of outside influence yet, sans a few sips of champagne. That meant his mind was almost too clear, was vibrating on a frequency he wasn't used to. That frequency couldn't help but make him wonder if perhaps he had any sort of ulterior motive for not wanting Quincy to continue dating Khalid. He didn't think so, though; he simply wanted what was best for her, and the energy coming off of her whenever she talked about him wasn't as bright and vibrant as he knew Quincy could be at her happiest. Still, perhaps a person more normal than him would think they didn't want to see an ex they still cared so deeply for with someone else, particularly someone who seemed to be more of the same. He shrugged, letting his gaze move from the clock to the portrait beside it, a collage of eyes that he always felt like was staring at him. The eyes didn't seem to be boring into him, though, so his assessment of his own motives must be correct. "The first high of the year usually comes with the caterpillar," he told her, wracking his brain for other traditions that he could possibly share with her when her question stopped him in his tracks. "Tweedletown and Wonderland are part of Auradon now," he replied instantly, not sure why the words flowed out of him so readily. They didn't tend to do things the same way here by any stretch of the imagination, but perhaps a kiss to start the new year wasn't the worst of Auradonian offerings. Perhaps it could be cleansing for Quincy, after a failed attempt at a new relationship, to fall into a sort of time warp towards an old one. One that had taken him entirely longer than it had taken her to let go of, granted, but... "Lips, I think, are the second or third most used bodypart for most people, depending on whether or not you enjoy having conversations with your eyes closed. It's only fitting that they get to be one of the first parts to celebrate an ushering in of something new."

Quincy loved feeling smart and like things made sense to her, but she also enjoyed trying to figure out something that didn't follow the type of logic she was taught; for example, the first high of the year coming with the caterpillar was a sentence that left her delightfully grasping as pieces to put together and form a puzzle. Even more simultaneously confusing and happy-making, though, was Turtle's placement of his home as part of Auradon. In the context of the traditions they were talking about, it sent an anticipatory tingle up Quincy's spine to settle on her smile. Not that she automatically assumed Turtle would want to kiss her as the clock struck midnight. Just because it wouldn't be out of sorts for a Wonderlandian to do didn't mean Turtle has to do it, or even that he would with her. For all Quincy knew, he was two seconds from getting up and finding someone else in the festivities to share that moment with, but ever since Turtle had sat down next to her, all other people around them had lowkey vanished to Quincy. Maybe it was just because he always made her feel like she was right to believe in herself, maybe it was because he was insanely hot and she hadn't gotten much in a while, or maybe it was because deep down something about Turtle had always calmed her and excited her at the same time, but either way, kissing him felt like it would be the perfect way to begin a new year. Just one kiss with an old friend and then everything would be off to the best start it could have. "Right? I totes agree. And as someone who talks basically, like, all the time, my lips are more than ready to jump into the new year," Quincy said softly, her eyes looking over at the clock. Midnight was basically any moment now and if she was going to get a kiss, it was now or never. Normally she would be a little more direct and aggressive but taking her history with Turtle into consideration, kissing him out of the blue was lowkey a no-no. She wanted permission before she made her move. "Do you think yours would want to celebrate with mine?" she asked, taking a quick sip of champagne.

Turtle supposed that, if he were the sort of person to follow linear logic, he could see where Quincy's question came from. Typically, though, his thoughts didn't go in a straight line; lines swirled around and around in circles, creating beautiful patterns, instead of going from one spot to the next. Dots didn't connect, they usually collapsed, one on top of the other, until a flat piece of paper in his mind contained a dot that, should it become 3D, would stand exceedingly tall at this point from how often he'd grouped them together instead of drawing lines between them. Still, though; just because his brain wouldn't have gone there on its own didn't mean he didn't like the path that Quincy had proposed for them. Turtle loved the feelings of his brain on a high, and physical contact usually brought a high with it. In fact, back in the day kissing Quincy had felt better than any drug ever had, and he didn't know if their new status quo would allow for such an intense feeling anymore... but he also couldn't picture how it wouldn't still feel nice, all the same. "Wonderland wouldn't be a very welcoming place for you if I said no to that," Turtle told her, draining the last of the champagne from his glass in preparation for bidding 2020 goodbye. He could only choose so many old things to bring into the new year with him, and if the chance to kiss Quincy was traveling to 2021, then he certainly didn't have the space to bring in old, 2020 bubbles as well. He set the glass aside, licking his lips to make sure they weren't dry or cracked from smoking earlier, but all he tasted was sweetness from the champagne. And then, before he had time to think anymore, to wonder one last time if this was a good idea... people were counting, the upside down clock was chiming, and Turtle's hand was cupping Quincy's cheek, then sliding into her hair, as he guided her mouth towards him, ready for the celebration of lips she'd proposed.

It was hard not to cheer when Turtle ended up saying yes -- especially when he easily could've said no, he'd have had every right given their history -- but how happy Quincy was about it made it feel like a big deal, when it sooooooo wasn't. No, it was just exciting that she would be sharing such a nice moment with her sups hot awesome friend, that's all. Her sups hot awesome firne who's fingers across her skin make her cheek feel like it was on fire, and then his hand was in her hair and their mouths were touching and her hand found its way to his chest, clutching onto his shirt. She could hear the cheering around them as midnight came and went but everybody else sounded a million miles away as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, craving closeness as her whole body thrummed with a runaway heartbeat. Her other hand settled on his thigh as her tongue roamed, making itself at home in his mouth and claiming his air for probably far too long before finally pulling away, her face red at how overeager she'd been.

"Um...my lips were well taken care of, so I guess my tongue really wanted to celebrate too. And my hands," Quincy giggled, wondering how to explain herself, but it was hard to think too straight when her brain was still thinking about how good he smelled and how strong he felt under her touch. It was like she'd tripped down a rabbit hole of Turtle -- the only thing to do was fall, and so she blurted out "Does, um, any of the rest of you feel like celebrating with any of the rest of me? Because all of me feels like celebrating with all of you. Somewhere more private?" before she could stop herself. She really didn't expect the first thing that she'd do in 2021 to be shooting her shot with her ex but now here she was, and all she could hope was that no matter what happened next, she hadn't royally messed up their friendship in the new year.

The world held an infinite number of possibilities, some more likely to occur than others. Some much more likely to occur than others. 2020 Turtle hadn't foreseen this sort of thing occurring, couldn't have seen Quincy clutching onto his shirt or sliding her tongue into his mouth or even resting her hand on his thigh... But 2021 Turtle couldn't stop seeing it, couldn't think of anything but, really. His tongue deserved to celebrate, too; his hands wanted to reach out and touch her, or at least to urge her hand to explore more freely. It was a new year, a blank slate, and Wonderland was a place where anything could happen... And even before Quincy's words told him she wanted this to happen, his body was in agreement, wanting it too. "Definitely somewhere more private," Turtle agreed, surprised by how breathless he was already. He gestured towards the eye painting on the wall, the one he'd been inspecting just before midnight; now, he felt like it was watching them, staring at them, maybe even judging him. "The painting's been ruder than usual this year, he doesn't deserve any sort of show," he offered as way of explanation, but it was more than that. He knew that he couldn't stop now; he was like a bottle that had been uncapped, and he needed to be consumed, to be enjoyed before he could go flat. He didn't want this to go to waste, and he didn't want to share it, either. He didn't want prying eyes to make it more than it was, or roaming hands and eyes and everythings to find someplace they fit that wasn't on him. Turtle stood from the couch, thinking to extend his hand to Quincy and guide her off to a private place... then a part of his spirit that he hadn't connected with in some time made him scoop her up in his arms instead, whisking her off towards his room where they could continue this party on their own.

Somehow she hadn't actually expected Turtle to say yes but once he'd agreed to find somewhere more private, it was like Quincy's whole body sprang to life, all at once. All of it except for her brain, anyway, which was trying desperately to reach her and remind her that she had come to this party with Sydney and hadn't seen her in a minute, or that she deserved better than a one-night stand, or that whatever was about to happen could still totes end up messing up their friendship. However, her body was simply too loud as it cheered her on in and drowned out that good sense. After all, Sydney was here with her boyfriend; Quincy would hardly be missed. And as for it being a one-night stand, how could it be when Turtle would be around in her life for much longer than one night? They'd made it through weirder and worse in the past than giving in to how much their bodies wanted each other and come out friends on the other side, they could make it through this. "He really doesn't, especially considering how much of a show it's going to be" she practically purred, not even looking at the painting in question. To be fair, it was an unfair ask for anyone and anything but Turtle to hold her attention right now. The only way a wall could be interesting at all this deep into the unraveling of her deepening want was if Turtle pinned her against one. Her thighs ached to close around him just thinking about it. She was completely prepared to take his hand and follow him into whatever happened next, but she let out a gasp of delight and excitement when he swept her up in his strong, comforting arms to a night in Wonderland that she already knew she'd never forget.

#para #para:quincy #asuquincy #quincydavis #//i'm bad at titles don't @ me lol

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 5 years ago

Note

roommates AU!! Maybe one where young Tony has had a string of awful roommates (ie. they bully him for his age, etc.). The housing office transfers him one last time and tells him to give it a week. If this one still doesn't work out, then they'll let him room alone. At first, Tony just wants the week to be over, but of course his new roommate is the sweet Peter Parker. Cue pining!Tony, oblivious!Peter and a fluffy resolution... Just my rambles, but always excited to see what you come up with!

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

Nonnie, this was a lovely prompt - thank you so much for the idea! I aged Tony up a little bit to make sure there wasn’t anything underage, but I hope I hit all the things you were looking for!

Tony always figured flying through school would be a breeze. And for the most part – it was. The class material turned out to be easier than even he anticipated; he could’ve easily gotten through high school with his eyes closed. At 16, the concept of winning was the only thing that registered to him – what he was winning, he didn’t really know; but beating out his peers around him always made him feel just a bit better about how ridiculously brainy he really was.

Of course, the social aspect of school wasn’t nearly as easy. Most people didn’t understand what it was like to be the son of Howard Stark – Tony knew the inside of a lab before the age of 4 and attended dinners with some of the world’s figure heads on a consistent basis. As one of the youngest people in the entire room always, Tony struggled to fit in. Being smart wasn’t the piece of school that people admired, especially when the age gap was already so substantial. To say he was picked on was putting it mildly.

He assumed getting to college would end all of the bullying that came pre-packaged in the high school experience. Why would people in the pursuit of a degree in higher education care how old anyone was? The shocking reality of how wrong he was came when his very first roommate locked him out of the dorm for a full 48-hours. Tony didn’t like to throw around the weight of his name, but he hadn’t showered and needed textbooks to get to some of his classes. Needless to say, his roommate did not remain in the room for much longer.

Tony’s next roommate at least lasted for the rest of the year – he was an asshole at all points in time, but he didn’t lock him out of the room or touch his shit. There wasn’t enough of a connection to ask him back as a roommate – so Tony put his name back on the list for a roommate and went about his summer vacation.

Coming back from Italy, Tony was refreshed and more than ready to get through the next year as quickly as possible. He’d turned 17 over the summer and was one step closer to being on the cusp of independence. Then, people couldn’t judge him for his age. Tony walked into the year with a positive attitude – that was quickly bat down by the homophobic bigot they stuck him with. Tony still didn’t like the way faggot sat on the surface of his skin.

The struggle to keep a roommate brought him in front of housing for what felt like the hundredth time – all he wanted was some peace to get through school and maybe enjoy some of it. The notoriety of the university kept the supply of single rooms scarce, but he figured if push really came to shove, he could find a way to get one for himself. Cindy, who’d been dealing with him since his first gem of a roommate screwed the pooch, looked at him with a mixture of pity and concern. “I need you to give it a go one more time, for at least a week. There aren’t any singles available and I’m certain that this person will be suitable for you. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do if all else fails.”

A barely concealed scoff left his mouth, but he nodded, anyway. After the stream of lectures he got from his father when the initial trouble started, Tony was determined to settle the situation by his own means, even if that meant trying to stomach one more person for 7 days. All of his other roommates proved how terrible they were right from the get-go, so he figured he could make it – the other side held the key to his single and a little bit of peace from the boring monotony of societal norms.

A couple of days later, a knock on the door drew Tony from the book in front of him – he’d been balls deep in the chapter on electrical energy conversion. Standing up from his seated position, Tony realized how long he’d been sitting when his feet felt a little numb. The break was obviously needed.

Pulling the door open, Tony let a soft gasp leave his lips – the person standing there was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Long legs led to a torso that was covered with a white and purple striped shirt and flight jacket. The length of this person’s neck held a head covered in dark brown, curly hair. Tony took a couple of steps back on instinct, his brain going haywire.

“Are you Tony?”

In an attempt to speak, Tony opened his mouth – no words followed, however. Blushing, he chose to nod instead. He opened the door a little bit wider, his hand swinging in a ‘come in gesture’. His lips were quirked into an involuntary smile, everything about his body he could usually control now running on instinct and the overwhelming hormones that coursed through him.

A soft chuckle left the other’s mouth, the sound like music to his ears. Why did it take this long to deliver someone like this to his door? More than anything, Tony hoped that handsome person walking into the dorm that must be his new roommate wasn’t a total piece of shit – he wanted to be able to hold out a little hope.

“I’m Peter – Peter Parker. I just transferred here,” the man, Peter, said – his eyes wandering around the modest fixtures that Tony kept around the shared space. “Is that really a big-screen TV?” Peter’s plumps lips formed a roguish grin, coffee-colored eyes flashing with genuine excitement. “I never thought I’d see one of those in a college dorm room.”

Tony watched him trace a hand across the top, his fingers fiddling with the wiring at the back of it. “And it has HDMI capability. We can get both of my systems set up on this thing.” Peter’s excitement took him by surprise, everyone else who walked through the door didn’t care about the cool shit he brought with him – just the differences between them; his age, the sexuality he refused to hide – his academic abilities, even.

Not Peter, though – he went on to explain that he was getting a degree in Electrical Engineering and didn’t get to have some of the newer appliances growing up. It was weird, to see someone so excited about the nerdy stuff Tony liked, too. They heartily discussed the best way to get both the Xbox and PlayStation set up through the tv without bogging down the cable setup already existing in the room.

By the time they were both happy with how Peter’s things mixed into the fixtures of the room, Tony figured he was already head over heels for the guy – for the first time in his life, someone took him at face value and didn’t hate what they saw.

----

The rest of the year with Peter went by seamlessly. During the spring semester, they planned to have a class together, both of them still needing to take some of the basic engineering classes. There wouldn’t be a lot of cross over later in their degrees, so they took advantage. It was different, having someone he could rely on sitting in class next to him, and then being there at home later on, too. Tony never got to experience the sort of camaraderie that Peter so freely gave to him.

Mornings were filled with the two of them trying to make breakfast on the little hot plate Peter brought from home. It was always an adventure, trying to get everything cooked all the way through and evenly – at least, Tony enjoyed watching Peter puzzle it all together. Their day started together and as the time passed, it ended together, too. Peter liked to spend time in their shared space, so Tony found excuses to be out there, too.

Tony found himself seeking out Peter’s company all the time, if he were being honest. Peter was the most interesting person – he didn’t care about the normal things; he wanted to learn and explore, he wanted to see what the world had to offer. Best of all, he seemed to want to include Tony in the things he wanted to know more about.

A couple of months into their second semester living together, Tony looked up to find Peter staring at him. “What’s your middle name?” Peter asked, a smirk slipping across his lips. “Are you an Anthony, or just Tony?”

Putting his pen down in the book he’d been reading to keep his place, Tony shifted a bit and gave Peter his full attention. “My full name is Anthony Edward Stark. No one but my mom calls me Anthony, though.” Tony tried to keep the blush he couldn’t help under cover, but his ears were warm – there was no escaping it. “What about you? Are you a junior, or something?”

The exchange went on a for a while, Peter talking a bit about his family in Queens and the Brainiac’s team he left behind when he graduated and came to Cambridge. Tony soaked up the information and attempted to be open about pieces of himself, too – he talked about his dad and the weird relationship they had and about Dum-E and the never-ending tweaks and adjustments he made to better him.

It was a little easier after that conversation, both of them felt a little more comfortable and for Tony, he felt closer to Peter than any other person in his life. He hoped it wasn’t obvious, how much Peter meant to him. There were stars in his eyes constantly – so he kind of doubted it.

Even his mom noticed how things shifted for him – he wasn’t his normally surly self when he went home over spring break. Maria looked at him with a weird smile – Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen the look on her face before. “School okay, Tony?” she questioned, her hands brushing through the hair by his ear. He figured she missed the little kid he used to be – he would sit for hours and let her pet him like that back then.

Grinning, Tony nodded – his teenage hormones making it hard to keep himself calm, cool, and collected. “Yes, it’s okay. I’m doing well and really enjoying Differential Equations this semester.” He kept his answer brief, his inability to talk to her still in place despite the weightless feeling that accompanied him. “I’m thinking about picking up a class in the summer and sticking around.”

He didn’t tell her that Peter was involved in a work study program and would need to be on campus all summer working. It seemed silly to give up his bedroom in the place that was now his home simply because summer came around.

Tony didn’t want to miss a single second of time he could be around Peter �� no matter how weirdly pathetic that probably was. Later, when he left the kitchen and headed towards his room, Tony missed the smile his mom beamed his way.

Their end of the semester project was due a couple of weeks after they got back from spring break, so Tony and Peter spent a lot of time together when they got back from visiting their respective families. It was a little like the time away from each other strengthened the need for the bond between them. Peter spent more time in the dorm and when he couldn’t be there, Tony pestered him at work, the help desk more than familiar with him after all the time he spent there.

The closer they got; the more Tony wondered if Peter felt the same way that he did. Tony knew he was still young, his 18th birthday creeping slowly toward him. There were tons of great looking people on campus, people that were closer to Peter’s age – but he hoped, he crossed his fingers and looked up in search of a person he didn’t believe in just to send up a little wish into the atmosphere.

Tony tried to gage things between them a couple of weeks before the end of the semester – he wanted the summer to go off without a hitch and knew his useless pinning would be more of a burden than anything if he didn’t at least try and find out if he stood any chances. He wasn’t completely sure of how he’d try to fish out the truth, but he needed to – the probable thought of exploding crossing his mind frequently.

A perfect opportunity presented itself when Peter came home a little tipsy from a party that Friday night, his face split into a loose smile, eyes shining with the blaze of alcohol and something simmering just below the surface. Tony paused the round of Tekken he’d been playing, his hand patting the cushion next to him. “Have a good night?” Tony asked curiously, his lips slipping into a smile when Peter threw himself carelessly down onto the couch. Their shoulders brushed, that little bit of contact sending a torrent of happiness through him.

“I definitely drank enough to make it feel like it was a good night,” Peter replied, the alcohol letting the words fall easily from loose lips. “MJ brought 151 in a little flask – it doesn’t taste like shoe cleaner, so it was easy to drink a little bit too much.” He smiled and leaned further into Tony’s side. “Glad to be back, though.”

A nose brushed the side of his neck, Tony holding his breath to stop the gasp that tried to escape from the confines of his chest. He put the controller down on the arm of the couch and sat more fully on the couch – his arm going around the back of it. “I’m glad that you’re back, too,” Tony admitted, his hand moving inch by inch until his fingertips were just barely fumbling with the sleeve of Peter’s black t-shirt.

“What are you doing, Tony?” Peter asked from his place against Tony’s shoulder, his breath tickling his skin, the sensation distracting. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and absorbed he warmth while he could – Peter nestled in the space Tony wanted him the most might never happen again.

“I – don’t know. I – “ Tony started to speak, but the common problem of getting a little tongue-tied around Peter coming back with a vengeance. “I think I was trying to put my arm around you.” He felt his face flush even further – his cheeks and ears the same colors as Peter’s without the influence of alcohol and its properties.

While he didn’t actually move away, Tony felt Peter stiffen. Sucking in a hurt breath, Tony froze, too – he must’ve read the room wrong. “Oh,” he heard Peter say, the word muffled by Tony’s skin still. He gulped, then extracted himself from the tangle of longer arms and warm skin – his eyes already starting to burn with tears he wouldn’t be able to control for much long.

“Sorry – I didn’t, I mean. I – sorry, Pete.” Tony babbled, the inability to speak in full sentences hitting him double time now that embarrassment coated the nervousness that threatened to overcome him. How stupid could he be? Turning before he could embarrass himself further, Tony made a quick beeline to his room and shut the door. He slumped back against it, sliding down to the floor.

----

Tony avoided Peter as much as he could leading up to the end of the semester, and subsequently, Tony’s birthday. He’d already made the commitment to stay over the summer, and he steeled himself for the awkwardness that would more than likely settle between them. The soft ‘oh’ Peter mumbled that night still played in his mind – his voice just as confused as the rigid posture of his body.

Either way, he needed to find a way to get over it – Peter was the best roommate he ever had, and he still had at least one more year of school to get through. It felt good to finish a semester and he did his best to focus on that instead of the weird ache in his chest. No wonder so many people were so wrecked by the love thing – when it didn’t work out, it hurt like an absolute bitch.

The two weeks before finals and Tony’s birthday followed much of the same pattern – Tony stayed in his room until he couldn’t stop the rumble in his stomach; he did his best to time his ventures into the shared space of the dorm when he thought Peter wouldn’t be there. It was easier to just ignore the situation and hope it past.

His birthday rolled around without much fanfare – he was glad to be 18 and didn’t need the huge party his parents wanted to throw him. They were never about him, anyway. Tony figured he’d spend the day watching the TV in his room and making his way through the couple different cartons of ice cream he put in the freezer the day before.

A knock on the door around 10AM had him muting the TV to answer it, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw Peter on the other side of the door. “Hey. Happy Birthday, Tony,” Peter started, the card in his hand being thrust forward into Tony’s chest without much finesse. The hand he could feel against him shook; Peter obviously nervous for some reason.

“Actually – that’s not why I’m here. I thought maybe you’d be more willing to open the door when there was something to celebrate.” Peter shrugged, his legs crossing in front of him. “Tony, that night – I wasn’t… upset, or anything. About what you said. I was surprised. I didn’t have any idea that you felt like that. It was a shock – I’d been crushing on you for months at that point and there you were, adorably trying to put your arm around me. You were gone before the ability to think started to work again.”

He reached out and traced Tony’s cheekbone with a soft finger, the caress barely there. “I like you, Tony – I want you to like me, too.” The fingers trailed along Tony’s soft skin and into his hair, the entirety of his hand palming the back of his neck when it got there. “And I think you do.”

“I do, Pete. I do. I really, really do.” Tony let both of his hands drift to the bare skin of Peter’s forearm, his fingers gripping the grounding warmth there. “Will you kiss me?” Tony asked the question so sweetly, the blazing in his eyes a sharp contrast

Peter used his lips to answer, the hand on the back of his head pulling Tony close enough to press their lips together. A gasp left Tony’s lips, the touch like an electric shock. In an attempt to keep his feet on the ground, Tony fisted Peter’s shirt in his hands, the move bringing them closer still.

The need for air had them pulling apart, Tony’s eyes opening wide to take in the look on Peter’s face – he figured the loopy smile there mirrored the happiness etched into his own cheeks.

“Want to go out with me, Tony?” Peter mumbled, his face breaking into a beaming smile.

Laughing, Tony used the grip on Peter’s shirt to pull him back in for a chaste kiss, his entire being thrumming with life.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#starker #ironspider #au prompts #bobbie writes #nonnie #anonymous #college/university au

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thehollowprince · 4 years ago

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Writing Ask: 2, 3 and 20?

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

Oh, I have so many different projects bouncing around inside my brain. A combination of fanfics and original works that are all vying for my attention, so much so that I don't know which one to actually sit down and write first.

Like, I have three different fixit fics in mind, for The Vampire Diaries, Star Wars and Captain America: Civil War, and the sad part is, I have them all planned out, but I lack the motivation to sit my ass down behind a computer and actually type them all up.

Then there's the idea I got here on Tumblr, from a writing prompt blog, about a serial killer stalking a group of teenagers out at a cabin in the woods for the weekend. The twist is that the teenagers are a pack of werewolves and I'm having so much fun with this one. I'm thinking of attempting to write it as a script, because I think it would make a fun movie.

And then there are the two big projects I've been working on for years. The first one is something I started with my best friend back when we were both freshmen in high school. It involves a vampire hunter trying to hunt down and kill the vampire that ruined her life, complete with a whole gaggle of supernatural sidekicks. It was very Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but if it was rated R. And the other is something I've been working on for the past few years, more YA oriented, and the premise is a witch-centered murder mystery that takes place in New York City.

I'm actually considering combining those two into one project, seeing as how the premises of both, and the characters of both, are so similar.

The thing is, I'm easily distracted, and every time I see something on a show or in a movie or book, I love it so much I want to do my own version of it, which usually leads to these giant clusterfucks that I have to untangle.

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Okay, so there's this scene from the YA I've been working on that was really my whole inspiration for the entire project.

Tara waited impatiently by the entrance to Central Park, garnering strange looks from the few people out and about at this hour. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. The whole point of this was to not attract unwanted attention.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Quinn approached from the direction of the subway station, dressed in ripped jeans and a buttoned up flannel shirt, a leather satchel bouncing against his hip as he jogged closer to her. Once he was close enough, he looked her up and down with an incredulous look on his face that she's sure was mirrored on her own.

"What the hell are you wearing?" They asked simultaneously.

"Excuse me?" Tara spoke first after a moment of stunned silence between the two.

"I didn't realize we were on our way to he extras on the latest Matrix movie." Quinn quipped, mocking her all-black ensemble.

"Oh, because you're one to talk." Tara fired back. "Where's your guitar? Shouldn't you be serenading some college co-eds with your rendition of Wonder Wall?"

Quinn's brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "At least I don't look like I'm about to go commit a felony."

"We are about to go commit a felony!"

"That doesn't mean you need to advertise it! Seriously, why didn't you just hang a neon sign around your neck that says 'Off to defile a corpse'?"

Tara quickly looked around to make sure no one had heard what he'd just said before responding. "Forgive me, I'm new at this whole breaking-the-law thing."

Quinn closed his eyes and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. Without a word, he let his satchel slide orr his shoulder before he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, revealing a plain white t-shirt that really emphasized that there wasn't a gym exercise that this boy didn't like. Seriously, it wasn't fair! Witches were supposed to be old and ugly with warts and liver spots and broken teeth, not young men that doubled as models in their spare time. Her entire educational experience had been a lie!

"Here." He held out his shirt, black and yellow flannel, Tara stared at it. "What?"

"What exactly do you want me to do with it?"

"Put it on." He shook the shirt at her until she took it gingerly, as if it were a bomb, or about to turn into a snake, the latter of which was probably an actual possibility. Slowly, she slipped it on over her black shirt and realized it was too big for her. A few adjustments with the buttons and a couple rolls of the sleeves later and she was much more presentable. Quinn, for his part, reached out and quickly snatched the beanie from her head, letting her hair fall about her shoulders.

"Better," he said after giving her an appraising look before he slipped the beanie over his own curls and adjusted it to be more chic. He leaned down and plucked the satchel off the ground, slinging the strap over his shoulder. "Okay, all set." He held out his left hand, which Tara just stared at.

"What now?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"You hold it."

"Why?" "Because for the next ten blocks, I'm your boyfriend."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't be such a prude." Quinn snapped. "Trust me, this isn't ideal for me either." Tara slid her right hand into his left, something that left both of their dominant hands free. She could feel the bracelet he wore on his left wrist

"Why wouldn't this be ideal for you?" She asked after a few minutes.

"Well, no offense, but you're not my type."

"Oh?" She tried not to sound insulted.

"Yeah, not unless you suddenly sprouted stubble and maybe grew eight inches." Tara looked at him, confused, and he simply shot back a raised eyebrow and a smirk, his gaze traveling down. The moment her brain caught up with his words, Tara immediately looked forward, her face burning in embarrassment. Quinn laughed and Tara cursed him. Even his damn laugh was attractive!

I think it works really well, even without context or build-up, and I think gives a great feel as to who these two characters are.

Oh, and the names are just place holders right now.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

This is the type of thing that I excel at, the world building for the stories I want to tell. I usually get so caught up in this that I neglect the actual story.

I realized that the worlds for the two stories I mentioned in the first answer were so similar that I should just combine them, because it was a lot easier than trying to maintain two separate worlds that were so similar.

Anyway, as you can probably guess, the story is supernatural related, particularly the witchcraft element. I've always been Team Witch and I wanted a story that put that at the front, especially in a genre that's so focused on Vampires. I wanted to have almost everything circle back to witches in some way. For example, I came up with the idea of a Hag, a witch from which (ba dum tsh) the legend of vampires comes from. In my story, a Hag is a type of witch that extends their own life (and vitality) by a combination of bathing in blood and dark magic.

I love the idea of werewolves being the result of an actual curse as opposed to something that can be transmitted by a bite or a scratch. Although I also love the idea of lycanthropy being transmitted via sex - an STC, Sexually Transmitted Curses.

In regards to the witches themselves, I have them broken down into the three Cs: Cradle, Contract, and Cunning. Cradle witches are the ones who are born with an innate sense of power. Contract witches are those who get their power by making deals with demons or spirits or fey. And Cunning witches are those who "crack the code" on magic by just being obnoxiously smart and relentless.

And then, since I have this set in New York City, I had the idea to have the supernatural world run by the Five Covens (sort of like the Five Families of the mafia).

#writing asks

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tonystarktogo · 6 years ago

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(Warning: Mentions of character death, implied multiple suicides (of the same person), spoilers for Avengers: Endgame)

Morgan Stark is five years old when she learns that, no matter how much her Daddy loves her, he still won’t come back home.

Morgan Stark is eight years old the first time she enters death’s realm.

(’Enters’ might be a bit of a stretch. She crashes head-first into one of the old memorial stones filled with names of the ones who faded, the ones who came back, cracks her head open on Kacey Lin and probably leaks blood and brain juice all the way down to Su Lin. She probably should’ve let one of the grown-ups take a look at the modifications she’s made on her kart, but Morgan wanted to win the race and she’s very smart. Everyone keeps saying so. Besides it’s not that bad. She never liked those stupid memorial stones anyways.)

[Morgan has no concept of dead beyond that that’s where Daddy is, and nobody alive really knows what it’s like. Not even the Returned. Believe me, Morgan asked. Some of the really old people -- like Mrs. Danielle who is way older than Mom -- call it ‘heaven’. It makes Morgan think of soft, fluffy clouds and lots of white and angel wings.

Real death is nothing like that, but that’s okay. Morgan is old enough now -- eight and three months already -- to know that clouds aren’t actually soft and fluffy, no matter how comfortable they look from afar.

Besides she doesn’t think Daddy would like sitting on clouds and watching them all from afar all day. He’d be bored and Morgan hates being bored.

Real death is like when Morgan was really little and used to sneak out of bed to quietly climb down the stairs and watch Daddy make numbers and pictures appear in the air like magic -- only better because science. Morgan is smiling as she slowly sits down on the second last step and she doesn’t even wonder why her head doesn’t hurt and her left arm stopped aching and her knees aren’t scraped bloody.

Because there’s her dad, humming under his breath as he adjusts a screw on DUM-E -- the one that always gets loose, no matter how often Daddy or Morgan fix it because DUM-E likes the attention -- and Morgan doesn’t understand why she’s crying.

She must have made a sound because suddenly Daddy whirls around like so many other times that have become blurry and unfocused over time. Only he doesn’t smile down at her, doesn’t lift her up in his arms and carries her back to bed and it hurts.

Daddy drops the screwdriver instead. He’s pale, stark-white -- and Petey would giggle at that because Petey loves stupid jokes even though he’s supposed to be all adult and serious now -- and trembling.

“Morgan?” he asks shakily, like maybe he isn’t sure if he’s dreaming. (Like maybe he isn’t sure if he’s having a nightmare.)

Morgan has listened to recordings of her Dad almost daily for years, but it’s different somehow, to hear his voice for real. No matter how good the quality, a recording isn’t the same. She hadn’t realized until this moment that she’s forgotten how her Dad sounds for real.

Then she’s in his arms, warm and secure and close, and she’s forgotten this too, forgotten how much she misses it, but Morgan doesn’t care because Daddy is here, finally, and nothing else matters.

“Oh Maguna, what are you doing here?” Daddy murmurs into her hair and pulls her closer.]

Morgan Stark is eight when she wakes up next to one of the stupid memorial stones with a murderous headache, blood caked down half her face, seven new ideas to improve her kart and the knowledge that her dad is fine and within reach and loves her, three thousand, always nestled deep beneath her sternum, where nothing can touch it.

(Mom screams when she sees Morgan and insists on taking her to the hospital, even though she’s obviously fine, mutters “just like your father,” under her breath and Morgan can’t stop smiling.)

Morgan Stark is eight years old when she accepts that, no matter how much her Daddy loves her, he still won’t come back home. That’s okay though.

Morgan can always come to him.

#ReRe writes #spoilers #Avengers: Endgame spoilers #Endgame spoilers #Avengers: Endgame #Morgan Stark #Tony Stark #Dad Tony #mentions of character death #implied suicide #multiple times and by the same person #sorry not sorry #poor Pepper #i feel bad for her #poor Tony #he's not ready for his kid to invade death whenever she feels like it

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