#the tag is here just in case anyone has input on that one fic i am definitely not writing.

[scary-senpai]

Can you explain garou x saitama? I really don’t see it but I’d like to know your opinion.

Haha, oh my goodness, this was such a lovely ask to get <3 I’m honestly excited to respond (and maybe a little nervous, haha). So, thank you again, beloved nonny, for asking with an open mind. :D

As I mentioned, I’m a bit nervous because the answer is likely weirder than you expect, and that’s because it’s kind of a personal answer? And I (IRL) also tend to be a lot weirder than most people expect. But when it comes to writing, that’s generally the sweet spot, so here goes nothing.

So, I tagged it as Platonic! Garou & Saitama** meaning it’s not romantic or sexual, at least, not in the traditional sense. I could talk for days about what I find appealing--I answered a similar ask on my main blog a few years ago, and my answer is still the same.

** actually I used “x” rather than “&” and in retrospect, I’m not sure if that’s correct. I’ll have to look into it more. But anyway, Garou and Saitama are foils: they have overcome similar obstacles, they grapple with similar despairs—including overwhelmingly strong emotions and/or the perceived absence of them, which is just as conspicuous and painful. I can’t help but feel if their journeys towards physical strength stem from the same place, which is that they are running from questions they don’t want to answer, and parts of themselves they’d rather avoid.

On a lighter note, though, they’re both a little goofy—I like to imagine they communicate almost exclusively in Dad jokes, and I have one scene drafted where they manage to derail a Hero Association meeting this way. You’ll find a lot of stuff under the brotp and sometimes OT3 tag, but more on that later.

In any case, I think that Garou & Saitama’s goofiness stems from the same place: time spent dwelling in dark places. I had a different reaction to That One Panel Where Saitama Threatens to Destroy the World, I thought, “hey, that’s relatable—most people who care deeply about others oscillate between pain and despair and anger, sometimes this results in dramatic outbursts, especially verbal ones; perhaps this will become a talking point later.” Based on later events/context, I no longer think that’s what the authors intended but I don’t think that interpretation is necessarily wrong—the first step to dealing with emotions is to name them. Anyway, I digress.

I myself am actually a gray ace, so when I imagine Garou and Saitama together, I just give them my ideal relationship which is all of the closeness and all of the shenanigans, but none of the sex. Because at the end of the day, I personally just want someone to gently kiss my hand and affectionately whisper “you’re the literal worst” while giving me the deepest and most genuine smile or drive up outside my window, honking and shouting “wake up, loser! We’re gonna spend all day driving around New Jersey doing nice things for people—but first we’re gonna get ice cream.”

(Anyway, if you follow my main blog or read my more personal posts, it is clear that I Have a Type. Like, really really-- I Have a Type.)

Getting back to OPM, though, when I write fics in particular (but also incorrect quotes or headcanons), I write a lot about Garou and Saitama. I think first of all because it’s fun—they’re very strong but they’re also playful. Saitama is a self-professed “hero for fun,” Garou starts out more like a “villain for fun,” and through various interactions—with each other, as well as their respective anchors—they develop an overarching, shared goal that seems initially dissonant…. but in actuality, their visions are very much the same.

Ultimately, they want a safe and peaceful world for everyone, especially the people they care about. Most importantly, they’re trying to both navigate and improve a world that they themselves always seem to peripheral to & outside of; a world that doesn’t appear to be designed for people like them—even before they gained their incredible abilities.

When it comes to their interpersonal dynamics, though, I think that Saitama has this incredible and interesting ability to provoke reactions in other people without intimidating them. That's the role of the "Wise Fool" character, and I believe that's the archetype Saitama falls into. That levity helps others feel safer as they question their own goals and motives. Villains usually serve a similar role in a story--in a good story, they aren't just a plot device; villains challenge us to re-evaluate our assumptions, expectations, and sometimes our values.

...So, Garou does the same thing: he incites others to flip their perspective. But unlike Saitama, he’s deliberately more provocative and more deliberately irreverent. Saitama certainly can be this way, too, but with Saitama it's usually by accident--but then again, it's hard to tell with him. Despite being perceptive and canny, Saitama is often evasive about the things he knows—at the same time, he doesn’t hesitate to get on a soapbox when he feels like he needs to: Saitama wants to save people from themselves as much as he wants to save them from external threats.

…and because Saitama so often ends up in silly situations, it makes him approachable. As we saw with Reigen and Mob in the MP finale, sometimes we serve others best by showing up as our own divinely imperfect, authentically messy self—which Saitama does. Constantly. (And Garou too! I think the most charming thing about his character, when I first encountered him, was the way Garou laughs off various defeats with beautifully insouciant amusement, so delighted to be growing and learning--which is exactly what Saitama wants for himself, and by extension, the sort of person he might gravitate towards).

In the Before Times, when the MA Manga Finale was but a twinkle in the mangaka’s eye, I imagined Saitama and Garou meeting post (WC fight): Garou is working as a delivery guy (of course), and while on break, he hears somebody screaming inside the grocery store he had been stocking. Lo and behold, and it’s Saitama. Saitama is covered in highly corrosive monster goo, watching in horror as all of his coupons disintegrate—along with his clothing. (Spoiler alert: Saitama is not at all concerned with his clothing).

...understandably, the poor, terrified clerk doesn’t want to take Saitama’s money (which is rapidly eating away the counter) and Garou covers his tab. Garou mutters something like, "for obvious reasons, it pains me to see you like this." Saitama interprets this as longing / jealously and pats the kid on the back with an acid-covered hand, assuring Garou the he will also eventually save the world in his own way--maybe even as a hero. (Garou, meanwhile, is thinking "forget about saving the world... I don't wanna live on this planet anymore"). While maintaining full eye contact, Saitama swipes the entire take-a-penny-leave-a-penny jar and vanishes. It's not a meet cute or anything, it's just it's a weird little moment of catharsis and the beginning of their friendship. It is endgame Gearou, though.

When Genos shows up the next morning to pay Garou back, Garou jokingly asks for 150% interest which Genos pays without blinking. ("Sensei's credit rating leaves much to be desired.")

Anyway, I just feel like there are so many opportunities for Saitama to accidentally get Garou to open up about his feelings. I have a rough draft of the “Dr. Saitama” scene where Garou is pouting silently in several inches of mud, pointedly ignoring Saitama until Saitama comes back with that jar of weird-looking eggs in the upper left corner of the shack scene panel. “I didn’t know you could pickle eggs,” Saitama comments. “I thought you could only pickle pickles.”

At which point, Garou snaps, absolutely indignant that this two-bit asshat cannot grasp the concept of a cucumber. My sense is that Saitama did this on purpose--intentionally prodding Garou a bit, trying to help him express his very real, very painful emotions in a way that feels safer, less frightening. I literally never know what Saitama is doing in my fics though. Probably because Saitama doesn't reliably know that, either.

In the same way that Saitama riles Garou up just enough to make him learn something, Garou riles Saitama up just enough to make him emotional--for example, by discerning Saitama's inexplicable fear of elves and adjusting his Christmas decorations appropriately. It's another Gearou fic, but Saitama is--as I always imagine him--just there, living in the same house, being part of their chosen family. I headcanon that they are always arguing about this (“You said you missed having feelings!” “Not these ones!”). It’s just constant, low-level benign trolling in a way that accidentally makes them both into other people.

So, I don’t really have many romantic headcanons or scenarios with the two of them, although I have entertained the idea. And, admittedly, I do have that “BroTP and sometimes ot3” tag. I’ve kind of entertained the idea of some scenario where the three of them are in a polycule? But it has literally always come from a place I never expected, like I fall asleep after editing a Gearou story and then whatever scene I’m workshopping somehow seeps into my dreams… at which point, the characters nitpick everything I’ve got wrong, including the relationship. “They’re not dating. We are. Don’t you see it?” (Ummm… no I don’t? At least not in that particular instance. Because these are not sexy dreams, mind you, just Exceedingly Vanilla, G-Rated anxiety dreams.)

If I hypothetically wrote a romantic and/or NSFW SaiGarou fic, I imagine it might have something to do with the fact that pain is the only emotion Garou allows himself to feel… and Saitama has already seen him at his worst, and, at the same time, hasn’t been phased by it. So I can imagine a situation where Garou knows he has to revisit that part of himself in order to heal and overcome it—that feeling of being broken and vulnerable but also safe and free, and given that he’s probably a bit touch starved you can see how things might progress from there.

Anyway. If something like this shows up on ao3 a year from now, you will know that it definitely was not me.

So, wow, there’s my answer—something like 1.3k words later :-/ if you’re still here, thanks so much for coming to my Ted Talk. I actually did have a little bit of material prepared in hopes that someone would someday ask me a variation of this question, so I’m grateful to you. This was a really nice thing to wake up to, and well-timed because I woke up at 5a and couldn’t get back to sleep. Also, gosh I'm tired. I hope this all makes sense when I wake up, and please forgive any silly spelling mistakes.

Stay safe and well, Friend!

[solarsavoy]

WIP game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Tagged by @tuulikannel with the word WORLD

I literally just picked a letter, picked a fic, and then scrolled through til an excerpt started with the correct letter. No idea how intriguing the excerpts will be because of this though.

W - "Whatever he’s doing, I don’t think he has a choice. And it’s not like I’m actually hurt!” She [Naru] motions to herself as proof. “I’m sure he needs help, he just doesn’t know if he can trust anyone else.”

While I can’t argue that she’s physically healthy, it’s not okay to just steal people’s energy. I cross my arms, frustrated by Naru’s insistence. It does make me wonder what the Dark Kingdom is up to though. It’s somewhat true that Sanjouin hasn’t physically harmed anyone, but the same can’t be said for the creatures he summons.

“I don’t know why you trust him over the Magics.” I shake my head at her. “Have you seen the things he summons? Maybe he doesn’t hurt anyone, but those monsters do. That is literally him hurting people. Can’t you see that?”

-Magic Shuu, chapter 12

O - “Ogre?” Terasaka stops and stares at Mondo in disbelief.

“Yeah. She’s like the strongest human in the world or something.” Mondo switches arms.

“With the way that she looks, it’s appropriate.” Terasaka laughs. “She’s a monster ogre all around I guess.”

-Pandora's Box, work 1, chapter 4

R - “Ritsu”. It’s very small, but there’s a wifi signal emanating from the box.

Accessing unknown wifi.

Wifi is password protected.

…..inputing password: Merry Christmas…..

-Kristmas Karma II, chapter 25, Christmas Day

L - “Let’s kill your father, Nagisa!” Mother declares, laughing.

Despite not having a heart in this form, I can hear it pounding in my head. It’s fast, on the verge of a heart attack. Harder. Faster. I start breathing heavily wondering if this is the real me I’m sensing. My heart seems extremely unsteady if that’s the case.

“It’s okay…” an older woman’s voice attempts to soothe me. She sounds familiar… “I’m here. We’ll get there together,” she assures me.

I open my eyes and frantically look around for her. The beating slows until it’s no longer pounding in my head and I find myself alone in the snow. No kamalas, no Mother, and no strange old woman. Just Shukuen-kun’s footprints leading me towards Mount Kotrem.

Who was that?

-Nagisa Shiota, chapter 6

D - “Daddy?” I clutch his hand even tighter. “Why wouldn’t the healer heal Mommy?”

I look up at him feeling sad, lost, and confused. All I know is that two nights ago, Mommy was weak and wanted to sleep with me one last time. I didn’t believe it’d actually be the last time. I snuggled into her as she hummed me a song, and old hymn that was her favorite. Then I remember being suddenly awakened with my father holding his hand over my eyes.

“Don’t… Don’t look,” he’d warned me, and even though everything inside me wanted to question this, I didn’t.

I think… I knew what it meant.

But it was still too fast.

-Echoes of Stag, chapter Past Date 086.919.103 - Theraday (the rewrite)

Took me a bit to do this, but I hope the excerpts capture your interest. ^^

I tag @jackiewepps for this game (if you're willing) with the word... FIGHT

And just because, I'm tagging another person just because the word is too perfect for them. @heyhellohihowareyou with the word... HEART

[archersxartxblog]

I saw your input to the discourse and I wholeheartedly agree with your view.

The Antis in the fandom are the most disgusting crybullies I've ever come across in any fandom... and I have been in a lot of them for a long time... What's also disgusting is that these same people turn around and claim how open, friendly and positive this fandom is...

Well turns out it's only that way if you stick to what is considered the norm by anti's...

I really don't like the ship at all... but I can make a difference between fiction and reality and treat people the same. Heck, I have a sibling that has been into "proship" and I never made a big deal out of it... It's still my sibling at the end of the day. And they also can seperate fiction from reality. Something that has become rare nowadays... but people desperately need

They claim they are the good ones but do bully and harrass anyone with a different opinion to the point of them deleting their accounts or stepping away from fandom (lets hope nothing worse) (also seen this happen several times on dead-bird-site with japanese fans) smh

sorry to go into this little rant... you don't have to publish this. You're even free to delete and block me. I just need that out of my system without them witchhunting me off the web....

(also love your content. You have a cute and wholesome artstyle! Keep up the good work!)

It's insane, honestly.

I've seen people getting harassed, doxed, death threats, people have had to get staff involved in some cases. People have been called blankshippers because of commissions they've done (fun fact if a blankshipper threw a bunch of cash at me I'd draw something too). Heck, just today it's been proven that these antis sit in the blankshipping tag looking for styles of creatators they can call out. Iike really.

And this is just the stuff I've seen on my dash.

And this isn't just a shipping problem, any miss step can get people to come at you, it seems. Remember that drawing challenges that happened around September/October, that person just wanted to do something fun, and a single prompt got them harassed and allegedly doxed.

I've really wanted to interact more with this Fandom, I wanted to join a discord and maybe make some friends, but the fear of some miss step I might make, someone not liking me and looking for a reason to chase me away keeps me from really interacting.

I've actually only had one bad interaction with one blankshippers, and from what I've seen, that person is just a giant dick. Otherwise, they have been quite respectful.

This is honestly the less friendly Fandom I've been in. There are some great people here, some really great artist. But there are also a lot of people looking for a reason to tear down anyone for whatever reason.

Don't worry about the rant, I totally get it. I'm hoping I'm too small to get a mob coming after me. Might loose a bunch of followers, but it is what it is. I will be turning off anon after this, just to discourage anyone coming at me even more.

But for the record, I'm not a blankshipper, I do not like or engage in the ship, I don't like it, but that's okay because I don't look at that blankshipping tag (cause I am not a weirdo looking at stuff I don't like)

I would prefer blankshippers interact with my work respectfully, to not ship ingo and Emmet in regards to my Warden’s Twins fic due to the underage nature of the twins in that setting.

But I would expect this from anyone.

(And thank you, it makes me really happy to hear you like my style. I'm probably going to be posting more oc stuff for a bit, I just kind of want to step away from the submas Fandom for a bit, I'll still be posting Caleb and Fjord stuff, bit I'll still post ingo and Emmet every so often, maybe even some dojoshipping stuff when the mood strikes me.)

[unseelie-grimalkin]

Yo, you can call me Grim and this is the first fandom side-blog I've made in actual years (that's how much Na Daoine Maithe has me in its clutches)

Here's the tag list:

#MC Mondays (MC building workshop tag! I host this on the NDM discord and on Tumblr as well)

Ship Masterlist

MC Masterlist

#scribbles down notes (if you want all my insane annotations on the asks in one place, here you go)

#ndm fic (all my NDM fic in one place)

#Flavour Text (quotes with NDM vibes)

#Tir na nOg (pictures that help me think about the setting)

#ndm theorycraft (all my NDM metaposts in one place)

#ndm folk research (snippets from books about the folklore that flows into the game)

“WTF I saw these three dogs blazed by you? What is that? Why? Hello?”

The context behind that is below the readmore

So once upon a time, my favorite indie visual novel, the one this blog is focused on, Na Daoine Maithe (The Good People) by Moirai Myths, was having a kickstarter signup campaign (not to get money yet, but simply to give an email so they could let you know when the kickstarter was ready to go, in case you were interested). Because my favorite character was the highest tier on this kickstarter campaign, I (without any input from the developers or anyone associated with them) decided to write a little post that I blazed just as a fun feral fan thing.

It blew up, beyond any of my expectations or how much money I put into it. My notifications were flooded, largely with positive attention and people saying thanks for using Blaze to showcase something cool instead of the usual nonsense. The only people I had to block from that post were largely folks that taught me a few new slurs and said dumb things like “the Irish deserve to be colonized, actually! Specifically because of this Blazed post!”

But what prompted the dogs you’ve seen was a singular anon who told me (who already on the record for not planning to Ever Blaze a Post Ever Again) that I was not allowed to use the Blaze feature ever again. And I said, yeah no, I was not planning to Blaze ever again. And then I kept thinking about it, about how this one person went more or less out of their way to try to control how I live my life and spend my money.

So I thought, “okay. I’m gonna Blaze a picture of a dog, just for them. Should be an Irish Wolfhound, because there’s three Irish Wolfhounds in the game, why not.” And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it would be strange, perhaps even invasive to Blaze a picture of a dog I did not own. So I started to think about commissioning art, specifically to Blaze, and realized I had a chance to turn this moment of spite into something life-changing for a friend of mine, the artist of the picture who I tagged (@/direbeastrex). I could commission them for the piece and then I could Blaze it, getting them both financial compensation for their time and skill and more people to see said skill and possibly commission them for their own dog or various critter pictures.

So that’s the story of the dogs you’ve seen Blazed: I kept the context out of the post itself so the post would be small and pass by dashboards without too much hassle. I hope the bois brought you joy!

[hotpodsummer]

Welcome to the 2021 Hot Pod Summer Exchange! Hot Pod Summer is a fic exchange challenge focused on Crooked Media podcast hosts, contributors to Crooked Media podcasts, real-life partners of pod hosts, and/or Crooked Media employees.

Rules:

You can nominate anyone who is a Crooked Media podcast host, a contributor to a Crooked Media podcast, any real-life partners of pod hosts, or any Crooked Media employees.

You can request between 3 and 6 relationships, and offer between 4 and 10 relationships.

Your assignment must be a complete textual story (no WIPs, please) of at least 1,500 words.

Your work must be archive locked so only registered users can access it.

How do I get in touch with the mods for this exchange? You can email us at hotpodsummer@gmail.com. 

Schedule

Nominations: April 30th-May 6th, 2021

Sign-ups open: May 7th, 2021 

Sign-ups close: May 16th, 2021 at 11:59PM EDT (what time is that for me?) 

Assignments go out: May 17th, 2021 

Default deadline: July 11th, 2021 at 11:59PM EDT

Assignments due: July 18th, 2021 at 11:59PM EDT (what time is that for me?)

Staggered reveals: July 25th-30th, 2021

Author reveals: August 5th, 2021

FAQ

Nominations

What can I nominate?

You can nominate relationships that include anyone associated with Crooked Media as a podcast host or contributor, a real-life partner of a pod host, or a Crooked Media employee.

A relationship can include two or more people. Please note that romantic relationships are denoted by / and platonic relationships are denoted by &. Thus, if you’d like to see a romantic story between person A and person B, you’d nominate that relationship as A/B. If you wanted to receive purely platonic fic without any romantic components, you’d nominate them as A&B. You can also combine & and / and nominate, for example, A/B & C, in which case A/B would be romantic and C would be a platonic part of the ship.

How do I nominate relationships for this exchange?

Go to the tag set! You're allowed to nominate up to 5 relationships during the nomination phase.

Sign-ups

How do sign-ups work?

On the collection page, find the button that says ‘Sign up’ and follow the prompts. You can request and offer any of the previously nominated relationships (no matter if you nominated them or not). You can request between 3 and 6 relationships for which you’d like to receive fic, and can offer to write between 4 and 10 relationships.

Do I have to write a letter to my author?

No, you do not have to write a letter to your author, though you are absolutely welcome to write a letter with optional details, prompts, or whatever else strikes your fancy. Leaving your author optional details in the sign-up field is not required either, but strongly encouraged. The details are optional, but some authors find it helpful to know what kind of story you’d like to receive, which tropes or prompts you’d really like to see written, or what your Do Not Wants (DNWs) are.

How does matching work?

The Hot Pod Summer exchange matches on relationships. Your assigned recipient will have requested at least one relationship that you offered to write. If you have entered optional details or DNWs in your AO3 sign-up boxes, these may also be taken into account when matching. Once matching is done, you will receive an email with your recipient’s AO3 username and their requests.

Assignments

What are the requirements for the story I’m writing?

Your story must feature at least one of the relationships requested by your recipient. It must also be a complete story (no “I’m posting chapter 1 now and other chapters later”, please!) of at least 1,500 words.

If I offered more than one ship that my recipient requested, which one do I write? If I want to write a ship they requested that I didn’t offer, am I allowed to do that?

As long as your story features at least one of the ships they requested, you’re good. If you offered more than one of their ships, which one you end up writing is totally up to you.

Is my assignment a secret?

Your assignment is a secret until authors are revealed. Please do not discuss the story you’re writing publicly, we all want to be surprised on reveals day. :) If you need to contact your recipient because you have a question about their sign-up or for whatever other reason, please do not contact them directly, even anonymously! Instead, email us at hotpodsummer@gmail.com and we will contact your recipient to ensure anonymity is maintained.

What if I can’t complete my assignment before the deadline?

Please reach out to us. We’re here to help, but we have to know if there’s a problem. We have a default deadline set for a week before assignments are due and while we understand that last-minute things can happen, it would really help mods with planning if we got a heads-up from you a week before your assignment is due if you think you won’t be able to turn in a story -- just hit the ‘default’ button on your My Assignments page if you need to. That way, we can send your assignment to a pinch hitter and ensure your recipient doesn’t go gift-less.

Am I guaranteed to receive a gift?

If you signed up for the exchange and turned in a story, you are guaranteed to receive a gift. If you default and your author does not, you will also receive a gift. If you default and your author defaults as well, you may not receive a gift, depending on availability of pinch hitters.

Can I make a fanmix/video/draw fanart instead of writing a story?

This is a writing exchange, so for your assignment, please stick to writing a story of at least 1,500 words. You’re welcome to add art, music, etc. to the story you wrote, but this is primarily a fanfiction exchange.

Can I write more than one story for my recipient?

Oh my god, you overachiever! :) Yes, you totally can. In that case, you’d post the extra gift as a treat, but you’re of course only asked to write one story.

What is a pinch hitter and how do I become one?

A pinch hitter fills in for somebody else who can’t complete their assignment and writes a story for that person’s recipient. A pinch hitter may be somebody who’s already participating in the exchange, but if you aren’t formally participating in the exchange and would like to pinch hit instead, you’re more than welcome to. If you’d like to pinch hit, please fill out the form any time after sign-ups begin (it will be linked here and/or posted on social media) or email us at hotpodsummer@gmail.com.

Can I write treats?

YES. All requests will be made public after assignments go out and if you’re inspired by one (or more!) requests that aren’t your assignment, you’re welcome to write a little bonus story (=a treat) on top of your assignment for anybody else who signed up for the exchange. You may also write treats if you aren’t officially participating in the exchange. Treats do not have to fulfill the minimum word count and may be multimedia.

How do I find a beta reader for my story?

If you’d like another pair of eyes on your story before you publish it, you can email hotpodsummer@gmail.com. In the email, please tell us: the ship you’re writing, the word count of your story, and what kind of beta you need (for example: SPAG, structure, canon, special knowledge of [certain subject or matter], etc.) and we’ll try our best to connect you with someone to look it over for you, though we can’t guarantee it.

I would like to beta someone else’s story!

Great! Sign up using this form here and if anyone needs a beta, we may contact you with their request.

Posting

How do I post my assignment?

In the top right corner of AO3, where it says “Hi, [your username]”, select “My assignments” from the dropdown menu, find the Hot Pod Summer exchange and click “Fulfill”. You’ll be taken to a form where you can input your story, title, etc. Preview it, make sure it looks how you want it to, and click on Post. Your story will automatically post into the Hod Pod Summer collection as a gift to your recipient. It will remain unrevealed in the collection until an admin reveals it.

Can I edit my story after the deadline?

Yes, you can edit your story until it’s revealed, but please do not upload an unfinished story.

How do I post a treat?

Posting a treat works a little bit differently than posting your assignment. In order to post a treat, you have to visit the Hot Pod Summer collection page (you’re probably on it now if you’re reading this FAQ) and click “Post to collection”. This will take you to a posting form that has the collection name already filled in, so it’ll be posted in the right place. From there, fill in the AO3 name of your treat recipient manually and then input your title, story, etc., preview it to make sure it looks the way you want it to look, and then click on Post.

Story reveals

What are staggered reveals and why are you doing them?

Staggered reveals mean that we’re only publishing a small number of stories at a time every day, thus, you might get your gift on any day during the reveals period. We’re doing this so every story can get the attention it deserves and readers aren’t overwhelmed by a lot of stories dropping at the same time.

How do staggered reveals work?

We will email you the night before the story you wrote will go live (please check your email!). That way, you’ll have the chance to put that day’s date on your story and make sure it appears at the top of the collection once your story is revealed.

Do I have to comment on my gift?

Look, we can’t mandate it, but please comment on your gift. It’s the polite thing to do if somebody else took the time and effort to write a story for you. 

Any other questions?

Email us at hotpodsummer@gmail.com and one of us will get back to you.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 49]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

I have a bit to edit right now. Not sure how much I’ll write on this, but I’ll do it for a while.

Chapter 20

Logan let out a slow breath as his father closed the door behind him. That could have been very, very bad. He turned his attention to Virgil and Patton. Patton had curled himself around Virgil as much as physically possible and had tucked the boy’s head under his chin.

Logan slowly rounded the bed and knelt in front of them. “It’s alright,” Logan said, cautiously moving to put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil didn’t pull away. “I asked him to leave. It’s alright.”

Virgil tilted his head slightly too look at him. Logan rubbed a circle into his back as he slowly got control of his breath.

 Logan smiled softly at him and reached out to touch his cheek with a gentle hand. “You… didn’t hurt him. You didn’t even try to hurt him.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Why not?” Logan asked curiously. “It was a perfect opportunity.”

“Promised Patton,” Virgil mumbled, and the idea that perhaps the thing that had saved his father’s life was a pinky promise just about gave Logan a migraine, but then Virgil ducked his head. “And it would make you sad.”

“I see,” Logan said, heart in his throat.

Virgil kept looking towards the floor, his eyes starting to fill with tears again. “Are you going to turn me in now?”

 He was shaking and barely holding back a fresh wave of tears. Logan knew of course that no one would hurt him here if he turned him in to his father and the guards, but he also knew that Virgil would be terrified if he did so. He was already terrified. Logan didn’t want to know what he thought the fate Logan would be condemning him to.

“No,” Logan said before he could even truly think it through. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Virgil asked.

“Well, there wouldn’t really be a point, would there?” Logan asked. “The reason we planned to turn you when father got back in is because you posed a danger to him, but you have just demonstrated that is no longer an issue.”

 “Really?” Virgil asked, sniffling a bit and Logan saw Patton’s arms tighten even more around him.

“We will have to figure out a better cover for you than just that you’re new to the castle, but I believe it will work fine. No one besides the two of us would ever guess your origin anyway.”

“S-so I can stay?” Virgil asked, “and you won’t throw me into prison or execute me?”

“I promise you were never going to be executed Virgil,” Logan said. “Even if we turned you in, but yes you can stay with us. We’ll figure out a backstory for you that doesn’t involve assassinations and you’ll have to keep up the lie, but I doubt anyone will question it.”

 “I’ll do whatever you want,” Virgil said, chocked up. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to go.”

“Well, you’re our friend now so there will be no going anywhere,” Patton said kissing him on the cheek. Virgil relaxed back into his hold, pleased with the affection.

Logan smiled at them both. “Can I see your wrists, Virgil?”

Virgil blinked but offered them and Logan tapped the restraints doing a quick incantation. They popped off after a moment.

“You’re letting me go?” Virgil asked, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Logan said. “We’re not just going to keep you prisoner for no reason.”

 “That’s…” Virgil said, eyes watering as he clearly was trying not to cry. “You’re the best people I’ve ever met.”

“I wish that was not so clearly the case,” Logan replied. He slowly reach up and set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go speak with my father. Patton will stay with you.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, seeming a bit hesitant.

Logan smiled softly and leaned forward to gently touch their foreheads together. “I will be right back,” he assured. “We will finish our slumber party, though perhaps we will table the rest of the dress up activity for another night.”

 He stood then, leaving Virgil in Patton’s capable hands to exit his own bedroom and cross the hallway to his father’s. He took a brief moment to compose himself before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” his father called.

Logan opened the door to see his father sitting on one of the armchairs in his room. Despite the almost disaster that had taken place a few minutes ago, Logan found himself smiling at the man. It was nice to have him home.

“Sorry about that,” Father said.

“It was more my fault than yours. If I knew there was a risk of you coming home today, I wouldn’t have left him alone.”

 “Is he alright?”

“I believe so,” Logan answered. “Patton is with him and will certainly smooth out any lingering distress.”

“Good,” his dad said. “That’s good.” There was a pause and then he gestured at the seat beside his.

Logan settled himself down on it. “How was your trip?” he asked. “You’re back a week early.”

“Yes,” Father said. “The trip went better and worse than anticipated.

“How so?” asked Logan curiously.

“Well,” Dad said. “The purpose of the trip was to convince the new queen of Lamir, Cecil not to ally with Mocnejsi, but by the time I’d arrived there wasn’t really a risk of that.”

 “Why not?”

“After investigation, it turned out that Cecil’s mother had been poisoned by an assassin from Mocnejsi.”

“Oh,” Logan said, mind already racing.

“They figured out that one of the young women who had been hired on in the kitchen for the winter had done it, and had learned her origin when they questioned her,” Dad informed him. “Considering Cecil was immediately approached for an alliance with Mocnejsi, their aim was likely to manipulate her going forward because of how young she is. Luckily, Cecil is a smart girl and has the help of her mother’s advisor as well as her own. By the time I got there, my only real role was to extend my condolences and reaffirm out alliance. I would have stayed longer, but the possibility that Mocnejsi may think to attack us in a similar way hastened me home.”

 “That…” Logan said. “That is wise. I assume you are going to institute more security.”

“I am, yes,” Dad replied. “I would like your input on plans in the coming day.”

“Of course,” Logan agreed.

Dad smiled at him, “But for now,” he said, “I think it’s time you get back to your slumber party and I get to finally go to sleep.”

Logan nodded and got to his feet. He leaned over to hug his father perhaps a bit longer and harder than was strictly necessary, but Dad did not seem to mind at all. “Goodnight,” Logan said.

“Goodnight, son.”

  Chapter 21

Virgil woke with something soft but kind of stringy in his face. That was weird. He didn’t know what in the closet would feel like that. In fact, as he woke more he noticed more things that he couldn’t sus out the origin of, particularly the warmth curled up against his side. Curious, he blinked open his eyes. Oh, right. Patton.

The soft stuff in his face was Patton’s hair and the warmth next to Virgil was the rest of the boy’s body. Patton had all but refused to let Virgil go last night after Logan had taken off the restraints and Virgil hadn’t minded the attention. They must have fallen asleep together in the piles of pillows and blankets on the floor.

 Virgil brushed his hair gently away, internally (for fear of disturbing him) shaking his head at him. He’d fallen asleep hallway on top of an assassin. He had no self-preservation instincts. He looked at his wrists. It seemed no one had any self-preservation instincts. This of course, included himself as instead of running off when free in case they decided to turn him in after all, he had fallen asleep on the floor with Patton too.

He looked to the side and saw Logan was already awake, reading on one of his chairs. He seemed to sense Virgil’s eyes on him because he looked up after a moment.

 “You can get up if you like,” Logan said. “He is a heavy sleeper and won’t wake up if you squirm out of his grip.”

Virgil frowned, unsure if he wanted to risk it.

“I have breakfast ready for you.”

Okay, Virgil was going to risk it.

He carefully squirmed out of Patton’s grip, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead in apology for leaving him before getting to his feet.

Logan handed him a plate of eggs and toast when he walked over and gestured to the chair next to him. Virgil sat there to eat while Logan continued to read.

 Virgil ate his food quickly, and then glanced over at Logan once he was done. Virgil was honestly at a bit of a loss. Usually, they came and got him out of the closet only once they were ready to do something, but Patton was still sound asleep on the floor and Logan looked engrossed in his book.

Virgil fidgeted slightly, unsure what he should be doing or even if he should be doing anything. Considering Logan hadn’t given him any instructions, he should probably not do anything. He didn’t want to screw up the first day of… whatever this was now.

 Logan glanced over at him after a few minutes. “Don’t forget about the potion,” he reminded.

Virgil nodded and stood, walking over to the closet since it would still be in there from the previous morning. It was about half gone now and it had gotten to the point where Virgil didn’t feel any immediate affects from it anymore other than some warmth. It basically just felt like drinking tea.

He said as much to Logan when he walked back over to him.

“That’s good,” Logan said, “it means it has been working. It has healed any damage it can from malnutrition. Any internal organs that were damaged should be mostly healed. You may even notice your eyesight getting slightly better. Your immune system should also be boosted. You will likely also find it is easier to gain muscle and while you likely will never be as tall as you could have been, you will likely still grow a few inches during your next growth spirt.”

 Virgil studied his hands where they were sitting on his thigh now as though he could see the changes that allegedly had already taken place in his body. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Logan replied, eyes already back on his book like it was some normal thing and not a huge kindness he’d bestowed on Virgil before even really knowing him. As though Virgil didn’t just owe him more than just his life going forward.

They sat in silence then for a few more minutes, before the was a soft sigh from the floor and Patton started to wake. He sat up and looked around. His eyes landed on both Virgil and Logan sitting together and he seemed to light up.

 “Good morning!” he chirped.

“Good morning, Patton,” Logan said as Patton popped to his feet, “I have breakfast for you.”

“Thank you Lo,” Patton said, throwing his arms around Logan’s neck, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil presumed from the lack of surprise on Logan’s face that this was normal for morning Patton, not that the fact surprised him considering how night Patton acted.

He still managed to be somewhat surprised by the fact that Patton turned to hug Virgil a second later. Patton’s lips were pressed briefly to Virgil’s head and then he turned to grab the plate Logan had saved for him.

 “So, what are we doing today?” Patton asked.

“I was thinking Virgil and I could continue our reading lessons if he is not opposed,” Logan said. Virgil nodded, happy with that prospect. “Other than that, I have no plans. I have already spoken with my father before the two of you woke. He is going to spend most of his day catching up on things he missed and said I could take the rest of the day off royal duties.”

“A whole day to relax then!” Patton said, happily chewing on his toast. “Reading sounds fun, but we should do something more active too.”

 Logan hummed. “We can show Virgil the courtyard after the reading lessons,” he said.

It took a moment for it to register, but then Virgil froze. “Wait,” he said. “We’re going outside?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“So, we’re leaving your room?”

“Are you alright with that?” Logan asked cautiously.

Virgil nodded quickly.

“Oh,” Patton said at his enthusiasm. “I guess you have been cooped up a while, haven’t you?” He smiled sadly and turned to Logan. “Maybe we can do reading lessons in the garden.”

“That would be satisfactory.”

“Great!” Patton said. He looked over at Virgil. “If we’re going out, we should probably put your hair up and get you in some clean clothes.”

 Logan nodded. “You finish eating, and I will help Virgil find something to wear.”

Logan found him an outfit, though it was a bit baggy on Virgil and the hem of the shirt went halfway to his knees. When Patton finished breakfast, he sat Virgil down and carefully worked a brush through his hair.

“Can I braid it?” Patton asked.

Virgil hummed his consent. Having his hair brushed and done up by another person was a lot more enjoyable than he’d anticipated. He’d liked it when Logan did it the night before, though he had to very firmly push away thoughts of where that led.

 “Okay!” Patton said after a few moments. “You look good. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded and they both led him out into the hall. He paused before they got to the door. “What about the guards?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’ve already given them the same story as I did Dad,” Logan replied. “They know you’re here.”

Virgil still hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Patton promised. “Here, hold my hand?”

Virgil took the offered hand immediately, and Logan stepped in front of them both. Virgil felt himself relax a bit knowing the prince was between him and the guards.

They led him to the door.

 Logan greeted both of the guards at the door, and they said good morning back. Both of them glanced at Virgil curiously for a moment making him shrink into himself, but they quickly averted their gazes.

Patton pulled him past them without incident and soon they were in the small dining hall Virgil had passed through his first night here. He remembered how he’d snuck around at the edges of the room in the shadows with the aim to kill the king, but now he was being pulled through the middle with the prince having just wandered past the royal guards in broad daylight like it was nothing.

 It was so strange, and Virgil still couldn’t totally believe this was happening. The retraced his exact steps back down the spiral stairs near the kitchen and out of the door he and the nice gardener had came through. He could even see the shed he’d been hiding in from here. With a blink, he remembered they were going to the garden, and he wondered if he’d see the man again.

For now, he just looked around them as Logan and Patton led him past the garden shed towards an area with many trees. Orange and yellow leaves were starting to fall from many of the trees.

 They made a satisfying crunching sound under his feet as he was led to a tree. He had seen the group of trees when he’d first arrived here and had even thought about hiding amongst them instead of in the shed, but they’d seemed scary in the dark. They were pretty in the daylight, however, and Virgil found himself tilting his head to watch the branches sway in the slight wind.

Logan sat down under it and pulled out a book and some writing materials from the bag he’d brought. Virgil settled down next to him so they could both look at the book at the same time and Patton flopped down on the other side, immediately setting to work tying fancy knots in the yarn he’d brought with him. Patton shuffled slightly to the side so they bumped shoulders as Logan opened the book and started Virgil’s reading lesson.

  Chapter 22

Patton bit his lip to keep from laughing or awing. “Do you like the flower, Virgil?” he asked.

Virgil glanced up at him briefly and then his eyes returned to the flower he’d found. “It’s nice,” he said.

They’d finished the reading lessons and let Virgil explore the garden a bit. He’d found a dark purple and yellow flower (a pansy, Patton thought) and seemed to be endlessly fascinated by it. He’d been staring at it for minutes now, almost as though he expected it to do something. Patton did not quite understand his interest, but he was still adorable.

 Logan sat next to him and the flower, smiling at him softly. “I imagine you’ll enjoy the garden in the spring,” Logan said. “There are many more flowers then. Of all types. We’ll have to show you all of the best spots. Mr. Deknis has a particularly good eye for colors, and it is always quite beautiful.”

“Who is Mr. Deknis?” Virgil asked.

“He’s the head gardener,” Logan said. “He’s a nice man, though a bit prickly when it comes to his garden. We may see him today if he’s in this part of the garden.”

“Would he have been the multrum I saw in the gardening shed when I hid there?”

 “Ah, yes, that would be him. I was unaware you interacted with anyone in the castle.”

“He caught me in his garden shed, but he wasn’t mean,” Virgil said, he tilted his head curiously at Logan. “Why…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“Why is he the gardener?”

Logan looked confused, “Well,” he said, “I guess because he wants to and is good at it.”

“No,” Virgil said with a frown. “I mean. Shouldn’t he… he’s…”

Logan seemed to think hard for a moment. “Right,” he said. “You’ve been under a blood compulsion. I’d guess you would have only worked with multrums in the military.”

 “I guess I didn’t realize that they could be other things…”

“Of course, they can,” Logan said. “Their abilities don’t make them any less of people. Mr. Deknis likes to garden so he gardens.”

Virgil blinked at him.

“…Of course, all things considered, that may not be a familiar concept to you.” Virgil turned back to look at the flower instead of answering. “Right,” said Logan.

There were a couple of awkward beats of silence. Patton bit his lip and happened to glance up. “Oh,” he said. “Speaking of Mr. Deknis.” He gestured to the gardener who was coming up the path between the trees.

 Logan sat up on his knees as Patton waved at him. He saw Patton and turned to walk towards them. “The two of you had better not be up to mischief in my garden,” Mr. Deknis called, his voice a bit gruff. He clearly did not see Virgil who had laid flat on his stomach to stare at the flower.

Logan rolled his eyes automatically. “We were just reading Mr. Deknis,” he said. “Your piles of dirt are safe.”

“No mud cakes?” Mr. Deknis asked skeptically still coming towards them.

“It has been a literal decade…”

Patton saw when Mr. Deknis was close enough to see Virgil.

 He stopped in his track and looked down at Virgil who was already watching him a bit warily. “Hello,” he said, his voice a lot softer than it’d been a few moments before. His expression completely flipped in a moment to something very gentle when he saw Virgil and the cautious look on his face. Virgil did seem to have that effect on people.

“Hi,” Virgil replied.

Mr. Deknis looked at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Virgil. “This is our new friend, Virgil,” Patton offered.

“Hello, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a nod.

“Virgil, this is the gardener Mr. Deknis.”

 “He’s not nearly as grumpy as he sounds,” Patton assured.

“Well,” Logan said, “yes he is.”

Mr. Deknis shot him a look that only served to prove Logan’s point if Patton was being honest. Logan just smiled back. Mr. Deknis apparently decided to let it slide because he turned back to Virgil.

“It’s good to see you again,” Mr. Deknis said. “Are you feeling better?”

Virgil nodded. “I’m a lot better,” he said. Mr. Deknis considered him for a moment, clearly reading how true that statement was. Patton was glad he seemed satisfied with the answer.

“I see you’ve met these two.”

 “Yeah,” Virgil said.

Mr. Deknis smiled slightly. “Be careful with this one,” he said, pointing to Logan. “He’s a bad influence.”

Virgil frowned in confusion. “He’s the prince,” he pointed out.

“And a bad influence,” Mr. Deknis repeated. “He’s a beacon of irresponsibility and mischief and he corrupts that one,” he nodded to Patton.

“I am completely responsible,” Logan replied.

“Need I remind you of the cucumber incident.”

“I was 8,” Logan said.

“I know how old you were,” Mr. Deknis replied, “and you are hardly any older.”

“I resent that.”

Mr. Deknis just smiled and turned back to Virgil who was watching the interaction with pure curiosity.

 “I just picked a few more of those apples for Patton’s mom to make into apple sauce. Would you kids like some?”

Virgil glanced over at Logan and Patton.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Patton replied for them all, standing up. Seeing that, Virgil also climbed to his feet.

“It’s back this way,” Mr. Deknis said, inclining hid head back the way he’d came and then turning to lead them that way. Patton followed him. He glanced back to see Logan put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and give him a gentle push to get him going. “So, what are you kids up to today?”

 “We wanted to show Virgil the garden and courtyard,” Patton said. “He’s been cooped up inside for a bit.”

“I see,” Mr. Deknis said. He glanced back at Virgil. “Feel free to come out in the garden anytime you like. As long as you don’t go about purposefully destroying stuff, I don’t mind you being out here.”

“I won’t destroy anything,” Virgil promised instantly.

“Well I hope you manage to keep that attitude even while befriending the large upright groundhog behind you.”

Virgil looked a little bit nervous. “He’s just teasing Virgil,” Patton assured. “He loves Logan.”

Mr. Deknis glanced back again and seemed to read the same thing Patton had read on Virgil’s face.

 “Yes, of course,” Mr. Deknis said. “I have simply known the prince for a long time and joke with him in that way often. Logan is aware of that.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, his hand squeezing a bit on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil relaxed a touch.

Mr. Deknis stopped and reached down into a bucket next to a tree. “I wouldn’t offer my apples to people I don’t like,” he said, tossing an apple underhand to Logan. Instead of trying to catch it, his eyes widened and he dodged out of the way.

“You would however throw apples at them despite knowing they have never been able to catch things.”

 Mr. Deknis just rolled his eyes fondly, but Virgil frowned and turned to Logan. “You don’t know how to catch things?” he asked scandalized. “You should know how to catch things. What if someone throws a knife at you?”

Mr. Deknis looked… probably the right amount of concerned about that statement coming from a 14-year-old’s lips.

“Haha, yeah,” Patton said awkwardly. “Maybe you can teach Logan how to catch things Virgil, but later. Right now, why don’t we just get the apples and then show you the courtyard.”

Virgil was still frowning, but he did not argue with Patton’s suggestion.

 Thankfully, Mr. Deknis did not push, though Patton did have to dodge many a meaningful side eye. He might… need to make sure he did not get cornered by the gardener in the coming days… or brush up on his lying without lying skills.

For now, though, he just handed out the apples, not tossing them this time. Virgil thanked him softly and Patton could see the way the usually fairly gruff man went all melty at that. He even slipped an extra apple to Virgil for later which Virgil perked up at.

Patton and Logan pulled him away gently after that so Mr. Deknis could go back to work, but Virgil seemed happy with the apples and copied Patton at waving goodbye to him cheerfully.

Despite the fact that he liked Mr. Deknis and he’d been nice, Patton still took a calming breath when they were no longer at risk of lying about something and getting caught by the man’s powers. They went back into the castle towards the courtyard.

  Chapter 23

Logan was unsurprised that after showing Virgil the large courtyard, Patton almost immediately decided to instigate a game of tag. They were, after all, here with the goal of getting Virgil a bit active after having had him only in Logan’s room for weeks.

He was also unsurprised that Virgil seemed confused about the concept of tag, and Patton had to explain the game in detail to him.

It made him wince, but he still was unsurprised when Virgil went about inquiring after the consequences of losing the game.

He was, however, very surprised when, after getting all of the facts about tag settle, Patton was chasing after Virgil trying to tag him and suddenly the boy disappeared.

 Patton almost ran into a wall in his confusion. He stared at his hands stretched out and just a couple of inches from touching the wall for a moment, before slowly looking up.

“Virgil!” Patton exclaimed. “What?”

“What?” he asked.

“…What are you even hanging onto?”

“The wall,” Virgil replied.

Logan walked closer to the two of them and tilted his head up to look at him. Virgil had jumped up and somehow managed to find hand and foot holes on the seemingly smooth wall. He climbed about 5 meters above their heads and was peering down at them curiously.

 “Okay,” Logan said. “New rule. Virgil is not allowed to scale walls during tag.”

Virgil frowned down at him. “Why only me?”

“Because Patton and I cannot do that anyway,” Logan said. “We would not be able to actually play if you remain up there.”

Patton glanced over at him and reached over to touch Logan’s shoulder. “No tag backs,” he said. Logan glared at him. “Why don’t you come down sweetie?”

“But Logan will tag me,” he said.

“Well, honey, that’s part of the fun,” Patton reasoned. “Don’t you want to try being it?”

Virgil seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Okay,” he agreed.

 To Logan’s terror, he simply let go of the wall, falling straight down and landing crouched. He blinked at Logan. Right. With a start, Patton took off, so he’d have a head start. “No tag backs means a 10 second head start for me,” Logan reminded. Virgil nodded, and Logan reached out to poke him in the arm before immediately running off in the opposite direction as Patton.

Logan’s strategy worked out since, knowing he couldn’t go after Logan for a few seconds more, he chose to turn and go after Patton. After finding one of the statues to hide behind on the edge of the courtyard, Logan risked glancing back.

 Virgil was faster than Logan (and likely Patton) had accounted for. Patton had gotten a good head start on him, but Virgil closed it quickly. Patton shrieked as Virgil barreled into him, bringing them both to the ground.

“Virgil!” Logan heard Patton giggle. Logan figured he was more than okay despite the tackle. “This isn’t how you play tag!”

“I combined tag and tackle hugs,” Virgil declared, making Patton giggle more.

“That’s very innovative, honey,” Patton said. “Now are you going to let me up?...Virgil… I’m counting down your 10 second head start in my head, and if you don’t let me up I’m going to tag you again.”

 This did not seem to have the intended effect as Virgil did not remove himself from Patton’s person. Patton laugh when it became clear he was not going to move and began counting down “7, 6, 5, 4, you’d better let me go sweetie, or you’re going to get tagged again.” Virgil did not seem to care. “3, 2, 1.” Patton reached up and bopped him on the nose. “Tag!” he declared.

Logan was surprised when Virgil instantly jumped off Patton at that. He whipped around.

‘Oh,’ Logan thought as the boy’s eyes narrowed in on Logan immediately, ‘I see.’

 “Virgil was already halfway across the courtyard towards him before Logan could even think about running away. There was no way that he was fast enough to outrun him. Perhaps he could outthink him, he thought. His eyes scanned his environment in the seconds he had left and landed on a large square piece of stone that held flowers in the spring. It was just full of dirt now, but it was still about waist high. Perhaps if he kept that between them, he could outmaneuver him. He sprinted towards it and scrambled to the opposite side from where Virgil was heading.

 He really should not have been as surprised as he was that Virgil did not even slightly slow as he approached the planter box, instead grabbing ahold of the side of it and vaulting over it. Logan stumbled back, bracing for impact, but instead he just got a quick tap on the shoulder.

Logan blinked at him.

“I don’t know if you would be okay with tackle hugs,” he explained.

Logan considered him. “I would be okay with a nontackle hug.”

Virgil happily jumped forward to hug Logan, pressing his nose into Logan’s shoulder. Logan chuckled and patted the top of his head. “Six,” he said, “5, 4, 3…”

 Virgil bolted away suddenly, actually making Logan stumble a bit. He paused just out of reach of Logan, looking at him with anticipation. “2,1,” Logan finished with a raised eyebrow. He already knew he was being played with, but he indulged him by starting towards him. Virgil danced out of the way, eyes alight. Logan sighed. “Is this truly how it’s going to be?” he asked.

Virgil didn’t answer, but to watch him with wide, excited eyes.

“Fine,” Logan said. He dashed towards him again, only to have him continue to maneuver just out of Logan’s reach each time Logan went forward. He’d call it taunting if there was any sign of malice in it.

 They ran around the courtyard in spirts of Logan charging at him and Virgil expertly dodging. Eventually Patton came closer to them. Logan could tell that Virgil was aware of his presence, by how he glanced back at him briefly, but considering he was not ‘it,’ it seemed he chose to disregard him. However, he was not aware of the way Patton winked at Logan as he walked up behind Virgil.

Logan, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. He went to spring for Virgil again, and Virgil again moved to dodge, but this time Patton grabbed him around the waist, allowing Logan to actually tag him.

 He turned slowly to face Patton who started to giggle immediately at the perplexed look on his face. It cleared into something else as soon as he heard Patton laugh. “Traitor!” he claimed. “We were on the same team and you betrayed me.”

“I just thought we should probably have mercy on poor Logan,” Patton replied.

“Hmm,” Virgil said, eyes again full of that playful mischief Logan had not seen until today. “Plea for mercy not accepted.”

Patton once again half-shrieked half-laughed as he was pounced on. The two of them went rolling across the grass, Virgil clearly keeping the rolling going longer than it should have as they made it a good few meters.

 Virgil sprung off of him a few moments later.

“Oh, is it my turn?” Patton inquired with a huge smile. He slowly got to his feet. “Hmm, I’m probably at about 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” He took off after Virgil, but Patton had a bit more endurance than Logan, so instead of doing quickly calculated lunges at Virgil as Logan had done, he just ran at him full tilt without stopping.

Virgil ran from him, though Logan was pretty sure he was intentionally slowing himself down a bit so Patton had some amount of a chance. He kept turning to check behind him and make sure Patton was still somewhat close as he ran.

Which is why he didn’t see the imminent disaster in time.

  Chapter 24

Thomas should have been paying more attention, but his mind had been on the meeting he’d just had with the castle guards about increased security in the wake of the possible threat from Mocnejsi. He’d decided to take a brief walk around the courtyard to clear his head but was still distracted with mulling over the options that had just been presented to him. He stepped into the castle courtyard and did not have time to step out of the way of the much smaller body rocketing towards him. Virgil slammed into his front, but not before Thomas got a good look at his face.

 Virgil’s expression changed dramatically in the few seconds between him registering Thomas was there and running into him. For the briefest moment, Thomas could see that he must have been having a lot of fun. He’d caught the wide smile and sparkling eyes as Virgil turned his head back from looking at Patton who was chasing him across the greenery. He’d looked very happy which made it all the more painful to see that happiness die in and a few instants. When his head had turned back towards Thomas, there was a flicker of confusion at something being in his path.

 Then, clearly everything about the situation registered, because his eyes blew wide in horror as he tried to stop himself, but there was no way he’d be able to in time. Thomas saw that fact register on his face the moment before he hit. Gone was any trace of happiness or joy in that split second. All that was left was dread that had no place anywhere near a children’s game of tag. It was the expression Thomas would expect from someone who felt ice give way under their feet in the middle of a lake they had thought was frozen solid.

 He hit hard, but he wasn’t nearly big enough to actually harm Thomas. Thomas was thrown slightly off balance but managed to stay on his feet. He reached out a hand to his shoulder automatically to steady the child. There was a moment of pseudo calm where they both absorbed the impact and stilled.

Then, the boy’s shoulder slipped out of Thomas’s grip as he went crashing to the ground in a move that made Thomas wince for the state of his knees. Thomas couldn’t quite grasp what was happening for a moment as Virgil face planted onto the ground in front of him, but when he did, Thomas couldn’t help but flinch and take a step back from him.

 Thomas had been bowed to before, of course, seeing as he was a king, but this was not out of respect or courtesy or even just tradition. This was out of terror. He was begging for mercy and it made Thomas feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meek and shaky into the ground, and there was almost something worse about the fact that he did not beg for forgiveness with his words, but only his posture. The way his breathes came far too quick and shallow said he was likely on the verge of a panic attack, but he was not blubbering through apologies or even not speaking at all. He gave a clear, if shaky, apology, and waited for whatever he thought Thomas planned to do to him. There was no way that was not learned.

 “You don’t…” Thomas stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but he reacted in no other way. He did not even react when Patton made it to his side and knelt down next to him. Patton’s hand hovered over his back, clearly wanting to touch down, but he pulled back on that instinct.

“Virgil, honey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. No one is mad. It was an accident.”

Virgil did not react to this at all.

Thomas caught Logan’s eye as he hurried over to them himself. “Sorry,” Thomas mouthed. Logan just nodded and turned his attention to his friend.

 “There is no reason for any of that,” Logan said, his voice firm, almost clipped. “You are not in trouble. Now sit up.”

Virgil did respond to that, slowly shifting back on his knees. He kept his head down looking at the ground. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I…” Thomas said, surveying the three kids on the ground in front of him. Thomas slowly sunk to the ground to be at their level. Virgil was tracking his movements out of the corner of his eyes, his head still bowed and his shoulders tensed. “Hey,” Thomas said softly. “Were you three playing tag?”

 Virgil hesitated, eyes flickering as he debated whether he should respond or not.

“Yeah, we were,” Patton answered for him after a moment of stressful silence.

“Well that’s fun,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry for interrupting the three of you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Virgil glanced up at him for just a moment before looking away again. Patton apparently felt it was safe enough to touch Virgil, because he settled a hand on the boys shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ve just been having a fun day,” Patton said, carefully matching Thomas’s light tone. “We went to the garden and did some reading. Then, Mr. Deknis gave us some apples.”

 “That’s nice,” Thomas replied. “He’s been talking about the new apples he’s been growing. He’s been working on them for years and they’re just beginning to bare fruit this year. I haven’t gotten a chance to try any yet. Are they any good?”

“They’re very good,” Patton told him. His hand rubbed slowly on Virgil’s back. “Isn’t that right, Virge?”

Virgil nodded a bit, a little less tense now, but still nowhere near calm.

“Well, I’ll have to try them soon,” Thomas said with a smile. “Thank you for the information. Now, I’ve got to get back to what I’m doing, but I hope you three have a good day.”

 “I’ll see you later, Dad,” Logan said.

Thomas nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Goodbye you three,” he said before turning away towards the door back into the castle. He paused to take a breath when the door closed behind him, cutting off the courtyard. There were a lot of thoughts to shirt through in regards to that conversation. He hated that Virgil was so obviously terrified of him. Both of their two interactions had ended with the poor thing panicking on the ground. He wished he had some idea of how to help him or at least someone to talk to about it.

Maybe he’d go visit Mr. Deknis himself and not just for the apples.

  Chapter 25

“Alright,” Patton said, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I’ve got to go back to my room for the night. Will you two be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Logan said. “It won’t be particularly different than the last two weeks.”

Patton nodded and leaned to the side to squeeze Virgil in another hug. He’d been clingy since the incident in the courtyard, and Virgil had been appreciative considering he was still pretty shaky from it. He was still surprised he’d touched the king of Prijaznia (let alone ran into him) and lived to tell the tale.

“Goodnight, Pat,” Virgil said because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t leave if Virgil didn’t.

 “Night Virge,” Patton said with a smile before standing up from where they’d been sitting on the ground. He reached over to hug Logan who was sitting on a chair. “Night Lo! Put the book down and go to bed.”

Logan looked up from his book with a frown.

“It’s almost midnight,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and set his book down. “Very well,” he agreed. “We will get ready for bed.”

“You better! I’m going to come and wake you up early in the morning.”

“Early in the morning for you is 9am,” Logan scoffed.

Patton stuck his tongue out at him as he walked backwards out of the door.

 Logan gave his book a mournful look once the door closed and Virgil almost giggled. “I won’t tell on you,” he said.

Logan thought about it for a few moments. “No,” he finally said. “We should probably get some sleep.”

Virgil nodded and pushed himself to his feet.

“We should probably both take a bath after sitting in the dirt today,” Logan said. “Do you want to go first or should I?”

“Don’t care,” Virgil answered.

“You can go first,” Logan offered.

Virgil felt himself smile. “You just want to finish the chapter in that book,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” Logan conceded.

 Virgil just grinned and walked over to his closet to grab one of the outfits he’d been given for pajamas. He chose a pair of baggy shorts that went past his knees and the huge soft black sweater Logan had found in the back of his closet. He headed into the bathroom, noting Logan had already picked up his book again.

Logan may have declared the both of them dirty enough for bathing a few minutes before, but Virgil was cleaner than he thought he’d ever been before coming to the castle. Logan had taught him how to use the tub and what soaps to use for what a couple of days after he’d arrived and had suggested he clean himself regularly.

 Virgil didn’t mind. The tub was enchanted to warm the water inside of it and Virgil loved it. Though, that had the negative affect of making it very difficult to leave.

He cleaned himself up quickly, so he’d have a few minutes to just sit in the water before he felt like he needed to get out and let Logan have a turn. He changed into his pajamas, pulling the crescent shaped protection charm out of his day clothes pocket and storing the warm to the touch stone in the short pocket. He used the clip Patton had made it to pin it to the cloth to make sure he wouldn’t lose it.

 Logan was engrossed in his reading by the time that Virgil exited the bathroom. He did not look up as Virgil approached.

“Your turn,” Virgil said to him.

Logan clearly just barely managed to tear his eyes away from the book. “Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“The book will be there in the morning,” Virgil reminded.

“I know,” said Logan sadly as he set the book aside.

Logan never took much time in the bath, so Virgil quickly went about getting ready for bed the rest of the way. He put his day clothes in the basket Logan had for that purpose and started to straighten out the blankets and pillows in the closet.

 He heard Logan come back into the room a few minutes later.

“Virgil,” Logan said. “What are you doing?”

Virgil looked over at him. “Getting ready for bed,” he answered, confused.

Logan frowned at him. “You don’t sleep in the closet anymore,” Logan said. “That’s only for when we were worried you might escape.”

“Oh,” Virgil said blinking over at him. “Right.” He felt a slight pulling at his chest. He liked the closet. It was warm and soft. Patton had taken a lot of care with how he’d arranged all of the pillows and blankets. It was the best place he could ever remember having to sleep in his life. Yet, he did not argue. He knew getting to sleep out in the open was supposed to be a reward and he wasn’t about to reject it.

 Virgil stood and closed the closet. He tugged on the bottom of his sweater, stretching the fabric between his hands as he watched Logan pull down the covers of his bed and settle down onto it. Cautiously he walked over towards the bed. He wasn’t sure where he should lay down exactly. He dithered for a moment before bending down to sit on the floor near the right side of Logan’s bed and then laying down.

There was shuffling on the bed above him and then Logan’s head popped over the side to squint down at him. “On the bed Virgil,” he said.

 Virgil looked up at him in shock. “But it… I’m…” He trailed off and there were a few seconds of silence.

“It is just a bed Virgil,” Logan said.

But it wasn’t ‘just’ anything. Virgil was pretty sure touching the bed of a royal family member without permission would be considered a capital offence. At least, it would in Mocnejsi. Yet, Logan was expecting him to just… crawl into it?

“Please just get up here,” Logan said. Virgil’s caution at touching something he was definitely sure he should not be allowed to be touching wared with his resolve to repay his literal life debt to Logan by doing whatever he wanted.

 Feeling honestly a bit sick to his stomach, Virgil slowly pushed himself back to his feet. Logan scooted back over to the left side of the bed, and Virgil cautiously sat down on the empty side of the bed. After a second of hesitation he slowly laid down, his head hitting a soft fluffy pillow. He jumped when Logan flopped the covers on top of both of them.

Virgil took a long moment to absorb the situation while Logan took off his glasses and reached over to turn off the light next to him. He’d never slept in a bed before, or if he had he’d been too young to remember. In the orphanage there was a lack of actual beds due to overcrowding and there had always been someone bigger and stronger that Virgil didn’t dare fight for the use of them. During training, none of the kids had a bed. Only a few of the higher ups had ones at the more permanent training sites. There were very few situations where any of the assassins, at least a Virgil’s level, would be allowed to touch a real bed.

 The light switched off, plunging them into darkness.

“Is this…?” Virgil said, eyes still pointed towards the ceiling even though his eyes had not adjusted to the darkness enough to be able to see it. “Do you want… things?”

“Things?” Logan asked.

Virgil did not move his head, but he did reach over and put his hand slightly above Logan’s knee. Logan didn’t move, so Virgil slid his hand up.

Virgil’s wrist was grabbed immediately and pulled firmly away from Logan’s inner thigh. He did not let go afterwards, his fingers squeezing hard, but not quite painfully. “Never,” Logan said, his voice harsher than it had ever been even on the day when Virgil was nothing more than an intruder with deadly intent. “Never offer anything like that to anyone ever again.”

 “I was just…”

“I know what you were doing,” Logan said, voice icy, “and it inadmissible. Never offer that again for anything. Do you understand me?”

“I... yes.”

“Promise me.”

Virgil took a short moment to think. “I promise,” he agreed.

“Good,” Logan said, releasing his hand. His voice got softer too. “Good.”

They were silent for a long time after that, though Virgil had no delusions that Logan had fallen asleep. He could almost feel the tension.

“Sorry,” Virgil finally said softly.

“It’s not something you should be apologizing for,” Logan replied. The bed moved as Logan shifted and a hand lightly touched the top of his head. “Just… never.”

 “Okay,” Virgil said. He shifted slightly after a moment until his head was in the crook of Logan’s arm. Logan brushed the hair out of his face with the hand that had been on his head.

“Goodnight Virgil,” Logan said.

“Goodnight,” Virgil responded. They were quiet after that, though Virgil was still awake for a while yet and Logan’s hand slowly stroked through his hair for a while. Eventually though, Virgil relaxed into mattress. He stuck his hand into his pocket and curled it around the charm in his pocket. The bed was nice, he thought. It was soft and warm… and safe. He finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 26

Patton did their new special knock on the door so Logan and Virgil would know it was just him and they didn’t need to hide the fact that Virgil was sleeping in the prince’s room. He didn’t wait for a response, however, and just shoved open the door. He was surprised to see that Logan was not already out of bed and wondered for a moment if he had broken his promise stayed up way too late reading like he was sometimes known to do. Yet, then, Logan spoke from the bed. “I’m awake,” he called.

Confused, Patton stepped into the room. Logan wasn’t one for lazing around in bed; usually he was out of bed the moment he woke.

 He stepped over to the bed and had to stifle a smile when he recognized the problem. Logan was awake, but Virgil was still sleeping, and he was half on top of Logan, his arms wrapped around him.

“Why don’t you just squirm out of his arms like you do me?” Patton asked, keeping his voice low.

“He isn’t like you,” Logan said. He did not bother to quiet himself at all.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked amused.

In answer, Logan started to move as though to squirm out of Virgil’s death grip on him. In response, Virgil made a pitiful mewling sound in his sleep that landed like a piercing blow straight to the heart. Logan stopped moving immediately and Virgil shifted to grip Logan tighter.

 “Aw!” Patton said.

“It’s not cute,” Logan insisted. “I’ve been stuck for hours and I have to pee.”

Patton chuckled. “Alright, alright, I’ll save you.” He rounded the bed to Virgil’s side and crawled up on it. “Virgil, honey,” he entreated softly. “I think it’s time for me to get cuddles so Lo can get up.” Patton softly touched Virgil’s shoulder and pulled at him gently. He reached forward to carefully pry Virgil’s arms off of Logan.

Virgil made a more confused than heartbreaking sound this time, turning towards Patton so Patton could wrap his arms around him. Logan managed to scoot towards the edge of the bed.

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Logan made it off the bed and dashed towards the bathroom as Virgil’s arms came around Patton and squeezed. Patton laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. After a few moments, Virgil’s eyes started to flicker a bit.

“Good morning, honey,” Patton said softly. “Did you sleep good?”

He hummed sleepily. “Beds are nice,” he said. Patton felt a slight pang at that because it implied he didn’t get to sleep in beds very much, but he chose to shove that aside.

“They are,” Patton agreed. Virgil’s eyes started to close again. “Honey,” Patton laughed. “I think it’s time to wake up now.”

 Virgil made a sleepy whining sound, squeezing Patton tighter. “Don’t you want breakfast?” Patton asked. That question managed to make Virgil open his eyes again. “I was thinking we could go down to the kitchen to eat that way it’s nice and fresh and I can introduce you to Mama real quick.” He neglected to mention the fact that they really did not have a choice. Mr. Deknis had blabbed to Mama about Virgil, and worse, had apparently mentioned that Virgil was skinny. As soon as he’d gotten home yesterday, he’d been met with an already worked up Mama firmly insisting that she meet Virgil sometime today.

 He wasn’t going to tell Virgil that though, because he thought it might scare him away from both Mama and Mr. Deknis.

Virgil thought about the prospect of breakfast for a long moment. “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll be awake.”

“Good,” Patton said. He reached up to bop him on the nose. Virgil narrowed his eyes and then bopped him back making Patton giggle. He sat up then, and Virgil let him. “Let’s get you something to wear and do your hair,” Patton suggested. Virgil nodded and reluctantly got out of bed, just as Logan returned to the room. “We’re going to go downstairs for breakfast,” Patton told Logan. “That way Virgil can meet my mom.” He gave Logan a significant look and Logan nodded once in understanding that this was not a choice.

 Logan and Virgil got dressed, and Patton did Virgil’s hair up nice, before Patton led them out of the royal wing. They went down the main staircase instead of the spiral staircase that went right to the kitchen, mostly because it would be very busy, and Patton thought they should probably eat in the main dining room anyway. He could feel Virgil getting more anxious as they entered the busier part of the castle, and he stuck close to either Patton or Logan from the time they hit the top of the steps all the way to the main dining room.

 There were a few people in the dining room already eating breakfast when they arrived. Virgil’s curiosity seemed to temporarily overwhelm his anxiety as he looked around the large hall and at all of the people there. Patton looked around trying to see it through his eyes. He’d been running around this place since he was little, so he never really thought about how big the room was or how grandly it was decorated, but Virgil was just seeing it for the first time. Patton smiled at him as he guided him to one of the seats. There was already muffins on the table so Patton grabbed one and plopped it in front of Virgil.

 Virgil frowned down at the muffin dubiously. “You just… keep food out in the open?” he asked.

Right.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Patton promised. “No one here would have put anything in it.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked around at the other occupants of the room suspiciously.

“Honestly,” Logan said. “No one even knew we would be down here for breakfast. Nobody would just put something in random people’s food for no reason.”

Virgil gave him a look like he’d just told him people could in fact breathe under water. Virgil was really from a… whole different world, wasn’t he?

 “It’s really fine,” Patton said. “Logan and I have eaten things on the table like this a lot.”

“I’m surprised your not dead yet,” Virgil said.

Logan rolled his eyes and reached for a muffin. Virgil slapped it out of his hand and onto the floor. “Really?” Logan asked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes at him. “No eating unsecured food!”

“Virgil,” Logan groaned.

“I bet you don’t even know what common poisons taste like.”

“No,” Logan said. “I don’t because I don’t worry about being poisoned on a daily basis!”

“You should!”

People were starting to look over at them. Patton shot an awkward smile at the woman a few chairs down.

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“Just don’t eat the muffins Logan,” Patton said under his breath.

“I do not understand why-”

“Because it’s stupid as he-”

“Shush,” Patton commanded out of the corner of his mouth, “people are watching, and Virgil is just a normal castle resident.”

That shut the both of them up at least.

“No muffins for now,” Patton said. “I assume it’s okay to eat the things they bring straight from the kitchen.”

Virgil looked a bit leery of this still, but he nodded.

“Good,” Patton said, “then we’ll just wait for that to get here and then everyone will be happy, right?”

Logan opened his mouth and Patton turned to glare at him.

“Right?”

 Logan closed his mouth, though clearly, he did not want to give in so easily. They’d be doubtlessly rehashing this conversation once they were alone again.

Patton caught sight of one of the kitchen workers he knew fairly well come out of the kitchen and deliver food to a group of people who were there before them. She caught sight of them and walked over likely to ask them what they wanted for breakfast. Patton watched out of the corner of his eye as Virgil tensed, eyeing her approach suspiciously and she slowed under his glare.

This was going to be a long breakfast.

  Chapter 27

After an, honestly quite aggravating, breakfast full of Virgil’s cognitive distortions about the likelihood of being poisoned, Logan was relieved to finally be able to leave the dining area. In consideration to those serving breakfast, Patton did not lead them through the door in the back of the dining room that went directly to the kitchen, and instead took them out of the room and down the hall to a different entrance. This one had a guard stationed across from it as, despite what Virgil may believe, the castle workers did consider the possibility that someone would want to sneak into the kitchen for nefarious purposes.

 Said guard, of course, saw nothing wrong with the prince and the head chef’s son entering the side door even with the bonus stranger. In fact, he may even have known Virgil could be coming through this door if Ms. Heart had mentioned him.

Though Virgil hadn’t managed to catch it, Logan knew enough about Patton’s mother that he’d surmised that she had insisted Patton bring the boy to meet her. It was bound to happen at some point anyway, Logan knew, and he wasn’t particularly worried. After all, this was Patton’s mother. Virgil himself didn’t even seem particularly concerned.

 Logan had seen him panic and, while he tugged a bit at the sweater he was wearing, the motion was not particularly fervent, so he was likely just slightly nervous.

Of course, that may be because he did not know Patton’s mother specifically wanted to meet him and just assumed that they were starting the necessary process of introducing him to castle residents with a low risk person.

When they entered the hallway, Logan could already hear the usual noises of the kitchen: the clattering of plates, the bubble of conversation, and the sound of Ms. Heart’s voice calling out instructions.

 He did see Virgil hesitate, but Logan couldn’t sus out why and Patton was already ahead of them and opening the door into the kitchen. It was fairly calm for the kitchen considering it was meal hours. Logan imagined that Patton had chosen the time between when the day guards ate breakfast before their shifts and the night guards after their shifts on purpose. There was still a bit of chaos as dishwashers attempted to catch up during the lull and a few orders were still being made, but overall the mood seemed, to Logan at least, to be light as Ms. Heart ordered her kitchen around.

 Yet, Virgil clearly did not see the situation the same way that Logan did. He froze when the kitchen door swung open and some of the workers turned to look at them. He took a step back, bumped into Logan, startled violently, realized it was Logan, and then side stepped to hide behind him. Logan looked back at him in confusion, but Virgil said nothing, proceeding to mutely peer over Logan’s shoulder.

Patton had moved over to greet his mother as she wiped her hands off on a rag. She glanced over at Virgil and Logan and Logan saw Virgil shrink back a bit.

 Logan could see Ms. Heart’s eyes soften as she tracked his movement. She turned to the woman next to her and said something before moving to remove her apron and hang it up in its designated area. Virgil’s hands clenched in the fabric of Logan’s shirt when she turned back to him.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Logan told him, but Virgil didn’t seem to believe him. Luckily, Patton had turned back and seemed to realize something was amiss.

He stepped back over to them. “Hey, honey,” he said. A plate clattered in the kitchen and Virgil just about ripped Logan’s shirt.

 Patton frowned sympathetically. “Too loud?”

“Virgil,” Logan said. “You are digging your fingernails into my skin.” Patton shot Logan a glare. “What?”

“How about,” Patton’s mom suggested. Virgil’s fingernails dug more into Logan’s skin. “We go to my office.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Mama,” Patton said. “Come here, Virgil.” He reached over to touch one of Virgil’s hands and had to pull a bit to get him to release Logan. “It’s back that way, away from the kitchen,” he said when he managed to twine their fingers. He stepped around Logan, probably so there was still a buffer between Virgil and the kitchen and tugged him in the correct direction.

 Ms. Heart shot a glance at Logan and Logan felt irrationally like she was trying to read his thoughts. Logan smoothed his features out and turned to follow Patton and Virgil towards her office.

As head chef, Ms. Heart had a small office where she could plan menus without the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and have meeting with people who needed to discuss dietary needs and restrictions. It was very well organized, but still looked fairly messy because of the numbers of decorations she had in it. She had a tendency to keep everything that Patton made her, thus she had his childhood drawings on the wall and little projects stacked on her desk and on the shelves. A lumpy cat statue acted as a paperweight on a stack of papers on her desk and there was a vase of fake flowers (as it could not actually hold water) sat near the window.

 By the time Logan entered the room, Patton was trying to coax Virgil into sitting down on one of the two mismatched chairs, but Virgil was having none of it. He had turned to face the door and was yanking at his sweater in nervousness.

Logan noticed that Ms. Heart did not come far into the room, instead pausing near the door. She did, however close the door to give them privacy, and that seemed to distress Virgil more.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment. “Hello,” she said, her voice softer than Logan was used to hearing. “You must be Virgil.”

 It seemed as though he were willing himself to magically shrink, but he still replied. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Patton’s mom.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Virgil.”

He hesitated. “Okay,” he said somehow quieter.

Her eyebrows drew together in concern, and it seemed that she decided to result to her default way of making people more comfortable. “Would you kids like some candy?”

Logan saw Patton’s hand squeeze Virgil’s lightly. “That would be great, Mama.”

She nodded and walked forward towards her desk. Virgil turned so his back was never to her. If she noticed, she didn’t react. She just grabbed a small tin off one of her shelves and took the top off. “How about a peppermint candy?” she asked.

 She offered the tin out to them. Virgil stared at it like it was a venomous snake. Logan decided to act, stepping forward and taking three of the pieces of peppermint candy from the dish. He stepped over to Virgil and Patton and held out his hand, offering Virgil first choice out of all three.

He hesitated before glancing between Patton and his mother. He must have decided that Patton’s mom wouldn’t risk poisoning Patton and took one of the pieces. Patton took another one of them and popped it into his mouth. Logan ate the last piece.

“Thanks,” Virgil said to Ms. Heart before placing his piece in his mouth.

 Logan watched Virgil’s eyes light up a bit when the flavor registered. His posture didn’t completely relax, but he seemed at least a bit less like he was contemplating jumping through the window. His trust was almost worryingly easy to buy sometimes. All it took was a not poisoned peppermint.

Ms. Heart seemed pleased by his reaction. “I’m actually going to be making some new ones soon and I’m trying to get rid of these. Would you like to take another one for later?” she asked, holding out the tin.

He looked at it warily again, but he still stepped closer slowly and took another piece. “Thank you.”

 “Anytime,” Ms. Heart said, eyes looking over him intensely. “You look like you could do to with a few more sweets every so often.”

Virgil tilted his head in that way he did when he was particularly perplexed.

Patton giggled a bit. ��She means your skinny.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Logan already gave me a malnutrition potion for that.”

“Did he now?” she asked, her eyes flickering to Logan. Logan winced. He was definitely in trouble for not bringing him directly to her. He was sure he’d hear all about it as soon as she caught him without Virgil in the room.

 She turned back to Virgil with a smile, and Logan imagined Virgil had no idea how dead Logan was. “Well, that’s a very good start, but if there was need for a nutrition potion, we should be careful to make sure you get enough calories and nutrients every day going forward.” She sat down at her desk. “Why don’t you and I talk for a bit about making sure you get some good food.”

He still looked cautious but was predictably enticed by the promise of food. He did not sit still, but he did put his hands on the back of one of the chairs and slightly lean on it. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have a few more specific questions, but let’s just start with what are your favorite foods?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Virgil replied immediately.

“He really likes chicken alfredo,” Patton contributed.

Virgil perked up at the name of the food. “I did like that,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Ms. Heart replied. That’s a start.

  Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

 That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

 Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

 “And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

[lucidpantone]

Wtfock Fanfic Recommends (Worlds/Lit adapt) Pt.1

What up Fockers! 🤘🏽(am back 😈)

Catch up on previous recommends here.

Worlds/Literary adaptation

Literary adaptation is the adapting of a literary source (e.g. a novel, short story, poem) to another genre or medium.

ITW = In the works

**Given recent events with wtfamers concerned over adult content not being marked properly I will be marking all these fics via the USA film rating system. I am going to air on the side of caution so if am over zealous its in respect to others. These ratings are a combination of my opinion and the author’s tags in Ao3.** Vampires

Open your soul out and let it pour out (oneshot) by orphan_account (PG-13)

Lets call this fic what it is. A bite feast. Do you wanna skip all the vampire lore and exposition and just get your teeth sinked into a one shot? Well here you go a funny little oneshot in which Sander bites Robbe(no turning). Its a quickie but it certainly quenched my thirst.

Dead of night (ITW) by orphan_account (PG)

Can’t say to much about this fic. Its a chaptered fic that started to get it wheels turning but we seem to be stuck in neutral. Author you asked for some HC to inspire you to write so jumping off your last vamp fic I would suggested exploring Sander as a lone wolf vampire and how finding Robbe ignites the idea to mate or to herd again. 

Paint me in trust (complete) by themoongirl/ @dearrobbe @dearsander (R/mainly due to violence)

Just completed and what a ride. This is truly a structured love story and though I don’t think the arc will be novel it doesn’t matter because this is such a deep love story about forgiveness, acceptance and sacrifice. I also love how the other characters feed the love story as a whole and how their experiences shaped Sander and Robbe to make decisions about how far they were truly willing to go to be together. The writing is so solid that you will wheeze through this fic. Structurally I think this fic is the author’s best work to date. Alpha/Beta/Omega 

Don't you call him baby (ITW) by @ayellowcurtain (R/Mature)

Big big shout out to this writer for doing something that is rarely successful which is creating an entire narrative story via prompts. Anyone out there who wants to start writing a world inspired fic but maybe feels like they would love input in what ideas to explore within that worlds setting should look at this fic as an example. Its really angsty and at times challenges the idea of the typical Sander alpha and Robbe omega love story. Its really unique but in an incredibly intelligent way and once again its told entirely through short form prompts. Its really great to see an author allowing their readers to create the angles of their storytelling.

Rescue my heart (I'll drown without you) (ITW) by @skamsnake & @zaddyskam (Explicit/Mature/NC-17) Kudos to the detailed world descriptions and exposition building that snake and zaddy undertake in explaining concepts around ABO because I didn’t even know what this genre was until I read this fic. From my understanding ABO writers decide what ABO concepts they borrow or chose not to use in the ABO world. This fic is in canon so set during an equivalent timeline to S3. We get an in-depth look into concepts such as alpha space and also how in this society Alphas/Omegas and Betas live and date interchangeably. Of course we have the normal angst ridden love story at the center of s3 but with a twist or should I say a knot.

Holding On Tight To You (Complete) by pinksaltcrystals (PG-13)

Am really happy to have a ABO fic in the mix that stays within a realm that accommodates readers of all ages. There is no explicit sexual content in this fic aside from mentions of heat and rut. It is a really good case study into how heat effects Robbe (omega) and also the very primal instincts the Alpha/Omega dynamic spark between the lovers(R+S) outside of sexual encounters. Also I love to see how other character canons in this fic are developed. Some interesting choices between who is an alpha/omega and beta. Really gripping read that explains the science of omega heat in the ABO world. 

Sander & Robbe (ITW) by JesseLblack / @jesyblack (Explicit/Mature/NC-17)

Written in Spanish this mpreg fic explores teenage Robbe getting pregnant after unprotected sex. Scandalous! It’s not complete yet but interesting concepts around teenage pregnancy in the ABO world and heighten fertility during heat. Author I haven’t seen an update in awhile but I would be really interested to see where you were going to take this.

Bring me a higher love (complete) By Skamtrash / @vearthling(Explicit/Mature/NC-17)

An Mpreg fic set into the future in which Robbe decides he wants to be a young dad and he has to convince Sander of that too. Once pregnant this is a cute quirky little fic into the weird abnormalities of pregnancy cravings and adjustments that ring very true to what most couples go through in these developing months. Super sugary and Sander gets no.1 best pregnancy partner in this fic. 

Hunger Games

just another dressed up heartbreak (turned his tears to diamonds in his crown) (kinda of a oneshot its part of a volume of works) by aletterinthenameofsanity  (R/mainly due to mentions of every dark trope you can think of)

Robbe and Sander victors of the 80th games. Cold blooded killers that fell deep in love during their Victory tour. This is a one shot in a large volume of works for this author exploring the Hunger Games. Milan is our Haymitch, I mean of course he is. This fic is a one shot part of the larger volume but in this part of the story we find out just because you win the games doesn’t mean the competition to stay alive has ended. Its sinister, dark and not for the fate of heart but some very interesting tropes explored and we truly get reminded that the capital always wins in the end. Also be prepared to see our evak couples how you have never seen them before. I like this fic alot but trigger warnings at every corner as this volume of fics are very very dark.

Game of Thrones

I, I Will Be King (ITW) by proawler / @sander-schmander (PG)

Sander Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Six Kingdoms. Sander Targaryen is betrothed to Britt Lannister when Olenna Tyrell invites the king to a party at Highgarden. During his visit he meets Robbe Tyrell and all the tiresome work of politics melts away as he is completely mesmerized by the budding flower standing before him. Author please continue this fic!!! Its so good. I love everything I have read thus far. I beg of you, am a sucker for GOT and you have done a fantastic job thus far capturing this world.

GOT fics continued in part 2....

[libsterslobsters]

Celebration Day

Summary: Bucky and the Reader's long-awaited wedding day is just around the corner. The only trouble is, with Pepper Potts serving as wedding planner, it's a little more elaborate than either of them had imagined. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands and create your perfect out of what's around you.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced!Reader

(Reader sees bits and pieces of the future at random, understands all languages, and is also a super soldier)

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Author's note: As always, the reader's name is never mentioned so that this can be read as a self-insert, but when I write this character, I imagine her as a Violet. Also, the song at the end of the fic can be anything you like, but I wrote it with Unforgettable by Nat King Cole in mind.

*************************************************

“Whoa.” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but as he takes in the huge stone building that, according to Pepper, they’ll be getting married at in two weeks’ time, he’s almost certain his eyes have gone as big as his fiancee’s. What the actual fuck? They could fit a small army inside this place.

“Is this the right place?” He’s half-way hoping she’ll say no, it was a big joke, but with a grimace, she nods.

“That is, if she sent us the right address. If not, it’s pretty remote here….” She trails off, biting at her lip.

“Does Pepper know that between the two of us, we can count the number of people we call friends on our fingers-”

“And the ones we’d actually want around to watch us make a life-long commitment to each other is even smaller? Yeah, I mentioned it.”

That’s what he was afraid of. Despite having been through some of the most intense situations known to man (fighting Thanos, anyone?), as he pulls the door closed behind him, his palm starts to sweat. Logically, he knew giving Pepper the go ahead to plan as she saw fit without any input from either of them (she did insist on footing the bill after all, so being particular would be ungrateful) meant that things would get more elaborate than he’d feel comfortable with, but this is completely out of hand.

“I’m starting to think that waiting until two weeks before the day of to take a look at things may have been a mistake.”

He chooses not to add his two cents to that (a fucking huge one, on both their parts). It turns out to be the right decision because, a huge bouquet of… are those lilies… in her hands, Pepper emerges from a side door.

“Good, you both found the place.” Yeah, it was kinda hard to miss. It’s a literal castle! “Isn’t it just beautiful?” The high-powered executive is gushing in a way that’s usually reserved for the first time seeing a great work of nature, like the Grand Canyon or possibly Niagara Falls. Not… whatever the hell this is.

“It’s very eye-catching.” The grip on his hand increases to where it’s almost painful, and he glances over at her. “Right?” In other words, don’t just stand there. Say something.

“Yeah. It’s…” Huge. Kind of reminds him of a medieval palace that would have a secret torture chamber down bellow. Decadent, but not in the “This is really great chocolate cake” kind of way. “...really something.” If that look is anything to judge from, he’s definitely in the dog house tonight… which, oddly enough, means the dog will probably spend the night cuddled up to her on his side of the bed.

Fortunately, Pepper seems not to have noticed that he’s less than enthusiastic about her choice of venue (either that, or she’s assumed that ‘vaguely unsociable’ is just his natural state), because she beams at the woman on his arm.

“Of course, it’ll look much different the day of. There will be floral arrangements in every window and…” She goes on, but he’s stopped listening, too busy trying to calculate how many people can fit in this auditorium alone.

“Any questions?” Pepper peers between both of them. He should really read the room and say no thanks, it all sounds great, but he actually is wondering about something.

“Yeah, I have one. What’s the final tally on the guest list looking like?”

“We’re standing at around 500.” 500… does he even know that many people? Scratch that; between the two of them, do THEY know that many people?

“Wow.” He glances at the woman next to him. Yeah, that’s a fake smile if he’s ever seen one. “That’s quite a turn-out.”

Pepper says something else, but he doesn’t hear it past the buzzing in his ears. It’s only when he feels a tug on his hand that he realizes they’re supposed to follow Stark’s widow out of the room.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, she turns to him, wearing a worried frown. “You okay there, Buck?”

He nods. “Yeah, but is it too late to go with your idea? Just go to the courthouse and sign a paper?”

She sighs, a rueful smile on her face. “I think that ship has sailed. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She deserves the best, and if Pepper has anything to do with it, this wedding will be just that. He can deal with it. It’s just for a few hours, after all.

“Does this mean I get to pull out the ‘I told you so’?” It’s a joke, meant to lighten the mood. He knows this, so he takes the bait.

“Yeah, Doll. You get a free pass.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“How’s it coming?” She’s honestly not sure how to answer Shuri’s question. In traditional “Say Yes To The Dress” fashion, her female friends are all gathered outside the dressing room doors waiting for her to step out in the gown Pepper had designed specifically for her. The only trouble is, she’s never felt more out-of-place in her life.

It’s a beautiful dress, highlighting every single positive aspect of her body. The shade of ivory works well with her skin tone, and the material is cool against her skin. She looks exactly like a picture from a bridal magazine with her hair still styled from a trial run of that and makeup earlier today. Perfect… but not like herself.

Shaking her head, she tells herself she’s just not used to looking so formal, and pushes open the door.

Wanda, Morgan, Nakia and Shuri make appropriate noises of approval as she steps into the room. Pepper is smiling, a hand pressed to her mouth and tears rolling down her face. Only Okoye looks less than pleased.

“You look so fierce.” Shuri informs her, rushing forward to adjust her train.

“A total knockout.” Nakia nods.

“You look like a doll!” She chuckles at the four-year-old’s exclamation. It’s very sweet, probably the best compliment she’s ever gotten. Plus, she’s starting to feel like a doll.

“Okoye?” The general eyes her up and down, expression unchanging.

“How are you planning to fight in that dress?”

Wanda and Pepper freeze, unsure of how to react, but Nakia laughs and Shuri rolls her eyes.

“It’s her wedding day, General. She isn’t fighting anyone.” Shuri exclaims between giggles.

“This is an American wedding. The most physical thing they do is dance.” Nakia adds.

“Until the wedding night, that is.” And now she’s trying not to snicker at the princess’s innuendo.

The rest of the appointment is a blur. A tailor checks and rechecks the measurements, pinning up whatever he deems too long or large, letting out anything too constricting. Girl talk ensues and the champagne flows. By the time they go their separate ways, each with a bridesmaid’s (or in Morgan’s case, flower girl) dress in their possession, she’s the only one who’s not at least slightly buzzed.

She should really head home. It’s late in the afternoon, and she’s still got papers to grade. However, she finds herself driving in the opposite direction of where she lives. After today, she needs some time to herself, away from anyone else and the possibility of unintentionally seeing their future.

At a red light, she stops and dictates a voice-to-text message, informing Barnes that, “It’s going to be a late one. Stopping by a few places on the way home. Let me know if you want me to pick up something.” The reply comes thirty seconds later. “Take your time. Text me when you’re on your way. Stay safe.” This wedding may not be exactly what she’d pick for herself, but the man she gets to spend the rest of her life alongside certainly is.

She drives aimlessly for a while, no destination in mind. Finally, she decides that while she’s out, she may as well kill two birds with one stone. Pepper mentioned that they’re still lacking the “something old” from ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue’. She considered joking that the groom is over a century old so they’ve got that covered, but as an antique store appears on her right, she decides to go in and see if anything catches her eye.

A bell rings as soon as she steps inside, and although she can’t see anyone, a voice calls out from the center of the store to, “Shout if you need anything.” It’s a hodgepodge of various items, most in disrepair, all covered in a blanket of dust. She comes across a coin in the display counter minted in 1917 and is about to ask if she can get a closer look at it (there’s something about a sixpence in a shoe if she’s remembering correctly), but that’s when she sees it.

The wedding dress is clearly vintage, more than likely an original. As she takes a closer look at the tag, she sees that it reads “hand sewn, 1942”. The price is marked $25 dollars, a good deal even if it were in disrepair. Instead, she can’t find a thing wrong with it. It’s almost as if someone unearthed this in the back of a closet, perfectly preserved, and thought, “Here’s a way to make a quick buck.” For a moment, she allows herself to dream of how she’d look in it, but as the salesperson appears, she pushes that daydream to the side.

“May I see the nickel from 1917, please?”

With one last longing look at the dress, she pays for her purchase, and leaves the store behind.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It’s not unusual for him to have nightmares. Most times, he can tell that what’s going on around him is a dream, not real life, and wake himself up. Not tonight, however. It all feels too real, not one of his usual dreamscapes, so that he’s stuck reliving a scene from earlier in the day.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Coming out of the pet store on his way home with a few bags of dog food (not to mention more toys than the mutt really needs because, despite himself, he’s a sucker for their tripod of a dog), he got recognized. There was the flash of a picture being taken to his right, and when he turned, a man holding a smartphone asked, “Hey, you’re that Winter Solder guy, aren’t you?” In reality, he pretended not to have heard and kept walking, and that was the end of it. In his dream, he’s driven all the way home, only to be cornered as he’s stepping out of his car and activated by HYDRA.

“Longing-”

“Stop.”

“-rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak-”

“Not again. Please.”

“-furnace. Nine. Benign-” As the HYDRA agent speaks, he realizes that she’s in the room with him. Oh no.

“Get out of here! Run!” He tries to warn her, but she just smiles at him, and although he can’t hear what she’s saying, he can see her lips forming the words, “I love you.”

“-One. Freight Car.”

“No!” He bolts upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. It’s only when the chill of the night air makes him shiver that he realizes it was just a dream.

“Whoa.” He’s still trying to catch his breath when he feels her hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay, Bucky. Take some deep breaths. That’s it.” He used to be embarrassed whenever this would happen, especially if he managed to wake her up in the process. But since Thanos, all of that has gone by the wayside, and it’s a common occurrence for her to wake up screaming and flailing also.

Practice makes perfect, so it’s only a few moments before his breathing returns to normal and he feels his heart regain it’s rhythm. He turns to her to apologize, but stops short.

“You were already awake.” She nods.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. My mind’s too busy.”

“Busy with what?” As he asks it, he settled back into bed, turning on his side to face her.

“Are we just gonna ignore that you had a nightmare?” He nods

“For now, yeah. It’s still too fresh.” A look of understanding settles on her face. He’s eternally grateful that she’s not one to push him into talking before he’s ready.

“I can’t stop thinking about the fucking wedding.” He snickers at her profanity. “Five hundred people, Buck. Five hundred! I don’t even know that many people, much less like them.” It’s like she’s read his mind.

“All of them staring at us…” She shudders. “It’s silly, but what if I have a vision and instead of saying “I Do” I say, ‘Watch your head!’ or something else just as stupid?”

“Then you’ll be doing better than me.” Her brow furrows in confusion. “I keep having this recurring dream that we get around to the vows and I forget how to talk. Then I look down and realize I’m not wearing pants.” That reminds him… “You still haven’t told me how trying on the dress went.”

She sighs.

“It was an experience.” That can’t be good.

“Didn’t it fit?”

“Oh, it fit.” She nods. “Like a glove.” Then what’s the problem? “It’s a beautiful dress, and I really appreciate all the effort Pepper put into it, but…” Oh. Now he thinks he understands.

“It’s not quite what you imagined.” It’s not a question, but she nods.

“No, but then again, I never imagined my wedding dress because I never imagined getting married.”

“But you still want to, right?” He shouldn’t ask that, but there’s a niggling fear at the back of his mind that she’s realized she doesn’t want to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives.

“Of course I do.” They’re facing each other, crumpled sheets between then, and she reaches out to caress his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Barnes, nightmare wedding or not.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the air vents circulating a cool breeze through the bedroom. Then she asks,

“Did you ever imagine it? A wedding or getting married?” It’s not something he’d easily admit to most people, but he nods.

“Yeah, I did. Back before the war.”

“Tell me about it.” She closes her eyes, and he can’t help but feel a slight wave of excitement that he gets to see her like this forever.

“It wasn’t like I spent a lot of time daydreaming about it, but…” It was just one of those natural things, a given in life; you get a job, find a girl, get married, and settle down to have a houseful of kids. When the war started, he saw so many of his friends go ahead and tie the knot with their girls before they shipped out, and he took it for granted that one day, he’d do the same thing.

“I guess I figured on having Steve there, standing up with me.” Of course, now Steve is an old man, physically as well as chronologically. He’ll be there of course. Even serve as the best man. However, it looks a little different than he imagined. “It’d probably be small, because we weren’t dirt poor, but we weren’t exactly rich either. Friends and family.” She nods, eyelids still lowered. “Didn’t put much thought into decorations or clothes, but I imagined walking out with her on my arm, whoever the girl ended up being-” Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a woman as incredible as this. “-and dancing together after it, then heading back to our house, just the two of us.”

“It sounds-” She yawns, and he knows she’s nearly asleep. “-perfect.”

It does to him too, but over time, things change. Even if it sounds nice, a 1940’s shindig probably wouldn’t cut it in today’s busy world with it’s easy access to perfection. Still, a huge chunk of him wishes he could just steal her away and make their promises to each other in private. That makes him wonder: what did it look like when Steve and Peggy got hitched? He supposes he can ask soon enough. Steve’s arriving tomorrow after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You need any help in there?” Steve thinks about shooting back that he may be old (well, ancient is probably more accurate at this stage) but he can still manage to put on his pants without help, thanks. Instead he just answers,

“Nope. Just giving you a few extra minutes to primp before I come out and embarrass you by pulling off this suit better than you do.” As he pulls on his jacket, he hears Bucky laugh.

“Whatever you say, punk.”

He’s lived a full life, made plenty of other friends. However, he still hasn’t clicked the same way he does with the jerk from Brooklyn, even if said jerk is now seventy years younger than him.

“Alright, I’m done making myself pretty. Get out here, old man.” Chuckling, he pushes open the changing room door and joins Sam and Bucky.

“I don’t know what you two are bragging about.” Sam grins and straightens his tie. “Clearly I’m the best looking person here even without being hopped up on super soldier mojo.”

Bucky fakes a frown and elbows Sam.

“Remind me again why you’re invited to my wedding?”

“Because the bride likes me.”

“No accounting for taste.”

“Clearly, since she’s marrying you.”

Even though it’s obviously a joke, Steve internally winces. He’s already half-way expecting to talk Bucky down off the ledge at least three times in the next two days, convince him that yes you you are good enough for this girl, no I don’t think she’s making a mistake entrusting her future to you. Back in the day, he was the shy one with a lack of self-confidence. After everything HYDRA did, it’s his best friend who believes he’s unworthy of a second chance at life.

However, throughout most of the morning, there’s absolutely no sign of the impending breakdown. Steve’s nearly convinced that he’s guessed wrong, that there won’t be any fires to put out when, on the drive back to his hotel room, it happens.

“Can I ask you something?” He can’t really read his best friend’s facial expression since the other man is driving, facing straight ahead, but if the tension in body language is anything to judge from, this isn’t going to be a casual conversation.

“Sure.”

“Were you nervous before you and Peggy tied the knot?”

He nods.

“More like scared shitless.” It wasn’t the fact that, for the rest of their lives, they would be tied together, not just emotionally but legally as well. If anything, he was nearly giddy with excitement over that part. “All those people with their eyes on you and your dearly beloved? Don’t tell anyone, but five minutes before I had to be in place, I was in the bathroom losing my lunch.” Bucky snickers, and even he chuckles at the memory. “But I got through it because it was her. She was what I wanted at the end of the day. I would’ve gone through with it in front of a million people or in a broom closet. It didn’t matter. Everything except Peg was just trappings.”

Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the trip. On Steve’s part, he’s mentally reliving the day he married Peggy Carter through his memories. In fact, he’s so busy reminiscing that he doesn’t realize the car has stopped moving and they’re parked outside the hotel until his name is called for what must be at least the third time.

“Sorry.” He smiles apologetically. “It’s just a side affect of getting old: you spend a lot of time stuck in the past and forget about the present.”

“It’s okay.”

He reaches to open his door, but before he can-

“Do you have anything going this afternoon? Maybe need to take a nap or something?” This time, he doesn’t swallow down the sarcastic comment that springs to mind.

“Yeah, right after I finish rubbing liniment on my joints, I’m gonna go down to the old folks’ home and play bingo, maybe yell at some kids to get off my lawn. That is, unless you have something else in mind.”

“Well, I was gonna go interrupt my girl’s day and ask her if she’d go down to the courthouse and elope with me since we’re both dreading the trappings, but it sounds like you’re busy, so…”

It’ll smart later, but he tags the back of his best friend’s head.

“Go get your girl, jerk. Just tell me when and where to meet you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a nap?”

“Respect your elders!”

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s elbow deep in clothing (when the hell did they acquire that many tshirts between them), attempting to make a dent in the number of things they still have to pack before next week’s move-in date, when she hears the apartment door open. That’s weird. He’s not supposed to be home until later in the day. It’s unnecessary, a reflex at this point, but she feels for the hidden knife she still keeps on her at nearly all times. It’s most likely not an intruder, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The funny thing about living with someone is that the little things about them, details you never forced yourself to pay attention to, become ingrained in your memory without you realizing it. In this case, she recognizes the speed and heaviness of the footfalls, and that’s what makes her lower her guard.

“In the bedroom.” He hasn’t asked, but it’ll save him from looking through each room that comes before this one. And, if he’s home this early, they’ll probably have something to discuss.

“Hey.”

As she repeats the greeting back to him, she studies his expression. A smile, small but genuine. Also… nervous? That’s strange. She’s gotten good at reading the tiny tells that are still there behind the perfect, unflappable mask, but usually it takes her a lot longer to crack the code. Something major is going on.

“How’s the packing coming?” As he asks, he picks up a shirt (one of his, although it’s not folded) and tosses it into a box.

“It’s coming along fine. Do you want to talk about it some more or dive into why you’re home so early?”

“That depends. Do you already know what I’m gonna say?”

She shakes her head. No visions so far, at least not about this.

“Then I guess I’d better quit stalling.” That doesn’t sound good. “So, about the wedding.” For a moment, she’s worried he’s calling it off, that he’s decided he’d rather not spend the rest of his life with her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t he have mentioned it last night when they were both lying there unable to sleep, discussing things? “Is it safe to say we’re both dreading it? Not what comes after, but the part where five hundred of our closest friends stare at us?”

Her lips curl into a smirk.

“You could say that.”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe there’s a way to avoid it and still get the job done. Something more like what we talked about last night. You were awake for that part, right?”

Barely. In fact, she remembers her final thought before drifting off being, “I wish we could do things that way.” Still…

“Pepper’s put so much effort in. People are traveling, have already made arrangements-”

“So we still show up on Saturday, but behind the scenes, we would’ve already made things official. Maybe gone to the courthouse like you wanted to, just us and Steve? One other person if you had anyone in mind, since there need to be two witnesses?” It’s an appealing idea. The marriage license is still sitting on the kitchen table, waiting for them to sign on the day of. In theory, all they need to do is make an appointment and show up with their two witnesses. In practice…

“Hypothetically speaking, when would we be doing this?” Immediately, the small sign of nervousness melts from his face.

“This afternoon at four thirty, since that’s the only time before Saturday they had available. Hypothetically.”

She pretends to think about it, but can’t hide the smile that sneaks across her face.

“Then it’s a yes.” Now they’re both smiling like idiots. Taking his offered hand, she rights herself and circles her arms around his neck.

“So we’re really doing this, huh?” His arms wrap around her, and now they’re so close, she can feel his heart beating.

“Looks that way.” She leans up, closing the gap between them and presses her lips against his.

It’s tempting to just stand there, making out like teenagers, but eventually, she has to back away. It’s comical how startled he looks (that and slightly flustered).

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“What?”

She snickers. “I don’t know much about weddings, but I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to see me ahead of time. Bad luck and all.”

“Wouldn’t want to risk that.” With one last peck, he lets her go. “Do you want me to head out and give you the apartment, or-”

“No, you stay. I actually have some errands to run.” Not saying another word (otherwise, she’ll end up gushing about how she can’t to start their life together), she grabs her keys from the nightstand and heads towards the door.

Once she’s in the car, a memory from the other day of that 1940s wedding dress sitting in an antique store comes back to her. There wasn’t a size on the label, and the material might be too fragile for her to even get it on her body. But it was so… perfect. It’s decided: she’s going in search of it. If it fits her, yay! If it doesn’t work out, she’s still got enough time to stop in at a department store and purchase something else.

The whole thing is slightly absurd. She peals into the antique store and, after eyeballing the dress, purchases it without so much as trying it on. Then, stopping at a fast food place, she undresses in a bathroom stall and pulls on the dress. The material is slightly musty from all the years of disuse, but it goes on easily. As she peers at herself in the bathroom mirror, a giggle rises from deep inside her. For the first time in this whole process, she feels like a bride.

She’s still dressed in the vintage white gown when she steps inside the first florist’s shop she comes across The woman behind the counter gives her a strange look, but doesn’t ask any questions as she sells her the simple bouquet of violets with a few pieces of greenery. She knows she must look odd, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s flying too high. Maybe that’s the reason why, as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup, still in her car, she tucks a few of the flowers into her hair. There. That’s better.

She spots his car in the parking lot, so she knows he’s already there. That’s when the nerves hit her. This is it. They’re actually doing this. After today they won’t just be to people sharing an apartment (among other things); they’ll be husband and wife. She’s ready. God, is she ready. But the enormity of it is intimidating. What if she’s not a good wife? What if he’s expecting her to be the perfect domestic goddess (that’s absurd, she knows, but rationality just flew out the window)? Or on a more practical level, what if he doesn’t like how she looks? There’s only one way to find out. Slowly, hands shaking, she pulls open the courthouse door.

Steve’s waiting for her just inside the building. Apparently, he takes traditions very seriously, because when she asks where Bucky is, he just shakes his head. “He’s here, but you’re not gonna see him until you’re in the room, about to sign the paperwork.” She’s not going to fight it (after all, she’s the one who brought up separating in the first place), but she does still have a question.

“Steve, can I ask you for a massive favor?”

“Sure.” Here it goes.

“I know there’s not a real aisle, but would you walk me inside?” He may be seventy years older than he was when she met him, but the smile is still the same.

“Yeah. I’d be honored to do it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Bucky’s not sure what the connection is between being so nervous you’re ready to climb the walls and the urge to pace, but regardless, that’s what he’s doing. The clock in the office where he’ll be exchanging vows with the woman he loves more than he ever thought was possible reads four twenty-nine. One minute left, give or take. One minute, and then the rest of his life begins.

The seconds hand seems to move incredibly slowly, but finally, it reaches it’s destination. On cue, the door opens, and all the breath leaves his lungs. Here she is.

It’s not the way he’d imagined it as a kid. Steve’s not at his side. He’s considerably older, rougher around the edges. They’re in a courthouse instead of a church. But as a kid, he also didn’t imagine anything that can compare to her.

It goes without saying that she’s beautiful; that’s always the case. But all the old stories are true: there’s something about seeing her in a white dress walking towards him just before they promise to love, honor, and cherish each other for the rest of their lives that makes her shine like never before. She’s not just beautiful. She’s brilliant.

“Hey.” Right. He need to say something.

“Hey. You made it.”

She chuckles and pushes back a stray tendril.

“Yeah, well I had a date I was really excited for, so I rearranged my schedule.”

Before he can say anything else (he’s not sure what, because frankly, all thoughts except “I love you” have disappeared), the door opens and a man in a business suit sticks his head out.

“Is everyone here?”

He looks at her for confirmation.

“Everyone that needs to be.”

“Then right this way.”

He’s not aware of much that is said during the ceremony after they join hands, too busy memorizing what she looks like so he’ll never forget. This is definitely one of those moments you want to carry with you the rest of your life.

They stick to the standard vows. He takes her to be his lawfully wedded wife to have and hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish ‘til death do them part, and vise versa. As he slips the ring on her finger, he catches her eye and mouths a silent, “I love you.”, which she repeats back as she slides on his wedding band.

“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” That’s it. This is real. They’re married. “You may kiss the bride.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

After the paperwork is signed, they agree to go and have dinner. Steve’s come all this way, and something seems right about celebrating with his oldest friend. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to make a reservation so, still dressed in their formal clothes, they slide into a corner booth at a local diner. Nothing important is said; it’s mostly laughter and inside jokes between a group of friends. By seven o’clock, he’s dropped Steve off at his hotel and is on his way back home.

The apartment is mostly packed up at this point. The only things left are their clothes, a few kitchen and bathroom essentials, and their bed. Even the record player she gave him as a birthday gift has been shipped off to the townhouse they’ll officially move into sometime next week. But, he thinks to himself as he lets himself in, the great thing about going to sleep in 1945 and waking up in the 2000s is that while his taste in music may not have evolved by much, technology has. Which means-

“Hey, stranger.” She’s still wearing the dress, their dog sitting next to her on the bed with his head in her lap. It would be a crime to let that go to waste.

“Come here.” He motions for her to join him, and as soon as she stands, starts scrolling through is phone.

“What are you doing?” The confusion melts from her face as the first few notes of the song fill the room.

Holding out his hand, he asks, “May I have this dance?”

A soft smile crosses her face as, nodding, she folds herself into his arms.

“You can have every dance.”

Two days from now, they’ll stand in front of five hundred people, most of whom they've never met before, and make their vows once again. It'll be uncomfortable and even a little jarring, but it won’t matter. Steve's right: it’s all trappings. What’s real is now; the beautiful woman in his arms, his wife, and the life they’ll build together. It’s not what Bucky imagined all those years ago as a naïve kid in Brooklyn. This is far better.

[out-of-this-dimension]

Asking for some advice on here about an awkward situation with a fic.  Recently, I began revising an old fic from 2016 that was using headcanons that I don’t adhere to anymore.  I’ve been made aware that since posting the fic 4 years ago, there’s been another fic that’s cropped up within the last few months with a very, very similar name.  1 letter apart, in fact.  When I saw their fic in the SF tag, I literally had to do a double take because I thought I’d accidentally somehow bumped that old fic.

The fic is literally nothing like mine so it’s definitely not a case of someone copying my work-- they have their own premise, nearly a different cast of characters, etc.  And tbh, their fic is good.  I like it.  I don’t have any beef with this person or anything-- and I’m pretty sure the title is just a coincidence.  And if I wasn’t updating my fic, I probably wouldn’t even be mentioning this at all.  But because I am updating that fic, I feel a bit uncomfortable because I do want to bump my old fic (by updating its update date to 2021 instead of 2016) to show people that I am still putting out SF works.  Also I do want the fic to get more recognition since I am putting so much effort to it.  Obviously mine came first-- it was posted in 2016 and is one of the first fics I ever posted on AO3.  But I know sometimes people don’t care about that and I’ll be honest-- their fic has a bigger following than mine.  I don’t want to cause any confusion or drama or get people thinking I somehow copied their fic.  

So as of right now, I’ve just been updating the fic without changing the update date.  That means it stays locked down in the depths of 2016′s SF fics and doesn’t pop up on the recent tab.  I have posted the link here so that it still gets some amount of attention but I’ll be honest-- I don’t know where most of my readers come from, if it’s tumblr or AO3 itself.  But part of me is toying with the idea of bumping it because let’s be honest, working on a fic and getting little feedback sucks. But I’m leery of someone trying to say I copied someone else’s fic or that, even worse, someone says to the other person that they copied ME because again, I’m pretty sure it’s a coincidence.  And I don’t want anyone to feel bad.  I’ve thought about changing my fic’s name and just taking the L, but I do like the current name a lot and I can’t seem to think of anything else that fits it.

So right now, I’m just a bit stuck as to what to do, tbh.  I have the next part mostly done so I know I need to make a decision sooner or later.  Any advice or input would be appreciated because I am awkward af and do not know how to deal with situations like this lmao.

I also made a straw poll for this.

[bigskydreaming]

Also, can I just say how fucking hysterical I find the phrase “wait, you actually expect people to police their thoughts” to be, no matter how often it springs up, without fail, at times like this?

Why yes. 

I actually DO expect people to police their thoughts.

Given, y’know, that its that thing we all do every single day, every single time we have a thought and follow up that thought by thinking to ourselves, hmmm. Should I act on this thought? Yay or nay.

What everyone seems to have so much trouble comprehending about the rape/incest/pedophilia fic content debate or whatever the fuck we’re calling it.....

Is that none of this is actually ABOUT peoples’ THOUGHTS or POLICING them.

Given that like, last I checked, none of us have spontaneously developed the power to read minds or invented a technology that literally shows what’s on the brain.

No, see.

Your thoughts are your own. Always have been, always will be.

Whatever they are, is entirely between you and yourself.

What you DO with those thoughts however, how you choose to MANIFEST those thoughts if you then proceed to move on to actualizing those thoughts in some form and making them exist in some way as a physical reality OUTSIDE your brain - where they would be between just you and yourself - versus outside your brain - where they would be between you and literally anyone else who shares the same space wherein you choose to set up this physical manifestation of your thoughts when literally PUTTING IT ON DISPLAY somewhere and ADVERTISING people come check it out and saying HERE YOU GO, HERE ARE MY THOUGHTS, COME BY AND TAKE A LOOK SEE AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK -

THAT, my friends,

Is not a THOUGHT.

THAT.

Is an ACTION.

In fact, that is many, MANY actions, from the point of origin that is THINKING THE THOUGHT alllllll the way through putting the thought into words on the page, shaping the thoughts into a single cohesive narrative, perhaps editing the thoughts, proofreading the thoughts, debating hmmm, where should I put the thoughts now, where would be the best place to drive the most traffic to my thoughts once I’ve set them out in public for open viewing in whatever format or arrangement I decide best showcases the full majesty of them and most capably conveys the fullness of my Thought, that initial, singular idea that was the kernel from which this whole fic eventually sprang after I spent time and effort cultivating that thought and nourishing it and guiding its growth through however many stages until it reached the endpoint I considered to be it in its most complete and final version.....

Yeah.

That’s actually a whole damn fuckload of thinking you did there, between Point A and Point Z, and there’s a buuuuuunch of possible places and times in all of that where you could have added a couple additional thoughts about hey how do I feel about the fact that its almost a certainty that some people are really going to not like this Thought and not be glad that I shared it, and like, they actually have a legitimate reason for feeling that way, should I maybe consider before I get too much further in investing in THIS particular Thought, like, hey, counterpoint.....what if I put this one down and rummage around in the old noggin a little while longer to see if there’s anything ELSE in here I can invest my time and energy into instead, something that might actually be even BETTER than this thought, and a lot more widely acclaimed and better received, not just by the inherently limited audience I was originally envisioning, but potentially by a much wider audience of people potentially more interested in this later Thought than my iniitial Thought.....hmm, decisions, decisions....

Now, just for funsies, let’s compare and contrast THAT Thought from Inception to Completion.....

With the Thoughts it might engender in say, someone like me, a survivor who objects to the initial Thought on the grounds that it sensationalizes an ingrained experience of trauma for the entertainment of the masses, any of whom is likely to be someone I have and/or will interact with in the future, possibly even knowing they were recently entertained by a particular Thought like this, given that like, nobody really feels a need to be SHY about being fans of Thoughts like this....

Anyway. Let’s take a little look-see at how those reactionary thoughts from a sample case like me would look.

Me, obliviously having Thought the First: Oh. Here’s a Thought in Fic form. Should I read it?

Me, in grips of Thought the Second: Oh, fuck no. According to the tags, its “hey remember that one time the worst thing ever happened to you? D’ya? Do you remember it? Starting to come back to you in vivid detail if you’re just a liiiiittle bit too slow in clicking the fuck away while your brain slinks from “processing sensory input” to “decoding sensory input as actual thought I can express awareness around? LOL well guess what, fuck-o, this Thought-Fic is just like that time, only there’s a lot more people enjoying this particular scene than were present that one time with you, so its like.....that but MORE! Supply and demand, bitch, y’know what that means, look at how high the kudos count is there beneath the summary real quick before you go skedaddle....woo-eee, that’s a LOT of demand for a scene just like the one that kinda fucked you up for life, huh? 

Me, in throes of Thought the Third: Ow.

Me, engaging Thought the Fourth: the Potential for Action: Say ‘ow’ out loud? Y/N.

Me, amid cynical laughter whilst having Thought the Fifth: lol when has that ever ended well for us, dumbass.

Me, sighing through the pain with Thought the Sixth: user hit ‘declines to vocalize ‘ow.’ Proceed to shutdown.

But sure.

Its the fic writers who are really being heavily policed by the Enemies of Free Expression.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Liminal Grief [2/3]

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Friendship, Grief, Alcoholism, Depression Word Count: 10,613 (total) Summary: The new farmer has a level of equal-opportunity-friendliness that reminds Shane of an old friend, but when the mask comes off, it’s more like looking in a mirror. Also on AO3. Notes: Very much based in the game, but littered with my own headcanons, both for this particular farmer and for Shane. Like other stories in this series, this could be considered standalone, but follows the same farmer (named Lydia) and the same Shane, and shares continuity with those other works.

Part 1 here.

Jas wasn't in her usual spot.

Shane stared at the shady place beneath the big tree by the forest lake. He didn't expect her to materialize, but he hoped, which was a pretty big leap for him. If he hoped hard enough, maybe he could will her into existence. Maybe she was just hiding behind the tree, still mad at him…

He looked, even though he knew what he would see. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. He gave the upper branches a perfunctory check, just in case she'd suddenly become capable of climbing a tree this big, but there was no sign of her lavender dress, of her green bow.

Shit. She'd been gone an hour already. If he'd known she was upset enough to go running off to a new hiding place, he'd have followed sooner.

At least, he told himself that, that her screechy voice hadn't provoked a headache so powerful that he'd been mostly incapable of stepping out into the sunlight until now. Screechy voices and hangovers were a bad combination.

He was going to have to enlist Marnie's help. Great. Fucking perfect. He didn't know how many more worried, disappointed looks he could endure from his aunt, but he was just going to have to suffer through it somehow. It would almost be better if she would just berate him outright. Almost.

He took his time heading back, hoping he'd find Jas somewhere in the intermittent forest and meadows. She loved the wide open space out here. She could be anywhere.

Anywhere. A hand closed tight around his lungs, squeezing them, cutting off his air. She could be anywhere. She could be hurt. She could be…

But he didn't get much further than that. It was an old fear, well-trod. It had lost its sharp edge, the squeak that had once kept him up at night.

Marnie looked up from the cash register as he came in, face tight with worry. "You didn't find her?"

"No," he snapped. 

Marnie didn't even flinch. "Maybe she'd have gone to Vincent's? I can—"

"No," Shane said, his tone better moderated this time. "No, when she's mad, she always wants to be alone." He didn't know much, but he knew that. In this one way, Jas had always matched him in temperament, rather than her parents.

Slowly, Marnie nodded. "All right, then...maybe...check with Lydia? She's still got a lot of undeveloped space on that farm, and it's nearby."

It was solid logic, but Shane resisted it. The last place he wanted to look was that farm. The last person he wanted to see was Lydia. He'd been in a weird place the night before, and it'd been...fine...having a drink with her, but he didn't want to give her any ideas about staying friendly.

So he'd just have to be extra rude while enlisting her help. Sure. Those two things went together.

"I'll come along," Marnie said, stepping out from behind the register, oblivious to his internal torment. "It's a big piece of land. Three of us searching separately will cover more ground."

"Assuming she wants to help," Shane muttered. It was probably too much to hope that she'd give them the run of her farm and then vanish into town for the afternoon.

"Of course she will. She's a sweet gal."

Shane didn't offer up any commentary on that, any of the words he'd use to describe her instead. Marnie locked up the ranch, and then they took the hard-packed dirt path north, following the old signpost pointing the way to Northern Lights Farm.

Shane vaguely remembered stumbling this way on a drunker night or two. Even wasted, he'd known to turn back. The southern entrance to the farm was overgrown; trees had crowded in, concealing any paths that might once have provided a route to the farmhouse.

Lydia hadn't completely cut back the overgrowth—impossible for one person in a single season to do—but she'd cleared a path, revealing old fences that were battered in some places and entirely broken in others. Nevertheless, the space between them was clear, showing a way through the trees, and Shane and Marnie followed it. In the distance, a dog barked.

"Sounds like Archimedes," Marnie said.

"Weird name for a dog."

"Lydia thought he had a clever face."

He lengthened his stride, even though it didn't help his headache one bit, hoping she'd be too out of breath to talk.

No such luck. Of course a woman who wrangled cows and chickens and sheep most days had the lung capacity to keep talking no matter how fast he walked. "Seemed like you two had a nice time last night."

Small towns. Only one bar, and it was the same bar everyone—including your aunt—went to. Usually Marnie was too busy chatting with Lewis to remark on what company Shane was or was not keeping, but not this time, apparently.

He didn't answer. That seemed safest.

"She seems a little lonely, isolated out here, fresh from the city," Marnie continued. "Bet you two have a lot in common."

There had been similar comments about other people—newcomers and community fixtures alike—over the last few months. Cautious encouragement to get out there, meet people, make friends.

"No," he said, "we don't."

"Shane—"

"Whatever it is, just stop, okay? Focus on finding Jas."

She sighed, low and disappointed, but didn't push further. They emerged from the path into an open field green with growing crops, and a dog rushed to meet them, tail wagging. Marnie leaned down to pat his head as he panted.

Shane saw the straw hat in the middle of the field before it popped up above the bean trellises. Lydia's face split into a wide grin as soon as she saw them. "Hey, neighbors!" she called.

Marnie shot him a look, as if to say, See? He glared back.

Lydia sidled through the trellises and walked over, still beaming, brushing the dirt from her gloves. "What brings you up here?"

"Jas is missing," Shane said, before Marnie could hem and haw about it.

Lydia's face fell. "Oh, no. What can I do to—"

"We need to search your farm," he cut across her.

"Of course," she said, nodding. "Archimedes and I can help—"

"That's not necess—"

"If you think she ran up here, it is," Lydia said grimly. "There's a lot of land I haven't cleared yet, and I don't know what kind of hazards the weeds might be hiding. It'll be faster with three of us looking."

"Fine," he bit out, and before she could argue further, he picked a direction and started walking.

"Be careful!" Marnie called after him.

He ignored her, plunging back into the trees, and searched for any sign of a misbehaving little girl. Any handholds on the trees that might have allowed her to scale them. Any tall reeds around the swampy pond that might conceal her. Any boulders that were the right size for her to hide behind.

The sun moved overhead. He'd been hoarse to start with, but after half an hour of calling for her, he hardly had any voice left. It felt like his blood was pumping too sluggishly through his body, slowing him down. Every time he passed from shade to sunlight, he had to squint against the glare.

A squirrel ran for cover nearby. A woodpecker took flight. Every rustle could have been her dress, every squeak could have been her giggle���but it was just some creature moving through the wilderness, and she was nowhere to be found.

The right thing to do was to keep looking. Keep wading through the tall, prickly grasses that had consumed the southwestern quarter of Lydia's land; keep stubbing his toes on all the rocks and fallen branches hidden within the grass; keep scanning the horizon and then the treeline for any sign of a green bow vibrant against dark hair, a small head bobbing away from him into the woods.

But Shane was tired. Powerfully hungover. Head killing him, sun trying to stab his eyes out, stomach churning, limbs like noodles. They’d been at this an hour. If Jas was on the farm, she was doing a good job of ignoring them entirely, staying quiet and out of sight.

Or she just wasn’t here.

He sank down against the nearest tree, letting the tall grass conceal him up to his neck, and closed his eyes. In the distance, he could still hear Marnie calling for Jas, the fear in her voice blunted a little by an hour of searching.

He’d long since lost that anxiety. Long since stopped peeking into Jas’s room before he turned in for bed, just to make sure she was still breathing. Used to be he could reassure himself that way, even wobbly and drunk, convince himself there was still something left to him, that somehow his best friends lived on through her, a last lifeline, and if he just checked, she would make it through the night.

But it was a stupid ritual. A false sense of security. She would make it, or she wouldn’t, and the universe wouldn’t ask his input on the matter. He couldn’t protect her. He couldn't protect anyone.

A shadow fell over him. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here, steeped in exhaustion, head throbbing; maybe long enough for the sun to shift, to cast the shadow of another tree over him. He squinted one eye open.

Not another tree. Lydia. He barely repressed a groan.

He expected her to have a hard time hiding her disgust—or maybe reprimand him outright. She’s your goddaughter. How could you just sit here? He welcomed it, even. Give him a chance to snap at her. Really deliver the kind of cutting words that would make her think twice about poking her nose where it didn't belong. 

He wasn’t even sure she knew that Jas was his goddaughter. Marnie called the kid her niece, even though she wasn’t, technically. Maybe Lydia thought they were cousins. Siblings. Maybe it wasn’t immediately obvious how irresponsible he was.

Either way, she looked concerned instead of repulsed. From what he could tell, anyway, backlit as she was by the sun.

“Well, you look like hell,” she said, a statement of fact rather than an admonishment. “Here.”

She leaned down, offering a canteen of water. He considered refusing, but his liver could probably use it. He took it, spun the lid open, and drank, not bothering to thank her. It was fresh and cold. He just hoped she hadn't scooped it out of the pond.

“There’s a treehouse around here somewhere,” Lydia said, shading her eyes and looking west. “Used to love it when I was a kid. Bet if Jas found it, that’s where she is.”

He let his head fall back against the tree, breathing deep. “You remember where it is?”

“Ehhh, sort of.”

He stretched out his arm—a monumental effort—to return the canteen to her. She slipped it back into an outer pocket of her backpack, then offered her hand down, as if to help him up.

“Come on,” she said. Encouragingly. Like that was going to improve his mood. “I think it’s just a little further.”

He didn’t exactly want the help, but he wasn’t sure he could get back to his feet without it, either. Was this section of her farm full of quicksand? Was that the hazard she'd warned them about? It felt like it was pulling him down, convincing him to lie in the tall grass and go to sleep, maybe let it swallow him whole.

He took her hand. It was heavily calloused even under his own rough fingers. A season on the farm really had transformed her from desk jockey to hardy manual laborer.

She heaved, easily setting him on his feet, and nodded when he didn’t immediately fall back down. “Let’s go.”

It occurred to him that she was sacrificing precious daylight hours to help him. That she could be fighting battles against these weeds, clearing more land or watering her existing crops or doing pretty much anything except look for a runaway little girl.

What was she even getting out of this? Would she expect some kind of reward? A gold medal, or just gold, for being neighbor of the year, finder of lost children?

Or was her kindness just inherent and altruistic? Hard to believe the world hadn't crushed it out of her yet. She'd worked at Joja. How had she survived?

“We’ll find her,” she said, like a promise.

His heart softened—a little. Just a little. If the world hadn't crushed the neighborly do-gooder instinct out of her yet, fine. It would. Eventually. But he wasn't going to be the one to do it.

“Sorry,” he said. Grudgingly, but he managed to force the word out. “Bet you didn’t plan to spend your afternoon playing hide-and-seek.”

“I didn’t,” she acknowledged, “but it’s okay. Archimedes!”

A bit of grass several yards away rustled and the blond head of her dog popped up above it, black nose gleaming, snout glistening like he'd recently stuck his face in the pond.

“Find anything?” she asked, for all the world like the dog was going to answer her.

He barked, turned a circle, and went plunging ahead west.

“All right,” she said. “Good as any other direction, probably. There used to be a big rock out here marking the way to the treehouse, but I can’t remember if Granddad broke it up after…”

She trailed off, and despite his determined distance, he found his interest piqued. After she’d stopped visiting? After he’d come back as a ghost to strew hazards all over the farm for his granddaughter to deal with? After the angry creatures in the wilderness reclaimed this part of the farm for their own?

Any seemed likely, coming from her. He remembered her playful hints at magic the night before. But she didn’t finish the sentence, just frowned and continued on, following the rustling grass that indicated her dog’s path.

And he followed her. If he couldn’t do the right thing, he could at least walk in the shadow of someone who would.

"You know," she said, as if she was allergic to silence, "if you want, I could give her a tour of the farm. Show her the places she ought to stay away from. That way, if she runs off again—"

"She won't."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Sure. Kids are totally predictable and obedient that way."

He scowled. "You could put a gate on the entrance by the ranch. Solved."

"Unless you want me to build a ten-foot-high concrete wall, she'd just climb it. And even then...I've seen her and Vincent testing the trees in town. She might still get in. Trust me," she said, and smiled. "I was once seven and precocious."

"Never would've guessed," he said, thick with sarcasm, and she laughed like he'd made a joke.

"Granddad never did get this part of the farm running. He always had plans for it, but he always stopped short. Cleared the path every season, maintained the fences, but kept the woods in the end. It was the first place I'd run off to whenever I was sad, or upset, or had just been scolded." She looked around at the trees as they walked, wistful around the eyes.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes you need to lick your wounds in peace, right?"

"Not that. Why didn't he finish it?"

She glanced at him. "Said he had enough land, enough crops, to handle already." She hesitated, chewing on her lip. "But sometimes he told me that it was the forest spirits' home, so he couldn't cut it down."

"Let me guess," he said, unable to help his skeptical tone. "Those sounds you were talking about?"

"Sure," she said, all good-natured, like his cynicism didn't even touch her. "Why not?"

"Why not," he repeated in a mutter, and then, louder, "so you won't be clearing this, either?"

"Well, I don't really know if Granddad was telling the truth about having his hands full, but I certainly do." She shook her head. "I keep the path clear, and the rest is future Lydia's problem. The one who theoretically has a working sprinkler system."

He snorted. She took a look around again and pointed at a jagged boulder rising above the grass, maybe sixty feet in front of them.

"That's the marker. Okay. If we overshoot it a little and look to the right…"

He saw the evidence of an overgrown path here—a narrower track than the one Lydia had cleared through the forest, marked by old fences. This was just beaten down by, presumably, a history of footsteps. Lydia made her way along it, Archimedes at her side now rather than ahead.

"Aha," she said, quieter now, eyes traveling up a nearby tree trunk. "I think we've found our fugitive."

Shane's heart leaped in relief. He could see the old, partially-rotted handholds nailed up the trunk of the tree, the intact structure among its branches, and the thinnest sliver of a green bow through the window.

"I'll give you two some space," Lydia said, still quiet, and retreated back to the boulder, gesturing for Archimedes to follow; he went, tail wagging.

Despite his skepticism, and some derision—the same kind he felt every time Emily made a comment on his aura, truth be told—he appreciated this. Maybe Lydia was just too blind to see what a fuck-up he was, but even so, she'd given him the benefit of the doubt, the space to handle Jas on his own.

It was like Marnie'd said. She was a sweet gal. Too bad this unruly farm was going to break her of all that.

He considered the hand-holds, decided the risk of breaking a bone was acceptable, and began to climb. By the time he'd gotten halfway up, Jas knew he was coming, but there was no escape, and she wasn't desperate enough or stupid enough to jump out the treehouse window. She watched him with big, wary eyes as he contorted himself through the treehouse floor and settled gingerly on the worn floorboards.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, looking at each other. Shane was out of breath, and didn't know what exactly to say, anyway. Jas huddled in the opposite corner, tearstains on her face, some combination of defiance and guilt in the set of her jaw.

"You scared the sh—" He caught himself just in time. "You really scared me."

Her lip wobbled. He braced himself. "I'm sorry," she said, eyes gleaming again.

He stretched his legs out, enough to tap his shoe against hers. Almost instinctively, it seemed, she tapped back.

She'd still been a baby when he'd taught her to do that.

"Me too." He cleared his throat. "I was a real grouch this morning."

"Me too," she echoed, and rubbed a fist into her watering eyes. "I miss them so much."

How many times was it acceptable to say Me too? It didn't matter, because Shane couldn't get the words out. He patted the floorboards beside him instead, and Jas scrambled over to sit next to him, leaning against his side.

It wasn't sufficient. He was a poor substitute. No substitute at all, really. But he was all she had. Him and Marnie.

Poor kid.

"Don't run off again," he said. "Or at least go places I know."

She sniffed. "I like this treehouse."

He had a sudden, terrifying premonition of further forced interaction with Lydia.

"Look. There's drawings." Jas pointed, and he saw the little carvings in the wall. Your standard initials—L.A.V. in a shaky hand, B.I.V. in a steadier one beneath it—but also pictures. Little round creatures with guileless eyes and thin limbs, painted over in faded colors, sometimes outside the lines.

Forest spirits, probably.

"It's not our property, kiddo," he tried.

"Lydia's really nice. She always says hi to me when she's talking to Miss Penny. She gave me a dandelion once." She turned her tearful face up to Shane. "Maybe she'd let me come over sometimes."

Shane relented. It was hard to tell her no, especially for something so innocuous. He always felt like shit afterward, anyway.

So he'd have to put up with Lydia's sunny attitude once in a while. Whatever. Maybe Jas could get a little bit of happiness out of it. A childhood in the middle of all this horror. He could make some sacrifices on his personal comfort for that.

"We can ask her," he said, making a mental note to also ask her to replace the handholds on the trunk. "Can't believe you climbed all the way up here by yourself."

She grinned. "I'm strong, right?"

"You sure are," he said, and thought, Way stronger than me. "Let's get down from this thing, okay?"

She nodded, wiped at her face again, and hugged him quickly before scrambling past him to begin the descent.

He was an unfeeling asshole these days. The entire world had blended into some kind of dull, vomit-colored blur. But he loved her, even so.

If only it was enough.

He followed her down to the ground only to find her already frolicking with Archimedes, laughing as the dog enthusiastically licked her face. "Oh, he's so soft!" she exclaimed, gently petting the blond head.

Lydia approached from the boulder, smiling. "He likes you," she told Jas. "And he loves hide-and-seek. You gave him a good game."

Jas looked down, shy again. "Sorry I hid on your farm, Miss Lydia."

"No harm done," Lydia said. She cast a questioning look at Shane.

He sighed. "Jas likes your treehouse."

She brightened immediately. "It's a great treehouse. Used to spend a lot of time in it when I was a kid."

Shane nudged Jas. She buried her face in Archimedes' fur—he weathered the hug happily—and then peeked up at Lydia.

"Can I visit sometimes?" she asked, barely audible.

Lydia looked another question at Shane. So respectful, so intent not to overstep the bounds of his terrible guardianship.

He nodded.

"Of course!" Lydia cast a critical eye at the steps. "I'd better replace those steps first, though. Don't want anybody to get hurt."

She really was excruciatingly, painfully nice. He hated it. But he sort of, grudgingly, appreciated it.

"I can help with that," he offered. "We've got spare lumber at the ranch, and if Jas is going to be using it…"

It was fair, he figured. She was doing Jas a good turn. He didn't want to incur any debts. Maybe he could fix up some of those fences for her, too.

"Perfect," Lydia said. "Maybe we can do that next Saturday? Jas can hang out with Archimedes. If you don't have any plans."

Plans. Watching the pizza rolls spin in the microwave, maybe. Downing a few beers when the clock said it was acceptable to do so. Wandering the woods after Jas had gone to bed, coming back after Marnie had gone to sleep.

Jas looked back and forth between them, arms still looped around the dog's neck, some strange hope in her sad little face.

If she wanted to believe he was making a friend, fine. If she wanted to believe things were going to get better, great. He just had to maintain the illusion.

"We're free," he said. "If Jas really wants to hang out with this stinky animal all day."

"He's not stinky," Jas protested. Archimedes licked a broad stripe across her face, as if in thanks, and she giggled again.

Lydia flashed him a subtle thumbs-up. He rolled his eyes. It was one Saturday.

He could still fit in the beer-drinking and woods-wandering if they finished early enough.

Go to Part 3 ->

[artificialqueens]

How To Motivate, Encourage, and Inspire Writers - A Masterpost

Hey guys! I am reposting this guide because it got mysteriously deleted. This version includes some new additions and advice for readers.

This is meant to be a guide to help people give valuable, inspiring feedback, as well as how to send in prompts and requests that are more likely to be used. Remember that these are simply suggestions designed to help YOU as a reader get more of what you want. <3

Please let me know if you have anything to add, as this post was a collaborative effort and it can only get better with more input.  

*

What Readers Can Do

1. Like and reblog the stories you enjoy. Fanfic authors don’t get paid. Their only “currency” is notes and feedback. Seeing the notes climb, as silly as it may seem, is a huge motivator to write more. If you are shy about using your main blog for this, you can always create a sideblog and reblog the fic you like there. Authors will notice this and it’s also a great record when you want to go back to fic that you enjoy!

2. Positive feedback! A simple “I love this” or “I can’t wait for more” is great if that’s all you have to say, as well as general writer appreciation, but even better...

3. Comment with specifics. What did you like about the story or writing style? You can talk about the plot itself, characterization, dialogue, the writer’s voice or sense of humor, how the story made you feel, what you’d like to see more of...anything, even the smallest detail, that made you enjoy reading it. Nothing is more motivating for a writer than knowing that their hard work is appreciated.

Some examples of great comments with places to fill in the blanks with specifics. Feel free to use all or part of these as templates when you want to send a comment but you’re not sure where to begin:

[Author Name] - your last fic was so [complimentary adjective]! You really [description of something they did well]. Can’t wait for your next [story/chapter].

[Author Name] - I love [Title] so much! I especially love [part you enjoyed].

I hope we get more of [Title] from [Author Name]. It is [complimentary adjective].

Just read [Title] and [exclamation]! I am [emotion or state of mind].

I really loved [Title] by [Author Name]! My favorite part was probably [specific impactful theme or moment in fic], because it really made me feel [emotional response].

I am [emotion or state of mind] over [Title] by [Author Name]. It was so [descriptive adjective] when [describe moment in story].

Some more examples of really great, detailed, inspiring comments.

4. Start an actual dialogue with an author. As mentioned above, reblogging with comments (even just in the tags) is great. You can also send asks directly to their blogs, DM them, or send additional asks when they respond. Authors may have questions for you, and being able to interact can easily spark something or help them find direction where they were stuck. You can find a list of authors’ sideblogs here if you want to send messages directly to them.

5. Direct requests and prompts to specific writers who you enjoy. Start with why you like them and then explain your idea or request. By doing that, they will start off knowing that they are appreciated, making them way more likely to get excited by your suggestion. Try to phrase things in an open-ended and positive way. “I’d love to see how you would handle [prompt situation/pairing/suggestion]” or “here’s an idea, I think you could do something really cool with it.” The more detailed and supportive your prompt is, the more likely it is that someone will get excited and inspired by it. If your request is for “more” of something that exists, include a reason why you like that story, author, etc. If your request is for something different, talk about something else you liked and why.

Examples of how to send in requests and prompts to specific writers, or include a compliment:

[Author Name(s)] is/are awesome and I would love for them to write more [ship or thing you love].

I would give anything for more [ship or request], especially if it’s similar to [Title(s)], they are my favorite!

I love [Author Name]’s style so much, and I’d be so happy if they wrote [ship/thing you want from them].

I wonder how [Author Name] or [Author Name] would handle [idea]? I would love to read that!

[Title] by [Author Name] is so [positive adjective]! It makes me really want them to try [idea] because I bet they would [motivating phrase like “kill it!”].

[Author Name] - have you ever considered writing [prompt]? [Motivating sentence like “I would die for that!”] 

I really love [ship], especially [story title(s)/author name(s)]. I would love to see one where [prompt].

6. Creating artwork, edits, moodboards, or anything inspired by a story you like. This is like, the PINNACLE for most writers. Knowing that someone connected to something you wrote enough to take time out of their day to create something inspired by your story. It’s like drugs. ART IS DRUGS PASS IT ON.

7. If you are a writer, comment on other writers’ stories! You know more than anyone how hard they worked, so please show your fellow authors some love.

Demotivators

1. Anything that sounds aggressive or demanding. You catch more flies with honey.

2. Complaining about the lack of a certain ship, ESPECIALLY if ANYTHING featuring that ship has been posted in the last month of so. Writers are reading these comments, especially if they have posted recently. Can you imagine how demoralizing it is to post a story and then 3 days later, read a comment bemoaning how there’s NOTHING from that ship, that ship is dead, etc? Like this, written about one of the most popular, enduring ships in the fandom with some of the most prolific, talented writers here:

Don’t be that anon. ^

3. Begging and whining, especially for something extremely vague - this sounds way less cute than you think, and reading something like “I will die if I don’t get more [ship]” is more annoying than inspiring. Especially if, as stated above, the thing you are dying over already exists.

4. Giving nothing at all. Most of the writers expect to at least see their work is noticed. If there are no responses at all, they can’t provide you with anything new. And worst case scenario, they lose the motivation to finish it because they think no one is interested.

Notes From Some Writers (and Readers!)

“I’m famously horrendously bad at abandoning fics but about 95% of my will to continue to keep writing is because I know other people are reading and interested that I keep writing, and I’m sure that’s how a lot of other writers operate too. We’re all fuelled by positive reinforcement, so please tell us! Oh, and btw, commenting just to get mad at lack of updates is not encouragement and is actually super irritating and stressful. Just so ya know.” - Edith

“Having an artist come to you and say ‘Hey, I was inspired by your story’ is FANTASTIC. And also encouraging because someone has taken time to create something and say ‘hey, I really liked the thing you made’. It becomes a cycle.” - Kitschy

“Take a look anywhere, on AQ or ao3 or any other platforms. You’ll see (on ao3), probably at most, 10:1 ratio for hits to kudos, alone. There are even less comments. On AQ, probably a 10:1 ratio for likes to reblogs, and the most popular fics only have a little over 100 notes period. Now, consider that it can take a writer months to be happy with a fic they submit. This takes countless hours. Fiction writers, in real life, get money for their work. We get nothing. Nothing, that is, except whatever appreciation you can give us. If we put work and our hearts and souls into something and get nothing, we question our talent, our abilities, our devotion. We refresh the pages where our works are posted constantly, hoping for some feedback, some appreciation, and most readers only read the fiction and give no feedback or appreciation whatsoever.

“All you, as a reader, have to do to make us happy is take 1 to fifteen minutes out of your day to leave a comment, send an ask, send a message to a sideblog. Leave commentary in the tags if you reblog. Any reaction at all. It is all we get for the work we put in.” - Miss Bianca

“My 2 cents I guess is just to get into a habit of acknowledging works that you like. Even for me I'll read stuff and really enjoy it but forget to comment or like it so I'm gonna work on it and I’d like everyone else do it as well. Once people get in the habit of commenting and liking it becomes second nature and with that kind of positive environment it allows writers to grow.” - MissChimKi

“Going back in time, my first work was posted two years ago, and the last comment I got was a huge thank you for writing such a good story and the emotions of that reader, it’s the kind of tiny little things that give me fuel to keep writing.” - Saiphl

“I once wrote 5000 words in a day simply because someone told me that they were reading my smut in church. So, extreme enthusiasm is awesome, but don’t feel like you have to exaggerate and say ‘this is the best thing I ever read.’ A simple ‘I am going to hell...I was in a church service reading Exposed chapter 9’ is more than enough!” - Veronica

“Something that motivates me as a writer is when readers pick out parts of my fic to say why they enjoyed them. Advice for readers would be to never think you’re complimenting too much! I’ve seen some readers cut their asks short because they don’t want to gush too much. As writers we love praise and attention, we’re like Tinkerbell really!” - Vixen

What It Can Feel Like To a Writer to Read the Asks (Inspired by @artificialeevee )

[early-sxnsets]

tag game(s)

anï (i’m too exhausted to do three separate posts but i was tagged in three tag games over the past few days and i’d forgotten to do the last few games i was tagged in and i feel super guilty so here they are in one go)

i don’t know who to tag to do these rn because my brain is dead i am emotionally exhausted and i’m writing a fic that’s about halfway done so i’m gonna say tag anyone who wants to be tagged for any of these. i’m so sorry that i’m dead, i will be back alive again after may 10th, which is my AP exam day

six questions challenge

tagged by @simon--speaks

rules: answer the questions, then tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

Q1: Relationship status?

single bby

Q2: Favorite color?

maroon !

Q3: Top 3 ships?

snowbaz (wow) and uh. wow. idk who else. i wanna say my own ocs matchstick and summer (is that allowed? i’m making it allowed)

Q4: Lipstick or chapstick?

whenever i get to this question in any ask i freeze up because i use a tinted chapstick so i don’t look dead but like. it can also be seen as a lipstick because it has pigment. but. chapstick.

Q5: Last song I listened to?

Run by Hozier

Q6: Last movie I watched?

uhhh i watched like. 5 minutes of the emperor’s new groove a few days ago, and watched a documentary about obscure houses like 10 minutes before that. so. i’m gonna say the house documentary.

21 questions

i was tagged by @simon--speaks, @angelsfalling16, @wo2ash, @alixanderthequeer, @sharkmartini and @bazypitchandsimonsnow

rules: answer 21 questions then tag 21 people

nickname: anï, munchkin, menina, and my hebrew name is elisheva

height: the doctor says i’m 5′3.5″, but they can’t put fractions on IDs so according to the state i’m 5′4″ and i cling to that

last movie i saw: see above (so like. funky houses)

last thing i googled: (next town over) movie tavern. i’m not saying where it is exactly bc hah i don’t wanna be stalked but. i was looking at movie times because they have $5 movies every tuesday

favorite musician: frank iero. love that funky rat man and his funky music too (i’m gonna see him for the second time next month because i made the executive adult decision to say fuck it to my seizures and go see him anyway)

song stuck in my head: i don’t have one rn but usually it’s a song by the killers (when you were young is a usual one)

other blogs: none, actually! i didn’t delete my old tumblr purely bc i’m a nostalgic dumbass, but it’s a completely different login and it’s inactive so i don’t count it.

followers: 1,666 (originally i wasn’t gonna share the number but it hit this last night and i was like heh. nice)

following: 231

amount of sleep: 8ish hours! (spring break bby)

lucky numbers: 7, multiples of 3 (only in cases of knocking), and multiples of 2 (only in cases like volume)

dream job: writing and illustrating books! i have a variety of dream jobs within art, and even within the subcategory of books, but my top dream job is creating inclusive/diverse children’s books that represent a variety different ethnicities/races, religions, abilities, and identities so that children can see themselves represented in media

what i’m wearing: a black turtleneck, a bra, and marvel boxers. that’s it.

favorite food: soup in general. i make a kick ass matzo ball soup

language: english, conversational portuguese, i know a small small bit of japanese (i should know more given i was raised being taught it but i always struggled with it), and i know some spanish. i also plan on teaching myself ASL.

can i play an instrument: yes! i’ve been playing violin since i was 2. i wanna play guitar and i know some chords but i have small hands so it’s hard to find one that’s the right size that isn’t a shitty children’s guitar, and i sing! i’m an alto

favorite song: hnnghg please don’t make me pick................ i’d have to say choke on one another by death spells

random fact: so like. if you didn’t know already, i’m an LGBTQ+ youth activist on a national scale. i disappear on occasion because i’m doing something or another, and sometimes i post about it on my blog (speaking of i have exciting news that i heard, but at the same time, i’m pretty much booked every weekend from middle of next month until middle of july), but........ i hate networking. i loathe it. if i never had to network again, i’d be thrilled. networking is my absolute least favorite thing because i struggle at everyday conversation, much less networking with people at least 10-20 years my senior. sure it’s usually free publicity and i get great connections, but god. at what cost? and like.... it’s always after a really emotionally taxing event, so i’m already drained and then wow here’s a room full of adults who want my 18 year old input. please. just let me steal a cupcake then leave.

describe yourself in aesthetic things: dye stained fingernails and necks. cranked open windows during a spring shower. dried tears and breaking laughs. coffee stains and milky tea splashes. trembling fingers, writing instead of speaking because you’re too afraid, and finally breaking free--running through the rain. scabbing blood, fresh piercings. knowing you’re loved and not saying it because it doesn’t need to be spoken. the smell of a new canvas, paint splattered jeans, and art school sweaters. black skirts with docs, then fairy lights and soft blankets hidden behind sharp profanities and harsh disgust. the unexpected. the unknown. the ever-changing, unstoppable force of the shifting tides. 

carry on questions

tagged by @goodbyedandelion, @isthisisagoodkiss @wo2ash, 

1- favorite type of scone? 

cranberry orange! one of the farms a county over has a market and they sell them there and they’re to die for (altho, i found a sour cherry scone recipe that i’ve perfected and my family loves them so they’re a close second now)

2- london or la?

i’ve never been to london, but i’m gonna have to go with london. i went to la last october to present in an awards show for my organization and i lowkey was underwhelmed. i’m very much a gloom and rain kinda person, and it was too dry and sunny there. although, i did think the huge succulents were sick as fuck. but yeah definitely london. i’m planning to spend a semester abroad there in a few years for an illustration program

3- kissing in a forest or holding hands under the stars?

i’m afraid of forests because we have a lot of wildlife and i don’t want to get mauled by a bear don’t mind me holding hands under the stars :)

4- jeans or suit?

suit suit suIT SUIT suit. i love wearing suits. my chest doesn’t cooperate and my hips always hate them but god i do love suits.

5- loose hair or pulled back hair?

mine looks better loose, and my sides/back are shaved but the top reaches my ears, so it gets annoying sometimes and i pull it up to keep it out of my face

6- vampires or dragons?

i wanna say both. i used to say “yknow a dragon but in human form would be hot” then i got called dragon fucker for like two years so out of pure spite i’m going with vampires.

7- what saying do you wish could be a spell?

(this one’s a very specific reference so hear me out) “i’ve got to go pee on her”  used to disorient and confuse the speech of the person casted upon. it’s one of my favorite quotes from scott pilgrim vs. the world (my favorite movie ngl) when scott’s brain can’t figure out two different sentences and he just says that. it’s so good and just fuckin weird that i love it.

8- which carry on character would you go on a coffee date with if you could?

depends tbh! if we’re talking date date, then penny because i would wife penny in 0.5 seconds, but if we’re talking friends getting coffee then 10000000% baz because i’d talk activism and identities with him

9- favorite carry on quote?

“he told me we would be stars” (i don’t have my book on me so i could be getting the line wrong), but it hit so hard for me. like it’s clear how davy manipulated lucy so much that she fell into it and couldn’t crawl out. it’s such a powerful message of control from those who are charismatic enough to hold it, and how sometimes we aren’t weak enough to let go.

10- how excited are you for wayward son?

lemme paint this picture: i started hyperventilating in the hallway when i found out, and then cried an hour or two later when my friend texted me that he preordered me a signed copy. like. i’ve been pre-planning how to get home from college to come and pick it up (okok the 24th is also my dad’s birthday so i’m. um. “coming home to visit him”, of course) because i’m just SO EXCITED to read them again in a canon way :’)

[ohpedromypedros-main]

Run Away

Hey guys! Here’s that waiter!Bill fic I was supposed to post like...over a week ago. Lol! I hope you enjoy it! It came out different than how I thought it would, but I enjoy it a lot.

Author: @bill-skarsgard-writings​ 

Word Count: 3,764

Characters: Waiter!Bill x Reader, some semi important characters

Pairings: Waiter!Bill x Reader

Warnings: mentions of cheating, adult language, smut, angst

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Summary: The reader is forced to go to a fancy restaurant to celebrate her aunt’s recent engagement, but the night does not play out as planned.

(I can’t find a good gif to resemble Bill as a waiter. Lol.)

Reader’s outfit for this fic

You weren't too thrilled when your parents dragged you to some fancy restaurant to celebrate your aunt's recent engagement. Not only did you despise your aunt's soon-to-be husband Randall, but you had already made plans with your girlfriends to go out to a bar for some drinks. Luckily they were cool with you having to cancel, telling you that there was plenty of time in the world to go out for drinks, but it was the sole fact that your plans were ruined that made you upset and stick to yourself the moment you arrived at the restaurant.

You didn't speak a word to anyone. Not a congratulations to your aunt and soon-to-be uncle, not a single word to your parents. Even the entire car ride to the restaurant you were quiet. All you did was stare out the window in a silent anger, just wishing you were with your friends and not on your way to a ridiculously overpriced restaurant.

“Y/N? Have you decided what you want to eat?” Your mother asked.

“No,” you snapped, keeping your gaze on your hands resting on the table.

“Y/N that is not how you talk to your mother.”

“I don't want anything to eat, alright?! I don't even want to be here!” You practically screamed. “I don't even like this piece of shit she's marrying!”

“Y/N!”

“No! No... I'm out of here,” you growled, standing up from your seat. Your father grabbed you by the wrist to stop you, but you quickly yanked free of his grip. Turning your gaze to your aunt who was sitting there in both shock and embarrassment from all eyes which were now on all of you, you spoke one final thing. “You might wanna check your future husband's cell phone because he's been fucking the bitch living next door to you.”

The whole restaurant fell silent as you stormed out the front doors, Randall shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't have a clue as to how you knew he'd been cheating on your aunt, but it chilled him to the core and especially made him angry. Your mom reached over to give your aunt's hand a comforting squeeze, apologetic eyes meeting hers.

“I'm so sorry, Viv. I don't know what's gotten into her.”

Witnessing the entire thing, one of the waiters stood silent in one of the far corners of the restaurant. He remained where he stood for several moments, eyes fixated on Randall while he closely studied his face. He definitely recognized him, he'd seen him there many times before, but not with your aunt. With another woman.

After you had stormed out, the waiter followed you outside to look for you. He found you around back leaning against the building wall with a cigarette tucked between your lips, but not lit. Your eyes were shut and your chest was slowly rising and falling, in a manner as if you were trying to calm yourself. Smiling, he approached you, reaching in his back pocket for the lighter he had with his own pack of cigarettes.

“Need a light?” He asked, causing you to jump with a small gasp. “I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.”

You shook your head with a smile, letting out a quiet laugh of your own. “It's okay. Just didn't expect anyone to be out here. But to answer your question, yes I need a light.”

“Coming right up.” He lit your cigarette for you, grabbing a cigarette of his own from his pack and placing it between his lips. He lit it before taking a long drag and exhaling. You repeated that action. “I usually come out here for cigarette breaks, but I don't always see stunning woman like you back here.”

You blushed at his comment, biting down on your lip as you moved your gaze to his face. This man was absolutely beautiful. It was as if God himself sat there for hours sculpting out the features of his face until he reached the point of pure perfection; the cheekbones, the jawline, the eyes, the lips... God, those lips were plump and looked extremely kissable. It took a moment for you to fully comprehend something he had said and you looked away for a moment with a sigh quiet enough for only you to hear.

“So you work here?”

“I do.”

“Which means you just witnessed my little dramatic outburst?”

“I did,” he chuckled.

“That's embarrassing.”

“Not really,” he remarked. “I mean...you weren't wrong. About the guy cheating. I've seen him here several times before with another woman.”

“Really?” You asked, sort of taken aback. You knew he was cheating on your aunt, but you didn't know he was taking the woman to romantic restaurants.

“Yep. And he always has some sort of a gift to give her. Jewelry, flowers, chocolate, even shoes. When I saw him here with your aunt, I gotta be honest, I was pretty confused. Then when you mentioned him fucking their neighbor, it all made sense.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “I always had a bad vibe about that fucker, you know? Since the moment I met him. It was only when I caught him running home from the neighbor's house almost completely fucking naked that I knew he was cheating. I was going over that day to see if my aunt wanted to get her nails done, but she wasn't home.”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“You don't need to be sorry, uh...” You glanced at his name tag. “Bill. You're not the one cheating on my aunt.”

He laughed softly, giving his head a shake. “No I am not. Never have cheated, never will cheat. I know how it feels to be cheated on.”

This made you frown and as if something else entirely suddenly had control over your movements, you reached for his free hand, giving it a squeeze. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. You're not the one who cheated on me,” he winked.

“I don't see how anybody could,” you whispered. “You're extremely nice and extremely sexy.”

The words came out before you could stop yourself from saying them and you immediately felt your cheeks burn hot with blush. Bill only smirked, bringing your hand up to his lips and lightly brushing them along your knuckles. You felt your heart race, a feeling as if someone was inside your chest pounding against it like it was a door, screaming to be let out.

“So you think I'm sexy, huh?” Bill teased, taking one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground.

“I-I... I've just... I've never...”

“Shh,” he cut you off, pressing the pad of his pointer finger to your lips. “You're blabbering. You've never what?” He asked, moving his finger so you could speak.

“Never met anyone as perfect as you,” you admitted in a whisper, eyes falling to the ground between your feet.

“Feeling's mutual.”

Lifting your head again, you swallowed the newly formed lump in your throat. “Really?” You whispered.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes scanning over the features of your face, taking in every perfection and what you thought to be imperfection. You couldn't move, you wouldn't dare yourself to anyway; not when he was admiring your beauty. “I've never laid eyes on someone so beautiful, so... Brave.”

“Brave?” You laughed.

“Well, you did just completely ruin your aunt's probably now ex fiance's life in front of not only your family, but the entire restaurant attendees and staff. So yeah, I'd say you're brave,” he chuckled.

“Oh. Well... Thank you.”

“You're welc--”

Bill was suddenly cut off by the sound of an angry voice. It made your blood run cold and without a thought, you clung tightly to Bill. The voice was that of Randall and you knew he was looking for you.

“Where are you, you dumb whore?! I know you're out here! No body saw you leave the vicinity! You're dead, bitch! Dead!”

Bill stiffened, not out of fear, but in a more protective manner. He motioned for you to stay quiet by placing his finger in front of his lips, dropping his hand down to the small of your back and quickly leading you over to a car down a nearby alleyway.

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered, anxiously looking over your shoulder. Bill cupped your face, forcing you to look at him.

“He's not going to hurt you. Okay? I'm taking you out of here. Quick, get in the car.”

Giving your head a nod, you got in the car as fast as possible. You didn't even bother buckling your seat belt. You needed to be ready to jump out of the car in case Randall found you. Bill was quick to get in the car as well, not wasting any precious time in starting it up and speeding out of the alleyway. Bill nearly hit Randall on the way out, not caring to look in the rear view mirror to check whether or not he was on the ground. Instead, he kept driving, driving as far away from the restaurant as possible.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye.

“Y-yeah. A little shaken, but I'm okay.”

“I'm going to take you to my family's restaurant, okay? It's closed at the moment, but it's the safest place I know of right now.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, reaching over to take his hand in yours. He instantly laced your fingers together, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You're welcome.”

During the drive to Bill's family owned restaurant, it began to downpour, but Bill wasn't going to let the sudden change in weather change his decision in bringing you to safety. He was going to drive you as far away from Randall as possible.

You were becoming a bit paranoid, afraid that maybe he was following you and Bill at the very moment, that he was going to get his revenge on your for ruining his relationship. Bill could see how tense you had become, how you nervously chewed on your lip, how you'd glance in the side mirror every once in a while, how you twiddled with your thumbs on your lap. He knew you were still scared, so he placed his hand on your thigh, immediately getting your attention.

“We're far away from him now, Y/N. I promise you you're safe.”

“Thank you Bill,” you murmured, grabbing his hand again. You were silent for a moment, but you decided instead of sitting in complete silence the entire car ride, that you'd strike up a conversation with Bill. “So if your family owns a restaurant, how come you're working at that high end pile of crap?”

Bill laughed, shaking his head with a smile. “Extra money, really. I've been saving up to start my own life. Move somewhere new, maybe start my own restaurant someday.”

“That sounds nice,” you smiled. “I'd eat anything from your restaurant.”

“Thanks,” he laughed. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want to do with your life?”

“Oh. Well, I don't really know. I've never really thought about it to be honest with you. Growing up with rich parents, they always told me there was no sense in having a job or going off to college. They say I'm 'set for life'.”

“That's...not really a life to be living. I mean, of course I probably don't have a right in saying that, but.”

“No it's fine. Every single one of my friends tell me that. I'm just too scared to stand up to my parents, tell them I want to do things my own way. They're not particularly the patientest of people.”

“Well, if what I say matters any, I'd say you get the hell out of this town and do your own thing. Go to college, find a job, own your own home, live your life the way you've always wanted.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “There's a lot of things I'd like to do in my life, but I just feel held back by my parents. I don't like the rich life, you know? I don't enjoy the idea of having things handed to me on a silver platter. I want to earn things, not be given them just because I'm rich.”

“That's exactly the attitude you need when you confront your parents. Show them you're entitled to have your own life outside of theirs.”

“Yeah... I think I'll say everything I said to you.”

“And don't take no for an answer.”

“Exactly,” you laughed.

After a few more minutes of driving, you finally arrived at Bill's family restaurant where he parked around back and turned off the car. He smiled over at you, reassuring you once more that you were safe.

“Ready to run through this rain?”

“Absolutely,” you smiled.

“Great.”

He grabbed his keys from the ignition and searched for the key to the back door before getting out of the car and running to the door to unlock it. You followed suit, squealing as the rain soaked your hair and dress and as soon as you and Bill made it inside, the two of you were slumped over in laughter.

“Nice, now I'm drenched. And not in the good way,” you giggled.

Bill stood at his full height again, smirk making its way across his face. “Oh? And what way is the good way?”

Your face immediately turned beat red and you were thanking the gods that the lights were still off in the restaurant and that the room was only dimly lit by the exit sign above the door. “U-uhm, well... Like when a girl is aroused and her panties are...soaked. That kind of drenched.”

“Do you want to be drenched in that way?” He asked, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you flush against him.

You took in a shaky breath, clenching your thighs tight together as you felt your arousal already beginning to pool between them. Even though you and Bill had only met well over an hour earlier, there was an obvious attraction between the both of you. And you trusted him, trusted him more than most other people in your life. No other stranger would have saved you from the wrath of Randall like Bill did, though somehow to you, Bill didn't feel like a stranger. He felt more than that.

“Y/N?”

“Huh? Oh. I-I'm sorry. I drifted away there for a moment.”

“It's okay,” Bill started. “We don't have to do anything you're not c—”

You cut him off with a kiss, raising your arms to let them hang loosely around his neck. His grip on your hips tightened and the small moan escaping your throat only urged Bill to pull you even closer to him. You could feel his semi hard cock brushing against you, your lips parting as an even smaller moan passed your lips. Bill took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, letting it flick against your own while also letting it explore around.

“Bill...” You breathed, fingers clutching the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Mm?” He murmured, moving his lips to the pulse point of your throat.

“A-are there cameras in here?” You questioned, making Bill momentarily pause his movements. He pulled away to glance around, obviously having forgotten about the security cameras.

“There are, but I know a place where there aren't any cameras,” he smirked.

“The bathroom? No.”

“No,” he laughed. “One of the utility closets.”

“Hmm... That'll work.”

“That it will.”

He quickly grabbed your hand, leading you down a small hall in the back of the restaurant where there were a few doors. He opened one at the end of the hall and slipped inside, pulling you along with him. It was pitch black in the closet, not a single thing giving off any sort of light source. After fiddling around for a moment, Bill finally found the string to switch the light on, a bright smile on his face when his eyes landed on you. You both were still totally soaked from the rain and by the obvious erection showing through his black slacks, he was eager to be out of his clothes.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to your dress.

“Please,” you murmured, biting your lip. “I'm getting kinda cold with it still on.”

“Oh I'll be sure to warm you right up, Y/N.”

You were at a loss for words when he tugged off your dress in one quick motion, once again blushing while his eyes trailed over your wet form. You tugged down your panties, letting them fall to the floor. Rubbing your hands over his chest, you worked at unbuttoning his dress shirt and removing his tie, smiling as they dropped to the floor by both your feet. Immediately your hands dropped to the button of his slacks, popping it open before quickly unzipping the zipper and reaching inside the fabric to free his cock. He finished tugging down his pants and boxers until they were at his ankles and he kicked them to the side so they were out of the way.

“Fuck, your cock is huge,” you whispered, eyes taking in every inch and every vein lining his length.

“Yeah? Bet it's got you drenched, huh?” He smirked, lifting one of your thighs so he could rub the leaking head of his cock at your entrance. You only gasped, giving your head a quick nod. “Do you want this?” He asked, stroking his cock a few times. “Want me to bury my cock all the way inside of you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Bill... Fuck me.”

Bill didn't speak another word. He only lifted you up, pressed you against the wall of the utility closet, and pushed himself past your entrance. Gasping at how tight you were, Bill had to take a moment to compose himself and let your walls adjust to his size. “Fuck you're so tight, Y/N.”

“Uh huh,” you moaned, letting your head fall against the wall behind you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, an impatient whine passing your lips. Bill only smirked, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, burying himself to the hilt. “Fuck,” you gasped, mouth fallen open.

“You like that?” He asked, repeating the motion.

“Yes,” you moaned again, hands gripping his shoulders. “Fuck me hard against this wall, Bill.”

Bill immediately began thrusting in a quick manner, his grip on your thighs moving to your ass where he roughly squeezed both your cheeks. The atmosphere in the closet began to change, temperature rising almost instantly as both your body heat began to increase. Soon the both of you were drenched in sweat, heavy pants and low moans erupting from each of your mouths. Grabbing your face, Bill kissed you hard, his other hand still on your ass and squeezing it every so often.

“Bill,” you gasped. “I'm not gonna last long...”

“Oh yeah? Gonna cum on my cock, huh?”

“Yes,” you whined, rocking your hips against his. “Gonna cum real soon.”

“Cum for me, Sweetheart,” he murmured, dropping his hand to rub at your clit, stimulating your bundle of nerves. You let out a pleasured cry, head once again thrown back against the wall. He continued the motions on your clit and his harsh thrusts until you were shaking in his grip and coating his cock with your cum. He groaned at the feeling, forehead leaning to rest against your shoulder. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside of me,” you moaned. “I'm on birth control. You're safe.”

“Thank fuck,” Bill groaned, spilling his seed inside of you moments later, keeping his thrusts going until he rode out both your highs. Pulling out of you, heavy pants passed Bill's lips and he carefully set you back down on your feet.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “I really needed that.”

“You and me both,” he chuckled.

You could only laugh, giving Bill an appreciative smile before kneeling to grab your dress and panties from the floor. You handed Bill his slacks and shirt, keeping his tie in your hand until you were able to put it on him again. Bill watched you in awe as you placed his tie around his neck and tied it for him, loving how experienced you were with it. Not many people were able to get tying ties down, yet there you were, tying his perfectly. You gazed up at him with a small smile, a light blush forming on your cheeks. Putting your own clothes back on, you wrapped your arms around Bill's middle.

“I'm glad I met you.”

“Feeling's mutual,” he winked. He was silent for a moment, gazing at you as he stood there in thought. He really liked you, a lot. He'd never fallen so fast for a girl before, but was he ready to admit it? You only tilted your head as Bill looked down at you, but he soon smiled and reached to cup your chin between his fingers. “Run away with me.”

“What?” You whispered, taken aback by his request.

“Run away with me. I know we've only just met, but... I like you a lot. You're a sweet girl, you deserve a life of your own, not one your parents want you to have, so... Run away with me. I can start my own restaurant like I've always wanted, far away from here, and you can go to college, find your dream job. We can get to know each other better along the way.. What do you say?”

You bit your lip in thought, not having expected him to offer such a thing. You did like the idea of leaving this life behind and living the life you've been wanting to live; and you especially liked the idea of doing it with Bill. After several minutes of thinking, you smiled up at Bill, giving your head a nod.

“Okay. I'll run away with you.”

Tagging: @jadelynlace​ @libido-of-a-libertine​

Bill tag list: @weak-aesthetic​ @skarsgardtrash​ @mahomie-sara-9-84​ @mango307​ @elizabethkatarina​ @my-fan-girl-life​

Everything tag list: @cecesunshine-fanfictions​ @this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms​ @scarlett-lehane​ @jughead-wuz-here​ @penni-saur​

[victimofthemusic]

Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t) Pt. 3

Hello! No, you guys aren’t misreading this, it’s an actual update! It’s taken me a long time to get back into this story, my life has been very crazy and I’ll be honest, I haven’t written much in the last six to eight moths. However, I saw Infinity War and holy shit, did it place me back in this Universe. I’ve had the beginnings of this chapter to written out since the last update of this story and it took me this long to finish it. I’m not sure how happy I am with this chapter compared to the last two, but I think it fits. I know Peter has Super Spidey healing, but I’m such a sucker for these kinds of fics and I really wanted to write one. Thank you so much for the love and support of this series, Part 1 has well over 2,000 likes and Part 2 is working it’s way up to 700, that’s the most I’ve ever received on any of my stories and I’m completely blown away. I love each and every one of you. If you’re new to this series, you can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here. Also, I have one other Homecoming Fic, where you’re Tony Stark’s daughter and you get rescued by Spider-Man and that can be found here and a dating MJ Would Include request here. I hope you guys enjoy!! (:

P.S. If I missed anyone that wanted to be tagged in this, I’m so sorry! I’m posting this at 3 in the morning and trying to sort through all your kind messages and keep track who wants to be tagged is a bit of a challenge, I think I got all of you, but I apologize if I didn’t! 

~~~~~~~

It was an unusually quiet night around the Tower, Rhodey was upstate at the new Avengers facility for his weekend stint of physical therapy for his legs, Pepper was back in Malibu working on the new StarkPhone launch and Happy had followed her there for security, leaving Tony to his own devices.

When usually when left with nothing to do, he’d be down in the lab working on a project or tinkering with the Iron Man suit or rebuilding the transmission in one of the twenty cars that he owned. But, for some reason, he found himself in the living room, staring at an infomercial and occasionally replying to emails that he’d been neglecting over the week— choosing to spend time with Peter in the lab instead.

Ever since he invited Peter and his little friend into the lab a few weeks ago, Tony found that he didn’t really mind the kid’s company and what had originally started as a one time offer to appease his guilt, had turned into a three or four time a week thing. Sometimes the kid would come over and they’d screw around with upgrades to the Iron Man suit or they’d try to improve upon Peter’s web fluid—which, Tony admitted with no small amount of pride, was damn near impossible considering Peter’s original formula was damn near solid. That didn’t stop them from trying to make it stronger and last longer, but their attempts usually didn’t come out very successful, much to their collective frustration. And sometimes, when they were tired of messing with Iron Man or formula’s for new web fluid, Peter would wander off to a part of the lab table that had become his own little spot and catch up on his homework, occasionally asking for Tony’s input.

And Tony…didn’t really mind. He didn’t mind that Peter had slowly but surely became part of his daily routine and taking up a space in his life that Tony, once upon a time, didn’t really want to be fulfilled. He knew that Peter wasn't necessarily a child of his own biological making, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a sense of responsibility and dare he say it, an attachment to the kid that was more paternal than mentor like. He liked having the kid around him, in his lab, in this big Tower that got more lonely as the days went by without the other Avenger’s bustling around it—Sam teaching Vision and Wanda to cook in the kitchen, Natasha and Clint wrestling in the living room, Steve watching from the couch with exasperated amusement in between sketches, Thor polishing his hammer at the dinner table while Rhodey read the news paper and Bruce tinkering around in the lab with Tony.

Peter breathed life into this Tower that had been robbed of it when the Accords came into play and had divided the only family Tony had ever really been apart of. And damn if Tony didn’t love the kid for it.

So that’s why, sitting there, alone in his big and empty Tower, that Tony began to physically feel the kid’s absence.

He glanced down at his StarkWatch, biting his lip. It was 10:30, surely the kid wasn't that busy that if he were to, theoretically, call the kid and see if he wanted to come over tomorrow and work in the lab, maybe go to the new science exhibit at Museum of Natural History—he did, after all, have an in to the Research Library—grab a late lunch and come back and watch some movies with Vision and Rhodey, since it was still technically movie night even though the rest of the old team wasn't here and if it got too late, he could always crash in his room here and he could always take Peter to school Monday morning, as long as it was cool with Aunt Hottie—

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Ned Leeds,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, startling Tony out of his train of thought.

Curiosity piqued, Tony said with a wave of his hand, “Patch him through.”

A moment of silence and then the sound of loud music and laughter rang through the overhead speakers of the Tower, making Tony wince.

“Mr. Stark, sir, sorry to interrupt your evening, I’m sure you’re very busy, but may I just say that I think it’s totally awesome that your A.I. answers your phone calls—“

“Thanks, Guy In Chair, but—“

“Can she do like, a trace on the number and then like, a background check on the person—“

“—how’d you get my number? And, here’s the real question, how’d I get your number?”

“Oh, I got your number from Peter’s phone and I did a reverse phone hack and added myself into your contact list, in case of an emergency—“

“Lemme stop you there kid,” Tony said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache, “you mean to tell me, you stole my number from Peter’s phone and managed to reverse hack into my phone, which, by the way, I don’t appreciate, and added your number to my phone on the off chance that I would need to call you? And why, may I ask, do you think that would ever be a possibility?”

The tell tale sign of a gulp could be heard over the line and Tony sighed in exasperation, “Was there a point to this conversation, Ned or—“

“Oh!” Ned exclaimed, “Yeah, sorry sir, um you see, it’s Peter—“

Tony’s heart most definitely didn’t stop working at that sentence and it didn’t seem like taking oxygen into his lungs suddenly became more difficult at the thought of Peter being in any sort of danger.

“Is he okay?” Tony demanded, sitting up straighter and summoning the suit.

“You see sir, I told everyone in our gym class that Peter knew Spiderman and then Liz—this really pretty senior that, like, half the school is in love with including Peter—mentioned she was having a party tonight at her house that basically the entire school was invited to and that we should stop by, which was so awesome because we’re only sophomore’s sir and not cool people—“

“If there’s a point here, Ned, I’m missing it, so you better get to it.” Tony demanded sharply.

“Right, anyway, we got invited and well, um, Peter was nervous and a senior handed us each a drink and Peter downed his and well, he’s really drunk and is about to swing through this house in his, you know, other identity and I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen to me and—“

“I’ll be there in five, try to stall him as best as you can.” Tony said quickly, ending the call.

He ensured that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had located the call before he summoned one of his cars to the location and he was off into the night, trying to quell the anger and shame that was boiling through his veins.

Anger, that the kid could be that stupid and utterly reckless, to risk his secret and the safety of his loved ones for kids he wouldn’t even waste another thought on after graduating high school.

And shame, because he knew what it was like to be Peter’s age and to want to be seen and seem cool by your peers. To want to fit in so desperately that you're willing to do almost anything to get it. Alcohol has cost Tony so many things in his life and he’d be damned if he let someone like Peter follow in his footsteps.

He made it to the party in three minutes, taking a moment to do the deep breathing exercises Bruce taught him, so he didn’t completely lose it on the kid and alert everyone to his sudden appearance at the party. He landed with a dull thud against the roof, alerting the intoxicated teenager that was attempting to don his suit a little too closely to edge of the roof for Tony’s heart to handle.

He really was quite the sight—he had the suit on backwards, well the half he had on, the other half was dangling pathetically in the evening breeze while Peter seemed to be trying to figure out how to get the rest of it on without jumping too far and falling off of the roof.

“Mr. Starkkkkk!” Peter slurred in greeting, eyes bright and blood shot with the alcohol, “What’re you doin’ here? Did you know there was go’na be a party here? Did Liz invite you—“

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tony demanded, completely ignoring Peter’s inquiry, lifting the faceplate of the Iron Man mask. He was doing everything in his power to keep his voice level and not shout like he so desperately wanted to, breathing exercises be damned.

Peter hiccuped, “”M trying to put my suit on because I told ev’ryone that ‘Piderman was go’na be here, but—hiccup—I got ‘istracted when I got here n’d now my head s’all—“ he made a waving gesture in the air, like that explained it all, which, to be fair, Tony did understand what he meant a little too well and it only added to the anger welling inside of him, “—weird, like it’s not part of my body n’d I was go’na swing through the house n’d be like ‘wasss up ev’rybody ‘m ‘Piderman’ and give Ned a fist bump so he looks like he’s cool too—“

“And how do you plan to do all of that when you can’t even get both legs in your suit, kid?”

Peter gazed dumbly back at him, before looking down and yeah, okay. Mr. Stark had a point.

He looked back up at Tony with unfocused eyes and with such a blatant uncaring shrug that only teenagers knew how to accomplish, that Tony snapped.

“Do you realize how stupid this is?” Tony said sharply, “Not only could you hurt yourself or someone else, you’re running the risk of outing yourself to your entire school! Who, I’m sure, have all their little smartphones with their little cameras and it’s only a matter of time before this would end up on YouTube, then the media would get a hold of it and then that’s it, kid, you’re no longer anonymous and you’ve put everyone you love in danger. Do you want that?”

Peter opened his mouth to reply but Tony couldn’t handle it, “Not uh, you don’t get to talk, the adult is talking,” he snapped, waving his hand as if he could physically swat the rebuttal on the kid’s tongue away, “Now, what you're going to do is get out of the suit, put your clothes back on and then you’re coming back to the Tower with me and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it without any sort of complaint.”

Peter, thankfully, heeded Tony’s words and, after some struggling, managed to get the suit off and into his own clothes. He swayed slightly on the spot and Tony acted fast, tapping the center of Peter’s suit, summoning it back to the Tower and he scooped Peter up, cradling him like a baby against his chest. Peter rested his head gratefully against the cool armor, the world beginning to spin around him at an uncomfortable rate as he felt the repulsers of the suit ignite and Mr. Stark take off into the night.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., please send a text to Peter’s little friend and inform him there’s a car waiting for him outside and that it will escort him home and that if he doesn't leave that party in five minutes, it’ll be a phone call to his mother.” He heard Mr. Stark’s voice over the whooshing of the wind and Peter giggled. Who knew Mr. Drunken-Womanizing-Playboy-Tony Stark could be such a dad.

Iron Man, more like Iron Dad, Peter thought to himself, giggling.

His giggling came to an abrupt stop, however, when his stomach gave a uncomfortable lurch. Suddenly, the cool wind washing over his face felt suffocating and Peter could picture how high up they were, how small the buildings would be and how the only thing separating him from death was Mr. Stark’s gentle grip and his stomach gave another churn and then—

Oh no

“Uh, Tony, I—I—don’t feel so good—“

“Kid, I swear to god, if you toss your cookies all over this suit—“

He opened his mouth to reply, but instead of words, the tacos he and Ned split before the party came back up and he tried, he really tried to aim away from the suit, but there was only so much he could do when he was squished against Tony’s chest and suspended twenty-thousand feet into the air.

“Mr. Stark, I am so—“ Peter began, beyond mortified and feeling much more sober than he was five minutes ago, but Tony shook his head and Peter could feel the heat of his glare through the faceplate of the suit.

“Save it, kid. You’re lucky this is one of my older suits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

They made it back to the Tower without another incident and once Tony was out of the ruined suit, he sent it off with DUM-E to get it hosed off, he sent Peter up to his room and he sent himself to the bar for a drink.

He eyed the bottle of bourbon, but thoughts of a drunk and stumbling Peter on a roof top made him opt for a bottle of water instead.

He collapsed on the couch, suddenly feeling everyone of his years and rubbing his temples to ward off the migraine that he could feel blooming behind his eyelids, he wondered, not for the first time, how he could've done this to his mother. Tony had started drinking right around Peter’s age, and at first, it had started as something to piss his father off, but he soon came to realize that alcohol numbed the pain and help hide the scars his father’s words had left behind. Drinking had turned to experimenting with drugs and if it wasn't for Rhodey, who’d pulled him back from the brink of every bender, he would’ve been dead before his twenty-first birthday.

His drinking and partying had put a strain on his relationship with his mother and did nothing but serve to be a source of shame for his father with all the headlines his drunken shenanigans had earned him.

And while Peter wasn’t his kid, not biologically or legally, he felt responsible for the kid. A sense of duty to steer this kid in the right direction and Tony would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t love the kid and care about his wellbeing.

Peter reminded him a lot of himself at fifteen. Always the smartest kid in the room, always interested in things that weren’t cool and struggling to find a place amongst his peers who teased him for being who he was. The difference, however, was that Peter was good. He was so inherently good and all the harsh things that this world had done to him had yet to diminish the purity and resolute kindness that radiated off of the kid in waves. Peter used his powers because he wanted to help people, Tony did it because he hoped, that maybe, for every life he saved, every act of good he did, it would serve as a penance for all the bad he had done to the world.

Peter was too good of a kid to turn out like Tony and it scared him to think of Peter following in his footsteps. Of making his mistakes. He knew, logically, that Peter was still a teenager. That he was going to make mistakes, but Tony couldn't help but feel disappointed in the kid anyways. He wanted Peter to be better than him, damn it. He had to be.

It was only eleven, but Tony felt beyond exhausted, so he made his way to his room, passing Peter’s along the way and he couldn't help but stop and peak in the doorway. He wanted to make sure that the kid actually made it to his room in one piece and didn’t drown himself in the shower.

Peter did manage to make it in bed on his own—sprawled out on top of the sheets in the Iron Man pajamas that Tony had bought him as a joke, he never expected the kid to actually wear them—and if the snores coming out of the kid said anything, he’d been passed out for a while.

Tony smiled, shaking his head before padding softly across the fluffy carpeting of Peter’s room, grabbing a blanket that was thrown across the love seat in the corner and gently draped it over Peter. He snuggled into the warmth, seeming to relax a bit more in his sleep and Tony brushed his bangs back from his forehead.

“Oh, you’re going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, kid,” Tony muttered, “I wouldn’t wish a first time hangover on anybody.”

Peter snuffled in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as if he heard what Tony said.

Tony chuckled softly, shaking his head once more, “Good night, kid.” he whispered to the quiet room.

Peter rolled over on his stomach, burying his head in the pillows, mumbling in his sleep and Tony paused, because there’s no way that kid said what he thought he said—

“G’night, Irondad.”

Tony blamed the warm feeling in his chest on the alcohol that was still sitting, untouched, in the bottle downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight, Peter decided, was literally the worst thing that world had invented. It burned every time he opened his eyes, threatening to fry his corneas right from his skull and it was only made worse by his Spidey-senses, which usually made every one of his senses feel like it had been dialed to eleven, but today, it felt like they’d been dialed to one hundred.

And it was only made worse by the high voltage electric guitar that was blaring from downstairs and Peter recognized it as one of the songs on Tony’s I’m Trying To Be Productive playlist he’d played in the lab.

Wait—

Peter glanced around at his surroundings and he realized he was in his room. But not in Queens, where his Very Worried Aunt would expecting him to be sleeping, safe and sound.

Instead, he was in his room.

In Stark Tower.

Which was in Manhattan.

And he had no idea how he ended up here.

Cursing colorfully, Peter flew out of bed and immediately regretted it—the room started to spin and his stomach churned dangerously, bile rising in his throat and threatening to come up all over the dark grey carpeting.

He took a second to breathe, fighting back the nausea and praying he wouldn’t ruin Tony’s carpet. Eventually, the restless ocean in his stomach mellowed out, the nausea turning into more of a bleh feeling.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Peter asked hesitantly, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” The A.I. responded dutifully.

“What happened last night?” Peter asked, toeing the carpet and wondering if he really wanted to know that answer. Now that he was awake, the night was coming back to him in flashes and he prayed that some of those flashes were wrong.

“Mr. Stark received a call from Mr. Leeds last night at around 10:35 pm, informing him of your whereabouts and possible levels of intoxication and he flew to the residence of Ms. Liz Allan’s, where he encountered you, on her roof, attempting to put on your suit. He flew you to the Tower and provided a car to escort Mr. Leeds home.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

Peter nodded—which, come to find out, makes splitting headaches worse—and thought over all the information the A.I. had provided for him and while all of it fit, there was one thing that was missing and he hoped, beyond all belief, that it wasn't true.

“Did I—,” Peter cleared his throat, wishing he hadn’t, which seemed to be the running theme of today, “—did I by chance, possibly, when Tony flew me back to the Tower, which I’m assuming was in the Ironman suit, did I uh, you know, um—“

“Mr. Stark is headed up in the elevator, Mr. Parker.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted him.

Shit

“On a scale of 1-10, how mad is he?” Peter asked meekly, glancing up at the ceiling.

“While my body scans show no outward signs of irritation, Sir’s heart rate is elevated and his blood pressure is higher than normal, so my estimate would be an 8.5.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered after a brief moment of hesitation and Peter couldn't decide if it was his imagination or if he just wanted someone on his team, but the A.I.’s voice sounded sympathetic and that was a bad sign when a computer felt bad for the wrath that was bound to rain upon him.

“On today’s episode of Peter Screw’s the Pooch, we talk about underage drinking and it’s adverse effects it has on young heroes and their abilities to think properly.”

The door to his room burst open and Peter winced at the noise of wood hitting dry wall, but that paled in comparison when he saw an angry Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

“And while we usually save questions from the audience for the end of the show, today, I think we can make an exception,” Tony continued, making his way into Peter’s room, a sarcastic smirk dancing on his lips and his usually kind eyes were on a low simmer, anger lurking in the shadows.

Peter gulped.

“To answer your question, Mr. Parker, yes, you did, in fact, regurgitate your tacos and cheap beer all over my Mark fifteen, after I kindly took time out of my night, to fly over to the suburbs of Queens, to a house full of your classmates, to save you, from possibly making one of the worst decisions of your teenage life.”

Peter winced at Tony’s steadily rising voice, one because it was making his headache worse and two, because, well, Tony was yelling at him.

“So, since I didn’t really get a coherent answer last night, what the HELL were you thinking?!” Tony demanded, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Peter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, “I uh—“

But Tony cut him off, “Because I can tell you what you weren’t thinking. You weren’t thinking about the fact that if you flew into that house, drunk off your ass, might I add, you not only could’ve injured yourself, you could’ve hurt someone else. Or, more importantly, you could’ve exposed your secret to all your little classmates, who all have their little smartphones, with HD camera’s and access to the internet and you could’ve been the next viral sensation, which would blow your cover to the ENTIRE WORLD.”

Tony’s shout made Peter jump and shrink back from the rage in his voice, but he was so lost in his rant that he didn’t even notice, “Which, not only put you in danger, but all your little friends and your unusually attractive aunt.”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Oh god, aunt May, Tony—“

He waved him off, “Oh, now you’re thinking of someone besides yourself? Don’t worry, she thinks your sleeping over at Ned’s tonight because me, being the cool parent that I am, brought you here, instead of dropping you off at home last night and saved you from the verbal ass chewing of the century.”

Guilt swelled in Peter’s gut, eclipsing any nausea that had been lingering, and he dropped his eyes to the floor in shame.

“Seriously, Peter, what were you thinking?” Tony demanded and Peter could hear the exasperation and fatigue in his voice and his guilt increased ten fold.

If Peter was being honest with himself, he wasn't thinking. Not entirely, at least. He just wanted one night, one night, where he could be a normal teenager. Who went to parties and let loose and danced and didn’t have to worry about saving the city from weird thugs with Avenger’s masks and high tech weapons. Who didn’t have to worry about keeping up with homework and studying on top of late night patrols and keeping up a secret identity from his aunt who worked two jobs to supplement the lost income because her husband died in a robbery that Peter was too angry and bitter to stop. He wanted to fit in, to be cool and seen by the most beautiful girl in entire school.

He just wanted to be normal.

It all sounded so stupid, now that he thought it out.

Well.

“I just wanted to fit in.” Peter said softly, “The kids at school, they don’t see me, you know? I know it’s stupid, but I just wanted to know what it was like. To be cool. To be—“

“—normal.” Tony finished for him, voice unusually gentle and Peter glanced up at him hesitantly, nodding.

“Yeah.”

Tony sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, taking a seat next to Peter on the bed, “Kid, I get it. Maybe not the whole hero thing at fifteen, but when I was fifteen, I was in college, with kids that were older and cooler and I just wanted to fit in. But Pete,” Tony said softly, “drinking is never the answer.

For anything. Trust me kid, alcohol won’t solve any of your problems, they only create more problems. And they can lead to things that you’re not ready for.”

Tony glanced away from him, “Take it from someone who knows, it takes you down a path you’ll have a hell of a time getting off of. I know I have a hard time showing it, but kid…you mean a lot to me and I never want to get another phone call like the one I got last night, you hear me? I’m not kidding. If I ever hear about you doing something stupid that involves the suit, I’ll take it away from you and you won’t get it back.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but Tony shook his head, “No, I mean it. If you want to make it public that you’re Spiderman, you’ll do it when you’re older and on your own terms. It’s not going to be because you made a stupid choice when you were drunk and you exposed yourself to the entire world. This is for your safety as much as it is for mine and everyone else you care about.”

Peter sighed, “I understand. And I promise it won’t happen again. Especially if this is how I feel as a result.”

Tony chuckled, ruffling Peter’s hair, “Hangover’s are a bitch, kid, if that’s not enough to make you want to wait to drink until you’re older, I don’t know what will.”

Tony stood up, “Alright, I’m gonna go order breakfast—what are you doing?”

Peter, who thought that the lecture was over and it was safe to go back to bed, propped himself up on his elbow, “Um, going back to bed? I wasn’t kidding, I really don’t feel good and I’m tired—“

“Oh no no no,” Tony tutted in disapproval, backing his way out of Peter’s room, “You’ve got a suit with your puke all over it, waiting to be cleaned in the lab and then you have homework to do and web fluid to make—“

“But—“ Peter looked longingly at the California king with it’s soft sheets and fluffy pillows and his body physically ached at the thought of leaving it.

“Or I can always call your aunt and tell her what really happened last night—“

“Coming!”

Tony smirked.

Iron Dad indeed.

~~~~~~~

Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I’m excited to hear your feedback! Suggestions and requests are much appreciated! (: 

@jadepc @autumnhunter1 @randommemewithadream @rebbie444 @abaikgirl @fantabulousshipperfromcamelot @afittingdistraction @letsallsleepoverwork @pepperr-pottss @help-i-need-a-cool-username @onedaysomedaytoday @ileavechaosinmywake @bloop-da-loop @rachhhhhl @anniejglee @hiccup-is-left-handed @spid3rboy @bonza-bear @claraangi

[ivyfics]

When you’re sober — (fic)

When air is back in his lungs he manages a, “Whoa. Who’re you?”

Long fingers land on the bridge of black rims, pushing them up even when they haven’t moved an inch. “Tsukishima.” Eyes behind glass settle on him for a second before their gazes break, jump away. The blond snack stands straighter and asks, “And you are?”

“Not straight,” Tetsurou replies, dazed and with a croaky throat.

Rating: Mature Pairing: Kurotsuki

Read on AO3

The night is lost between strobe lights, deafening beats, and way too much tequila for four people to consume—three and a half if the shots Akaashi’s given away as to protect his liver are brought into consideration.

He’s not sure if his face is numb or his entire skin is on fire but he’s swaying slowly between those two the same way he sways on the dancefloor, the amount of alcohol in his blood caught up with his motor skills and taking him from frantic head-nodding and hip-popping to that sweet, sweet rocking of his knees to a beat that does not match whatever the DJ is playing.

Crowded, loud, hot both in the way that leaves Tetsurou with the kind of glow people buy exorbitantly priced fine-milled stardust to achieve and in the two tutoring sessions the bouncer’s niece is getting out of Akaashi to agree to let them cut the long ass line curving around the block.

Do not be fooled, this is not your usual club.

It’s an epiphany, one they get to experience only after being vouched by Terushima’s minute nod to the gatekeeping stack of muscle. Not that his man, his bro, the hot piece of ass he lives with could not take him if things went south. He has absolute faith that Bokuto is more than capable of decking the dude if necessary, as much as he has in the knowledge that he would never deck anyone undeserving of having their bone structure re-arranged.

Bokuto is out of his sight down to the tippy-tips of his frosted hair, a feat considering they tower over almost everyone else in the area around the booth they claimed for themselves when they arrived—courtesy of Terushima, as long as Kuroo pulls through with a hot number burning the contact list on his phone.

Bokuto was holding the Jose Cuervo and the fantastic, demonic amber liquid inside of it when he hopped into the crowd and vanished. The last thing anyone needs right now, especially Tetsurou, is to have Bokuto get completely fucked; there is no way in any ring of hell that any of them have the steady gait it takes to transport a completely fucked Bokuto anywhere. Oikawa, maybe, but the last Tetsurou saw of him was grinding down on the nearest unknown beefcake so that’s a total loss. Good night for Oikawa’s ass, terrible for them if they need some muscle to transport their own beefcake out to wherever they’ll head to next.

Somewhere with a bed they can all throw themselves on, or at least some blankets on a floor. Whatever that place turns out to be, Tetsurou will not be the one leading them there this time. He and Bokuto ran into some other friends with commodities on Terushima’s radar; they got some nice Dictador shots out of it, and Tetsurou is feeling it in the raging pit burning his guts.

Before anyone can go all judgey on them, they don’t usually do this. Going for a drink usually involves lots of beer, finger foods because Bokuto gets snacky when he drinks, and a place where they can all sleep over when they eventually get beaten by the blessed sleep that comes with getting a little more than buzzed. Also, fuck whoever judges them even if that weren’t the case. They do what they want.

The floor shifts, dancing party-goers along with it, and Tetsurou’s arms spread out to find some balance. He takes a second or two to steady himself and to realize that the floor is as solid as a rock, that he’s the one doing the walls-caving-in thing, and that maybe those shots hit him a little harder than he thought. He waddles through the crowd trying his best not to look down, eyes blinking faster than they should.

Vertigo doesn’t seem plausible when you’re only about six feet high (which he’s not because his feet are on solid ground even though his head technically is,seeing as that’s the height it would fall from if Tetsurou was to take a little spill) but Tetsurou’s felt some things before and there is no other way to explain the wave that rolls over you when you’re head-diving face first into a sticky, disgusting floor of a club.

Landing on the booth with his hip, Tetsurou admits that whatever line exists between him getting out of this club by his own means and not has been crossed—meaning: after all the undeserving mental bitching he’s being doing in slander of Bokuto’s name, he’s the one who is completely fucked. Luckily for him (and the ones who now have the responsibility to make sure he doesn’t wash up in a random alley somewhere when the sun comes up),  he’s not impossible to transport.

A little wobbly, sure, but easy enough to maneuver.

When the swirling of his sight calms down, he can see Oikawa in his line of sight. The brunette is doing something that Tetsurou will call dancing because he might be drunk out of his wits but he’s polite, ass not so discreetly backing up into the wall of muscle that is Oikawa’s prey tonight.

He looks pretty solid. Maybe he can carry Tetsurou out.

Writhing bodies flash in and out of darkness, eyelids growing heavier and then not until he feels a massive amount of warmth at his side, groaning. It’s a familiar feeling and Tetsurou groans back, setting some of his weight back on Bokuto. Guess it wasn’t all slander.

“I think it’s time we left,” Akaashi speaks up loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the music. He sounds sober, too sober, and Tetsurou envies him furiously around the spinning of the room and the numbness of his face. How nice it would be to have control of his physical form. Tetsurou turns to blink at Akaashi blearily, overshooting a little to the left and having to compensate. He finds him with a hand on Bokuto’s hair, the motion of his fingers combing through and working at the strands hypnotic to Tetsurou’s alcohol-addled brain.   Bokuto agrees with another groan, face flopping on Tetsurou’s rib cage. It should hurt, that with Bokuto’s nose being extra jabby, but Tetsurou is above that kind of sensory input right now. Tetsurou tries to move, his neck craned in a way that doesn’t bother him now, but that would hurt if he were any more sober than he is. “Oikawa is not going to be happy about that.”

Bokuto groans again, the sound barely audible from where it’s muffled at Tetsurou’s sweaty side. “Leave him. I wanna sleep.”

Akaashi hums, letting Bokuto deal with himself while he locates Oikawa on the dance floor. “He’s had too much to drink to leave behind, he’s not going home with anyone tonight.”

Bokuto’s head snaps up, eyes squinting to catch Akaashi’s line of sight. “Oh. Yeah.” The couple of strands of Bokuto’s hair that have come loose from being a sweaty gross mess flop against his forehead, cheek resting on Tetsurou’s shoulder when he’s tired of seeing Oikawa’s ass grind down on whoever that is.“He’s going to bitch at me about cockblocking him until he falls asleep.”

“But he’ll make pancakes for everyone as thanks for not leaving him alone with a serial killer.”

“Fuck yes, pancakes. Can we have pancakes, Keiji?”

Akaashi makes a noise of agreement. “When we get home and you guilt Oikawa into making them.”

“Can we go home now?”

“There’s a tiny problem,” Tetsurou says, because he owes it to them to disclose exactly how much it’s gonna take to lift him from this booth.

Tetsurou is the presentable drunk; he doesn’t puke, doesn’t slur his words or does crazy shit if he’s left out of sight even for a second—and how is Suga doing these days, he wonders?—but he does become a floppy meat puppet for a while, all while looking like he’s just over-danced and overheated. “I’m soooooo drunk, Akaashi, I can’t feel my legs.”

Akaashi’s face twist, just a little, at having two people to drag out. They try, really, to balance out who stays sober enough to make sure everyone’s safe (or keep an eye on Suga when he tags along—except Bokuto. Suga has the uncanny ability to drag him along in his shenanigans), but Akaashi has been it for the last three times they’ve gone out. He can’t cook for shit so it won’t be pancakes but Tetsurou is going to do something nice for him this week.  

“I guess walking back to your place is off the list.”

Right. That was the plan. Their shared apartment. The apartment that is at decent walking distance when you’re only planning to dance a lot and drink a little. Like they were supposed to do tonight.

“Keiji, I’m sorry,” Bokuto moans. “Tequila was a bad choice.”

Tetsurou makes a noise of agreement. He agrees with that all the way to his soul. “Tequila is always the right choice until it’s not. It’s always not.”

“It’s fine. I think I have a place we can crash at nearby. Let me go call first.” Akaashi gets up, pulling his phone out of his pocket because he’s an angel. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Tetsurou laughs a little. “Couldn’t even if I tried.” Then, he adds, “Maybe if I tried really hard.”

“Don’t try.” Akaashi gives him a sharp look, shutting him down before disappearing to work his magic.

Bokuto doesn’t move an single centimeter, only looking up when Oikawa comes back with the swole dude in tow.

Oikawa looks like an add for expensive, overpriced perfume. “Kuroo, you ratty bitch.”

Tetsurou is hurt. “How come I’m the only ratty bitch here? I’m not even the drunkest one.”

“Koutarou can do what he wants.”

“You heard him. I do what I want,” Bokuto laughs, followed by a groan. Kuroo rests his eyes for a while, enjoying the warmth at his back and the portion of Oikawa’s conversation that floats his way. Time disappears for an infinite moment, his body loose on his seat.

Akaashi comes back after an unknown amount of minutes, letting his presence be known by a flick to Kuroo’s forehead that makes him jolt, and in turn, makes Bokuto groan again. A quick glance tells Kuroo that his eyes are closed and he’s snuggling against Kuroo’s side. If they don’t get moving soon he will fall asleep on this booth. On cue, Bokuto says, “I don’t wanna get up.”

“Bokuto, get up right now. I can’t carry you by myself when you’re like this.” Akaashi’s voice is stern but Kuroo knows in his gut that his words are paired with his hands slicking Bokuto’s hair back from his sweaty forehead gently.

“I can help,” Oikawa’s catch of the day speaks up. “It looks like you could use a hand.”

He certainly looks like he can help, muscle tee showing off arms that would make sculptors weep. He can probably take care of Bokuto by himself. It’s not that any of them are puny, it’s just that Bokuto is so fucking ripped. He’s a wall of heavy, dense muscle, dragging down whoever carries him with his drunk dead weight. This new dude looks like he can keep up, though.

Tetsurou’s mouth goes off.  “Thank you, ripped stranger.”

The stranger shakes his head, amused. “Iwaizumi,” he offers. That must be his name.

“Thank you, ripped Iwaizumi,” he amends.  

Huh, maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

They somehow manage to get out of the club in one piece and without leaving anyone behind. Tetsurou doesn’t really know where they’re going, but the last two brain cells not taking a bath in booze are too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other without toppling over the pavement to care. Akaashi is leading them somewhere safe, he hopes. And comfortable. Please, be comfortable. He’s so done with walking.

Tetsurou leans a little heavier on Tooru. He’s rosy-cheeked and his eyes are half-lidded, Tooru’s energy level dropping a little without the dim lights and heavy music to amp him up. The toll of the night out is showing in his slow gait, sturdier that Tetsurou’s. Tooru is the one leading him but he leans his weight on Tetsurou, too, their combined efforts keeping them moving and upright.

Kind of like the less blind leading the blind.  

They’re at the back of their little group, Akaashi chatting with Iwaizumi with Bokuto between them in front of them. The road is quiet and glowing under the streetlights, aiding to the surreal feeling carried by the fresh breeze.

Tetsurou gets lost in the flexing muscles of Tooru’s dude’s arms for about two seconds before almost tripping and Tooru’s tensing arm around his shoulders break him out of it.  “He’s hot, Tooru. God job.”

“You mean ‘good job’?”

“That too.”

Tooru laughs, a big free guffaw fueled by the late night air and whatever level of drunk he still is, his body against Tetsurou shaking more than it should have for something so unfunny. The pair of them warble in their steps a little, and it’s Tetsurou who makes them still so that they don’t fall. Tetsurou looks forward and catches Tooru’s dude looking back at them, risking an unsteady Bokuto that clings to him for a glance at a laughing Tooru. He falters, minutely—but enough to have Tetsurou notice and Iwaizumi’s cheeks go red even under the dim lights before he quickly faces front.

The building they arrive at is so incredibly familiar that Tetsurou doesn’t doubt he’s been here before. Even without clinging to Tooru’s shirt his feet would find their way around, and he follows without paying attention to where they’re going because his body leads the way for him on autopilot. It takes them an eternity and Tooru’s death grip on his shirt to climb the steps to the second floor, but they make it relatively unscathed. Kuroo does bang his shoulder against the wall a little too hard, but the pain fades almost immediately.

They stop near the stairwell, the door a pale gray with a metal ‘2B’ above it. Kuroo fades out at this point, gaze weirdly entertained by the shiny ceramic frog sitting next to the doorframe. It’s pink, for one, and it has a yellow ribbon around it’s throat. It stares back at Tetsurou with jumpy eyes and a forever smile on its face.

It’s hauntingly familiar. He’s seen that frog before. He knows the frog. So much that he says, “I know that frog.”

Tetsurou’s voice is only for himself, but Bokuto manages to catch it. “ ‘Course you do. That’s Lola.”

What? How does Bokuto know the frog? How does Tetsurou know the frog? Before he can voice his concern the door opening cuts him off, and Tetsurou, he’s—he’s dumbfounded.

Standing in front of him is the damning proof that god is real, because the devil made whoever this is. He’s gorgeous , standing in the entryway in blue sweats and a white t-shirt. Soft fabric and a tall frame, pretty and short curls over sharp eyes.

When air is back in his lungs he manages a, “Whoa. Who’re you?”

Long fingers land on the bridge of black rims, pushing them up even when they haven’t moved an inch. “Tsukishima.” Eyes behind glass settle on him for a second before their gazes break, jump away. The blond snack stands straighter and asks, “And you are?”

“Not straight,” Kuroo replies, dazed and with a croaky throat.

Everyone goes quiet at that, stun broken by Akkashi’s groan of  ‘not this’ and Oikawa’s ‘pffffft!’

After they manage to move past Tetsurou’s mouth, the shuffle in to the apartment slowly. It’s small, but surprisingly free of clutter. The feeling that Tetsurou’s been here before grows by the second, down to the pleased sound he makes when his butt decides to rest on one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

Iwaizumi chuckles next to him, hands free now that Bokuto is starfished on the couch as much as he can.“I think that’s my cue to leave.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay, Iwa-chan?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good. I have to go back to my people.” Coming closer to Tooru, he places a hand on Tooru’s nape. “I’ll see you?”  

Oikawa pouts, but nods, face shifting to mischief almost immediately. “Thank you for your service. I’ll be sure to make it up to you,” he purrs. Oikawa leans in closer to his ear, probably to whisper dirty things, but Kuroo does not care even a single bit, not an ounce. He’s much too busy looking over at their host, their literal saviour. The very recent but very intense apple of Kuroo’s eye.

He’s still as pretty as he way when he opened the door.

Tetsurou stares at him awhile before a smile takes over. He leans forward, elbow catching his weight on the counter. “You know,” he drawls, “If I had a dollar for every time I saw someone as pretty as you, I wouldn’t have money to take you anywhere.”

Oikawa’s choked laughter fills the air behind him followed by, “You don’t have it now.”

Tetsurou whips to face him. He whispers furiously across the room, hand shooting out to point at the blonde. “Shhhhhh! He doesn’t know that!”

The outburst makes a quiet chuckle come from behind him, and when Tetsurou looks over his angel has a barely there smile on his face and is pointedly looking away from him. It brings a goofy smile to Tetsurou’s face. He’s making progress!

He clears his throat, brain going a mile a minute trying to come up with his best work. “So are you a bookworm or do you just dress like one?”

“Why?”

Tetsurou shrugs because duh, “Glasses.”

Tsukishima gives him a glance for less than a second before rolling his eyes. Akaashi’s bored tone speaks up, “That was terrible. ”

“Worse that terrible, that was lame,” Oikawa says.  

Alright, okay. A hit and a miss, but he can do better. “You’re like a long water bottle.”

Everyone goes silent until Akaashi’s tentative, “Did you mean a tall glass of water?”

“Yeah. Are you acid? Because I’m tripping over you.”

Oikawa sleepily boos in the background while Akaashi walks over to stand next to Tsukishima. “Do you have anything we can feed him? He needs to sober up.”

Tetsurou doesn’t stop. “I see you and my eyes hurt.”

Akaashi’s trek to the fridge stops. Then, he shrugs and keeps going. “I got nothing.”

Tsukishima hums, face fully in his fridge, giving Tetsurou the best view of his ass. It’s small but it’s so cute. “All I have is leftovers, but that usually doesn’t go over well. The only thing that won’t make him puke is cheese and crackers.”

Tsukishima plates it up for him, along with a glass of water. He sets it in front of Tetsurou and tells him, “Eat.”

“Thank you,” Tetsurou smiles at him, enamoured. He starts on them slowly, nibbling on the cheese. Tsukishima—and that’s so clunky to say, so long. He needs a nickname, something as cute as he is.

Tsukki, maybe. He tests is on his tongue. “Tsukki.”

“Yeah?”

“Tsukki. Tsuuukki. Tsu—kki.”

“What?”

“You’re so pretty. Your hair is so yellow,” Tetsurou says with a lilt, staring at the slice in his hand. Then, his eyes widen as he thrust it higher in the air. “Like cheese!”

Tsukki chuckles again, eyes closed and head shaking. “You’re going to regret so many things tomorrow.”

That might be true, but Tetsurou won’t regret trying to make him smile. “Are you a 175 degree angle? ‘Cause I hope you’re not straight.”

Akaashi sighs, “A nerd, even when he’s drunk.”

“You’re a punch to the face.”

It’s Bokuto who speaks up this time, laugh muffled by his face resting on the cushion. “A Knockout.”

“You’re a filthy thief! You stole my hea”— Tetsurou emphatically swings his arm, causing his cheese to slip and land on the floor—“Oh, my cheese.”

His cheese. His poor cheese. Tsukki gave him that.

Oikawa lifts his head from where it rests on Bokuto’s back. “Awww. Tetsu, that one was kind of cute.”

“Of course it’s cute. It has to be cute, cause he’s cute,” Tetsurou grumbles, “He’s like a—a“— Tetsurou’s hand shoots out, gripping the arm nearest to him and asking—”what’s the word that’s not mop?”

The arm nearest to him happens to belong to the blonde, who just stares down at him. After a second of Tetsurou’s inquisitive look, he responds. “Not mop. Broom?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m like a broom.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tsukishima closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “I’m going to regret this. Why?”

Tetsurou lets go of him and leaps to stand straight. “Cause you sweep me off my—”

And everything goes dark.

Tetsurou is dead. He’s either dead, or dying, or being digested by a giant beast but he’s dead. Something crawled into his mouth, took a shit and then died there, too.

After furiously praying to whatever god there is to please let him him succumb back to sleep until he’s not dead enough to feel like this—and failing—he slowly blinks awake, eyes tacky. The room is blessedly dark, and the familiar light green sheets underneath him are soft.

He, very carefully, gets up in search of people. While the room’s curtains had been drawn, the rest of the apartment is sunny. Tetsurou blinks against the light, keeping his hand on the doorframe for support.

“Morning, Romeo.”

Tetsurou stumbles out into the room, pouring himself on his usual stool. Long minutes pass by before,“Did I— Did I call your hair cheese?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

Tetsurou whines, his forehead hitting the cool surface of the counter. “ Tsu—kki, why do you let me embarrass myself?”

Tsukki stands by the stove, glass of water in his hand. His laptop is next to Tetsurou on the counter, along with a stack of papers. By the looks of it he’s been awake for a lot longer that Tetsurou. With the most neutral expression, he answers, “It brings me joy.”

“Where is everyone?”

Tsukki hums. “Bokuto kept saying something about pancakes, so he and Akaashi left to get some.”

He would. Fuck Bokuto and his inability to suffer through hangovers like the rest of them. He probably woke up peppy and ready to face the day.

“Oikawa”—Tsukki makes a pinched face at his name. Knowing Oikawa, he made sure to annoy Tsukki as much as possible before taking off. Not that it was that hard for him, it took some time for Tsukki and Tooru to get along—”left to get ready for his date with, and I quote verbatim, ‘The adonis who is going to destroy whatever there is of me later.’ ”

Tetsurou frowns, going through the watery memories of yesterday. “I remember someone big and muscly.”

“That’s the one.”

Tetsurou hums into the counter. He remembers most of last night the way he does childhood memories, with vague and veilied understanding of what happened.“How could I forget you? And Lola!” Tetsurou looks over to the door, raising his voice. “I’m sorry, Lola.”

Tsukki lets him sulk in his head for a bit. He comes closer and Tetsurou can feel his elbows resting on the other side of the surface, in front of him. “Hey, Kuroo?”

“Hnn?”

“How come you never hit on me when you’re sober?”

He chokes. Tetsurou is too hungover to be having this conversation, because for a second there—and he doesn’t want to get to ahead of himself, here—it sounded like Tsukki was… pouting. That has to be a mistake, because Tsukki doesn’t pout. He snips.

“It just doesn’t seem fair that I have to put up with your terrible flirting when we aren’t even on a date. Don’t you think?”

While he’s right and Tsukki is decidedly not pouting, he’s also not not pouting.

And sure, Tetsurou’s given it some thought. Everyone’s given it some thought; he’s had nights chatting with Oikawa where he, too, admitted to having a thought once. Granted, Tetsurou might have given it a little more than just some thought to it.

A little but too much of it sometimes, when they spend time together and all he does is think about it, along with fleeting idea when someone mentions the blonde in front of him. Or when he sees someone trying to hit on Tsukki—which, why wouldn’t they? He’s all of that —and there’s this sudden sourness in his tongue he pretends isn’t there.

“It seems to me like you should rectify that, seeing as there is this huge backlog of your awful drunken flirting to make-up for,” Tsukki continues, like he’s not destroying Tetsurou’s mind.  

“How—How would I go about rectifying that?” Tetsurou’s voice wobbles.

“Lunch, for starters. Or coffee. I just—I need to know.”

“Know what?”

“If your flirting is actually that bad.”

“You want me to flirt with you? On a date.”

Tetsurou knows he sounds incredulous. It’s so unexpected. He never imagined Kei would be interested. How many times have they been here before? How many times has Tetsurou drunkenly flirted with him, only to make like it’s nothing the next day? Tsukki has always brushed it off good-naturedly to the point that Tetsurou thought he was so far off Tsukki’s radar that the only way he’d ever take any advances from him would be as a joke.

Kei sighs, “Forget it.”

He sounds so disappointed. Tsukki is (badly) pretending not to be, but Tetsurou can hear it. It makes him desperate to rectify this, hope making him jump even if his head will kill him for it. “No! No take-backs! I’m buying you lunch. And dinner! As a date, not friends—well, obviously friends, but friends that are on a date. Romantically. Full romo. And I’m flirting with you!”

Tetsurou’s head is pounding, his voice too loud but he takes a quick breath and sucks it up. “I’ll flirt with you right now. You’re—”

“Please don’t,” Tsukki interrupts him.”You look like you’re about to die.”

He’s not about to die, and he’s not missing this shot because he made Tsukki misunderstand.

“Save it for later,” Tsukki says, and there’s a light blush on his cheeks, his voice so flustered while he looks away and, oh, oh.

Tetsurou is so incredibly fucked.