#this idea has been bouncing in my brain for ages but i am unfortunately bad at edits

[foolishlyzephyrus]

i humbly request that someone with better video skills than mine make a doctor who edit using lost in time and space by lord huron

[twisted-crumpets]

Hey guys, I wanted to make a g/n version of the kiss headcanons, because I felt bad that some people may not feel included or couldn’t properly enjoy the meal. If there’s any headcanons that you want me to do this for, please ask me it’s perfectly fine.

Quick note: Rook’s nickname for his darling had to be changed, because it was not gender neutral. However, this one “mon petit oiseau” (my little bird), is. This was found out through research, if I am wrong, please tell me.

��━ Trey Clover ━━

Trey was always pretty observant and soon noticed how his feelings may not be as unrequited as he previously believed.

Pink blushes and eyes dreamily locked onto each other’s for too long was sort of a dead giveaway. However, Trey wished to formally explain his feelings for his S/O.

Unfortunately, an Unbirthday Party was coming up and whilst all of the treats were made, the roses were a far cry from done and Cater begged anyone who’d listen for help.

Hearing the third year’s desperate pleas, his darling decided to meet up with Trey so they could both tackle as many roses as possible.

The job wasn’t completely unpleasant, yes they both would rather be doing something perhaps a bit more enjoyable, but they both treasured each other’s company and the small talk was rather entertaining.

It wasn’t long before it finally clicked in Trey’s mind that they were alone and peered down at his love, who was honing their all into making a stubborn rose red.

“S/O, I’m sure you are well aware but I just wanted to say.. I love you.”

His darling nodded at first before taking a violent double take and glancing at Trey, baffled and red at his casual confession.

“Hmm~ was it not obvious already? I would’ve thought you already knew.”

Teasingly chuckling at them, he pressed a gentle kiss against their crimson cheek, unable to hide his smirk. Cupping their warm face in his hands, he looked deep into their eyes to ask for permission before pressing his lips against their own.

The kiss was long and warm. It filled them both with a feeling of home and and comfort and neither of them wanted to leave.

Eventually, Trey pulled away, poking their still red face with his finger, unable to wipe his former smirk off of his face at her bashfulness.

The garden may not have been very finished, but they couldn’t care less when they had one another in their arms.

━━ Ruggie Bucchi ━━

Ruggie was worried. He always knew that he wanted to eventually confess how he feels to his love, but he knew that with essentially no money, he had limited resources.

Sneaking money out of Leona’s wallet little by little, Ruggie began to feel more confident in finding the perfect inspiration or possible gift for his beloved. As he stood in Sam’s shop, he felt a deep sense of regret for not just stealing a necklace to sell instead.

Prices so high it made him dizzy in the head and weak in the knees. Despair lingering in his chest.

That is, until he saw Trey buying some eggs which caused an idea take root in his mind. Baking was something couples did often and it did sound rather romantic. Plus, who was he to deny spending time with his love and filling his stomach for delicious doughnuts?

After class, S/O was nearly tackled to the floor by the blur that was Ruggie who had a strong determined look twinkling in his eyes. “Shishishi sorry about that... hey! Uh before you go, I’ve been asked to make some treats by Leona, but I barely know much about it. Do you mind giving me a hand?”

Tentatively, his S/O nodded their head, eyebrow raised in bewilderment before parting ways, delighted and perplexed.

Making their way to the kitchen, they began to wonder what was in store. The hyena loved to play pranks, maybe he had one in store for them?

It was however a great relief to see the cheeky student frowning at the recipe as if it was in another language.

His ears cutely twitching hearing their giggles, his head shooting up and with a grin so wide that it could’ve split his face in two adorned on his face.

Hours passed and they couldn’t deny that the evening was very gratifying, with the happy chatter and raucous laughter that filled the room. When doing a count of the doughnuts that were laid out on their tray, they soon noticed one had gone missing and quickly informed Ruggie, teasingly questioning him about its whereabouts.

“Shishishi ahhhh S/O this has been gone for ages~~ you are too easy to trick!”

Placing it back on the tray, they observed the design on the surface, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates after resist to messy “I love you” scrawled onto the surface of the small treat.

Cooing at the sweet gesture, they wrapped their arms around the trickster and softly responded to his feelings, immediately feeling him let out a gigantic sigh of relief.

Pulling away slightly, they stared at his lips entranced before finally connecting them, a cute yelp escaping from the boy.

The kiss was sugary sweet and fluffy and many more was stolen by the playful thief, accompanied by booming laughter and warm doughnuts.

━━ Jade Leech ━━

The Monstro Lounge has always been a rather busy establishment and had many a particularly busy day. Today seemed to be one of them as the orders kept piling up and showed no signs of stopping. Tireless hours catering and cleaning, until finally the crowd has thinned until the room was empty once more and the Lounge was finally closed.

Weary and stressed, Jade decided to go to the school pool and unwind. The tranquil silence flooded the room and Jade slowly sank into the room watery depths, feeling himself becoming truly serene. Which was sadly interrupted by voices from above calling his name.

With a slightly irritated sigh, he heaved himself onto the pool’s edge, scanning his surroundings with narrowed eyes. That was until they befell onto his love and instantaneously softened.

“Oya? What are you doing here S/O? Surely it is due time for you to be back in your dorm?”

His stomach suddenly felt light and filled with his butterflies learning of his dearest’s concern for him and slowly shut his eyes, not expecting them to stay and hurried rush a variety of sentences jammed together creating one love fuelled mess.

Disheartened by the lack of reply, they went to leave, slightly embarrassed before they were stopped by a cool hand wrapped around their wrist, revealing a slightly pink Jade.

“I must inform you that your feelings are not unrequited.. I love you too, my flower.”

Tugging their wrist to kneel by the pool side, he tilted his head upwards and connected their lips, completely intoxicated by the contrast between their bodies.

Gasping for air, his darling didn’t notice the toothy smile spread across Jade’s face as he pulled them into the pool, wrapping their arms around his neck and connecting their lips once more.

Addictive kisses were stolen and exchanged and neither of them could ever wish for more as they melted into one another, hearts swelling with every touch.

━━ Jamil Viper ━━

Jamil was ready to pass out. His usual menial chores were increased tenfold as a result of Kalim and his impulsive decision to let his wild pets roam free inside the dorm.

The chaos of the day finally reaching its end, Jamil dragged himself towards his room, ready to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Until, he set his eyes on his love sat patiently on his bed, instantly brightening and then furrowing their eyebrows in worry over the fatigue that seemed to radiate from every part of his body.

Ushering him to bed hurriedly, Jamil fought every urge to sleep as he inquired about why they waited for him at such a late hour.

When hearing them admit their worry for him, he scoffed and gently flicked them on the nose, thankful for the darkness of the room hiding the pink that was painted across his cheeks.

“That was rather foolish of you. This is my job and has always been, you don’t need to worry for me.”

He softened at their indignant whines of protest he brought their into a warm hug and sleepily murmured his feelings into their hair, blissfully unaware of what he just said until he felt his beloved stiffen up in his arms.

“Hmmmmm.... I love you, you know that right, Jewel?”

Calmly he apologised, unable to hide the slight disheartenment in his tone which left him as soon as he heard them shyly repeat his previous words.

Cradling their face, he pressed his lips to theirs in a small tired kiss, lips moving in sync lazily. Tiredly pulling away, Jamil crawled under his covers and gestured for them to follow suite as he pressed his warm frame against theirs and held their back close to his chest. His heart thumping wildly in joy, his brain still struggling to process the sheer amount of love he holds for his beloved.

“Goodnight my Jewel, I will wake you up in the morning.”

━━ Rook Hunt ━━

Rook had been acting suspicious. He already did have a shady appeal to him, but it was even more apparent than usual.

Whenever he appeared before them, his scent began to be rather sweet and fragrant and his hands where always stained green.

It didn’t help that he kept staring intently at his love like they was the last star in the sky, and despite his usual romantic bravado, this new behaviour screamed at them that he was planning something.

During the lunch break, Rook eagerly bounced up to them, hearts almost visible in his eyes, asking if they was free after school. Taken aback by his suddenness, they stood and stared for a while trying to gather their bearings. Agreeing apprehensively, they couldn’t hide the curiousity filling their eyes.

Upon hearing their reply, he could’ve sworn he entered heaven.

He almost launched them to the botanical garden, his heart running marathons, his mind a mess of thought out poems combining into one chaotic choir of infatuation.

With happiness radiating in every step, he took them to an picturesque area where an archway of orchids greeted them.

“Dear S/O, no amount of words could possibly describe how much my heart swoons for you, my love for you is as bountiful as the sea, encasing me in your radiance. This simple archway is a humble tribute to your golden heart, which I hope to one day own.”

Going weak at the knees at such a heartfelt confession, they responded with such excitability that could have put his to shame.

A stronger sense of devotion was glowing in the hunter’s eyes as he wrapped his toned arms around his love, span them in a circle, holding them close to his heart and kissed them with immense passion.

The kiss was fiery and warm and his darling could feel themselves melt even further into him.

The kiss went deeper and deeper, drowning them both.

Pulling away, Rook panted for air and presses his forehead against their’s.

“Hehe, mon petit oiseau, our love seems to truly be written in the stars.”

━━ Lilia Vanrouge ━━

Lilia was always very mysterious, but it truly did reach new levels of strange.

The mischievous fae had planned to hang out with his S/O a week in advance and seemed to be up to no good, with the telltale glint in his eyes being a dead giveaway.

Meeting up with his darling at their dormitory, he placed a hand on the small of their back, and began to lead them into the forest.

“Kufufufu I believe that in order for our small rendezvous to be truly enjoyable, one must insist for their guest to close their eyes and have faith in their partner.”

Apprehensively, they placed both hands into Lilia’s cold and calloused hands, shivering slightly at the temperature different between the two and closed their eyes, making them more aware of the sounds the dark forest created.

Sweet bird song and the light windy breeze clashed together in perfect harmony, gifting them the ability to completely relax and put their faith in the impish boy.

It felt as though they both had been walking for a millennia until they were finally stopped in their tracks, and the giggling from the man who was once before them turned silent.

Curiously, they opened their eyes and gasped in amazement. The scenery around them was nothing short of magnificent.

The moon had begun to peak out and painted the trees a beautiful silver. Small delicate beads of light flickering around, illuminating the forest gracefully.

Slowly turning around, they jumped at the sight of the usually talkative fae, quietly smiling lovingly at the innocent joy on his lover’s face.

“Sweet dove, the words I utter now are the words you are the true emotions that have taken flight within me. I love you. No, love isn’t enough, it scarcely passes as sufficient enough. There is no word that exists within any of the dictionaries in all the world that could possibly describe how much I cherish every part of you.”

Hearing their acceptance towards his feelings, he giggled so purely it reminded them of tinkling bells and elegantly dipped them, gazing at their loving expression that was aimed at no one but him and pressed his lips smoothly against theirs.

He could’ve sworn that nothing fit quite so perfectly as the two of them, lips moving in sync, hearts beating a thunderous rhythm, joy and mirth beaming through their lovestruck grins.

I hope you enjoyed your meal!

[soradragon]

Prank full of love

Dwalin here! Woooo!! changed my style a bit to fit with the type of genre this is, this is a comedy x reader fic. I’m very proud.

Also, thank you my sweet @deepestfirefun​ for helping me out! And Thank you my beta reader for helping me out! I love you!

Warnings: cursing, shirtless dwarf (wink wonk) and fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Dwalin x F! reader,  mentions of bagginshield

Check out my main masterlist if you liked what you read and wanna read more!

If you want to be tagged in the upcoming fics don’t be afraid to ask me! ^^

Please, if you liked the story leave a little comment to let me know you liked it!

Anyway, enjoy^^

~~~~~~

"You..!"

A deep, threatening and rough voice bounced against the walls of the passages. 

Not much further ahead was a woman, pushing a man of what looked like a high status to the side. She was running like a madwoman, fleeing from what people would think; the devil. 

That woman is you. Yes you; surprising, isn't it? 

What did you do to get yourself ending up in this peculiar predicament, you probably wonder?

Well then, no need to look further nor to scroll down to nitpick every sentence in this story to make even the slightest sense of what's going on in this world of chaos. It shall all be explained right here and now! 

If you didn't care nor wonder what, how, and why this all happened, then too bad! You have no power over this story! Haha, take that!

Ahem, anyway...It all happened at a feast around midnight before all this chaos came to be.

*(*)*(*)*

Fili and Kili dragged you with them. The blonde prince led the way as the younger brother pulled you with them.

They had been spouting stuff about "the greatest idea ever." and "going in the history books for being the legendary mischief-makers." Or something like that. You didn't really listen, like at all, only perking up and paying a biiit more attention when they mentioned 'you' and 'food.'

Were you getting an all-you-can-eat-buffet?

Aww, such sweethearts! They shouldn't have.

Weelll, you did deserve it, after all. Going along on this journey and defeating a dragon is not an easy feat. They should make you an entire statue while they're at it! 

Yes, one right next to the entrance so all visitors and passers-by could see you and know of your magnificent and heroic deeds.

You mentally patted yourself on the back. The look on your face was a mix of smugness and pride.

But you were forgetting one small itty bitty detail (or two) in your only sliiightly intoxicated state:

You weren't the sole hero who slew the dragon. You already got your fair share of the reward: a high status in the kingdom - a place in the High Court of the company who went on that dragon-slaying quest - and a luxurious comfy home included. And not to forget the gold you were promised. Thorin also offered work in a high place in the kingdom like a royal scholar or something, but you gracefully declined. You liked working in the toy shop with Bofur and Bifur - so...no statue for you.

But you didn't remember that.

You snapped out of your daydreams when Fili softly helped you to sit down on your bed. 

How did you get here in the first place?

"Are you alright Y/N?"

Fili or Kili, you don't know which one as they looked the same to you at the moment, wiggling in front of you with their two clones.

When did they become a quadruplet?

"Y/N?"

Oh yeah, you still needed to answer them. 

"...'M fiiinee."

You managed to slur out with difficulty, sleepiness slowly taking over. The brain cells were already going to bed, leaving behind a heavily drunken brain to operate the whole system.

What could go wrong, am I right?

...A lot.

*(*)*(*)*

"Ugh, stupid hangover..."

You moaned, resting your chin on the edge of the bucket pathetically.

You felt like you died and came back to life again, moaning over a bucket you desperately tried not to look into, for you knew the meal you had yesterday would not be a pretty sight.

At least you could tell what was up and down...yay for you...

You didn’t forget that you had somehow convinced Fili and Kili you were really fine and totally not wasted. How was beyond you, and you were not in the mood to figure it out.

Maybe they were also drunk or just took advantage of your pickled state. Yeah, they would do that to guilt-trip you into going along with their prank. They knew you never break a promise, even if you made it in your totally half-sober state. They were too cunning for their own and others’ - mostly others’ - good.

Anyway, somehow (not surprisingly) without knowing what you were getting into, you had nodded along with everything they had said. 

You vaguely remember Kili or Fili tucking you in and saying goodnight. 

Note to self: Never try to win against Bofur - or any dwarf for that matter - in a drinking match ever again.

You chastised yourself while staggering towards your wardrobe.  How late would Fili or Kili pick you up to set his prank in motion? You didn’t even care which one it was - you hated them both at the moment...Okay, who are you kidding; you would do the same thing again in a heartbeat for either of them. And of course, they would give poor little you the hardest and most dangerous job to fulfil... Great. Just peachy.

Sigh.

Let's get this whole shenanigan over with, dammit. They’d better sing tales and praises about you once this is over. 

Not long after you put some clothes on, The two brothers barged into your chamber, loud and boisterous as ever. How they both could be so lively in the morning (with probably a hangover too) was beyond you.

"...Stupid dwarf genes..."

You mumbled to yourself as you let the two princes drag you to the training hall with their arms hooked around yours on either side. 

You felt dread pool inside your stomach as you got closer to the training hall. 

Now, normally you loved the training hall. After all, it was the front row seat to a heavenly sight of young warriors and their amazing muscles being put to use in a workout. Not to forget there was one dwarf in particular who you just loved to watch while he flexed his muscles by throwing other dwarves around.

But right now, you feared it with a burning passion, for that place was undoubtedly the place where you would meet your inevitable doom.

"Don't worry dear Y/N, it's gonna be fun!"

Kili spoke up happily, seeming to notice your unease Oh, how you would love to give him the big finger. But knowing Kili, he would drop you for the fun of it and make a whole drama show out of it, gasping and acting like a stereotypical blonde rich girl, one who just overheard the most scandalous gossip about herself. You cursed yourself for showing Kili how to be a true drama queen. (Prince, in his case, but you get the point.) The traitor uses all those tricks against you every chance he gets. You could just kick yourself for being so stupid to show him the ropes. What's worse is that if you would put Kili in a dress he would be the definition of a diva! How he does it? 

No one knows!

Why couldn't you just say no and walk away?

"Because you're too nice to leave your favourite dwarves hanging, Y/N. You promised you would help." Kili said. Technically, your autopilot did, not you. Unfortunately for you, Kili was right. You wouldn't leave him hanging. 

You glared at Kili and the stupid cheeky grin he gave you. You would have rolled your eyes at him if that wouldn't hurt as much as it did, so you decided to roll your eyes mentally instead.

Wait...did you just say that out loud?

"Yes, yes you did."

"Fu-"

*(*)*(*)*

After what seemed like ages Fili and Kili had finally managed to drag your miserable self to the big wooden doors of the training hall. You had given up the struggle after the longest ten minutes of your life, deciding to formulate a master escape plan before you would reach the training halls. Unfortunately for you, it was too late. You threw your carefully thought-out plan down the drain when Kili accidentally slammed the door against the wall too loud when he kicked it open with his boot.

Still having his arm looped around your's, mind you.

Everyone and everything quieted down for just a moment. Heads turned towards the entrance where they were all, no doubt about it, greeted with a comical sight. 

Fili and Kili, obnoxious as always and wicked smiles on their faces (and everyone who even remotely knew the young princes, grasped that the two were up to no good.) 

dragged a very anxious looking you with them. One would guess you were about to be sacrificed as a dragon's dinner.  Which you were, in your opinion.

"Come on Y/N,  time to teach you how to disarm opponents," Fili said, leading the way to a part of the area where a couple of young dwarves were thrown on the ground by one dwarf in particular, one you came to recognise as the hottest and grumpiest dwarf in all of Grump Town. And oh boy, you were not ready to get destroyed by him, and you showed it, too, pulling and protesting and cursing at everything that lived.

How you wished you could tell people that you managed to free yourself from the boy's grasp and run for the hills. 

Sadly, that wish didn't come true; God hated you or something, for Fili and Kili  - those little rascals - managed to push you right into Dwalin. 

You didn't know if Dwalin catching you was a blessing or a curse. What you did know, however, was that you most definitely were blushing, if your burning cheeks were anything to go off of.

Dwalin was shirtless... His strong, hairy arms encircled your waist delicately, and you were practically pressed against his chest...

Against his strong, warm and bushy dwarven chest.

The scent of sweat, smoke and a vague hint of cookie dough entered your nose, and it strangely made you feel at home.

You were a goner, yep completely gone, nobody's home. Come back later or leave a message after the beep for Y/N dot exe has stopped working and took a vacation to cloud nine.

Sadly, your cloud nine had been sucked away too quickly by the dwarf himself who put you there in the first place. 

Dwalin, being the grump that he is, grunted at you and pushed you back on your feet as if you had burned him! 

"Rude much," you grumbled once you managed to keep your balance, dusting yourself off.

Dwalin (the ass) only grunted in return. Him and his damn grunts. 

You ain't special enough for him to form a full sentence for you, now?

Fine, if he was gonna play it that way then, you were gonna give it to him back tenfold.

Screw consequences, the dick deserved this. You were gonna go all out. 

You turned around and stuck your tongue out like a real child woman.

Fili and Kili started to giggle behind you, getting quiet real quick when they saw Dwalin glaring daggers at them. 

You marched towards the two princes, whispering four words as you moved past them. 

"Let's do this shit." 

The boys definitely heard you, for their grins turned wicked. 

One glance and you knew what was about to come. If being the two princes’ guinea pig for pranks with poor Bilbo the entire journey taught you anything, it would be to recognize the twinkle in their eyes. 

It spoke in volumes louder than any dragon could roar; chaos was about to unfold, both in their brains (as they looked each other in the eye) and soon, in reality. You looked slightly over your shoulder. 

Yeah, they were scheming alright, communicating with that brotherly bond they share or something. 

Watch out Dwalin:

This. Is. War.

*(*)*(*)*

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Oh, how you came to regret tripping Dwalin up. In your defence, it wasn't your fault that he couldn't take his dark eyes off of you when you pulled your shirt off because the heat was getting too hot to handle. 

Wink wonk.

Hey, at least you wore a white undershirt. One which clung to your breasts tightly. Yeah, that'll give him something to look at.

Anyway! 

It wasn't your fault, either, when Dwalin marched towards you with purpose in his steps when you bent over to grab a dagger off the ground, showing him your assets in the process.

It was his fault, really! He should've noticed that Fili and Kili were waiting for him to stand on the grey X. And now you were running for your life with a very, very angry dwarf (who was covered in white glue and colourful feathers) on your heels. Thanks for everything, Kili. Thanks for shrieking out, "Y/N planned it!" The moment Dwalin glared at them...

The snitch.

You pushed dwarves to the side as you ran for your life, screaming sorry as you went, because you are a polite gentlelady. Dwarves watched you go with wide eyes, confused as heck as Dwalin stormed past them not long after.

Most of the time, you were glad they made the hallways mainly one straight line, but now? You cursed its existence and its creator.

There was unquestionably no doubt about it that Dwalin would catch up. Curse you and your hate of exercise.

You should have taken Gloin's offer of jogging with him when you had the chance, but Bombur's pastries were too tempting to pass up on at the time.

And now here you were, fleeing like the devil was behind you, with burning lungs and protesting legs. You were afraid to glance back; you could almost feel your pursuer’s breath go down your neck. You silently prayed to all the deities above and beneath you to help you out, and it seemed one took pity on your little mortal soul. For the moment you finished your prayer, you were rewarded with two things: two dwarves carrying barrels, and a small corridor you almost missed if it hadn't been for someone came out of said corridor. 

You took the opportunity without hesitation and slammed against the two unexpecting dwarves, who dropped the barrels in surprise. You managed to slip past them before the barrels hit the ground - like freaking Indiana Jones - skidding through the corridor with a sharp turn. 

Without a second wasted, you pressed yourself against the wall like a ninja on a mission and held your breath. This was the moment of truth. There were two possibilities: either Dwalin wasn't fooled by the stunt, or he runs right by you. You prayed for the latter.

Lo and behold, for your prayers have been answered again! The deities really loved you at this moment, or just had lots of pity for you.

Dwalin ran past the corridor.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief in your life Patting yourself on the back, you turned around with a smile... Only to come face to face with the king of the mountain. The smug-ass had a knowing smirk on his face.

Shitpopcicles...

"Why are you so out of breath Y/N? You look as if a warg was on your heels." the smirk faltered as Thorin rubbed at his chin as if he were thinking. 

The grin returned tenfold. "Is a certain dwarf chasing you, perhaps...?" His voice was teasing; he dang well knew why.

Oh, how you wished you could smack that smirk off his face, but sadly that was not a good idea. The bugger knows about your crush on Dwalin and teases you often. 

He found out about it during the journey and he had always put you and Dwalin on watch together. 

He shipped it, you just knew he did.

You pointed a threatening finger towards him. "Watch out, boy." You were close enough to Thorin to be the only one allowed to do something like this.

"Or this little lady won't hesitate to tell the whole damn mountain and a certain someone that you have a crush on a certain hobbit."

His face stayed the same - stoic and not moving - but you saw it at his softly reddening cheeks that your suspicions had been right. You grinned victoriously at Thorin, who stood there without uttering a word. Serves him right! Now you had blackmail. Internally, you were cackling evilly.

Your body froze while Thorin opened his mouth to speak. You felt as if Hell had just frozen over for that's when you heard it:

"You...!"

It sounded like thunder rumbling. Deep, rough and threatening. You would have totally been turned on if you weren't scared for your life. 

Dwarfzilla was coming...

Without noticing it, you pushed Thorin to the side and ran like a madwoman. This is how it all happened. Now you're all caught up, so let's continue.

Fili and Kili had better sing tales about you after this.

You turned many corners and hallways, zooming past Dwarves who flushed themselves against the narrow walls in haste as you ran past them.

Some of them called out to you, but you couldn't hear what they said; Being chased doesn't really give you the time to stop and listen to what they had to say, now does it?

At one point, you began to notice the path becoming disproportionate and rough. Stones stuck out of the floor and walls. You tripped over a couple of those, those little buggers. Soon, it was as if you weren't in a hallway anymore, but in a cave instead.

Dwalin had been calling out to you after a while of running through the cave-like hallway. But the thing was, he didn't sound angry anymore. 

He sounded worried, desperate even, which was very much out of character for Dwalin, to be honest...

Sadly, you hadn't had the time to realize why Dwalin acted the way he did before you dropped down a hole in the floor with a yelp. At least you found out why he was so concerned.

What a great day...

*(*)*(*)*

A short cry reverberated throughout the chamber, and a high pitched voice followed after.

"Could you be more gentle!?"

You glared at Dwalin, who like always, grunted his replies instead of talking like a normal Dwarf-being!

Though he did what you asked and rubbed the ointment on your bruises more gently, which felt like heaven on your sore skin...

You felt absolutely stupid, sitting on a wooden bench with Dwalin treating your bruises and wounds. (Oin was too busy to do it himself so he shoved ointment in Dwalin's hand. The other was holding you at that moment, for Dwalin wouldn't allow you to walk yourself. Oin said that Dwalin should do it before promptly leaving.) Dwalin had to pull you out of the hole, though he spoke more words than he had said to you this entire day. You counted that as a victory.

You still felt your heart flutter every time you thought about it: He had been extremely gentle, lifting you out of the hole with both his arms. Cradling you to his chest while muttering in dwarvish. Checking all over your body before caressing the back of your head and pressing it against his shoulder as he held you close. This time, you understood his mumbles: "Thank Mahal, yer safe," his voice was so quiet, wavering with raw emotion;

"never do anything like that ever again, ya hear me."

Dwalin was still shirtless and covered in glue and feathers during the entire ordeal.

Your heart had skipped multiple beats right then and there, cheeks flushed red. You had been trying to process those words the entire way to Oin. Still trying to figure out the meaning behind the words he uttered with such intensity.                

You were brought out of your trance by Dwalin tapping on your shoulder, you looked over to see him staring at you, "Lift yer left foot."

You did as he asked, lifting your foot. Dwalin grasped it gently in one hand as he removed the boot delicately. If this was in a different situation, it would have been very intimate. No, wait, scratch that; it's intimate even now, which was not good for your heart, which was doing summersaults inside your chest. Yep, you were screwed...

So badly, and heavenly screwed. 

Yet you couldn't find it in yourself to really mind.

Once Dwalin removed the boot and sock, he started to massage your foot with ointment, muttering to himself. "Why did ya let yerself be dragged in the princes' pranks."

It wasn't a question, but you answered anyway, "Those princes made me promise to help them out when I was drunk- don't look at me like that Dwalin! You know I never break promises, even if I made them while I was drunk."

He averted his eyes, stilling his ministrations slightly. "Ya need to learn to say no."

His voice was almost too soft to hear, but you did.

You huffed in return, "I'm getting better at it though! I said no to Fleder-Fledder something when he tried to get me to marry him!"

Dwalin chuckled, "Aye ya did. Ya kicked him good in the nuts."

"Well, he deserved it, I didn't even know him and wouldn't take no for an answer, so I had to make it clear." 

You grinned at Dwalin as he shook his head, a smirk on his face.

Your eyes turned soft, remembering how Dwalin had positioned himself between the man and you when the man tried to grab you by the neck. Your hero had glared at the man fiercely, threatening to gut him with his axe if he didn't take the hint and shove off.

The man had pissed himself before he had sprinted off, too scared to utter a single word.

You had hugged Dwalin to thank him and since then, he only acknowledged you with grunts... That was the day before the feast.

Balin had said not to take it personally, that Dwalin needed time to sort himself out. But damn was it hard to not take it to heart.

"Why did you do it?"

The dam broke, spilling your most inner thoughts. Fumbling with your fingers, you stared at the ground, missing the confused look on Dwalin's face. "What?"

"Why did you ignore me after I hugged you?"

You were not gonna beat around the bush with this one. You made your bed, and now you need to lie in it.

"You didn't acknowledge me for three days. Balin said to give you space, so I did. But damnit Dwalin, you ignored me for three days! Why?"

You didn't mean for your voice to crack when you looked him in the eyes. You didn't mean for the tear to slip past. Dwalin's eyes widened in return. Very slightly, but you noticed. He averted his gaze to the ground for a second, placing your foot down gently and then looked up into your eyes. 

"I...I got confused," he began, eyes full with emotions, some you couldn't even place. "I got confused...Emotions which I thought I had buried deep down, long ago resurfaced..." you blinked. Were his eyes getting glassy? 

"They resurfaced tenfold. I didn't know what to do or think… I didn't think," he grabbed your hand in his delicately, tracing the skin with his thumb, never taking his eyes off you even once. "I threw up my walls in a panic, I shouldn't have, but I did..." he took in a deep breath. "Hurting those dear to me." Dwalin pressed his lips against your hand, it was gentle and soft. Butterflies fluttered inside your stomach.

"Y/N, lass, I truly regret putting ya through such pain. Could you forgive this fool of a dwarf?" He whispered, staring at you with pleading eyes.

You did what everyone would do in this situation.

You hit him on the head and yelled, "you idiot!!" and slapped against his chest multiple times. "I thought you hated me...!" Dwalin grabbed you by the waist and raised you into the air without much problem. He stared into your eyes with passion as he uttered one word.

"Never."

The two of you were only a small length apart. Without hesitating, you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his. He passionately returned the kiss, both of you closing your eyes as you relished the feeling of each other.

Yeah, you were on cloud nine alright. The touch of Dwalin's hands holding you so gently set your skin aflame. You could get used to this.

Parting to gasp for air, you glanced at Dwalin's face. Eyes lidded, and mouth slightly open. You smirked then, leaning in, you brushed your lips lightly against his.

He groaned in return. 

"Yer doing things to me, lass," he pressed his head against yours, his eyes soft as he looked at you. "Be mine?"

You only nodded, leaning in for another kiss to seal the promise.

Yeah, today was a great day...

~~~~~

Thank you for reading! And keep soaring high!^^

Hobbit taglist

@that-place-called-middle-earth​ @an-adventureland​

Forever taglist

@theincaprincess​ @strongholdinthedark​

Sora’s Rambles!

If you are on a tag list of a fandom or requested something you will get notified for Sora's rambles. When I'm working on that fandom or request, i will post little ramblings about the story I'm working on, a sort of teaser if you will. If you don't want to be notified on Sora's rambles please let me know^^

[keep-it-i-resign]

Fic Writer Asks

tagged by the lovely @vampcoffeegyrl23 I am soooo sorry this has taken over a week! I promise I was just busy away from my computer and using mobile is not the way to go about answering these! 😅

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

6 on AO3 and 6 on ffn.net. I haven't used the ffn.net account in years, i.e 2013 (and therefore my user name isn't even the same) so those 6 stories are different from my AO3 ones. I don't post most of what I write and now that I'm in my mid-20s with a few published papers behind me - I'm much more confident in my ability to write a cohesive and interesting story so expect more posted!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

17,425 words which isn't bad for only 6 fics with two of those stories having additional chapters coming soon.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On AO3? Just 1, which is The Flash and by extension Stargate SG-1 for the crossover I did for Snowells Week this year. Counting ffn.net that's 3 more with Castle, Doctor Who, and Firefly. Over my lifetime of writing fic for myself? I think only 7 more. Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis, Sanctuary, Harry Potter, Star Trek: Voyager, Star Trek: TNG, and Left 4 Dead. Left 4 Dead isn't much of a fanfic but I did use the zombie types as place holders in an original story until I developed my own.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'll Be Waiting (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry)

Well... This is Awkward (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry, Frost/Nash, Caitlin/Nash, and Frost/Harry)

Rewind Time (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry)

Through the Gate (The Flash/Stargate SG-1 - Caitlin/Eowells)

Harvest Season (The Flash - Caitlin/Harry)

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I don't write angst much and I haven't posted many stories yet but of the ones posted I guess "I'll Be Waiting" is the angstiest.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

"Well...This is Awkward" has a pretty happy ending with everyone alive and together. Or maybe "Twilight of the Gods" because ReverseSnow/ReverseFrost happens and there is hope of bringing everything lost back and balance the universe again. I guess it depends on your definition of what constitutes as a happy ending. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

I've only written one - The Flash/Stargate SG-1 crossover. I don't normally think about crossovers just because the shows I watch are so vastly different they can't really work or they are already in the same universe with the canon crossovers. I'm also not always a fan of reading them because they can get chaotic quick and characterization takes a dive in order to fit characters into other universes/situations. I admire anyone who can write it well though!

As a side note: I did have a thought about a Snowells into the Arkham universe fic just because I have been replaying the Batman Arkham video games which I might give a shot at.

8. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

👀I wrote one smutty story years ago and it's terrible because I was young and naïve. I haven't tried recently but I'm not opposed to giving it a shot now. I have a few ideas on a prompt list I have for Snowells already so it's really a matter of when will I get to it!

9. Do you respond to comments. why or why not?

I do when I can! I like to get feedback from my readers and having an open dialogue of what they liked or disliked is important for me! I want to know what my audience enjoyed and what to improve on! Responding to them also shows them I saw that they said and appreciate what they had to say! 🥰

10. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Surprisingly - no, even on my old and terribly written stuff. I'm perfectly open to criticism but hate? If you don't like it, you don't like it but others might. Why spend the time spreading negativity when the world has enough of it?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know - no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but given enough time I could probably translate mine. It would be grammatically atrocious because I rarely translate from English into any of the languages I know. It's normally the other way around! I'd definitely need a Beta who is fluent to correct my mistakes.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but it's definitely something I'd try! I co-wrote an original story with a few friends of mine years ago in high school and enjoyed it. I like the idea of getting to talk and bounce ideas off of someone who enjoys the same fandoms and character as me! I haven't really done that since I grew apart from one of my friends from high school who I did that with.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

What kind of question is this? Do people actually have an ultimate ship? Is that even possible? I have ships from several fandoms and sometimes multiple ships within a fandom. Most of the time I have a main ship from a fandom but that doesn't mean I discount any of the other ones that I or others enjoy as well. I'll throw out a few that I still got out and read for in order of what I read most often (either new stuff or re-reads) to what I read occasionally, at least according to my AO3 favorite tags.

Snowells (all variations) - The Flash

Jack O'Neill/Sam Carter - Stargate SG-1

Helen Magnus/Nikola Tesla - Sanctuary

Harry/Hermione - Harry Potter

William Murdoch/Julia Ogden - Murdoch Mysteries

Phil/ Melinda - Agents of SHIELD

Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris - Star Trek: Voyager

Kate Fleming/Steve Arnott - Line of Duty

I will occasionally go check what kind of fics the fandom writes when I start a show just out of curiosity. Sometimes you can tell if there is fandom hate between ships by doing so and I know to steer clear, especially if I ship a lesser ship/non-canon ship. Also - the number of canon-divergence or rewrites will tell you if the shows writers start being ridiculous *cough* The Flash *cough* and whether it's worth getting attached at all.

15. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Hoo boy. I have a drive full of them. Most of which aren't even close to being posted. My biggest one right now is a complete re-write of The Flash dealing with a what if scenario of Earth-1 Tess Morgan being pregnant the night that Thawne kills them both and he chooses to birth the kid rather than let it die with her. It's set a few years earlier (so 18/19 years stuck in the past rather than the original 15 that the show has it) so the kid isn't Jesse but it changes how season 1 plays out and definitely how season 2 plays out when Harry finds out about the kid while dealing with the Jesse/Zoom issue. Plus it's Snowells too and I want to deal with Barry's mistakes and the consequences of them better than the show did since the show just kind of brushes them off? For some reason? I wanted things to have a little more consequence because some of the mistakes made are egregious and then they acted like it never happened which bothers me. It's a beast of a project and I'm - unfortunately- a perfectionist and a completionist. I'm thinking an episode per chapter rewrite but right now it's in bits and pieces and a lot of notes on how episodes would play out differently with an added character and dynamic.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and scene positioning. I can write out the dialogue for a story quickly with the bare bones of the scene and movements playing out. After that, it takes me ages to expand the scene and fill in the bits between speaking lines because I can see the piece play out in my head and putting that to paper accurately and engagingly without being overwhelming is a multi-layered process.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Some of this is normal, you know, like grammar and spelling. My brain moves faster than I type so words or bit of phrases end up missing and I later have to fix it. I'm also a Southerner who grew up watching a ton of British shows so a lot of the way I phrase things isn't commonly used anywhere. I have to spend a lot of time double checking things like that. I think my biggest one is not knowing how to end stories satisfactorily. I haven't posted many fics because it's hard to post them when you don't know how to wrap everything up.

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It depends on whether it's an established part of a character or story and whether or not I'm comfortable with the language. Like with Sherloque - it's established he'll say something in French and then repeat it in English. I took 3 years of French so I'm comfortable writing it and it fits the character and situation. But take Cisco, we know he speaks Spanish, but it's never really shown in the show. So fics that I've read where he breaks into Spanish can be distracting as we've never seen him do it - even in dire circumstances. I also never took Spanish in school and I only know rudimentary pieces (I took Mandarin and Latin instead), so I'm unlikely to use it in any fic I write unless the circumstances warrant it (say - Cisco is talking to a grandparent or a meta struggling with English).

But again, it depends on the situation, what we know of the character, and how comfortable I am with the language enough to get it correct and in character. Any fic writer who can get the situation and character down while using a secondary language, and not make it distracting deserves applause!

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Hit me with a hard one why don't you? 🤣 I think it was Stargate SG-1 or maybe it was Stargate Atlantis. You're asking me to think back over a decade and a half ago to when I started reading and writing fic at the tender age of 7 or 8. I'm fairly certain it was one of those two fandoms and it might've been a crossover. I do remember writing part of it on an old Gateway computer running Windows '98 with a glass monitor that was mine and my sisters. The other half was written on an electric type-writer that I owned because this was before laptops were widely available and affordable.

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

It's a tie between "Twilight of the Gods" and "I'll Be Waiting". "Twilight of the Gods" because I got to show off a few of my degrees (History and Classics, I couldn't shoehorn in my others but they are science related and that doesn't quite fit that story). "I'll Be Waiting" is a favorite because it's a big middle finger to whoever / collective group wrote The Flash season 7. I'm still pissed off at how the Wells plotline was dealt with and let's not get started on the whole Chillblaine/Kramer/Forces as kids of WA plots (ewwwwwww 🤢). I'd need a whole new post to talk about how tired I am of the WA kids showing up (because screw how that'll effect the timeline, right?) and the reliance on the future to drive what decisions are made (because, again, screw how bad that would be for the timeline - it's not like we have seen how much that effects things before right?) 😒

Phew.....That was longer than I expected, honestly, but a lot of fun!

Tagging whoever wants to talk about their works because you are all wonderful people who should get a chance to share!

[thewintermusketeer]

This started off as a little reddie drabble to cheer up @skinks , based off her tags and thirsting for bill hader, particularly inspired by this post. It’s now over 1.5k and I absolutely did not read it over before punting it off to my love @benevolentbridgetroll to look over, so if this makes sense it is only due to her help.

Disclaimer: I have not seen the movie/read the book/am not part of this fandom so this is purely based of the SCU (skinks cinematic universe).

They’ve been couch shopping. Of all the things, that’s the catalyst. If Eddie were a pessimist (which he’s not, he’s just sensible, Christ, Richie, it is literally my job to think about worst case scenarios) then he’d say the whole ‘being stabbed in the face and then stabbed again in an even more vital area, in a manner commonly called impaling’ had messed with his judgement. However, that would imply that something else is messing with his reasoning, and Eddie has been through enough therapy by now to understand exactly which thoughts and behaviours are his own. And this? Unfortunately, this is all Eddie.

Anyway, the issue is that Richie sat on a couch. A couch that they were buying together, because they live together. They live together, and they cook together (or rather Eddie tries to cook healthily, and then when he ruins it Richie makes something with far too much fat and salt in it, that’s still better than take out at least). They go shopping for groceries together. They’re the most boring middle-aged couple in the world, and yet neither of them have actually got the balls to call themselves one. They both know there’s something there. Something hanging in the space between them, important words swallowed behind more and more insults because Eddie never thought he’d feel like he’d die if he didn’t hear another ‘yo mama’ joke. It was strong enough for Eddie to move to Florida with Richie, to get away from New York and Myra, even if the latter was something he’d have done anyway, as soon as his memories started coming back. But it’s still unsaid. Not acted upon.

And Eddie is pretty sure they’d have stayed like that for a while longer, in a holding pattern made comfortable by the fact it’s not comfortable; Richie pushes him, dares him and goads him like he did when they were children, and Eddie still can’t believe he forgot how it feels to want to shove Richie right in his stupid square face, even as he can’t stop laughing. Richie makes him feel like life is actually worth living, and not something to be calculated and analysed and rationed. Of course, Richie also makes him feel fucking horny. Which is exactly the problem.

Richie sat on a show couch – and Eddie doesn’t even want to think about how many other fucking people have been near that thing – and Eddie barely stopped himself from crawling onto his lap right there in the shop and jerking off onto his shitty logo t-shirt. He was wearing converse for Christ’s sake. Shoes that provide no fucking ankle or arch support. No forty-year-old man should look sexy wearing converse and a baseball cap. And yet Eddie wanted to measure the exact diameter of Richie’s chest using his thighs. Maybe years of being called a loser and a square had sunk in, subliminally, because the fucking stupid rectangular breadth of Richie’s chest had made Eddie feel crazy.  He wanted to be wrapped up in Richie’s gorilla arms, wanted to feel the gentle scratch of his arm hair against his own bare skin. Wanted to watch the clench of Richie’s hands against the back of the sofa if Eddie dropped to his knees in front of him, telling him not to touch his fucking hair until he’d washed his hands, Jesus Christ. Wanted to see if Richie would laugh during sex, as well.

But he didn’t. Instead they bought the couch, after he’d checked the fire regulations. He had left the shop with Richie, who’d slung one arm around his shoulders, and the weight of his arm, the warmth of him against Eddie’s side, was as reassuring as it was a turn-on.

“Guess we’re parents now, Eds. Or, we will be when our bouncing baby boy gets delivered next week.” Eddie feels the laugh building in Richie’s chest before he even speaks. “I’m so glad you kept your figure though, babe, a couch that big must’ve been murder on your hips.”

“You’d know all about bad hips, fuck face, or am I imagining the old man complaining I heard this morning?” Eddie would say he’d replied on autopilot, but a larger portion of his brain than he liked to admit was always focused on Richie, like a radio that always tuned back to one station.

“It’s not my fault your mom rode me so hard last night, is it?”

Eddie hadn’t been able to stop his snort. Forty fucking years old and the same joke was still funny. He’d looked out the corner of his eyes at the dumb smile Richie was sporting, all because he’d made him laugh. Richie needed a shave and stepping outside the air conditioned shop was enough to make his glasses steam up a bit, but it hadn’t stop Eddie’s raging, improbable thoughts about the line of his jaw beneath the stubble, about how he wanted to turn it into a slip n’ slide with his dick. About how he wanted to feel the bob of his Adam’s apple fucking massaging Eddie’s armpit, or something. 

Eddie hadn’t even realised they’d reached the car until Richie’s arm left his shoulders as he walked round to the passenger door. But now he was here, sat in the driver’s seat of the car – of course I’m fucking driving Richie, you drive at about 100 miles an hour even though you get car sick – sweat drying on his skin as the A/C blew, unable to tear his eyes away from the long, be-denimed legs that were currently folding themselves into the car. The slight jolt of the car’s suspension as Richie settled the breadth of his shoulders against the seat felt like it went straight to Eddie’s dick.

Fuck it. Fuck this ‘unsaid thing’ bullshit. Fuck pussyfooting around, when the two of them already share a life together. Fuck Richie Tozier in particular, and hopefully fucking soon.

“What’s wrong? Have I got something on my face? I don’t think I do, I’ve been told that that’s unfortunately just how my face is.” Richie’s eyebrows look like they’re attempting to perform the macarena with the kind of enthusiasm only seen at an eight year old’s birthday party when cake time is announced. Eddie wants to lick them.

“Should I get a cool face scar? I mean you’re really pulling it off - ” Eddie cuts Richie off with his mouth. He was aiming for Richie’s lips but he’ll take the chin he gets, mouthing openly, the stubble stinging his lips.

“Wha-” Richie gets out, more an exhalation of air that Eddie feels against his face. He steals Richie’s next breath, kissing him properly, one hand leaning across to brace him against Richie’s thigh. One of Richie’s hands comes up to cradle his face and fuck, Eddie wants it to never leave his body, wants it on his face and his neck and his legs and his back, and to hold it with their fingers interlaced like a promise. Richie pulls back just far enough to press a kiss to the scar on his cheek and Eddie feels like he might cry.

Instead, he says, “I love you. Dickwad.” The insult is tacked on the end almost as an afterthought, because for all it’s funny to insult each other, Eddie wants Richie to know how serious he’s being. The problem is that the moment feels too serious. They’re in their own little bubble in the car, but Eddie is still acutely aware of the people walking past on the other sidewalk, can hear the sounds of traffic. He suddenly wishes it was just the two of them, back in the home they’re making together with their terrible decorating choices and the orthopaedic mattress Eddie is now hoping they’ll be sharing.

Richie’s face turns soft. “I wanted to say it first, asshole. Always stealing my thunder. I can’t have anything in this relationship. Didn’t even get to choose our anniversary date.”

Eddie tightens his grip on the thigh beneath his hand, sliding his fingers down onto Richie’s inseam; Richie’s legs spread gratifyingly fast, and Eddie can’t help but lean back in for another kiss. Richie seems to be trying to suck his tongue into his mouth this time, and he can’t help but be extremely into it. They’re only interrupted by a honk from a passing car, and Eddie is reminded again that getting home is a good idea. He separates himself from Richie reluctantly and fastens his seat belt, raising an eyebrow at Richie until he does the same. He starts the engine, but just before he prepares to pull out the parking space he considers Richie’s last statement.

“You can decide our anniversary if you propose. Of course, your mom might get there first, but if you think about exactly what you want do to when we get back to the house, it might net you preferential treatment.”

Richie looks a bit dazed. “You want a list, baby? I can do that, Mr Sexy Analyst. Alphabetical?”

The look Eddie levels him is particularly judgemental. He cannot believe he’s about to fuck this man. “Chronological, moron.”

“Anything you want, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t think Richie knows exactly how long that list is. He’s looking forward to finding out himself.

[grandraconteur]

Wish You Were Here, Chapter 2

Finally, we get a bit of Tony, and a very healthy dose of Iron Dad and Spider Son...plus a game plan emerges.

Once again, thank you to @merelypassingtime for betaing and bouncing ideas off with me. She's seriously the best.

Also read on AO3.

Chapter 2: Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

 Witness the man who raves at the wall

 Making the shape of his questions to Heaven

 Whether the sun will fall in the evening

 Will he remember the lesson of giving?

"Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun" ~ Pink Floyd

For several moments, Peter could do nothing but stare at the screen. There was no cliche reaction, like blood pounding in his ears or feeling faint. It was like his body was stuck several minutes in the past, like his brain and his body were stuck in different moments of response to what he was seeing.

That was….that was definitely his dad. Grey hair and fine wrinkles to show for the decade that had passed and a goatee that hadn’t been there before, but...definitely, definitely him.  

“Karen,” he questioned haltingly. “Do you...do you see a guy here?”

Using the virtual interface that appeared in front of him through the mask, Peter tapped on the image of his dad, zooming in to clarify.

“Yes, Peter.”

“Can you...describe him for me?”

Karen was surprisingly silent for a moment. Peter wondered if Mr. Stark had programmed her to experience sympathetic concern that would halt her dialogue.

“He appears to be tall, with dark, greying hair and facial hair. I believe he is wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and a rather oversized red scarf.”

“So you see the same guy I do.”

“Yes.”

With a woosh, Peter let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Something twinged in his gut as chills began to take hold.

“Peter, I believe you are experiencing shock.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s not a surprise.”

“Perhaps you should get under the covers. It might help.”

Listlessly, Peter did as Karen suggested, pulling the covers up to his chin.

How was he supposed to react?

Was what his eyes were telling him even possible?

“Karen, if I gave you an old photo of my dad, could you use it to determine if the man in the image is actually my dad and not just...some guy that really, really looks like him?”

“Unfortunately, facial recognition is one of the features that Mr. Stark has yet to reactivate since he returned your suit. He’s also added a failsafe to ensure you and Ned can no longer hack my programming.”

“What!” Peter sat up, youthful indignation momentarily distracting him from the biggest bombshell of his life. “Why?”

“He expressed concern you’d use it to track down more men like Toomes without coming to him first for help.”

“That’s-” That’s absolutely something he would do, who was he kidding? “-fair, I suppose...” he relented, falling back down into the sheets. “But how am I supposed to confirm that really is him, then?”

God, what he would give to show this to Aunt May. The recent Spiderman revelation was bad enough, but this would just give her a double heart attack (“Hey, Aunt May, so not only do I risk my life every day as Spiderman, but it turns out my dad-you know, the guy who abandoned me and that you and Uncle Ben hate with a passion?- is actually alive! Maybe. Think this is him?”).

“You could go to Mr. Stark and request he perform the facial recognition.”

Wincing, Peter shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Mr. Stark might be able to help you find your father, Peter. He has resources you won’t be able to access anywhere else.”

Peter chewed at his lip thoughtfully for a moment and scratched at his head through the mask. “Isn’t that a little...personal? Mr. Stark doesn’t seem like he’d really want to get involved in something like this.”

“I think you might be surprised.”

That...could be true. Karen had been made by Mr. Stark, so she probably knew him better than Peter did. Still, he didn’t say as much. He stared up at the bunk above him, trying to soothe his nerves by once again tracing the grain in the wood with his eyes. Deep breaths, in and out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In.

Out.

The guy in the street might not have been his father. There was always a chance this was just a seriously screwed up coincidence, that the man just happened to appear how he thought his dad might look if he had aged nine years...

It was difficult to think of anything when his insides felt like they had all spontaneously turned to ice.

“I’ll talk to Mr. Stark tomorrow, test the water a bit before I ask him,” Peter finally decided. “Thanks for everything, Karen.”

“Anytime, Peter.”

With that, Peter silently drew off the mask and stuffed it into his backpack. Collapsing back into the bed, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight; his brain was firmly fixated on whatever future would emerge for him in the morning.

Still, wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Fri, be a dear and start up the coffee maker,” Tony requested in the lighter tone he reserved for his AI’s and bots.

“Another long night, Boss?” FRIDAY asked, her voice too carefully neutral. Tony had to commend himself for instilling enough character into FRIDAY’s program that she could develop such a uniquely passive-aggressive tone, as she used now. Her soft Irish lilt only served to amplify it.“Need I remind you that you are coming up on 40 hours without sleep?”

“Hey, you know as well as I do, baby girl, that I do my best work when I’m half delirious,” he quipped back. “Mark I, a new element, you. Insomnia isn’t a symptom, it’s a strategy.”

To be fair, it wasn’t like he had to keep working. There was no time limit, no sense of immediacy on the project, no lives hanging in the balance. See, the problem was he couldn’t really...sleep, these days. Hadn’t done in several years. Sure, he’d tried pills, meditation, yoga-hell, even flew out an Austrian hypnotist once. Nada. So he sort of...just gave up on trying to sleep. His body would tell him when it was ready to pass out. Usually by actually passing out.

Until then, Tony would tinker in the workshop.

If he couldn’t be healthy, then he’d damn well be productive.

Though clearly still in disagreement, FRIDAY powered up the coffee maker with a resigned, “Whatever you say, Boss.”

After retrieving a mug of the dark brew (like he was going to sully Black Ivory Coffee with cream and sugar; those beans weren’t processed through the digestive tract of elephants to be insulted like that), Tony leaned back against a large tool chest and eyed the projection on the table in front it critically. Rhodey’s leg braces worked fine and well, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be improvements. He’d noticed a slight hitch in the normally even, calculated gate of the colonel earlier that day-or, the other day, a recent day, they all kind of blurred- and Tony was determined to smooth out the problem.

Not that there would be a problem if…if he hadn’t…

Tony jiggled his shoulders and let out a harsh breath through his nose. Setting aside the mug, he clapped his hands together and approached his workbench with intent. “Alright, round one!”

    The thing with insomniac work is that it isn’t really the insomnia that drives you to do shit; it’s the reasons behind the insomnia.

    In Tony’s case, guilt.

    Guilt over his once well-earned title “Merchant of Death”; guilt over driving people like Killian and even Hammer to violent actions affecting so, so many innocent lives; guilt over Ultron and Sokovia; guilt over Pepper, and how could he be harder to live with than Howard?

Guilt over the Avengers, and Civil War, and “Tony, I’m flying dead stick-”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony thought he could make out the figure of his father watching him, mocking him. He took a sip of his coffee, steadfastly ignoring it. He knew he was alone in the shop, logically, he knew that, and that his father was long, long dead, killed by Rogers’ brainwashed besty, but even so an uncomfortable chill made its way down Tony’s spine.

At least he could use it for motivation. It had worked well in the past.

Setting aside the coffee, he pushed the leg braces away and pulled up a new set of schematics.

“You have been awake for 46 hours now.”

“Great, what’s the world record?” Tony retorted, already deep into analyzing the base structure of the new suit. The key was in allowing maximum flexibility for Underroo’s gymnastics while giving him greater support should he try another “pulling two halves of a ferry together” type stunt. Enhanced or not, that kind of strain couldn’t be good for him.

Tony may have fucked up every other part of his life, but he’d be damned if he let this kid meet the same fate.

“Wake up, Boss.”

Tony jerked awake with a start, whipping around and blinking rapidly as he tried to gain his bearings.

He was in his shop, sitting at his workbench, where he’d stayed up working on Rhodey’s leg braces and Peter’s upgrade. Right.

When had he even fallen asleep?

“FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It is 9:47 in the morning. You slept for nearly two hours. Congratulations.”

“God, why do I always program my AI’s to sass me?” He grumbled without heat, rubbing his eyes blearily as he stood slowly and winced at the crick in his neck.

He was getting way too old for falling asleep at his desk.

“Why’d you wake me in the first place? Call from Fury? Another life-threatening emergency?”

“Peter Parker is here to see you. He’s been in the lobby for the last 20 minutes.”

Tony squinted, looking towards the door as if he could peer through it and see the kid. “Did I forget about an appointment with him?”

“No, Boss. Mr. Parker showed up unannounced.”

A long way to come without warning. Tony sniffed a bit, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he pondered allowing him in.

“Hold the kid steady for me, I should...clean up, or...something.”

“You might want to hurry up with that,” FRIDAY said, her tone uncharacteristically tentative. “I think the matter might be urgent.”

That stopped Tony in his tracks. “Show me video of the lobby.”

The kid was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs just outside. Elbows on his knees, he was pressing his fingertips to his temples, shielding his face mostly from view. Tony didn’t need to see Peter’s expression to confirm FRIDAY’s assessment, though; in the few short months he had known the kid, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him so completely still.

Tony felt a wave of concern laced with fear. The accompanying adrenalin cleared the last bits of haze from his brief nap away and had him on his feet and headed toward the bathroom attached to his workshop. As he went, he commanded, “Give me five minutes, then let the kid in.”  

“Mr. Stark will see you now, Peter.”

Peter jumped at hearing FRIDAY’s Irish lilt filling the room, his heart beating way harder than was reasonable.

Be calm, be calm, deep breaths…

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Peter nodded his head and stood. “Thanks, FRIDAY.”

Peter had only been to the compound once before, and then he had only seen the hallway leading to the conference room. The elevator leading to Mr. Stark’s shop was new to him, and when the doors opened into the expansive room, Peter had to blink and gather his bearings.

‘Tony’s Playplace,�� as Peter had overheard Mr. Rhodes and Happy refer to it once, was a lot less futuristic garage and more hi-tech surgery. Half the equipment appeared to be custom made for Mr. Stark’s particular use, as Peter didn’t recognize their intended function. Half a dozen work tables were spaced throughout the room, as if put there for use by more engineers than just Mr. Stark at one time. Indeed, each had its own set of tool cabinets beside it, and on three of the tables there appeared to be projects in progress. Peter could make out what looked like a prototype for Mr. Rhodes’ leg braces on one table, and something that might belong to an Iron Man suit on another, and on the third…

    Peter dropped his backpack and raced for the table, his excitement momentarily letting his purpose for this trip slip his mind. On the last table, a hologram of the development plans for a new Spiderman suit lit up the area in a soft blue glow. It looked much the same, but the schematics showed plans for reducing the stress on his body through the use of nano-tech. He reached out towards the hologram almost reverently, intending to read up further, when a voice interrupted him.

    “Morning, kid.”

Peter jumped back guiltily and spun around. Mr. Stark had just stepped through a door near the back of the lab, steam swirling out behind him. The older man padded towards him as he roughly took a towel to his damp hair before tossing it to the side carelessly. This was without a doubt the most casual Peter had seen his mentor dressed, with bare feet, dark sweatpants, and a black ACDC t-shirt. Somehow, this seemed a lot more natural for him than the Armani suits.

“G-good morning, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, then winced at the way his voice caught. To cover it he indicated the Spiderman template. “Sorry, I just came in and I saw this up, and I-”

“Nah, you’re good, Underoos,” Mr. Stark cut him off. He patted Peter on the shoulder, then reached out and turned off the hologram. Peter watched it fade with no little longing. “Suit’s for you, after all.” Leaning back against the table, Mr. Stark crossed his arms and looked Peter over critically. “So how was the calculus test?”

The question was so far removed from where Peter’s mind was that it took him a moment to process. When it did, though, his face lit up with a touch of pride. “Oh! Oh, yeah, it went really well! Got a 97%.”

“Hey, that’s what we like to hear!” Mr. Stark leaned forward and lightly smacked Peter’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Not to blow my own horn, but I think that Stark Internship is really paying off.”

The easy smile and playful wink his mentor gave him put Peter somewhat at ease. The Stark Internship had become something of an inside joke between the two of them; whenever Peter did particularly well in school, Tony would credit it on his tutelage (to be fair, it was partly due to him, as Tony had taken to helping Peter with his math and mechanics homework). If Peter did poorly, they’d argue over whether it was due to the internship taking too much of Peter’s time away from homework or Peter’s own “extracurricular activities.”

“And how about English Lit?”

This time, Peter winced. “I, uh, don’t think it’s worth mentioning that one...”

Mr. Stark snorted, but gave Peter a look. “Too much time spent on extracurricular activities.”

            “No, no, I just...don’t really get Shakespeare.”

“Ah, I should get you in touch with Thor. Spend a few hours with him and he’ll have you wearing drapes and speaking Old English in no time,” Mr. Stark quipped as he turned to approach the coffee stand near his workbench.

“It’s actually Early Modern Engl-wait, you can put me in touch with Thor?”

Mr. Stark chuckled as he dumped old coffee grounds into the trash and started to prepare a new pot. “No, kid. Point Break’s been MIA for a year or so now. Plus, I don’t even know how to get in touch with an extraterrestrial God-like being. Guy doesn’t have a cell as far as I know, and he never returns my emails. You want anything to drink?”

The teenager shrugged a bit, crossing his arms. “I could have some coffee, I guess.”

“Nope, not at your age you’re not. How about some Korean Banana Milk?”

“Seriously, you have Korean Banana Milk? That’s so cool! It’s one of my favorites!”

“What a coinkydink.” Mr. Stark reached into the mini-fridge below and pulled one out, tossing it to Peter behind him. As Peter went to take an eager sip, Tony continued.“So anything exciting happen out in the field for our Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman?”

Nerves shot through Peter like lightning, and he choked on the suddenly flavorless drink. “Um...define...define exciting?”

“Oh, that reaction isn’t suspicious at all. What kind of trouble did you run into?”

Childhood trauma, Peter thought. “Just, you know, a few pickpockets, a mugging, some...unidentifiable attacker. I handled it- him- though.”

“What do you mean by “unidentifiable attacker,” exactly?” Mr. Stark said slowly, turning to look at him.

“Uh...”

“If I may, Boss, I believe Mr. Parker is thinking of the unidentified alien creature that appeared on Bleeker Street yesterday afternoon.”

“The what?” Mr. Stark spun around, a look of horror on his face. “FRIDAY, pull up reports on the incident.”

“Oh, no. I mean, it was nothing. Just a little, um tentacled creature. No one was hurt or anything. You don’t need to see the reports…” Peter started, then paused as it occurred to him that somewhere in those reports might be another image of the man who made be he father and that he might not get a better chance to ask Mr. Stark what he so desperately wanted to know.

Just the thought of the question turned Peter’s stomach to ice once again.

Distantly, Peter listened to Mr. Stark argue with FRIDAY over withholding reports on such an attack on New York, too distracted trying to not throw up the Egg McMuffin he’d snagged on his way for breakfast. God, this feeling sucked. His stomach trembled at the thought of telling Mr. Stark about his dad, afraid of being seen by his mentor as crazy or delusional, or maybe exceeding the parameters of their relationship. At the same time, he was dying to talk about it, get it off his chest, figure out what the hell was going on. What had been going on for the last nine years. A familiar tightness started to take over his chest, and Peter forced himself to let out a breath.

“Mr. Stark,” he started slowly. “Actually, if you wanted to bring up the reports, I had a part of the fight I wanted to talk to you about. Well, I mean, not the fight itself but just after. But, um… it’s kind of personal.”

The mostly one-sided argument with his AI ceased almost immediately as Tony turned to look at Peter. The only indication that he recognized the seriousness of the moment was a split-second tightening of the muscles in his shoulders at the initial statement. He relaxed again almost instantly and replied, “Sure thing, kid. What do you want me to pull up?”

Sucking in another breath, Peter let it out slowly before pressing forward. “I, um. The thing is, after the fight, I...think I saw my dad.”

Something shadowy appeared in Tony’s eyes as he looked Peter up and down. “You mean your birth father?”

Peter swallowed and nodded.

“He...passed away, several years ago, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And what do you mean, you think you saw him, like as a...hallucination?”

“I really don’t know Mr. Stark,” Peter said, anxiety clear in his voice.

Tony must have heard it because he took a breath and it was with a much more even tone that he asked his next question. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long has this been happening? Was it just the one time?”

“No,” Peter said hesitantly. “It’s been happening ever since he left me with May and Ben, when I was about six.”

Surprisingly, the air around Mr. Stark relaxed a bit more at the statement. Grabbing a nearby stool, Mr. Stark rolled it Peter’s way and indicated he should sit down. Leaning back against the coffee bar, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “And have you spoken to anyone about this before?”

Biting his lip, Peter shook his head at first as he sat down, then paused, and nodded quickly. “No, I mean, I’ve gone to therapists in the past about it. I just...haven’t told anyone else about seeing him again, except Karen.”

Mr. Stark’s lip twitched at the mention of Karen, but otherwise his expression remained somber. “So why come to me about this? Why not Aunt Hottie? And don’t get me wrong,” he added as Peter opened his mouth to respond. “I’m...glad, that you did. I just don’t know why this time is any different.”

“Because...I’m not so sure that I’ve been hallucinating him.”

A pause. “How do you mean?” Mr. Stark asked carefully.

“Well...Karen’s camera was able to pick him up, Mr. Stark.”

After a longer pause Tony asked, “So Karen saw him too?”

“Yeah, she did. He was even in the video playback.”

“You mean the baby monitor protocol?” Tony asked with the ghost of a smile.

Peter rolled his eyes at the name but nodded in agreement.  

“And what would you like me to do?”

“Can you do some kind of facial recognition? Maybe see if you can track him down, figure out where he’s been, where he lives-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, kid,” Mr. Stark said, raising a hand up placatingly. “Listen, I get that you're excited at the idea that your old man might still be alive, but-” He cut himself off, and chewed at his lip as he looked at Peter with uncertainty.

Peter plowed ahead before his mentor could finish his thought. “Please, Mr Stark. I have to know. This is...this is my dad we’re talking about.”

Mr. Stark hung his head with a deep sigh. Looking up at Peter through his eyelashes, he spoke gravely. “You do understand that you might not like the answer you get, right? It might not be him, and you’ll have to accept that. If it is him, then...there’s a serious question about why he hasn’t been around, why he let you think he’s dead, all of it. And I can do a detailed facial recognition, look for scars and moles and specifics like that, but even if it says it’s him, and I track him down, it might just be a guy that looks a hell of a lot like him. Chances are it was just a huge coincidence.”

Reaching out, Mr. Stark gripped Peter’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want to bring you down, okay kid? I’ll do it, I just want you to be aware of what you might be setting yourself up for. No false hope. I don’t deal in that, especially not with you.”

Peter’s nerves settled into something less all-encompassing and more simmering. Despite the fatalistic feeling his mentor’s words might induce in some, his heavy dose of realism was exactly what Peter needed to hear. Almost as soon as Mr. Stark finished talking, he found himself nodding his head.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

*******

I very nearly ended this on a cliffhanger again, but that would have just been heavy-handed and forced. You'll get that exciting tidbit next chapter. ;)

Also, chapters 3 and 4 might not be up on Mondays, just because I have a fic to finish editing for a Yu-Gi-Oh Big Bang I participated in. That has to be done by the 18th, so after that things SHOULD be on schedule.

The title for the next chapter is "Coming Back to Life." Also by Pink Floyd, as all songs chosen for chapter titles will be.

[rtrospctve]

untitled 03.

Losing it.

Losing it. Losing it. Losing it. 

How does one describe a feeling that is so overwhelming stormy and dark and chaotic, all at once?

How does once bounce back from the ledge of insanity when there is nothing to grab onto?

How does one put together the good fragments that have been leftover after smashing your soul into smithereens time and time again? 

Where does one even start to put together where it all went wrong? Where it continues to go wrong and wrong and wrong again? Existence is exhausting. I feel like everyday I take one step forward, ten step back. I don’t ever trust a good thing that happens, because something bad always always follows it. I feel so, so isolated from everything, everyone. Slowly but surely, I’ve been left with no one, just as I rightfully deserve. I have no friends, no significant other, and not a single family member I can open myself up to. So here I am, once again, eyes bleary with tears, trying to compose together the whirlwind and pile of massive shit that lives inside my skull. I’m trying to understand my own trauma, for once, instead of trying to decipher the glorious dumpster fires that are other human beings in my life. What is my trauma? What is my problem? What haunts me and keeps me awake? Why, oh why, must I cling to the past? Why, oh fucking why, can I never let go? I’m quite scared to delve into my own mind. Trying to analyze yourself when you’re already an established overthinker is fucking terrifying. Everything is taken to the tenth power. Anxiety drowns you. Fear awaits at the end of the tunnel, waiting to grasp you by the throat and drag you down, deep into the bowels of the Darkness, where you claw and grasp at the nearest exit, hoping to God that this isn’t the return of a very somber past. 

I’m not perfect. I’m definitely, definitely, far from perfect. I have so many flaws, I’d need at least another 10 pairs of hands to count them all. I try to keep everyone around me happy. I do what I can to be the person that can live among society as a functioning thriving individual. But it feels as though in every category of my life, I fall short. My dreams, aspirations, love life, friends, family, my very fucking existence, is mediocre. It’s pathetic. And even though I’ve spent all these years with my eyes set on a degree in Psychology, it’s as though the more I understand the human mind, the more terrified I become of myself, of existence, of the entire universe around me. If I sit in silence long enough, I start to ask myself why I’m not allowed, or allowing myself, to reach greatness. Why I have all these wants and wishes and goals, yet cannot get out of bed or put forward the foot to make them happen, to execute what I see in my head. Is it really a chemical imbalance? Is it laziness? Is it genetically ingrained and I am just DESTINED to be a fucking sad loser? I’m definitely not where I was 4 years ago. I straight up wanted to die. I wanted everything and all this pain to just END. But now... now I just don’t want to exist. Is that different to not wanting to die? What’s the point of anything? What’s the point of a beating heart, of waking up the next morning, of getting up and eating breakfast and going to work and going to school and graduating and getting a career and MAYBE finding a spouse and starting a family and raising a family and buying a house and a car and going on vacations and watching those kids graduate and move out and retiring and sitting on a lake somewhere and then eventually dying? What’s the point of celebrating birthdays and weddings? WHAT. is the point. OF ANYTHING. Why. Are we here? I don’t understand. We’re on a floating rock in space. And nothing, none of what we do, means anything in the grand scheme of things. What IS the grand scheme? This is what happens in my mind. Constantly. Just thinking and rethinking over and over again. It’s fucking terrifying and daunting, and it’s why I’d rather just not exist, as I’d rather not take part in any of it. I’m just... exhausted. I’m tired of putting pieces together and trying to make them work. Maybe it’d all be easier if I wasn’t a mediocre loser, maybe then I wouldn’t find myself questioning everything, but unfortunately, that isn’t how the cards played out. So again, here I am, questioning myself, and why I feel so alone, and why I’m writing into the oblivion, once again, because I have no where to turn to. 

Since the age of 12, I’ve dealt with people walking out of my life, time and time again, with no explanation. Nothing. Just, leaving, just the universe screaming at me to get over it, and little me crying and unable to understand why the people I love can’t stay around. This isn’t something I like to explore very often, but I figure it’s time I sit down and confront this little slice of me. I’m very bad at moving on. At getting over things. At letting go. I tend to overthink, to process and cycle things over and over again in my head. I remember falling in love with my after school program advisor, and crying every day that summer because I missed him. I had never experienced such a traumatic feeling before. It was gut wrenching. It was like someone had pulled my heart out, and I couldn’t explain it to anyone. And when I managed to communicate with him once more via email, he disappeared once more. And once again, I was left in the dust, left to fend with a swarm of feelings and heartache. I spent the next 7 years of my life with an unending yarn ball of trauma. I couldn’t understand why this person who said they cared about me could walk away. That didn’t make sense in my brain. It didn’t make sense in my world. I found myself consumed with a deep and dark grief that never left my side, for years, and eventually turned into the little neat thing we call depression. I lay awake, late at night, searching for answers, searching for him. It was an unhealthy obsession that no one knew about. But I just needed to know. I just wanted answers. This never ending experience of hell is what I believe, led partially to my downfall. I let myself be consumed by a single human being, a single human being who was meant to play an insignificant role in my life, but snowballed into an eclipse who covered every critical aspect of my world. 

Fast forward years. I’ve jumped through many hurdles. I’ve overcome emotional barrier after emotional barrier. I’ve learned how to cope with really really bad feelings that don’t include slicing my wrist with a rusty razor and soaking the sheets in my own tears and choked sobs at 2 AM. Somehow, I’ve taken that singular experience, and wired my brain to approach any scenario that even slightly resembles the likes of the one I had as an adolescent the same way. I’ve talked to many men. I’ve dated men. I’ve loved them, and adored them, and worshiped them, gone to the ends of the earth if need be. But you know what? The cute thing about life is that sometimes, those people walk away. Those people call it quits, give up, once they’ve sucked every last bit of joy and pleasure out of using you, manipulating you, doing as they please. Most people grieve, suck it up, and move on. So what part of me lacks the ability to do that? Sure, I’m great at cutting off communication, and removing them from my life, all that jazz. But in my mind, those people continue to take up space, to live and breathe in the fragments of my memories. I think over and over what I could’ve possibly done better, maybe I said something wrong, maybe one day they’ll come back and realize I was still there all along. I wonder how they’re doing, if they miss me, like I miss them, if there is anything I could possibly do to bring them back into the existential reality of my life. Even years later, I still lay in bed wondering about the guy from 4 years ago who probably doesn’t even remember my name. I still hurt, and ache, and wonder, the should’ves and couldves. I still look for their name, for messages, for photos, just to relive a sliver of what once was. Worst case scenario, I even tempt myself to write them a message and say hello. But why? Why do I do that? Why do I allow myself to self destruct over someone who should only serve as a tiny, tiny portion of my memories? Why do I replay mistakes and errors over and over again? People that treated me wrongly, that said hurtful things, that wished ill upon me and disregarded my feelings many times over, none of which deserve my empathy, or even my wishful thinking late at night. I wish I could dig far enough into my own trauma to understand what has led me to the abyss that is now my mind. I wish I could just have the answers so that I no longer have to ask myself all the why’s, to ache over someone who should no longer have a residency in my heart. I wish I could do better, be better. I wish I could fix myself. I’ve tried everything in my power to give it my best shot, to let go, to empower myself. And somehow, in the process of empowering myself, of declaring my own freedom, I trap myself once more in that same cycle, never to leave. It’s just so detrimentally painful to want to be good enough, no, to be something great and powerful, and to fall far far away from that, every. single. time. Do we control our own destinies? I find myself straying further and further away from that idea everyday. Because I try, damn it. I’ve tried everyday since the day I was born. And it goes wrong every time. I just need a reset button. I just need to start over, from scratch. If I had one more chance at getting this right, I promise I wouldn’t waste it. I just want one more shot at reaching for greatness. I want to prove that I’m worthy of being here. That I’m worthy of the people that constantly walk away. That I have so much to offer, and they don’t even realize it. Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe that’s what it hurts so fucking much every time--I’m just searching for approval, that I’m getting something right. And right as I think that I am, the people I swore to adore and give everything to vanish, only to leave me wallowing in my own self prophesied inadequacy. That’s what it’s always been, me searching for the approval of those around me growing up, and never finding it, constantly facing rejection from peers, teachers, family, school, boys, and even rejection from just simply fitting in and belonging, because I was never enough. So now, here I am, clamoring for the need to be enough from people who can hardly recognize the person in front of them--me. 

I need to learn that in order to find an existential meaning, in order to fulfill the gaping need for approval from those who are particularly irrelevant, in order to give myself a fighting chance to prove to MYSELF that I AM everything and more, I need to dedicate my energy to what matters, which is my own personal growth. Maybe then, I’ll be able to learn how to let go of the past, of the ghosts in the closet, to clean the cobwebs and throw out the clutter and make room for the progress I so desperately need. I don’t ever want to turn back, I don’t ever want to haunt myself with my own dead memories, with my own dead version of people who should no longer matter. I don’t want to live in the should’ves and could’ves. I want to be the person that will always be there for me, no matter what. I want to be what the people who have always walked away from me have failed to be. I don’t know how I’ll get there, but I will. I’ve overcome the shittiest of storms, the most turbulent of years, the highest of obstacles. I know, I just know, that one day, maybe not tomorrow, or next month, or next year, I will learn that the love I so desperately seek, the love I grieve over time and time again, is mine to claim, and the only one who I should ever run after is myself whenever I get lost or spiral into a sea of despair. I promise Ileana, one day, we will open the blinds, and we will let there be light--and the ghosts shall be no more. 

I promise. Keep going. 

We haven’t given up before,

and we sure as hell won’t now. 

Be the woman the little girl in you always dreamed of.

Be the hope we always wished for and ran after.

[secretshinigami]

Elevator Advice

Author: jeevas-exe For: all-my-lovely-fics Pairings/Characters: Soichiro Yagami, Quillish Wammy Rating/Warnings: G, no warnings apply Prompt: Soichiro asking for advice about how to deal with a genius son, and these two bonding. Author’s notes: im so bad with notes, i never quite know what to say. this is very focused on characterization of watari and soichiro, since not a lot happens in it, but im hoping i was able to do this prompt justice. i hope you enjoy it!

It’s morning, and Soichiro happens to be running a bit late.

The long nights have been killing him with sleepless nights and stress. He would’ve thought, by now, that his body would be used to it. Used to the long nights waiting and thinking and searching for any sort of development with this case, but no. Even if he’s allowed to home at a normal time, his sleep is disrupted with thoughts about the case.

The Kira case seems to have consumed his life.

Though he knows he shouldn’t be worrying anymore. What he worries about before he sleeps shouldn’t take over his mind as it does, because his son is cleared. He knows this, clear as day; If it’s fatherly instinct or simply anxiety causing it is what he doesn’t know. Light has been cleared permanently, and he’s the alibi for it. So the reasons for such feelings are irrational, illogical, but it lingers and resides with him enough to keep him up, sleep past his alarm by ten minutes, and run late for work.

Not that L would care. He’d certainly draw attention to his lack of presence, but it’s not as though he’ll be late by a whole lot. A few minutes, at most. His biggest concern for running late was due to him needing to catch the train at a certain time to bring him through Tokyo-at times he thinks it may be easier to simply stay at headquarters, where he knows there’s plenty of space for all of the task force and more. He doesn’t see it necessary to leave his family though. Not if he has to. He can still be there for Sachiko and Sayu, even if his son is currently living at headquarters for an unknown amount of time.

Not that Sachiko or Sayu know this. They still believe he and Soichiro had a fallout. They have no idea that he’s still being suspected of being a mass murderer.

Soichiro sighs at the thought. In his head, Light is cleared. In his head there’s no way that Light, his own son, could be Kira. It seems impossible, and while he understood L’s previous reasoning for his suspicions, he doesn’t now. Light sincerely thought he would die in that car, with that gun at his head. He really thought Soichiro would shoot him, and then himself. He wasn’t thinking of being Kira, he wasn’t thinking of handing off any sort of power-and to Soichiro, that’s enough to show that there’s no way Light could be Kira.

Why L thinks so is beyond him.

Then again, he’s never fully understood the way L thinks, or where he draws his ideas from. How his deductions can be supported by such minimal evidence, while remaining so abstract. L is as difficult to figure out as the case itself.

Light being able to reflect this, however, impresses Soichiro, and makes him proud. He’s only eighteen, and already he’s working on a case. He’s had to give up his studies for it. Since his release from confinement, he’s been nothing but helpful to the case, helping it move along quickly and providing yet another perspective for it. He and L are able to swiftly bounce off of each other’s ideas, their minds working faster than they can speak, their ideas flowing on the same wavelength. Watching them work is like a show of its own, and Soichiro feels pride in knowing that his son is helpful. That his son is more than what he could ever ask for.

The train has stopped at the station, and headquarters is only down the block. He begins to walk through the station, up the stairs and onto the main street.

Every day for the task force has proved to be more and more complex. Light coming onto the case, at first, had been a bit odd, but now that he’s working full time and beyond on it, Soichiro has seen how much he’s grown. He can see the spark in his eyes as his mind processes all that’s given to him, like a childish curiosity. He wants to know where all the pieces go in the puzzle, how to make the appropriate move. He supposes this is similar to how L thinks, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t know. He doesn’t like to compare Light to him, but his credibility as the World’s Greatest Detective makes it hard not to. His son is as smart as the man who keeps the world at bay. It makes him swell with pride, even if he’s not entirely sure he understands how either of them operate.

He’s approached the front of HQ, the reflective panes casting a sheen of bright light from the oncoming sun. He walks into the lobby as he sees Watari taking his belongings from the cubby it was placed in temporarily. He starts to pick up his pace a bit, stride lengthening to get to the metal detector and other sensors quicker.

“Good morning, Mr. Yagami.” The older man greets, and Soichiro bows the slightest in return, taking off his watch. He briefly catches that it reads 8:04.

“Good morning.” Soichiro says. He takes off his wedding ring. “How are you?”

“I’m well, and you?” Watari has pressed the button to the elevator, the light illuminating an arrow up. It’ll probably take a minute or so for it to reach the first floor, the floor they’re on.

“I’m alright, thank you.” He replies. He walks through the metal detector, after going through the remaining sensors.

“You look very tired.”

“I’ll admit I’m not in the best shape as of late.” He’s begun to collect his own things from the cubby.

“Perhaps it would be wise to take a day off, if you’re able to.”

“Not with the rate of development of this case.” He smiles, though he knows it comes off with a hint of somberness. “Has there been anything new since yesterday?” He’s started to put his watch back on again, slipping his wedding band back on his finger.

“I don’t believe there has been much progress. Ryuzaki is still working with my previous business partners on his own, though I think he’s found a dead end with that.”

Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about the alias momentarily.

“Was that through the night?” Soichiro steps forward and stands beside Watari, who nods. “His work ethic never failed to impress me.”

“He’s never been one for sleep, unfortunately.  An insomniac.” The bell to the elevator rings, the doors parting slowly to let them in.

“I got that from the first few days on working with him.” He gestures Watari to step in first, which he does.

The button for the floor they need is pressed. The doors close, and they’re left in silence. A usual one. Watari doesn’t seem like the man to ever want to speak unless he has to, but the air of the elevator is anything but comfortable. Simply because it’s a normal reoccurrence doesn’t make the feeling any better.

“I am quite surprised at what Light was able to find last night.” Watari comments. It catches Soichiro off guard for a moment, but he recovers quickly.

“As am I.”

“He seems very bright. He almost reminds me of Ryuzaki.”

“In what ways?” Soichiro asks.

“The way he puts things together. His interest for it. Though, Ryuzaki was not nearly as socially adequate.” He chuckles. “However, his interactions with Light surprise me.”

“How so?”

“Ryuzaki isn’t typically one to trust people.”

This confuses Soichiro. “If he’s still considering Light a threat, I’m certain he doesn’t fully trust him.”

“You’re right, but he has let his guard down a bit. He’s become comfortable around Light enough to be casual with him, which is rare.”

“Ah.”

“He never had many friends because of it. He does consider Light a friend though.”

“What was Ryuzaki like growing up?” Soichiro asks on a whim.

“He was inquisitive. He let his curiosity get to him frequently. He intimidated other kids though, and preferred to be alone.”

Soichiro nods. “Light was the same way, but he was always sneaky about it. He pretended to be, anyway. Sachiko and I would always catch him when he least expected it. He had a few schoolmates, more as he got older.”

“Ryuzaki had a knack for puzzles and the like. It’s how he started out, you could say.”

“Really?”

“Yes. As he got older though, he began to get into mysteries-things in the news, mostly. He chose what he wanted to do based on interest, however, much like he does now.”

“I have noticed along his career line that he takes on cases that either interest him or prove to be a challenge to him.”

“It’s a trait that’s always stuck with him. I’ve tried to push cases onto him before. He doesn’t appreciate it.” There’s a brief pause. “What was Light like growing up?”

“Curious, as I said before. He was always excited to learn new things. He was very structured though, things had to be a certain way.” Soichiro explains. “I wish I had been around a bit more.”

“You weren’t?”

“I was often called in for longer work hours, being a somewhat younger member on the police force. They wanted me to have more experience, you see, so I wasn’t home very much.”

“Ah, yes.”

“I remember him always being excited to show me things they were doing at school. When he was younger. I remember he’d always be excited when I got home, always wanting to share everything he learned in school.” He sighs. He can remember it almost clear as day, the way Light would practically jump on him as soon as he walked in the door, wanting to lead him to the dinner table quicker so he could start catching his father up. “It feels like just yesterday. Strange, how time flies.”

“I agree, though things haven’t changed very much for Ryuzaki and I in the last few years or so.” Watari says.

“You’ve always been with him then?”

“For the most part of twenty odd years.”

“He’s very young.”

“Light is younger. Though I’ve learned age doesn’t account for intelligence. Wisdom, perhaps, but by no means brains.”

 “I find it ironic how such young people can know so much more than us. You’d think our experience would equate to that level by now.”

“It is rather odd, but I find it best not to question it. They are who we are, and we may never understand them.”

The elevator begins to slow down, approaching the floor needed for Soichiro.

“I feel as though at times I don’t get what’s going through Light’s head. It makes me question if I know my son at all.”

“I’ve been in a similar disposition with Ryuzaki many times before. The only thing you can do it wait, really.”

“Wait?”

“For them to open up.” Watari replies.

The elevator dings, alarming them that it’s reached the floor it needs to.

“I suppose I’ll have to do that then, and see where it leads me. It was a pleasure to speak with you.” Soichiro takes a step towards the opening doors.

“And you as well, Mr. Yagami. Take care.” Watari says. The doors shut too quickly for Soichiro to reply.

He looks down at his watch: 8:08. He walks to the entrance of the main floor, opening the doors.

He’s ready to begin another day.