#would bet a pretty penny on it so yeah I just

[chevelleneech]

Tweets like this

always sound so over the top, but Chan really has spoken about Felix being his other half, his second-self, and his soulmate. So being reminded that Felix felt not a single bit of caution around him when they met, is the sweetest thing.

He saw Chan as someone worth learning from. Someone he could befriend and debut with, and that’s what they ultimately got, and that’s wonderful, but I always find it kind of crazy that Chan seems well aware that Felix was his person the moment they met.

[bluem1lls]

HEYY, I LOVE UR WRITINGG

i have an idea where thanos flirts with reader and immediately reject him, giving him a dirty look or just being rude to him. se-mi is around there so when reader sees her their entire expression changes, giving her a smile or something like that idk 😭

it doesn't have to be exact to that, just take the idea of u like it and use it however u want!!

✦ content: short fluff, how you met your girlfriend at the game while rejecting her friend!

✦ authors note: thank you so much! i was just rewatching and i kept thinking about this idea so i wrote a short fluff, i hope you like it! thank you for your request♥️

⋆｡°✩ ever since the games started, you've been along player 120 and player 095. until the third game, where you lost them out of sight. as you heard "group of 5", you kept thinking that maybe this was your last round.

⋆｡°✩ i mean there was nothing else to do.. right?

⋆｡°✩ until a girl pulled your hand, and somehow you ended up in a room with a purple hair guy, his weird best friend, this girl and a guy who seemed to be her friend.

⋆｡°✩ she leaned against the wall, catching her breath, crossing her arms on her chest while staring at you. she has nice piercings.

⋆｡°✩ "well, well, well... look at what the wind brought us. a new friend" the purple haired guy spoke, looking at me. "i'm thanos, and who brought this pretty thing?"

you rolled my eyes, trying to copy the brunnete's position.

turning your head to look at her, her piercing gaze stays on you.

"thanks..."

"se-mi" she introduced herself.

"i thought i was about to die out there, thanks se-mi" i said to the girl.

she nodded, thano's best friend chuckled.

"we've been trying to get her name for days, but a pretty girl shows up and that's the first thing she tells her"

i snort as she rolls her eyes and scoffs, mumbling something that sounded like "idiot".

⋆｡°✩ of course you couldn't stop talking to her after the third game ended.

⋆｡°✩ eating with her, chatting and even laughing. it was easy to forget about everything when you were with her.

⋆｡°✩ but sadly, you could never find her alone. if she didn't had min-su following her around, thanos and nam-gyu were teasing her. so that meant you always had to chat with them too, as you tried (really hard) to get her alone.

⋆｡°✩ "doll face, came to hear your boy throwing a few lines?" thanos said getting closer to where me and se-mi were sitting down.

"oh my god" i covered my face as i hear her laughing. "i like talking to you so much, but i dont know if it's worth... this" i pointed at thanos.

she smiled, her arm sneaked to rest on my shoulders.

"it's worth every penny. althought you may wanna tell him that you're not really going for boys" she whispered in my ear. i softly laughed as i stare at her. she's so pretty. and her friends so annoying.

"prettiest girls in the planet, listen out, this one's for you-" thanos started.

"listen" i cut him mid-sentence. "you're such a fun, amazing guy" i said, standing up and placing my hands on his shoulder. "and i bet any girl would be so lucky dating you"

he nodded, proud of himself, as se-mi stared smirking.

"but i think there's something that would make you even a better person" i said looking at him, straight in the eyes. "leave to a corner and please let me have ten minutes alone so i can flirt with se-mi"

⋆｡°✩ his expression quickly fell as se-mi and nam-gyu snorted.

"so im not about to be your boy-"

"you're not. i'm not into guys, thanos. but you're...so...nice"

⋆｡°✩ he quickly understood. apparently. at least he went away along with his best friend. it was more than enough.

⋆｡°✩ "so.. can we go back to the flirting part?" se-mi said, her smile never fading as she played with her lip piercing.

"yeah, i think we finally can" i said, dragging her to sit with me in one of the beds.

⋆｡°✩ no need to clarify anything else. the guys understood when the next time they saw you, se-mi was hugging you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder.

⋆｡°✩ se-mi couldn't stop teasing thanos for falling for two times for two lesbians girls, which always ended up with him telling her how he'd release a rap called 'revenge is sweeter than girls' against her once they were out of here.

⋆｡°✩ you believe him. you'll hear more about it once you're out of here, holding your girlfriend's hand.

[musette22]

God, Minnie, Sebastian's face when Chris said the thing about 'Once you get a good sweat going it loosens up a bit'. Penny for your thoughts my dude - well we can guess, can't we. This plus that time Seb said 'Well I gotta get in there' with Chris's reaction makes me wonder if it's like a game between them. Making little jokes like that to try and rile the other up, knowing they can't do anything because everyones watching. They get more frustrated and horny until they're finally alone and they can just pounce on each other. Do you think they'd get quite competitive doing this? I can picture poor Mackie finding out and doing his judgey face at them.

OH MAN, I love this wayyyy too much 😩 Right up my street, thank you for sending me this!! First of all yeah, I think it's pretty clear what's going through Seb's mind here 👀

He is not afraid of some heavy innuendo, as the moment with Kimmel you also mentioned demonstrated:

Gif credit @/weheartchrisevans from this post

Love your suggestion that this sort of thing is like a game between them. Both of them trying their to one up the other in the innuendo and "that's what she said" joke department, ostensibly just as a banter-y bros being bros kinda thing, but really, they're just trying to rile each other up to the point where one of them will snap and drag the other to the nearest empty room for a quickie 🔥👀

Oh my god, just imagine the possibilities (all of these are of course said in exaggeratedly dark and/or breathy voices):

Seb, eyeing his baguette sandwich: "Oh god it's huge, I don't know if I can fit it in my mouth..."

Chris, when Seb asks for some advice regarding a scene: "Hm, I've got just the tip for you..."

Seb, helping Chris get into his hotel room when his key card isn't working properly: "Put it in, then take it out slowly..."

Chris, when someone asks them if they'll be at a certain party: "I bet you're gonna come, aren't you, Sebastian..."

Seb, pretending he forgot his lines again: "Oh my god, it's so hard..."

Chris, when they're playing a board game on a night off that Seb hasn't played before: "I know this is your first time, but don't worry, I'll be gentle..."

Seb, when Chris is done signing autographs and Seb needs his pen, "Give it to me, Chris..."

Etc. etc. etc.

Yeah, they would TOTALLY do this, they love this sort of thing. And yes, Mackie would judge them SO HARD lmao, poor guy. Some more examples because why not:

Gif credit @/stevenrogered from this post

Uggghh now I really wanna write the fic....

[teddiee]

Into Each Life: Chapter 17

Summary:

Because how? How does she move through the very same halls Tony does and never once seem to be drowning in it?

Because he still can’t step foot in a briefing room without someone questioning his competence, his fucking biology—like being an Omega automatically makes him a liability.

Carter watches him for a long moment, face giving away nothing. Then, in that same infuriatingly even voice, she says, “I don’t ask permission.”

Tony huffs out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, see, I also don’t ask permission, and yet, somehow, that’s never stopped anyone from trying to drag me around by the scruff of my neck.”

Carter’s lips twitch, just slightly. “I never said it was fair.”

Words: 13,381

Warnings: canon-typical violence/bad parenting/howard stark is the worst dad ever (what's new)

Tony swallows. The dryness in his mouth tastes like old pennies, something metallic and sour.

This part is always the worst—standing here, waiting for Howard to say the first word, never quite sure if it’ll be a yell or a whisper or something in between. The quiet is worse, somehow.

His father turns, gaze tracing over Tony with a kind of predatory calm. His shoulders stay perfectly level, not a single muscle twitching. It strikes Tony as unnatural, sometimes, the way a Beta’s rage can stay so contained.

Bucky could be a whole room away and Tony would still know the exact moment his temper started to fray, the second something in the Alpha’s demeanor twisted into irritation, or concern, or quiet, watchful protectiveness. Steve, for all his restraint, has never been much different—he leaks frustration and fierce, stubborn will like an open wound, his scent spiking whenever he’s gearing up for a fight.

Because Alphas, like Omegas, announce their emotions. Their grief. Their worry. Even when they think they’re hiding it. It rolls off of them in waves, unavoidable, like thunder before a storm.

Howard doesn’t.

His anger has never flared—it lurks. It doesn’t spill into the air the way Bucky’s does, thick with warning and heat and weight. It slithers under the surface, quiet, restrained in a way Tony has never been able to predict or prepare for.

It’s always kind of reminded him of a sealed pressure valve, waiting to blow.

Tony forces a breath. “So, um. Surprise?”

Howard doesn’t respond right away—only lets out a slow exhale, like he’s testing the weight of each molecule around them. Then, finally, he steps forward.

“I’ll keep this brief,” he says, tone clipped. “You’ve done quite enough posturing in front of the Reserve. I won’t have you do any more damage.”

Tony’s pulse batters inside his chest. “Wait a second. This isn’t about me—”

“It’s about your misplaced belief that you hold the upper hand,” Howard interrupts, smooth. Practiced. “You’re claiming to be indispensable. Demanding emancipation. Bargaining with Erskine like it’s your birthright.” He pauses. “But let me remind you who’s kept this entire operation running. Who has the resources, the factories, the staff to build it. If I pull out, you’re left with empty pockets.”

Tony’s stomach clenches at the threat. “You really think you can walk away from a war project like this? The potential PR alone—my God, you’d never risk it. The scandal would blow up in your face. Stark Industries refusing to support the war effort because you’re, what, offended by the presence of your son? The person who was once your heir?”

The words taste bitter, but he keeps going, forging each syllable like hammer strikes. “You’d lose everything you’ve been chasing—government contracts, endorsements. Public favor. They’d chew you up and spit you out.”

Howard’s lip twitches. Not exactly a smile, not a snarl. Something in between, a ghost at the corners of his mouth. “And you’re willing to bet your entire future on that, are you? Seems like a pretty steep gamble just to wriggle out of some bonding contract. You know what? You’re lucky that someone like Stone even agreed to mate you in the first place.”

Tony blinks, then lets out a ragged breath. It saws at his lungs, choppy and staggered. “Believe it or not, Dad, I wasn’t particularly thrilled at the prospect of legally and biologically hinging myself to the unhinged rapist who wants to usurp your company.”

“Stone is loyal,” Howard snaps.

“He’s playing you right under your nose.” Tony’s voice feels hoarse, but he doesn’t look away. “And you’re too arrogant or too drunk off his relentless, second-rate ass-kissing to pick up on the signs.”

For a moment they both just stand there, the overhead light buzzing like it might cut out any second. Tony tries to remember how to breathe in a regular pattern—inhale, exhale, keep the panic from flaring.

It doesn’t come naturally. It never has. Because years of gut instinct have him bracing to expect a slap across the face, a shove into the wall. An ancient reflex he can’t quite kill.

Howard’s jaw flexes. “Look, son, you have no leg to stand on. In the eyes of the law, you’re still my property. An Omega child under my guardianship who thinks a few fancy equations make him indispensable. I’ve seen your notes, heard the committee swoon over them. But let me tell you something: brilliance doesn’t give you power. Resources and connections do. And I’ll remind you, Tony, that only one man in this room has plenty of both.”

Every conversation with Howard has always felt like a boot pressing down hard on Tony’s windpipe. His body reacts before his mind can catch up—muscles locking, throat tightening, the instinct to yield rising in him like a tide.

His biology knows what to do. Knows what’s expected. Knows that when a person in a position of power stands over him like this—voice cold, unyielding, like a verdict—it’s supposed to bend.

For years, he had. Not because Howard was an Alpha—he wasn’t and never would be—but because power never had to be biological to be absolute. Because conditioning was stronger than instinct, and Howard had spent a lifetime training him to fold at the first sign of pressure.

Tony can feel it clawing at him now, the ingrained, gut-deep response to lower his gaze, bare his throat, submit. To show deference.

Deference to a man who has never deserved it, who would take his compliance and turn it into another steel link in the chain binding him down.

His muscles twitch with the urge to drop—to make himself smaller, to shrink the way he’s always been taught to when Howard gets like this.

Instead, he locks his knees and forces himself to stay standing. He clenches his fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He keeps his tone even, though it feels like forcing shards of glass through his throat.

“You really think,” he says quietly, “that I don’t know how the world works by now?”

Howard’s gaze sharpens.

“You think I don’t know what power is?” Tony continues, jaw tight. “That I don’t know exactly how many strings you had to pull just to try and keep me under your thumb?” He lets out a short, humorless breath. “I know what leverage looks like, Dad. And I know how badly it burns when you realize you don’t have it anymore. Because sure. I mean, this is all interesting in theory, but the SSR sure looked a lot more fascinated in my meltdown fix than the depths of your pockets, or the capabilities of your entire second-rate engineering team.”

He can hear the dryness in his own voice, feel the words drag. God, he’s tired. Tired of pretending he isn’t scared. Tired of dealing with paternal sabotage like it’s some unavoidable law of physics. “You want to bail? Fine. Go ahead. But I’ll make sure everyone here knows it’s because you couldn’t handle your Omega son outqualifying you.”

A flicker of pure, seething anger flashes in Howard’s eyes. But he doesn’t lash out, just inhales slowly, as though forcing composure into every breath. “You’re gambling with forces you can’t control,” he snaps, each syllable methodical. “You’re used to scribbling out solutions in your notebooks, manipulating data from textbooks you steal from my library. You think I don’t know about that, by the way? The War Department won’t coddle you once they’ve got what they need. And once they’re done, I’ll make damned sure Tiberius reclaims every right he has to you.”

Tony’s gut twists, a sickening churn that he forces down like it’s nothing. His face slips into the familiar blankness, the mask he’s spent years perfecting.

“I’m with you… If that means we take the risk—look into the bond, or… or figure out another way, I’m in.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m sure.”

Tony’s mouth tastes like acid, each word scraping against the dryness in his throat. But he holds Howard’s gaze. “Tiberius can go fuck himself. And you can take that bullshit contract and shove it—hell, set it on fire while you’re at it, see if I care. If I’m already bonded, it’s void. You won’t have a legal claim. Not you, not Stone, not whatever leech comes sniffing around next, hoping to sweet-talk you into selling off what’s left of your company.”

The words land with the force of a detonation.

Howard’s eyes narrow, surprise sparking for just a second before that frozen anger sets in again.

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

Something shifts in his father’s expression, then—doubt, or maybe shock. For a moment, he just stares, as though Tony’s grown a second head. The moment drags, tension pressing in from all sides.

Then Howard exhales, a slow, controlled breath through his nose.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Howard says at last, voice low and cold. “You have no one. You have nothing. You might think Erskine’s your protector, but once you’re no longer useful—”

“Maybe I don’t have to rely on the SSR,” Tony cuts in, pulse thudding so hard it almost hurts. His voice is frantic, thready. His panic feels like a tangible, visceral thing, and despite his best efforts, it spikes the air. “Maybe there’s… someone else. Another Alpha. So don’t bother trying to lock me to Tiberius. I’ll—”

He doesn’t see the blow coming. One second, he’s talking—spitting out the words in a rush, hardly even aware he’s doing it. The next, Howard’s hand lashes out in a violent, uncoiled arc, the sharp crack of his knuckles slicing through the air before Tony even registers the movement.

The backhand lands hard, jarring, a brutal collision of bone against flesh.

Pain detonates across Tony’s cheekbone like an explosive, snapping his head sideways with the force of it. A blinding burst of white floods his vision, and for a second, everything inside him lurches—his breath, his balance, his ability to even comprehend what just happened. His ears ring, sharp and shrill, drowning out everything but the high-pitched whine of his own nervous system scrambling to catch up.

The sting spreads in a violent bloom, radiating from the point of impact like fire licking under his skin. His jaw throbs, a deep, aching pulse that crawls up into his temple, down the hinge of his neck. His lip stings, swelling fast—maybe split, maybe not. His mouth fills with the thick, bitter taste of copper.

For a moment, Tony just stands there, stunned, his body locked in the kind of rigid stillness that only comes from shock. The whole room blurs at the edges, nausea creeping in at the base of his throat.

Howard, still rigid with fury, breathes hard through his nose. His hand is frozen midair, fingers curled slightly, like even he hadn’t expected to do it. Like the sheer force of his own anger had startled him.

Then his fingers flex, and the tension in his arm unwinds with a slow, deliberate shake. He exhales, the sound barely more than a tremor, but whatever moment of hesitation lingers is gone as quickly as it came.

Tony staggers back a step, one hand flying to his cheek, pressing against the bruising heat searing under his skin. The world tilts slightly—just a fraction, but enough to make him feel unsteady, his balance thrown.

His breath comes short and tight, lungs seizing around the phantom imprint of Howard’s hand. His pulse hammers against his ribs, sharp and erratic, but he forces himself to breathe through it, to tamp down the instinctive nausea curling in his stomach.

For a single, suspended moment, neither of them speak.

Then Howard’s arm falls stiffly to his side, and he inhales again—slow, controlled.

Any trace of regret vanishes beneath the steel of his fury.

His father drags in a breath, glare slicing through Tony like a scalpel. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Deadly. “Who?”

Tony feels his pulse trip over itself.  A quiet voice in Tony’s head warns him to stay calm, to say nothing. So he doesn’t move, pressing his lips together to keep the details locked tight.

Howard’s gaze flicks over Tony’s reddening cheek, then dips down Tony’s tense form as if scanning for weakness. His own face is eerily composed, but behind it, Tony can smell the rage seething, held only by a thread. “Don’t even think about lying to me. I want a name, Tony. What kind of Alpha do you think is going to mate you?" he sneers. "Some gutter-feeding, low-class knothead looking for a warm body to leash up now that his first bond’s already rotted out?”

Tony’s stomach twists. He clenches his fists at his sides, nails biting hard into his palms. He suppresses his whimper.

“Well?” he sneers when Tony doesn’t answer. “You cry about Stone being a ‘rapist’ and a ‘monster,’ but tell me, how exactly are you any different? You’re just another desperate little Omega spreading your legs for the first Alpha who sniffs in your direction. You have no pedigree, no discipline, and certainly no purity worth bartering for,” he continues, his disgust coiling between them like a living thing. “I had at least hoped you’d have the decency to keep your legs shut until the contract was finalized. But, well—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Guess I gave you too much credit.”

A tremor runs through Tony’s body. He’s so close to snapping back— to spitting in Howard’s face, telling him exactly what he thinks. But the sting of the blow, radiating down his jaw in a sharp, pulsing heat, makes him hesitate. He steels himself instead, shutting down every flicker of emotion that tries to claw its way out.

He lifts his chin, slowly, refusing to break eye contact. “I’m not telling you anything,” Tony manages. His voice wobbles on the last syllable, but he keeps it as steady as he can. His lip throbs where it split, the coppery tang of blood thick on his tongue. “And you can’t make me.”

Howard’s fury crackles, radiating off him in waves. For an instant, Tony’s sure he’s about to be struck again—he can see the shift in Howard’s weight, the tension coiling in his shoulders, the way his gaze snaps up as if calculating an angle. Tony braces, breath locked in his chest. If Howard swings again, he’ll taste blood and dust and everything he’s choked on for years.

The blow never lands.

The door to the conference room creaks open, its hinges protesting under the weight of the silence between them. Tony doesn’t move—his body too locked in the expectation of pain. But Howard startles, his head snapping toward the doorway, his arm still half-raised in the air.

And standing there, poised in the threshold like she’s been here all along, is Agent Carter.

She doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just steps inside, her expression perfectly composed, betraying nothing. Cool eyes scan the room in a single sweep—Howard’s tense posture, the angle of his body turned toward Tony, the way Tony has instinctively curled inward, one hand still cupped over the blooming red mark on his cheek.

Tony barely knows her. They’ve never really spoken—just exchanged the occasional glance in the dining room of his family’s estate, a few passing nods of recognition. She’s an anomaly to him, another Omega, yet not like any he’s ever met before.

She’s striking in a way that most people aren’t—sharp, deliberate. Not beautiful in the delicate, wilting way Omegas are often expected to be, but in the way of something carefully, powerfully composed. Dark, polished curls frame her face, pinned just-so at the nape of her neck, not a strand out of place despite the long hours she must work. The deep navy of her uniform contrasts against her fair skin, the crisp lines of her pressed blouse immaculate. She’s poised, unruffled, the very picture of confidence.

But it’s not just the way she looks that unsettles Tony—it’s the way she scents.

Even as harried and exhausted as he is, Tony can pick up on it. Her scent isn’t soft or cloying, not the delicate, faint florals of bonded Omegas who are carefully tempered to suit their Alphas.

No, Carter’s scent is cool, clean, with a sharper undercurrent—something that reminds Tony of fresh linen pressed crisp, of the faintest trace of bergamot, of something precise and disciplined. It’s controlled, carefully restrained, not the sweet, inviting pull of an Omega softened for an Alpha’s comfort, but something steadier, more deliberate. It doesn’t cling or spill into the room like an unspoken plea—it stays close, honed and measured, a quiet warning rather than an invitation.

A scent wielded not as a lure, but as a boundary.

She’s the only other Omega he’s ever seen on SSR premises, moving through its halls like she belongs, like she’s never once questioned her place.

Like no one else does, either.

And she sure as hell isn’t flinching at Howard Stark.

"Mr. Stark," she says smoothly. "Colonel Phillips is looking for you. Something about a last-minute adjustment to the energy displacement model.”

A pause. Not long, but long enough.

"You’ll want to be quick about it," she adds, voice even. "He seemed rather… impatient.”

Howard hesitates. Just for a fraction of a second, but Tony sees it—sees the flicker of uncertainty in the way his fingers twitch, sees the slight hitch in his breath as he recalculates. A man used to dominance, to control, to rooms that move around him, not the other way around.

But Agent Carter doesn’t yield.

She stands there, waiting. Watching.

Howard exhales sharply, lowering his arm. "Of course he does," he mutters. His voice is clipped, but there’s an edge of something else there. A barely veiled frustration that he’s been interrupted. That he can’t finish what he started.

He doesn’t look at Tony again. Just straightens his cuffs with sharp, practiced efficiency, rolling his shoulders back like shaking off an unpleasant conversation. Then he brushes past her, striding out into the hall without another word.

Agent Carter doesn’t move until the door hisses shut behind him.

And then—only then—does she turn her gaze back to Tony.

For a long moment, she doesn’t speak. She just looks at him, eyes unreadable, cool and assessing. Tony shifts, suddenly aware of the way his body is still half-curled inward, how his fingers are trembling slightly where they press against his cheek.

He swallows. Forces his hand to drop.

Carter doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t acknowledge the mark at all, doesn’t acknowledge the overpowering scent of his distress. But she doesn’t ignore it, either. She simply steps into the room fully, the door clicking shut behind her with an air of finality.

“Are you all right?” She asks.

Tony doesn’t answer. Not because he can’t, but mostly because he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

She reaches into the pocket of her pressed blazer, retrieves a neatly folded handkerchief, and holds it out between two fingers.

Tony stares at it for a second, brain sluggish, like he’s forgotten how social interaction works. Then it clicks.

Ah. For the blood.

He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth first, just to be stubborn, but the coppery taste lingers, thick and unpleasant. Eventually, he takes the handkerchief from her, begrudgingly, dabbing at his split lip with slow, careful pressure.

"Swell," he mumbles around the sting. “Thanks.”

Carter doesn’t respond, doesn’t move to sit, just watches him, composed and unreadable. He’s not sure what she expects. An explanation? An argument? An embarrassing display of Omega vulnerability?

She’ll be waiting a long time.

The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the overhead fluorescents. Tony keeps his head tilted down, dabbing carefully, but he can still feel her gaze on him, steady and unflinching.

He resists the urge to fidget under it.

"You don’t like me very much, do you?" he says eventually, voice dry, muffled slightly by the fabric pressed to his mouth.

That earns him a faint arch of her brow, but little else. "I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion," she replies, voice as measured as ever.

Tony lets out a short, humorless breath. "Yeah, well. That hasn’t ever stopped anyone else.”

She doesn’t acknowledge the bitter lilt in his tone. Just tips her head slightly, eyes flicking toward the door Howard had stormed out of. “He’s never going to let you go through with this willingly," she says.

It’s not a question. Not even a warning. Just a fact.

Tony presses the handkerchief harder against his lip, wincing slightly at the sting. "Yeah," he mutters. “Figured that one out on my own, thanks.”

Another pause. Then, finally, Carter moves, stepping forward with a slow, deliberate purpose. She doesn’t sit, but she does place her hands flat against the edge of the table, leaning just slightly into Tony’s space.

“What he wants is irrelevant,” she says, voice quiet but firm. “Not if you want something else more.”

Tony lifts his gaze to her, studying the way she says it. The surety in her posture, the way there’s not a single flicker of doubt in her expression. She says it like she believes it, completely, and Tony wonders what it must be like to move through the world like that. To be an Omega and still hold your own like it’s your right, like it’s not something you have to fight for tooth and nail every damn day.

He swallows, looking away first.

“It’s not that simple,” he says.

Carter exhales through her nose. “It never is.”

For a moment, Tony just stares at the table between them. He’s exhausted, every nerve in his body still frayed from the confrontation, from the unrelenting pressure that’s been closing in from all sides.

Tony exhales sharply, tilting his head back against the chair with an edge of frustration that’s been simmering beneath his skin for weeks now. Maybe longer.

Maybe his entire life.

He can feel Agent Carter’s eyes on him still, steady and unblinking, and it makes him prickle with something akin to—bitterness, maybe. Unfair, really; she’s done nothing but help. But he can’t shake the notion that somehow she’s managed to bend this whole damn organization to her will, while he has to fight just to be allowed in a briefing room.

“It must be nice,” Tony says at last, voice coming out sharper than he intends. “Having half the U.S. Army and every high-ranking Alpha government bigwig hanging on your every word. Meanwhile, I can’t walk down the hallway without people staring at my throat or my… whatever. I can’t walk into a single meeting without someone questioning my emotional stability or my competence because, oh dear, I’m an Omega, and might cry if the big, scary men in ugly polyester uniforms raise their voices.”

He regrets it the instant it leaves his mouth.

He pinches his eyes shut and sighs. “Sorry. God, ignore me. I’m an asshole. I’m just—” His lip throbs, stinging each time he speaks. “I’m not in the greatest mood.”

Carter doesn’t even blink. “Apology accepted,” she says mildly.

“I just… I have to ask. How the hell do you do it?”

Carter doesn’t so much as blink. “Do what?”

Tony gestures vaguely in her direction. “This. All of this.” His hand sweeps toward her, toward the closed door, toward the space where Howard had stood just minutes ago, seconds away from putting another mark on Tony’s face. “The whole walking-around-the-secret-government-bunker-like-you-own-the-place thing. And the commanding-the-attention-of-a-bunch-of-insecure-Alphas-without-them-making-vague-threats-about-trying-to-bite-you thing. The part where you’re—clearly—the most intelligent person in the room, by the way, and somehow, no one’s questioning it.”

Because how? How does she move through the very same halls Tony does and never once seem to be drowning in it?

Because he still can’t step foot in a briefing room without someone questioning his competence, his fucking biology—like being an Omega automatically makes him a liability.

Carter watches him for a long moment, face giving away nothing. Then, in that same infuriatingly even voice, she says, “I don’t ask permission.”

Tony huffs out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, see, I also don’t ask permission, and yet, somehow, that’s never stopped anyone from trying to drag me around by the scruff of my neck.”

Carter’s lips twitch, just slightly. “I never said it was fair.”

“No kidding,” Tony mutters, dabbing at his lip again. The damn thing won’t stop bleeding. He sighs, mostly to himself, shifting the cloth away and grimacing at the fresh smear of red. “This is great. Can’t wait to go home with another unexplainable injury; my Alpha’s gonna commit manslaughter.”

He’s not even thinking when he says it, the words slipping out on exasperated autopilot. Just another offhand complaint, another small grievance on an ever-growing list. It takes a second for him to realize what he’s just admitted, but by then, Carter’s already arching an eyebrow.

“I thought you were trying to get out of your bonding contract with your Alpha,” she says mildly.

For a heartbeat, Tony just stares, the question rattling around in his head. Then he snorts a humorless laugh, pressing the handkerchief back to his mouth to staunch the new trickle of blood.

“Right. Not… ugh. Not that Alpha.” He drops his gaze, exhaustion weighing on every word. “I meant my Alpha. I have one. A… different one. Not the Count Zaroff-wannabe my father’s trying to legally bind me to.”

Carter's expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a shift—something in the way her focus sharpens, like the fine-tuning of a radio dial. She takes in the words, dissects them, files them away into whatever neat, orderly categories she keeps in her head. And for the first time in this entire conversation, Tony gets the distinct impression that she’s actually interested.

"Hm," is all she says.

Tony lets out a short, incredulous laugh, wiping at the corner of his mouth again. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate your nonchalance. That grand reveal just got me smacked in the mouth, by the way.”

Carter tilts her head, still watching him like she’s figuring something out. “I was under the impression that every action you’ve taken in the last few months was about securing your freedom.”

“Yeah, and?” Tony shrugs, huffing out a breath. “That doesn’t change anything.”

"Doesn’t it?" she muses. "Because I was under the impression that you were fighting to be free. But you’re not, are you?"

Tony stiffens, bristling. “I’m fighting not to be sold off like a damn prize horse, which, call me crazy, seems like a pretty reasonable goal.”

Carter makes another contemplative noise, and it’s just the slightest bit infuriating. Like she knows exactly what he’s not saying but is waiting for him to figure it out on his own.

Tony groans, tilting his head back, pressing his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Okay, fine. Enlighten me, your majesty.”

She doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t so much as crack a smirk at his sarcasm. “You’re not trying to be free,” she says plainly. “You’re trying to be with someone else.”

Tony freezes.

“Technically,” he says breezily, “I am fighting to be free so that I can choose to be with someone else. Which, by the way, is completely different.” God forbid one more person in this damn facility tries to strip him of his autonomy.

Carter doesn’t look convinced.

“That’s a very delicate distinction,” she says mildly. “But at the end of the day, it amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it? You’re not looking for freedom in the broad sense. You’re looking for a way out of one legally-binding prison and into a completely distinct, emotional obligation.”

Tony scoffs, crossing his arms, then immediately uncrosses them because his ribs still hold a phantom ache from the last time he mouthed off at the wrong moment. “Okay, let’s all just pick apart my brain today, huh? First my dad, now you. You wanna call in a psychiatrist? Maybe get me on a couch, talk about my ‘deep-seated abandonment issues’? Maybe draw some ink blots and ask me what I see?”

Carter remains unmoved. “I don’t need ink blots to see the obvious.”

Tony throws his hands up. “Fantastic! Feel free to share with the class.”

She meets his gaze head-on. “You are not a man who is trying to exist in the world on your own. You’ve already made your choice, Stark. Whether or not you want to admit it.”

The words land like a punch to the gut, though Carter delivers them with all the precision of a scalpel. No unnecessary force, no gloating, just cold, clinical accuracy.

Tony feels a pit open in his stomach.

Because she’s right. Of course, she’s right. He’s already made his choice. He made it the moment he whispered “Yours” into the telephone, the moment he let himself believe there was another way out of this hell that didn’t involve sacrificing himself to it.

He rubs a hand down his face. “God, you’re annoying perceptive.”

Carter’s lips twitch just slightly. “So I’ve been told.”

Tony exhales sharply, his breath shaky, his ribs aching from the tension coiled tight in his body. He can’t decide if he’s angry or just tired. Probably both. Maybe mostly at himself.

Because it doesn’t matter how she says it or how carefully she avoids outright accusing him—Carter is right. He’s not fighting for some grand, noble idea of freedom. He’s fighting for one person.

And that person isn’t himself.

Tony swallows around the knot in his throat. His voice comes out rougher than he means when he says, “You must think I’m pretty pathetic, huh?”

Carter blinks at him, the barest flicker of surprise crossing her features before she smooths it away. “I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”

“You didn’t have to.” Tony lets out a short, humorless laugh, tilting his head back towards the ceiling. “You’re a real modern woman, Carter. Progressive. Independent. You don’t take shit from anyone, and you sure as hell don’t let anyone claim you. And then here I am, fighting tooth and nail to get out of one contract, just to try and throw myself headfirst into another bond.” He lets his eyes slide toward her, jaw tight. “Bet y’think that’s pretty pitiful.”

Carter doesn’t look away, doesn’t shift, doesn’t so much as blink. “I think you’re misunderstanding me entirely.”

Tony huffs, shaking his head. He’s so tired. Sore. “Right. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Carter exhales through her nose, slow and measured, like she’s deciding whether or not this conversation is worth having. But in the end, she doesn’t let it go. “I don’t think you’re weak for choosing someone,” she says plainly. “I think you’re human.”

Tony glances at her sharply, caught off guard by the sheer lack of judgment in her voice.

She continues, steady and unfazed. “I think it’s easy for people like us to pretend we have no attachments. That we can carve our way through the world on our own. That we don’t need anyone.” A pause, brief but weighted. “It’s easy to believe that. But it’s not true.”

Tony stares at her, waiting for the inevitable ‘but.’ Waiting for the part where she tells him he’s being foolish, reckless, naive.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, she just gives him a long, searching look, like she’s weighing something in her mind. Then, finally, she says, “And I think you’ve risked far too much to be accused of cowardice now.”

Tony’s throat tightens. He looks away first.

The handkerchief in his grip is stained red now, streaked with the evidence of his father’s temper, of his own failure to hold his tongue. He folds it over in his fingers, covering the worst of it.

“I didn’t do this for the war,” he says suddenly. The words leave him before he can stop them. He stares down at the cloth in his hands, watching the way his fingers curl into the fabric, gripping it too tight. “I mean—” He swallows, forcing himself to breathe past the lump forming in his throat. “I never thought twice about winning this thing until him. Until… my Alpha. I don’t give a damn about the cause, Agent. I just want to keep him out of it. I want to keep him alive.”

He lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. “I mean, God, can you imagine? I threw myself into designing the SSR’s golden goose because I figured if I made the war end faster, maybe he wouldn’t die in it. If I put my brain to good use, maybe he wouldn’t be one of the bodies they ship home in a nondescript coffin.” His breath shudders. “Maybe he’d actually make it back to me.”

Tony exhales sharply, shaking his head at himself. “I should want to help for the right reasons. I should be doing this for the people out there getting slaughtered. For the soldiers who don’t have a choice. Like… I’ve got this friend, right? He’s not even over there. They won’t take him. Too small, too sick, too everything. But he keeps trying, keeps enlisting under fake names—don’t tell anyone I said that—because he believes in it. In the cause. In what’s right.”

He swallows, throat tight. "I don’t." The confession comes quiet, barely more than a breath. “I never have. I just—” He shakes his head. "I want this war over before it can take him away from me."

There. He’s said it. He waits for the judgment.

Carter doesn’t give it to him.

Instead, she tilts her head just slightly, eyes locked onto his, sharp and unreadable. “And what, exactly, is wrong with fighting for the people you love?”

Tony blinks. “What?”

She exhales through her nose, slow and deliberate. “Do you think war is won by selflessness, Stark? That everyone out there, every soldier, every scientist, every strategist fighting to end this war is doing it out of some moral obligation?” She shakes her head. “People don’t fight for causes. They fight for their families. Their lovers. Their friends. They fight to protect the people they care about.”

Tony swallows.

Carter’s expression is unreadable, but her voice is firm. “You think your friend fights to enlist because he believes in war? In violence?” she asks. “Or do you think he fights because he believes in something worth protecting?”

Tony stares at her, lips parted, but no words come out.

Carter straightens, smoothing a hand down her sleeve. “You’re not selfish, Stark. You’re human. And if your work ends this war faster, if it saves lives—even if the only life you’re thinking about is his—then that’s more than enough.”

Tony’s throat feels tight, his breath shallow as he presses his lips together and stares down at his hands. The handkerchief between his fingers is stiff with drying blood, its fabric crumpled where he’s been gripping it too hard. He swallows against the knot in his throat, lets Carter’s words settle in the spaces between the bruises, the ache of his ribs, the raw sting of his split lip.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Look,” he starts, voice hoarse. He doesn’t lift his gaze to her, not yet. “I’m not running from one contract just to jump into another because I’m incapable of standing on my own two feet. That’s not—” He hesitates, frustrated by the way the words tangle, by how impossible it is to explain something so visceral. “It’s not that I need an Alpha. I don’t. I know how to be on my own. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of practice.”

He exhales sharply, staring at his hands. “But I’ve spent my whole life being told what to do. Where to go, who to speak to, what I’m allowed to study—did they have Omega boarding schools in England? God, I hope not. Absolutely useless. Worst experience of my life. Anyway, as if that wasn’t enough, then Dad decides my bond for me, ties my future to his skeevy business associate who’s useless to do anything except make vague threats pertaining to fantasies he pictures with my mouth.”

Carter doesn’t interrupt. She just waits, silent and watchful.

Tony swallows again, voice dropping lower. “But B—my Alpha… He’s different. He’s the first thing I’ve ever really chosen for myself. The first decision I made that wasn’t dictated by someone else’s plan.” A flicker of a smile ghosts across his face, there and gone in a breath. “He gave me a choice, you know? Didn’t look at me like some prize, or a burden, or a little tool to be bartered for political favors. He just… he sees me as me.”

The silence in the room feels heavier somehow, charged with the quiet hum of overhead lights and all the unspoken words hovering in the space between them.

Tony forces a small laugh that comes out more like a wheeze. “And for some insane reason, he chose me back. Don’t ask me why—haven’t figured that out for myself. Maybe he’s got terrible taste. Hell, maybe he doesn’t know any better yet.”

Carter’s gaze never wavers, but Tony can’t bring himself to meet it. “And I don’t know if it’ll last,” he admits. “If I get out of… all this, if I’m not bound to Stone or forced into another sham contract, I don’t even know if he’ll still—” He trails off, swallowing. “Sometimes I think I’m just waiting to wake up and find out he’s realized how much of a mess I am. That I’m not worth it.”

He finally dares to glance up. Carter’s expression remains unreadable, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze—assessing, measured, like she’s weighing his words rather than offering him comfort.

“And yet you’re fighting anyway,” she says, tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Because that possibility—that choice you made—is worth it to you.”

Tony exhales, shoulders sagging. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “He’s… worth it.”

A beat passes. Carter inclines her head slowly, the faintest hint of an approving tilt to her mouth. “Then I’d say you’re braver than you give yourself credit for,” she says. “Bond or no bond.”

Tony can’t help the tiny laugh that pushes past his lips. “Brave. Right,” he says, voice edged with lingering self-deprecation. “I feel real brave with my father’s fingerprints swelling into my face.”

Carter regards him levelly. “Bravery isn’t about never getting hurt, Stark. It’s about refusing to stay hurt.” She lets those words hang for a moment, then smooths a hand over her sleeve, as though tidying some invisible wrinkle. “Remember that.”

Tony nods, quiet, not sure what else to say. There’s a warmth curling in his chest—a hesitant spark that might be hope. Or gratitude. Or both.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Carter straightens, gaze shifting toward the door. “We’ve been gone long enough. Colonel Phillips will start asking questions if we linger.” A small, wry smile tugs at her lips. “Let’s keep your secrets your own, shall we?”

Tony nods, pushing himself up from the chair. He’s sore, exhausted, and his face feels like it’s been dragged over sandpaper, but at least this conversation is over—he’s never been any good at these soul-searching, feelings-laden exchanges.

“Agent Carter,” he says quietly, just before she can open the door.

She turns, one brow arched in inquiry.

He wets his cracked lips, doesn’t know quite how to phrase it, so he just says, “Thanks.”

And then he waves his bloodied handkerchief for emphasis.

Carter’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s the barest hint of something softer in her eyes. A flicker of acknowledgment, maybe. She tilts her head, regarding him for a moment.

Then, with the kind of effortless poise that Tony envies, she says, “Call me Peggy.”

Something about that catches him off guard—knocks him off balance just a little, but in a way that isn’t unpleasant. He exhales a small, surprised huff of laughter. “Call me Tony,” he returns, his lips quirking in what might actually be a semblance of a genuine smile.

Peggy Carter holds his gaze for a beat longer, then, without another word, turns and opens the door, stepping smoothly into the corridor.

Tony follows.

***

A week crawls by.

Tony loses himself in the hum of the labs, in half-finished sketches, in the sterile glow of overhead fluorescents. It’s easier to bury his anxiety in the Rebirth Chamber’s schematics than to stare at the gray walls of his makeshift quarters, counting the minutes he’s been cut off from everyone who matters. He’s sleeping worse—nights of fitful dozing on the rickety cot, jerking awake from fragmented dreams of Bucky’s voice calling for him through a haze of radio static.

He’s halfway through re-checking the newest coil alignment calculations when the same guard from before—Bentley? Ballentine?—clears his throat at the lab door.

“Mr. Stark,” the guard says with an odd note in his voice, “communications desk asked me to bring this to you.”

He holds out a single envelope. Plain, unadorned. Tony’s name is scrawled in familiar handwriting across the front.

Time drops out from under him.

The lab noise around him fades: the low whir of machines, the clatter of engineering tools, Reynolds’s distant conversation with a technician. Tony can only stare at the envelope in the guard’s hand.

It takes a moment before his fingers remember how to move. He grabs it, trying to pretend his pulse isn’t hammering in his throat. “Th—thank you,” he manages, voice rasping.

The guard nods curtly. “I’ll, uh, give you a moment.”

Tony nods, not really paying attention as the man steps away. The envelope feels impossibly heavy in his grip, like it weighs more than the entire Rebirth Chamber. Like it might sink him through the polished linoleum if he doesn’t open it soon.

He wants to tear it open here and now, but his nerves flutter, chest constricting with a sudden spike of fear. What if Bucky’s furious? What if he’s written Tony off, if he’s decided he can’t be bothered with an Omega too mired in secrets and chaos?

Tony swallows hard. Carefully, he tucks the letter into the folder of half-sketched design notes, ignoring the curious glance from a passing engineer. “I’m going to—uh—take a short break,” he mumbles to no one in particular. Then, before Reynolds or any other engineer can question him, Tony slips out of the lab and down the corridor, making for the nearest empty storeroom.

The SSR complex is a maze, but he’s memorized enough of it to find a sliver of privacy.

Eventually, he locates a supply closet, partially open, housing shelves of metal parts and rolled blueprints. Tony ducks inside, flicks on the single overhead bulb, and slides the door shut behind him.

Breathing hard, he fishes the envelope from his folder. The handwriting on the front—it’s definitely Bucky’s. Tony’s eyes burn at the sight of each looped letter, the smudge of ink where Bucky’s pen likely paused.

He’s both starved for this and viscerally terrified.

God, just open it.

His throat is dry. With trembling fingers, he slides one nail under the flap, breaking the seal. Inside is a single sheet of paper, folded into thirds. He takes a shaky breath and unfolds it.

He almost can’t read at first, eyes blurring with panic. Then the words come into focus—short, sparse, too few:

T—

I got your letter. I’m glad you’re okay.

Steve’s fine. (Even if I did have to bail him out of another fight—next time, I’m charging interest.)

I don’t know what’s happening over there. I don’t know if it’s Tiberius. But if you think for one second that I’m just going to sit tight and wait for news while you’re tangled up in some goddamn contract you don’t want, you’re out of your mind.

Whatever mess you’re dealing with, you’re not dealing with it alone. I don’t care what it takes, or how long—I’ll find a way.

Just come home to me.

—B

That last line sears into Tony like a hot brand.

His eyes sting. Slowly, he sinks onto a nearby crate, letter clutched tight in his hands, heart pounding so hard it hurts.

He grips the letter like a lifeline, his pulse roaring in his ears. Come home to me. He reads the words over and over, tracing the ink with his eyes until they blur, until he has to blink rapidly to keep from breaking.

His fingers clench tighter. He bites his lip so hard it splits anew. He wants to go home. God, he wants to go home.

But he can’t—not yet. He doesn’t even know how much longer he’ll be here. Two weeks? A month? As long as it takes for Phillips and Brandt to sign off on his legal emancipation, for Erskine to declare the chamber temporarily viable, for them to finally unchain him from this cold, fluorescent prison.

But Bucky’s waiting for him. Bucky’s looking for him.

Bucky doesn’t know he’s safe.

A low sound escapes Tony’s throat, barely more than a breath. He presses the letter against his chest, curling over it like it might somehow anchor him.

He re-reads it over and over, letting each sentence burrow into the hollow ache in his chest. Bucky’s words are sparse, but the fierce protectiveness bleeds through. Bucky’s no poet either, but that final line—

Just come home to me.

But he can’t. Not yet.

Quietly, Tony folds Bucky’s letter, fingers lingering on the words. He can’t answer—he already used up his one precious missive. The idea of Bucky pacing the apartment, waiting for a response that won’t come, makes Tony’s stomach twist. I’m sorry, Tony thinks, cramming the letter into his pocket like a lifeline. Just a little longer.

Swallowing thickly, Tony forces himself upright. He can’t break down here. Not now. There’s still too much to do—calculations, design checks, binding legalities—and no one else is going to secure his freedom for him.

He straightens his shoulders, tucks the letter securely into his pocket, and heads back into the corridor. Another day, another test, another step toward the life he wants.

Because eventually, he’ll be able to slip out of this place for good. And when he does, he’ll go straight to Bucky, slip his arms around that stubborn, reckless Alpha, and maybe this time, he’ll even say the words he’s never said out loud.

Tony’s halfway to the lab when he spots Dr. Erskine, emerging from a side office with a stack of notes clutched in one hand. The older man looks tired—dark circles under his eyes, shoulders drooping under the weight of too many secrets. But at the sight of Tony, he manages a small, weary smile.

“Ah, Tony,” Erskine says softly, adjusting his glasses. “I was hoping to find you. I have a question about the latest meltdown logs—”

“Doc,” Tony interrupts, voice rough. He doesn’t mean to be abrupt, but the turmoil inside him is threatening to boil over. He glances around, making sure no one’s loitering within earshot. The corridor is mostly empty, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly. “Can we… talk somewhere? Privately?”

Erskine’s brow wrinkles in mild concern. “Of course.” He gestures toward a nearby alcove—a small storage nook they sometimes use for impromptu meetings when the rest of the lab is too crowded. “Shall we?”

Tony nods, following him in. It’s not the grandest space—just a cramped corner with a battered metal table and a couple of stools—but it’s private enough. Erskine sets his notes down, then perches on one of the stools, folding his hands in his lap and looking at Tony with kind patience.

Tony stands for a moment, arms folded tight across his chest. He takes a steadying breath, heart thudding. The question that’s been gnawing at him for days is right on the tip of his tongue, but saying it feels like a risk he can’t afford. What if Erskine says no?

But… he has to ask. Because if there’s one man in the SSR who might have the leverage—and the empathy—to help, it’s the quirky German in front of him.

“Doc,” Tony begins, voice hoarse. “I know you— you’ve pulled off a lotta strings already. The legal manipulations, the hush-hush contract amendments, my bonding contract being sidelined…” He trails off, mouth dry.

Erskine watches him with a gentle curiosity. “Yes?”

Tony presses his lips together. “This war,” he says heavily. “It’s… it’s going to keep going. Right? Even if we’re somehow successful in creating a magical team of biologically enhanced soldiers, or whatever, it’s not like all this just ends tomorrow.”

Erskine sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sadly, no. Even with this chamber—assuming we are successful—it will not end the war overnight. There are many battles yet to come.”

Tony nods, looking down, knuckles white as he grips the back of the spare stool. “Right. And… and that means more drafts, more call-ups, more men shipped off to fight. My—” His voice catches; he swallows. “My Alpha might… get caught up in that. He will. He’s eligible. He’s not the type to run, either.”

Erskine’s expression shifts into one of understanding. "Ah, I see.”

Tony rubs the heel of his palm against his temple, feeling a headache lurking. “You’ve got so many connections. You made the War Department jump through hoops to get me emancipated—thank you, for that, by the way, seriously—you’re basically bending entire military protocols to give me a shot at finishing this meltdown fix.” He bites his lip, summoning the courage to ask. “So, maybe… maybe you could help me with this, too? Could you keep him from being drafted?”

He doesn’t say Bucky’s name—he never has, not to Erskine, not to anyone here—but he can’t hide the desperation in his voice. “I mean, if the SSR can overrule state guardianship laws, can’t you do something about a local draft board? Delay his deployment, or… or relocate him, or give him some exemption? He’s not—I can’t—”

He breaks off, heart hammering in his chest. Don’t beg, some prideful part of him warns.

For a long moment, Erskine just looks at him, brow creased in sympathy.

“Tony,” he says at last, quietly. “I wish I could say yes. That I could move a few chess pieces around and keep your Alpha safe from this war.”

Tony’s stomach twists with dread. “But…?”

Erskine sighs. “But it’s not so simple. Project Rebirth— this is a research division, primarily, under the Strategic Scientific Reserve umbrella. We do not have broad authority over the general conscription process. We have some influence—enough to secure you an emancipation, because that was tied directly to our project’s secrecy and our immediate need for your specialized skill. It was a national security matter.” He taps his fingertips together, expression pensive. “Delaying or denying a draft notice for an Alpha soldier is… a far bigger matter. It would raise red flags at the War Department. People would ask questions we can’t answer.”

“But you can push the War Department around for me,” Tony insists, voice cracking. “Why not for— for him?”

Erskine shakes his head gently. “We only pushed them because losing you to your Alpha contract, in this case, would have meant losing our chamber progress. And that, in their eyes, was catastrophic enough to justify rewriting certain rules.” He gives Tony a sad, apologetic look. “I do not have unlimited power, my boy. Nor do I have the authority to reorder draft protocols for personal reasons—especially not without revealing certain SSR confidences that must remain secret.”

Tony stands there, reeling. His fingers clench the stool’s metal edge so hard it digs into his palms. His ribs feel like they’re closing in on his lungs. “But… we found those loopholes for me. We rewrote entire sections of federal guardianship code. You’re telling me that we can’t just—”

Erskine sets his notes down, folding his hands atop them. The small lines around his eyes deepen in sympathetic regret. “We did not rewrite the code for you, Tony—only for the project. The War Department didn’t care about you because they admired your independence.” He sighs, adjusting his glasses. “They only cared that losing you meant losing a vital piece of technological construction. That was sufficient leverage for me to plead your case. It was essential to national security, so they indulged my demands.”

Tony’s jaw works soundlessly for a moment, like a fish out of water. “Right,” he manages. “And… my Alpha wouldn’t matter to them.”

Erskine’s shoulders sag at Tony’s weary tone. “I’m truly sorry,” he says softly. “But in their eyes, I’ll remind you, your Alpha simply does not exist. Not legally. And even if he did, he would not be an asset to this project. Therefore, he’s just another potential draftee under the War Department’s purview.”

Tony presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, breathing through the dizzy tangle of frustration and despair. “What if—” He breaks off, licking his lips. “What if I… if we bonded, actually. Like, fully bonded.” The last words come out in a low rush, voice trembling with a desperation he can’t fully conceal. “I mean, there’s no worry of someone else claiming me if I’m already bonded, right? Couldn’t it be the same principle? The SSR wants me, needs me, so they—”

Erskine raises a calming hand. “Ah, Tony. I fear it doesn’t work like that. The special clauses we invoked to nullify your father’s arrangement hinged on your essential role, plus the unique vulnerability of an unbonded Omega engineer in a top-secret project. The War Department was… let’s say, uniquely motivated to ensure you remained unclaimed by a hostile contract. But your Alpha—whoever he is—would remain a separate entity under the standard military system. He’d have no immunity from the draft. Bond or no bond.”

The words strike Tony’s heart like a physical blow. He stares at the floor, knuckles going white where they grip the edge of a dingy metal shelf. “So… there’s nothing we can do?”

Erskine’s voice softens. “Nothing within the SSR’s scope. Not without drawing the exact kind of scrutiny we’ve fought to avoid. If I tried to keep an unknown Alpha off the front lines, the War Department would demand to know why. And unless you wish to reveal his name, or the nature of your arrangement, it would unravel everything.”

Tony forces down a wave of nausea.

It’s all so fucking unfair.

They’ve manipulated half a dozen obscure laws to free him from Tiberius’s claws, but they can’t—or won’t—save Bucky from the same war they’re all trying to end.

He inhales sharply, voice tight. “So that’s it.”

Erskine’s gaze flicks over Tony’s tense posture. “I wish I had better news, Tony,” he says sincerely. “But your Alpha is not part of this project. The SSR has no reason—or authority—to interfere with his deployment, short of enlisting him into our ranks. Which, from the sound of it, would be precisely the opposite of what you want.”

Tony huffs a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Fuck. Definitely not that.”

For a long moment, neither speaks. Tony’s throat bobs as he swallows, mind churning.

He’s going to go… he’ll be drafted, shipped overseas to God knows where…

Erskine clears his throat, softening his tone further. “There’s something else you should consider. If you and this Alpha were to… consummate a bond before he ships out, I’m afraid that would compound your difficulties, not lessen them.”

Tony frowns, looking up in confusion. “Compound how? I mean, Tiberius would be locked out, right? That’s… good?”

A shadow crosses Erskine’s face, something grave. “Yes, Stone could never claim you then. Legally or biologically. But, Tony, once you truly bond—once the physical and chemical link is established—your system will respond quite drastically if your Alpha is absent for long periods. Especially if he’s stationed overseas, with no prospect of returning during your heats.”

Tony opens his mouth, but no words come out.

At the Institute, he had heard whisperings of plenty of previous female classmates forced to endure separation from their Alphas who had been sent off to war, but they had specialized suppressants, courtesy of the government’s interest in preserving a stable breeding population.

Tony knows from gossip and rumor that female Omegas might still struggle, but the meds help dull the cycle, stave off the worst.

Except… those don’t exist for him.

Erskine seems to read his thoughts on his face. “Male Omegas,” he says gently, “are an unfortunately small demographic. The government invests in female suppressants for the sake of fertility control, but they’ve never bothered to develop a counterpart for your physiology in any widespread capacity. I’ve heard rumors of experimental formulas, but nothing… safe or accessible. And certainly not in time for your next heat.”

A hollow dread creeps into Tony’s chest, mixing with old shame. “So what… I just suffer every heat without him? And hope it doesn’t wreck me?”

Erskine meets Tony’s gaze, compassion etched into the lines of his face. “Bonded separation is far harsher on the body than an unbonded heat, especially if it’s your first bond. The withdrawal symptoms can be quite severe if your Alpha can’t return to you or send some measure of relief. I’ve seen it—” He cuts himself off, brow furrowing as though recalling something painful. Then he finishes softly, “It can be dangerous.”

Tony’s throat tightens. He thinks of the nights he’s already spent trembling and feverish, alone in a dorm room or holed up in his childhood bedroom, riding out a miserable heat with no biological alleviation.

The idea that a bonded separation could be worse…

Tony has to laugh, though it comes out more like a strangled sob. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. “So, let me get this straight—I spend days here clawing my way out of being forcibly bonded to some sadistic bastard, just for you to tell me that if I do bond—willingly, in theory—it might actually, what. Kill me?”

Erskine doesn’t smile, doesn’t so much as flinch at Tony’s forced levity. “Tony,” he says, voice low and gentle, “I know this isn’t the answer you want to hear. And I am… deeply sorry. But if your Alpha is being deployed, I just urge you to consider the ramifications.” He pauses, watching Tony closely. “If your attachment is strong now, it will be tenfold once the bond is complete. And without him present to support you through your cycles, it will not simply be painful—it will be debilitating. Potentially even—”

“Dangerous,” Tony finishes flatly, not looking at him. “Yeah, yeah, I caught that part.” His fingers tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles aching from the strain.

The air between them is heavy, thick with the weight of all the unchangeable things. Tony presses his lips together, swallowing the rising sting in his throat.

This is what you fought for, some voice in his head mocks. You wanted to be free. You wanted independence.

But he doesn’t want it. Not indefinitely. Not like this. Not when it means standing by and watching Bucky—his Alpha—get shipped off to hell without so much as a tether to pull him home.

Tony hesitates, mouth suddenly dry. It feels naive—and slightly grotesque—to even say it out loud, but the question’s been gnawing at him for weeks.

Since the godforsaken gala.

“If… if we bond anyway—not saying we will, by the way, this is purely theoretical—and, God forbid, he—” Tony’s voice cracks. “If h-he—dies in the war… would my mark… would it, you know, turn black? Rot?”

Erskine, for once, looks genuinely taken aback by one of Tony’s questions, as if the Omega finally managed to lob a genuine curveball in his direction. “Rot?” he echoes, confusion etched across his usually calm features. “Tony, why would you think—?”

Tony presses his lips together, heart pounding. “Look. I— I’m not exactly well-read on, you know, Alpha biology. Or… or any bond mechanics. I went to a shitty boarding school that force-fed us sterilized propaganda. Lots of questionable textbooks. But I’ve—the Alpha my dad tried bonding me to, Tiberius Stone; he has a wrist bite, and… it’s black. Twisted. Like it’s rotted away.” He drags a shaky breath. “I always assumed it was because he… his first mate died. I mean, that’s what everyone says. There are… rumors. That he, y’know. Killed her. Severed their bond, left it to rot. But then—” He forces himself to hold Erskine’s gaze. “They also say, theoretically, that death doesn’t fully sever a bond. Which is why second bonds for Alphas aren’t as strong.”

Which is why they usually save second Alpha bonds for infertile, second-class male Omegas.

As Tony speaks, Erskine’s expression twists—first with confusion, then dawning realization, before finally settling into something heavier, something wary and deeply apprehensive.

“Black scarring on an Alpha’s bond mark—indicates an intentional sever.” He sighs heavily, clearly troubled. “Tony, if your Alpha were to die in the line of duty, or from any cause not of his own choosing, your bond would… linger. It wouldn’t rot. The scar wouldn’t twist black. That sort of decay only occurs when a mate forcibly and willingly drives the bond to destruction—most often, by one partner ending their own life to break the tie.”

The words settle like lead in Tony’s gut. He can feel them sinking, twisting, pressing against something deep and fundamental inside him, something he’s not sure he has the stomach to face.

Because… oh.

Tiberius didn’t kill his first mate.

He drove her to kill herself.

Tony’s head swims.

Because he knows this, deep down—that severing a bond isn’t something you do. It isn’t a choice, some mistake, an unfortunate accident.

It’s never been some inconvenience a person can just opt out of when it no longer serves them.

It’s—

It’s unheard of.

It’s an abomination.

Even thinking about it feels like trespassing onto cursed ground, like uttering something so forbidden that the universe itself should recoil.

There’s a reason people don’t talk about it. A reason no one even wants to talk about it.

Because a bond is more than a contract, more than a name scrawled on some outdated marriage document. It’s biological. It’s written into the blood, carved into the marrow of a person’s being. To take a mate is to entwine two bodies, two minds, two entire selves so thoroughly that their scents change, their chemistry shifts, their very instincts rearrange themselves around each other.

It’s why bonded pairs don’t survive the loss of their mate.

Not really. Not truly.

The bond itself never fully disappears—it dwells, in fragments, until there is no mated partner left to sustain it.

Tony swallows hard, stomach twisting and coiling. He thinks of Tiberius, of the scar on his wrist—blackened, twisted, something unnatural in a world where everything about mating bonds is meant to be absolute. Permanent.

He had always figured Tiberius had killed her. It wasn’t exactly a leap in logic.

Because of course he had.

It wasn’t a question of if, really—just a matter of when and how.

Of whether it had been quick or if Tiberius had drawn it out just to watch her squirm. Whether it had been a moment of temper, or something calculated, something drawn up like a business plan, signed and sealed with all the precision of a man who had never once made a decision without thinking about how it would benefit him.

Tony had assumed it with the same certainty he assumed the sky was blue, that gravity pulled downward.

Of course Tiberius fucking Stone had killed his first mate.

It hadn’t even mattered to Tony, really—not in the way it probably should have. Not in the way a normal, stable, grounded person would have reacted to that knowledge.

Because the second he had met Tiberius, the second he had looked into those cold, calculating eyes, Tony had known. He had recognized the kind of man he was dealing with.

But this—this is something else.

Because it means she chose it.

It means she had to wake up every day in that bond, trapped with a man like that, and realize—again and again and again—that there was only one way out.

This means she looked at death and saw something softer than the alternative.

The bile rises in Tony’s throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispers, throat tight, barely even aware that he’s said it out loud.

Erskine exhales, slow and measured. “It is a terrible thing, yes.”

Tony shakes his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest in a way that doesn’t feel remotely sane. “Shit,” he breathes again. “Oh, well, that’s fucking fantastic. Poetic, even,” he says, voice scraping raw. “Good to know the universe has a built-in failsafe for getting rid of shitty Alphas.”

Erskine’s gaze remains steady. “It’s quite barbaric.”

Tony huffs out another breathless, half-mad chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, silver lining with voiding this contract, I guess—at least I don’t have to send him an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ letter.” He drops his hand, mouth quirking in something that barely resembles a smile. “Talk about dodging a bullet. Though, gotta say—kinda makes me wonder how he planned to get me there.”

Erskine’s brow furrows. “Pardon?”

Tony gestures vaguely, his fingers twitching with restless energy. “You know. To that point. The point where checking out starts to seem like the only viable option.” His voice is distant, detached, like he’s discussing someone else’s tragic fate instead of narrowly avoiding it himself. “I mean, let’s be real—our grand romance was dead on arrival. So what d’you figure his approach would’ve been? Slow suffocation? Mind games? Isolation?” He tilts his head, expression going thoughtful. “Ooh—maybe just sheer, unrelenting boredom. The man loves the sound of his own voice—could’ve droned me straight into an early grave. Probably figured I’d off myself just to escape another monologue.”

Erskine doesn’t react, but something in his expression tightens.

Tony shrugs, a careless thing, like his insides aren’t crawling with something thick and ugly. “Real shame, huh? Guess we’ll never know.”

For a long moment, there’s silence. Then Erskine sighs, long and weary. “Tony.”

That’s it. Just his name.

Because Tony won’t let himself think about what it means—what it really, truly means—that his father had every intention of handing him over to a man who had done this before.

That Howard had known, or at the very least, hadn’t cared. That this was very close to being his future.

Because if he does think about it too hard, if he lets himself actually sit with the horror of it—

Well.

He might not stop screaming.

Erskine exhales, watching him for a moment longer before leaning back slightly. “Come,” he says gently, standing from his chair. “We should return to the lab.”

Tony nods again, but he doesn’t move right away. He takes one more deep breath, pressing a hand over the spot where his own mating gland lies, untouched, unmarked.

Because despite everything Erskine has just laid out—despite the horrors that hover like a miasma around Tiberius Stone—Tony’s fingers linger over the side of his neck. At the base of his throat, where his mating gland rests, still unbitten.

It’s warm. Throbbing.

He can practically feel the rush of his pulse under his skin, like a low-level fever he can’t shake. He doesn’t need Erskine to tell him what it means. He knows this ache, the restless burn that’s been gnawing at him for days, ever since Bucky had kissed him goodnight against the frame of his dorm room door—casual, fleeting, the kind of kiss exchanged a hundred times before without ceremony, without second thought.

Ever since Bucky’s hand had curled at the nape of Tony’s neck, warm and steady, a gentle press of his thumb against the edge of his jaw like he always did, like it was instinct. Ever since Bucky had murmured something soft—sleep tight, sweetheart—before pulling away, the ghost of his breath still warm against Tony’s skin.

Ever since that moment—so unremarkable in its simplicity, so devastating in hindsight—before either of them realized that it wouldn’t just be a weekend apart. That it wouldn’t just be another weekend of separate schedules, of late-night phone calls and rescheduled plans.

Before they knew that it would be the last time.

Before everything fell apart.

And now Tony can feel the absence of that kiss like a missing limb. The restless twinge that’s been gnawing at him for days, ever since he woke up in the SSR with no contact, no scent, no anchor.

Bucky had called it bonding sickness, once. Back when they had first met and they were trying to put words to the physical connection that felt stronger than a name—it feels like a lifetime ago.

But Tony still feels it. The phantom ache that spreads whenever they have to spend a night apart.

Tony, missing an Alpha he can’t even touch, heat swirling under his skin as if he were in a heat cycle, but he isn’t.

He’s just… missing.

He presses his palm more firmly over the gland as though he can quell the steady pulse. It hurts, but in a dull, muffled sort of way—like an echo of a wound that hasn’t happened yet.

Tony forces a tight swallow. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about how Bucky’s the only reason he dared fight off Tiberius at all, the only reason he’s able to stay upright when every cell in his body screams for rest, for relief, for that smell of cedar and smoke and snowfall and warmth.

He exhales sharply and forces his feet to move, falling into step behind Erskine.

They walk in silence through the corridors, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the muted hum of the SSR complex pressing in from all sides.

And still, under it all, under the hum of machines and the distant murmur of voices—Tony feels the pull.

Like something tethered to him just out of reach.

Something calling him home.

A couple of days drift by after Tony’s tense conversation with Erskine, melting into a blur of lab work, restless nights, and silent meals under the hum of flickering lights. He’s lost count of how many times he’s run the meltdown calculations in his head, how many times he’s woken up from half-formed dreams about Tiberius and Bucky and unbreakable bonds.

He’s reviewing yet another coil alignment schematic—barely seeing the lines on the page—when a different stiff-backed guard appears in the lab doorway. “Mr. Stark,” the man says, tone clipped. “Colonel Phillips has requested your presence. Immediately.”

Tony’s pen stills over the blueprint. Finally.

He follows in silence, letting the guard lead him through the twisting corridors. Thirteen days he’s been trapped in this bunker, waiting for the War Department to hammer out the last details of his emancipation, waiting for someone—anyone—to grant him a sliver of normalcy.

The guard stops at a heavy steel door and raps twice. When it swings open, Tony steps inside, pulse skittering.

The room is cramped, no windows, the overhead light casting everything in a harsh, clinical glow. Colonel Phillips stands behind a metal desk, hands braced on either side of a thick stack of papers. Next to him, Senator Brandt waits with folded arms and an impatient line to his mouth. A handful of SSR brass linger at the edges: a couple of faceless staffers, an officer whose name Tony perpetually forgets, and, off to the side, Dr. Erskine—looking tired but faintly relieved.

Tony’s gaze flickers around, half expecting Howard to be there too, lurking with that quiet, coiled anger. But his father is conspicuously absent.

“Stark,” Phillips growls, beckoning Tony forward. “Sit.” He points to a metal chair across from the desk, next to a mountainous stack of documents that look so classified, they might combust at any second.

Tony swallows, nerves twisting.“You know, Colonel, you really have a way of making a guy feel welcome. Ever thought about a career in hospitality?”

Senator Brandt lifts an officious brow. “Stark, we’ve expended a great deal of effort ensuring your… unique circumstances were properly addressed. This—” He gestures at the formidable stack of papers. “—is the outcome.”

Tony eyes the mass of documents. “You’d think you’d at least supply a decent fountain pen,” he mutters. “Or a lawyer.”

Phillips’s mouth tightens. “Just sign, Stark.”

Tony huffs, settling onto the chair. Fine. He flicks open the first sheaf of papers, skimming the headings: Strategic Scientific Reserve—Project Rebirth—Confidential Terms and Nondisclosure. Next: Omega Emancipation Contract—Anthony Edward Stark. Another: Bond Nullification Agreement—Stark / Stone.

It’s all so formal, so heavily notated with legal jargon, cross-references, stamps, and disclaimers. He feels like he’s reading a small country’s constitution.

He glances up, about to crack another wise remark, but stops short at Phillips’s stern glare. “Shut up and sign, Stark,” the Colonel repeats, more slowly. “We don’t have all day.”

Tony bites back a retort—no sense picking a fight now—and flips through the pages. The first sections revolve around the standard hush-hush clauses: how he can’t breathe a word about Project Rebirth to anyone outside SSR approval, what he’s responsible for if there’s a security leak, the standard threats about espionage charges that would land him in federal prison for life.

Joy.

He scribbles his signature (still shaky from exhaustion) where indicated, ignoring Brandt’s impatient tapping. Next come the official forms that sever Howard’s guardianship: disclaimers referencing obscure wartime statutes, half a dozen references to Tony’s “unique strategic importance.”

Tony’s chest tightens with something akin to satisfaction as he scrawls his name across the lines that declare I am no longer property of Howard Stark. The SSR official on the side steps in to notarize each signature with brisk efficiency.

And then Tony turns the page and sees Contract for Nullification of Omega Bond, Tiberius Stone / Anthony Stark.

He stills, pulse picking up. The words blur for a second: Void ab initio… invalidated under special circumstances… rendered non-binding.

There’s a signature line for Tony Stark, a signature line for Tiberius Stone, and another for Howard Stark.

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, is this gonna be an issue?” He taps the names with his pen, glancing around. “I assume Stone’s exactly doing handsprings over our breakup.”

Senator Brandt clears his throat. “We, ah, reached out to Mr. Stone through official channels—without divulging anything sensitive about your position here, of course. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve become indispensable to the war effort, and thus, your contract with him has been deemed a liability.”

Phillips grunts in confirmation. “We might’ve implied you’re under indefinite protective custody. He can’t forcibly claim you if the War Department itself says you’re not available.” The Colonel’s lip curls in something like disdain. “I doubt he’s pleased, but he’s not stupid. He doesn’t want to cross the U.S. Army.”

Tony snorts softly. He can imagine Tiberius’s reaction—rage tempered only by self-preservation. “I take it he didn’t take the news well.”

Brandt’s mouth twists. “If the vitriolic telegram he sent is any indication, no. He did not.”

A hollow satisfaction blooms in Tony’s chest. Good. The bastard deserves to choke on every ounce of frustration.

Still, the lines requiring Tiberius’s signature stand out like black stains on the page. Tony wonders if Tiberius will sign them voluntarily, or if he’ll stall. But from the look on Phillips’s face, the War Department has ways of making him cooperate—likely involving threats of espionage or sabotage charges.

“Right,” Tony mutters, leaning forward to scrawl his signature in the designated spot. His breath catches as the pen scratches across paper, effectively severing the final tie that bound him to Tiberius Stone.

He sets the pen down, half-expecting something—a rush of triumph, a wave of relief.

But mostly, he just feels tired.

Brandt snatches the pages back, scanning them with a pinched expression. Another official (some SSR adjutant, presumably) steps up to notarize, stamping each page with a metallic seal.

“Congratulations,” Brandt says drily, handing the documents to the adjutant for safekeeping. “You are no longer under Mr. Stone’s contract, nor under your father’s guardianship. As of this moment, the War Department recognizes you as an emancipated Omega.”

Tony exhales, shoulders sagging. Finally.

“There’s more,” Phillips grumbles, picking up another stack from the desk. “Nondisclosure agreements, property disclaimers, details of your continued obligations to Project Rebirth, including any future meltdown fixes. You’ll remain on file as a civilian consultant, subject to recall if we have further questions. Sign here, and here, and—”

Tony nods absently, flipping through the pages. It’s all boilerplate: hush-hush about everything, SSR retains the right to rope him back in if meltdown issues resurface, etc., etc. He snatches the pen again, scrawling his signature at the bottom of each form.

His hand aches by the time he finishes. He sets the pen down with a click, rolling the tension from his neck, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on him. Erskine’s included.

Brandt leans in, swiftly checking each signature. Satisfied, he tucks them away into a thick dossier. “That should do it.”

Phillips nods once, curt. “Welcome to the rest of your life, Stark. Don’t screw it up.”

Tony huffs a tired laugh. “I’ll do my best, Colonel.”

He glances at Erskine, who offers him a subtle, approving nod. The other SSR staffers look relieved—one or two might actually be happy for him, though Tony’s not sure. The rest probably just want their meltdown expert to be done with personal drama so he can finalize the Rebirth Chamber.

The door creaks open, admitting a uniformed aide who steps in to retrieve the stack of completed forms from Brandt. Tony tries to ignore the wave of vulnerability that hits him as he watches them vanish from sight—all that paperwork, the keys to my future, in someone else’s hands.

But it’s done, or close enough.

No more Tiberius Stone. No more forced contract. No more guardianship from Howard.

Tony is… free.

Phillips exhales, flipping through the last of the pages with a grunt of finality. “That’s it, Stark,” he mutters. “We’ll arrange a car to send you back to Manhattan.”

Tony leans back in his chair, pressing his fingertips to his temples like he’s staving off the world’s worst headache. “Oh, no. No, no, absolutely not.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air. “With all due respect, Colonel—and I mean this with every ounce of sincerity in my body—the last time your men ‘transported’ me anywhere, I was abducted, blindfolded, and thrown into the back of a government utility vehicle with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Just let me call my butler.”

Phillips looks unimpressed. “Stark—”

“No, no, I insist,” Tony says, standing up and stretching his aching limbs. “I’ll spare your boys the hassle. Trust me, they’ve done enough damage to my trust issues—and my kidneys—for one lifetime.”

Phillips glares at him but doesn’t argue. It’s clear he doesn’t give a damn how Tony gets out of the bunker—only that he does.

They’re on the same page there, at least.

Tony, for his part, has no intention of going back to Manhattan. Maybe ever again, if he can fucking help it.

Not like Howard’s going to let him set foot on the property anyway.

No, he’s not going to Manhattan.

He’s going to Brooklyn.

He’s going home.

[lesbiansdv]

sdv bachelor(ette)s gender & orientation headcanons

yeah technically theyre all canon bi/pan but this is the truth in my heart <3 adding a readmore because im nice :)

Haley: cis. comphet lesbian, duhhh <33 good luck babe! she used to date Alex, but during that relationship she realized she didnt ACTUALLY feel as interested as she thought she should have. it wasnt until the farmer (if a woman) that she realized shes a lesbian.

Emily: pan but prefers girls. definitely something going on w her gender… i think shes genderfluid, mostly between woman and/or nonbinary identities

Abigail: BISEXUAL. huuuge bisexual. i feel like she’d be a demigirl or bigender (nb&f) or something, shes got some sort of nonbinary in her (me too girl)

Leah: total lesbian yall. proud too. definitely got a butchness to her. love her <33

Penny: shes cis, she THOUGHT she was straight and tries so so hard to suppress any sapphic thoughts but she does in fact like girls (and probably is aspec too). has lots of internalized homophobia and shes always wanted to be the perfect child, perfect teacher, someday the perfect wife and mother, etc and this freaks her out a bit because she worries it means shes “wrong” somehow. YOURE NOTTT PENNY ITS OK TO BE GAY!!! everyone thinks of Haley as Pelican Town’s #1 comphet lesbian but i bet Penny is struggling with this a lot as well, just in a different way. (didnt realize i had so many penny thoughts wow)

Maru: aroace!!! shed be open to a relationship but i think she’d mostly prefer qprs. though dating isnt entirely out of the question, its not a requirement or a big interest to her. probably nonbinary/agender as well, but gender doesnt matter that much to her (i dont think she gets any/much dysphoria)

Sam: PAN and prouddd lol. i could see him being trans or cis, i dont know as much about him though. he could have some nonbinaryism too as a treat <3

Sebastian: bi without a preference towards either, and hes a trans guy. sometimes i forget that this isnt canon 💀

Harvey: bisexual and a flustered MESS lmfao. he could be cis or trans. i think, as a doctor, him being trans would be pretty awesome 👍 it probably influenced his career choice as well, to better understand hrt and surgery and all. thats always a cool thing to look into :)

Elliott: this is a gay man. cant imagine him with a woman, sorry ladies. either cis or a trans man, either way i can feel the genderqueerness radiating off of him (ngl i thought he was a beautiful literary woman at first 💔💔)

Shane: i dont think he labels his sexuality. could be aroacespec, could be multisexual or monosexual, he doesnt know and doesnt care. if he gets a crush, then he has a crush, whatever. i dont think that happens often though. probably nonbinary too but hes got a job so he doesnt have time to think about that right now LMFAO

Alex: cis. gay man who had an experience much like Haley did. they thought they liked each other and dated for a while but that experience started their realizations that neither of them are actually straight lmfao. closeted mlm wlw friendship !!! i like to think it was also the male farmer that confirmed his gayness lol <3

[loonymooony]

JWCT PROMO IMAGES BREAKDOWN WHAT WHAT

WARNING POSSIBLE SPOILERS!!!

also please only take me semi-seriously because I am not mentally ok and will not be until season 2 drops or at least until I can walk again

First order of business, these signs, it’s so random they would just drop random signs on us like like this so here’s my prediction/breakdown:

oke so it looks like these are all on the ship, so everything in the first episode

• Hmm lettuce not for crew use? THE CAMPERS ARE GONNA USE IT BCS THEY ARE THE EMBODIMENT OF “This sign cannot stop be because I can’t read!” • Oh? A live dino? Wrong. That dinosaur is gonna be dead af

• Do not feed the dinosaurs? Oops. Also this insinuates that there are professionals on board BUT I AM WILLING TO BET ALL MY LIFE SAVINGS (1/3 of a penny) THAT THERE ARE NO PROFESSIONALS ON BOARD AND THE WHOLE CREW FREAKS OUT WHEN THE DINOS ESCAPE

• Hmm it seems that this sign reads “Power must remain on at all times” yeah I don’t think that’s happening, idk why just have this gut feeling that some dinos might escape

• I’ve already yapped about this one but in summary: THAT LOOKS LIKE A VERY SUSPICIOUS KENJI, SHOULD WE REPORT IT? (I feel like Dora saying that)

My beloved waifu pookie cutie patootie Brooklynn throwback 🥰🥰 good to see that after everything, it’s still you. Also her hand? arm? is tied to to the control so either someone helped her or is forcing her to work or she can do that herself while Imm over here struggling to put a bracelet on myself 😭😭

GIRL BOSS BROOKLYNN THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT I WANT TO BE LIKE I ASPIRE TO BE LIKE HER GIRLBOSS BADDY QUEEN SLAY GIRL 🥰🥰🥰 (i love her sm guys)

Trying to piece the timeline for this: looks like it’s from after the atrociraptor attack but I could be VERY wrong since there doesn’t look like much doom and gloom happened in what I presume to be Darius’ cabin. Also she has *proper* lock picks in her mouth (look for once she’s well prepared and not using a bobby pin even though bobby pins r great no hate to them) It looks to me as if she’s in his cabin stealing some DPW documents that she either left in his cabin (doubt it) or that Darius already had due to his previous job. It doesn’t really look like a friendly visit or an “I miss you visit” it just seams pretty sketchy (sorry Dinostar nation)

DLN probably stands for “Dinosaur Liberation Now” AND OMG GUYS REMEMBER WHEN RAPTOR MASK WAS LIGHTING A FIRE (basically doing arson) in the trailer? COULD THIS HAVE BEEN IT? who am I kidding it was obviously him during that moment

These two shots have the same lighting and are probably together, HOW TF IS BROOKLYNN SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THIS, IK DREAMWORKS SAID TWO MAIN CHARACTERS WOULD DIE BY THE ENF OF THE SEASON BUT THEY CANT KILL MY POOKIE OFF TWICE!! right?

All these scenes look like their from the same episode, maybe Brooklynn was trying to do something and got caught or she was being escorted to do something by her pet Red and whoever else is there

ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS POSSIBLE DINOSTAR REJECTION SCENE 💔💔💔 DARIUS LOOKS SO SHOCKED AND SAD I ACTUALLY CANT I FEEL BALD FOR THE GREEN BEAN 😔😔 (im so sorry to the dinostar nation and it’s leader @livsmessydoodles)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ anygays I have reached the image limit so expect part 2 soon!!!

(@lezabeththetheodoraimposter)

[scarasimplysimping]

All In

Part 1 (might be two parts idk)

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Summary: A bet is placed to see if you can get the Summa Cum Laude to fall in love with you. (Scaramouche x Reader) (College au)

Contains: Idk. So it's one of those love stories where there's a bet. Hu Tao and Childe are kind of assholes for the sake of this fic, I am SORRY. Reader is also kind of an ass. Ooc. Some plot holes because I don't go to college or drink or smoke. Just roll with it.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

2,822 words 15,518 characters

What a stuck-up prick.

That's what you thought of him anyway. He was *the* Summa Cum Laude of your year. He was snobby, self-centered, friendless, and to top it all off, he just so happened to be your partner for your big thesis.

It was not by choice but he had no partner because people were afraid of him and you had no partner because well... people hated you. It wasn't a project that could be done individually either, lest you wanted to die before you graduate.

"He's such a bore." You complain to your friends on the lunch table, Hu Tao, Childe, and Xiao. "I tried to make plans with him, really. I asked if he was free, and you know what he said?" You slammed your hands on the table for dramatic effect.

Hu Tao leaned in closer, strands of her hair falling onto the table, and alarmingly close to Xiao's food, making him scowl as he moved his tray.

"He said," you began, putting up a silly impression of him with a snobby expression. "I don't need bottom feeders like you dragging down my work. I'll handle everything. Pay me if you want."

Childe snorted. Hu Tao doubled over in laughter, mainly because you're impression was so on point.

"God, what a freak." Hu Tao mused as she wiped her tears from her face, she never passed on the opportunity to talk shit about someone she didn't like. Childe agreed with her but he was partly not paying attention. He jabbed his fork into Xiao's food.

"Fucker." Xiao muttered under his breath.

Your silly clique was a ragtag bunch of misfits in their own ways. Hu Tao was your childhood friend who always had something vindictive to say or some storm to stir up. She lived for the drama.

Childe started tagging along around highschool. He was a charming, silver-tongued ginger ball of sunshine, he started developing a negative reputation over time as as somewhat of a satyr, though.

Xiao was above all the petty and immature antics whichever one of you had the gall to cook up. In all honesty, he was only there because his older brother, Zhongli had asked Childe to help him settle in to the college life. Childe owed the man a favor so he dragged the poor emo wherever you guys went and you kind of just got used to his company.

Then there was you, there was one thing that set you far apart from them all.

Money.

They were filthy rich and you, an independent college student, had not a penny to your name after you decided to up and leave your family to follow Hu Tao to college. You didn't really have to work though, your friends pretty much covered most of your college expense as casually as a friend would by you lunch.

"I know I can't really help him, I mean, my grades are dogshit right now but like I don't know how to pay him either," You said, burying your face into your palms.

Childe scoffed. "I don't even think he means it. Plus, it's nothing to worry about. We've got you covered if that greedy little nerd actually demands shit from you."

"Yeah, just let him do everything by himself," He continued "Watch him or something, in case your professor wants updates.."

A small smirk formed upon his lips. "I bet he's not that hard to watch anyway."

You playfully punched him on the shoulder "Gross!"

"You gotta admit he is kinda cute," Hu Tao chided in. "Right, Xiao?"

Xiao shrugged, far too focused on actually having lunch.

Childe snaked an arm over you. "Tell you what, (Y/N). If you can somehow bed the prudish bastard before the end of this semester, I'll fork over some money for this month's rent."

"Hu Tao pays rent."

"I'll fork over some money for anything you want."

"Hmm... I want VIP tickets to La Signora's concert."

"Done~"

"Oh my archons! Like actually?" Hu Tao couldn't tell if you both were serious. "(Y/N), your charm is above average but I don't even know if you can pull this one off."

You roll your eyes." Have faith in me. I bet he's easy."

Hu Tao leans back thoughtfully, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. "Alright, (Y/N). If you manage to pull this off I'll give you a grand.

You gape at her. "Seriously?

"Absolutely."

You know were only entertaining the idea because they had no actual faith you'd pull it off, but to you. This was easy money.

You slowly turn to the brooding emo on the table. "What about you, Xiao?"

His eyes narrowed at you. "What about me?"

"You gonna offer anything?"

He scoffs, groaning internally and being the only one with a moral compass. "Only an asshole would find bets such as these any type of fun."

Childe flicks his wrist dismissevly. "We are assholes."

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was hard enough convincing Scaramouche to work on the project and your (and Hu Tao's) place but now you had to deal with the emanating silence from you both. You've barely ever talked to him but the tension in your room could be cut with a knife, or maybe that was just your imagination.

He was sitting cross legged on your bed, typing away at his laptop with several papers surrounding him. You were sat across from him in the same position, nursing a cigarette in between your fingers.

"Do you want something to eat?" You finally break the silence.

He doesn't look up from the screen as he responds. "What do you have?"

You look to the ceiling, trying to recall what you and Hu Tao had last shoved into the fridge. "Uh... Pesto... Pizza... Dumplings. Probably some leftover vegetables."

"Bring me them all." Talk about shame.

"Alright." You say, putting out the cigarette on your nightstand. You couldn't help but notice the tiny scowl on Scaramouche's face as he glanced at the ashtray.

You come back balancing a bowl of pesto, a bowl of dumplings, and a bowl of salad on a box of pizza. Scaramouche pats on the side of your bed, indicating for you to drop the offerings there.

You light another cigarette as you take your previous seat in front of him.

"The weather is pretty nice today.." A sad attempt at conversation on your end.

Silence

"So... Childe's hosting a party tomorrow night, would you like to come?" You try once more.

Scaramouche still doesn't say anything, he doesn't even look up from the screen.

You blow a puff of smoke on his face. He coughs a bit before glaring at you with cold judging eyes. At least he was actually looking at you now. "I have no time to indulge in that crap."

"You have plenty of time. That thesis isn't due for another month."

"Well not exactly, since I'll be doing the work for both of us."

"Do you have a problem with me?"

"I have a problem with people like you." He glowers.

"People like me?" You raise your eyebrows.

"People who just have everything spoon fed to them by luck or by birthright and take that as a reason to slack off for the rest of their life since everything just magically works out for them." Scaramouche wasn't wrong, you really fucked around and never found out but still, what right did he have to judge you?

"Didn't know you knew me so well." You say, blowing out another puff of smoke but this time it's to the side.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to respond, then closes it once more. You had a point. It was hypocritical of him to listen to judge you based on gossip.

Finally, he speaks after a few minutes of silence.

"I was out of line." It's an apology although he doesn't outright apologize.

"Yeah." You decide to take advantage of his momentary guilt as you inquire about what he's working on. "So, do you mind telling me what you're doing?"

"Well, I'm looking online for research papers related to the topic were studying. I'm taking snippets I find interesting and I'll save them for later to expand on them in our thesis."

Scaramouche speaks a bit more but you're hardly listening. You take this time to really observe his physical appearance. Hu Tao was right; the man was cute. His eyes, his mouth, his lips. If you took a meat cleaver to the center of his skull, you'd have matching halves.

Even his hair looked softer than unicorn fur.

"(Y/N)?" He snaps you out, a displeased expression creeps upon his face upon noticing that you aren't even paying attention.

"Your hair looks softer than unicorn fur," you blurt out.

His eyes widen slightly, and you could've sworn he turned a shade pink before he feigned a disgusted look to save his dignity. "What the hell?"

You caught on immediately. There it was. Scaramouche had a weakness. The Summa Cum Laude, the bridge troll with a big brain and purple hair (as Hu Tao once described him) is someone who gets easily flustered .

"You're kind of cute." You push on.

"Shut the fuck up." His head lowers, he dares not look into your eyes.

"Come to Childe's party with me?" You ask once more.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scaramouche hated you. He hated your face and your voice and your personality. He hated every single atom you were made up of, but most of all he hated the way you were able to persuade him to come to this stupid party. And for what? Just because you were the first person to ever call him cute? He'd curse you and all your descendants to come.

Childe's party was just a gathering of drunks and trouble makers. His house was practically a mansion that could fit 60% of the university's student population.

He hated the blaring lights and unbelievably loud, repetitive, and distasteful music.

"I hate this!" He has to shout for you to hear.

"I know!"

"I'm going home!"

"You can't! You're my ride home!"

"We walked here, dumbass!" Scaramouche wanted to leave you truly he did but something, wasn't letting him. His moral compass or his growing fondness of you?

Childe finds you, placing an arm around your shoulder. "Hey!" He hands you a shot glass which you graciously accept and down in a couple of seconds, much to Scaramouche's dismay.

Childe pays no attention to your companion until he does a double take and realize it's Scaramouche.

"Holy shit! Is that Scara!?" Childe grins hazily. He was drunk drunk.

Scaramouche does not respond. He is frowning while Childe handed you half a bottle of gin.

You drink it within a couple minutes as you chat with Childe.

Scaramouche stands there, awkward, cranky, and out of place as the only person he's aquatinted with in this party is getting absolutely inebriated.

At some point you don't know when or from where but you get your hands on another shot glass.

"You're not drinking that," Scaramouche states firmly.

"I am." You bring the cup to your lips but Scaramouche is faster, he snatches it from you and lets it fall to the ground.

"What gives!?"

"I'm not carrying your drunk ass home just because you drank away the capability to walk!" He shouts at you.

People are staring now. Is it because of the commotion or because Scaramouche was the last person anyone would expect to see at a party?

Scaramouche didn't like the staring or the attention. "I'm going fucking home." He says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past the crowd. "So are you."

Childe is left there, impressed. He takes out his cellphone.

To: Hu Tao

She's actually gonna pull it off. Wtf

From: Childe

You stumble and trip as Scaramouche drags you through the night. It was a miracle you could keep up. (It wasn't, he slowed his pace on purpose to match yours but it still wasn't slow enough for your drunken ass.)

"Scara, slow dooown~"

He ignores you until he feels you slip from his grasp, landing with a thud. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? Do you not have the smarts to walk!?" The boy scolds.

You decide to rest your knees a bit as you stay on the ground.

You hear him sigh sharply before crouching in front of you. "Get on."

"What? Like piggyback style?"

"Yes, damnit just get on." His face wasn't facing you and it was dark. Scaramouche was eternally grateful to the archons that you couldn't see the way his ears reddened.

He carries you like that until you're at the front door of your place. Scaramouche gently drops you off. Miraculously not panting. (He wasn't that athletic.)

"Can I trust you enough to tuck yourself in?" The boy asks, his tone was calm this time.

You nod in response.

"Alright." Scaramouche turns his heel to leave.

"Scaramouche." You call out.

He turns back to you, a little too quickly.

You try to take a step towards him except you "accidentally" trip on air and crash onto his chest. He barely moves an inch but his hands instinctively wrap around you. You can see the exact moment he scrunches his nose as well as the moment before that where his cheeks flush.

You'll blame this on alcohol later. You'll also blame alcohol for when you pulled his collar to place a quick peck on his lips.

This was the night Scaramouche nearly passed away.

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Scara paced around his room. What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would you do that? His heart still raced as fast as it did when you kissed him.

He replayed the kiss over and over in his mind. Why? Just why? He mussed his hair in frustration as he plopped himself on the bed. If Scaramouche focused enough, he could still feel their lips on his, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

Why had a drunken asshole decided to take his first kiss? Why was he reacting so weirdly?

And why did he just tuck tail speed walk away right after it happened without saying shit about it?

(Y/N) will probably tell their friends. They'll gossip and laugh at how the smartest person in their program was turned into a blushing, sputtering mess at the mere kiss of some drunk. Some overly confident, obnoxious, attractive drunk who's lips were soft as velvet.

The thought has him reeling. Rolling to the side, Scaramouche pulled a pillow over his head and groaned into it.

"I'm done guessing. What's wrong with you?" His inner monologue was broken by his cyan haired roommate.

"Nothing. Fuck off, Dottore." His words still muffled by the pillow.

"All your ceaseless brooding is keeping me distracted. I suggest you stop whining if you don't want me to give you more reasons to whine."

Silence.

That came out wrong, but it got Scaramouche to shut up so who would complain?

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

It was a crush. That's what Dottore had said to him. It made jackshit sense though. Why would he like you? You were just someone he perceived as a slacker. It's possibly because you were the only one who ever showed interest in him. He'll probably get over it when he finds someone else to adore, but he couldn't.

Scaramouche was once again working on the thesis, on your bed. He didn't bring up the kiss. Maybe you'd forgotten about it? A small part of him hoped that you didn't though.

Finally, he decides to speak up. "I demand compensation."

You shoot him a confused look.

"What? Don't you remember?" Scaramouche scowls.

"You kissed me..."

"Did I?" You feign innocence.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He orders. "That was my first kiss. I demand some kind of compensation." His cheeks were heating up as it became harder and harder for him to look you in the eyes.

"Oh?" You bring your index finger below your lips in an expression of mock thoughtfulness.

Scaramouche's scowl deepens at your mocking finger below your lips. "Do not toy with me," he warns. "You took something and I want fair repayment."

You chuckle, enjoying his ruffled feathers. " And what is a first kiss worth these days?" Leaning back on your hands, you look him over appraisingly. "I'm not convinced it was really your first. You seemed to know what you were doing..."

His cheeks redden as he scrunches his nose at your audacity. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you enjoyed kissing me." You smirk. "Perhaps you even want more?"

Scaramouche's embarrassment only grows at your bold insinuation. "You presume too much, fool," he bites back, though his resolve seems weakened.

You shrug. "Suit yourself. I was just about to offer a date."

He narrows his eyes at you, as if trying to ascertain if this is some sort of trick. "A date?"

[strqyr]

I think a big thing with Cinder and Mercury in regards to power is how while it does help them in at some point in their life it never actually helped them get what they want and now they are stuck in a place where with Cinder she is constantly chasing after power but with Mercury he is left without anything really so he chooses to stay in a position where he is most comfortable even if that position is actually incredibly uncomfortable it feels a lot safer than the unknown.

Side note I feel Mercury is actually a pretty good depiction of depression in the show in ways depression isn't usually showcased in media like I feel there are a lot of little things that all add to a character that has been pretty depressed for a long time

yeah, mercury's situation actually explains it perfectly: marcus stole his semblance and told him he'd get it back when he got strong -> mercury got strong, but never got his semblance back.

part of him was stolen and there's no clear way for him to get it back, so now he's aimless, sticking with what he knows best, telling himself he's exactly where he's meant to be, but where he is isn't good for him and like you said, it isn't exactly a position he's comfortable in.

and it's. mercury's already been through what i think cinder is going to go through. marcus made a promise that mercury would get his stolen semblance back, but didn't keep it; salem promised cinder power but so far hasn't kept her end of the bargain, and even when she made moves to allow cinder to go after the winter maiden, she sent cinder to the last place penny would be in while sending the hound directly to her. if this parallel is intentional, then i'd bet that when cinder fulfills her end of the bargain—bringing the crown to salem—, she'll quickly learn that her usefulness to salem has run its course, and salem is under no need to help her steal the other maiden powers further.

the only difference between mercury and cinder in this regard is that mercury is the one whose power was stolen, while cinder is the one doing the stealing—which would be an interesting point of conversation between the two, since i don't think cinder knows about mercury's semblance, and man. if cinder has to sneak into vacuo against salem's orders, that'd probably be enough for mercury to connect some threads to his own past, and how salem, just like his father, has no intentions of actually following through with her promise to cinder.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 7

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days leading up to Christmas pass in a blur. I work almost constantly either in the cafe or at home helping Stella with wedding plans. My contact with Jensen falls back to sporadic texts during lunch breaks. It feels impossible to build any connection with so little contact, but he’s been so understanding, claiming he’s also busy now that he’s home.

When I finally flip the sign on the door to ‘closed’ at six o’clock on the night before Christmas Eve I’m utterly exhausted. I check my phone on the walk back to my apartment.

Hey Darlin’, About to get on the road. It’s a long trip, if you’re not too tired after work, I’d love to chat

I pass a packed restaurant and glance through the large windows at the couples and families sharing a lovely pre-Christmas meal. Knowing I’m going back to an empty apartment, the loneliness wins out and I decide to call him. 

“Hey, Darlin’.”

“I knew that would sound so much better in your Texan drawl.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. It tends to come out more when I’m at home.”

“Don’t apologise. How’s the drive?”

“Been on the road ‘bout an hour and a half, still got two to go. Been a little lonely so far, but it just got a little better. How long you free for?”

“Three and a half hours? That’s not really a long trip…But I’m almost home now so I guess I can keep you company for a while.”

“In a car by myself on my way to see my family…yeah, it’s a long trip.”

“I guess I can understand that. I bet there are a few thoughts going around your head at the moment. I know I’d be spiraling…”

“I don’t know about spiraling…But yeah…My sister’s bringing her husband, as expected and my brother’s bringing his latest flame, so I’ll be the awkward seventh wheel turning up alone. Can’t wait for Mom’s twenty questions about when I’m finally gonna settle down. It’s not enough to just be famous, she wants grandkids…”

“That actually makes me feel better about spending Christmas alone.”

“Sorry…My family’s great and I’m glad I won’t be alone. I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it. Vent away. Plus, we haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other, and I’ve already learnt a few more things about you. Tell me more.”

“Well, it might give you a little more context if I tell you I’m the middle child. Wait. You’re not taking notes, are you? Gonna sell my sad story to some journalist for a pretty penny?”

As I listen, I put a tray of frozen butter chicken and rice in the microwave to cook before kicking off my shoes and collapsing on the couch. “They’d pay for that? Maybe I should. Pay off some student debt while I’m at it, or maybe just buy something that’s not ramen and frozen dinners.” 

“Don’t tell me that’s gonna be your Christmas dinner.”

“You get used to it. The frozen meals are getting better. Roast beef, shepherd's pie, al la Chef Ramsay.”

“Gordon Ramsay sells frozen meals?”

“Yep.”

“I’m still taking you out for a proper meal sometime. No, you know what. I’m gonna send you some money. Go out for a proper Christmas dinner, on me. Please.”

“And sit amongst all the happy couples and families like the loner I am. No thanks.”

“At least buy yourself something nicer to eat alone then?”

“Don’t worry, Nick’ll cook something. Stella won’t let me wallow here alone.”

“Good. Buy yourself something nice then. Treat yourself to a new dress or jewelry or…”

“Jensen, stop. I’m not taking your money, okay? I’m not a gold digger. I’ll stumble through on my own. I always have. Plus, I’m the one that owes you a shirt.”

“You’re eating ramen and frozen meals and you want to replace a shirt that cost more than your monthly salary? Forget it.”

“You shirt cost-Wait! Are you trying to figure out how poor I am?”

“We all start somewhere, Darlin’. When I first moved out to LA I had nothing. I was mucking out horse stables to get from one audition to the next.”

“Yeah, but I bet you did that right out of high school…not after taking a gap year to follow around a dropkick and then trying to get your life back on track after being cheated on, only to fall for the same shit again with a different guy. Thus putting your study and life on hold again. Only to then find yourself quickly approaching your 30th birthday with nothing to show for it…”

“Wait…Wait. I’m pulling over. I can’t process that while driving.”

“Sorry, no. Keep driving. We will talk about it some other time…or not at all.” I hang my head and mentally chastise myself for divulging so much information at once. I blame the loneliness and exhaustion. 

“I should get gas anyway. Just hang on, Darlin’.” I sigh and pull out my tight ponytail so I can run my hands through my greasy hair. “Alright. I’m parked now. Let’s talk. ‘Cause yeah, you’re right, I did go straight out of high school. But I wanna hear more about these dropkicks.”

“There’s nothing to tell. It’s my fault really. I should’ve been better, stronger.”

“Hey, hey, no. Don’t blame yourself. Did they? Did they blame you? Tell you it was your fault?”

“Don’t all guys? But they didn’t have to…If I had satisfied them they wouldn’t have brought other women into our bed…” I sigh, “Who am I kidding? Why are you still talking to me? I could never satisfy the likes of you. You’ve probably been with all sorts of supermodels and actresses…”

“Y/N. Darlin’. That is not on you. And no, not all guys. Those boys didn’t deserve you. You deserve a real man who would treat you right. Also, never compare yourself to supermodels or other actresses. ‘Cause yeah, maybe I have slept around a bit, but where the fuck are they now? They wouldn’t spend hours talking me through a road trip. You’ve satisfied me more than anyone else ever has, in just the last few days.”

“Jensen…You know how that sounds right?”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m a gentleman. I promise, there’s been no hand-to-dick contact to thoughts of you.”

“That’s reassuring. Same here, just so you know…no hand-to-…You know what I mean.”

His low chuckle reverberates through the phone, warming me and alleviating a little of my anxiety. “Yeah. I know what you mean. So, uh, back to the point…Who are these guys that I need to ruin?”

“They’re nobody. I don’t want to talk about them anymore. Can we go back to your problems? They’re less…they’re just less.”

“Thanks?”

“You know what I mean!” Feeling a little better, I drag myself up and bring the now-cooled dinner from the microwave back to the couch. “Middle child problems are less heavy than a string of douchebag exes.”

“At least we can agree they’re douchebags.”

“Jensen!” I chastise. 

He chuckles and then sighs. “Let me actually get gas and snacks and get back on the road. Then you can hear more of my life story, seeing as you just divulged a big chunk of yours, which we will talk about more in the future by the way. I won’t force you to dwell on it tonight, but I want to know all about you. I know there’s more interesting stories there.”

I eat while the line is silent. Part of me feels like a fool for sharing the story of my exes with Jensen, even if it was only one tiny part.

When Jensen finally comes back to the phone we continue talking until he pulls into Richardson. He shares stories about himself and his siblings growing up and his plans for Christmas, which he doubts will be white, considering the mild temperatures in Texas. I enjoy getting to know him more intimately and as a person, more than just his career. But he also tells me all about his passion for music and how it’s similar to his passion for acting. He tries to get me to open up more but reluctantly accepts when I say I’m tired and more interested in hearing his stories. Undeterred, chills run down my spine when he says, “Someday, Darlin’. Someday you’re gonna return the favour. I’m gonna know everything there is to know about you.” He reluctantly cuts the night short when he pulls into his parent’s driveway. “Thanks for the company, Darlin’. Merry Christmas Eve.” I argue that Christmas Eve is still three hours away, but wish him a Merry Christmas anyway before the line goes silent. 

As I stare at my cracked home screen I decide to come up with a nickname for him. If he’s going to insist on melting my heart with that delicious, deep, drawl, “Darlin’”, then I intend to come up with something that causes a similar effect.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Backstage Story Translation - Sakyo Furuichi SR: My performance memories ~ Sakyo ~ - Part 1

yin yang midnight is mankai company's fifth mixed troupe play! you can find a translation of its event story on yaycupcake

also proofread by myuntachis <3

Sakyo: …

Citron: We have come to buy sweets!

Azuma: Fufu, nice to see you here.

Guy: I apologize for interrupting you while you’re working.

Hisoka: … Welcome.

[Flashback starts]

Citron: I heard from Sakuya that he handed out cookies with Homare and the others during their screening party!

Citron: We’ll hand out cookies too!

Sakyo: Those cookies came from Arisugawa’s own money. We can’t have our earnings decrease like that.

Azuma: How about we pay for them with our own money too, then?

Sakyo: No. You’ll probably pick out something way too expensive.

Citron: Do you not want to express your gratitude for our audience, Sakyo!?

Sakyo: That’s not it. But it ain’t like handing out sweets is in our event details.

Sakyo: If we start doin’ this everywhere, we’re gonna have to consider the audience that only attends specific events, and blah blah blah…

Guy: Would there be no issue if the sweets were cheap?

Sakyo: That’s not the problem here…

Citron: There is no problem, then! Japan has many cheap and delicious sweets!

[Flashback ends]

Sakyo: … I had pretty much guessed this would be where we’d end up, but you really just took us to a penny candy store.

Sakyo: Are you working part-time here again, Mikage?

Hisoka: … Only for today. The owners said it’s their grandson’s birthday.

Citron: All the sweets look delicious~ What would you recommend?

Hisoka: This one’s a new arrival. The best-selling one is over here…

Sakyo: … You sure know your stuff.

Guy: I think it would be best to leave the choice to Furuichi, our lead actor.

Sakyo: Lemme see…

Sakyo: ——

Sakyo: … Are those toy omikuji?

Hisoka: Yeah, but… Those aren't sweets.

Azuma: Omikuji, hm? Oh, that reminds me… Sakyo-kun, your name…

Sakyo: Yeah. I think I’ve got an idea for what sweets to hand out now.

-

Sakyo: I’m Sakyo Furuichi from the Autumn Troupe. I played the lead.

Citron: I’m Citron from the Spring Troupe! Thank you for coming today~

Azuma: I’m Azuma Yukishiro from the Winter Troupe. Did you enjoy our fifth mixed play, Yin Yang Midnight?

Guy: Also from the Winter Troupe, I am Guy. Thank you for your attendance.

Citron: … I’m feeling some kind of deshuffle.

Azuma: Deshuffle?

Sakyo: Déjà vu, I bet. At least learn katakana properly already.

Guy: This reminds me, this line-up is the same as the one for Furuichi’s birthday event some time ago.

Azuma: Fufu, that just goes to show how close we are.

Guy: You must be right.

Citron: Absolutely!

Sakyo: … Well, I’ve got no qualms about that.

Citron: Did you hear that, everyone!? Sakyo is being dere for once!

Audience A: Sakyo-san being dere… So precious…!

Audience B: Eeek!! So cute!

Sakyo: … Let’s get this talk show on the road.

Sakyo: We actually prepared some souvenirs for you today.

Audience C: Souvenirs!? I wonder what…!

Sakyo: When we learned that Arisugawa’s group had done so, we decided we’ll hand out sweets too.

Citron: Sakyo chose the sweets!

Sakyo: I chose the Good Luck Omikuji rice crackers.

Azuma: As their name suggests, these rice crackers have a fortune slip inside.

Sakyo: … I’m sorry for bein’ so cheap.

Sakyo: Some of you may already know this, but my father chose my name by drawing an omikuji.

Sakyo: Whenever I watch this performance, I’m reminded of him and the invisible bond we share through my name.

Sakyo: That’s why I’d like everyone here to take one home as a memento of the bond you share with us.

Citron: Ohhh, everyone looks happy!

Sakyo: I take it that you like that. I’m glad.

Azuma: How about we try it too, then?

Citron: Nice! I’ll draw More Luck for sure!

Sakyo: There ain’t no such fortune.

Guy: Choose whichever you like, Furuichi.

Everyone: One, two…

part 1 | part 2

[justsomeonewithdreams]

More to know pt1

I didn't have enough space so I made a very short part two

Pairing Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Where the dagger squad finds out that Hangman didn't tell them everything about him

The Hard Deck is full of pilots when the dagger squad arrives, Hangman and Phoenix go to the counter to order some drinks as the others make their way to a pool table. Rooster is listening to Fanboy explaining him his day and how it all went wrong, but his attention got completely elsewhere as a woman caught his attention by entering the bar. That's when Phoenix comes back waiting for Hangman and the other beers with them. "Oh Rooster, seriously, I'm not even back with the drinks that you already found the woman you want in your bed, not classy man, we're supposed to hang out as a team tonight". Rooster chuckles softly, "When nature calls Phoenix, who am I to disagree?", she laughs too. "Okay, Casanova, if you're that good of a match with her then go talk to her." a grin makes its way to her face andRooster would never back down from a challenge, so he takes his courage and go over there to talk to the girl, leaning against the pillar she's next to and talking into her ear making his breath crash onto her neck. That's all the squad can see and hear as they are not that far but the music in the bar is to loud. The only thing they can see is how the girl smiles at him before pusing him lightly away from her, that's when he comes back to the squad's pool table with now Hangman back, "So how did it go man, what did she say?" Fanboy starts to ask, "She said that I wasn't her type and that she had better things to do tonight.". The squad laughs lightly, but Coyote remarks something, "Hey, what are you loooking at brother?" he asks elbowing playfully Jake attracting the attention of the others. "I'm pretty sure I can go there flirt with her and have her number" is all that Jake say, Rooster with a hit in his pride his ready to take the bet, "How yeah how much are you sure? Fifty?", "Deal" Jake responds shaking hands with him. He puts his beer away on the table and go talk to the girl, she's still in her flight suit like they all are, he takes the same place has rooster leaning against the pillar, all the eyes of the squad his on them and suprisingly, he hangs, it already has been five minutes that they are tzlking and she didn't make him leave yet. As if their eyes couldn't be wider, Jake takes her by the hips making her crash into his chest as they kiss, it's a kiss full of emotion, as questionning looks make their way across the squad Penny comes to ask them something and look where they all are. "Oh you met Y/N Mirage Y/L/N" she say as if it's the most rational thing to say, "Wait thi woman there is the famous Mirage!" Phoenix exclaims, "How did he do it?" Rooster ask to them, Penny laughs litely before answering, "You do know that Jake and Y/N are married right?", everyone's mouth drop to the ground, "Wait Hangman is married and with the famous Mirage!" Fanboy exclaims, "Yeah, it's gonna make five years in october." Penny answers still laughing at the fact they didn't know, "But we never saw him wearing a ring." Rooster says, "It's on their dogtags, you know just in case, I think they never really scream it on the roof not wanting to be compared to the other constantly, she was on another mission but now they can go back to be station together" Penny say sweetly smiling at Jake and Y/N who are coming back to their pool table.

[rippeanuts1950-2000]

i hate u, i love u

Prev|Next

Chapter 2)

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

Laney winces at how loud Konnie is shouting. “I made a bet with Corey.” She repeats. It’s just her and Konnie at the lunch table as Kim is in the science labs checking her experiment with Carrie, and Larry just doesn’t have this lunch period. “Okay, but why?” Konnie stresses as she picks up her grilled cheese sandwich from her lunch tray. “If you guys win the battle of the bands, he leaves me alone.” Laney explains with a shrug as she digs around in her backpack for her lunch box. She finally finds it and pulls out a bag of chips. “But if we lose?” Laney deflates a little. “I have to rejoin Grojband for a month and if I enjoy being a part of the band again, I have to consider staying permanently.” She tacks on.

Konnie shakes her head. “Well this gives us more of a reason to win. But seriously, why did you think this was a good idea? You’re literally the brain cell of The Newmans, that’s why you’re our manager.” She points out. Laney opens her mouth to answer her but finds that she doesn’t know what to say. Like she knows the main reasons why she said yes, but in all honesty she paid attention to the pros instead of the cons. Why did that happen? Laney usually goes for the cons first instead of the pros.

“I-I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if The Newmans lost. You guys wouldn’t leave me if I had to go back to Grojband, right?” The bag of chips Laney has been holding pops open and chip crumbs fall onto Konnie’s lunch tray. Fortunately the other girl doesn’t seem to care however and just organizes them into a little pile on her tray while she answers Laney’s question. “Of course not, Penny Lane. You’ve become an important part of our group since you’ve started hanging out with us. Even before you became our manager, you were important to the team.” Konnie assures her, using the nickname that the band gave to Laney when she first started hanging out with them to further prove her point.

Laney takes a deep breath, silently reminding herself to breathe evenly so that she doesn’t work herself into a panic attack. Though even if she did work herself into a panic attack, she’d be okay because she’s hanging with Konnie right now and Konnie knows how to calm her down the best. “Thanks Konnie.” Laney says, feeling a bit more assured. Konnie nods. “Girl, you know I always got your back.” As sweet as the sentiment is, it makes Laney laugh afterwards because Konnie is sprinkling chip crumbs from her plate into her mouth. Though Laney would probably do the same. “Hey, do you have work today?” Konnie asks once she’s swallowed some water.

“Yep, it’s gonna be a long shift too so I’ll be doing homework there.” Laney says with a sigh. “Well, me and the others are gonna stop by and visit you. We could do homework together if the shop’s not too busy.” Konnie suggests, making Laney smile even more. “Yeah, that sounds good. You guys ARE always a great buffer for Corey.” She says, popping some chips in her mouth. “Oh and let me know if they need to hire more people because I will try to get hired to keep you company.” Konnie adds, finishing off the grilled cheese. “You don’t have to do that but I’ll keep you posted.” Laney says with a laugh.

Out of all the Newmans, Laney was the closest to Konnie. After the big blow up between her and Grojband, which had happened at school with an audience of no less than thirty, Laney had run off to cry in a janitor's closet. Konnie was there when the blow up had happened so she chased after Laney and comforted her. The rest is pretty much history, with Laney being added into the Newman’s crew as their manager that week at lunch. Being as close as she is to Konnie also meant that she knew a lot more about Konnie than most people. Like her secret boyfriend.

“How are you and Kon doing by the way? He hasn't sent me cryptic emails on his burner account asking for date ideas in a while.” Laney asks, causing Konnie to blush. “Oh we’re good. Coming up on that one year, so he’s been trying to prove that he can plan the perfect date without your help.” She says, her eyes practically morphing into hearts. Kon was the only member of Grojband that Laney had a good relationship with to this day, so she very much approved of the relationship between Konnie and Kon. “Well as long as he's treating you well, I have no complaints.” Laney says with a grin and a shrug. She pulled out the last of the food in her lunch box.

“Want my cheese stick?”

*****

You know what sucks?

Writing lyrics and using your own inspiration instead of your sister’s. But Corey knows it must be done if he wants to get his thoughts out. This of course, means that he has to write yet another song about Laney that he’ll never perform. But getting the words out isn’t as easy as it sounds, no, no, no. If anything, he’s having more trouble than usual, what with the bet that’s gonna put Laney back in his life for a month, the fact that the Newmans are currently in his dad’s shop and have been here for the past two hours, oh and that shiny necklace in the display shelf Corey is writing on isn’t helping much either.

He should have known the Ewmans were coming when Lanes asked his dad if her friends could come to the shop and do homework with her. His dad said, yes, of course because Laney is his favorite employee and apparently she gets her work done or something. Which sucks because when Corey asks his dad if Kin and Kon can come hang out with him in the shop, he’s told “No, Corey, finish pricing the rare books section and organizing it by price.” To which Corey would like to say that it’s not his fault that they never get anything cool at the pawn shop, like instruments or boxes of mannequin heads.

Wait, what was he supposed to be doing again? Oh right! Writing lyrics. Here’s what he had so far, 

Am I the boy you dreamed of? Oh(might need to tone down the oh, don’t want people to think we’re too much of a boy band, if we ever played this)

Living in your subconscious, oh oh

Do you believe in love? Oh

And is it because of me?(i hope she still believes in love)

Yeah, if it's up to me

Am I the boy you dreamed of? Oh

Living in your subconscious, oh oh

Do you believe in love? Oh

And is it because of me?(once maybe, prob not anymore)

So not much, but soon it will hopefully become something. But he doubts that it will happen today, because once again, the Ewmans are in his general area of space, talking to his Lanes. Right now they were talking about some Disney Channel franchise that he knew Laney probably didn’t care less about and was only humoring the Ewmans in their conversation. That’s Lanes for ya, always so considerate and willing to listen to people talking about things she doe- “By the way, Laney, did you finish writing that song?” Carrie’s stupid voice really needs to stop interrupting his thoughts.

Hold on, Laney writes music now? Since when? “No, I still need to do the sad ex part. Angry ex is done though.” And she’s writing songs about heartbreak? Who broke her heart, Corey would like to know. “Care to share it?” Kim asks, her voice is less stupid than Carrie’s but it’s still stupid.

“Uh, sure.” Laney glances his way to make sure he’s not paying attention so Corey pretends to be doing something that doesn’t involve looking and paying attention to her. This seems to work as he can hear the rustling of paper and Laney says, “Larry could you read the highlighted part? It’s my favorite part. Also I’m thinking kind of like a slow piano part with this song if that makes sense. ” Corey hears the Ewmans agree and Larry begins to read the paper;

“Do you miss me like I miss you?

Fucked around and got attached to you

Friends can break your heart too

And I'm always tired but never of you

If I pulled a you on you, you wouldn't like that shit

I put this reel out, but you wouldn't bite that shit

I type a text but then I never mind that shit

I got these feelings but you never mind that shit

Oh, oh

Keep it on the low

You're still in love with me but your friends don't know.

And if I was you I would never let me go.”

Corey’s heart is pounding wildly. Did…Did Laney write this song about him? The Ewmans’ feedback falls flatly on his ears as he starts to scramble to figure this out. She did write that friends could break your heart, which did happen at least to him when they stopped being friends. And Lanes did used to always be tired but she also always listened to him and the others with as much attention as she could give them. She was right about how he would have felt if she did what he did to her. He would have hated it. He would have hated her. 

All the signs were saying that the song was about him with the only part being wrong that Kin and Kon didn’t know about his feelings. They did, and were most definitely tired of him ranting about how he missed his chance and that he wished he could take it all back. 

“We should sing that for battle of the bands!” Konnie says, pulling the brakes on Corey’s speeding thoughts. “If I can get it done in time, it’s hard trying to do the sad ex.” Lanes says and out of the corner of Corey’s eye he can see her putting paper into a blue folder. “Either way, that’s probably one of your best works, Penny Lane.” Larry says and Corey wants to yell at them to stop calling Laney Penny Lane because that is a stupid nickname even if he DOES like the Beatles sometimes.

But he doesn’t because last time he did that, Carrie threw a book at his head and told him that he doesn’t get to pick Laney’s nicknames. The book ended up breaking a shelf and Carrie had to work at the shop for a month to make up for it, so Corey would rather not have a repeat of that incident.

A ball of paper hits his face. “Riffin! What’s your band’s setlist?” Carrie asks and Corey has to fight the urge to vomit at the sight of Carrie’s face. “Uh for what?” Corey says when he realizes he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “For the battle of the bands.” Carrie says with an eye roll. Corey scowls. “We’re not fully decided yet but we have agreed on 2 BEST FRIENDS, Old Me, and Monster.” He says. Sharing setlists is a thing he and Carrie do so that each band can do the opposite of what the other is doing. “Angry and rueful songs, huh? Guess we’re gonna have to do the opposite. Happy and content.” Carrie mumbles and Corey glances at the rest of the Ewmans and Lanes who are deep in thought. 

“Yeah that’s great, can I have my personal space back?” Corey snaps and Carrie rolls her eyes some more. He hopes that one day they get stuck in the back of her head. “Jeez, what crawled up your ass and died? I’m just making sure we don’t sound the same and no one is gonna confuse our bands again, literally nothing about that is out of the ordinary.” She says, raising an eyebrow. “Three reasons. One, I don’t like you. Two, I’ve had to listen to your stupid voice for the past two hours. Three, It’s almost six and you and your band are still here, distracting my coworker from doing her job.” He snaps, crumpling the paper in his hands.

Carrie scoffs. “One, I don’t like you either but at least I can be civil with you. Two, your voice is annoying to me but do I say anything? No, I don’t. And three, you’ve literally just sat there for the past two hours doing nothing while Laney has been doing homework, going over stock in the display case, and keeping a steady conversation with us. I don’t think you get an opinion on what she does. And anyway, we’re leaving soon.” Corey opens his mouth to argue but for once, Carrie is right. He hates it when she calls him out but when she’s right, ugh that is the worst!

Carrie smiles. “That’s what I thought.” She turns around and Corey just watches numbly as she and the rest of the Ewmans say their goodbyes to Lanes. He hated the Ewmans before everything that went down with Laney, but now that they took Laney from them he hates them even more.

Faintly he can hear the door close so he looks over at Laney and starts to take her in. She’s not paying attention to him, so he can stare for as long he wants. Earlier today when they made the bet he noticed that she hadn’t straightened her hair that morning so her normally straight hair was curly. Corey had always thought Laney looks pretty but when her hair is in its natural state, it just does something to him. It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again. Her eyes are darting over the stock notebook and he truly finds it incredible how expressive they can be. No matter how stoic her face is, her eyes always give her away. Her freckles cover her face perfectly and Corey just wants to kiss each one of them, one by-

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Lanes’ voice interrupts his thoughts. Corey jerks back a bit, embarrassing himself further after being caught staring. “Just taking in your natural beauty.” He responds, which is true but he knows Laney just thinks he’s messing with her when he says stuff like that. “You look like a stalker.” She answers, checking something off the stock notebook. Laney’s not even looking at him, she just knows he’s staring. “You’re a piece of art, Penn. I need at least an hour to take you in.” Corey says, grinning mischievously.

Laney looks up from the notebook, her expression a bored one. “Did you get that pick up line off the internet again?” She asks and Corey blushes. He really hopes it doesn’t show. “Ouch, you wound me. That was a Riffin original.” He says and Laney throws a pencil at his head. “No wonder it was bad then.” She reaches the stock notebook out towards him. “I’m going to stock check in the back, finish this for me will you?” Corey takes the notebook from her and their fingers brush. Just like when they did the pinkie promise, her skin feels warm and electrifying. She disappears into the back room as Corey lingers on how her touch makes him feel.

He loves it.

Almost as much as he loves her.

And the second chapter is done! Sorry if the ending seems a little awkward I didn’t know how to finish it. As always, send me asks about this, I would to info dump for this!

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Waylon probably has a horrible time trying to find blankets that are big enough to sleep all the way under, so what would his reaction be if someone made him a blanket (crochet, knitting, quilting, whatever) specifically so it wouldn't be too small for him to sleep under?

"Big and Tall" Killer Croc x Reader

Yeah, I bet! I'd never thought of it before, even if I sometimes have the problem of blankets being a tad too short;;; I went a little more friendly neutral for the relationship for this one!

TW: None

Waylon has had the issue of clothing, blankets, etc being too small for him from the time he was a teenager. It only got worse the taller he got over the years. Big and tall stores are such a precious commodity especially in some of the places he's been in before Gotham... He's gotten used to having to get things custom made, even when he barely had the money for it.

When you tell him you have the hobby of making blankets and the like, he jokes you should make him one. You know, since you're obviously so good at it.

He wasn't expecting you to work on one for months just in time for fall. How much yarn did you BUY? You must have filled a whole room with just yarn! Yet it's so soft... A blend of chocolatey brown, maroons, and blues- he's almost terrified of tearing it open with his claws. You tell him once you'd picked the color you knew he'd like, you bought it all out practically. It cost a pretty penny, but he didn't need to know that.

The truth of it is, he's INCREDIBLY touched. He's at least vaguely aware how long it takes to really make a good blanket, much less one suited for his size. This thing is going to get used the moment it gets too cold and possibly in the summer too with the AC cranked all the way up. Ultimate comfort. Pretty much all the time. It sits on his couch when not in use, so you'll physically see it when you visit.

He feels like he needs to make it up for you. While he's not good at crafting, why don't you tell him a recipe you really like? Or even one you miss? He'll make it special for you, just name a time and a place. Either it'll be a wonderful evening with friends or... under the right circumstances, could turn into a date.

[use-your-imagination98]

GH Couples Inspired By Taylor Swift Songs

Had this in my drafts for FOREVER. thought it was a good time to post it haha. 

Alan and Monica: The Last Great American Dynasty

And they said

"There goes the last great American dynasty"

"Who knows if she never showed up, what could've been"

Luke and Laura: My Tears Ricochet

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

'Til my dying day

Luke and Tracy: Better Man

I know

I’m probably better off all alone

Than needing a man who could

Change his mind at any given minute

Laura and Scotty: New Year’s Day

Please don't ever become a stranger

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

Laura and Kevin: Lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Kevin and Lucy: Delicate

This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

Frisco and Felicia: Closure

Yes, I'm doing better

I know that it's over, I don't need your

Closure

Mac and Felicia: Ours

And life makes love look hard

The stakes are high, the water's rough

But this love is ours

Robert and Anna:  It's Nice to Have a Friend

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

Have my back, yeah, everyday

Anna and Valentin: Sparks Fly

My mind forgets to remind me, your a bad idea

You touch me once and it's really something

You find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be

Sonny and Brenda: The 1

But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring 20s, tossing pennies in the pool

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

Sonny and Carly: Haunted

​​You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

Sonny and Alexis: Blank Space

So hey, let's be friends

I'm dying to see how this one ends

Stone and Robin: Sad Beautiful Tragic

We had a beautiful magic love there

What a sad beautiful tragic love affair

Robin and Patrick: This Love

This love is good

This love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead

Lucky and Elizabeth: Tolerate It

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

Nikolas and Emily: Happiness

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you

Nikolas and Elizabeth: Dress

Our secret moments in your crowded room

They've got no idea about me and you

Ned and Alexis: Stay Stay Stay

You took the time to memorize me

My fears, my hopes and dreams

I just like hanging out with you

All the time

Alexis and Julian: Death By A Thousand Cuts

I get drunk but it's not enough

'Cause you're not my baby

I look through the windows of this love

Even though we boarded them up

LuLu and Dante: Wildest Dreams

Someday when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow you around

Sam and Jason: It’s Time To Go

15 years, 15 million tears

Begging 'til my knees bled

I gave it my all, he gave me nothing at all

Then wondered why I left

Sam and Dante: Cardigan

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

Chase and Brook Lynn: Mastermind

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates

And all the stars aligned

You and I ended up in the same room

At the same time

Spencer and Trina: Invisible String

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

Cameron and Jossyln: Karma

Addicted to betrayal, but you're relevant

You're terrified to look down

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

Of everyone you burned just to get there

Elizabeth and Franco: Red

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go

Maxie and Nathan: Enchanted

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

[mochiponadventures]

Punishment

...

Juliana was busy helping her mother in the garden when she heard someone approaching. It was Kieran. He carried a small box in his hands and gave Juliana a big smile.

"Hey Juli, i brought you some cookies made by my sis. Believe it or not, she fell in love with that home ed class at your school and is now full on trying out everything they learn there" This amused Juliana quite a lot, seeing as Carmine didn´t really looked like she would engage in such things at all...

"Thank you, i really appreciate it!" She got up from her position and walked over to Kieran, hugging him. "So i take that you two enjoy Naranja Academy so far?"

The boy nodded, still smiling.

"Yeah, it´s really nice here and the teachers are certainly different from those at Blueberry Academy" Less strict and way more more lenient, Kieran mused, chuckling. "Let me put these cookies inside the house before the sun melts them. It´s quite hot today. Do you want something to drink?" Juliana asked, taking the box from her friend, carrying it inside. "Yes please!" He replied, looking around the lot he was standing on. The garden really was beautiful and certainly ripe with all kinds of fruits and vegetables.

Just as he wanted to follow Juliana inside, he saw Ogerpon swiping the patio with a broom, looking all but not pleased. When his friend came back, he gently nudged the girl, pointing towards the sweeping pokemon. "What´s up with Ogi? She looks really angry, did something happen?"

At that, Juliana sighed, giving Keiran his drink.

"It´s a punishment, she did something very bad and is now living through the consequences of it. Right Ogi?" She turned towards the young Pokemon, raising a brow. There was only an indignified huff as answer as she continued to sweep the ground.

"What did she do?" Kieran asked.

"Well, she sneaked up in the attic, got her Iron Cudgel, which by the way she is forbidden from using outside of battles, and decided to hit Momo on top of his head with it..."

Ogi only rolled with her eyes.

"Don´t give me that eyeroll, young lady! We don´t hit in this house and you know that!"

"POOOOOOOOOOON PON!" Ogi replied dramatically, it was amazing how close it sounded to a child, whining. Kieran chuckled, shaking his head. "Poor Momo, i bet that must have hurt!"

"He cried for hours afterwards. I even had to take him to the Pokemon Center! And you know how he likes going there..." Momo had a severe phobia of hospital settings and thus, every visit to the Pokemon Center or it´s sick bay, made the little Pokemon flew into a giant panic attack. "Don´t even get me started when its time for his shots...you don´t wanna see him there..."

Kieran nodded at that, feeling sorry for the little Peach.

"You know, Ogi and Momo are pretty much like Carmine and me when it comes to sibling quabbles. She used to hit me too when i was too annoying for her taste. Of course never so bad that i had to go to the hospital, but still." The memories of these events were still fresh inside his head, albeit it had been years by now that they happened.

"Speaking of Momo, where is he? Terapagos wanted to go play with him as soon he heard me talking about going to visit you!"

"Oh i laid him down for a nap. The heat is making him kind of drowsy and i don´t want him to get a sunburn or heatstroke either. He is in my room." Keiran mused at that for a moment, it was really hot he had to admit. No wonder even Pokemon got bothered by it.

"That´s a shame, but of course his health goes first. I hope he feels better after that nap." He took a sip from his lemonade by now and relished at the taste. "This is really good. Perfect for a hot summer day!" Juliana nodded eagerly. "Yeah, my mom makes the best lemonade around here. Nemona, Arven and Penny can testify to that!" She laughed, pulling Kieran over to her, nuzzling his cheek.

"That said, I am done with gardening for now, why don´t you come inside and we can watch a couple movies? We have an air conditioner too, so it´s nice and cool inside." Before going inside though, she called over Ogi, allowing her a break as well.

"You can take a break as well, Ogi. Take a glass of the lemonade and go inside, okay? I don´t want you to get overheated either...you can continue later!"

Ogerpon was first relieved to finally being able to stop sweeping but got hit by the word "break", which meant that she had to continue later on, which did not sit right with her at all. Pouting she listened to Juliana and went inside with a huff, throwing the broom on the ground, probably to make a point.

"She still has a long way to go..." Juliana sighed, taking Kierans hand, pulling him inside. "Then again, i can´t really blame her. She never had someone to tell her what is right and what is wrong..."

"I think you´re doing a pretty good job as her trainer so far, so don´t worry about it!" They kissed each other and went inside together, hand in hand.

Inside the house there was a commotion going on already, Momo seemingly had woken from his slumber and was now darting through the house, visibly full of energy. From what Juliana could see, he had cookie crumbs around his cheeks which only could mean one thing...he must have gotten in the cookies Kieran had brought and Momo now effectively had a bona fide sugar rush.

"I think someone gourged themselves on your sisters cookies, Kieran..." Juliana chuckled, watching her youngest charge zooming around the house, giggling like crazy. Ogi followed him, visibly annoyed but also with cookie crumbs around her mouth.

"Now that Momo´s awake, i can let out Terapagos as well, that´s what he wanted anyway!" Kieran exclaimed, calling out his friend from inside his ball. "Alright Tera, go have fun with Momo!"

The young Pokemon did not wasted a minute and quickly got a hold of both Momo and Ogi.

"You think they let us watch our movies in peace?" Kieran asked, looking at Juliana with an amused look. "We can try, let´s go before there is yet another incident caused by this trio in the back"

And with that, both Juliana and Kieran sat down and enjoyed a couple hours together, with the joyful and livid background noises of playing Pokemon.

[thehotelojkids]

So Nickel and Balloon, how is it having Penny? And would you ever consider getting another kid?

Nickel: Oh deeeefinitely. It’ll be soooo much fun having to change more dirty diapers and deal with them crying when they don’t get peanut butter. I bet it would be soooo much fun.

Balloon: Uh, Nickel..? Maybe you should focus on the first half of the question??

Nickel: Oh, right. Yeah, Penny’s pretty cool. He’s almost like a mini me, just with arms and…actually, he’s been picking up a bit of my sarcasm. Pretty cool, huh? Soon, he’ll be the new Coiny.

Balloon: I love Penny too! He’s a real fun-loving child, but he’s also cautious and careful sometimes, even if he DOES get lost most of the time.