#yes this is by far the longest retrospective yet

[aheathen-conceivably]

As much as it saddens me to say, it’s time to wrap up our years in New Orleans with another Darlington gameplay retrospective. This decade was a whirlwind both for me and our pixels, from Zelda’s early, carefree days when she first arrived, to the peak of 1920s decadence and Gatsby parties, and then through the grim realities hiding behind the shiny facades.

In the many, many screenies I have been hoarding through it all, you can see little gameplay moments behind the story itself. It was filled with wholesome moments for this new little pixel family, as they grew together and rode out the rocks I continued to throw in their paths. We saw our heir go from a shy, anxious girl to a strong mother; the Duplanchiers move beyond their pasts and toward their futures; and of course, the formative years of the next heiress, the willful and vivacious Little Lottie herself.

[jaelijn]

Fic Writer 2023 Review

Based on this. I always want to do annual reviews but then don't get around to them and then it feels weird doing them in February, so here we go for once. Under a cut because long (There's 30 things and I ramble. Not sorry.).

1. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I suppose that I wrote a fic from Blake's POV counts. I didn't have a big plan for trying something new for Whumptober this year, but I always find myself doing it because everything starts to feel stale if you write 30 fics in so short a timeframe. So the POV was supposed to be what I tried with that fic, but the fic got away from me a bit, so in retrospect the unusual (for me) POV feels comparatively insignificant. There was also more Jenna this year - I think I'm getting there, so yes.

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

I have no idea. I have a very long list of WiPs that I am sure I have added a sentence or two across the year, or maybe I just opened them, fixed a few typos and closed them again, and then I have a few handwritten things that I haven't typed up yet. But *at least* it's 35 published things (31 of which are Whumptobers) and the longfic, so 36. Put like that, it sounds terribly prolific.

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

I enjoy creating without expectation - immersing myself in the longfic with no idea when it will be done or how long it will get was terribly freeing. The downside is that I also realised that I'm not really intrinsicly motivated to post and share anymore, or at least that thought generates no positive pressure at all because scales. It would be really easy for me to never post another fic right now, but I'm not stopping writing.

4. What piece of media inspired you the most?

Always and ever, Blake's 7. There's nothing else that makes me want to write right now.

5. What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

Accordingly: Blake's 7

6. What ship(s) captured your heart?

Avon/Vila. Though they had me already.

7. What character(s) captured your heart?

See above.

8. Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

No. Since a lot of my writing, Whumptober aside, went into the longfic, I didn't do much experimenting - not even during Whumptober, really.

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

Longfic aside, because as ongoing project that obviously matters, possibly Wet Towels, because it feels like I nailed a tonal direction I want to go in with my Avon/Vila.

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

By far, the longfic. Some of the Whumptobers were just the right kind of painful, but the most joy creating - yes, the longfic.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

Impending Destiny. I know I keep harping on about this fic, and maybe I'm the only one who thinks it's the best oneshot I've written this year and everyone else hates it, but it was so intense to write and so satisfying.

12. What fic was the most difficult to write? Did you finish it?

I did a few "second takes" on Whumptober this year, so I guess those and no, but then again the second take wasn't difficult, I just wasn't happy with the first and haven't touched those since. Fic I stuck with, possibly either Ghastly Aftermath, because ouch (it's difficult to write while you're crying at your own writing, all right?) , or Mistaken Trust because the final scenes were difficult to get right.

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

Nothing strikes me as particularly easier than the rest, really, but then what published writing I've done has been mostly in my comfort zone either way. So I guess all of the ones that weren't difficult?

14. What were your shortest and longest fics this year?

With Every Single Kiss has literal drabbles, so that, though all of the drabbles together are longer than my shortest oneshot. Longest is the ongoing longfic (duh) currently sitting at approx. 91k.

15. Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

I am once again begging you to read Impending Destiny, lol. But if that isn't you're cup of tea, try Mistaken Trust or Spun Gold.

16. What were you go-to writing songs?

I didn't have many, this year. There's usually at least one or two, but I had a weird year with music, I feel, with few new songs that I really fell in love with, so there's been lots of playlists on shuffle and there's no song I could point to.

17. What were your go-to writing snacks?

I don't really snack when I write for fun, and I've had to cut down on my chocolate intake, so unless it's a chocolate praline, none.

18. What was the hardest fic to title?

Is "all of them" an answer that's allowed? I guess I could say Free Fall, not because of the fic, but because it was the first Whumptober and I was trying to figure out the "title format" for the rest of the Whumptobers. (I don't know if anyone has noticed that the Whumptobers have had title formats for three years now, but either way...) Other than that, the no-longer-so-untitled longfic was the one I put most thought into titling, but I'm not telling yet.

19. Share your favorite opening line

So... the thing about Whumptober is that it makes you *incredibly aware* of opening lines, or the format of opening lines. I try not to start all of them the same way, but I also tend to... slip into self-referential facetiousness doing that, in that all of them become funny when considered side by side.

I suppose "Avon was high." and "When the rebel forces of Carin IX finally managed to fish Avon out of the river, he was drenched to the bone." still amuse me (Spun Gold and Wet Towels, respectively).

20. Share your favorite ending line

Now I have to open all of them again, haha! Uh, let's do a not-Whumptober for once:

But lying curled up in the embrace of his most trusted companion, his link with and buffer against the world, Avon sometimes wondered whether it had been a curse at all. (The Price, from R&F #7)

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Uh... spoiler for Impending Destiny, but I keep it vague and not post the whole thing?

“Whoever said that love is the most powerful force in the universe was a bloody liar,” Avon spat, “or a colossal fool. [....]"

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

Oh for... just... just read Impending Destiny, okay?

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

Oof, I guess the final lines of Mistaken Trust. It would have been so easy to just let them hug and kiss but Avon resisted and once that line was there I had to do something with it that didn't feel unkind to Vila in a plot that... wasn't kind to Vila. I think I managed the balance and once Avon had said no I didn't want to go back to the easy ending, but it wasn't easy to get right.

24. What’s something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

... Impending Destiny. It was supposed to be a fix-it fic!!! It's... not a fix-it anymore. The shift was so striking that I made a tumblr post about it.

25. What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.)

Word and paper & pen, very occasionally a note app on my phone. All of the Whumptobers had a paper version before I typed them, but I've only written snippets of the longfic on paper. I enjoy not writing at a screen every now and then, but it *is* slower.

26. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

I don't know, because my writing has been so unevenly balanced (very slow but steady progress for most of the year and A LOT of writing in September/October). I suppose finishing the Whumptobers again? Or perhaps when I realised that the longfic was going to be longer than BDaS without it feeling forced.

27. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

No. Once the longfic is done, maybe I will.

28. How did you recharge between fics?

Recharge? What's that? Or rather: between fics? What's that? Hahah.

I know what I would have *liked* to do, which is read a fanfic once in a while, but there's not much new out there to my taste these days. I guess watching other shows counts. I have resorted to rewatching B7 as final measure.

29. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

The numerous people who kudosed, the few people who commented, @oxideblack for the incredible art and for the appreciation of my fics from their circle of fans, @quordleona03 for the inspiration, and @comarum and @foreignobjecticus who know why.

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

Ah, it would be nice to finish the longfic this coming year. But I'm not making any plans. With how I feel about the sharing & posting, I'm counting it as a win if I don't lose my motivation entirely.

[milune-vox]

The Dawn of Redeeming Grace (chapter 4)

previous chapter <=> next chapter

TW: PTSD flashbacks, dissociation You can also read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43003029/chapters/113530150

Chapter 4:

It’s silly, really, when one thinks about it in a rather dissociated way. Distanced. Retrospective. Cynical.

One moment, you are having a good time with a friend, making new, beautiful memories, and enjoying every second of it, tasting it like nectar on hungered lips. 

The second after, a thing of mundanity propels you into a never ending pit of despair and anguish. 

Fact is, his life has been very calm lately. Peaceful times. Complacent, perhaps, would his inner soldier try and whisper to him, crawling under his skin with restless energy and pent up aggression.

Usually, he always manages to soothe this foreboding feeling, this inclination to war and destruction, this instinct telling him to fight tooth and nail to survive. No, now was the time to thrive, truly thrive, and he was not going to let vague reflexes from other lives get in the way. Or so he thought.

And for the longest time, this thinking had been met with bountiful rewards: there was nothing extraordinary, nothing heroic or villainous - his life was something quaint and small and lovely, something absolutely comfortable. Cozy.

It was easy to forget, far removed from the hardships that he once had been so familiar with.

It had been easy, then, to reinvent himself. 

And, another version of himself he did become.

Yes. It had been easy to forget… except, once in a while, something happened, and suddenly, he remembered, and everything he had built came crashing down around him.

Now, there is a definite distinction between simple remembrance and what modern psychology came to call post-traumatic stress. 

In the first case, one could purview the different steps in their existence and retell the various happenings, with more or less emotional depth. 

It was a passing thing, it did  not  overwhelm. It was said and gone with the wind. Sometimes, the recollection was held dear, and thus remained, but only because it was welcome and encouraged to stay, like a fire whose embers are rekindled with every breath.

Traumatic memories, however…

Yes. It was silly. Silly how he always forgot, and remembered, and forgot, and remembered. How long he could go without thinking about it, and then, suddenly, he was there again, and it was all there was, all there had ever been, and every step he had taken since then, every day of his newfound life since those times were all but erased, swept up like a sand castle by a rushing wave.

And now, he was crawling from the kitchen to the bedroom, desperately wishing for the closed blinds and the soft blankets there, and he must have arrived at  his destination, for there he was, curled up next to his bed, looking at the familiar walls with a feeling of strangeness, of otherness so strong it made him want to tear apart his own flesh.

He knew all these objects , the eclectic artwork hanging on the walls, each one holding a story of a time in his life, yet he didn’t recognize them. They belonged to someone else, perhaps, someone he had known, for he could distantly recall facts about them. However, they  were not his. 

All that was his were the screams, and worse, the silence afterwards.

The horror, the grief, the shifting in the world. No hope in his waking hours, none to be found in dreams either. Nothing but a desolate void. 

This is how he felt. This is how he feels.

Cold.

Aching with grief.

Suffocating.

So cold.

Flashes of fallen comrades. Flashes of flesh torn apart. Flashes of feathers. Flashes of glass.

The door to the bedroom creaks open. There is a shadow standing at the threshold. A dark silhouette backlit by the harsh light coming from the outside world.

His stranger, like an angel of death watching, like a bird of prey hovering. 

He comes closer, slowly, ever so slowly, the door closes, banishes the offending light away, and yet Hob shivers in fear. He knows- he knows his stranger, his friend, his-, he will not hurt him, he would never hurt him, but, anything seems possible now, everything is foreign, and knowledge alone isn't enough compared to the flood of these feelings submerging him down to the bones.

Countless bodies scattered on the ground, stacked on top of each other in a grotesque pile of rotting flesh. Naked. Emaciated. 

He sees the reflection of gaunt cheeks on glass - Dream?

Sand. 

A path he took as a child. 

A battlefield through time. Bodies returning to the earth. Decay, growth. A field of poppies. A night sky. Two distant stars shining brighter, closer-

The flashes stop.

He's still here.

He's still breathing.

He is in his bedroom, and Dream is standing a few feet away from him, eyes strangely glowing in the dark.

The sight should frighten him- and yet, the fear fades away like a bad dream. 

It shifts, instead. It transforms into shame. 

Shame shifts into anxiety: for his dear stranger to disavow him and take his leave, disgusted by his pitiful state. 

The images may be gone, but his every nerve is exposed. He feels like his skin was flayed and salt was rubbed into his wounds.

The eyes stop glowing. He is met with the familiar blue, kohl-rimmed eyes. The sight anchors him enough to force words out of his mouth- his voice sounds pathetic to his ears, and the pit of his shame only grows:

“Please pardon me my friend. I… need some time. I’ll come back. It just takes time. It hasn't happened in... awhile. I just need to find my footing, is all.”

He knows this feeling is temporary. He doesn't know it in his bones, just knows the words by heart, for he has played this script many times over. It will cease. It seems like it might not. But, it will. 

Won't it? 

It will.

The first few times this had happened, he had thought he was dying. He had been younger than he was now, physically- as in, it was before he became immortal. 

He has had a very long life. Lots of trauma to adorn it. One learns their way to deal with the failings of the mind.

At any other time, he would have been surprised, delighted even, that his friend, always so dignified and haughty, kneels down next to him, but now it simply confuses him, and he locks his arms around his legs, squeezes them tighter.

He feels compelled to explain.

In the darkness of his room, in the shared space between them, the side of his bed against his back, he whispers, like a secret.

"It was. It was bad."

His voice cracks. This is selling it short. There are no words to describe the horrors he’s witnessed, the pain he’s been through. 

He can’t formulate this. He finds that his energy has left him. He feels emptied out, suddenly, like a cracked teapot whose entire content spread on the ground.

His body has been destroyed countless times. Along with it, his mind. Always, he picks himself up, and goes on. On and on. However, sometimes, he forgets why he still lives. It never lasts, but he does. 

He still knows that he wants to go on, as a general rule. That more days than not, he hungers for life, he hungers for more. 

And this knowledge, cold, detached, mathematical really, this data he’s collected about himself is the one thing keeping him alive when the void replaces his heart, when the memories empty him of every single drop of warmth.

He looks over at his friend and he can’t feel anything. 

That’s what he tells himself, and it’s how it truly is, for a short, fleeting moment.

The more he looks at him, however, the more his sense of detachment starts crumbling.

The more he stares, the more it becomes real. The moment. His presence. Their proximity. A few rays of light slip through the closed blinds, a gleaming line surfaces from under the bedroom door.

The rays catch the planes of Dream's perfect, eternal face. They light up the wild, raven strands of hair, giving him the faintest halo.

His friend is watching him kindly.

His eyes glisten, not from starlight, but from unshed tears.

If Hob didn't know what he was, he would think him an angel. He thinks, as he had thought in the White Horse tavern six centuries ago and every meeting since: this is the most beautiful man he has ever seen.

Slowly, the numbness dispels.

Warmth rushes back, like cracks spreading discreetly, serpentine across a dam. 

It gets wider, it gets louder, and the first geyser of pure, raw feeling starts erupting and boils over in his heart, he claws at his chest, and oh Lord, does he ache, oh Lord, for all the screaming humanity and all the loss, for all the beauty and all the terror-oh Lord does he worship the ground this being walks on, and he loves, and he hurts, and he-

With this realisation come all of the things he kept at bay in order to go on, and this time, he allows himself to feel it whole, not that he has a choice anymore.

He cannot hide in front of his friend, he lays him bare, his sole presence pulverises every well crafted armour, every shielding thought.

He tries to formulate words, to apologise, to do something, and he hates how he can do nothing but trembling tearfully under his friend's gaze, so sympathetic, so knowing, it feels almost too much.

And then, Dream surprises him once again. He does something Hob wouldn't have imagined possible- would have imagined nonetheless, as a foolish fantasy, never believing it might someday come true.

Dream slowly, with utmost care, raises one of his pale, slender hands. For a moment, it lingers in the space between them, indecisive - and then, it cups the side of his face, gently wiping his tears with a swipe of the thumb.

Hob’s eyes flutter shut and his breath catches in his throat.

He could die now, and it would be worth it. If he hadn't already fallen for Dream a few centuries ago, this would have been it. 

His surprise only temporarily stops the onslaught of tears.

When he does start sobbing in earnest, he doesn't know why he's crying anymore, out of grief, pain, love, or even joy.

He keeps his eyes firmly shut, unable to confront his friend's gaze anymore, so he doesn't witness the moment in which Dream's resolve cements itself on his features, and he leans forward, enveloping his friend in a crushing hug.

Hob all but whimpers and immediately holds on to Dream's coat like a lifeline, melting completely into the embrace.

He hides his face in the crook of his friend's neck, and shakes, shakes in silent sobs, the only sobs he knows to do, for he has had to hide his pain for too long and has forgotten the way people cry when left to their own devices, wailing like children do. 

He still has this little piece of facade up. He holds it desperately. In vain. His breathing is impossibly ragged and a few sobs escape him. He hears himself weep as if it were another man pouring his soul out, as if it weren't him being held by his friend, as if he'd just decided to up and walk away from this.

Still, he bounces back into his body on and off, taking in the unexpected heat emanating from Dream's body. A part of him hates this moment. A greater part of him swears to cherish it forever.

He doesn’t notice it at first, how Dream rocks him back and forth, ever so slowly, and it breaks his last wall, and he whimpers, pathetically.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He thinks dignity ought not to be a concern anymore, at this point. His ego died a few thousand times on a few thousand different occasions anyway. What is one more, really.

The deep voice of his friend, so close now, resonates in his entire body.

“There is no need to apologise, Hob Gadling. I am the one who should be apologising."

He hiccups, confused:

"What, no-"

“I am at fault. Were it not for my presence, you would not have experienced this as you did. You have seen not only your own memories, but mine as well."

"Wait, that- that was you, when-"

Hob feels Dream stiffening. His voice is barely above a whisper, and yet still retains his otherworldly, all encompassing quality.

"I apologise. I should have been able to contain my reaction to these... loud human entertainment devices.”

He has no idea how Dream’s powers work, and even then, he can’t fault him for this. He laughs against Dream’s collarbone instead, and, feeling a little bit more like himself, takes out a fabric handkerchief from his jeans’ pocket and rubs his face with it (which is considered to be a very grandpa thing to do, he’s been told countless times), dabbing at his eyes and his nose.

Dream is frowning at him like he’s wondering if he’s lost his mind, chuckling as helplessly as he is, and Hob tries to explain.

 “You know, if you lined up everyone in the whole world and asked them to describe fireworks, nobody at all would say ‘loud human entertainment devices’.”

Dream huffs, and it would be a small thing in anyone else, but, from him, it almost feels like a chuckle.

His face still iced in guilt, though, and Hob’s other hand finds itself in the crook of his friend’s elbow, holding on gently. He focuses himself, calming his breathing, looks him in the eye to try and convey the sincerity of his words, to try and reassure him, to try and wipe this haunted look from his beautiful face.

"I don't blame you. Why would I blame you? You didn't do it on purpose. Also, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

His words do not have the desired effect, as Dream tenses some more, and stubbornly, self-deprecatingly answers:

"I may not have done it on purpose, however, it is my duty-"

"No duty here my friend. Fuck duty, honestly.”

Dream’s lips part slightly and Hob grins madly.

After a few beats, a small smile lights up his face. It truly is a lovely sight which Hob gets to see up close, very close, and his heart, lightened after all  all the crying, dances lazily in his chest. 

He should really do something, he thinks fleetingly, and his eyes catch on pink lips.

Do something.

Something...

He breathes in loudly -he’d forgotten to breathe.

He tears his eyes away for Dream’s lips, swallows nervously, and blinks a few times.

“I should probably get some water on my face. Must be puffy as all hell.”, he says jokingly, patting at his own cheeks to demonstrate. “Haven’t cried so much in, well, awhile”, he laughs half-heartedly and, putting a hand on the bed, rises.

His head swims, his vision blacks out, and he sits back down on the mattress. 

Dream stands half risen, frozen in alert, watching him like he might collapse any second. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just tired myself out, blood is struggling to- to reach my head, going to take things slow.”

Dream nods solemnly.

“You need rest.”

“Hm-hm. I'm fine.”

Hob should have probably expected it.

Expected that his words wouldn’t  be able to soothe Dream’s guilt- expected that he would think it his duty that he gets some rest.

One second, Hob is sitting with his head in his hands, and then the next - 

The next, he doesn’t remember very well.

He’s definitely having words about it with Dream later.

For now, he’s having quite the lovely dream. He’s standing in a field he used to run through with other children in his village, back when he himself was still a child. There’s the loveliest smell of ripe fruit floating in the air, dewdrops glisten like a billion pearls strewn across the grass and the sky’s a perfect blue.

A dog he had a few decades ago wags his tail and barks at him, enticing him to run after, and he does. 

It is nice and peaceful. Joyous. They race down to the bay where the watermelon grows. There is a man there, on the shore.

Tall and dark. Handsome. Familiar.

Hob waves. 

The man waves back.

[autolenaphilia]

Adventure games never died.

There is a narrative about point-and-click adventure games. And it goes like this: The genre had its heyday in the 1990s, dominated by games by Sierra and Lucasarts. And then the commercial fortunes changed for the genre, as it got left behind technologically. The failures in the late 90s of games like Grim Fandango and Escape from Monkey Island (Lucasarts) and Gabriel Knight 3 (Sierra) convinced these studios to abandon Adventure games and develop Star Wars tie-in games instead or shut down entirely in the case of Sierra.

And then the genre was stone cold dead between 2000 (when Escape from Monkey Island was released) and around 2012, when The Walking Dead series by Telltale (founded in part by Lucasarts veterans) revived the genre. So the 00s is the era when adventure games were supposedly dead.

This narrative is wrong, very wrong. It’s only correct from a perspective that is both AAA-centric and US-centric.

For what actually happened is that adventure games stopped being developed by big AAA American game studios (which in the very different video game environment of the 90s Sierra and Lucasarts actually was).

And instead it moved to indie studios and smaller studios based in Europe. The genre was always best played on a PC and PC gaming has remained far more popular in Europe than the US. The success of The Longest Journey, developed by Norwegian studio Funcom and released in 1999 around the time of those American’s games commercial failure indicated the genre’s future.

The European games were often ignored by American journalists, but they were objectively successful. These games sold well enough to get sequels, which is a fairly good indicator of success. The majority of these games had traditional publishers, and no publisher would fund a sequel to a game that was a commercial failure. Games like Microids Syberia and Post-Mortem (2002), Frogwares’s Sherlock Holmes (2002) series,Future Games’s The Black Mirror(2003), Dark Fall: The Journal by Jonathan Boakes and Fusionsphere Systems/Animation Arts Secret Files (2006) are all examples of games from that decade that were popular enough to spawn multiple sequels over the years.

Even smaller American developers developed successful adventure games during this period, like Her Interactive’s insanely prolific Nancy Drew series. And during this period the indie game scene started developing and one of the genres indie game developers explored were graphic adventure games. The Blackwell series (2006-2014) by Wadjet eye Games is probably the most notable American indie adventure game series from this era.

So many adventure games were made, and they kept on selling. Yet American and british game journalists largely ignored them. This was partly because these games were made outside of the mainstream, outside of the “triple-ayyy” gaming environment. It took until the 2010s until indie games were taken seriously by mainstream games writing.

I think the “death of adventure games” does refer to a real phenomenon, a shift in their mainstream success where adventure games in the 90s were mainstream and Lucasarts and Sierra were able to be regarded as major studios to adventure games being part of a smaller niche market and developed by non-majors. This did mean a reduction in sales for adventure games.

And yes, I do agree this was probably due to technological shifts in computers and video games, in particular the shift from 2D to 3D. The point-and-click adventure genre did not have much to gain by adding a third dimension. The gameplay is that you view a 2D image and click on interactable hotspots on that image. It’s hard to translate that into the third dimension. Those that tried, like the aforementioned Grim Fandango and Gabriel Knight 3 were commercial failures.In retrospect they seem like aberrations. The games in the genre that followed, the successful ones, returned to what was essentially 2D. The Longest Journey showed the easiest way to incorporate 3D into the point-and-click genre, and that was to have 3D animated characters moving on a 2D background, viewed from a static camera angle. So again it became a matter of viewing and interacting with a largely 2D image. And that became a very popular method of adventure game presentation.

Yet such things are not technologically innovative or even that impressive, since it is a kind of fake 3D. And video games as a medium have always been driven by technological developments, at least its mainstream. Mainstream video game advertisements and journalists want games to be technically and visually impressive and that is usually defined in terms of realistic looking 3D graphics. The adventure game genre due to its mechanics being unsuited for 3D was left behind in such an environment. When 2D was the best graphics PCs could produce, adventure games were in the running. When 3D became the standard, it could no longer compete in a mainstream video game environment. The first-person-shooter whose gameplay was well-suited for 3D would now thrive.

So adventure games were pushed out of the mainstream and became a more niche part of the game market, developed by smaller and indie studios. Yet that is provably not a death of the genre. Adventure games continued to be developed, continued to sell. Not being the biggest thing in the mainstream market isn’t death. And when developers of adventure games decided they don’t need the latest 3D graphics, they don’t need big-budget studio money either.

It’s just that mainstream game journalism is US- and anglocentric and even more so AAA-centric. Adventure games started being developed by smaller studios, often located in Europe, and thus moved beyond the limited knowledge of mainstream US-based games journalism. And those journalists interpreted that as a death of the genre.

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Hi can I request a peter parker x barnes-Rogers reader (steve and Bucky's daughter) and me and Peter find out I'm pregnant with Peter's baby and we try to keep it a secret but everyone is suspicious of us cause I've been really poorly lately and Peter is being overprotective and one day Peter accidentally says "don't do that it could hurt the baby" or "and everyone freaks out and me, Peter and my dads have a long talk but everything is fine thanks xx

Unexpected

Pairing: Peter Parker x Barnes-Rogers! Reader

Requested?: Yes!

Word count: Almost 7k

Warnings: Pregnancy, some angst but thats it I think?

Author's Note: Yessssss this was so fun to write! Very excited to be back to posting on this page again. Thank you so much for the request! Hope to start adding in more content soon, so if yall have any requests feel free to send them in! And if you have requests sent in already, know that I love you and I will be getting to clearing out my inbox here pretty soon 🥰

Taglist: @just-that-bi-girl , @winterfrostsarmy

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

In retrospect, the entire team should have realized what was going on with you a lot sooner. To their credit, most of them had noticed that something was different about you, but other than Nat and Wanda none of them had a guess as to what exactly that was. 

The men appeared completely clueless in respect to the cause of the recent changes in you. Even Clint, a married father of three, hadn't caught on even after he'd seen you leaving the bathroom having clearly just thrown up. Tony had been the closest to figuring it out of the all men, having noticed your odd mood swings and crying fits as they became more and more frequent. He noted the same behavioral pattern as he'd found himself stuck in after the Battle of New York, and secretly worried for your mental well-being. He hadn't felt comfortable enough to broach the topic with you just yet though, instead opting to watch you from a distance for the time being. 

The women, however, seemed to understand almost instantly what was going on. Nat had figured things out once she realized that you had been skipping training lately and noticed that you and Peter barely appeared to leave one another's sides for even a moment. Wanda based her guess almost solely upon the fact that she could just feel that something was different about you; your entire energy had changed in the last few weeks and she noted it even before Peter had. Both women had their suspicions, but had seemingly agreed to keep their thoughts to themselves until you were ready to tell the team what was going on. 

Your dads were a different story altogether. 

It took Steve and Bucky much longer to notice something had changed with their daughter, Steve longest of all. Either you'd done a great job of avoiding your Pops or he'd been incredibly unobservant (or more likely both), but he hadn't seen anything that he would've considered out of the ordinary for you. 

That is, until today. 

"AAAAUUUUUUGGGGH"

Steve was on his feet in an instant, sprinting into the kitchen at the sound of your enraged scream. He skidded to a stop and surveyed the room with a trained look for the source of danger, but found none. In fact, you and Sam were the only two in the space as far as he could tell. Sam's back was pressed snugly against the furthermore countertop as you practically cornered him, the older man clearly caught off guard by your sudden burst of rage. You flung your hands around wildly as you yelled, one gripping a box so tightly that your knuckles were beginning to turn a concerning shade of white.

Completely bewildered, Steve watched in stunned silence for moment as you fumed and screamed expletives at the slightly-terrified looking Sam, without any clear indication as to what had happened. 

"I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE YOU, YOU GODDAMNED ASSHO-"

"Y/N Barnes-Rodgers!" Steve scolded you finally, momentarily stopping your verbal assault. "What in God's name is going on here?" 

Your eyes turned to your Pops' briefly before flickering back to glare in Sam's direction. 

"Pigeon-brain ate the last of my oreos," you seethed, walking forward and jabbing an accusatory finger to Sam's chest, his hands instantly flying upwards in surrender.

 Steve felt his jaw drop in utter disbelief.

“You-,” 

“What’s with all the commotion in here?” Bucky interrupted, striding into the kitchen much as Steve had moments ago and joining his husband's side with a confused look on his face. Steve crossed his arms and frowned at their daughter. 

“Apparently our daughter is screaming at Sam because he ate her cookies.” your Pops explained tersely.

“Not cookies, oreos,” you muttered, glare never wavering from Sam. You furiously threw the offending empty package roughly at his still bewildered face in lieu of another expletive. Sam was evidently so bewildered, in fact, that he didn't even flinch as the box hit his head and bounced pathetically to the floor. 

Bucky raised his eyebrow. 

“And that’s why you’ve been screaming like that?” he confirmed. You nodded, arms crossing your chest stubbornly. 

Bucky shrugged, looking towards his husband with a look of indifference. “Makes sense.”

“No, it absolutely does not make sense,” Steve lightly scolded, glancing at Bucky with a pointed look before returning his gaze to you. “Y/N you’re completely overreacting. Apologise to Sam right now.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you gaped at your dads with an expression that was equal parts betrayal and rage. 

“No.”

“No?” Steve repeated incredulously. He stared at you with disbelief, looking between you and Bucky like he was hoping he’d somehow misheard you. You met his glance with an equally stubborn look as you planted your feet solidly beneath you and tightened the cross of your arms. “What do you mean, no?”

“You heard me,” you spat, unwavering. 

Sam merely looked confused as he watched the two of you argue, if albeit still a bit scared, but Bucky was sure his shock was evident on his face. You never back-sassed your Pops, not even when you were really angry, and Bucky only felt his disbelief grow at the prospect that your attitude was all due to a few cookies. 

"Y/N, you don't get to tell me no," Steve ground out carefully, voice stern with a rare sort of parental authority he seldom had to use with you. In fact, Bucky was pretty sure he hadn't actually heard him use this particular tone since way back when you were a toddler testing the limits of your dads' patience. But unlike your three-year-old self, you didn't back down at your Pops' disapproving tone; in fact, you met his intense stare with a flippant roll of your eyes, deepening your dad's shock at your abrupt behavioral shift. 

"He fucking knows what he did, everyone knows those oreos are mine," you snapped, eyes alight with a kind of fury the likes of which your dads had never seen from you before. 

"Language!" Steve gasped at his daughter, his authoritative tone giving way to a spluttering one of complete disbelief. 

"FUCK OFF!" you shouted instantly. 

"HEY!"

Bucky had officially had enough. Irritation blossomed deep within his chest at the hurt he saw wash through his husband's eyes at your vulgar screech. Teenaged angst was one thing, but it was entirely another to blatantly disrespect Steve like you were. He still didn't know what was really causing you to act like this--because no way in hell could this be all over some oreos-- but he'd definitely passed the point where he even cared. 

"Doll, that’s enough. Clearly you're upset, but you cannot speak to your Pops like that," he practically growled. You turned your attention to your dad with the same kind of indignant irritation in your eyes, a flash of fresh anger rolling across your face at the sight of Bucky's equally irate expression. 

"You can fuck off too," you spat.

 Bucky's jaw clenched dangerously, the muscle in his cheek jumping and twitching as he took in his daughter's crass retort. Sam had long since left the scene, the nearly suffocating tension officially too much for him to take. Steve's eyes went wide for what felt like the millionth time since he'd first walked into the kitchen. If he hadn't known something was wrong before, he undoubtedly did now. 

You may not disobey him often, but you never snapped at Bucky. 

Steve had long since accepted that, though you loved the two of them the same, you'd always liked Bucky more. A daddy's girl from birth, you and Bucky had always been inseparable-- so for you to now scream and curse at him like this was like a flaming-red flag in Steve's mind. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

"Excuse me?" Bucky hissed. The two of you faced one another, arms crossed and expressions grim. You planted your feet even more solidly underneath you, staring your dad down with a fury so intense it was almost palpable. If it weren't for the overall tension of the situation, Steve might've teased the two of you for your near-mirrored positions. 

"Y/N? What's going on, I thought I heard yelling?" Peter asked as he practically skidded into the kitchen. He immediately joined you, face morphing into a look of utter concern at the sight of yours and Bucky's standoff. Steve braced himself, mentally apologizing to Peter for the verbal assault that was surely coming his way. 

But it never came. 

It was as if all the unwarranted anger was sucked from your body in a rush as soon as you caught sight of your boyfriend. Your face crumpled into an anguished expression, and Steve could see how the tears welled up in your eyes instantaneously. Peter clicked his tongue in pity and you thrust yourself instantly into his awaiting arms. He gripped you tightly, and you eagerly buried yourself further into his embrace. Face smashed tightly against his chest, you began to sob uncontrollably.

Your dads gaped at the scene, wide-eyed. 

"S-sam ate my oreos a-and now everyone's mad at me, and I j-just wanted my snack!" you all but wailed, voice muffled by Peter's body. 

Bucky blinked once as he turned to his husband, total confusion written all over his features. Steve just gaped in response, unable to formulate a semi-coherent thought, let alone words. 

"Oh angel, it's okay," Peter cooed softly into your hair, hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly as you continued to cry. "I can go and get you more oreos; don't cry Y/N/N, I'll just run down to the store right now to get you some."

Lifting your head from his chest, you seemed slightly placated and hopeful as you sniffled and looked up at him. 

"C-can I come with you?" you asked him shyly, tear-stained cheeks turning a slight shade of pink at your childish request. Peter smiled fondly down at you, clearly happy to see that you were feeling better. 

"Of course, it'll be nice to walk with you," he smiled sweetly at you and lightly kissed your nose. You giggled as you removed yourself from his embrace before walking over to your dads. 

"M'sorry I shouted daddys. Love you guys!" you apologized in a chipper voice before kissing both of the men's bewildered cheeks. 

The two supersoldiers both stood in stunned silence as they watched you leave hand in hand with Peter, who briefly shot them an apologetic look before the pair were gone. Steve thought he heard Peter mumbling something to Y/N as they left, but the only words he could pick out were "not good to get so worked up", which only confused him further. 

"What in the hell was that?" Bucky grumbled, face still crinkled with bewilderment. Steve simply shook his head. 

"I have absolutely no idea. I've never seen her behave like that, have you?"

"Nothing like that, but she was acting funny the other day too," he frowned, recalling the scene he'd walked in on just a few days prior. "She was full out sobbing on the couch a few days ago over a toilet paper commercial."

Steve gaped at his husband. 

"Sh-she...what?"

"Doll have you seen your Pops? I can't find him any-"

Bucky's question died in his throat as soon as he hit the threshold of the TV room. You were curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees as sobs racked through you. Peter sat next to you with his eyes crinkled in concern and hands rubbing gently at your shoulders as you cried. 

"Y/N what's wrong, why are you crying?" Bucky asked. Feeling his protective instincts kick in instantly,  he couldn't help but search the room with his eyes in search of any danger. Finding nothing, he narrowed his eyes at your boyfriend.

"Did he do something?" Bucky demanded. "Parker I swear to God if you hurt her I-" 

"What? N-no I didn't do anything Mr. Bucky I swear!" Peter spluttered, eyes widening in fear at the terrifying look in your dad's eyes. 

"Bullshit, then why's she crying like that? Of course you did someth-"

"N-no it's not P-peter dad!" you interrupted tearfully. "There was an ad on TV that just made me emotional okay? You know, the one with the boy crying in the bathroom and his dad offers him toilet paper for his tears?"

There was a beat of silence. 

"Doll, you really mean to tell me that you're sobbing over a toilet paper ad?" Bucky asked, brows furrowed in disbelief. You sniffled as you nodded, and fresh tears began to pick your eyes once more. 

"Yes! I mean it's just so inspiring," you blubbered. "I mean how often do you actually get to see a teenaged boy cry on TV? Never, cause toxic masculinity standards in this stupid patriarchal society we all live in say otherwise! And not only does the dad accept that his son is crying and is allowed to feel real emotions, he sits down to talk with him about them! I just got so happy thinking about all the little boys who will see this ad and feel the validation that they're normal for feeling sad every once in a while!"

Bucky just stared at his daughter with a blank look for a moment; he looked like he was unable to formulate a single response to the information he'd just been given. 

"Well that's...uh….that's great I gue-"

"I can't believe you would just assume that me crying just had to be because of something Peter did," you interrupted, angrily brushing the leftover tears from your face. "It's so unfair, you always blame him for everything!"

"I-uh," Bucky stammered, flustered by the sudden change in your emotions. You scoffed and stood quickly from your spot in Peter's embrace, crossing your arms petulantly. 

"It's true dad, you're always looking for something to yell at him for! It's so biased and unfair," you practically yelled. "Honestly it's such prejudiced bullshit. Some kind of outdated 'lock up your daughters' rhetoric that I can't believe yo…"

At some point during your impassioned speech you began stomping away from both your dad and Peter while still ranting. As your shouts became fainter and fainter Bucky found himself directing his dumbfounded expression at Peter instead. In a rare show of solidarity with your boyfriend, Bucky silently begged for an explanation as to what on earth had just happened. 

Despite the way his heart was hammering wildly in his chest Peter remained silent. He offered only a passive shrug to your dad before he clambered to his feet and began following after you. If Bucky hadn't been caught so off guard he surely would've been suspicious at the visible sweat that was beading on Peter's forehead and the way the young boy's hands trembled as he quickly left the room, the question of what was causing your mood swings laying thickly unanswered in the air. 

"What the fu-"

"She...a toilet paper ad? Really?"

"Yep, a friggin' toilet paper commercial," Bucky nodded solemnly. Steve blinked once, shaking his head. 

"So what did you do?" he asked incredulously. 

"Nothin'," Bucky shrugged. "She was so damned worked up that I figured she needed some space, and by the time I went to talk to her she'd already seemed completely fine. Thought it wasn't worth upsetting her all over again."

Steve snorted. 

"Yeah right, you were just too scared you would make her mad again," he chuckled. 

"Hell yeah I was," Bucky admitted freely, crossing his arms and shooting his husband a defiant expression. "You've seen her, you know how terrifying she can be when she's pissed!"

Steve chuckled once more, shaking his head fondly. 

"Mmmm, and I wonder where she got that from."

Bucky narrowed his eyes and scowled at the implication, a surly look overtaking his features. Steve couldn't help but laugh outright at the expression on his husband's face; it was the exact same face you always made when you were annoyed, right down to the little pout in your lip. 

"For the last time Stevie, she doesn't get that from me," he grumbled. 

"Sure Buck, whatever you say," Steve laughed. 

Though your odd behavior and mood swings were at least now on both your dads' radar, neither had any clue as to the actual reason for your sudden changes. The pair of them chalked up the incidents to little more than teenaged angst, however they had no idea how wrong they were nor just how soon they were about to find out what was really going on. 

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

"I don't understand Y/N," Steve stated carefully. "Why exactly don't you want to go with the team?"

You shifted your weight from foot to foot anxiously, huffing out a breath in mock annoyance and very real frustration. 

You'd been in the training room, lightly working out with Nat and Wanda when your Pops and Tony had walked in to announce that there was an urgent mission that apparently would require the entire team. Internally cursing your timing, you'd tried to sneak out of the room unnoticed, but as your luck would have it, your dad caught you. Now you were stuck arguing with your dads, the attention and curiosity of everyone in the gym directed at you. 

Your heart was thrumming wildly in your chest as you furiously racked your brain for some way, any way, out of this assignment and this conversation without an actual reason. 

Well, a reason you were actually willing to give, that is.

"Why does it even matter?" you snapped, hoping that no one clocked the tremor in your voice. "It's not like you guys even need me anyways."

"Doll, you always jump at the chance to come with us," your dad interjected. "So what's so different about today?"

"I just don't want to," you whined, lying through your teeth. "I'm tired and I don't feel good."

"But you were literally just training?" Sam pointed out. You narrowed your eyes at him, irritation bubbling under the surface of your anxiety at the contradiction. The older man shrank back a bit under your firey gaze, the previous incident in the kitchen clearly prominent in his mind as he stepped behind Wanda. 

Clint snorted. 

"If you could even call that training," he mumbled under his breath. Your jaw dropped. 

"What is this, gang up on Y/N day?!" you sassed as your arms flew to cross your chest defensively. Your Pops shook his head. 

"We're just worried Y/N/N," he reassured, brows furrowed with concern. "You've been behaving very strangely lately, and this is just one more thing."

"Yeah doll," Bucky nodded, agreeing with his husband. "So what gives?"

Your pulse sped up once more at the direct question, a sickening feeling rising in your throat like bile at the realization of just how suspicious your dads were. Unable to think clearly through your panic, you did the only thing you could think of. 

You scoffed in fake disbelief, rolled your eyes, and began stomping out of the room. 

"Y/N Barnes-Rodgers!" your dad shouted in an indignant and angered tone. "We are not done talking about this!" 

Damn. 

"What?!" you whirled around, stomping your foot like a child. "I just don't want to go this time okay?"

Bucky's face turned red at your open defiance, but Steve interrupted before he could even open his mouth to snap back at you. 

"No Y/N it's absolutely not okay," he scolded. You felt the burn of unshed tears prick your eyes as they searched desperately around the room, mind racing to think of an excuse that would get you out of this situation. 

"But-"

"No, no buts Y/N," your dad barked, clearly having composed himself enough to speak once more. His arms were crossed as he glared at you, and the stubbornly annoyed look on his face was enough to make the tears in your eyes begin to fall. A feeling of utter entrapment and fear settled in your chest like a suffocating weight as you felt the hot, fresh tears stream down your cheeks. 

"Doll, are you crying?" your Pops questioned incredulously. "What on earth is going on with you?"

"Nothing! I just can't go today," you blubbered, past the point of being able to hold back your sobs. 

"You can't go, or you won't go?" Bucky asked pointedly, evidently not swayed by your tears. 

"It doesn't matter," you cried desperately. Your dad's eyes bored into yours directly as if he was searching your brain to find out what you were holding back from him. 

"It clearly does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be acting like this," he continued harshly. "I'm not sure what it is you aren't telling us, but I don't even care at this point. Stark said he needs everyone and your Pops told you to go, so you need to get yourself together and go and get ready."

The tears were now cascading down your face in giant streams and your face was growing warmer by the second. You darted your gaze back and forth between the other team members' faces, still searching for some kind of last minute way out of this situation. Finding only curious or concerned expressions, you turned back to your dads with wide eyes. You felt your mouth go dry as your lips open and closed wordlessly, the severity of your current predicament weighing you down more and more by the second. 

"I-"

"No. I don't want to hear another word from you Y/N," your dad snapped. "Go and get ready for the mission now."

"But she can't go!"

Time stopped for a split second as the entire room's heads snapped towards the desperate shout.

Peter had only just entered the training room, wondering where everyone was, when he caught the tail end of your dad's order. He couldn't help but blurt the first thing that'd come to mind, the implication of which only dawned on him afterwards. As he rushed to your side he shot you a sheepish look, and you internally cringed a bit at his slip. 

Even though you were certain Peter's involvement would only further reduce your already slim chances of getting out of this mission without a full confession of what was really going on, you couldn't help but feel an inkling of relief as his eyes locked with yours. His hand immediately intertwined itself with yours once he'd reached you, and your belly fluttered with a warm tinge of comfort with the simple touch.

True, things were probably about to go sideways for the both of you, but at least Peter was here to go through it by your side. 

"Excuse me Parker?" your dad spat incredulously, eyes blazing with anger at your boyfriend's outburst. "I don't recall asking you for your opinion on my daughter or what she can or can't do."

Peter stood a little taller as he looked Bucky straight in the eyes with an unprecedented amount of determination. 

"She can't go." he practically growled, eyes stern and unyielding as he openly defied your dad. He was standing a half-step in front of you, tense back partially shielding you from the rest of the team as he spoke.

 Even with his face turned the opposite direction you could see from his profile the way his brows were furrowed and how dark his normally chocolate brown eyes had gotten. You felt a slight shiver run up your spine at the fiercely protective energy Peter was radiating, and your heart felt a bit lighter at the way he stood up to your dad on your behalf. You squeezed his hand in an effort to ground him, and he softened marginally as he glanced back at you.

Your dad however looked as if he might combust soon based on the way his eyes bulged out and his face turned a concerning shade of red. 

"What's that supposed to mean Peter?" Steve interjected carefully, his hand reaching up to rest comfortingly on his husband's shoulder. 

"It means exactly what we said," Peter said firmly. "Y/N cannot go on this mission today."

The team watched the interaction between you, Peter, and your dads with their heads bouncing back and forth between the four of you like they were watching a tennis match. Not a word had been uttered from a single one of them, and yet they stood completely transfixed as they waited patiently to see the outcome of the argument. 

"And why, pray tell, is that Parker?" your dad hissed, scowl etched across his features. 

Peter's eyes traveled to yours, irises swimming with a silent question. Realizing that there was no way out, you took a steadying breath as you nodded softly and squeezed his hand once more in reassurance. Peter smiled at you fondly before dropping his smile and turning back to your parents. 

"She can't go because...it could be bad for the baby."

You could've heard a pin drop in the training room. No one made a sound, no one even dared to breathe. The shock in the room was palpable, but you couldn't be bothered to even glance at anyone other than your dads, their reactions the only two that mattered to you in this moment. 

Though you'd expected a rather explosive reaction from your parents (especially from your dad), you were met instead with blank stares. Your dads were simply staring at you and Peter in stunned silence, and their lack of a response actually frightened you more than the screaming you'd been anticipating for weeks now. The beat of silence seemed to stretch on eternally, though in reality it was probably no more than thirty seconds. You watched nervously, your hand becoming sweaty in Peter's as you waited. Finally, your Pops blinked and opened his mouth cautiously. 

"Bad for the wha-"

"I SWEAR TO GOD PARKER THAT'D BETTER BE SOME KIND OF DISGUSTING PET NAME FOR MY DAUGHTER."

Ahhh. There it was. 

Your dad had clearly broken through his frozen thoughts enough to respond, and you would've laughed if you weren't so terrified. He looked positively furious; his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them and his face had darkened from red to an almost purple color that looked painful to say the least. His murderous gaze was hyper-fixated on Peter, and you couldn't help but step in front of your poor boyfriend in an effort to take some of the heat off him. 

Peter, evidently, was having none of that, and he frowned before pulling you backwards and tucking you into his side tightly. If you hadn't been so focused on your dad right now you might've rolled your eyes at his over-protectiveness. Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of his embrace as you took a steadying breath. 

"It's not," you responded as calmly as you could manage while your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your throat. "I'm pregnant."

Silence enveloped the room once more, and you could've sworn it was even more awkward than the first time. It must've been, because you could see Nat and Wanda ushering the rest of the team out of the gym out of the corner of your eye. You weren't quite sure if you were grateful for the privacy or more scared of how your dads would react now that you were alone.

Your dads stared at you and Peter with wildly different expressions. Steve was staring off into space and looking as if he was either going to throw up or pass out soon, and Bucky still looked as if he was about a half a second away from murdering Peter with his bare hands. To his credit, Peter was still standing by your side with the same look of determination as before despite this, but you could feel the way his pulse was hammering through his veins as he too carefully surveyed your dads' reactions.

You stood quietly, trying to be patient as you watched them, but the suspense and anticipation quickly became overwhelming and you couldn't help but blurt,

"Say something!"

Though both their gazes snapped up to your face with your plea, yet neither your dad nor you Pops said anything. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to explain yourself. 

"I know that you're probably in shock or angry or maybe both- and honestly that's completely fair!" You rambled breathlessly. "I know we're still only eighteen, but I really think everything's gonna be okay? Really, I do. And I'm so sorry about today, believe me this isn't how we planned on telling you at all bu-"

"You're not coming on the mission," Steve interrupted, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Nor is Peter. Your dad and I will be back later, and we're all going to have a long discussion."

It felt like all the air was sucked out of your body as you watched your Pops pull your dad towards the training room exit. You hadn't been fully sure of just how you were going to tell them, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine that it would come out like this. Tears once more welling up in your eyes, your heart sank as you realized just how disappointed and angry they were. 

"I love you," your voice cracked as you called to their retreating forms, unable to bear the sight of them leaving without reminding them. They both paused in the doorway, and without turning back both muttered that they loved you too before they were gone. 

As soon as they left you immediately twisted yourself and thrust your face into Peter's chest, the tears flowing steadily as you sobbed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your shaking form, lips finding the crown of your head and hands rubbing soothingly across your back. 

"Th-they hate me now," you whispered brokenly into Peter's soft hoodie in between sobs. "They hate me Pete, they're n-never going to forgive me for this!"

Peter shushed you quietly, gentle lips kissing your hair as he began to sway you back and forth slowly. 

"They don't hate you angel," he soothed. "They're just surprised. Disappointed in the timing maybe, but they'll get over it. I promise."

"I never wanted it to go like this," you cried as you pulled your head from his chest slightly. Peter's hands left your back for a moment to come and rest on either of your cheeks. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before retreating upwards to look deep into your eyes. 

"I know you didn't sweet girl, but it did," he said gently as he brushed away some of your tears with the pads of his thumbs. "It did and it's going to be okay. We'll talk to your dads when they get back and clear everything up. And no matter what, you and I are going to get through this together, okay?"

You sniffled softly, nodding sadly. Peter's eyes were swimming with guilt and dejection at the sight of the empty expression on your face. He didn't know how to comfort you in this situation, but it was like every molecule in his body was demanding he do so. He leaned down once more to press a loving kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips. 

You sighed, head retreating back to his chest once your lips disconnected. Sadness was still swirling in your stomach and you just longed for the feeling that being in Peter's arms brought. He seemed to understand perfectly- as he always did- pressing his cheek to the top of your head and wrapping his arms tightly around you without a word. The two of you stood there for a while, bodies entangled as you continued lightly swaying back and forth. Peter's hands continued to roam up and down your spine and your tears began to slow and dry. 

Eventually you hummed, stepping back and up on your toes to press an appreciative kiss to Peter's face. He smiled as a faint pink tinted his cheeks at your display of affection. You giggled, slightly amazed that even after everything you two had done, something as simple as a peck on the cheek could still make him blush.

"Thank you," you said quietly, looking up into his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at you in confusion. 

"For staying with me through all that. I mean it's you, so I wasn't really worried...but my dad can be really frightening. So thanks," you half joked. 

Peter chuckled lightly as he pulled you back into his arms once more. 

"Of course angel. Told you, I'm never going to leave you. Even if your dad is super scary. You two are stuck with me now. I'm never ever going to leave you or our baby," he vowed quietly into your hair as his hands reached down to rub the small but growing bump in your tummy lovingly. "We're gonna get through this all together, as a family."

You felt tears well up in your eyes once more, but this time out of sheer love and happiness.

 Damned hormones. 

"You're gonna be such a good daddy Peter," you whispered gratefully. Hearing the slight crack in your voice, Peter pulled you away from his chest gently to wipe your tear stained cheeks once more. 

"Hey now, no more tears today," he scolded playfully as he tugged you across the room. "When's the last time you ate something? We have the whole kitchen to ourselves now, and I bet my babies are hungry!"

You chuckled lightly as you allowed him to pull you along with him towards the kitchen. All the while, he chattered happily about the new article he'd just read about the specific nutritional needs pregnant women have, and your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were still apprehensive about the upcoming conversation with your dads, but you were definitely feeling better. As much as their approval and involvement would mean to you, you'd come to the conclusion that as long as you had Peter by your side everything would work out alright. 

Somehow.

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

"Petey, are you sure you don't need any-"

"No! Nope. I've got this," your boyfriend interrupted stubbornly. You signed, hand absentmindedly rubbing across your swollen stomach as you watched him struggle with the latch on the new crib the two of you were setting up. 

Well, the crib that Peter was setting up. 

It'd been a few months since the team had found out about the newest upcoming addition to the Tower, and you'd decided that it was time to begin decorating the nursery. Tony, of course, had offered to have someone come in to do all the heavy lifting, but Peter was insistent that he be the one to set everything up. His protectiveness over you and the rapidly growing child you were carrying had only increased as the months went on, so much so that you were lucky now if he'd even let you stand for long enough to watch him put the baby's furniture together. It was endearing, really, how much he cared for the two of you, but you'd be lying if you said that you weren't becoming a little frustrated with how little you could do to help. 

"Really Peter, I can help," you grumbled, annoyed. "I'm pregnant, not disabled."

"Of course you could help angel, but I don't need help," he grunted, eyes never leaving the mass of parts around him. "You already have to do all the work of growing and housing our baby, the least I can do is build the crib!"

"Housing?" you teased, quirking an eyebrow.

"You know what I meant," he grumbled, and you couldn't help but chuckle at his growing frustration. 

Peter was clearly losing his grip just a bit as he struggled to make sense of the instructions that had been provided with the pieces. He sighed, throwing the pamphlet down on the ground before trudging over to where you stood, leaning against the changing table that he'd put together a few days ago. 

"I've engineered web-fluid from absolutely nothing, re-built computers from scratch and yet I can't even manage to put this stupid bed together," he whined as he dropped his head down onto your shoulder in defeat. "M'gonna be a terrible father."

"Ohhh bubs," you cooed sympathetically, smile falling quickly and heart lurching at the tone of pure dejection in his voice. 

You wrapped your arms around him, one snaking around his back and the other cradling his head. Your fingers began instantly carding through his chocolate-brown locks as he nuzzled his nose lightly into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His hands wound their way around your waist too- or as well as they could with your round tummy in the way- and his own hands began absentmindedly tracing patterns over your bump.

"Peter you have to know that isn't true," you soothed, kissing his cheek softly. "You're going to be an amazing dad."

He hummed non-commitally. 

"You think you're not?" you challenged, fingers halting their dance against his scalp. "Do the thing."

He raised his head from your shoulder, brows furrowed in confusion. 

"What does that have to do with-"

"Do the thing," you interrupted sternly. He sighed and knelt down, grumbling inaudible complaints as he went. Once he was face to face with your bump he placed his hands on either side, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your stretched-out skin.

"Hi baby, it's me, your daddy," he spoke softly into your stomach, lips so close that you shivered with each breath that ghosted over your clothed belly. "I love you so much."

The baby responded instantly at the sound of Peter's voice, feet jabbing out and kicking excitedly from within just underneath where his hands lay. You felt your heart skip a beat at both the feeling the movement in your belly and the sight of the dopey smile that lit up Peter's handsome face as he felt his child's kicks. You rubbed over his hands lovingly and smiled down at him.

"See bubs? He starts throwing a party in there every time you do that. He loves you so much already, that's not gonna change," you reassured him softly. Peter's smile dropped just a little. 

"But the crib-"

"Fuck the crib," you responded stubbornly. "You are the most caring, sweetest, and most thoughtful person I know Peter. You're going to be the world's best dad."

"Whoa whoa, believe we're the ones with the mugs that claim that title," a voice chuckled from the doorway. 

You smiled fondly, eyes darting to find the sight of your Pops leaning casually against the frame of the door with your dad standing just behind him. Both had amused smiles on their faces, and you grinned widely. Even Peter smiled as he rose to his feet and wrapped one of his arms around your back to pull you into his side. 

"Okay, third best dad in the world then," you amended, grinning. 

"That's better," your dad piped up, smiling. "Now what's this I hear about a faulty crib? Sam said he can hear Peter cursing all the way from his room."

Peter groaned, tilting his head backwards in exasperation as you laughed out loud. 

"It isn't faulty, I'm just an idiot," Peter grumbled. Everyone but him chuckled, and your dad walked further into the room. He clapped a hand on Peter's back as he grinned at the younger man. 

"Normally I'd agree with you, but I know if I do Steve will bring up how Y/N had to sleep in the bassinet for like 6 months because we couldn't figure out how to put her crib together."

"You mean you couldn't figure it out," your Pops snorted from his place in the doorway. "As I recall, I was not allowed to help with the furniture because you were determined to figure it out on your own."

Bucky shrugged, seemingly indifferent to his husband's insinuation. 

"Whatever. Point is, I wanted to see if you wanted some help putting it together. Thought I might be able to give you some tips," your dad continued. Peter's smile widened, and he nodded eagerly before your dad knelt down to help try and make sense of the directions.

The discussion after the incident in the training room had gone much better than you would've ever imagined. Both your dads had been relatively calm once they'd returned from their mission, and surprisingly there had been no screaming, no crying, and no threats towards Peter from Bucky like you'd been picturing. The four of you had sat down together and had a long, mature discussion of what your plans were in terms of raising and caring for your child, and by the end your dads had even seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of being grandparents. Their involvement and excitement had only grown in the following months to the point now that you felt silly for ever having been frightened to tell them. 

And now as you stood watching your boyfriend and dad work together to put your child's room together, tears began collecting in your eyes and you felt your chest warm with feelings of overwhelming love. Steve, noticing your tears, moved to wrap his arms around you and you leaned your head against his shoulder. Rubbing your belly lovingly, you couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over you for the men in your life and love for the little one that you'd all be meeting soon. 

[dontcallmecarrie]

Replying to @kine-iende​ [hope this works and you see it, still trying to get the hang of how tags work] who said:

Thank you, author-person, for this incredible detailed answer. (Also i don't mind being tagged - or not) With Tony being so aware of the dynamic between those rivals, Justin ending as a villian is less going a betrayal from almost-family and more of a 'natural phenomen' he should have seen coming. Because as always:rivals ^^

.

To be completely honest, if this AU were a tv show the ‘Justin Hammer accidentally founded Cabal’ reveal would’ve been the huge plot twist revealed at the end of either Season 2 or 3, and it’d be a major shocker for the Avengers...but not Tony.

also just realized I somehow made an AU where the protagonist basically becomes a villain out of Spite™ and I’m not sure if that’s the weakest origin story ever, or what

After all, if this were a tv show, it’d be centered around the Avengers, and the main season one conflict would be in seeing how Tony fits in the team— which would get resolved eventually, but not before the audience gets a good look at their dynamics. Like, the chemistry between Iron Man and Captain America, how easily and seamlessly they work together without needing more than a word or two because they’re on the same page, or Tony’s cordial yet distant academic respect for Bruce [which gets contrasted with Iron Man’s uncharacteristic instant bromance with the Hulk], or... well, the list goes on.

Not to mention that having a common enemy alters their dynamic as time goes on, because while if this’d been a one-off things would’ve still been rocky between Tony and the team, whereas having to constantly coordinate because new intel indicates that their last enemy was actually connected to something bigger and that means even more teamwork...

So by this point they’ve got a good idea of their characters, how they roll, how they react under pressure and during downtime and throughout all this, Justin Hammer would make cameos because he’s SHIELD’s main weapons supplier [...among other groups, which in and of itself foreshadows some of his shadier connections later on] and between him and Tony, they’ve basically cornered the market on experts in that field— which comes in handy when we’re talking about alien tech. 

Justin wouldn’t get much screentime compared to the others, but enough for the Avengers [and the audience] to see he makes for a very good foil for Tony, with their differences being highlighted all the more due to the similarities. After all, both come across as good people: Tony’s very friendly to anyone who isn’t on his shit list, and Justin acts very polite and gentlemanly to strangers [and is 100% a mom friend to anyone he cares about]. Tony’s a hero, though, while Justin’s long since made it clear he was a businessman first and foremost.

Through all this, Justin and Tony’s dynamic is intentionally kept vague— one moment they’re perfectly friendly, the next they'll be at each others’ throats and, again, sometimes can get misinterpreted as something else. 

Then the Reveal happens, and suddenly all those past encounters and hints come up and it’s so obvious in retrospect but—

Who would’ve expected it?

Tony. 

Tony’s the only one who’s not surprised by what the latest intel’s hinting at, obtained from an intel broker who turned up dead not long after [...because said broker’d also been messing with HYDRA, but that’s the plot twist that comes up in the next season]: nothing specific, nothing concrete, but something that ties a good chunk of the previous Villains Of The Week together to reveal a far, far greater threat. 

The Cabal, and while some of its members have long since become familiar names— e.g. the Fantastic Four normally are the ones who have to deal with Victor Von Doom, but not always— its founder had been a mystery for the longest time. A mystery that has just been ended, except nobody could have expected to see the name on the file.

Everyone else’s caught flat-footed and going through several permutations of ‘oh shit’, meanwhile Tony just leans back, scrubs a hand down his face, and looks out the window with a low whistle.

“Well played, Justin. Well played.”

.

Which is when the audience learns more about their very strange dynamic, which gets revealed to have started out a rivalry during their childhood [and has now basically escalated to the most high-stakes game of chicken there ever was, but shh].

Here’s the thing: if Tony were to call their rivalry off, Justin would stop.

But...

Tony can count on one hand how many positive constants he’s had in his life: Jarvis’ [and, after his heart attack, JARVIS’] presence, and his rivalry. Those are the two things that’ve been there for him through thick and thin, the only two safe places where he knows where they stand, knows they won’t try and tear him down and that means something. 

JARVIS will never leave him [not this Jarvis, at least], but... this rivalry’s been a thing since before he met Rhodey, since before his parents died and Tony’s not entirely certain just how much it’s shaped him, but he can count on one hand how many people give a damn about him and want to see him succeed and— 

Tony’s not sure he has it in him to call it off. Not at this point. 

Not when part of him knows why he did it, because— well, every superhero needs an adversary, don’t they? For a moment, he’d been surprised Justin had the guts to do this, but it makes complete sense the more he thinks about it and Tony knows just how little respect Justin has for the others, of course he’d be the type of guy who’d go “ugh, fine, if you want something done right, gotta do it yourself”. 

.

also, before this all seems very one-sided, I think I forgot to mention that Justin’s really benefiting from this rivalry too— not as obvious early on, but it gives him something to focus on and work towards. 

Something that kept him from depression when he thought too much about his past life and discovered just how much he’d forgotten, was still forgetting, something to keep him from being bored when he looked up one day and realized— he didn’t actually have any goals in this life, did he? 

Not when his life thus far had been dictated by his parents, and he’d been okay with following along to their script for him because if it wasn’t him, it’d be his sister or an innocent child who’d be forced to live up to their impossibly high expectations as the heir to Hammer Industries... but it was something he was resigned to at this point, not something he was particularly happy about. 

This time, he... didn’t know what he wanted in life. Nor did he remember what he’d wanted last time— had they wanted to be a doctor? Teacher? Writer? They didn’t remember anymore— and it’s startling to realize that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled if he wasn’t talking to his little sister. 

Justin’s never been one to seek out the approval of the adults in his life— the fact that he was surrounded by Parents of the Year [note the sarcasm] probably had something to do with that— and remembering a past life means he sees everyone his physical age and lower as kids, so he doesn’t see many people as equals.

...and then Tony decided he’d like having a rival.

At first, yeah, it was confusing; even as an adult, Justin didn’t entirely get why, but it was. Something.

Something good, and gets even better because this is something they both decided, that had nothing to do with the meticulously-annotated plan his parents had for his life, and while at first it was weird, Justin found he was actually enjoying himself [for once].

To the point where he found himself actually getting honestly, genuinely invested in said rivalry, and if he sometimes found himself trying to drill self-care into Tony sometimes, well, those bags under his eyes made them look bad, okay? It was self-interest, nothing more, really!

Really.

So when Tony went and became a superhero, Justin found himself taking a step back for a moment as he paused to consider his actions.

Paused before taking the plunge, because this was it, was serious, was pushing the limit and going past the point of no return. Was he really willing to do this?

A moment to consider things, deliberate on the possible consequences and what could happen— then he gave a sharp, decisive nod.

“Yes, we’re doing this.” 

[unmaskedagain]

Ladybug: A Young Avenger

Hey Everyone, I got prompt for a civil war ML crossover fic but I was really into Team Iron Man on Ao3 for longest of times and, after endgame, I kind of need some team fluff. So I tweaked the prompt. It’s still team Iron man; just… not the way you’d expect. (Also did anyone know else know that Penny’s last name was Rolling?)

It took Tony Stark all of five minutes to figure out Ladybug’s identity.

“Jarvis, buddy?” Tony called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s up with teenagers and being bug-themed heroes wearing inappropriate costumes?”

           The A.I took a moment before answering, “…I, for one, blame Vine.”

           Tony sighed. First fifteen-year-old Peter Parker aka Spiderman. He took the kid on an as an intern the second he learned about Spiderman. Now fifteen-year-old Marinette Dupain-Cheng aka Ladybug.

           He groaned.

What could he do? He needed help.

           Captain America needed to be stopped. The Winter Solider needed to be taken down. Team Cap had gone too far.

           It was war.

           Getting Harley Keener, a mechanical mastermind to agree to be his intern was a bit like chewing nails but Tony always knew the kit would agree. Getting Peter Parker, a child genius with a bright future as a scientist, to agree to be his intern was a piece of cake. Honestly Tony could’ve asked for the kid’s soul in repayment and Peter would’ve asked if he wanted on a silver plate or if plastic was okay? Getting Riri Williams, an engineering prodigy to be his intern, was easy. Too easy; her mom practically threw her at him, all while making him swear into a recorder that he wouldn’t sue. No matter what. Introducing the kids to his labs made him feel like Willie Wonka hand-delivering the golden tickets.

           They were all future scientists and engineers like Tony. They grew up worshiping at the altar of Stark Industries like ever future MIT graduate did.

           Marinette Dupain-Cheng, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast who played an entirely different game. She was a fashion prodigy who had designed for stars like Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. She had interned for Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois, had her clothes walk the runway during Paris fashion week, and had a summer job that somehow lasted over a year, working for Miranda Priestly, the editor-in-Chief for Runway Magazine when the scary woman took over Paris: Runaway. Said job ended when Miranda when back to New York. Marinette only prayed to the fashion gods. So when Tony Stark, god of the nerds, showed up at her door, she only blinked once.

           Said girl sat between her parents, with cool blue eyes glaring at him suspiciously. Luckily Tony was smart enough to bring Pepper with him.

           Pepper Potts smiled at the family in front of her; two bakers and the daughter, who made the most delicious macarons that she ever tasted. “So you see, after Tony came across Marinette’s wonderful re-design sketch of his suit on her website, he was very impressed with her talent.”

“But to take Marinette on as an intern?” Sabine asked. “Excuse me, but Marinette has always leaned towards the arts than science.”

           Tony gave the woman his best charming smile, “What is science if not another form of art. We both create, strive to better our talents, work to make names for ourselves; experiment and test out hypothesizes. Granted no one in my field ever created the disaster that was crocs.”

           Marinette narrowed her eyes, “Didn’t your father help on the Manhattan Project?”

           Silence.

           Pepper cleared on her throat. “Tom, Sabine, before anyone agrees to anything I’d like to go over safety procedures in place. Would you mind stepping outside with me, I could use a bit of fresh air.”

           Tony and Marinette just stared at each other as the three left the room. When the front door closed behind them, Marinette leaned forward, “What do you want?” Her patience had reached its end.

“Aren’t you being a little rude?” Tony smirked.

“Aren’t you a little old?” Marinette snapped back. “What do you want?”

“I want Ladybug’s help.”

           Marinette flinched back in shock. Her heart raced in her chest. “How do you know?”

“I’m Tony Stark,” He shrugged easily, picking up a mint chocolate Macron. “I know everything.”

           Marinette fought the fear racing through her, and steeled herself like Miranda and Audrey had taught her, “So Iron Man’s wanted Ladybug as an intern? So what does Iron Man get? What does Ladybug get? What does Tony get? And what does Marinette get?”

“You made clear distinctions,” Tony said approvingly, his business-side gearing up. “But I am Iron Man.” He said. “You come to New York for this spring break and for the summer. I get Ladybug’s help in handling a personal issue that has developed within the Avengers. Ladybug gets training from the Avengers. Marinette gets to add Stark Industries and a personal letter of recommendation from Tony Stark to her resume.”

“On the condition, that identities stay secret from the media,” Marinette crossed her arms. “I don’t suppose I can hide it from the rest Avengers for very long. And I get an additional letter of recommendation from Pepper Potts. Pepper takes my friend Chloe on as an intern; she’s the hero, Queen Bee. And only one who knows my identity, besides you. Also, I actually do get to help design your next suit. My expenses?”

           Tony smirk widened. The girl knew how to cover her bases. She even wanted to have an Ally with her should things take a turn. “All paid for by me. First-class all the way. You and Chloe will stay in the Stark Tower on the same floor as the other interns.”

“Other young superheroes, you mean?” Marinette guessed, causing Tony’s eyes to twinkle in joy. “Spiderman, Iron Heart, and WarIron. Based on their sizes, I had guessed they were young; teenagers probably. Why didn’t you ask Chat Noir too? Or why aren’t you? Because you’re not, you would’ve mentioned it by now?”

“You mean the Agreste kid?” Tony said, not noticing Marinette’s eyes widen in surprise. “He’s not serious enough for me. I play games but he goes too far. Surprised you haven’t dumped him yet. Get a better partner.”

           Marinette took a bit of a macron to get a moment to think. Adrien was Chat Noir. In retrospect, it made a lot of sense. Both were socially immature, and a bit naïve. Each had an idealistic view of things and didn’t let the real world break them of it. For example Adrien and his dealing with Lila’s lies. Chat Noir and Ladybug turning down his advances.

“Very well,” The bluenette finally agreed. “I agree to be your intern. Shall we discuss my salary now or later? Well, need to before I or my parents sign any contracts.”

           It was Tony’s turn to narrow his eyes. Not one; not a single one of his interns: Harley, Peter, or Riri ever asked about how much they’d get paid. They’d all assumed it was an unpaid internship and was surprised when their contracts included a salary. “You’re a shark.”

           Marinette hummed, “You should see me when there’s blood in the water.”

           That was something Tony was looking forward to seeing.

           The official paperwork was signed three days later; Marinette was officially a Stark intern. Due to go to Orientation for spring break in New York in a few weeks.

           Those weeks flew by. She let Fu know she’d have to go back and forth for a few weeks. She didn’t bother telling anyone else. Her friendships in the class had dwindled dramatically. While most weren’t her outright enemies, her classmates tended to avoid her. If they couldn’t do that, they were beyond cold to her. It was Lila’s doing. She got her hooks into the class, who all wanted to tie themselves to the golden goose, and when it was clear that Lila and Marinette didn’t like each other, they picked sides. They chose their meal ticket over their lifelong friend.

           Honestly, it made Marinette almost wish that Lila had lied about her instead; accused her of being a bully or something. Anything. Because at least then her ex-friends would have somewhat of a reason to be ex-friends. Even if it wasn’t a very good one. Instead, they were just bad friends all on their own.

           Still, Marinette didn’t mourn their loss as she sat in the back of the class with Chloe on a Sunny Tuesday morning, and they were living for New York that Friday. She had a steadily rising career in Fashion. She had worked under Miranda Priestly and Audrey. From them, she learned it was best to drop fair-weather friends and how to spot wannabes, fame-seekers, and gold-diggers from three miles away.

           She was happy with Chloe as her bestie. The girl had turned a new leaf and proven her loyalty to the point where Fu made her a permanent hero. And the Blond had been ecstatic when Pepper Potts had shown up at their door. She had hugged Marinette a full five minutes for getting her the internship. All while screaming with joy.

           Both girls were excited to go. Though Marinette did encounter one downside. The night before, Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling; or as Marinette deemed them #RollingStone, called her. Or rather Penny did the talking. Jagged was trying to wrestle his newest jacket away from Fang’s teeth. Penny offered Marinette a chance to spend her spring break traveling around on tour with Jagged, as his personal stylist. Marinette had no choice but to turn the job down. She loved her honorary Uncle Jagged but she already signed the contract.

           That morning Lila had spun another set of lies. The first was about helping Tony Stark fix his Iron man suit when she was traveling in America. The second was about the newest song Jagged Stone wrote about her. It was exhausting to listen to but the class hung on every word.

           Bustier had just finished her first lesson of the day when she invited Alya to stand up.

           The glasses-wearing girl grinned at the class, “So as everyone’s aware; there’s a class pool party is this Saturday; first day of spring break, baby!” The class cheered. “Everyone who’s invited should’ve gotten their invitation. Don’t want any drama,” She cast a cold look to the two girls at the back of the class. “Invite only. So no party crashers. Marinette, Chloe what are you doing this Saturday?” Alya smirked at her call out that the two girls weren’t invited; that they were the only ones who weren’t.

           As if on cue, the classroom’s door burst opened and in walked Tony Stark, followed by a very apologetic looking Pepper, “Marinette; it’s time to go! Grab Pepper’s minion and let’s go.”

           There were gasps from the class. Max sat up straight. Iron Man was in front of him, in his class, this was the best day of his life.

           Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Tony?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

“I can’t go now!” Marinette explained. “I have class. We weren’t supposed to leave until Friday, remember.”

           Tony waved her off, “Details. Spring Break starts now. Queenie, Mari; chop-chop! New York is waiting!”

           Bustier decided to step in. She may not always be the best teacher but she refused to allow a strange man, even if that man was Tony Stark, to take away any of her students. “Mr. Stark, can I ask what you want Marinette and Chloe for?”

           Thankfully, it was Pepper that answered as she closed back the classroom door, “They have been employed as interns for Stark Industries. They’ll be attending orientation during their spring break at Stark Tower.”

Max actually fell out of his seat. Because this couldn’t be happening. Stark industries rarely ever took high schoolers’ as interns. Tony Stark only chose the best of the best. How could Marinette land the job?

“Marinette’s my intern,” Tony grinned. “Blondie’s Pepper’s. Who else is gonna teach her how to rule the world.”

           A slow smile spread across Chloe’s face, “With an iron fist.”

           Tony pointed at her, “You scare me. Pepper get your intern!”

           The other students were amazed. Marinette was Tony Stark’s intern. Chloe somehow got Pepper Pott's attention. What had they missed? Why didn’t Marinette tell them? How?

“That’s what we’ll be doing this Saturday, Alya,” Chloe drawled. “In New York, hanging with the Avengers.” Causing Alya to flush with anger. “We couldn’t come to your pool party even if we wanted to. Which we don’t.”

“He found my sketch of a potential Iron man suit design,” Marinette explained, continuing the story Tony had told her parents. “He loved it and offered me the job a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Nino asked. “And you didn’t tell us? Dudette, not cool.”

           Alix nodded, her arms crossed, “Yeah I thought we were friends!”

           Marinette and Chloe just looked at them like they were stupid.

           Alya put her hands on her hips, “Mr. Stark, why didn’t you ask Lila Rossi to be your intern? She helped you with your suit before. She’d be much better than Marinette!”

           The girl in question face turned bright red, “This can’t be happening.” Lila muttered.

           Tony looked honestly confused, “Lila? Who’s Lila? No one ever helped me with my suit except the kids I already got as interns.” He looked at Pepper. “Do I know a Lila Rossi?”

           Pepper shook her head, and turned fierce eyes towards Lila, “Miss Rossi, please refrain from lying about Tony Stark and or Stark Industries. Or we will sue you on the grounds of defamation.”

           Lila squeaked. Sue? She couldn’t be sued. Her mother would kill her if she got a lawsuit from Tony Stark.

           It was the rest of the class’s turn to look confused.

           However, before anyone could ask any follow-up questions, the classroom door burst opened again. Jagged Stone strutted in, followed by a very apologetic look Penny and happy Fang with, what looked to be, the arm of a leather jacket.

“Marinette!” Jagged yelled. “What’s this about you not coming on tour? I need my favorite stylist, love.

Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Jagged?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

           The bluenette just shook her head, “I have plans this Spring break. I’m sorry.”

“Plans?” Jagged whined. “What could be better spending your Spring Break with a Rock Star? You can even bring your Blonde. Penny could use an assistant!” He paused, finally noticing it wasn’t just kids. “The bloody hell is Tony Stark doing here?”

           The two famous men eyed each other. The women they came with just looked so done with the world.

           Tony crossed his arms, “I got custody of Marinette for Spring Break; you snooze, you lose.”

“What?!” Jagged hissed. “She’s my designer.”

“She’s my intern!”

           Jagged glared, “I knew her first. By rights, I get custody.”

“I have a contract that says otherwise!” Tony taunted the Rock Star. “Her future is Stark Industries.”

“Her future is Rock and Roll!” Jagged yelled back.

           Both men glared at each other.

“Pepper!”

“Penny!”

           Both women groaned. How was this their lives? Why what was this their lives? What bus full of nuns and orphans did they rob in a past life?

           Penny smiled, “Marinette means the world to us. I’m her honorary Aunt Penny,” She held out her hand for Pepper. “Jagged’s her honorary Uncle. We’ve known her for years. Contracts were already signed?”

           Pepper nodded, “Tony doesn’t play when it comes to his interns. He won’t budge. Trust me; we’ve done this three other times. Marinette’s his kid now, all but legally.” For now, Pepper didn’t bother to add. Every now and then she found discovered a new set of adoption papers with one of the interns’ names on it; one time she found three sets for all three. Plus if Tony kept hinting any harder, May was going to gut him.  “She’ll be in New York for Spring break and all of the summer.”

“Summer!” Jagged whined. “He gets custody for summer too! No!” he shook his head. “Not happening. Call our lawyers, Penny. We’re going to family court!”

           Tony blew him a raspberry. Tony Stark blew Jagged Stone a raspberry. The class could only blink, trying to process what was happening.

           Marinette just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.

“Marinette already designed your clothes for the tour,” Penny tried to placate. “They’re amazing. We can call and skype if we need any additional tips. We have a concert in New York over spring break so we can go and see.” They didn’t. But Penny would be damned if she could have one booked within the hour. Anything to stop jagged from mention family court again. “Most of our summer is free too, we can visit Marinette whenever we want.”

           Jagged huffed but didn’t say anything.

“Well not whenever you want,” Tony teased.

“Family court!” Jagged hissed.

“Tony!” Pepper said warningly. She was not going to let this going to court. No matter how lovely Marinette was. “Be nice.”

           Tony pouted.

           Marinette raised her hand, “You guys know that legally my parents still have custody of me, right?” There was no answer. “Right?!” Nothing.

           The bluenette just sighed.

           Alya took that moment to break in, “Jagged, don’t you want to say hi to Lila? She’s right here,” Alya pointed to her bestie. “Oh, can we listen to the songs you wrote for her? Can you tell us how she saved your cat from getting hit by a plane?”

           The look Lila gave Alya could’ve killed a thousand men.

           Jagged looked affronted, “Lila? Who’s Lila?” He looked at his fiancé. “Penny, do I know a Lila?”

“No!” Penny glared fiercely at Lila. “Jagged Stone has never written a song about an underage girl before. He has never owned a cat. What parents and airline would careless enough to allow a child to rush onto a runway for a pet? Refrain from spreading any further slander. Or we’ll hit you with a lawsuit so fast you’ll get whiplash.”

“I’m allergic to cats by the way,” Jagged told the class. “All fur actually. That’s why I got Fang here.” He pointed the crocodile who had made its way to Marinette for cuddles. “I’ve had him for twenty years. He’s the only pet I’ve had all that time.”

           Marinette rolled her eyes and took the crocodile in her lap.

“Twenty years?” Kim’s eyebrows furrowed. “Whoa, that’s long that we’ve been alive.”

           Nino glared at Lila, “Yeah it is.” He finally realized the girl was lying. Most of the class had in fact.

“Enough of this,” Tony waved. “Marinette, Chloe, time to go. Leave the dinosaur.”

           Bustier took a deep breath, “No one is taking Marinette or Chloe anywhere. Until I get a note from their parents verifying that is. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”

           Penny and Pepper nodded understandingly. Jagged and Tony just looked shocked.

“But I’m Tony Stark!”

“I’m Jagged Stone, love!”

           Bustier just rolled her eyes and shooed them out of her class. It took some handling, and eventually, the women had to drag the guys out. The teacher shut the door with a sigh of relief. She brushed off the imaginary dirt on her clothes. “Marinette,” She called. “If you could tell any future visitors to wait until after school to pick you up, with a note from your parents that would be most helpful.”

“Sorry,” Marinette blushed, a deep dark red.

           Bustier walked back to her desk before pausing. “Is that Crocodile still in my class, Marinette?”

“…Yes.”

“I think he’s here for the rest of the day,” Chloe shrugged. “Unless you want to invite Jagged back?”

           Bustier paused. No. Never again. “No. No. Fang can stay for the day.”

           When the lunch bell rang, Marinette found that it was easier to avoid her classmates' questions, as they were too busy yelling at Lila. It wasn’t long after that Ladybug had to take down Lila’s seventh akuma form.

           Marinette and Chloe left that night to New York. Somehow he managed to convince their parents that missing three days of school to study in the most advanced building in the world was a good thing.

           When they got to Stark Tower, they were given a quick tour. Then Pepper took Chloe to show her where she would be working. And Tony took Marinette the workshop where three other kids were already working.

           The oldest one glanced at her and snorted, “God he kidnapped another one.” He was the tallest in the room with dark brown hair and a smirk on his face.

           The other two snickered.

           Tony looked affronted, “Oh please; your parental units practically threw you at me.

The younger looking boy smirked, “Aunt May threatened to shank you next time you took me out of school early.” He had light brown hair and big brown eyes

           The genius pointed, “You tell Aunt Hottie to leave me alone.”

“HI, I’m Marinette!” She waved happily. “He keeps mentioning he has custody. And I’ve become moderately concerned.”

“And you should be,” The other girl in the room laughed. She was a pretty brown-skinned girl with black wild curls. “Name’s Riri.”

“Harley,” Said the first boy who spoke.

“Peter,” The other boy introduced.

           Marinette nodded and eyes them, “WarIron,” The pointed at Harley. “Iron Heart,” Then at Riri. “Spiderman, right?” She pointed at Peter.

           The three looked at Tony with questions in their eyes. Tony raised in hands in surrender, “Hey, I told her nothing.”

           Harley eyed the new girl, “You’re from Paris, right?” She nodded. “Ladybug, I’m guessing.”  Marinette blushed. “Welcome to the Young Avengers, I guess. Why’d he bring you in?”

           Marinette shrugged, “He said to there was a personal problem happening with the Avengers. He wanted my help.”

           The teen froze. Peter just shook his head, “You didn’t, Tony!”

Tony looked sheepish.

“What?” Marinette asked.

           Riri rolled her eyes, “That personal problem? It’s called ManHunt.”

“I’m sorry?” Marinette asked. She was going to have to hunt a man?

“It’s a game,” Harley explained. “Team Iron Man versus team Cap. One team hunts the other in a sort of hide and seek type of thing and tries to capture as many members as they can. Last time we played it, Team Cap crushed Team Iron man. It’s why Tony brought us all in. Revenge.”

           Said Man didn’t look one bit ashamed, “Rules were since Thor and the Big guy are gone I can bring in whoever I want to replace them.”

           Marinette tossed up her hands, “You brought me here to play a game?” Unbelievable.

“No,” Tony said. “I brought you here to take out the Winter Soldier.”

“Say what now?”

“Welcome to orientation,” Was All Tony said to her question.

           The kids trained together for a week; Chloe, a girl named MJ who was Pepper’s other interns, and a boy named Ned who was a tech intern, were brought in as well. When it turned out that Kagami was in New York City for a fencing tournament. Tony was happy to bring in the scary girl as well. (And somehow get her mother to agree to let her stay for Spring Break) He made practice stealth and learn hand signals. Tony drilled them on the Team Cap’s strengths and weaknesses. They reviewed videos of previous missions until they had everyone’s fighting style memorized. Tony went over body anatomy aka where the best place to hit them was. They memorized plans and scenarios to take out each specific member of Team Cap.

           The teens spent a lot of time in the lab creating gadgets to use against the Avengers. Each one straight out of a spy movie.

           As far as Tony was concerned this was War. And there would be no prisoners.

Team Cap consisted of Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, The Falcon, Antman, along with several Shield employees which included Fury, Melinda May, and Coulson.

           Team Iron man consisted of Ironman, War Machine, Vision, Maria Hill, The Wasp, Quicksilver, Daisy Johnson, and a bunch of names Stark employees: I.E the interns. (Black Panther refused to participate. Though he and sister would watch from Wakanda.)

           Each team had a total of thirty players; no more, no less.

           The game would take place at the compound. Anything area within the compound legal territory was free to use. The living room would be home base and were all ‘out’ people had to stay. Until they were freed. Or until every member of the hiding team was captured and then it was Game Over. Everyone could communicate with their own team using special mics; normally only taken out for missions. However, those imprisoned in the home base couldn’t communicate with their team.

           On Saturday, just before sunset; the main superheroes of the avengers met up. Tony facing Steve. Rhodey glaring at Bucky. Vision versus Wanda. Hawkeye to QuickSilver. The wasp against Ant-Man and the Falcon.

           Steve smiled, “Tony.”

“You ready for war, Cap?” Tony asked.

“Training exercise,” Steve corrected his husband. “I trust your team is ready.”

           Tony smirked, “Oh you have no idea. Your little spies are already hiding in the shadows.”

“Like your team isn’t?”

           The alarm went off.

           Tony suited up, “You have 1000 seconds, Steve.” His helmet shut. “I’d get running.”

           Steve rolled his eyes. His team split up, running into the growing shadows.

           The game had started.

           Marinette waited, hiding in the shadows on the roof. Her ladybug costume was all back with little red polka dots; mostly easy to move around body armor. This wasn’t her actually Ladybug suit; Tikki, while willing to create a new suit design, decided it wasn’t a good idea to involve magic. So Marinette designed herself a new suit, and Tony help her trick it out.

Tony had pointed out the all-good hiding spots located in the Compound. She was the overly large landing pad. She forced herself to stay completely still. Even when she saw the Falcon take flight with WarIron right on his tail.

           The smallest of moments caught on the corner of her eye, the glint of metal. An arrow, she realized. She smiled. Hawkeye.

           She watched the man take stock of the room, looking in every possible place a person could hide. Unfortunately for him, Marinette had a bit of luck on her side.

“All clear on the roof, Cap,” Clint said into his mic. “I’ll keep a lookout from up here.” There was silence as he listened to Cap’s orders. “Okay. Will do. Stay invisible, got it. Over and out.”

           The second the conversation had ended, Marinette through a smoke bomb at his feet. Before Clint could even finish saying, “What the he-” Marinette was on the attack. Using the smoke to her advantage, she swung her yo-yo at Hawkeye’s feet. The String wrapped around his legs, tripping him. Five seconds later, Hawkeye was hogtied on the ground.

Marinette touched her mic, “Tweety Bird down. Bringing him to home base now!”

“Copy that, Ladybug,” Tony said. “Be careful.”

           Clint looked up at his assailant; expecting to see Tony or the Wasp, any avenger. Instead what he saw, was a teen girl with a scary blue-eyed glare on his face, “Who are you?”

           Marinette leaned down, “Your reckoning.” She hissed.

“What the fuck!” He said as he was thrown over the girl’s shoulder and carried to home base.

           When Marinette got to home base, she saw Harley putting a rather put out Falcon on the ground, Spiderman with five webbed up shield agents, Chloe had brought in two, Kagami and Riri brought in six. MJ and Ned both brought in one random shield agent. Marinette tossed Hawkeye on the couch.

           It had been twenty minutes, Clint knew by the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes since sunset and the game had started. And they had already lost just over half their team to a bunch of teenagers.

Clint couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had Tony unleashed on them.

“Foghorn Leghorn secure,” Harley said into his mic. “Tweety in his cage. The shadows are all accounted for.”

“I’m Tweety,” Clint told Sam.

           Sam paused. “…Am I Foghorn Leghorn?”

“Wasp and Vision on their way with The Blue Fairy,” Tony’s voice rang their ears. “They’ll play guard dog. QuickSilver is down; Miss Tuffit got him. Seven minions gone; Captain Hook and his jolly crew got them. Over and out.”

“Queen Bee, MJ, guard the Home base until they get here,” Harley ordered. “Guy in the chair, Mj, back on monitor duty. Fulfill mission Top hat ASAP.” They nodded and left the room.

           Top hat was important. The two were trying to hack into Team Cap’s communications, once they did; it was game over.

“The rest of you complete the assignment,” He told them.

           Then all split up again. Vision and Wasp arrived with Scarlet witch just as they were leaving. All three avengers gave the kids confused looks as they left.

           It would take Marinette another hour before she came across another member of Team Cap. And she didn’t so much as come across, as she did respond to Peter’s cry for help.

“Captain Sparkles!” Peter yelled in their earpiece. “Training yard. I’m trying to hold hi-No I won’t give you back your shield! Hurry! Over!”

“I’m around the corner,” Marinette hissed into the mic as she ran for the yard. When she arrived it was just in time to catch the shield that was flying at her face.

           She held the shield tightly in her hand, feeling like Wonder Woman, as she stared down Captain America.

           Steve looked at the young girl who had joined the fight, “My shield, miss?” He was aware that Spiderman had landed behind him.

           Marinette smiled sweet. Then she launched the shield at him with such brute force, he was lifted off his feet. “The Name’s Ladybug.”

Steve didn’t catch the shield in time and it bounced back to Spiderman.

           Captain America glared at the two teenagers.

           Then the fight was on.

           Spiderman hits Steve with his shield, distracting him. The shield falling to the ground. Ladybug barges Captain America backwards. Steve shoulders her to the floor. Marinette lands on the ground; pain flaring across her shoulder. Spiderman punches Steve who just lifts him and slams him against the ground. Spiderman raises a fist but Steve twists it. A web shoots out of his hand, the sound of a small explosion fills the training yard.

           Marinette takes the distraction to trip Captain America and jump up. As Steve falls to the ground, Marinette uses the electro-shooters that Riri made and shocks the dear life out of him. It wasn’t enough to bring him down but then Peter added in his own shocking web-shooters.

           Yet Steve still looked ready for another round of their fight. Marinette quickly picked up the shield and slammed it across his head. Steve Rogers fell forward in a slump.

           Spiderman webbed up with quick-drying cement.

           Both teens breathed heavily; struggling to catch their breath, tense from the fight. Marinette could even find it in herself to unclench the shield.

“Captain Sparkles is down, over,” Marinette said into the Mic.

“We’re bringing him in, over,” Spiderman added.

           There was a moment of silence.

“…What the fuck?” They heard War Machine say.

           When Marinette walked in with the shield in one hand and helping Spiderman carry Cap with the other, the avengers present quietly lost their shit. Kagami nodded, where she stood over Fury who looked more pissed than ever before in his entire life. Chloe stood over Coulson, who just looked put out. MJ and Ned looked overly pleased. Their mission had been a success but it only lasted long enough to get Fury and Coulson. After that, Team Cap was smart enough to ditch the communications, figuring something was up.

“Who’s left?” Spiderman asked in the Mic. “Over.”

“Stoneheart,” Kagami answered bitterly, referring to Melinda May, into the Mic so the team could hear them. “She took out Daisy and got away. Hill is after her now.”

“Jon Snow and Miss Tuffit,” Chloe said referring to the Winter Soldier and Black Widow. “Iron Man and WarIron are after Small fry. War Machine has eyes on Miss Tuffet.”

“I’m closing in on Miss Tuffit, over.” War Machine said.

           Marinette looked at her team, pressing on her mic, “Guy in Chair, Mj, I want you on Stoneheart’s tail. Spiderman go be back up for the War Machine. Iron Heart, meet me on the Location 12. Over.”

“What are you going to do, over?” Harley asked.

           Marinette clenched the shield in her hands, “I’m going to go tell Jon Snow that Winter Is Over. Queen and Dragon with me. Over.”

           The battle with the Winter Soldier was epic. The showdown happened in the gym. It turned out they weren’t hunting for the Winter Soldier, the Winter soldier was hunting for them. The second they walked into the gym, the doors closed behind them.

           Bucky jumped down from the rafters. He stared at the girls. He had seen them fight. None of them fought with any ounce mercy but plenty of skill. But they were clearly just kids. Just Dames in over their heads. He’d go easy on them. “Shall we, Ladies?”

           Ladybug, Queen Bee, Iron Heart, and Dragon shared a look before giggling.

           The Winter Soldier only just barely stood a chance.

           The girls laid Bucky gently on the floor on home base. He grunted and glared at them.

           A few minutes later, Tony and Rhodey walked in with the Black Widow. The last of Team Cap.

           Tony smirked, “Game over.”

           Rhodey shook his head, “Record time; two hours and four-two minutes. Beats the last one by about seven hours and sixteen minutes.”

           Then they debriefed. Video of the fights and footage was seemed was shown so everyone could see where they could improve. The image of tiny Ladybug clocking Captain America in their head with his own shield was rewinded and watched seven times.

           Tony fell over laughing, “I’m putting on Youtube!”

“I will divorce you!” Steve snapped but couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

           Once The random agents of shield and Stark industries left, Steve glared at Tony. His team had gotten demolished. In record time. “You brought in outside heroes, that’s not fair.”

“No,” Tony laughed. “I brought employees of Stark Industries as agreed upon. Everyone meet WarIron,” Harley lowered his helmet. “Iron Heart,” Riri lowered his, “You know Spiderman already,” Peter took of his mask and waved. “MJ, and Ned” Both teens nodded. “Ladybug,” Marinette took off her mask. “Queen Bee,” Chloe glared as she removed hers. “Dragon!” Kagami took off her black mask. “The interns. Otherwise known as the Young Avengers.”

“Oh, fuck you too Stark,” Clint complained. “Did you see what they did to poor Bucky. He’s the deadliest assassin in history, and I felt they went a little rough.”

           Bucky nodded with a wince, “Can I have my arm back.”

           Steve looked at the bluenette still holding his shield, with a charming smile.

Kagami glared. She held the metal arm like trophy. “Spoils of War.”

           Marinette giggled.

           Being a intern was going to be fun.    

[senterya]

It's been an absolute joy reading people's takes on the OC interview that has been floating around recently.

The idea of a Pale Rose interview (read: Fyarh and Nym dragging ex-courtier Reln into this) sounded so oddly entertaining that I wrote it for myself for fun but it turned out... surprisingly okay? So I'm gonna leave it here.

OC Interview: Pale Rose edition

(Draw (or use an old drawing, don’t worry!) or take a screen of your character in an interview setting and make them answer the following questions!)

1. Can you introduce yourself?

Fyarh: Sure. I’m Fyarh, founder and – formally – leader of Pale Rose. I’m also the head of the Dreamers’ division in our guild. (turns to the other two) And they are Nymeleia and Reln, head of the Soundless and Courtiers, respectively.

Nymeleia: (with a wide smile) Glad to be here!

Reln: (remains silent – just nods a little)

2. What is your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

Fyarh: (after a few seconds of thinking) I’m male, maybe prefer others who identify as that too? Didn’t think too much about it before.

Nymeleia: I’m looking both ways. I’m female and taken, you could say.

Reln: Why is this even– (exhales) ...I’m male, I don’t care what my partner identifies as. And my relationships are not for the public to chew on.

3. Where and when were you born?

Nymeleia: Back in the Grove, all of us. I awoke at Dawn and the boys are both Night blooms.

4. What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

Fyarh: I’m best at stealth and surprise – daggers work just fine with that. If it’s an open confrontation, I prefer a light sword that doesn’t hinder my agility. But I’m trained and still training in hand-to-hand combat too.

Nymeleia: I was trained at the Vigil to be the shield, not the spearhead of the attack. I stay behind and make sure nothing hits that shouldn’t. I utilize shades and magic so technically I don’t need a weapon – a staff or scepter can help, though. I also carry a dagger on me, just in case.

Reln: I’m best with a bow. Two-handed sword if it comes to that. But whatever does the job, really.

5. Lastly, are you happy?

Fyarh: (smiles and glances at the others) I am. I’m on the path my Wyld Hunt laid out to me and I got great allies and friends that are with me every step I take. I’m truly grateful for that.

Nymeleia: (with a soft smile) I feel like I found my calling here. I’m working on a cause and with people that are amazing. I’m pretty happy with that, yes.

(both look over to Reln)

Reln: (after a few seconds of silence, with a cynical smile) Are we just supposed to say yes or no to that? Like happiness is that easy to define. (he glances to the side for a second.) But it’s been better here. Take that as a yes.

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

1. What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

Fyarh: The guild is the closest I have to a family in a sense you ask. I think? I’m on good terms with everyone – luckily, I mean... (he laughs a little nervously) ...it’s as it should be.

Nymeleia: I’m with Fyarh on this one. The sylvari in Rose are the closest people to me.

Reln: It really is pointless to ask sylvari about “family” – we’re all technically related, but are strangers at the same time.

Nymeleia: (with a smile she barely tries to hide) You are dodging the question.

Reln: I’m not dodging anything, I’m being reasonable. I have close friends, and allies – call that a family, if you want to.

2. Have you ever run away from home?

Nymeleia: We’re all sort of runaways, aren’t we? (she laughs) I’m Soundless, I left the Grove quite early, then joined the Vigil. Does that count?

Fyarh: It counts. But just so that you don’t feel left out. (Nymeleia gasps and mimics trying to kick him in the shin, they both laugh. Takes them a few more seconds to get back on track.)

Fyarh: I used to sneak away a lot when I was supposed to be in lectures. I loved discovering Caledon, I knew every corner of it so well when I was a sapling. Maybe I’d still remember if I walked around.

Reln (after everyone looks at him): ...I’m from the Court. I think that’s self-explanatory.

Fyarh: But didn’t you also wander away a lot?

Reln: You could say. I preferred being alone. Hunting was a good excuse.

3. Would you consider marriage or having children?

Fyarh: In the far future, maybe? I’m still very young though, and my hands are full with my guild and my Hunt. It’s definitely not something I think about a lot.

Nymeleia: Marriage sounds cute – I like the idea of honoring commitment with a little ceremony.

Reln: Neither of those seems to be for me.

Nymeleia: (quietly) Ah, my heart.

(Reln glances at her, but doesn’t respond.)

4. Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

Fyarh and Nymeleia: No...?

Reln: (slightly annoyed) Is it even a friend if you hate them? Next question.

5. Which friend knows everything about you?

Fyarh: Maybe Daleien? We've known each other for the longest, and he was with me through thick and thin. Nowadays I share a lot with Nym and Reln too. I used to be very secretive about myself but I’m working on it.

Nymeleia: We chat and gossip a lot with Dia – she’s another Soundless from the guild. She’s lovely and so supportive, I’m really glad I have her.

Reln: I’m not the one to share everything about myself. But my second-in-command knows the most.

Nymeleia: Oh don’t listen to him. He and Lavan technically read each other’s minds – no words, just half a gesture, and they know all they need to know.

ASKED BY FANS

1. Are you literate? Have you been to school?

Fyarh: I’m literate, and I’ve been mentored as much – well, maybe a little less – than any other sylvari.

Nymeleia: I actually struggled with reading and writing for a while – I could, just not well, as I never really had to. Paperwork has been a nightmare for the first months in Rose, but by now I got the hang of it. I’ve been reading a lot of novels recently, too.

Reln: I’m literate, and was mentored like all other saplings. The latter didn’t reach its purpose, though.

2. The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

(They all look at each other, but neither of them seems to have an answer or anything they’d be willing to share.)

3. What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

Fyarh: Oh. I somehow never really talked about my Wyld Hunt in.... sufficient detail to my mentors? Not before the Wardens arrested me for hiding thorn pups in a forsaken outpost. It was a real journey talking my way out from there. One of the most embarrassingly funny things that happened to me, in retrospect.

Nymeleia: I was always too caught upon not handling the concept of pain, and death, very well. I don’t regret working on it and toughening up, I just wish I had realized sooner that I should hone my strengths instead of desperately trying to “correct” what I perceive as a weakness.

Reln: ...I guess I haven’t realized soon enough what real understanding means. (he seems mildly uncomfortable by the question, and does not elaborate)

4. Do you have mental health or physical issues?

Fyarh: Fighting takes a toll on everyone, I’d say. But nothing other than that.

Nymeleia: (nodding along – her eyes wander off to the distance)

Reln: A few scars here and there. Had a lot to deal with after coming back from the heart of the jungle, but I have worked through most of those by now.

5. What is your current main goal?

Fyarh: I’m dedicating all my time to the guild. It’s been coming along so much better than what I prepared myself for, and I’m not about to waste the opportunity.

Nymeleia: I’m not satisfied with my level of skills on the field yet – I’m spending as much time on training as I can, next to Rose. There are some other necromancers in the guild with who we share our knowledge, and I have gotten some general good advice and lectures from Firstborn Trahearne himself. It’s crazy how far Fyarh’s connections go.

Reln: I’m busy training and supervising my own division. Most of us are reliable and trusting, but there are and will always be a few loose cannons I need to keep an eye out for.

CHOICES

1. Drink or food?

Fyarh: A drink, maybe? I tend to forget to eat. It’s getting on Nym’s nerves at times.

Nymeleia: Ah don’t even mention it. I’m picking food – nothing tops a good, warm meal after a long day.

Reln: Food, if I have to pick.

2. Cats or dogs?

Fyarh: I love cats. I wouldn't mind adopting one, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to take good care of them.

Nymeleia: Can we pick both, maybe?

Reln: (glancing at the thorn wolf lying next to him) I’m more of a dog person. But cats are good too.

3. Early bird or night owl?

Fyarh: I’m a night owl. Waking up with the rest of the guild at early hours is a nightmare for me. I tend to oversleep so much, it’s almost comical.

Nymeleia: That’s not a problem for me though. I’m up before everyone else. And so is Reln.

Reln: (nodding)

4. Optimist or pessimist?

Fyarh: Optimist.

Nymeleia: Same, some will even say naive for sure.

Reln: Middle ground. I’m more of a realist than any of the two.

5. Sassy or sarcastic?

Fyarh: Maybe... sassy? With close friends. I don’t feel like either most of the time, honestly.

Nymeleia: Would you say I’m more sassy or sarcastic?

Reln: (to her) Is that really a question?

Nymeleia: Oh entertain me.

Reln: (gestures towards her; she laughs)

HAVE YOU EVER

1. Been caught sneaking out?

Fyarh: Once, when I was sneaking out of a Court camp with two stolen thorn pups. Barely got away. Didn’t dare to show myself around there for a while.

Nymeleia: Several times. Did a lot of bathroom cleaning in the Vigil for it too.

Reln: If I was, I doubt I would be here today.

2. Broken a bone?

Fyarh: Miraculously, no. I don’t even know myself how’s that possible.

Nymeleia: My left arm. Open wound, too – wasn’t a good experience.

Reln: Nothing that a field medic couldn’t fix.

3. Received flowers?

Fyarh: If you mean it like, in a romantic way? No, not yet.

Nymeleia: I received a few, but in my experience Vigil soldiers are more of the blunt than the romantic type.

Reln: No.

Nymeleia: How dare you. I gave you potted herbs a while ago!

Fyarh: (leaning forward) Potted herbs?

Nymeleia: It’s because he takes his food back to his room all the time. And then he complains about the seasoning. Go figure!

4. Ghosted someone?

Fyarh: I did... use to run away from confrontations a lot. But people say I’ve gotten better with that too.

Nymeleia: I prefer to just tell people if I’m not interested in talking to them. As kindly as possible, of course. But I think it’s ruder to leave them hanging.

Reln: I did leave from places – the Grove, the Court – suddenly, but then again, I didn’t have many connections to either in the first place.

5. Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

Fyarh: That happens. Easier than trying to go back to it and figure it out, takes away the flow of the conversation.

Nymeleia: Everyone does that from time to time, no?

Reln: I don’t. If someone’s not funny enough, that’s not my problem.

[tortvred-artist]

LET'S TALK ABOUT THE SUBJECT

Friday, December 17, 2021

8:41 AM

Half drunk, half sober. I am at home, surprisingly. Not home away from home. This is home, home. I feel like I'm still dreaming of this place from a faraway and desolate land.

I have unfinished paintings waiting for my hands' magic here in the room; 'renaissance maria' and 'stoic'. I can't paint. Not in this state of mind. I am not in my studio. I am at home and I don't think this is an ideal place for an art studio. There are distractions everywhere. Speaking of studio, I am wondering about the situation of my apartment in Cebu after the horrendous typhoon last night. I hope everything is intact, I hope all my paints and art materials lay unbothered in my small room. I can't wait to reconcile with them next year. I am longing for another time of solitude. Art. Poetry. Literature. Travel. Solace.

I don’t want to be drunk anymore. I hate being in this helpless state. Yes, helpless in my age but ecstatic in 2 years retrospect. I can't afford to be in this state forever. My artwork requires sharp sobriety but my writing is demanding this mellifluous drunkenness.

Someday I'm gonna publish a book entitled: Running Away From Home: Survival Guidelines for Introverts. The title would be something like that and then there would be a sequel and the thoughts would be as follows: Vagabond Homecoming: What to Expect from the Home You've Left Behind. Idk. I want to publish these books for the future generations. For the self-actualization of the youth even if my mother always tells us to kill the "self" or the "ego". But how do you kill something that you are not aware of? Wouldn't it be too helpful to know thy enemy first before hitting it with a fatal blow?

Let's talk about my paintings. No. let's talk about the subject herself. Yes, good guess. It's Kim. Agh! Inspiration comes in different forms indeed! This time, it's in a form of a stranger I only met once. Yeah2x, I know. This is just part of my cycle, but my longest cycle had lasted for a year. Will this last for a year, too? Because I have no plans of pursuing these ideations. I just want to imbibe the inspiration that this infatuation had brought during a very weird time of my life.

Another woman so close yet so far. I checked in on her during the typhoon last night and tbh, I wasn't worried because I've turned off that switch in my head for a very long time now. I am more concerned of her well-being and her mental state during the calamity and I am glad she turned out fine after that gut-wrenching hell of a storm. I am relieved all at once. So, while I waited for her response the whole night until dawn, I decided to work on her portraits. I decided to follow my "creative intuition" and I'm glad I did. Ideas. Every stroke were the byproduct of my thoughts about her; her current state, her past lives, her personality, and the things hidden from every mundane eye. (Damn, the alcohol is almost gone from my system which is slowly being replaced by a stiffed neck). I can't pursue the subject but I will finish the art in any way possible. God, I hope these ideations will be over by next year before I climb MT. Pulag. I am desperately indifferent. It made me selflessly selfish at this point; to suck inspiration from somebody who's not aware of my thoughts. My thoughts. I wish I could silence them after this. I wish I could drown them with all the tubes of my oil paints…but I can't.

The subject? Kim? I hope she cuts me off before I muster the courage to do it myself.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 120

Time for some of the more technical stuff! These chapters take the longest to write, without fail, largely because I made the dumb (in retrospect) decision early on to choose and actual known-exoplanet (Kepler 442b) to base Von on *facepalm*. Which means an inordinate amount of fact checking and maths when I get to the chapters like this one.

Thanks for this chapter to go @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for beta-reading, and @nasa for the phenomenal amount of information that is publicly available for me to use when writing chapters like this.

Xiomara leaned back in her seat and propped her feet on the table in my office, ignoring the scowl Alistair shot in her direction. With a sigh, she folded her hands behind her head. “The next gravity adjustment is soon, now that Miys has medically cleared everyone from the last one.”

I nodded. “Grey and Antoine’s recommendation of increasing cardio seems to have made a huge difference in the adjustment period for most people. I definitely recovered faster.”

“And after this one, the lighting changes will start phasing in?”

“Once we can come to an agreement on how far we plan to institute the adjustments,” I pointed out. “I don’t understand any need to replicate outdoor light cycles when humanity literally experienced a cultural revolution after we developed a safe method of artificial indoor lighting.”

“That same cultural revolution also led the way for the events that brought us here,” she rebutted without looking away from the ceiling. Raising one hand and twirling it lazily, she repeated the arguments we had listened to for nearly a year. “Adhering more closely to Von’s natural light cycles will minimize ecological impacts.”

“Except that we are using sustainable light sources.” I flicked my finger at one of the wall emitters nearby. “Grey’s team made some pretty strong improvements on the microalgae lamps that were used Before.” While we still used more conventional forms of light for things like our databands and the desk emitters, ambient light in the Terran areas of the Ark was largely provided by what were - essentially - terrariums of algae, fungi, and dinoflagellates. Thanks to Miys’ assistance and a lengthy explanation of why our sight developed to work better in certain wavelengths, the light was closer to a yellow than a blue or green that was more common to Terran bioluminescence. “We literally grow our light now, don’t we?”

Xiomara tilted her head and cracked one eye at me. “They have a point, you know.”

“Make it make sense to me,” I invited her.

“Bear in mind, I don’t remember all the fancy science terms -” I snorted, but allowed it. She continued. “But in basic terms, night on Von lasts pretty close to two Terran months. Yes, we would have roughly the same amount of time to charge solar batteries, but it would require a lot of them to make it two months, especially with how cold the nights are.  By extending the interior light cycle as far as we can, we use less of the power we’ve saved up.”

“And just making more batteries has environmental impacts,” I ventured slowly.

“The planet isn’t terribly metal rich,” she pointed out. “Any resources we have for making batteries should be reserved for replacing or repairing, not allocated to making as many as possible. We’re getting a boost from the planet already, since we’ll have ready access to geothermal heat.”

Frowning, I flicked my wrist and brought up my datapad. “Von is tectonically stable, isn’t it?”

She flashed a quick thumbs-up. “No shifting plates, but there is still a molten core and geothermal activity.  In this case, most of the bodies of water are hot springs, and there are no oceans.”

“That’s going to be weird,” I mused. “Rivers, lakes, and a sea or two, but no oceans…”

“I take it you haven’t had time to check out the topography scans,” she laughed. “There aren’t really any mountains, either. Not the kind we’re used to - no tectonic shifting, no huge mountains. Any geological features are from erosion instead.”

I tried to imagine it before shaking my head to bring myself back to the original topic. “Day cycles. We were talking about adjustments to the lighting cycles.”

“Yep,” she agreed. “We’ve already extended them out to thirty hours so far.”

“But Grey wants to go as far as mimicking the sixty Terran day cycles that Von naturally has,” I sighed. “There has to be a compromise.  Your explanation makes sense, but it still doesn’t quite justify pushing it out that far.”

“Compromise is your thing. Arguing is mine.”

I scowled at her again. “That’s unfair.”

“And yet you aren’t saying I’m wrong.” I could hear her smile even without seeing her face. “If you figure out the compromise, I’ll argue it for you.”

“Seriously?”

She waved her hand at me lazily. “Hey, just because I see the logic behind Grey’s idea, it doesn’t mean I agree with setting the day/night cycle for the whole Ark to match the one for the planet. Your argument about the Industrial Revolution has merit, too. Just… leave out the Industrial Revolution part.”

Fair point. Xio had eviscerated that argument right off the bat, so surely Grey would see the same point. “Then I need a new angle.” I tapped my chin thoughtfully. Thinking out loud, I started rambling. “Invention of the light bulb led to the Industrial Revolution because employees could work later into the night with safer light to see by inside factories. Inside…” Something about that was nagging me.

Leaning forward, I smacked my hands flat on the table, startling Xiomara into flailing to keep her balance. “Inside. You mentioned you don’t agree with the day/night cycle for the whole Ark. I’ve been looking at this all wrong.” I shook my head. “We don’t have to worry about all of the Ark.  I keep thinking about the Ark as all one building, but it isn’t. It’s like its own city… Which means we have an ‘indoors’ and an ‘outdoors’!”

Xiomara kicked her legs off the table and sat up. “What are you talking about? Technically, the whole ship is ‘indoors’, isn’t it?”

I made a vague gesture at her with my left hand. “Only in super literal terms. But if you look at it from this perspective…” I pulled up a ship schematic and flicked it to the emitter. Tapping BioLab 2, the corridors, and a few other areas of the ship, I highlighted them bright yellow. “These public areas could be considered ‘outdoors’. Streets and sidewalks, a park, et cetera, you see?”

Tilting her head thoughtfully, she started drumming her fingers. Tapping eating areas, the Council offices, and a few quarters, she made them light up pink. “And these would be ‘indoors’, right? Offices, restaurants, apartments, those kinds of things?”

“Exactly,” I confirmed. “We can start by agreeing to start extending the day/night cycles in areas considered ‘outdoors’ to match Von’s cycle. Nothing to really argue with there - we will have to adjust to it eventually, and doing it in increments over the next eight years will be easier on us than doing it suddenly when we get to the planet. Just like what we’re doing with the gravity.”

“That leaves us with deciding a cycle for the indoor areas.”

“And we can work on figuring that out.  We’ll have more weight in negotiating there, since we’re absolutely conceding with the outdoor areas,” I pointed out.

She nodded thoughtfully. “We almost have a blank check there, I would think. As long as you could defend the energy needed, they really wouldn’t be able to argue.”

“I may have to take that up with Grey, directly.  I don’t think it would be a good idea to go beyond thirty-six hours, and that would be with two rest periods, not just one like Before.”

Xiomara shook her head, locs flying. “Most cultures didn’t do that, you know that, right? Mid-day naps were the norm all over the world, even when we were toe-to-toe with FTL emigration.”

“Even better,” I smiled. “I mean, who is going to argue with a mid-day nap? Not this girl.”

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[avatarnao]

Egos Start Wars

Pairing: Mako/Prince Wu

A03

******

In retrospect, he really should have known to keep his mouth shut. He should have known saying something would lead to this situation. It had been a long, long day though, and he was exhausted.

Prince Wu had spent the entire day dragging him store to store in preparation for some party Mako couldn’t be bothered to know about. He’s convinced the prince just wanted to throw one for the heck of it but needed an excuse. They spent well over four hours at some spa that left him feeling more frazzled than relaxed, then ate at some restaurant that cost more than a year’s worth of rent. At this point, Mako really shouldn’t be surprised by Wu’s lifestyle, only Wu isn’t technically ruling any kingdom anymore, and eventually, his funds will run out. Unless the Earth Kingdom decides to keep him around as royalty in name only. Mako honestly isn’t sure how it all works.

If all of that wasn’t bad enough, Wu disappeared for well over a few hours once they left the restaurant. He spent the better part of the afternoon driving all over Republic City trying to find the wayward prince, only to return to Wu’s home and find him there. Wu, of course, promptly berated him for wasting time and gallivanting around the city. Mako never wanted to throw someone out the window more than in that moment.

Now Mako finds himself at a stuffy event, forced to wear whatever Wu decided looks good on him. The room is packed with people from all over the world, here to celebrate… something; Mako still isn’t sure what this party is even about. He sighs, watching the crowd out of boredom as the prince prattles on to some diplomat from the Fire Nation. Mako vaguely hears something about the nation’s history, but he’s too busy watching Bolin fill his plate with food to pick up on whatever’s being said.

“Ya know,” he hears Wu comment as the prince slings an arm around his shoulder. Wu pulls Mako close, though his attention remains on his conversation partners. “Egos start wars.”

He says it so matter of factly. His tone almost condescending as if his own ego doesn’t threaten his life on a near daily basis. And okay, it’s been a long day and Mako is tired . He doesn’t want to be at some stuffy event surrounded by a bunch of people, and trying to maintain some kind of polite demeanor. He quickly learned during his time with Asami and Korra that this just isn’t for him. This is so far removed from how he grew up and what he’s used to, and he’s so tired of biting his tongue every time Wu opens his mouth, that the words slip out before he can even stop himself.

“I’m surprised yours hasn’t yet.”

The conversation stops abruptly. Two sets of wide eyes immediately shift focus to him. A hand covers the surprised gasp of the woman standing before the prince. Mako knows he’s crossed a line. Bodyguards aren’t supposed to talk back to their charges after all. It was an honest slip and one he will firmly blame on being tired when Lin questions him about it later.

For now, though, Wu is pulling away from him with a small chuckle, shaking his head as if mockingly disappointed. He spares his guest a look, one that says, ‘peasants, am I right?’, and the two diplomats let out awkward laughs.

“Oh, Mako,” he says in that condescending tone that grates on Mako’s nerves. There’s a smile on the prince’s face but his eyes hold the promise of punishment. He waves his hand at his bodyguard flippantly, as he returns his attention to his guests. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the nuances of such high-class conversation.”

Mako grits his teeth, hands clenching into fists at his side. He looks around the room again as Wu starts the conversation back up, suddenly wishing he was anywhere but there. Relief washes through him then, because maybe if Wu is mad enough, he’ll ask Lin to give him a new bodyguard. He’d finally be able to go back to what he originally set out to do instead of playing babysitter to an overgrown toddler.

The thought of being reassigned makes him uneasy though. Who else on the force would be able to put up with Wu’s antics as much as he has? If he’s being honest, he’s not even sure who else he would trust enough to watch after the prince and ensure his safety.

He… he doesn’t want to be fired from this job.

Wu is annoying, sure, but he’s also very kind and thoughtful… in his own strange way. He��s loud and obnoxious, but very skilled in talking to others and de-escalating situations; even when he’s the one escalating them to begin with. He likes to be pampered and expects only the finest things in life, something that definitely came with years of being raised in a palace. Wu is very flamboyant. Dramatic. Constantly over the top, but, Mako suddenly realizes, he’d lay his life down for the prince.

Mako suddenly realizes how endeared he’s become towards Prince Wu. His gaze slides over to his charge as he chats about an entirely different topic than before. Wu’s hands wave around him, an extension of whatever story he’s telling, and Mako finds it almost adorable.

His face flushes at the thought and he quietly excuses himself to get some food, and maybe a breath of fresh air. He’s pretty sure none of them even notice his departure.

Bolin’s sitting out on the balcony with Opal when Mako steps outside. Their conversation drops the moment the door opens and music floods out into the quiet space. He must be noticeably distressed because Opal very quickly excuses herself and disappears back inside.

“What’s up, Mako?” Bolin asks as he claims the seat Opal just vacated. He sets his plate of food on the bench between then and frowns at the ground. Bolin promptly begins picking at a piece of turtleduck.

“I think I messed up with Prince Wu and he’s going to have me fired,” Mako answers with a huff, brushing a hand through his hair. The action displaces carefully styled strands, but he can’t be bothered to care about that. Wu might, but that’s besides the point…

“I’m confused,” his brother responds. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes…” He frowns. “No.” Mako groans, sitting back against the balcony’s railing and slumping in his seat. “I don’t know.” Bolin, precious brother that he is, hums in thought, head nodding as he listens to Mako’s woes.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he’s going to replace you.” Mako watches Bolin with a frown, waiting to see if his brother plans to elaborate on that thought or not. He huffs when his brother fails to elaborate on it.

“I literally insulted him in front of some diplomats, Bolin. Somehow I doubt he’s going to be okay with that.”

“Yeah but… if he wouldn’t he have made a huge scene or something if he was truly insulted?” Bolin points out. “I mean… look at how he reacted during his coronation. The guy isn’t exactly subtle.” Okay, yeah, Bolin has a point. Prince Wu didn’t exactly react like a king when his coronation didn’t go quite as planned. He’s grown a lot since then though… Besides, Mako doubts he’d make a scene in front of visiting nations.

He expressed as much to Bolin. Bolin promptly waves the notion off.

"You know," he begins. "Heard some people talking in there. Not only are you the longest bodyguard Prince Wu's ever had but he also pampers you." Mako blinks, giving Bolin a bewildered look.

"What are you talking about?" He asks. "Wu doesn't… pamper me!" The very idea is enough to make his face warm. Wu just drags him along to those things because he's his bodyguard. The prince doesn't have a choice!

"I don't know, Mako… just because you're protecting him doesn't mean he has to pay for your meals and take you on spa visits."

"Of course he has to take me! I'm his bodyguard ! I'm not just going to stand outside assuming he'll be okay!" Especially not after that bathroom fiasco. Mako still feels guilty over that… Bolin shrug, a know glint in his eyes and a small smile playing across his face.

"I think maybe he likes you," he says, grin growing wider as he leans close to his brother. "And I think, maybe, that you like him too."

Mako sputters and, yeah, his face is definitely on fire. He opens his mouth to reply when the balcony door opens again.

Music and laughter follows someone out the door, dying to a quiet lull as the door clicks shut. Mako takes one look in their direction and grimaces, recognizing the silhouette right away.

"Wu does not like me!" Mako hisses, hoping said prince is far enough that he can't hear.

" Right, " Bolin responds, leaning into Mako. "And he's totally not out here because he prefers your company over being the center of attention inside." Bolin shifts back into his seat and turns towards Mako's charge, voice light and jovial as he says, "Prince Wu! Heeey, how's it going?"

He's wearing that pout that seems to be perpetually stuck on his face, arms crossed as he steps over to the pair. One look at Mako, though, has the entire expression wiped clean as the boy throws himself into his bodyguard's lap. Bolin snickers at the clear display of affection.

"I was looking all over for you, you know," Wu says, tossing an arm over his face. "One minute you were there and then… poof, you were gone." Mako scoffs. He couldn't have been gone for that long. He honestly doubted Wu would even know he left.

"Oh… yeaaahh, sorry about that," Bolin says, looking sheepish. "Saw Mako getting some food and dragged him away for a little… ya know… brother bonding." Wu perks up at the mention of food, eyes honing in on the half empty plate between them. The plate quickly makes its way into the prince's possession.

"I was so worried something had happened," he says, thankfully finishing a bite before speaking. He turns to Mako with wide, wet eyes. "What if I had gotten prince-napped again?" Mako can’t help the exasperated eye roll.

“No one’s going to steal you away,” Mako says. Wu scoffs as if he doesn’t believe it. He mostly likely doesn’t. This is a conversation they have on a near daily basis any time Wu loses sight of Mako.

“Bolin,” Wu says, attention shifting to the earthbender. “Would you mind giving us some room to talk?” Bolin puts his hands up in a placating gesture, sliding off the bench and onto his feet. He gives Mako a thumbs up and a grin, silently encouraging his brother to say something. Mako can only frown as Bolin disappears back inside.

Wu shifts in his lap but makes no move to get off him. He clears his throat, gaze looking everywhere but at his companion.

“I’m sorry,” Mako says because the tension is grating on his nerves, and someone needs to say something. The prince’s eyes are on him in an instant. “I know I spoke out of turn and… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you like that.”

“Oh, Mako,” Wu says with a laugh, gently patting his shoulder. “I wasn’t insulted. In fact, I appreciate your honesty. It’s refreshing.”

“It is?”

“If anything,” Wu continues as if Mako hadn’t even spoken. “ I should be apologizing to you. ” He turns in Mako’s lap, hands straightening out his collar with a smile. “I should’ve realized sooner that these things make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry for forcing you to come. In the future, I’ll ask Chief Beifong to give you the night off.”

“No!” Mako grabs his hands, eyes wide in alarm. Wu blinks at him in surprised confusion. Mako clears his throat, letting go and sitting back, eyes averted from the prince in his lap. His cheeks feel warm. “No… that… that won’t be necessary. I, uh… I don’t know if I’d be able to relax not knowing if you were doing okay or… not….”

Wu looks positively delighted by this bit of information. He looks down at his hand resting in his lap and sighs.

“That makes me feel so relieved,” Wu confesses. “I spend so much time at these events and, while I love them, it’s exhausting being around people who just say what you want to hear instead of what you need to. With you around, though, it’s not as exhausting. I’d even go as far as saying I enjoy having you here with me.”

Mako stares, and continues to stare at the prince. He doesn’t know what to say to any of that. Wu actually likes having him at these stuffy parties?

“Why?” he finds himself asking. Wu huffs and if it wasn’t so dark, Mako’d swear he’s blushing.

“Of all the bodyguards I’ve ever had,” the prince says. “You’ve been the most fun to have around. I know I can be overdramatic and obnoxious sometimes. But.. I feel like with you, I can unapologetically be myself. Even if you are just humoring me, you at least go along with all the shopping and spa visits.” He pauses to take a breath, shoulders rising and falling. When he speaks again there’s a slight tremor to his voice as he whispers, “I think maybe that’s why I’ve fallen for you.”

“I don’t think you’re obnoxious,” Mako pauses, shaking his head with a smile. “No… that’s not right…” Wu’s face crumbles, hope quickly fleeing his eyes. “I did think you were obnoxious at first, but now… now I think I just find it… endearing.” He takes Wu’s hand into his own, gently rubbing a finger against his impossible soft skin. “I actually like how over the top you can be about things, it’s… cute, in its own way.” That brings the smile back to his prince’s face, and it makes the one on Mako’s grow wider as their eyes meet.

“I think maybe that’s why I’ve fallen for you too.”

Wu’s lips are just as soft as the rest of him, Mako discovers. Kissing, Mako realizes, is also something he will grow to love about the Earth Kingdom’s prince.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[locke-writes]

Save The Date

Author: locke-writes

Title: Save The Date

Summary: Fake Dating Trope, Mutual Pining Trope  x Matt Murdock For: @thranduilsperkybutt​ 11k writing challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,857

In retrospect you knew you knew you shouldn't have been impulsive, you shouldn't have answered to the RVSP out of spite. The phrase hindsight is 20-20 was now more applicable to your life than it had ever been. Who sends out wedding reminders anyway? That's what the Save the Date was for in the first place and without the reminder you could have claimed that you'd forgotten. Although you hadn't forgotten and the reminder that came in the middle of replying to work emails was a slap in the face.

It was your fault for wanting to get back at your ex in the first place. You could have been a rational human being and replied that you couldn't attend but no, you had to reply that you'd be in attendance and not just that, you'd be bringing a plus one. Had you even been dating anyone at the time? No. Had you dated anyone since that you could have brought to the wedding? No. Act first and think it over later, that was apparently your philosophy.

You'd put yourself into a predicament of which there was no backing out. You had to save face and you had to do that anyway you could. Only one option seemed to come to mind although you kept trying to come with any other way to get out of the obligation of attending. A plus one was hard to come by with the wedding only two weeks away. Matt would be your only option, if he agreed. You hoped that he would.

Asking Matt was going to be more difficult that anyone could think. Not because you had to up and tell him the full embarrassing story of why you decided that it was a good idea to accept but because for the longest time you had been in love with the man. Having met in college it wasn't that hard to have fallen for him over time, what was hard was getting rid of the feelings you held and convincing yourself that he would never feel the same way. You were grateful that he had taught you how to keep your heartbeat steady or he would have guessed by now that you harbored feelings for him. Or if he was as thickheaded as he could be sometimes, he might think you had feelings for Foggy.

But yes, you loved him, and because you loved him you knew it wasn't going to be that difficult to pretend to date him.

When you walked into this office the next day Matt could sense your nervousness. Knowing how you felt when he broached something he gleamed based on your biometrics he left the matter alone waiting for you to broach the subject when you were ready. It had taken half the day for you to calm down enough to go over the words in your head. Even then when you explained to Matt just what you were asking, he still had to backtrack and repeat to make certain that he was grasping everything.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to pose as your boyfriend next weekend because you decided it was a good idea to accept an exes wedding invite?"

"I know. I know, I'm an idiot but yes. Listen Matt you're the only person I trust enough to ask this of, it's ridiculous and I should have been the bigger person in the first place and I wasn't."

"Well, I don't have plans for next weekend and it does come with free food…I suppose I could pretend for just one weekend"

You hugged Matt, pulling away before thanking him and promising to send him a fake backstory of how you two got together figuring it would help if someone eventually asked. On your way out for the day you avoided Karen who, other than Foggy, was the only person who knew that you were in love with Matt. Knowing what she would say about the idea you needed to avoid her, you didn't need to be reminded of how foolish this idea was. Foggy ended up staying back with Matt to work on a case while Matt went over the fake backstory.

It was detailed, that's for sure. Everything was there, who asked who out, how long you had been together, had you been living together and for how long. Matt knew that it was fiction, a mere farce that he'd have to live for one singular Saturday but looking at the details Matt found himself thinking that he didn't want them to be lies, he wanted every single word to be the truth.

On more than one occasion Foggy had convinced him that you shared his feelings, that Matt would not have to deal with unrequited love. While part of him hoped that were true and hoped that he could take that leap of faith with you, another part of him knew that it was futile. He couldn't, and wouldn't, put you in the danger that could come from being with him and besides that there was no way you actually harbored any similar feelings for him. The wedding would be a chance to live out a fantasy and Matt would accept that as the closest he would ever get.

In the days before the wedding you and Matt had run through your backstory time and again. Both Foggy and Karen had offered to help, not only quizzing you on the finer details but asking questions as though they two were guests which allowed you and Matt to fully mesh as a pretend couple. Neither of you knew it was far easier to pretend than it should have been.

The day of the wedding was not what you anticipated it to be. In the future you would look on it in a far different light but as you were not in the future yet you simply viewed it through the lens of an actor. Matt was a great scene partner, impressing those at your table with stories of legal cases while making them swoon with stories of your college days which were real. Although you assumed he had added in the detail of one of those moments being when he realized he loved you for the first time for the only benefit of furthering the lie you were wrapped up in.

Even your ex seemed to think that it was about time you and Matt had gotten together. While you had assumed he might be surprised that you had brought a date you had also assumed that he wouldn't have supposed the date to be Matt. The idea that your love for Matt was evident to everyone began to make you second guess the plan. This was a way to prove to your ex that you had moved on rather than that you truly were in love with the person he assumed you'd end up with one day.

As Matt asked you to dance you began to wonder what would happen if you told the truth to him. What harm could come from being at a wedding where you knew everything between you and Matt was pretend? What harm could come from confessing the truth if Karen and Foggy both insisted that you should? They both couldn't have been wrong and perhaps maybe this was your chance. Instead all you could focus on was the fact that Matt's tie was crooked.

Matt quirked an eyebrow as you let go of his hands.

"You're tie is crooked, I'm just fixing it"

You paused as his hand came to rest over yours, "I love you"

It was simple but it was the truth. Matt loved you and he was tired of keeping quiet. He was tired of not saying anything, tired of not being able to hold your or take you in his arms and kiss you. This was the way he could tell you but not be held responsible for the outcome, it was a wedding, it was fake and perhaps you would assume that everything he was saying was false.

Which you did. You were stunned by the confession however you knew what you had asked of him. He was pretending to be your boyfriend and pretending to be in love with you. A performance, that's what you had to keep thinking of it as, just a performance. The two of you danced for a few more songs before leaving the reception. Silence surrounded you on the way home broken only by the soft thank you that you offered Matt after you dropped him off at his apartment.

Lying in bed that night you let your mind run over the events of the day knowing that you would not be able to face Matt on Monday, or any day that week. Being with him was too difficult, you couldn't pretend, didn't want to pretend anymore and you couldn't go back to work knowing that everything was changed for you but would be the same for Matt.

Avoidance wasn't the best but it was what needed to occur. You called Foggy the next morning and told him you were taking the week off. He passed the message onto Matt that Monday causing him to have his own reflection on what he had said and done. By Friday Matt had made up his mind. The truth of everything would come out, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

Matt's call at your door could not be avoided and while you wished to keep the door shut, you let him in anyway. You toed around the point, waiting for him to bring up whatever it was he was there for and you assumed that he was there to make sure you knew that nothing was between you. Wanting to let him know there was no hard feelings there was a pause between you spoke and when Matt spoke, a brief overlap before you snapped your mouth shut. The confession was being echoed and this time you were listening with full attention.

"I love you. I'm in love with you. No lies, no acting, no nothing. I’m sick of pretending I don’t care, sick of pretending that it doesn’t hurt to see you with other people. I love you, for real, not for fake. Those stories, that story about loving you, about knowing it and feeling it…about being connected. I need you to know I meant every word."

"Matt" you spoke but were interrupted.

"No, it's fine. I just needed to tell you that. I needed you to know because I can't keep hiding it from you."

"Matthew Murdock would you just shut up for one-second so I can tell you that I'm in love with you to?"

You let the words sink in and quickly Matt kissed you before you could say anything else.

He loved you. You loved him. The two of you were fools not to see it but now, it was going to be evident. There was never going to be going back, Matt was your future. You knew that for a fact.

[laulink]

Like Mother like Daughter

A.N : Katarina and her children are meeting her mother for an afternoon tea and talk about various topics.

This is mostly a way to introduce the kids I imagine for Katarina and Maria. I also imagine Katarina would renounce her noble title somehow, so her kids are not raised as nobility, hence some of the questions they ask in this.

Enjoy !

 Duchess Claes : Your children are so nice and well-behaved, it’s really quite the contrast compared to how you were as a child.

Katarina : *laughing a bit nervously* Yeah, I do realise, in retrospect, I wasn’t really an easy child for you to handle.

Elina, 10 years old, Katarina and Maria’s eldest daughter who takes most of her looks from Katarina, including her light brown hair and the strands falling across her brow and to the right side of her face : Mom, you were a troublemaker as a child ?

Katarina : *a bit embarrassed* Not really in the sense you’re thinking of. I didn’t play pranks or that sort of thing. But… Well, I had some hobbies and mannerisms that weren’t befitting of a young lady. Mother tried so hard to teach me to act like a noble, but no matter what, I was a bit of a tomboy and I never gave up farming, so it was a lost cause.

Thomas, 7 years old, Katarina and Maria’s adopted son, sporting short brown hair and brown eyes : Huh ? You weren’t supposed to farm ? But why ? It’s such a useful skill !

Elina : Yeah ! Mama always says it too, that there’s nothing useless to know and you should always try to learn about a lot of things !

Katarina : And it’s true. But there are always things that are more or less important to know, you see ? For a farmer it’s very important to know how to farm, but not for someone who lives in the middle of the city and doesn’t have a place to grow a garden. For nobles, it’s less that they don’t have the possibility and more that there are a lot of things they should try to learn before farming. For example, dancing, embroidery, tending to flowers, eating properly, walking gracefully, and so on and so forth. So Mother was upset that I spent so much time on something that wouldn’t be as useful to me as learning to dance or to play the piano.

Thomas : Why is learning the piano more important than farming ? It doesn’t make sense !

Duchess Claes : That’s because the nobles value the arts more than farming. A young lady’s first duty is to be beautiful and graceful in everything she does. If she can be smart on top of that, it is all the better.

Elina : What is all this for ?

Duchess Claes : To find a good person to marry, of course. The higher the rank, the better. For a great Ducal family like ours, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine our daughter marrying in the royal family. But for that to happen, she needed to be well-educated, a true jewel standing out from the crowd of the other nobles.

Thomas : Then, does that mean Mom didn’t manage to find a good match ? In terms of nobility I mean.

*Katarina almost chokes on her tea and the Duchess looks at her, surprise clear on her features.*

Duchess Claes : You never told them ?

Katarina : Well, there was never really a reason to talk about such things until now…

Elina : Told us what ?

Duchess Claes : Katarina got engaged to the third prince of the country, Prince Giordo, when she was 8 years old. He was madly in love with her, though she didn’t realise it for the longest time. Then she met your Mama, Maria, and fell so head over heels for her that she decided to break off her engagement to Prince Giordo.

*Elina and Thomas are gaping and looking at Katarina like she had just grown a second head*

Elina : Mom ! Why did you never tell us ? This is like an epic fairy tale !

Thomas : Did you have to fight a dragon ? Save Mama from a curse ? With a true love kiss ?!

Katarina : *waving her hands in front of her* No way, no way ! There were some complications, but it mostly had to do with Prince Giordo being stubborn and continuing to try to seduce me instead of giving up, nothing like a dragon or a curse !

Elina : *crossing her arms* Well, if that Prince was being stubborn, then he deserved to get dumped ! Men who can’t take no for an answer are not cute at all !

Katarina : *suspicious* … You heard that somewhere, didn’t you ?

Elina : Yes ! Miss Rosario said that to Henry when he kept asking Anna for a kiss ! Even though she had told him she didn’t want to kiss him !

Thomas : *leaning toward his sister, listening intently* And then, and then ?

Elina : *proudly* He said that he was the best looking boy in class so Anna had to like him the best, but then Anna said that she liked me best and she kissed me !

Thomas : *gasping and looking impressed* That’s so cool ! Sis, you’re like a knight in a fairy tale !

Duchess Claes : *laughing behind her fan* That’s what they mean by “like Mother like Daughter” ! 10 years old and such a ladykiller already ! Careful Katarina, or she might end up with 10 suitors too !

Katarina : *already looking like her soul is leaving her just thinking about it* Please no…

Elina : Wait, Mom, does that mean you had 10 suitors ?! It wasn’t just Mama and Prince Giordo ?

Duchess Claes : Oh no, far from it ! Don’t ask me how, but your Mom managed to seduce all the people she made friends with as a child, and then some more when she was at the Academy, including your Mama ! 10 is only counting the ones I knew of at the time, but I heard there were even more.

Katarina : *grabbing Elina by the shoulders* Be very careful, Elina ! Don’t let people get the wrong idea and grow in a group of suitors around you ! Trust me, this is not something you want to see happening.

Elina : *looking resigned* Don’t worry about me, Mom, I don’t think I’m in much danger. *pointing to something behind Katarina* If there’s someone you should be worried about, it would be Amelia, since she’s so cute and angel-like.

*Katarina turns around to see Anne walking toward them, holding the little Amelia, 2 years old, rubbing sleep from her eyes after her afternoon nap. She was Katarina and Maria’s third and youngest child and took most of her looks from Maria, including her golden hair and crystalline blue eyes.*

*Amelia, noticing everyone looking at her, smiled brightly at her family and waved her little hand toward them. Everyone felt their heart being suddenly crushed with love for the angelic baby*

Katarina : Yes, you’re right… Definitely got to be cautious with her.

A.N : Putting that here because I didn’t want to “spoil” the kids before the beginning of the ficlet :

- Elina is a light magic user, like Maria, and while she likes farming with her Mom, she’s more interested in academics and studying magic. Like Katarina, her kindness and honesty got her a lot of admirers, but she’s far less oblivious about it than her Mom. She’s a bit mischievous, but never mean, especially when pranking her siblings (Thomas is her favourite target). When she has a goal in mind, she tends to forget everything else around her, so Thomas (and later Amelia) have to keep her in check.

- Thomas is a fire magic user. He was born in a commoner family, like Maria, but his magic manifested a lot younger than normal ; when he was 2 years old, he set fire to his family’s home. His father was furious, both because of the damage and because of the assumption that his wife had had an affair with a noble. So furious in fact that he hit his wife, who fell down the stairs and broke her neck, dying instantly. Katarina and Maria, who were in town for work, heard of the fire and intervened before the man could cause harm to his son. They arrested him and took Thomas home with them, then decided to officially adopt him. He is aware the two are not his birth mothers, but they haven’t told him the details of how he lost his birth family yet. They’re waiting for him to be a bit older.

- Amelia is a light magic user as well. She is already a total cutie and she will only get cuter when growing up. She is also very kind and soft, leading people to underestimate her intelligence. She doesn’t use it against them most of the time, unless there’s a very good reason for it. Elina and Thomas are very protective of their little sister, but sometimes it is Amelia who protects them and she can get really scary when she wants to be.

[cake-writes]

Six (1/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Violence, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eating Disorder (Reader), Slow Burn, 18+

Summary: Bucky knew that there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still had to work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on your petty bullshit. You distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about. You also drove him up a fucking wall.

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s Multi-Fandom Followers Challenge - ‘enemies to lovers’ trope.

James Buchanan Barnes couldn’t stand you. Or your generation.

‘Millennials’ they were called, ranging anywhere from 25 to 40, give or take a couple years. Boy, were they wasteful, entitled, and disrespectful – spoiled rotten by the children of his generation. Where all of their parenting had gone wrong, he wasn’t sure, but it explained a hell of a lot about the world’s current state of affairs.

He knew that Steve didn’t like any of it either, but Steve wasn’t vocal about it; not that Bucky was vocal, of course, because he wasn’t.

Except for when you were involved.

The shitty attitude, he could handle. You griped constantly, so much that it grated on his last nerve after every mission. ‘Broke a nail’ this and ‘bled all over my new shirt’ that. No matter how good you were in the field, he loathed having to deal with you longer than necessary. You whined like a spoiled brat and it was exhausting.

He could also deal with the disrespect. Because your face was buried in your phone 24/7, you’d stumbled into him more than once in the hallway without offering so much as an apology – never mind the time that you very nearly got him shot because you forgot to put the stupid device on silent while the two of you were doing covert ops, or all the other times you interrupted him while he was talking to send off a text. Sometimes he thought you did it on purpose just to piss him off, but he let it slide.

What Bucky couldn’t stand was the wastefulness. Growing up during the Great Depression had taught him not let a single thing go to waste. In fact, he’d say it was downright shameful to do so. His outdated mentality on the subject was just as hard to grow out of as it was for him not to comment on it, and needless to say, he commented. A lot.

Shortly after Bucky moved into the compound, he went to the kitchen for some orange juice one morning and found you throwing away some wilted but perfectly edible produce. An argument ensued. He used up the remnants for breakfast, while you stormed out of the room.

That particular incident was what set the tone for your tumultuous relationship, if you could even call it that. You’d only met a week or two prior, and neither of you left a good impression on the other. He was still keyed up from his return to civilization. You were a victim of circumstance. In retrospect, he knew he shouldn’t have picked the fight, but he didn’t regret it in the least because your bad habits just continued on from there.

One afternoon, he found you stuffing your face with candy instead of eating the tub of yogurt you’d bought a month ago. Bucky knew it was about to go off because it sat there every day at eye level, unopened, with your name written on it in curly black marker, taunting him whenever he opened the fridge. As the expiration date neared, he told you more than once that he’d eat it if you weren’t going to. He’d quickly noticed what a picky eater you were – even though no one from his generation was picky like that – and in some way, he might have been trying to be nice.

More than that, though, it was his attempt at controlling the situation and with it, your wasteful behaviour. You saw right through it and another argument ensued, during which you told him to just eat the fucking thing and stop riding your ass about it. He ate the entire tub by the next morning. You never bought yogurt again.

After dinner one night, he caught you scraping most of your meal off your plate into the trash. He’d seen you pushing it around from the corner of his eye, picking at it like you didn’t have an appetite and maybe you didn’t. He assumed you’d pack it away for later like a normal person, but instead you threw it out. It resulted in yet another argument, and this one ended with hot, angry tears spilling down your cheeks right before you told him to go fuck himself for constantly hassling you about your eating habits.

That was about two weeks ago, and the two of you hadn’t talked since. It was the longest you’d gone without talking to each other over the six months or so since you met, during which you’d argued more times than he could count. Lately, though, you weren’t around much and neither was he. Too many missions. A blessing in disguise.

Bucky knew there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still got nightmares, despite the weekly therapy he’d begrudgingly started to attend at Steve’s suggestion and Sam’s prodding. He still had to unpack and work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present.

Yes, there were more important things for him to worry about, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on the petty bullshit. It distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about.

In some ways, you became his distraction.

When he first met you, he thought you were attractive – and to him, your body still was but Christ, did your personality drive him up a wall. There was never a shred of sexual tension between you and him because all that existed was just plain tension. The air was thick with it whenever you were in the same room, and your teammates were always prepared to break up whatever argument arose from the two of you being together for more than a minute.

While you picked a fight every now and then, it was usually him and, truth be told, Bucky didn’t really blame you for not liking him. He didn’t like himself much, either. He’d done more than enough terrible things for a lifetime or two. That was one reason why he was in therapy.

By comparison, this was minor. It was stupid. It was petty, but whenever you were around, every word out of his mouth was a criticism. He blamed it on the fact that out of everyone he worked with, you were by far the most obnoxious and you made no secret of your disdain for him. It was annoying. You were annoying.

That said, the two of you somehow worked well together. On the battlefield, you listened to his orders without question. You respected him as a soldier, an ally. You did the job, and you did it well – usually. In the thick of it all, he actually liked to be with you and if he was honest, he’d admit that liked the fire in your eyes when you covered him or returned fire. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t afford to be so honest. Not anymore.

The problem was that as soon as the fight was over, you were at each other’s throats all over again. All the excess adrenaline coursing through his veins and yours after a mission certainly didn’t help matters any, especially on the plane ride home, when tensions were high and him just looking at you wrong set you off. Or vice versa.  

It was only by pure luck that you hadn’t been paired up over the last two weeks.

He quickly discovered that that was a bad thing. A very bad thing. When you were finally paired up together for a mission, it went south very quickly due to your lack of communication. He wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been and neither were you. Instead, you wound up being thrown against a wall where you smacked your head against brick and concrete and, for a moment, he thought the worst.

You didn’t regain consciousness for almost a week.

It wasn’t a pleasant time for Bucky. No, his nightmares were worse than ever because now he had you to add to his always-growing list of mistakes: his failure to protect you, to watch your six like you had his. He blamed himself for not trying to fix things sooner.  He blamed himself for a lot of things. That was another reason why he was in therapy.

He wasn’t there when you woke up, but he arrived just in time to watch you yank the IV from your arm, snarling at the nurse not to touch you again. When the nurse saw him walk in, she looked relieved to see him, almost, like he’d be able to talk some sense into you.

Yeah, right.

You quickly pulled the bag of fluids hanging beside your bed and scanned it with frantic eyes, searching for something – he didn’t know what. All he knew was that it was unsettling to see you like this, so frazzled, so upset. Something was wrong.

“Hey, doll,” he said, taking a couple of cautious steps into the room, but you didn’t even seem to hear him. Normally you would have snapped at him over the casual address, but instead, you were talking to yourself.

“Six days,” you muttered, trying to do the math on your fingers, but it didn’t quite click. Your brain was a hazy mess, and unfortunately, you couldn’t remember much – just that you’d been knocked back into a wall and then – nothing. “Ten thousand?”

It wasn’t until you swore loudly that you realized Bucky was in the room. He was just the person you needed to see right now. Perfect.

“What do you want?” you asked, dropping the bag down onto the bed. Next to it lay the feeding tube the nurse had just very uncomfortably removed.

“You wanna tell me what all this,” he gestured to the bloody IV on the floor, “is about?”

“Not particularly,” you snarked. “I’m being discharged. Out of my way, Barnes.”  

As always, you drove him up a wall, but he was a little more forgiving this time. You’d just woken up from a coma. That was probably why your behaviour was so off. It made sense.

Instead of dignifying your attitude with a response, he just stepped aside and let you storm out into the hallway.

Still, he found himself trailing behind you – giving you your distance, but he also wanted to keep an eye on you for any other erratic behaviour. If you noticed that he was following you, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you signed some discharge papers at the nurse’s station, accepted a small pile of folded clothing – your torn uniform – and made your way to the elevator.

Bucky got in with you almost automatically. In fact, he hardly even realized it until his feet had already taken him there. He didn’t know why.

You eyed him suspiciously as he pressed the button to the ground floor, but he ignored you. The ride downstairs was silent and uncomfortable – tense as always – but your racing thoughts distracted you from it, fingernails tapping anxiously against the handrail in the elevator as it made its descent.

As terrible as you felt, you had to go to the gym. You had to burn off the ten thousand calories that had been pumped into your body over the last week. Needed to.  It wasn’t optional.

“Sorry,” he said then, and you glanced over at him. He didn’t apologize often.

“For what?”

“I wasn’t covering you,” he responded, meeting your eyes for a moment before he looked away. There was a hint of shame there that you didn’t miss. “I should’ve had your six. You got hurt because I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Shit happens,” you told him, tone neutral, but some small part of you appreciated his apology – his honesty, even though it wasn’t his fault. You were the one who should have been paying more attention, but all you were focused on during the mission was burning off the calories you’d had at lunch. The fact that you and Bucky were in the middle of a rough patch at the time was the furthest thing on your mind.

Just like now.

Bucky didn’t say anything at that, and the conversation died out. Thankfully, the elevator finally reached the bottom floor just in time with a quiet ‘ding’.

You didn’t even look in his direction as you exited the elevator, planning to make a beeline for your room to get changed into more suitable clothing. The nightgown you were wearing – courtesy of medical – was comfortable, but not exactly good for exercising.

“You got someplace to be?”

You shot Bucky an irritated look and said like it was obvious, “The gym.”

“You just got out of medical—”

“Let it go, Barnes,” you called over your shoulder.

Thankfully, he did let it go.

You made it to your room in the neighbouring building just fine, but the moment you shut the door behind you, your calm demeanour was replaced with panic. How the hell were you supposed to burn off ten thousand calories? You were going to be at the gym all night.

And you were.

In the end, you were at the gym for hours. The sun was shining high in the sky when you were released from the medical ward, and now it was dark. A quick check of your watch showed that it was a little after eight o’clock.

By this point, you’d done a half hour on every single cardio machine in the gym: treadmills, ellipticals, a random stair climber that never got used, then spin bikes when your back started to hurt from being on your feet for so long.

Now that your legs were thoroughly fatigued, you were putting your arms to work with a punching bag. Boxing still required some leg work, of course, but your wrapped knuckles were catching the brunt of it.

In between the bursts of cardio, you were going to the bathroom and weighing yourself after, not that it made much of a difference – not even half a pound. With all the exercise, you wound up drinking far too much water, so now you were peeing out the difference. As soon as you finished pulling your sweaty leggings back up, you already felt like you had to go again. It was a special brand of hell.

You’d just returned to the heavy bag and landed a couple of unsteady punches when you realized you weren’t alone. Bucky was here, now. Of course he was.

Over the past few hours, some of your teammates had come through. Steve and Sam came in to train together, and were pleasantly surprised to find that you were finally up and at ‘em again. Clint grinned at you and gave you a thumbs-up. Natasha was glad to see that you were already feeling well enough for some cardio.

Except you weren’t feeling well enough at all. You were ready to puke. Truth be told, you’d been feeling like that for a while, but you held it back because you needed to burn off the calories. With a conservative estimate, you’d maybe only burned a third of the ten thousand.

Just a third.

“You feeling alright?”

Bucky’s hand was gentle on your sweaty shoulder and you jumped, very nearly losing your footing. You knew your body was a bit more sluggish, now, but your reaction time was embarrassingly slow.

You shrugged off his hand. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he told you.

“So what?” you snapped at him. “Why do you even care? You didn’t during the mission.”

That was a low blow, and you knew it. He’d already apologized, for one, and for two, it wasn’t his fault to begin with. It was yours.

When Bucky’s jaw tensed, you turned back to the heavy bag in front of you, refusing to meet his eyes again.

You hated always being so nasty to him, but only he could inspire such a rise out of you. You weren’t sure why. The two of you got on like water and oil, constantly arguing about stupid, petty bullshit. The arguments usually happened when you were at your worst: cranky from a lack of food or angry with yourself for an abundance of it. Sometimes, he got a bug up his ass about your eating habits, and that was what really set you off. It was a sensitive topic. You despised talking about it because that just stressed you out even more, so much that every now and then it made you cry.

Of course, he’d never seen any of that until a couple of weeks ago.

The punches you landed were weak and pathetic, let alone not where you’d been aiming at all. That may have had something to do with how spotty your vision was – like a runner’s high times a thousand. You blamed it on your own lack of focus and discipline, but you knew deep down that it was because your body desperately needed to rest. Either that, or it needed some real sustenance, not liquid calories from a feeding tube.

You leaned a hand against the heavy bag to steady yourself from the sudden dizzy spell, but it didn’t help much. Your body pitched forward anyway.

“Hey,” came Bucky’s voice, then – soft and soothing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

His arms were around you, one hard and unyielding under the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but he was warm – so warm and gentle and you found yourself leaning into him, dazed and half-conscious. Your vision was spottier than ever, almost black. You weren’t sure if it was because your eyes were closed or you were dreaming. Maybe a mixture of both.

Then, a split second later, you were blinking up at your bedroom ceiling.

Bucky was there; he’d pulled your desk chair over to your bedside and was sitting in it, thumbing through one of your books. When you shifted, he looked up from the novel to you.

“What the hell,” you muttered under your breath, slowly pulling yourself up to a seated position. When had you made it back to your bedroom? And for that matter, what was he doing here? With one of your favourite books, no less.

“You fainted,” he explained so simply that it set you off.

“I didn’t faint,” you argued, more for the sake of arguing than anything else. You didn’t faint like a pathetic damsel in distress. That wasn’t something that you did. “I was doing cardio, and then…”

His brows raised expectantly.

You crossed your arms in a huff. “And then I ended up here.”

“Sounds like you fainted to me, but what do I know,” he said dryly – teasing, almost, but you weren’t on good enough terms for that. “I mean, you sure were dead weight for someone who was still conscious.”

“What?” you asked stupidly.

He carried you here? That was bad enough, but what’s worse was that he said you were heavy. He was a super soldier; you definitely shouldn’t have been too heavy, but you had been eating worse than usual lately and you probably put on an extra few pounds whilst in medical—

“Christ, would you calm down? I’m kidding,” he interrupted your anxious thoughts and you realized, then, that they must have shown on your face.

When you met his eyes and saw that gorgeous pale blue so up close, you briefly forgot what you were panicking about to begin with. You’d always loved his eyes, despite how often the two of you were at each other’s throats. They were just about the only thing you liked about him.

Whatever fleeting appreciation you may have had disappeared in an instant when he added, “You know I’m gonna have to take you back to medical if you push yourself too hard again.”

You frowned. “I didn’t push myself too hard, I was working off—”

Then you cut yourself off and chewed your lip. You almost said too much. He wouldn’t get why your head was so fucked up because, honestly, even you didn’t get it. How could you expect someone else to?

“You were working off what?”

You glanced at him and found that he genuinely seemed like he wanted to know. Actual curiosity, and possibly a hint of concern played out on his features as he studied your face.

Well, if he wanted to know so badly, then you’d tell him. Maybe then he’d finally leave you alone. Good riddance.

“The calories,” you mumbled, feeling even stupider after saying it out loud.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“The calories,” you repeated a bit more clearly. “Medical force-fed me while I was out.”

“Why does that matter?” he asked far too seriously for your liking. “You’re lucky you’re not brain dead.”

You bristled at the way he brushed off your concerns so casually. “What, like you?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, offering a glimpse of exactly how patient he was trying to be with you. “Look, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’re obviously just fine,” there was a little bite to his tone as he got to his feet, then, “so I’m gonna go.”

Well, now you felt bad.

“Shit, Barnes, wait—”

You didn’t realize you’d actually reached out for him until your fingers embedded in the thick fabric of his shirt sleeve. He stared at your hand on his metal forearm for a moment before he turned his eyes up to yours, looking every bit as unsettled as you felt.  

You immediately let him go and started picking at a very interesting piece of lint on your duvet, doing your best to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. “Sorry. Thanks for, you know, caring.”

He scoffed a little at that, to which you hesitantly looked over at him again only to find that he’d flopped right back down into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Someone has to. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you sassed. “I can really feel the love.”

Despite your bristly demeanour, and his, you felt the corners of your lips turn up all the same.

Part Two / Master List

[imuybemovoko]

My beliefs now

I set this blog up for a bunch of different purposes including conlangs/worldbuilding stuff, my writing, and my views on religion and maybe also politics. So far, mostly, I’ve ranted a lot about the beliefs I left behind. Now that I’ve let that particular sketchy brand of Christianity, now that I’ve discovered the ways it and my conservative family background were probably turning me into a fascist while I was still in all that, I figure I might as well try to hash out where I stand now. I’m around eleven months out from my deconversion, and a lot has already changed. I might try to attempt a before and after thing but there’s a lot to unpack about how I used to think and I’m not sure I’ve understood everything yet. I think I made the mistake of thinking that not very long before that repressed memory about “Sharon” and her Jonah display came crashing back in March. This is current to late July 2020 and may not include everything. 

So without any further ado, let’s talk background. First, some things I’ve already either mentioned or given more than enough evidence for. I used to be a Christian fundamentalist. (Clearly. I rant about it a lot.) I got into that because I was raised religious, then let myself fall right the fuck into what I’ll call “deep end lite” shortly before senior year in high school. Some local churches in my small town arranged a missions trip thing and the way I agreed to go along felt in the moment like surrendering to a voice that’s been speaking to me all along. In ...a way, it was. Just not the voice I thought. I’m pretty sure I didn’t want this god, at any point like ever, until that little part of me whispered that it would be easier to accept him. I have a megathread document that I’ve stored a lot of my “God stories” from my time as a Christian in. Unfortunately I didn’t remember many specific details of this experience to write down in there, but I did write a bit of a “life-story” thing that reminds me that, chronologically, that happened after a period of focused attempts by the church to indoctrinate me, some traumatic things my family did, social struggles, and feeling like an asshole because of things I’d done in the past. I remember having this growing sense over the previous year that I was approaching some kind of very dangerous breaking point, to the point where (trigger warning: mental instability, school shooter mention. Please either stop here or skip to where it says “in other words” in the next paragraph after this if that’s going to be an issue. It also keeps getting dark from there for a minute. Please, please tread with care if you need to. There is no shame at all if this becomes too much. Take care of yourself first and foremost.) 

when discussing how I came to accept the faith, I told some of my Christian friends that I felt like there was a scary chance of me becoming a school shooter. I think this may have been a post-hoc projection, but I can’t quite be sure of that. I was in a bad place for a bit there in high school. I had a wild temper and some sketchy intrusive thoughts.

In other words, it hit at a perfect moment of weakness. That’s how oppressive forms of spirituality function, it’s how hate groups function... it’s a massive shit cocktail and I found a pretty bad influence in the form of people who promote that whole “born again experience” thing in Christianity. I’d say I’m glad I missed out on being dragged into a fascist ideology this way, but uh... I’m no longer convinced I didn’t grow up around something like that. More later. 

From there I spiraled my way through my first attempts at college through the university’s chapter of the Chi Alpha campus ministry and, peripherally through that, Assemblies of God (holy shit those guys are wild), then through a local Baptist church (more peripherally) and Calvary Chapel (I was a worship guitarist here for like 18 months and helped with their youth ministry for almost as long) closer to home and a CRU chapter at my community college. With each passing year I slipped further and further into this weird shame-induced funk where I got like... addicted to Jesus and hated myself or something. It’s a bit hard to find words that don’t take multiple entire extra pages and I want to be concise, so I’ll simply call it “Jesus-flavored depression” for brevity and because that was enough of a genuinely bad time (and I’m still fucked up enough) that I might need some fairly serious therapy.

Near the end of 2018 I was reaching a breaking point, wondering why nothing ever seemed to change in my life from “sexual sin” (...which in my case literally consisted of being attracted to women and occasional self-pleasure, but they literally teach you to hate yourself for less than that in the spicier churches rip) to my direction in life to how trapped I felt by my family. I also started to have more questions about the violence in the Bible and some of the sketchier doctrines, and that was strongly reinforced by some of the things I saw in a creative writing class I took, including an atheist who shared a story of a profoundly negative experience involving being taught about hell at a very young age. All that led to the absolute disaster that was December 2018. It was my last semester at the community college I went to. Finals week was a fucking disaster, and the week before that too, and my grades were really good but at great cost. I won’t go into a ton of detail because 1. space concerns and 2. this time is still damn painful to discuss, but just know that I’m unconvinced I’d have survived that month without this song. (Yes, that’s Paramore. Shut up xD they’re still good.) I looped it for like three days straight and I think it was just enough to keep me going through what was the third time I had any suicidal kind of thoughts ever and by far the worst and longest period of it so far.

So the next several months (and I won’t go into a ton of detail about this, I intended this post more to describe my current position and I don’t wanna get too in the weeds with background) were a confusing period of questioning, starting with, of all things, my family dynamic. The spiral after the week before finals was ...considerably worsened by some comments my dad made, and between that and some experiences in the past that the creative writing class I took that fall reminded me of, I was exposed to a bit of a deeply toxic pattern. I might discuss that more deeply in another post, but for now suffice it to say that extensive youtube binges and some other research between about January and March told me the situation is probably adjacent to pathological narcissism in some way. I brought some of this up to the church I was attending at the time (a small town Calvary Chapel, if I haven’t mentioned that already) and their responses were ...inconsistent. Some people blamed me, some people said “oh dang your dad is abusive”, and some people took the “your parents are trying their best” tack. In retrospect I think that made me doubt if God’s messaging to these people could really be trusted. Then, in about April, the question of hell came up again. I was helping in the church’s budding youth ministry at the time and we had about four regular attendees between the ages of 12 and 18. There were about three weeks in a row when one of the other adults (I’ll call her Kelly for the purposes of not doxxing; also more on her later) talked at length about how unbelief leads to hell. I remembered that atheist from creative writing, made the connection to these four kids, and thought, “what the hell are we doing?” (Pun not intended but rather convenient.) I immediately backed down from my role in the youth ministry, citing other equally valid but less pressing reasons involving stress from the issues with my dad, and tried to go on with life. But the floodgates were open. 

In late May or early June, I was staring out a window one morning and suddenly a question crossed my mind unbidden: “Is God a narcissist?” I thought back to a relatively recent sermon by the associate pastor in which he explained that the purpose of the world was “for God’s glory”, to some apparent sudden flights of rage, and some other factors in the scriptures, and thought, “holy shit, I need to investigate this, because God is also very adjacent to narcissism.” It took a hot minute for the ball to really get rolling with that, but once it did... I came to a point by late June or early July where I delivered an ultimatum to God, something to the tune of “Ok, either show me how all these questions I have can be answered beyond a doubt or I’m done.” 

There was no answer. 

God was silent during this time, and the people in the church were shocked that I had the questions I did and either concerned or ...rather spicy. I joined an ex-Christian discord server to aid in a proper, thorough investigation. I aired my questions both there and on a Christian discord server. The Christian server was toxic as fuck and the ex-Christians started making a crazy amount of sense. I watched some videos from Cosmic Skeptic and TheraminTrees (most notably the latter’s deconversion story) for new perspectives and, by mid-August, had crashed out of the faith altogether.

So the last time I ever stepped into a church with the intent of attending service (I showed up after once in January of 2020 to kinda let them know and that went pretty badly lol) was about two weeks before I started college again in the fall. I burned all but one of my Bibles and a collection of gospel tracts I never did anything else with and stylized it like my limited understanding of what a satanic/pagan ritual looked like, complete with a chant in my conlang Aylaan for a more personal twist because of course, to feel edgy. (I did a lot of kind of weird shit to feel edgy; that’s one of two of them I’m sure I don’t regret.) And after that, things got ...ah, confusing?

Because of course when the linchpin of your understanding of the world gives way, everything becomes fucked for a hot minute. 

So the first thing that happened was a couple months of anxiety and confusion. I slowly started to deconstruct my inherited political views too. (More on that later.) Then I had this really beautiful interesting moment in late September where I walked past a tree on the way to a class and had a sudden realization that I didn’t have to force the tree into a Christian framework anymore, it was just a beautiful mass of green shit and cellulose. I could appreciate it in whatever way I felt was best. I damn near broke down crying in the bathroom before class, it hit me that hard. So that’s fun xD

Since then I’ve kinda gone through a bunch of funky phases with this, including a couple of months of fairly salty atheism. Along with that process, I started questioning my sexuality in December (more on that in another post in a minute lmao it’s a trip) and literally shredding my politics in the face of Trump being a crackhead in a dangerous position getting away with confirmed illegal shit, COVID-19 and the ...dehumanizing responses of corporations and their sponsored politicians, and then what I noticed about the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd and the fallout from that. (In a nutshell, holy FUCK there’s a huge problem and it’s messed up that people don’t see it.) At this point, I’m socially progressive and pretty left leaning. I don’t know what the hell to do about it or how either other than some of the tense discussions I’ve been having, but I’d like to work against racism and discrimination too. So that’s cool and a lot better than where I was... 

which... I regret deeply.

I don’t know exactly how to define my old political views, and they were marked by considerable cognitive dissonance. I’ll try to illustrate this as best I can but I don’t know what label I can use. Here goes. 

Cursed images aside, I think the best way to explain this is through some background, i.e. what my parents believe, because my beliefs were largely inherited. 

This might be majorly over-simplified and based on what I remember of my own pre-deconstruction views and what I hear them say lately. I’m doing my best, but take it with a grain of salt. Basically, it seems like they walk this weird line between constitutionalist and very authoritarian that I see a hell of a lot of in rural America. Kinda like the Republic party used to before they yeeted into Trump’s mindfuck wholeheartedly. They’re homophobic to a rather alarming degree (more on that in another post soon) and not ...overtly Christian-supremacist but you can tell that their ethics are dripping with it and they’re terrified of Islam and they’d like to legislate some aspects of Christian morality. They also support the second amendment, which is the one thing I still agree with them on that I’m aware of, but they take it to more of an extreme than I’m willing to. For further ...flavor, they also reject the premise that parts of our society are systemically racist (and maybe also the idea that such a thing is even possible because of course), subscribe to the “bootstrap theory” for everything they can think to apply it to, reject climate science, and have been extremely conspiratorial about COVID-19. Also they like making it out like everything is a Democrat conspiracy theory, compare the Democrats to Hitler and Stalin to a weird degree, have on at least one occasion called Fox Motherfucking News left-leaning, and think Alex Jones is wacky but sometimes raises valid points. 

So that’s, in a nutshell, a bit of a look at my past political views, except I think I was a bit more Christian-dominionist than them and I think I had moments of “...does this really make any sense?” for years before I crashed out of everything. The first domino was my Christianity, but once that fell, my entire approach to the world went some places. 

So ...yeah. Oof. I was sketchy as shit. Glad that’s changed. 

So uh... I’ve already mentioned a vague (read: as much detail as I feel confident providing) description of my political views now, but after all this bullshit let’s finally get to the other half of my titular current beliefs. This ...isn’t going to be easy to explain either, but I feel more confident going into more detail. Buckle up :^)

Alright. So except for a couple of months where I was like “there is no god reeee” half because I was sOmE hYpErInTeLlEcTuAl SkEpTiC and half because of trauma from the toxic flavor of Christianity I left and some shitty developments in both politics and my social circles (I’ll talk at some length about “Kelly” in a sec here I think), since leaving Christianity I’ve always been what I’ll call “hopeful agnostic” (I think I stole this term from Rhett and/or Link lol). In a nutshell, what that means to me is “there may or may not be a god, but I hope there is at least one and they’re nice, or like, at least some spiritual thing that has a good aspect that can help me”. I also dabble in shitty rituals where I burn dead plants and occasionally also hate literature like gospel tracts (and, that one time, a couple of bibles) and basically call on “anyone who is listening and gives a fuck, else the placebo effect” for whatever my goal is. Like... witchy-adjacent but I don’t think about it very much at this stage. I kind of enjoy it, and I think for one reason or another it can be good for my mental health, but I’m wary of any kind of commitment or even more serious experimentation, even as I hope to find something good, because ...trauma, and maybe even absent that a desire to not be wrong in a way that’s dangerous to anyone else again. So that’s fun :^)

So if you’ve made it this far through this weird bullshit, thanks, this story is kind of important to me xD and if you couldn’t, and you’re not reading this ending thingy because it got too dark or it pissed you off or something, that’s cool too and you’re beautiful and valid. Whoever you are, I hope you find whatever healing you need. :)

[alysmarylin]

The war that just started (Good Omens fanfic)

Aziraphale’s nice beige coat was covered in soot and ashes, as were his face and his hair, and all his body. He was standing on ruins of church, blown up couple of seconds before that, and the only things left untouched by the explosion were Aziraphale himself, his demon friend Crowley and a bag with Aziraphale’s books.

-          Lift home?, -  Crowley asked, without even looking at him, wearing his dark glasses underneath a black hat, in the dead of the night, as he was slowly moving away from the mess, back to the street.

But Aziraphale couldn’t move for another few seconds, and those seconds seemed to be the longest in his almost-6000-year earthly life.

It all happened so sudden – he was deceived and betrayed by his agent (a double agent, as it turned out), then nearly killed, and then he was saved by someone he didn’t expect to ever see again.

Crowley.

-          You’re coming of what? You plan to stay there all night until another bomb drops?

Crowley was all in black – of course he was! – and he was standing near a posh black car, and all that blackness made it hard to distinguish him from the darkness of a London night. But every now and then, pale artificial light flashed somewhere far away, and Crowley’s tall slim figure became as clear and distinct as it was cut out of paper.

Something was aching inside  Aziraphale’s chest as he looked at this figure. Black suit, elegant hat – why, everything about Crowley was elegant.

“How handsome he is, how exquisite... Have I ever seen that? Have I always known that he’s good as well? I thought he forgot me long ago, and look at us now…”

-          Is that your car, Crowley?  - Aziraphale asked while carefully moving away from the ruins.

-          Yep. You like it? I got it in 1929, and not a scratch since then. I plan to keep it that way. – Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale with a courteous gesture.

-          Thank you.

Aziraphale got in, too embarrassed to say he was still a bit wary of using cars, 20 years after they became common.

-          I like it. This car is very lovely. Suits you well.

-          As if you’d know what suits me or not, angel. Where to?

“Angel”. He hadn’t heard this nickname in 80 years, and yet it seemed like he’d just heard it the other day. Aziraphale didn’t want to go home, but it was no time to mumble and drive around London with no purpose. They were in a middle of a great war, after all.

-          John Lock’s 49, please. Do you know where it is?

-          No. Will you show me?

-          Uhm, yes.

Aziraphale didn’t know what to say, and for half an hour or so they drove in silence, only breaking it to discuss directions. Crowley seemed calm and reserved. Before long, they came to a place currently occupied by Aziraphale. The silence made air too thich to breathe.

-          So… May I stay here, for a while? – Aziraphale felt like a complete idiot, asking to stay in a car on a street during a bombing raid, but he couldn’t make himself leave just yet. – I haven’t seen you in a while, you know.

-          Quite a while, yeah. – Crowley smiled. – Such a mental time, this century. Airplanes, zeppelins, all those killing machines. I’m a bit worn out already, to be frank.

-          Well, at least fashion is good. You look great in this suit, I must tell you. – Aziraphale was afraid his voiced trembled a bit too much.

-          Thanks. I like it too. My shoes, though… I think I ruined them. – Crowley looked down on his feet, slightly concerned.  – My best pair, they were. Pity.

Aziraphale remembered how Crowley was shifting on consecrated ground and the aching in his chest felt sharper and stronger.

-          I didn’t expect to see you there. Or anywhere. I thought it was over. Our…

-          Fraternizing? – Crowley turned his face to him, smiling with a mocking smile that suddenly looked so familiar and unpretentious that Aziraphale finally felt he could relax just a bit.

-          I’m sorry about that, alright? I meant to say “our friendship”. You are my friend, of that I’m sure. Now. What you did was very kind. But I… I don’t understand -  how did you find me?

-          As much as you’d think I’m a Nazi, angel, it just so happens that I’m not…

-          … I’m sorry about that, too!

-          … Shut up. As much as you’d think I’m a Nazi, I’m not. I used to spend some time with British intelligence, learned a thing or two. And one day I heard of some bugger named Andrew Zira Fell.

That was, in retrospect, indeed a bit obvious.

-          … Anyway, it wasn’t long before I learned you were going to be… How did you put it? Played for a sucker, yes.  – Crowley laughed. – Then I knew it just had to be you, mr. Fell.

-          I’m such an idiot.  – Aziraphale’s face turned red. - It seems so obvious now, the way I got fooled…

-          Come on, you’re not an idiot. – Crowley put a hand on his shoulder. – But you’re too naïve and way too trusting. You’ll get yourself in much more trouble if you won’t start testing people before trusting them, and I won’t be always there to get you out.

“How I wish you were…”

-          I guess it’s not a good time for lunches and leisurely strolls in parks. I don’t know what to suggest, but I… - Aziraphale didn’t know how to put it in words. – I don’t want to lose sight of you for another 80 years.

-          Provided there will be another 80 years, angel. I’m not so sure of that anymore. Things I hear, the nuclear bombs… Those people make things that make Hell shiver.

-          You told me once “Animals don’t kill each other will clever machines, only humans do that”. It was back in 1790s. Now I see what you meant, how right you were. – “And how bright and clever, much brighter than me” – Aziraphale thought.

-          Wish I wasn’t. Anyway, I’m leaving in the morning. Overseas, got business to do. I don’t know when I’ll be back in England, but I hope…

“Does he hope to see me here?!...”

-          … I hope there’s still be England to come back to. – Crowley finished with a sigh.

“Well, that makes sense too”.

-          What did you plan to do before leaving? I suppose there’s not much entertainment here…

-          Can’t argue that. Nothing, really. Save you, drop you home, sit in my car. Quite a plan, is it?

Aziraphale thought that it may have been the last time he saw him before he got discorporated from another bomb. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not after so little time with him…

-          Would you like some company here? I don’t really need to sleep, you know. And it could very well be the last time before either of us gets hit by another bomb, so…

-          I don’t mind you here, angel. But stop that nonsense about “last time”, will you? - Crowley sounded irritated. - Neither of us can die, you do remember that, I hope?

-          I do. But I’m scared.   – Aziraphale confessed shyly. – I never thought it could come to things like that. Things they do on continent. Or in Russia. Or…

-          We’re all scared, angel. But the world will end anyway, in fire and flames, and we’ll be on opposite sides when it does. – Crowley seemed calm but somewhat sad. – So better not to dwell on it for far too long.

They stayed in the car until the first light of dawn – two immortal beings, bound by almost-6000-year friendship, they had much to discuss. But the night was over too soon for Aziraphale, and before he was ready to let go of Crowley, blood-red light of sunrise treacherously covered them both.

“Not now, not yet…”

-          It’s time for me to leave, angel. It was nice seeing you. I hope this city will still be there when I return.

-          Crowley, could you… Take your glasses off, for a moment? A-and your hat, too.

He knew he sounded pathetic, but he longed to see his eyes one last time, if it truly was the last time.

-          Whatever. Why? – Crowley took both off. – I prefer keeping hat on, not my best haircut as of now.

Aziraphale looked at him, seated so close, shined by crimson rising sun – yellow snake eyes, ginger curly hair, aquiline nose - same as he was in Eden and yet so different, and a thought crossed angel’s mind, sharp as a knife and as deadly as it:

“I love him”

Crowley looked so beautiful in that moment that the bliss of simply looking at him almost overweighed pain and regret that filled Aziraphale’s heart.

-          I have to go now, I really do. I’ll find you when I come back, just don’t get yourself shot or exploded, angel. A’right? – Crowley suddenly grinned. – I tell you, we’ll win. The Allies will win, I mean. No way I’m gonna let those bastards take our London.

Such an optimist. As always. And he said “our London”…

-          Now I feel safe. See you, Crowley.

Black Bentley disappeared at the crossroads a minute after Aziraphale left it, but he stood silently and watched the sun rise for at lest a few minutes after that. Sirens kept wailing. The war went on.

And for the first time in almost 6000 years, time went so slow it was almost impossible to bear it.