#I cannot do more on MY holiday weekend and first break in MONTHS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queerofdenial · 2 years

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merry fricksmas

whaddup la-hoo-sers (so sorry that was not hot) I had a brainrot today and couldn’t stop thinking about random hacks shit so here’s a headcanon that turns into a ficlet and then back into a headcanon and then back into a ficlet don’t really know whats going on but there’s mistletoe involved so enjoy kids, @trying-to-get-somewhere-real said i should share with the class

disclaimer: i kNOW with deb’s big ass fur coat it’s likely mid autumn or already early winter by the time ava’s dad dies but that doesn’t entirely jive with my headcanon timeline and bc JL&P refuse to give us any concrete information about when this fuckin show is supposed to take place, i’mma say it’s further from the holidays than it appears, m’kay?

email? what email?

context: they start touring pretty soon after they return from Boston, doing a handful of major comedy clubs with pieces of the new hour until they can organize a theater tour. the show needs to be worked out a bit more before she can start selling out thousand seat venues, ya know? They spend the rest of the year in clubs while Jimmy and Marcus organize a spring tour, getting a solid seven weeks until the full tour kicks off on Presidents’ weekend.

Deb hosts a christmas party during the holiday break between the halves of the tour. it’s the friday before Christmas, and ava’s planning on going back to Boston on Tuesday to get to Nina’s before Christmas eve, the first one they’ve spent without her dad. It was in the tiny dressing room of a comedy club in Chicago that Deborah had offered to fly Nina to them for the holiday; Ava smiled when she declined, holding back tears at the fucking kindness of it all but knowing that she was going to be an absolute train wreck the second she stood in front of an empty tree to decorate it. She didn’t want Deborah, or DJ, or anyone else to see that.

Alright I’ve gone way off track here BUT anyways Deb hosts this swanky ass Christmas party, champagne ensues, good vibes all around, by no means a rave, but bigger than DJ’s birthday, and the entire core squad was given an open invite (Damien has friends, who knew?). Marty may or may not be there and seeing his name on the RSVP list that Ava peeked over earlier that morning when Deb wasn’t looking might’ve convinced Ava to wear heels for the first time since her senior prom, just to take Deb’s attention off of him for one god damn minute more.

Deb looks phenom as always, Ava’s in a vintage red crushed velvet suit that has her looking like a dyke-y mrs claus. It’s way too big on her but somehow works bc there’s no way she was gonna wear a shirt under that. It’s a bolder look than she would’ve gone for six months ago, but spending as much time as she has around Deborah she’s learned to take some risks, and learned to be okay with them.

GETTING TO THE POINT: at some point, as happens in every hacks fic with a party and *vomits* marty, Deb is talking to him, makes intent eye contact with Ava, Ava storms off, upstairs probably or to some fuckin balcony or the pool house or whatever the point BEING, Deb follows her. This isn’t one of those ‘confess your feelings’ moments tho, bc Ava is PISSED—after one crossfaded night on the road and a well timed SVU episode, Deb told Ava everything about what happened w/ marty after DJ’s party, how he belittled her (in general tbh), and Ava cannot believe that after all of that, after kicking him out from the dress rehearsal at the 2500th—that Deb is still willing to go back to him. Ava had hoped that she made more of an impact on Deborah’s esteem/pride than that. Thought that she made a breakthrough with convincing D to do this show, thought that Deb wasn’t going to let mediocre men without any understanding of the shit Deb’s been through take what they want from her without giving her the world in return anymore.

Deborah is speechless and Ava storms off again (she gets cornered by Kiki and spends the rest of the party trying to help her re-convince Luna that Santa is in fact real after the mayor couldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut about buying presents ‘from santa’ for underprivileged kids). Ava’s busy with this and doesn’t see Deborah come back to the party a few minutes after Ava did, doesn’t see her decline Marty’s advances, doesn’t see Marty leaving in a huff before they’ve even brought out the desserts. It’s not until later when everyone’s starting to leave that Ava finds out, standing over the tray of leftovers in the kitchen when Josefina offhandedly mentions that she was proud of Deb for kicking out that sleaze bag, if only because he never shuts the front door when he leaves.

Ava puts down the cupcake she was about to devour and goes back out to join the stragglers — a group a bit smaller than the size of the dinner party now, all scattered around the living room and entryway. She makes eye contact with Deb who’s standing above Damien, who is profusely apologizing for his two friends passed out on the couch after too much of the open bar, Deb’s eyes go wide when she sees Ava and Ava feels a flitter in her stomach as she smiles back at her and approaches. But before she can say anything Deb is dragging her by the arm through the small closet/hallway that connects this living room to the kitchen to go get some coffee or a bottle of water for the two stooges on Liberace’s butthole couch. Ava’s got enough of her bearings to stop and grab Deborah’s hand, and now they’re standing in this dimly lit closet/hallway (really, what the fuck is this rich people shit) staring at each other.

Ava’s starting to apologize for what she said earlier and say something about how she’s glad marty is gone or whatever and deborah rolls her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation before she freezes and cocks an eyebrow, looking back at ava. Ava glances up, and there’s mistletoe because of fucking course there’s mistletoe, ava’s life is a bad movie at this point and before she can brush it off with some joke, deborah makes one of her own, something along the lines of “of all the gin joints in town, you stop me to talk about my ex in this spot?” Ava is flustered but she’s learned from Deb and knows her and knows Deb is trying really hard not to keep glancing at her exposed chest and has had maybe one champagne too many, so gets all cocky and “you’re the one who pulled me into the closet, you sure this one wasn’t your manifestation?” (It’s not a closet, deb corrects her).

Regardless, they’re standing here under this mistletoe making jokes at one another and now Ava’s made a joke about doing it for the bit, so now it’s a challenge and we know how Deborah Vance can’t say no to a challenge so mid-sentence she just yanks Ava by the hand that’s (somehow? how did she not notice?) still in hers, puts her free hand on Ava’s jaw and kisses her, once, light, barely even a kiss, but she pulls away and Ava’s eyes are wide and panicked and her hand is frozen where it lightly brushed deborah’s collarbone, and it makes Deborah panic a bit but she’s gotta keep it together so she drops Ava’s hand from hers, and pats her on the cheek that’s still under her other palm before turning and walking away into the kitchen.

Eventually, as the coffee she’s making is brewing (right, yes, that’s what they came in here for) Ava makes her way through the door and can’t make eye contact with her, just grabs two bottles of water from the fridge, murmurs something about the boys on the couch and makes a quick exit. At this point deborah is in full internal panic mode; she thought she knew Ava better than this. she thought Ava wanted this, but now Deborah thinks she miscalculated very badly. The lump in her throat keeps growing as she brings out the cups to the two now-awake drunkards. Damien is apologizing again and telling her something about an uber on the way and something about stars and vomiting, but she isn’t paying attention to anything besides the fact that Ava is nowhere to be seen (Damien says she’d gone upstairs after bringing the waters).

Someone calls her name and she realizes that there are still people here and as much as she wants to go find Ava immediately and apologize profusely and make sure she’s okay and that Deb hasn’t completely fucked up the one truly great thing in her life, she has to stay and ~manage the people~ and it takes her another forty five minutes of getting people out the door until it’s just her and Josefina downstairs, and she bids the woman goodnight before rushing up to the spare bedroom that she knows Ava’s taken refuge in.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting when she opens the door but it’s certainly not Ava, now barefoot but still in the suit, with a suitcase flopped open on her bed, calmly folding and laying clothing into the open case.

“Wow, you’re packing three days early, glad to see some of my good habits have rubbed off on you” (or something like that i dont KNOW im not a writer and deborah is too smart for me i’m sorry i literally only understand Ava). Ava looks up at her and stops her folding, wringing the t-shirt in her hands like it’s soaking wet. it’s the first anxiety tick that lets Aeborah see through the mask of calm Ava’s got up.

“Uh, yeah, not really…I moved my flight, first thing in the morning.”

Deborah inhales sharply, “Ava…”, and she’s ~still spiraling~ and now she thinks what she’s done is bad enough that Ava is going to leave her and she can’t just leave. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, of course I shouldn’t have done that, but it won’t happen again, take all the time you need” and whatnot, she’s just blabbering and Ava’s more and more confused so Deb just keeps talking hoping that eventually she’ll say something that works but eventually Ava interrupts her, “Wait…what?” Deb just stands there for a second before whispering one more “I’m sorry” and turning around and heading back across the hall to her own bedroom.

That’s when Ava realizes what deborah must think, how wrong deborah is, and runs after her to correct her. she reaches Deb just as she’s crossing the threshold into her room and puts a hand on Deb’s arm to stop her (the same place on her bicep Deborah was holding Ava earlier) as she calls her name.

“Deb, wait. I’m not leaving because of what happened in the closet.” Deborah stares at her incredulously, waits a beat. “Okay, maybe I am, but not for the reason that you think. Literally for the opposite of that. You didn’t do anything. It’s mistletoe, people kiss. I would’ve stopped you if it was a problem.”

Ava calms a bit when she sees the relief in Deborah’s eyes at that, the way the tension in her shoulders dissipates before hiking up again, “Then, why? If it’s not a problem, what did I do to make you willing to wake up early enough for a morning flight?”

Ava realizes now that she has to tell her. Has to tell Deborah that the reason that she panicked when Deborah kissed her was because she thought she was fucking dreaming. Has to tell her that she hasn’t licked her lips in nearly an hour because she doesn’t want to rub off the small bit of Deb’s favorite Chanel lip gloss that was transferred to Ava’s bottom lip in those brief seconds, those brief few seconds of fucking bliss that Ava’s been replaying over and over like a gif plastered to the wall of her brain. She has to tell Deborah that the reason she’s leaving is for her, because Ava’s been able to successfully avoid dealing with her growing feelings for Deborah since the woman swept in like a gift from fucking god herself and made her mother laugh at her dad’s funeral. Has to tell Deborah that now that she knows what her lips taste like, how soft her skin is, she can’t fucking breathe around her anymore, that she just needs to take some time away to get her shit together before she ruins everything. Has to tell her that she has to find some way to get over her before she becomes another person who asks something of Deborah that Deborah isn’t willing to give in return, because Ava is different than those sleaze bags and she’s not going to throw away their entire partnership over a feeling she knows (wrongly. Ava is wrong about it not being reciprocated, and a gay disaster and i love her) isn’t mutual (honestly, she thinks, fuck that therapist. she’ll kill that guy for Deborah, too).

“It’s so not a problem that it circles back to being, like, a huge a problem, D.” And Ava tells her. In everything but those three little words, Ava tells her that she loves her. Do I know exactly what she says? No. But it’s good, trust me. It’s enough that Deborah knows that Ava is leaving in order to avoid the heartbreak of Deborah turning her down, that she’s going to go and come back later than she had originally planned but still in January fully ready to pretend this never happened and jump back into the work before they head back on tour because that's what she thinks Deborah needs from her. Deborah just stands there gaping like a fish until the moment is gone and Ava walks away with a tear in her eye, and Deborah couldn’t work up the courage to tell Ava that her most important conclusion was wrong and that Deborah would’ve given herself freely and wholly to Ava had she just asked. Regardless, she just stands there until Ava’s door shuts with a click and eventually she hears the front door lock and signaling Josefina’s exit too before turning around and trying to put herself to bed.

She can’t sleep though, really tries for an hour or two but the only thing she can think about is Ava and that she’s leaving and yeah, she’s going to come back but it feels so much more profound than that and Deborah has to 4-7-8 breathe herself out of spiraling again, twice. Around 2 o’clock she gives up and throws on a robe and makes a pot of tea downstairs, hatching a plan before finally falling asleep on the least comfortable couch in the sitting room, the one with a perfect view of the stairs and the front door. Deborah’s a light sleeper and her admittedly simple plan goes off perfectly when she’s awoken a little past 5 am to the sound of Ava’s suitcase accidentally tumbling down the stairs when it slips out of her hands. Dawn is just starting to creep in, and it’s light enough with the lamp Deb didn’t turn off before passing out that she sees as well as hears Ava attempt to get her shit together. As she stands up from the couch the motion draws Ava’s attention to her and they make eye contact.

Ava whispers, it feels almost wrong to speak at full volume when you could still probably see the moon outside. “Sorry, shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up, I didn’t realize you were down here”. She adjusts her bag on her shoulder and glances down at her phone quickly to break their rather intense eye contact and check the status on her uber — still 10 minutes away. Ava hates mornings.

“I wanted to see you before you left,” Deborah smiles lightly before rounding the couch and coming towards Ava. “I didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation last night before you walked away”, she states pointedly.

Ava shrugs, “You knew where I was”.

Deborah nods, Ava’s not wrong about that. Regardless, Deb is close enough now that she reaches for Ava’s phone-less hand and grasps it between her own.

Deborah says something along the lines of, “you made an assumption last night that was wrong. I’m not trying to change your mind and I’m not saying this to try and get you to stay, but I want you to know where I stand before you leave with this ridiculous notion that you’re just going to leave and come back and pretend that what you said to me never happened.”

Ava’s still confused and Deborah does a piss poor job at beating around the bush until she gets fed up and just asks Deborah point blank what she’s trying to say because Pietro is going to show up in his Hyundai Sonata in four minutes and she really doesn’t have time for this. Deborah huffs, takes a deep breath and puts both of her hands on the sides of Ava’s face, exasperated, saying something along the lines of “I don’t want to ignore your feelings and I don’t want to ignore my own”, calling back to something Ava said last night to try and get this Gen Z disaster that she’s somehow falling for to understand that Deborah needs her to come back, that she can’t just leave her, and Ava does finally get it. It finally clicks that Deborah is asking her to be different for her, asking Ava to be the partner for her that Frank didn’t have the balls to be. She’s opening herself up to Ava with a vulnerability she hasn’t had in decades, a vulnerability that, really, Ava is to blame for. It doesn’t take long from this realization for Ava’s furrowed eyebrow to soften and for her to slip her phone in her pocket before grabbing both of Deborah’s wrists, pulling her arms to loop around Ava’s neck as she quickly, but softly brings their lips together.

Ava’s Uber arrives a minute later, and interrupts them with a honk that is definitely too loud for this early in the morning. Deborah leans back slightly, resting her forehead against Ava’s as Ava runs a hand through Deborah’s short hair. Ava’s surprised when Deborah is the first to break the silence.

“You should go,” she breathes, nuzzling her nose quickly against Ava’s before pulling out of her embrace. Ava wistfully looks back at Deborah and squeezes her hand gently before grabbing her bag and whispering, “I’ll see you soon” before slipping out the door. The latch has barely clicked before Deb’s cell in the pocket of her robe vibrates. She’s got one new message from Little Shit and it reads,

How do you feel about New Years in Waltham? We could go two-for-two on “socially acceptable ways to kiss your writing partner in semi-public spaces.”

Deborah laughs. Another message comes in.

That is, if you can make it ‘till midnight, dinosaur.

Deborah laughs harder.

#hacks brainrot #apologies but im not going back to fix the capitalization but i promise its worth it a little bit #ava x deborah #avadeb #my writing #i just have a lot of feelings about these two caring for each other so much that they wont let themselves be happy #3k is way too much for a tumblr ficlet thats like 80% paragraph chunks #but its not going to be edited or finished so here it stays #doing a real good job of promoting my work lmao #oc

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has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong · 3 years

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How will Caster Gil’s s/o cope with his bad sleeping habits?

Hello anon, thank you for the request. Actually, yeah. I wonder about that too. I did once read an incredible one about a similar topic of Caster Gilgamesh being overwhelmed, which is also a great read!

All right, I'll give it my best ;3

Also Caster Gilgamesh is such a mood to the culture of overwork tbh, it make me feel kinda sad.

S/O Dealing with Caster Gilgamesh's Bad Sleeping Habits

- It had been months, if not almost an entire year since Caster Gilgamesh had taken a proper night's rest.

- He was up long before the cockerel crowed at the crack of dawn, and would remain that way- for even longer than the most nocturnal of night owls.

- In other words, he was working himself to DEATH.

- Whenever you'd visit, to assuage his doubts and reassure him that it's fine if he takes a nap; Caster responds with a simple "I do not require your concern. It is my duty as a king to work peerlessly to ensure that the buffoons' operating within Chaldea do not scrimp upon their duties." Although his words are harsh, what he really means is that he doesn't want you to worry about him. Just having you visit is more than enough.

- However, for you- who has to witness Gilgamesh running himself ragged on a daily basis- such words do naught to appease the doubt gnawing within your chest.

- Often finding yourself in bed alone, your only signal as to Gilgamesh's presence would be when his entire body would flop onto the bed at only the ungodliest hours of night. Not even sparing the time to materialize into a set of pyjamas, he would instantly fall asleep; decked in his regular gear and all!!

- Worried for his health, you'd often help out by removing his shoes (yep he didn't even remove those!!) and sliding his body over so that he could sleep soundly under the bed covers (he didn't even bother to tuck himself in). Sometimes, you'd even have to apply plasters to wounds or even place hot flannels on his face to regulate his temperature. That's how bad he was at taking care of his health.

- You even went as far as to carefully place his stone tablets by the bedside table, due to his overwhelmingly bad habit of literally taking his work to bed with him.

- When Caster Gilgamesh regains enough energy to resume his regular toil for the day, he's secretly moved by how you put in the effort to tuck him in every night. Softly kissing the temple of your forehead, he whispers his gratitude in your ear- only then to sigh once he realizes that you purposely put his tablet in the wrong area gain. "Honestly, this mongrel..."

- The truth is, you're struggling. Not only is he as stubborn as an ox whenever you or others try to negotiate with him, but he won't let anybody help him either! And to top things off, you missed his company greatly. Strangely enough, the two of you did most of your bonding during missions and events (because during those times he'd either be on a rare vacation or assist you for his daily work instead); which meant that you had barely any room at all for couple time!!!

- Tomorrow was a Saturday, which meant that he would be off for the weekend. In other words, it was the perfect time to confront him-once and for all! Resolve steeled within your heart; you prepared yourself for an extremely long night.

- Caster Gilgamesh is GOBSMACKED once he returns to his room. Usually, you'd be fast asleep when he enters. But this time, you had prepared a massive surprise for him. Softly glowing candles were lined across the rooms, illuminating it within a serene light; as the healing scent of lavender embraced the room. In your hands, you had none other than a massager and relaxing ASMR binaural CD set (of whales swimming in the sea) to help Gilgamesh relax to.

- He won't say it aloud, but to come home to a feat like this means a great deal to him.

- Although he is weary, his red eyes flicker with a slight ebb of amusement; as he gathers enough energy to smile. "What possesses you to be roaming around at the witching hours of night, mongrel? Has being on your lonesome made you that eager to embrace your king?"

- Your deadpan reply of "FUCK YES." leaves him utterly startled, to the point where he has to hide an enormous blush- blossoming wildly around his ears. "But look, Gilgamesh. As you're probably on the verge of passing out right now, let me make this quick." As he shrugs off his mini jacket (?)-your hands softly massaging the tight muscles rippling through his back-you finally begin to speak.

- You explain to him that although you understand that he has to work, it would be nice if he could stop overworking; both for his sake and also so that you could spend some more time together as a couple as well. As he often spent the weekends between many groups of people, the two of you barely spent any time on your lonesome.

- "I cannot adhere to such a request. What ails Chaldea ails me in turn, hence why I must continue to toil. Mongrel. I request that you do not press the matter any further. Nonetheless, I shall reward you greatly for the honor you have bestowed upon me tonight. I do adore the delightful little sounds those whales make." Caster Gilgamesh refuses to budge, his words bearing upon your heart like a heavy stone. As he sighs with bliss at your massage skills, you struggle to hold back the tears pricking your eyes.

- It is a long, and lonely night. Staring up at the ceiling as Gilgamesh snores softly by your side, you frown. Was this it, after all? Was this what could possibly break the two of you up?!! Such worries made it all but impossible to enjoy a good night's rest.

- The weekend passes as usual, with the two of you mainly hanging out with separate groups. The heavy weight drowning your heart- like a rock sinking beneath the tumultuous waves of the sea- only heightens in intensity.

- That is until Gilgamesh shocks you in return with a surprise of his own?!!!

- Seated atop your bed at a time as early as 10PM (omg), Caster Gilgamesh apprehends you with a brilliant grin. "Ah, so you have finally decided to bestow your presence before me. Sit." Patting the space beside him with an energy much unlike his usual worn-out countenance, you can't believe your eyes. "Why do you stare at me so? Didn't I tell you that yesterday's activities were much to my liking already?!" A compliment. Yet another rare miracle had occurred.

- As soon as you sit beside him, expression as surprised as pikachu's own; he sidles towards you, a devious grin plastered on his face, as he wraps both arms around you. "Mongrel." Cradling his face against the crook of your neck, his breath lightly fans your face. "Wherever you wish to go, I shall take you there. All you need to do is say the word."

- "?!!" His riddle confuses you to no end. When you ask him what the hell he means by that, he slaps a palm to his forehead in agony.

- "Fool, what do you not understand?! I am professing my desire to take a much-needed rest, just as you suggested!" A blush yet again seeps through his features, for the most unfathomable reason. "After managing to delegate certain responsibilities by placing them on the shoulders of some rather, well, unusually...proficient mongrels; I now have the week off. I shall also be able to return to my quarters at earlier intervals on the odd occasion." As he revealed his true intentions, actual mirth warmed his expression; as you stared back in awe.

- He had heard your advice, and was actually taking it to heart?! "B-but I thought you said...I swear you said..." Your mouth flaps, pure stupefaction taking over your features. You were certain that he wasn't up for negotiation, so what lead to such a change in heart?

- "It would be unbecoming of me not to pay attention to the mongrel yapping at my heels." In Gilgamesh language, this meant that he actually wanted to spend some time with you as well. "Do not be so presumptuous, I shan't cease all work. However, I can archive more time for more... mundane activities, I suppose. I am simply repaying yesterday's favor." How bashful a reply this was!!

- As you thanked him, eagerly talking about the places you wanted to visit by his side and the things you wanted to do for your first ever couple's holiday, one could daresay state that a rather warm feeling radiated within his chest no way would he admit to that.

- It's a good thing you spoke to him about it. This time, he'll try to fit in some more time for the sake of his own health and for you, as well. not like he'll admit that though

#caster gilgamesh #asks #anon #my writing #gilgablog #fate series #fgo #THIS ALMOST BECAME A FULL FANFIC LMAO I HAD TO STOP THERE

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amjustagirl · 3 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears the echo of birdsong in her laughter, her song to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

The first time it happens, Akaashi is in his third year of university.

The upside of staying in Tokyo for university (his mother cried when he got into Waseda, her alma mater) is that he sees his family almost every weekend for cosy family dinners. The downside of staying in Tokyo for university is that he really has no excuse when his parents insist on carrying on Hatsumode, the first prayer of the new year, at the crack of dawn at the shrine close to their home. It’s not that he minds the tradition per se, but he did just spend all night rushing his projects just so he could adhere to the unspoken rule that no work should be done during the New Year holidays and spend some time flying kites with his little cousins.

Still, there is something magical about starting the New Year watching dawn break and the world awaken from its slumber just as he reaches the summit of all twenty six steps to the top of the shrine, shrouded in the bare branches of the wisteria trees. He tosses coins into the box, drops into a deep bow twice, chin at waist level, clapping twice before bowing a final time. His mother buys far too many omamori, presses at least half of them into his unwilling hands when the omikuji he draws has a great curse scribbled on it. He’s not superstitious, so it doesn’t bother him, but he knows his mother is, so he does accept the omamori with some grace, though he draws the line at the love charm she tries to sneak into the pile.

‘Mum, I’m too busy at school for a partner’, he tells her firmly. ‘Why don’t you pass it to Yuji-kun, he’s already started work, but hasn’t found a girlfriend from what Oba-chan tells me’. His elder cousin shoots him a particularly malevolent glare that he meets with a placid smile as his mother diverts her attention to him instead.

The faintest shiver runs up his fingers when he deposits the old charm he found in the corner of his closet, grey and faded with time, in the koshinsatsu osamedokoro, the omamori drop off open only during the first day of the New Year. The shiver turns into a ripple of cool water racing up his wrists and roars into an tsunami of dread when the attendant tells him all deposited charms will be burnt in the ritual fire in a fortnight’s time, but he writes it off as a symptom of his lack of sleep and starts to turn away.

There’s a sudden echo of a nightmare of raging flames that prompts him to swivel around to snatch the omamori and stuff it back in his pocket, muttering apologies to the shocked attendant. Later, when he has time to process his impulse, he’d find it strange. In the meantime however, the festivities wait for no one, so he distracts himself by eating far too much dango and mochi in between rounds of tossing kites up to catch the wind. His uncles slip him full cups of sake and sweetened rice wine to his mother’s disapproval, which in hindsight he should have heeded, as he stumbles to bed that night, head heavy with alcohol.

That night he dreams of a girl with curly hair, lying in a field of endless gold - daffodils to mark the dawn of spring.

‘Also known as narcissus’, he hears himself say, hears himself narrate the myth of a man so entranced by his own reflection in the water that he lost his will when he realizes he cannot have his object of desire. A girlish voice lilts teasingly – ‘the flowers are too pretty to be ruined by your obsession of stories written by grumpy old men’. He wakes up with the ghost of laughter on his lips, but there’s a lingering sense of loss budding in barren soil of his heart.

It does prompt him to pop by the florist near his parents’ house to order a bouquet of daffodils for his mom to be delivered on the first day of spring. He’s accustomed to the old couple running the shop, so he pauses just for a second when he walks into the store to find a new girl at the counter. She must not be used to customers yet, dropping the bouquet she’s working on when she notices him.

‘Hi’, she stammers, cheeks pink. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to make an advance order for daffodils please.’

‘For spring?’ she asks, and he nods, writing down his parents’ address when prompted. ‘That’s a good choice!’

She waves him off with a cheerful – ‘please come back again’, and he does not notice that there are stars in her eyes.

His mother drags him back to the shrine on the third day of the holidays, and he obliges her, ever the dutiful only son, even though the frigid temperature makes his breath puff up into clouds and the tip of his nose turns numb. The old omamori is still snug in his jacket pocket, and as his fingers brush against it, he can feel the threads of the charm unravelling, the fabric almost fragile in its worn, threadbare state but he does not attempt to dispose of it again.

‘What are you going to do once you’re done with your degree, Keiji?’ His mother asks, when they stop by an old teahouse for a cup of steaming genmaicha, the aroma of roasted rice tea warm against his cold nose.

‘I intend to apply for a job at a publishing company after I graduate’, he tells her seriously, and she nods, encouraging him to continue. ‘I’m hoping it’s something to do with my major, preferably Japanese literature, better yet if it's poetry, but in this market, I’ll take what I can get’.

His mother nods, smiling at him fondly. ‘I remember you used to be obsessed with Shakespeare and Greek myths when you were younger, all the way through high school, and your father and I thought that you’d end up majoring in that in university. You really surprised us when you chose to major in Japanese literature instead.’

‘I don’t know why, to be honest. Maybe I had a good Japanese literature tutor?’ He laughs, fiddling with his teacup.

‘Mm I don’t think so though. I remember you complaining that Raku-sensei was so dull he caused everyone to fall asleep.’ He shrugs, and though she stares at him curiously, she does not pursue the line of conversation any further.

That night he dreams of waking up in an old wooden house, shivering in a thick futon, the smoldering embers from the irori, mere inches from his face. It’s so very different from his childhood bedroom filled with modern appliances and walls of books neatly shelved in alphabetical order, but he doesn’t notice that in the dark. Instead, he reaches for his phone to check the time, bolting awake because that can’t be, he never misses his alarm, mentally calculating that he must leave the house in exactly fifteen minutes to make it in time for practice when a little boy bursts through the door.

‘Nee-chan’, the little boy whines. ‘I’m hungry. Time for breakfast’.

Did he just say Nee-chan? Scratch that - since when did he have a little brother?

He scrambles out of bed, groping his way in the dark to the washroom. The cold water should wake him up, but when he looks up at the mirror above the sink, the face he’s staring at does not belong to him. No - it belongs to a dark eyed girl with curly hair - but it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, because when he reaches a trembling finger to poke at the mirror, he is she or she is him -

The ensuing panic and confusion makes him jerk out of his dream, but when he rushes to the washroom to check that he’s still himself, he is relieved to see that it’s still him - Akaashi Keiji, with dark circles around his eyes, staring back in disbelief.

He chalks his strange dream up to the stress he carries around from trying to clear all his course work so he can audit additional classes over the next term.

Except the dreams don’t stop, not even when he moves back to the university dorms. He keeps waking up drenched in cold sweat, clutching at his arms even though they’re clear of the scratches he sees in his dreams, red and raw and stretching all the way up his elbows.

‘Be kinder to Hana-chan, Keiji-kun’, he hears the call of the same girl in his mind and he shudders, unsure whether the disembodied voice floating through his mind is a memory from his dream. ‘She’s going through an awfully tough time’.

‘It doesn’t give her the right to hurt you like that’, he can hear his faint disapproval.

‘Never mind that, it’s not a big deal. What are we reading today – don’t tell me it’s anything like Hamlet. That was horrendously depressing.’

‘Midsummer’s Night Dream? It’s a romantic comedy at least.’

‘Only a nerd like you would read Shakespeare in high school – and it’s not even in Japanese!’

‘Hush – you don’t get to complain when I’m reading it out to you.’

‘What on earth is going on’, he mutters to himself. The copious amounts of frigid water he splashes onto his face is no antidote to this madness.

‘Sato-san, are you feeling alright?’ he asks his grimacing classmate in concern, lines of pain etched onto her face.

‘I’m fine, Akaashi-kun’, she manages to spit out, clutching her stomach with white-knuckled hands. ‘It’ll pass in a bit, I hope’.

‘Are you sure you’re fine? I could help you to the nurse’s office if that helps’.

His classmate shakes her head, a blush staining her cheeks. ‘It’s just that time of the month. I apologise if that’s too much information to be polite’.

Ah. But somehow even though he has no sisters, and his female classmates in high school were oddly reticent about their periods (strange, considering it is part and parcel of being a mammal for far more than a millenium) the steps to deal with this particular conundrum come to him so naturally it’s almost as if the answers were presented to him previously in a dream.

‘Here’, he passes Sato-san painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle he’d managed to talk the university nurse into loaning him, and Sato practically whimpers in gratitude.

‘You’re a lifesaver, Akaashi-kun’, she tells him and he nods, content that he’s solved the problem so efficiently.

That night he wakes up in her body again. The room is dark, save for the sliver of white light between the blinds that allows him to discern the growing crimson stain between her legs.

‘Don’t you know all women have to deal with this nonsense every month? But I’ll tell you a trick - painkillers, chocolate and a hot water bottle will make you feel as right as rain’, he hears her voice declare in his mind, and he startles awake to find himself back in his own bed, blessedly clear of any bloodstains.

It must be a dream borne out of what happened today, he tells himself firmly and shrugs it off. The rest of his slumber is thankfully shorn of dreams.

But then these dreams start to crash into his sleep like a series of never ending waves, and he’s a short hop, skip, jump away from falling off the cliff into a distracted madness, the rate his sleep keeps getting disrupted. He keeps waking up in her body, it makes him feel like a creep, wearing her skin like an ill-fitting glove, and he decided does not think about how strange it feels to have twin lumps of flesh in front of his chest (his mother raised him to be a gentleman, after all).

The contents of these dreams are relatively cyclical. He wakes up at dawn, puts on her school uniform, makes breakfast for the little boy - Toya-chan over the primitive hearth before rushing to school through dirt paths lined with trees. His - or rather her classmates stare at her with a mix of condescension and apathy, and her hours in school are spent in a lonely silence, save when Hana-chan gets up in her face and screams absolute nonsense about staying the fuck away from her, which seems a little dramatic considering she’s the one doing the confronting, but it’s just a dream, so he keeps telling himself. It’s not like he can change anything about it.

‘Does it bother you? That you’re alone?’ he asks her one day.

‘Not really. I have you and Toya-chan, don’t I?’ she responds.

‘I suppose’, he says, voice trailing off.

He catches glimpses of sun drenched afternoons spent in fields of flowers, glances of dusky evenings spent in the forest basking in the light of the setting sun. He agonizes over stacks of homework, digs for mushrooms in the damp earth, climbs through wire fences to scavenge for eggs in neighbouring farms.

‘Aren’t your parents worried about you and Toya-chan?’ he can hear himself question her one night.

‘My mom is dead and my dad can’t be home often, he works on construction projects around Sapporo. He sends cash to me and Toya-chan, and it isn’t always enough, but he tries his best ’, she answers, her voice feather light.

‘I’m sorry’, he tells her a little awkwardly, thinking about his happy family and wondering how it’d feel like to have them torn away from him so early on in life.

‘Don’t be’, she replies, ‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to have good parents who’re dead or absent rather than horrible parents who’re still alive’.

He jolts awake again, relieved to find himself back in his bed. It’s barely four in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to sleep after that, so he resigns himself to using the time to get cracking on his college assignments anyway. But he makes sure to call his mother once day breaks and he’s sure she’s returned from the market with groceries in tow, telling her awkwardly that he’s just calling to catch up and hopes she’s been well and ok bye mum I love you very much, heart pounding when he hangs up abruptly.

He has a standing appointment on the first Thursday every month to meet Kenma for coffee at a café a stone’s throw away from Waseda. They both order black coffee, which is strange for Kenma considering his legendary sweet tooth, but he knows Kenma too well to know that the ridiculously successful game streamer is only drinking coffee to stay awake, the shadows under his eyes deeper and darker than those under Akaashi’s own eyes.

‘Doesn’t Kuroo-san nag you go to bed at a decent time?’

Kenma doesn’t even bother to flick his eyes up, busy gulping mouthfuls of the bitter liquid. ‘Speak for yourself. Not sleeping well either?’

Akaashi shrugs his shoulders helplessly, stirring his coffee. ‘Mm. ‘I’ve been having strange recurring dreams and it’s been affecting my sleep’.

Kenma merely hums in reply, and Akaashi finds himself spilling out the entire weird series of events – though to be absolutely accurate, his dreams aren’t real so they can’t be termed as events, but they’ve been haunting him for the past month so they might as well be at this rate. He explains about finding himself in the body of a high school girl with curly hair and a dimple on one cheek, how he’s lived her life enough in the past month that he can map out her days with startling certainty, how he knows it’s not real – it can’t be real, but his dreams glimmer with such vibrancy that they feel real.

‘Am I going crazy?’ he asks.

‘I highly doubt it’, Kenma says, tapping his chin in thought. ‘Maybe it’s like one of those exploration video games where you have to take your time to discover its world to figure out the narrative the game is feeding you.’

Trust Kenma to relate everything to video games.

‘That was singularly unhelpful’, Akaashi says dryly as Kenma chuckles quietly in response.

He is almost afraid to fall asleep again but his eyelids are weighed down by weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation and soon he finds himself again in her body.

It’s a clear winter’s night. He’s huddled under a thick blanket to shield himself from the bitter cold, watching the embers in the hearth glow yellow and gold.

‘It’s late. Can’t sleep?’

‘Mm’ he replies. ‘Wondering what tomorrow will bring.’

‘You’re overthinking again, Keiji’, she chuckles. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be just another day. You’ll wake up back in your warm bed at the crack of dawn for volleyball practice, attend classes in your fancy private school, and play even more volleyball with your beloved Bokuto-san’.

He rolls his eyes heavenwards at her words and her laugh this time is loud, bright.

‘You know I only speak the truth. Now, since you need to wake up ridiculously early tomorrow, why don’t I tell you a bedtime story so you can fall asleep.’

‘I’m not a child’, he replies dryly, but does not object when she starts to narrate the tale of a princess exiled from the moon, who is raised by a humble woodcutter and his wife to become a renowned beauty, with five suitors seeking her hand. ‘That’s mean of her’, he mumbles as she describes how the princess rebuffs her suitors by setting them impossible tasks, drifts to sleep as her voice softens as she describes how the princess falls in love with the Emperor, but breaks both their hearts because she knows she must return to the moon someday. He’s fast asleep when she reaches the ending where the princess leaves all her memories on earth with tears in her eyes, gifting the emperor with an elixir of immortality which he burns, because he declares life isn’t worth living without her.

‘Goodnight Keiji’, she says, her voice shimmering in the still night air.

For the first time in a long while, Akaashi wakes up at peace.

Taglist:

@1tooru @animeflower26 @kageyamakock

#hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #akaashi keiji #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x y/n #haikyuucreations #akaashi headcanons #akaashi angst #haikyuu fic rec #haikyuu scenarios

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all-that-jazz-93 · 3 years

Text

American Dragon Timeline

I’ve been trying for a while now to figure out the timeline of this show, because it makes no sense in the order that Disney Channel originally aired the episodes. It also makes no sense in the episode list on Jeff Goode’s website, which he claims to be the proper chronology of events.

I had to come up with a few convoluted headcanons to make this work, but I think I’ve finally pieced together a coherent timeline (note that for a lot of the filler episodes, it doesn’t actually matter that much when they take place, I was just trying to stick as close to Jeff Goode’s chronology as possible.)

September 2004

Old School Training

It’s implied in this episode that Jake got his dragon powers very recently. They don’t say how recently, but given how new the whole thing is to him, I’d say it’s probably only been about a week or two.

Here’s where we come up against our first issue with canon. In The Legend of Dragon Tooth, Jake says he got his dragon powers when he turned 13, and in Shapeshifter, he says he’s a Pisces, which means his birthday would be in late February, or March. There’s no way the timeline makes sense if that’s the case, so my headcanon is that Jake is just like…really bad at astrology, and he somehow confused Pisces with another star sign.

We also have the issue of how far behind he seems to be in school (he’s 14 in early season 2, but still in 7th grade). So, two more headcanons to explain that. Number one, Jake’s birthday is actually sometime in early September, so he missed the cutoff to go to kindergarten when he was 5, and had to wait until he was 6, placing him a year behind (some places don’t allow kids to start kindergarten if they turn 5 after September 1st. I knew a boy in my old youth group who was almost a year older than everyone else in our grade, because he had an October birthday). Number two, at some point in elementary school, Jake was held back a grade. So the first episode takes place shortly after Jake’s 13th birthday, at the beginning of his sixth grade year.

Since Trixie and Spud are supposed to be the same age as him, that would mean they must’ve both been held back at some point as well (that especially makes sense for Spud—anyone who’s purposely failed as many tests as he has would almost definitely have to repeat a grade).

This would also make Rose younger than them. She’s very bright, and she seems like a good student, so it’s unlikely she was ever held back. But we don’t want her to be too much younger than them, so I’ll headcanon that she also has a birthday in early September, making her a year younger than Jake. If that’s the case, she’d be 12 in season one, and 13/14 in season 2.

Adventures in Trollsitting/Fu Dog Takes a Walk

The dogcatcher says that it’s September.

September/October 2004

Shapeshifter Dragon Breath The Legend of Dragon Tooth The Talented Mr. Long Professor Rotwood’s Thesis Act 4, Scene 15 The Long Weekend Body Guard Duty Dragon Summit

This episode has to take place after Shapeshifter, Dragon Breath, and Professor Rotwood’s Thesis, since the Dragon Council makes references back to Jake’s actions in all of those episodes. It also has to take place before The Halloween Bash, which places it sometime in September or October.

October 2004

The Halloween Bash

Jeff Goode’s website lists this episode as taking place between Ski Trip and The Hunted, but there’s no way that’s possible, because Ski Trip takes place close to Valentine’s Day, and The Hunted takes place during the Equinox (they don’t specify which Equinox, but it would have to be the one in September; it’s the only way the timeline makes any sense, even with the generous liberties I’m taking with these headcanons). So The Halloween Bash has to take place before Ski Trip. No one in this episode makes any reference to knowing Rose’s identity, so it works out just fine.

February 2005

The Ski Trip

Valentine’s Day was actually on a Monday in 2005, so presumably this episode takes place the weekend of February 11-13.

March 2005

The Egg/The Heist

Easter was on March 27 in 2005. This is how I know The Hunted takes place during the Autumnal Equinox; Rose was still in the city during Easter weekend, a week after the Vernal Equinox.

Eye of the Beholder Ring Around the Dragon Jake Takes the Cake

May 2005

Fu and Tell/Flight of the Unicorn

Flight of the Unicorn takes place on Memorial Day, which was May 30th that year

May/June (or September) 2005

Keeping Shop

Hong Kong Nights

I know Jeff Goode’s website says this is the last episode of season one, but I absolutely cannot accept any episode besides The Hunted as the season finale, so I’m just gonna recognize that the council has made a decision, but elect to ignore it.

September 2005

The Hunted

The Autumnal Equinox in 2005 was on September 22

Late November/Early December 2005

Half Baked

Jake says it’s been three months since Rose left. It couldn’t be exactly three months, because that would place this episode in late December, and school would be out for the holidays. So presumably it’s late November or early December, and Jake is rounding up when he says three months.

The Academy

This one would pretty much have to take place very soon after Half Baked, like within a week or two.

Late December 2005

Breakout

This episode establishes that 88 and 89 are in the city working as apprentices to the Huntsman, so it has to take place before the Christmas episode, which they also appear in.

Hairy Christmas

January/February 2006

(Most of these don’t actually have to take place in January or February, aside from Dreamscape and Fool’s Gold. The rest could be pretty much any time during Jake’s 7th grade year. I’m just trying to stick to Jeff Goode’s chronology, and keep at least some of the episodes in the order he listed.)

Hero of the Hourglass Bring It On Family Business Something Fishy This Way Comes The Doppelganger Gang Dreamscape Fool's Gold

February 2006

The Love Cruise

They never explicitly say it’s Valentine’s Day, but the whole concept of the Love Cruise seems like something a school would do for Valentine’s Day. Also adds an extra layer of heartbreak, because it means Jake and Rose’s breakup happened on the one-year anniversary of Jake finding out Rose was Huntsgirl. Ouch. February has not been kind to Jake.

On the other hand, I’d prefer to headcanon that Jake and Rose got to spend the whole summer together before their breakup, going on dream dates every night and not having to set their alarms for school in the morning (can we just let them be happy for a little while? PLEASE?!?!?!?), so maybe the Love Cruise wasn’t on Valentine’s Day, and instead was just some random school event at the beginning of their 8th grade year.

May 2006

Feeding Frenzy

They spend three days visiting Jake’s family, so it’s either Memorial Day weekend, spring break, or summertime. Most likely Memorial Day or spring break, since Jake says in this episode that he’s been the American Dragon for a year and a half.

May/June 2006

A Befuddled Mind The Rotwood Files Haley Gone Wild Switcheroo

This one takes place after The Love Cruise, because Jake and Rose’s recent breakup is a minor plot point, so it only takes place at this point if we headcanon Love Cruise taking place in February.

Young At Heart

I know this is supposed to be a later episode, but going by this timeline, Jake would be 15 for most of his 8th grade year, and in this episode Jake, Trixie, and Spud talk about being 14, so it has to take place during 7th grade

Summer between 7th and 8th grade

A Ghost Story

Late September/Early October 2006

Homecoming

I never went to public school (I was unfortunately homeschooled), but it’s my understanding that middle schools don’t do Homecoming. So my headcanon is that it was actually just a junior high prom or something, but a few students on the planning committee approached Sun Park and begged her to let them model it after the Homecoming dances at their older siblings’ high schools. Sun was delighted by their enthusiasm, so of course she agreed.

Any time during their 8th grade year

Supernatural Tuesday Siren Says Shaggy Frog Nobody's Fu Game On Bite Father, Bite Son Magic Enemy #1

February 2007

Year of the Jake

Chinese New Year was on February 18th in 2007

March 2007

Furious Jealousy

Trixie and Spud put together a Daylight Savings themed school event, so this episode takes place either in October of 06 or March of 07. We’ll go with March because it’s closer to the end of the series.

June 2007

Being Human

Haley and Gramps both say in this episode that Jake is 14, but he would actually be 15 by this point (even if my whole timeline is wrong and he actually is a Pisces, he still would’ve had his 15th birthday already). Presumably the writers just weren’t paying close enough attention to their established timeline, but the in-universe explanation is…sometimes family members forget your age; my best friend keeps saying her youngest sister is 15, when in fact her sister is turning 17 this year. Sometimes you lose track.

Summer after 8th grade

The Hong Kong Longs

Presumably this episode takes place around July or August, which means Jake and his friends would be almost 16 by this point (and Rose would be almost 15, assuming my headcanon about her being a year younger than them is accurate).

#no i didn't spend three hours on this what are you talking about #american dragon: jake long #american dragon jake long #ad:jl #adjl #jake long #trixie carter #arthur spudinski #rose adjl #adjl rose #haley long #lao shi #sun park

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dramioneasks · 4 years

Text

HP FESTS: Dramione RomCom Fest (Part 1)

Dramione RomCom Fest 2020:

12 Years and 3 Months by pixiedustandbluebutterflies - T, one-shot - As news of their engagement takes Wizarding England by storm, elusive power couple Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are finally sharing their love story in this Witch Weekly interview!

50 (First) Dates with Hermione Granger by HufflepuffMommy - G, WIP - Draco Malfoy sets his heart on romancing Hermione Granger, but she has short-term memory loss; she can't remember anything that happened the day before. So every morning, Draco has to woo her again. Her friends are very protective, and Draco must convince them that he's in it for love. Plot (andsummary) taken from the movie "50 First Dates" for the Dramione RomCom fest!

About Time by WordsmithMusings - E, WIP - When Draco's Father reveals to him that the men in their family have the ability to travel back in time, he uses his newfound gift to do many things - save a life, be a better friend, reconnect with a witch, and fall in love.

All's well that ends well (to end up with you) by weestarmeggie - M, one-shot - Hermione Granger is all set to be the maid of honor at her best friends wedding. She is taken back when she finds out that the best man is none other than her ex-fiance.

Away by In_Dreams - E, WIP - Desperate for a change of pace, Hermione unknowingly commits to a home exchange with Pansy Parkinson and finds herself swept up in the chaos of New York City and into the arms of Draco Malfoy. Dramione/Hansy. Loosely inspired by The Holiday.

Bells on a Hill by HeyJude19 - T, WIP - Left by his fiancée a month before the ceremony, Draco never got his dream wedding, so agreeing to assist Granger with her own wedding planning to distract himself from his broken engagement seems like a great idea—though Draco probably shouldn't fall in love with the bride-to-be. Based very (very) loosely on The Wedding Singer.

Chasing the Future by Rdlentz8 - T, WIP - An unusual and anonymous Patronus finds a frustrated Hermione alone in the library and talks to her about being lonely. Could this be the push she's needed to change her fate? Inspired by A Cinderella Story. There are direct quotes from A Cinderella Story.

Domino Effect by KoraKwidditch - M, WIP - Resolved to live her life in Muggle London, Hermione Granger finally felt free. Free from the Ministry, free from her celebrity status and everything that entailed. But who knew that one cataclysmal incident would lead her straight into the Malfoy's den and down a series of unfortunate events? At least they think she's a Muggle.**A Dramione retelling of While You Were Sleeping**

Fairytales and Wishes by Charlie9646 - T, one-shot - All Scorpius wants is for Hermione to be a nice step mother, but somehow that sort of gets lost in translation with his accidental magic.

Flipping Through the Pages by DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns - T, WIP - Draco Malfoy had a fascination with a popular book series and its writer. His life changes when he meets her.

The Hate List by bethelson - T, WIP - While chaperoning the post graduation trip, Hermione and Draco find themselves wandering the streets of Paris in the middle of the night, fruitlessly searching for the seventh years they were supposed to be in charge of. What Hermione doesn’t know, is that those seventh years struck a bargain with Draco to keep her occupied so they could sneak out for a last hurrah before they all head back to London. So in his efforts to derail her search, he convinces her to join him in their own night of frivolity. As they paint the city red, they slowly learn to let their guards down, and find that putting the past behind them allows them to finally focus on the present. ___ My contribution to the Dramione RomCom Fest!

Hollywood & Vine by dreamsofdramione (Bugggghead), msmerlin - M, WIP - As the manager of an occult bookstore currently renting a room from an old friend and living paycheck to paycheck, Hermione wasn’t exactly living the Hollywood dream. But her life is turned upside down when a chance encounter with Tinseltown’s current heartthrob, Draco Malfoy, leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about life and love. or the one in which Hermione unintentionally falls in love with a movie star.

Home is Where the Heart Is by lrs002 - T, one-shot - A rewrite and Draco/Hermione look at basically the last scenes of the movie Sweet Home AlabamaOr in the other words: The Wedding and the Kiss

How to Lose a Wizard in 10 Days by GracefulLioness - E, WIP - Hermione will do anything to prove to her boss at Witch Weekly that she's ready to take on more serious topics, including dating a man just to drive him away for the sake of her next column, How to Lose a Wizard in 10 Days. But pushing Draco Malfoy away proves to be a challenging task, perhaps because he's got ten days to make her fall in love with him. Inspired by How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

It Happened One Knight by Klawdee - T, WIP - “A spoiled heir running away from his family is helped by an old classmate, who is actually a journalist in need of a story.” Based off of the 1934 film, It Happened One Night

It's All In The Malfoy Family by TwilightToMidnight - M, one-shot - Over a decade of longing and desire comes to fruition one night. Not quite the way Hermione expected but definitely with a bang. Everyone and their dog seem to be working against her. For the 2020 Dramione RomCom Fest. Loosely based off Sabrina (1954 - with Audrey Hepburn).

Love, Actually in Dramione by Blessedindeed - G, one-shot - I absolutely love the movie "Love, Actually" and was so excited to make some art pieces from a few of the more memorable scenes! Many thanks and kudos to QuinTalon & NuclearNik for hosting and being such amazing encouragers to everyone! I cannot wait to dive into all these fun pieces!!

Love, Hermione by pandora_rose_xo - G, WIP - When Hermione leaves some personal letters lying around in a sleepy haze, Dobby comes across them, and trying to be helpful delivers them to their recipients. Who were never supposed to see them.

Metamorphosis by persephone_stone - T, WIP - Draco Malfoy is king of Hogwarts High—student body president, captain of both the water polo and basketball teams, and boyfriend of Astoria Greengrass, the hottest girl in school. That is, until said girlfriend returns from Spring Break with some unexpected news: she’s dumping him for a college boy. Now, Draco is on a mission to win her back. And who better to help him turn into a more intellectual, cultured version of himself than Hermione Granger, the smartest girl in school? As he and Hermione spend time together, will Draco learn how to be the right type of boyfriend for Astoria? Or will he instead learn that maybe Astoria is not the right type of girl for him? Written for the Dramione RomCom Fest, based on the 90’s teen romcom She’s All That.

Midnight in Paris by Aneiria - E, one-shot - ‘Granger,’ Draco replied, casting a quick wandless charm to clean his own clothes. ‘Want to watch the magic you’re casting next time? Whatever spell that was, it nearly took both of us out.’ Hermione’s face settled into a frown of confusion. ‘I thought that was you,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘I wasn’t using magic.’ They both looked away at the same time, taking in their surroundings. ‘Where are we?’ Hermione wondered out loud, as she spun on the spot and took in the sights. It was the wrong question, really.

My Big Fat Muggle Wedding by BiscuitsForPotter - G, one-shot - Draco's gotten more used to having Muggles as future-in-laws, but what about his parents?

No More Waiting by anchoredto717 - T, one-shot - The end of Hogwarts, an impending Mastery, and confirmation that Hermione is well and truly over Ronald Weasley: three factors that push Draco into a place he never imagined. Is he really going to Harry Potter’s house party? A one shot heavily inspired by the 90s teen classic, Can’t Hardly Wait.

Off the Rails by RoseHarperMaxwell - E, WIP - For the Dramione RomCom Fest 💚 My adaptation of the movie Trainwreck (Amy Schumer/Bill Hader), featuring Draco in Amy's role. “Pans.” Draco’s head falls back petulantly. “I can't interview Granger, especially not about how she's healing Potter. Neither of them are going to want to talk to me. Make Creevey do it.” “No, you'll do it. And don't sulk at me, Draco.” Pansy shuts him down immediately, not that he expected to talk her out of it. She gives assignments, not suggestions. “Old Quidditch rivalries. Gryffindor Princess confiding in the Prince of Slytherin, with a side of The Boy Who Lived. You’re the only one for it.” She drops her pen on her notepad with finality. “She’s also fit as hell now. I’d even fuck her, so our readers will be drooling over her. This is easy, Draco. Don’t fuck it up.”

One Thing We've Got by IrisCalasse - M, WIP - Over a decade after the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy is a broke socialite straddling the Muggle and magical worlds. One day a new neighbour moves in his residential complex. What has happened to Hermione Granger to make her hide from Ronald Weasley? If Cormac McLaggen is gay, why is he hanging around Granger so much? And why does her cat seem to know way too much about everything? Based on the plot of Breakfast at Tiffany's, but set in 2012 London with a magical twist. Updates every 16th of the month.

Pin down your heart by hiyas - G, one-shot - Hermione Granger contemplates a door when Destiny comes knocking.

Playing Cupid by tygermine - T, one-shot - Set It Up AU.

Pretty Witch by TakingFlight48 - E, WIP - When confronted with the opportunity to take on an alter ego - Hermione Granger, Potion's Mistress and the Wizarding World's Golden Girl became Vivian Roberts - London's weekend escort. For three years she lived in this duality until Draco Malfoy, lost in Soho and driving a precious DB6, wound up uncovering her secret. This is the tale of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy finding a balance between work and love through the guise of fake dating, unacknowledged feelings, and Hermione not wanting to let go of a part of herself that is no longer serving her.

Promises, Promises by Musyc - T, one-shot - Lawyer and social work advocate Hermione Granger is one signature away from fulfilling her dream to have a house-elf education program. All she needs is to seal the deal, and Draco Malfoy has promised the full support of Malfoy and Son Developments. But the owner of the property is balking, there's a new buyer in the mix, and a promise isn't a contract.

The Proposal by FaeOrabel - M, WIP - When Head of Creatures Division of the DMLE, Hermione Granger, is pushed into a corner regarding a new marriage law she doesn't want to comply with, she gets the brilliant idea to stage an engagement with her long time, loyal assistant, Draco Malfoy. Draco goes along with the charade on the condition she gets him promoted to a new position. A deal set, they prepare to fool not only the Minister of Magic, but Hermione's best friend, and Draco's entire family. What could go wrong? Just the threat of Azkaban should they fail.

PS I love you by emotionalsupporthufflepuff - M, WIP - After a tragic accident, Hermione must reintroduce Draco to a life they've built far away from home. She recieves unexpected help in a series of letter written by Draco himself before the accident...

Regrets Only by nztina - T, WIP - Draco and Hermione are the best of friends - until Hermione goes off to teach at Hogwarts and Draco realises that he doesn’t just miss her. Upon her return to London, he intends to reveal his feelings, but she has a surprise of her own, one that will definitely put a damper on Draco’s plans. Draco. Hermione. And...Hermione’s fiancé?

Restless in Ripon by QuinTalon - T, WIP - Scorpius Malfoy wants his father to be happy again and as his grandfather often told him, a Malfoy always gets what he wants. A nosy radio host, well-meaning friends, and fate will help bring two lonely souls together. Well, that and one tenacious eight-year-old.

Rushing Back by floorcoaster - M, WIP - Draco Malfoy is thirty, surviving, and very much not thriving. He's near the utter end of himself when he experiences the worst of all possible bad days--a double betrayal that rocks him to his core. Unmoored, untethered, he winds up in a strange place, where he begins an adventure through time that will change the course of his life. A time travel fic with a twist on the movie "13 Going on 30."

Say Anything by MidnightValkyrie - G, 9 Chapters - To know Draco Malfoy is to love him. Hermione Granger is about to know Draco Malfoy. Written and created for the Dramione RomCom Fest, based on Say Anything.

She's the Snake by monsterleadmehome - E, WIP - In a universe where Voldemort never came back, Harry lives with Sirius, and Dumbledore isn't dying, the worst thing the Golden Trio has to contend with is their grades and Quidditch matches... oh, and the recent magical attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Harry is sure Malfoy had something to do with it, and though Hermione doesn't agree, her sarcastic offer somehow turns into her latest nightmare: to go undercover as a boy in the Slytherin dorms and find out what's really going on. And maybe throw a Quidditch game or two. But there's one thing she hasn't prepared for: falling in love with the boy she's supposed to be spying on.

Signed and Sealed by niffizzle - M, WIP - She owns a children's bookstore. He runs a corporation buying significant shares of small businesses. Never in their lives have Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy gotten along — or so they think.

Timing is Everything by anne_ammons - M, 7 Chapters - Draco Malfoy is your average bachelor living an average bachelor's life, until he crosses paths with his former classmate, Hermione Granger. Strike that - when has Draco Malfoy ever been average? A retelling of the 1994 movie, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Dramione-style.

A Trip to Kouloura Beach by rennaissance_woman - one-shot - A day at the beach, what could happen?

The Truth About Kneazles and Crups by samkablam7 - T, WIP - When Draco Malfoy started hosting his wizarding radio show The Truth About Kneazles and Crups, he had no idea that it would bring Hermione Granger back into his life. He also didn't know that they would both be interested in each other. The only problem? She thinks that the radio host she's interested in is his best friend and Pro-Quidditch-player-wannabe, Blaise Zabini.

Untitled Marital Crisis Comedy by Darlingheart - G, one-shot - Draco is rich, handsome, and most importantly, excellent with the ladies. Harry Potter is not. Which is where Draco comes in. With Draco’s help Harry will learn there’s more to life than being a one-woman man. But what happens when Draco meets someone who changes his mind? And what does Hermione Granger have to do with it...

A Woman of Some Dignity by mcal - G, one-shot - That seemed to get his attention. “What are you—of course I respect you, you daft witch!”

“Your actions today show the opposite!” I answered. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m a woman of some dignity and I’d like to shower in peace. You’ll kindly wait half an hour before Apparating back to my flat.” Hermione's not one for diaries, but it's been a week to say the least. It all started off with a confusing meeting with Draco Malfoy in her office, and... well, Hermione thought maybe recording her thoughts on the events would help her process. She isn't wrong.

You lost and lonely, You just like heaven by Wake_The_Dragon - T, WIP - Dramione Romcom Fest. Hermione Granger had needed something new and a change of scenery was a good start. What she hadn't counted on was renting a flat with an annoying (if handsome) ghost, who claims he isn't dead. Somehow, helping out a ghost and falling in love were two things she hadn't bargained for.

You Wish by Talonwillow (Ehollis303) - T, WIP - What makes a bad case of "Black Cat Flu" more tolerable? Young Perseus is learning that hearing about dueling, torture, revenge, giants, dementors, chases, true love, and miracles from his Grandfather Scorpius certainly makes things easier- If the man would finish the story that is. A story about love, where not even death can keep the beautiful feisty stable-girl and her sometimes irritating one true love apart. Together they must battle the evil Lord Voldemort through an adventure crossing the magical and fairy tale realm.

#Fests/Exchanges/Challenges #dramione #Dramione RomCom Fest #humour #fluff #based on other book or movie plot

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pennylanefics · 3 years

Text

A Promise - pt. 1 | Will Schofield

a/n: i broke this into two parts bc it was super long. this is the really heartbreaking story idea i had...i also stopped writing it for a few days bc im not expecting to get much notes on it and it discouraged me, but i loved writing it, so why not 🤷🏼‍♀️

another a/n: it’s my birthday!! :) this is the second will fic i’ve posted on my birthday for a second year in a row 🤣 i’ll be sitting at home, making a cake, being snowed in from the winter storm, enjoying some cheesecake factory, drinking kool-aid and watching hamilton lol

•••

Having Tom home for the holidays was amazing. He had so many stories from training, about other soldiers getting caught in hilarious situations. It was so nice to hear his laugh again and just be in his presence.

You’ve known Tom for a short time, but you fell in love instantly. He was delivering a basket of cherries to your house, from his mother to yours, and that’s when you met. From then, you’ve spent all your time together, in his backyard, at local parks, even in your homes; you were inseparable.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you go back,” you whisper against Tom’s chest. Your night was filled with passion in his dim-lit room, the covers surrounding your sweaty bodies.

“You’ll survive,” he teases you with a couple kisses here and there. You giggle softly and curl into his body, not wanting him to leave. He was home for the holidays, but unfortunately, he was being sent to France in a few days. “I’ll write to you every chance I can.”

“You better.” He smiles and kisses you deeply.

That was one of the last passionate kisses you shared.

About a month after he left, you found out you were pregnant. You knew it was from that night, and you were so excited to write to Tom and tell him.

Dear my Tom,

I have wonderful news... I’m pregnant! You’re going to be a dad! I cannot wait for your next leave so you can be here for at least some of the pregnancy. It’s going to go so fast, they’ll be here before we know it. I love you. Come home soon.

Love, (Y/N)

He wrote back very quickly.

Dear my love,

I am so elated that we’re going to have a baby! It’s always been my dream to start a family with the woman I love. I cannot wait to see pictures of your baby belly and hear about everything.

Love, your Tom

Those letters continued for the next few months. You gave Tom updates every single week, dreamily writing what your life would be like when they’re born, and if the war would be over. Every letter contained sweet comments from him, until one letter stood out to you one day in April.

“Iris,” you shakily walk to where she sat in the living room. You had moved in with her when you found out you were pregnant. She was so excited to have a grandchild, and she wanted to take the best care of you, for yourself and for Tom.

“What is it, darling?” You hand her the paper covered in someone else’s handwriting, not daring to read anymore than the dreaded greeting, “To (Y/N) and Iris”. Not “dear my love” like Tom writes.

She scans it for a few seconds before bursting into tears. This makes your heart speed up and anxiety builds in your body. She suddenly screams out in horror, and you know something bad happened.

Picking the paper up, you carefully read over the writing, your heart shattering to pieces as you read the statement, “Tom has been killed”. At first, you don’t react. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like someone’s messing with you, one of Tom’s good mates did this, right?

After reading it over and over, you finally look at the closing, which is written by Will Schofield, Tom’s trusted friend. That’s when you break down.

You fall to your knees, your hands covering your face as your body goes numb.

He’s gone. He’s really gone.

“Why!?” You scream in heartbreak. Iris rushes over to you immediately, attempting to put her own grief aside to comfort you.

“(Y/N), you h-have to relax, you can’t stress yourself out. It’s bad for the baby.” At the mention of your unborn child, you cry out even more. He wouldn’t get to see his child.

A sob escapes your lips and you clutch at your chest, images of your first and only love running through your mind. How could you go on?

You managed to get through a month since receiving the news of Tom’s death. It definitely wasn’t easy, but being with Iris made it all the better. You comforted one another when you needed to, and often went into town to shop or have lunch, just to get your mind off things.

A month and a half later, you were still so heartbroken, but you knew you needed to stay strong for your baby. According to your doctor, they were still pretty healthy, as were you, surprisingly. You told him about what happened, and he was very understanding, but he assured you that everything so far was fine, and to just take things easy now.

One day, you and Iris were baking a few cherry pies to deliver to people around town, when a knock on the front door interrupted you. Wiping your hands, you walk to the grand entryway and open it, coming face-to-face with a nice-looking young man.

“Can I help you?” You ask. He takes a deep breath and smiles.

“I’m William Schofield,” he says softly. The name triggers you instantly, and you suddenly feel dizzy. He senses this and helps you inside and onto the couch.

“Who was it, darling?” Iris walks into the living room and sees Will helping you. “Who are you?”

“My name is Will Schofield. I was a friend of Tom’s, and the one who sent the letter informing you of…” he tapers off, hoping she would understand. She does, nodding and motioning for him to take a seat. She walks back into the kitchen while you are still trying to process it all.

The room is silent and awkward. Will doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Thankfully, Iris returns with three cups of tea.

“So, Will. Are you on leave or were you sent here?” He takes a cup from her hands and thanks her softly.

“I was discharged. I sustained some injuries on, uh, the, um, the-”

“It’s okay,” Iris whispers. He nods and wipes his cheek. You stare at him, taking his appearance in. He was nothing like Tom described him as. He was very handsome, bright blue eyes that sparkled with tears. You suddenly feel guilty for staring at him for too long, still attached to the thought that Tom was still alive and he was still your boyfriend.

You zoned out, thinking of Tom once again. What he was like, his laugh, your favorite sound in the world.

“Love?” Iris’s voice breaks you from your daze. That’s when you realized you were silently crying, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you mumble, quickly standing and running to your room. The door shuts behind you and you fall onto your bed, sobbing quietly into the pillow that used to be Tom’s.

About ten minutes pass and you’re no longer crying. But, your heart still feels heavy and you feel a little numb. A soft knock sounds through the room, and you call out weakly for whoever it is to come in. Sitting up, you see Will cautiously stepping inside. He closes the door gently and awkwardly walks further into the room.

“Hi,” you mumble. He waves and looks around for a chair, but you pat the bed next to you. He sits down slowly and fiddles with his hands.

“I’m so sorry for what you’re going through,” he whispers, keeping his eyes forward.

“It’s probably affecting you as well. According to his letters, you two were great friends.” He chuckles and nods.

“We were friends, but I wasn’t his love or mother of his child.” Tears spring to your eyes once again.

“Yeah, that’s…” you were at a loss for words. You’ve talked about this countless times with Iris, but suddenly, being around Will made it hard for some reason.

“Tom was so excited to be a dad,” he murmurs, a hint of love in his voice. “Every letter he got from you, his face lit up at whatever update you gave him. And he told me about every single one.” You laugh through your tears and finally look at Will. He also had tears in his eyes, yet there was a deeper emotion behind them.

“He was a good man,” he continues. “Always telling jokes and stories. He honestly made the whole experience better.”

“Yeah, that was his specialty, his stories. He had an endless amount of them.”

“That he did.” A silence hangs in the air for a moment.

“Um, can we please change the topic? Because as much as I’d love to talk about Tom more, I don’t think I’m quite ready,” you shyly mumble.

“Yeah, of course. Have you seen any films recently?”

For the rest of the night, you and Will get to know one another, talking about everything and anything, except for Tom; he respected your wish and avoided the topic as best as he could.

After that night, Will visited you every weekend, spending Friday, Saturday, and Sunday with you and Iris. He made sure you were staying healthy and resting, and one night, you asked him about it.

“Will?” You whisper. He was sitting in the guest room, at the desk in the corner. It was well into the night, but you had to ask him now.

“What’s wrong?” He’s standing within seconds, running over to you to make sure you weren’t injured or something was wrong with the baby.

“Nothing. But, I am curious about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Why have you been visiting so much? Not that I don’t enjoy your company, it’s been really nice and Iris loves having you here as well, but why?” He sits on the bed and motions for you to join. You two crawl to the top, against the headboard, and he begins.

“When Tom was...dying, he asked me to care for you, to make sure you have a healthy and happy baby. He asked me to check up on you often and make sure you’re okay, both with the baby and yourself, mentally. He knew what he was leaving behind, and he hated that you were going to be left alone, with just his mum.” Tears pool in your eyes and threaten to spill over as Will continues.

“I made a promise to him that I would protect you and the baby. So I’m going to do that.” Your tears finally fall, and your hands rest on your bump, wishing they could have met their amazing father.

“I just wish he was still here,” you quietly sob. Will wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to him.

“I know, love. They’ll get to know him through yours and Iris’s stories. Their father won’t be forgotten, I promise you that.”

—

The months go by, and Will keeps his promise till the end. In early October, you gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. You named him Percy Thomas Blake; Tom had always talked about how he loved the name ‘Percy’ for a boy and wanted to use it one day, so you had to keep his wish.

Will was up with you, in the middle of the night as Percy cried out. You were in tears, having tried everything to calm him. Changing him, wrapping him in a blanket, trying to feed him, but nothing worked.

“Here,” Will says, removing his shirt, “let me try something.” He takes the baby from you carefully and rests him against his bare chest. Moments later, the room goes quiet and Percy is fully content. You breathe out a sigh of relief and fall onto the bed.

“Thank you,” you murmur, closing your eyes and enjoying the peaceful moment. Will goes to sit in the rocking chair in the corner of your room, but you invite him to lay beside you. He’s hesitant at first, but he gently lays down, Percy now fast asleep on his chest.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” you say softly. “Being here and helping Iris and I. I have no idea what I would have done if I was alone.”

“Like I said, it was my promise.”

“I know, but to drop everything and help take care of a baby that’s not yours is so incredibly nice.”

“He may not be mine, but that doesn’t mean I won’t care for him when I promised to for a friend.”

A smile spreads across your lips and your hand comes to rest on your son’s back. For a moment, you forget everything bad that’s happened. You feel happy for the first time in months. You just hoped that would last.

To your surprise, it did.

Will basically lives with you and Iris now, and you’re so thankful that he stayed. Him and your son created this unbreakable bond, and you were more than happy that Percy was able to have someone like Will in his life.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years came and passed, and Will was by your side as you mourned the memory of the last time you saw Tom, a year ago. But, as you got through the days together, you couldn’t help but have one thought on your mind.

“Alright, goodnight, bubs. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to see grandmummy!” Your son cheers tiredly at your words, and you give him a kiss on his head. Will appears behind you and proceeds to do the same routine. He follows you out of the room, turning the light off and shutting the door. He begins to walk into his room, but you stop him

“Can I talk to you about something?” You wonder quietly, nerves filling your body. He nods and grabs your hand, guiding you to the living room couch. Iris was gone for the weekend, so you had the house to yourselves.

“So, what is it?” Taking a deep breath, you keep your eyes on your hands, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

#will schofield #william schofield #will schofield imagine #will schofield x reader #george mackay #1917 #william schofield imagine #william schofield x reader #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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imagine-that-one-thing · 3 years

Text

Rise Of Glory || 6

Again, it cries, and again, and again.

Harry and I wander to the cobble steps to his mother's house, Alex asleep in Harry's arms from the long drive. The drive was quiet, not because I am tired but because I don't know what to say at this point. Nothing I do or say is going to change things or make anything better. I am at a loss.

The door opens, and his mother stands in the doorway, bewildered by our sudden appearance. I don't blame her. It is unlike us to abruptly show up on her doorstep. Most of the time, Harry gives her a heads up.

She grants us her routine tender smile and ushers us inside.

"What brings you two here suddenly?" Harry's Mum questions.

I glance towards Harry, curious as to what he plans to tell her. Telling your mother you only came to visit to see a grave is not something you'd want to admit out loud or at all.

"Uh," Harry clears his throat, "The media have swarmed my building and are starting to come out at the house. We came here to get a break," Harry answers, opening his arms to half-hug his mother, who he has missed dearly, he won't admit it, but he has. He may hate having to come to Cheshire, I don't think that will ever change, but he loves having his mother back in his life at a more constant and healthier level. Their relationship has improved tremendously since I came here when we first started dating all those years ago. I still remember that weekend like yesterday.

It was the weekend I realised that the man I was falling in love with gives everything he has, mentally, emotionally and physically, to his mother and sisters wellbeing. He'd allow himself to drown a million times if it meant his family could stay afloat.

"I'm going to put him down," Harry informs his mother and me, giving me a tired smile before walking past me and down the hallway towards Harry's old bedroom.

Harry's Mum peers over towards me, her brows furrowing and her lips pursing; I can tell her thoughts are ticking away and that something is playing intensely on her mind. She has the same expression Harry has when he wants to say something but leaves the words on the tip of his tongue, unsure of whether to say them or not.

I cock my head to the side, debating myself whether to give her the go-ahead to tell me whatever is on her mind.

"He's lying to me," Anne bluntly states before I can figure out how to ask her what's on her mind, "You had to have left at around 3 in the morning to be here by now. He's tired, almost like he hasn't slept in days," she points out, "And you… you look exhausted too. I don't believe it's the media at your house that caused you both to drive up here… I'm not complaining. I'm just… I'm curious."

"It has been a long week for him. He wanted to get away." I don't know who I am trying to convince more, myself or her.

"He hates it here with a passion. I have seen the articles."

I nod, agreeing with her. She knows the truth. Harry doesn't bother trying to hide the fact that he still hates this place. Even when we first started dating, he made it known he wasn't happy to be back. His home town brings back memories he doesn't want to remember, especially when he and his relationship with his mother were strained to the point they weren't speaking at all. "This is where he wanted to come."

"But it isn't where he wants to be… he hates it up here… are things that bad in London?" She questions softly, and I can't help but nod. She looks me up and down and bites her lip for a moment, almost as if she's holding back whatever thoughts are racing through her thoughts, "Are you and Harry okay? You're not fighting or?"

"We're fine," I immediately cut her off, "It's the business and the media that's pushing him off the rails."

"Mhm," she hums, "And you, are you okay?"

I give her a small smile and nod, "I'm okay."

"You're lying."

"Anne—"

"Honey, don't take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted. Have you slept at all?"

"It's been a rough few months," I softly respond, "It has taken a lot out of me."

The last three months have been an absolute roller coaster, mentally, emotionally and physically. I'm not quite sure how I've managed to keep things together to the extent I have. There are still days I feel like the world's weight is so heavily on me that I can't breathe. There are days I feel like I'm drowning and can't pull myself away. There are the days I feel like I'm finally okay and can breathe, but the second I manage to come up for air, there's something to pull me down, whether it's work-related, family-related or past related.

"Why didn't you call? Harry kept saying you were fine."

"I have been fine," I respond softly.

In all honesty, I have been fine… kind of. I'm as fine as what can be expected, considering the events that have happened. I'm not going to lie, I may be fine, but I'm still very much up and down when it comes to things. There are good days, and there are bad days.

"If you ever need me, I'm just a call away. You know that, right?" She offers me her sweet, caring smile that has always assured me of tough times and situations.

"Yes, I know."

"Okay, go get yourself some sleep."

"I have work I need to do once I get my laptop out of the car. We might be up here, but the business doesn't stop just because we aren't there."

"Well, at the very least, take a seat on the couch, put your feet up and relax for a minute. Let me at least make you some tea."

"You're too kind to me," I smile towards her.

"You're kind to my son. It's the least I can do for my darling daughter-in-law," she beams.

Anne hands me a steaming cup of tea as I answer a few emails from my phone, too tired to go out and get my laptop. "I have one last question."

"Mhm," I hum, waiting for her to ask what is on her mind.

"What happened to his hand?"

"Oh, he was washing dishes and somehow cut his hand," I tell her the truth.

I don't think it is my place to tell her about Logan or that Harry might be losing his mind. Right now, it is up to Harry to speak to her and want to talk about things. I cannot force him. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Harry will speak when he feels like speaking, and he will tell his mother when he is ready and on his terms.

I don't think I should be the one to tell her that we made the long drive up here just because Harry can't wrap his head around the fact Logan has risen from the dead. No mother wants to hear that as a reason as to why their son has finally visited.

I wish I could say that we visit here often for good occasions, but it is far from the truth. We come up here for holidays, and that is as far as it goes. I have made the drive a few times with Alex to get away from the city, but that has been on rare occasions. Harry doesn't like the idea of me making the drive on my own, and he hates having to come up here. We have settled on staying away from Cheshire and having his mother visit us when she can. I do wish things were a bit different. I do wish we lived closer to his Mum or came up here often. I think it would benefit Harry to be around his mother more and have a family sense. He has my family, but it is different. His mother is irreplaceable, and I know that deep down, he misses his sister. They may not be on the best of terms right now, but I know he loves and misses her.

When Alex is a little older, I would often like to bring him up here to see the neighbours' baby animals. He would love playing with the goats and picking fresh farm eggs, which is not as usual in our life. He would be thrilled to run the fields without a care in the world, a completely different environment compared to home. We have a lot of space for him to run around at home but nothing like the countryside.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

With Harry's fingers laced with my own, I pass the identical headstones that I passed in November of 2021, on the same day we buried Logan.

Nothing has changed about the cemetery. It's still as uncanny and ill-fitting as it was that day. The headstones are still cracked and withered with the voyage of seasons. It is a shame how the graves fade away. It's almost as though since these souls have left earth, nobody cares enough to fix up the graves that have cracked and deteriorated. It bothers me now like it did the day I walked through here a few years ago.

This cemetery is old, at least over 100 years old. I remember noticing some of the inscriptions when I was here last dated back to the 1800s. These monument stones of cold, decaying cement have presumably observed more people and tears of melancholy and exuberance than one could probably picture. And yet, nobody can take the time to take care of the graves. There are scarcely any flowers on the graves.

It disheartens me that as I escort past all these graves, I still feel saddened even years later because we pass by people who have once lived and wandered this very earth.

"Harry, are you sure it's this way?" I challenge as we pass another row of headstones.

I can't tell if my anxiousness tells me we have gone too far or if we need just to leave and go back home. Part of me doesn't want to wander any further than what we have. After all, walking through grave yeards is always eerie.

"I'm sure I know where my dead brother is buried," Harry grimly mutters, "I was here for it." Harry reminds me of the day he endured.

"No need to be so… morbid," I inform him, doing my best to keep my voice low. We don't need an argument in the middle of a cemetery, even if he is a dickhead.

I stop in my tracks, and Harry turns to glance at me as his hand leaves mine, "Why are you stopping?" Harry questions, and I can't help but take a moment to take in his features as a distraction.

I don't know how to tell him that I don't feel comfortable walking in this cemetery, I don't want to go any further, and I don't think this is a beneficial approach. Nothing good ever comes from this place. I push away my thoughts and feelings, "I couldn't remember if I checked on Alex before we left," I lie. I know I checked on Alex before we left. He was still asleep and cuddled up to his teddy bear.

"We both did, love. Mum knows what she's doing, and you know that, relax," Harry responds, kissing my cheek before lacing his fingers back with mine and beginning to walk again.

Harry and I come to an abrupt standstill, and the two of us become withdrawn while we take in the view of what's in front of us. Harry squeezes my hand gently, and I can't help but squeeze back, a small amount of reassurance for him to know that I am right here and that I can see the same thing he can see.

The deafening silence is intruded abruptly and without signal by the ghastly screech of a blackened crow— the same intense screech that I swear I first heard once Logan was buried in this plot.

Again, it cries, and again, and again.

I shiver as a tingle operates through my body, the character of the crow sounding like nails on a chalkboard. This is the same place I stood in years ago when the crow first screeched—Harry was squatting by the grave, gazing at the soil, and I was standing right here.

I take a breath of the crisp air, and my eyes immediately cast themselves on the crow that is shrieking. Its relentless stare catches my own before I take note that it isn't alone. Harry and I are outnumbered and are intently observed by one… two... three… four… five crows, possibly six; I can't tell if the shadow in the distant tree is one of them or not. Either way, I wish we had never come here. They say if you see five crows, sickness will follow; see six crows, and death will follow.

A gust of wind whisks past us, settling brittle, dead leaves to dance around our shoes to take my gaze away from the crows. I watch the leaves swing around our feet, twirling around us like vines, almost as though they're tightening around our feet and ready to pull us down. I caress my hand to my stomach as I observe the leaves tumbling, leaving me with a heavy feeling in my stomach that twists, knots, and tightens like the motions of the leaflets. The breeze declines, and the leaves become motionless.

I gaze back towards where the first crow was, only to find it gone, leaving me with nothing but an unsettling uneasiness in the pit of my stomach and an abandoned grave of where Logan used to rest.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #imagine harry styles #harry styles prompts #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #Styles & Co #CEO harry #CEO harry edits #Imagine harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles preferences #1d imagine

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gebtoons · 3 years

Text

my contribution to the bapo timeline discourse bc i’m just gonna propose a timeline and will not be taking criticism <3 (under the cut bc this is gonna be a long post probably)

ok disclaimer I am quite stupid, however I’m gonna use my knowledge from my own 12 years in american public high school and what little info I have about american boarding schools/catholic schools that I have from my friends lol. so. idk.

i’m also gonna date songs/major events and i’m gonna be taking some “just trust me bro” liberties bc y’all are right it does NOT make that much sense.

January 6: Epiphany; this is like an actual holiday lol. like its always on the sixth. idk its good that this is the starting point bc its an actual date yknow? For the purposes of this timeline were going with that its early in the week, so lets go with Monday idk

January 6-13: You and I, Role of a Lifetime; so we’re all kinda in agreement that this timeline (at least the beginning) only really makes sense if you and i/role of a lifetime aren’t like. a singular moment and are instead multiple days. so yeah, of this first week, this is like. monday-next sunday ish yknow.

January 14: Auditions, Plain Jane Fatass; ok so having auditions for a spring musical right after kids get back from break actually makes perfect sense to me, like i can see it being like “ok take break to prepare so as soon as you come back we can have auditions so we can jump right into rehersals” yknow? and since the rave is clearly on a friday (”we’ll meet in tanya’s room on friday night”) so i’m going with the monday before.

as for pjf, i know it doesn’t make a ton of sense for them to get a two week late birthday package their first few weeks back from school, but hear me out it makes sense. the implication throughout this entire show is that the twins have decently shitty parents. from bits of dialogue (in this song in particular lol) i’m kinda inferring their the “only concerned with how their kids make them look to others” kind of neglectful. so I don’t think it’s too outside the realm of possibility that they went away for the holidays, didn’t bring the twins, and instead mailed them a birthday package and having it show up two weeks late. realistically the timing of this isnt that important and the explicit “two week” time frame could’ve been an exaggeration on nadia’s part to mock her shit parents (idk its in her character) basically ppl are a little two fixated on this imo but anyway. moving on.

January 18: Wonderland, A Quiet Night At Home, Rolling, Best Kept Secret; a very agreed upon point in the timeline. its the friday following the auditions. moving on.

January 21: Confession; also very agreed upon. the monday following the rave. moving on again

January 23: Portrait of a Girl; the date here is kinda arbitrary, but bc sister chantelle says “ok lets try to put yesterday’s rehearsal behind us” and i for the life of me cannot think of a scene she could be referring to (there’s none in the script either) that implies it wasn’t the same monday as confession (bc even in a boarding school i think holding extracurriculars that aren’t sports over the weekend (especially when they are no where near crunch time lol) is weird and not common) so i just picked a random day during the week

January 25: Birthday Bitch!, One Kiss, Are You There?; from matt’s line in wonderland, ivy’s birthday is a week after the rave. in my timeline that’s january 25th (an aquarius queen).

btw given all grown up’s “17, how will i manage?” ivy is 16 during 17 at her party, which is strange given shes a high school senior and seniors are typically 17 during 18. so either a) she skipped a grade, not an unheard of thing. or b) shes not a senior, shes just a junior who hangs out with a bunch of seniors, which is also pretty common. and looking through the script i can’t find any mention that she is also a senior, other than yknow she graduates with them, but she isn’t mentioned during the class ranking scene? so idk not that it really matters just a fun detail

February 3 (at night): 911 Emergency!; ok controversial. i know i like the joke about how its funny that peter having a weird dream when he was high prompted him to want to come out and really ruined his relationship with jason. BUT. i think the dream (despite it’s weirdness) would have a lot more meaning if it wasn’t the result of being really high, but if it was a dream he had like a week later as a result of a building sense of guilt/anxiety bc he told matt. also it fits better given later timeline things. (this timeline literally only exists if there are weird jumps in time that don’t make a ton of sense) (EDIT: I forgot one line about Jason crashing at ivys but fuck it forget that bitchass line this makes for more drama its staying this way)

February 4: Reputation Stain’d, Ever After; the next day following peter’s dream, idk what else to say, moving on.

February 25-28: Spring; another jump! i’m sorry but the only way for this to make sense logistically is for there to be quite a few time jumps! however, i also think this one works bc i think it gives time for everything from around ivy’s party and peter and jason’s break up to stew emotionally. like obviously a musical only has so much time to tell a story so the audience cannot see every realistic beat, but honestly i think it makes the whole thing a little more dramatic™ if there’s space for everything to settle, and for ivy to come and apologize and such. also, the reason it’s multiple days is bc in the script, ivy is trying to study (presumably for some sort of midterm) while nadia is playing, so that probably takes place a few days before they move out, so before finals. but in the script, jason and peter are packing and peter is leaving, so that part of the song/staging takes place on the 28th. yes, that’s weird, but we are clearly thinking more about the logistics of this school than the writers were so.

March 1: One; assuming st. cecilia’s works kinda like boarding schools here, they probably do staggered move out/move in, just bc that would be a lot to have people coming and going at once so it makes sense that peter left the day before, while jason and ivy are leaving the next day. also, given that peter is trying to call jason while he and ivy are banging, it’s probably been a hot minute since the actual break up, since peter was clearly very hurt by the whole thing, it would make sense (at least to me) that peter would reach out a month ish later, rather than like a few days later (you have to make so many assumptions to make this timeline work granted they aren’t super out there assumptions but still this is annoying)

March 1-25: Spring Break. the coworkers I have who are in boarding school work over their school breaks, which are longer than the public school breaks (which are only a week) so i put their spring break at 3 weeks. it makes sense, and it makes the later part of the timeline make sense.

I know i’m already halfway through this, but to me it makes sense for their to be quite a few time jumps in the story bc its a musical. they cannot show every day. there are a lot of other shows (particularly shows set in high schools) that are set over a whole school year, but if you just look at the events of the story that doesn’t make sense, so you have to imply that obviously they are not showing every little detail. moving on.

March 25: Wedding Bells, In The Hallway, Touch My Soul; peter wakes up from his nightmare in the church, so im assuming he fell asleep in church (like he almost did during epiphany). also it makes sense that class ranks are announced in late march-early april, I know my school announced ours in like, the first week or so of april? so yeah. moving on.

(from this point on i was giving myself a headache trying to make it make sense so its all weird from here!!)

April 4: See Me, Warning; the date doesn’t really matter here, I picked a random day in early april. the script said peter is calling from him and jason’s old dorm room, as he was picking up the last of his things, so he clearly made the roommate switch after school started (makes sense to me).

April 15-20 (approximately): Ivy finds out she’s pregnant. look google tells me on average people find out they are pregnant around 5-7 weeks after conception. i went with around 7 just so this timeline makes a tiny bit more sense given the later stuff, so yeah here we go.

May 4: Pilgrim’s Hands, God Don’t Make No Trash, All Grown Up, Promise, Once Upon A Time, Cross; a rough night for our heroes. so given sister chantelle saying “again? wonderful.” and nadia saying “i can’t believe you missed rehearsal again”, clearly ivy has been missing quite a few rehearsals, so for dramas sake maybe from when she found out she was pregnant? also i know i’ve been saying they wouldn’t have rehearsals on weekends, and given my weird timeline this would be a saturday, but its tech week so i’ll allow it.

May 5: Two Households, Bare, Queen Mab, A Glooming Peace; pretty self explanatory, and it makes sense to have the spring play in early may. rip jason.

May 11: Absolution; the day before graduation peter goes to confront the priest. gives him a small amount of time to start processing, and it makes sense it would be the night before, at least to me.

May 12: No Voice; i fucking hate this. “peter, we graduate next sunday” i hate that stupid fucking line. do you know that this timeline literally would be fine if it weren’t for that stupid fucking line? bc then, the school play would be in early may and graduation could be in late may-early june (when most high schools hold graduation) but no. keeping with continuity, they have to graduate the sunday following the school play. “peter we graduate in a month, are you really never gonna talk to me again?” would have been fine. but no, now we have beef. literally everything else about the end of this timeline being kinda weird would work itself out, except for the fucking graduation. god damn. anyway, may 12th, the graduate on may 12th which is really fucking weird bc of that one fucking line. whatever. i didn’t write the damn thing bc if i did i wouldn’t have written that fucking line. (i’ve been at this for over an hour and a half, so i’m a tad annoyed, can you tell?)

anyway, that’s it. that’s my long as hell proposed bare timeline. if there’s anything glaringly wrong with it i don’t care bc this timeline literally cannot make sense. but honestly, now that i think about the Popular Tween High Schooler Musicals (heathers, bmc, deh) the timelines of those (especially heathers and bmc) don’t make tons of sense either. that’s just the way it is, that’s the way its gonna be. and we have to live with it.

this post is so long it is actually slowing down my laptop as i type it

#bare a pop opera #bapo #me speaks #i stg there is no real way to make this timeline make sense #a whole lotta this is #it makes sense bro trust me bro #also apologies if this is hard to read i am not very good at phrasing things over text #or at all

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jobean12-blog · 4 years

Text

Top Shelf: Chapter 18- Inscribed with Love (and a sprinkle of Sugar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Bookshop/Bartender/Baking AU)

Word Count: 1,946

Summary: The bookshop is doing great and your exhausted from it all, but ready to take the next step.

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Hope you’re all doing wonderfully! So I think there will only be two more chapters left. I can’t believe it and I cannot thank you enough for your continued love and support. You’re the reason I keep this up. The restaurant they go to in this chapter is called Tia Pol (so yum) and you can check it out here. Thank you all for reading! Much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: Soft fluffy, happy fluff, exciting news and events, lots of yay :)

Top Shelf Masterlist

Bucky gives you one last glance before he walks toward the door, smiling at the crowd while he unlocks it. A loud cheer erupts from outside and you squeal at your position behind the counter. Everyone files in, the happy exclamations over the new space ringing out over the noise of footsteps. Nat and Peggy make a beeline for you, jumping up and down and talking a mile a minute. They’ve seen the space throughout the renovations, but you didn’t let anyone see the final product until now.

You see Grandma Betty pull Bucky down for a hug. They embrace for a long time and when she releases him, he wipes at his eyes while she blots her own with a tissue. At the same time, they turn and look your way, smiling brightly as you wave. Bucky brings her to you and then walks back to the door to greet some newcomers.

She reaches over the counter and takes your hands, “this is more than I ever could have hoped for. “It’s so beautiful. I’m so proud of you both and so very happy. James would be in love.” The tears that threatened to fall only moments ago are now running hot down your cheeks. You hastily wipe them away and lean over to hug her. “Thank you. Nothing makes me happier than to know you’re happy.”

Gently patting your back, she releases you, holding her hand over your cheek. “Ok, now that we’ve had a good cry, let’s eat!” With a twinkle in your eye you take a plate and put a piece of everything you have on it. “Let me know what you think about all of it. I need to know what’s good enough to keep!” She shuffles off with a full plate and happy smile and you look up to see a grinning Steve and Sam.

“Hey guys! What can I getcha?!” Sam’s eyebrow shoots up and he checks out the display. Steve slaps his shoulder and says, “one of everything of course!” Sam pipes up quick, “make that two!” You fill their plates and yell at them to share with Nat and Peggy as they walk away. The rest of the day goes by in a flash, a steady stream of customers coming in the whole time.

Tony stops in at the end of the day and from the look on his face you can tell he’s happy. “Well, look at you kids! The desserts are almost gone, most tables are full and you both look exhausted. Successful first day I take it?” You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder and deflate, “you can say that again. I saved you some goodies!”

Handing him the plate you follow him to one of the few empty seats and take a small break. It isn’t long before Bucky has to make some more coffee and you have a couple asking for some pumpkin bread to go. Tony finishes his dessert and praises your baking before heading out, promising to come back with Pepper later in the week.

When Bucky finally turns the open sign over to closed it’s after 8pm and you’re dead on your feet. “I can’t wait to shower! I smell like a pumpkin doused in sweaty cinnamon.” Bucky’s face contorts into a perplexed look before he bursts out laughing, running over to smell you. “Yep. Totally sweaty cinnamon pumpkin. Deeeeelicious!”

Taking off your apron and throwing it at his face you head to the back to grab your stuff. “I’m going home to shower! You’re mean.” Bucky quickly grabs you around the waist and pulls you in close. “Can I come?” Trying and failing to resist his charm you shake your head no. He pouts, kissing you before saying, “please? I’ll wash your hair!” Your face lights up and you shoo him off to get his backpack.

The whole walk home you’re riding the last bits of energy from the day, just barely making it up the steps and into your apartment. You shed your clothes by the door and rush into the bathroom, turning the water on hot and stepping under the soothing stream. Bucky slides in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest. He starts massaging the shampoo into your hair and you slump against him, moaning under the pressure of his fingertips. “Aren’t you glad you let me come home with you.”

Humming through the magic of his hands you turn in his arms, carefully cracking an eye open to avoid the shampoo. “You knew I was gonna let you come; I hate the nights we spend apart.” He pushes the hair from your face and continues gently rubbing his fingers over your scalp. “Me too, baby. In fact, why do we spend any nights apart?”

You lean your head back and let the water wash away the soap, handing him the conditioner. “I don’t know actually. Other than the fact that neither of our apartments are that big and we don’t have all our stuff at each place.” He smooths the conditioner through your hair and twists it around his fingers, using it to tug you close. “Why don’t we put all our stuff in one bigger place?”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” With one step he has your back against the cool tiles, his wet body flush to yours, “yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” You trace your finger over his lips, kissing off the droplets of water, “I’d love to be your roommate.” He gives you the biggest smile you’ve seen all day and rests his forehead to yours. “I love you.” You pour those same words back in a kiss, suddenly feeling like getting dirty before you finish getting clean.

The rest of the week goes by just as fast as Monday and by the time Friday rolls around, Bucky falls face first onto the couch and groans into the pillow, “thank god Sam gave me the night off.” You land on top of him with barely an oof and reach around for the remote. “It’s under my legs I think,” Bucky’s muffled voices says from the pillow. “Pffft forget it. Maybe we should keep looking for apartments.”

Bucky’s hand shoots up and he gives you a thumbs up, “ok babe, let’s do it.” Neither of you move to get up. “You have to get up y/n.” You curl up and take the blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both just as Bucky shifts onto his side and lets you fall into the space between him and the couch cushions. Snuggling up in his arms you rest your head on his chest and promptly fall asleep.

Early Winter (couple of months later) …

“Oh man, what is that amazing smell!” Bucky’s words float through the sugar and spice scented air before he even has the door closed to your new apartment. “What are you making baby doll?” He slides up behind you and pulls you against his chest, kissing your neck and cheek in greeting. “Hi baby. I’m working on that new gingerbread cookie recipe. They are great for making fun Holiday shapes and easy to decorate! Wanna try?”

He opens his mouth as an answer, and you pop a gingerbread man head in. “Wow. This guy tastes delicious!” You giggle and clap your hands together happily, getting back to rolling out more dough. “How was everything at the shop today?” you ask, while working to get the right thickness for the dough. “Great. Everyone who came in said they’re really looking forward to the new desserts you have planned. I still can’t believe how well it’s all going. Who knew coffee and cake is all we needed to make people want to buy books?”

Handing him the rest of the gingerbread man’s body you say, “I know. Sometimes I can’t believe it either. We’ve been so busy I still haven’t finished unpacking the last of the boxes!” Turning his way with the roller in hand you give him a look sweeter than the cookie. “Do you think you could take a weekend off from the bar soon and maybe we could finish the unpacking and hanging pictures and even go on a date?”

Bucky eyes the rolling pin in your hand and you realize you’re standing there looking like you might knock him over the head with it if he’s says no. You both burst out laughing and he takes it from your hands. “Yes. I can definitely do that. Just don’t threaten me with a rolling pin anymore!” With a kiss to his lips you quietly say, “if you think that was threatening, you haven’t seen anything yet!”

You finally get your weekend off a couple of weeks later and it’s just what you both needed. The boxes get emptied and the pictures get hung and Saturday night finds you dressed up and out at one of your favorite Spanish restaurants Tia Pol. “Try this Buck, it’s amazing.” Holding the fork up he takes a bite, closing his eyes and humming at the delicious taste. “Oh man, you’re right, so good!”

“I have a bridesmaid dress fitting next week, I’m so happy Peggy let us pick our own dresses!” A sly smile grows over Bucky’s face. “I can’t wait to see you in it, what does it look like?” You wave a dismissive hand, “oh you’ll just have to wait! And don’t you guys have to do your tux fitting soon?” Bucky nods through a mouthful, “yup, couple of weeks.”

“I can’t believe it’s only two months away! This will definitely be a memorable Valentine’s Day!” Bucky takes a drink of wine, eyeing you over the glass. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He takes your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles, smiling softly. “I’m looking forward to it. I’m just happy I get to spend it with you.” He lifts your hand and kisses it, making you giggle. “Me too. It’s going to be amazing.”

Valentine’s Day/Steve and Peggy’s Wedding…

“Peggy, I…you look perfect, just perfect!” You try to get the words out without letting the tears fall but it’s no use, carefully blotting your eyes in the hopes of not ruining your make up. Peggy points a stern finger your way. “If you make me cry again, I’ll stab you!” Nat giggles and fixes Peggy’s veil, holding back her own tears. “It’s time ladies,” the bridal attendant says softly, helping the three of you line up. Nat walks out first, and you watch as the smile spreads across her face the moment her foot hits the runner.

You wait for the attendant to motion for you to go and begin taking the small steps out of the room. You haven’t seen Bucky all day and you can’t wait. You take that first step into the aisle and search the front, his gaze instantly finding yours as you make you way to him. Your eyes never leave his and your cheeks hurt from smiling. You’re so overwhelmed with happiness, for your friends, for you and Bucky and you just want to cry again.

His eyes tell you everything as you continue to stare at each other from across the altar. He mouths, “I love you,” and you do the same back, letting out a deep breath to quell the tears. The bridal march starts and you reluctantly look away, your eyes now focused on Steve who looks so completely in love that you feel the first tear run down you cheek, this moment one you will never forget.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @buckys-henley @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @breezy1415 @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @itsunclebucky @itsunclebucky @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @loricameback @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @nerdypinupcrystal @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @tuiccim @yansi1923 @flyawaybay @throwmyheartawayagain @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @godofplumsandthunder @when-the-hell-is-bucky @fire-flv @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @irishflutiegirl @rinthehufflepuff @moonybarnes @nordlysinthewoods @lauratang @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @buchanansebba @emilylyoness @addikted-2-dopamine @lady-pswrld @lookiamtrying @pinkdiamond1016 @lokilvrr @mishaandthebrits @hopefuldreamers-world @rebekahdawkins

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