#but he hid and my aunt came in to stare at the art he did on a wall infront of our balcony

[littlemoondarling]

That moment you have a nightmare so realistic that you can't tell if you're actually awake or still in another layer of it

#in other news i barely had 3 hours of sleep #this was.... horrifying #normally my nightmares are grotesque and disgusting #but this was so realistic #it was mundane #just my day to day life #my aunt threw out my cat #i had a stel sister for some reason who had tried to throw out Custard but i fought her and got him back in #my other aunt's family were living with us for some reason and my usual aunt kept insulting my cousin #there was like one tiny glimmer of goodness in it tho #i got to speak to someone who matters alot to me #he lived in the same building in the dream #he looked so gorgeous omg #idk how we started speaking bc of dream logic but he was so sweet #my family kept interrupting me and i think he got scared from one of them #couldn't tell me who because he obviously doesn't know their names #i told him to leave bc he seemed lowkey afraid for his own safety #i apologized to him too #but he hid and my aunt came in to stare at the art he did on a wall infront of our balcony #i kept trying to distract her so he could safely leave but he stayed #then she started to lowkey insulting the art #saying that the iranian version of one of the people he drew was better 😭😭 #he obviously got insulted and tried to explain stuff to her but you can't explain things to my aunt #it only adds fuel to the fire #you only agree with her... but he didn't know that #i somehow managed to resolve this issue with minimal casualties lol #i said something about wishing i could meet the artist who drew this (i didn't know it was him) #and he said that i already did and that he is accepting commissions and would even do it for free for me #anyway after he left my family started trash talking him #like real bigoted stuff

[throwawayfish]

𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: moving from new york city to the outerbanks was already difficult in itself. but having to deal with being hated by a blonde surfer who questioned your existence made it harder to keep a secret you cannot disclose. especially when his friends roped you into what they called a gold game

warnings: focuses on how you got to the outer banks, language, mild derogatory terms, mentions of death, adoption, accidents

a/n: my second series! hope you guys like this as much as the first one. let me know if you want to be added to my taglist.

the atrocious heat of the sun hit your substantially exposed body. as much as you didn’t want it to look too bare for people at the beach to have a free exhibit, the scorching july day made even your sheerest sundress too uncomfortable to wear.

you were unacquainted to the small island called the outerbanks. used to the chaotic hustle of new york city, it was as if life came to a sudden halt when you stepped out of the ferry to live a new life. a life where waking up early to avoid the morning frenzy on the subways and anticipating the city’s midnight madness was no longer your usual.

it did not take too long of living on the island that you mustered up knowledge about your new environment. how there are two sides of the island and two different groups. which meant it didn’t take long for you to realize that you were put in the kook category, just by the look of the houses in the area much like your own. but you hated it, the title and attention.

you closed your eyes, not minding the squeals and giggles of kids at the beach with their families. ignoring a few whistles you got and muttering of locals that you were sure were about you. as you blocked out the distractions, you laid under a palm tree seeking shade until the rays of light didn’t shine through the leaves anymore as the day progressed.

as the wind picked up, you headed back to figure eight, careful not to be followed by whoever. it has been a routine for you to do your laundry at the house as well as take a small amount of cash enough to suffice for a week or two. and as you finish what you need to do, lock all doors and go to where you felt safe and invisible, the cut.

life in new york city came naturally to you. growing up with adoptive parents made you thankful for them having to put up with you. it took years for you to open up when you were adopted, but when you did it was something you would even call magical. helena and marcus hawke made you feel loved you as their own, doing everything they can to make you have the best life to live, and for that you couldn’t be more happy. the house always smelling like freshly baked goods and breads. lively flowers littering the windowsills and the house well lit with the rolling stones playing no matter what the weather or season was.

it was a sudden shift in scenery. your brownstone that was once cozy became dull. one that could be a contender to houses used in horror films. you were closed off to people because of the handful of times you’ve had a foster home just for them to put you back in the system once they got tired of you, so you learned not to get comfortable.

you came home from school one gloomy, winter day. cheeks red and tight from the blizzard you barely just escaped. the house blue despite the candles and lamps doing everything they can to improve it. you heard thumping from upstairs, voices loud enough for you to hear them trying to keep it down. thinking that it was your parents who just got home from their three day business trip, up the rickety stairs you went. you were welcomed by your aunt in your dad’s old art room, the one turned into a boring office.

noticing the almost bare walls and a surprisingly clean desk, you knocked on the slightly opened door. two pairs of eyes were suddenly looking at you. cold ones, which only heightened your worries.

“what are you guys doing?!” you pointed at the wedding canvas that was taken down and leaning on the bookshelf. not meaning to raise your voice at them, you muttered a soft sorry and went back to scanning the room.

“y/n, you are coming to brooklyn with us.” vera, your aunt said dryly, making your head snap in her direction. austin, her husband didn’t bother looking at you and continued rummaging through the drawers and putting them in piles.

“austin, what are you doing? and what do you mean i’m going to brooklyn? where’s mom?!” tears were threatening to fall down your now warm cheeks though you didn’t have any idea why. but with the looks on their faces and actions, you could tell something was going on. mainly because the family you have been adopted into had too much pride to just accept you as their own blood, despite your parents loving you from the moment they saw you.

“helena and marcus got in a car accident yesterday. dead on arrival. now i don’t have much time, i have a busy schedule so will you please just pack. we’re leaving in a bit.”

you felt your heart breaking. it was like a huge punch in the face, the one that knocks you out and you forget what happened hours prior when you wake. and then you felt it, the feeling of being closed off because people who are important left once again, leaving you all alone.

“and you’re gonna tell me this when?! when they’re burried?! fuck!” austin strided towards you, vera not holding him back when he gripped your arm rather harshly.

“you should be thankful we’re even here, you ungrateful bitch! if it weren’t for the will i would be kicking you out into the streets so you can be a drug addict just like your real mom when she gave you up! now go pack!”

his words and behaviour were unexpected. of course you accepted the judgemental stares and coldness gave you every time there were gatherings or meetings your parents brought you to. you learned to accept that they will never treat you normally as part of the family, but you have never imagined it escalating to this. and with what he said, you further confirmed he was bad news.

you ran to your room, hurriedly gathering the things most important to you. including the shark tooth necklace your dad gave you when he gave you a tour of their lab. heading out the door, you turned back to grab the cassette he always played on the radio. you opened it to check if it was not damaged, and as you slid the tape out of the cardboard protector a pink paper your mom loved writing on fell on the floor.

to panic was your first instinct, especially with the footsteps approaching the room. so you hid the paper in your pocket together with your emotions just in time before your aunt barged through the door.

“i’m sorry for the way he acted, but it’s not like you didn’t deserve it. we’re leaving in ten minutes whether you like it or not. ten minutes.” she uttered and left, goosebumps travelling your body from her piercing eyes.

you immediately shut the door, doing your hardest to make the slightest sound. then you leaned against it and fished out for the letter. it was your mom’s handwriting, you haven’t started reading anything and just saw the usual cursive letters and just like that tears poured down your cheeks.

the letter contained information, of how to get into an island you had never heard of in your life. so you reached for the envelope said to be under your nightstand which contained fifty thousand dollars. and you were off, into the cold not caring for the protests of your aunt and uncle. smashing and throwing away your phone, with your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you hollered for a cab, and to the airport you headed.

the letter contained fairly easy instructions, but it was difficult to ponder. the letter said to look for heyward and once you asked around as you stepped off the ferry, you were led to meet with a man with a welcoming aura, finishing up some groceries before ushering you onto another boat when you introduced yourself.

it was more or less half an hour when the dated boat parked on a dock of a huge estate not isolated but far enough from other mansions. the outside was surrounded with bright green grass. cobblestones in perfect placement lining the path to the front porch with large antique oakwood doors.

as you dropped your bag into the tiled floor, you heaved a deep sigh. looking at heyward as you forced a kind smile.

“thank you. my parents must really trust you if they told me to find you.” he nodded as if he bowed, looking around the bare living room before answering.

“you’re safe here, kid. and you’ll figure it out. you’re brave to go to a place you don’t know, especially from new york. it takes guts.” you raised the corners of your lips which he returned

the short stay you were in the house you noticed minor details that could be of great significance. no decorations or paintings on the walls, it was different back in the city as your dad loved art. no antiques suiting your mom’s taste, and no sign of anyone having lived there. the massive space only decorated with necessary furniture.

and with that, as heyward tapped your upper arm and turned around, you called out “is there somewhere i could stay that will not capture attention?”

you hated the feeling of asking him such question. after driving the boat to your house that are bright to the eyes of people, here you are asking for another place to stay. you felt like you were interrupting his tight schedule, but you felt worse thinking that you were bragging. he was occupied with his job when you arrived, working hard to make a living and you don’t even have to worry about paying for another house.

negative thoughts were wiped out of your mind when he let out a laugh, tapping his temple with his pointer finger “i knew you’re a hawke! smart kid. i know a place. but you stay here for a bit to explore. i’ll pick you up after a delivery i have to make.” you nodded, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders.

as he stepped out the door, he peeked one last time gaining back your attention “third room to the left upstairs, the small wine cooler is a safe, i’m sure you’ll know where to find the code.”

it was a peaceful drive that even you were surprised, used to having clouded thoughts that you cannot seem to get rid off. having the windows down definitely did you wrong as a loud honk of a horn from a rundown volkswagen startled you along with its bright headlights, making you swerve your jeep.

the probability of you crashing was high, being that you closed your eyes trying to control the vehicle. it just so happens that you are lucky enough to have pressed on the brakes faster before falling in a ditch.

heavy breaths escaped your now pale lips, your heart pounding twice the speed you were driving before the unfortunate incident.

“oh my god! are you okay?!” you heard a girls voice query in a loud tone as you tried to steady your breathing. you nodded quickly but she did not buy it, the shaking of your head made you panicked state apparent.

you looked up, three pairs of eyes glancing intently at you. “john b you stupid asshole!” she yelled once again as you observed all of their expressions. blue eyes catching your attention but breaking the contact as you tried to start the car once again only for it turn off.

“shit” it wasn’t unheard by the three teenagers as you turned the ignition for the hundredth time “we can give you a ride if you want.” the guy who the brunette lass called john b offered, you looked at him and back at the other for confirmation earning nods except from the blonde one.

“we’re not giving a kook a free ride.” he declared and your doe eyes widened by the statement not knowing how he can identify your so called title before relaxing as you watched scan your car.

“good to know that if i died i would’ve died right here because your bus is pogue exclusive.” you rebutted. he let out a laugh, the three others merely watching the exchange

“it’s a van, princess. not a bus.” his remark made you roll your eyes. you didn’t know if it was because of the reply itself or the nickname he gave you, nonetheless it made your stomach turn.

“don’t be a prick. come on, we’ll help you get your car back tomorrow.” the girl once again said. it was late at night, so as much as you wanted to decline, you had no choice but to agree. especially when her smile made you feel welcome despite the inhospitable approach of the blonde.

a shriek was let out by another boy when the sliding door was opened, the others let out a laugh and you couldn’t help to do so too by the sight of him trying to cover his lower area even with boxers.

“didn’t know we have a guest i would’ve prepared!” you giggled with the three, accepting his hand as he introduced himself as pope. the others soon doing the same except that one boy once again.

“do you have a problem with me?” you couldn’t help but ask out of annoyance. “i don’t need to explain myself to you, kook.” he answered under his breath and avoided your stare.

problems with any body on the island is one thing you wished to avoid, so at any given circumstance, and because you have the excuse for it, you played your last card.

“i’m a pogue, stupid.”

attention was on you, even john b who slowly stopped driving and looked back to ask you where you lived. making a u turn once you told him where your house was on the cut.

“are you new?” pope uttered starting a conversation. you shook your head, already having come up with a lie “lived here my whole life.” a scoff was let out and you looked at the blonde once again

“how come we haven’t seen you here before?” he asked, and you smirked “that’s because i’m a vampire, you just got lucky to spot me tonight.” the others laughed, making you comfortable to stand your ground against the blue eyed boy

“i still haven’t gotten a name you know.” all you got was a frown which turned to a smirk “that’s for me to know and y—” “it’s jj!” “kie!” you laughed at the altercation, secretly wishing to have a friendship like theirs as you watched them playfully slap and kick each other.

“a pogue with a brand new jeep, interesting.” he blurted out and drilled a hole into your head with his cerulean eyes “i’ll let you take it for a spin don’t worry.” he hastily shook his head, an irritated look on his face “i don’t want anything to do with you so fuck off will ya?”

as your eyes widened you let out a whistle and raised your hands in defeat. telling john b to let you out as your house is not far enough. for your own good and the blonde pogue’s sake.

you barely started your walk when you heard footsteps approach. turning around, you were ready to defend yourself from whoever would cause you harm, but were met by the boy who just made it clear he hated your presence.

“you don’t come up behind someone like that! i could’ve taken your eye out!” you wished to call the silence comfortable if it weren’t for the stares of the jj creeping into your arms and back. reciprocating the attention, you noticed he was staring just below your face. you were about to call him out when you glanced down your neck, where your shark tooth necklace carefully sat.

“why are you here—” “where’d you get that?” he asked sincerely, sending a tightening feeling on your throat. “found it laying somewhere. not that it’s your business. why are you here?” you lied and asked once again

“john b told me to tell you he’s picking you up tomorrow to get your car.” he stuttered, “okay cool.” you quickly muttered and turned around not wanting to further drag the interaction.

convincing yourself to relax, the blonde boy was bothered as he went back to the twinkie, letting out a laugh of dismay “she’s hiding something.” his friends furrowed their brows, ready to hear what he has to say

“she’s hiding something and i’m gonna find out what it is. even if it means being around her annoying ass.”

comment on the series masterlist to let me know if you want to be added or removed from my taglist or want your username updated. read more of my works here! ♡

@sunsetholland @bibliophilewednesday @drewswannabegirl @omgitzbillie @sexualparkour @spencereidbasis @spilledtee @ifilwtmfc @maybebanks @obx-snippets @glux64 @rae131415 @pink-meringues @jeyramarie @lust-for-pan @k-roleplay20 @prejudic3 @rafeyybabyy @mj-20182 @makrenee @hoodpankow @softtfordrew @diverrdown @obxhstyles @suicidexdarkness @edyn-nicole @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @obxloves

#outerbanks #jj maybank #jj maybank obx #jj maybank x reader #obx #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x y/n #obx imagine #jj maybank series #jj x reader #obx series

[slothspaghettiwrites]

17. Touch Too Much

Touch Too Much - Sleepless In Stark Towers

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Warnings: 5+1 trope, Tony uses JARVIS like a diary, Smut, photo booth, Anxiety, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Comic Book Science, Body Image, bdsm undertones, Stream of Consciousness, I've decided DC comics is a pop culture refrence tony would make, Paparazzi, Anxiety Crying, Charity Event, iron man references made, hinting at subspace, Confessions, sleepless idiots in love

Relationships: Tony Stark x Plus Size!Reader/OFC

Word Count: 7510

Summary: Tony runs through the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving with JARVIS.

A/N: This was just an excuse from me to write the 5+1 trope tbh... but also like strong sugar daddy!tony vibes here  

<< 16. The Corruptor  |  18. Thanksgiving >>

"JARVIS, create a partition in my super secret private server. Name it 'Touch Too Much' for me,"

"Of course Sir, what category do you want to go under?"

"My girl," I smiled to myself, thinking back to the last few weeks. “Okay, let’s review attempt one.” 

1. TECHNOLOGY

After the blow up with Pepper and May, you hid in the emergency stairs for probably three hours. The call with Cali was in an hour and I was about ready to just cancel it. But then again that would probably play into Pepper's hand or she would make it sound like it did. I noticed you had walked all the way up to the living area floor. You were just sitting on the landing with your back against the wall. 

For the first hour, I let you be, in a sense. Obviously, Jay was monitoring you. Though I didn't think you'd hurt yourself, I didn't want to take any chances. 

During your second hour of self isolation in the stairs, I patched through and asked if you needed anything or wanted anything. For a while, you just stared, with your knee as close to your chest as you could get them. I wondered if you heard me at all. This level of anxiety was something I dealt with before, but I never felt this need to intervene before. 

Bruce had his own personal coping mechanisms, the assassins had each other, the super soldiers the same. Peter cried and just needed to be hugged and allowed to work things through. He was the most involved, but the kid was 17 and saving the world on occasion. He was doing a great job. 

I had never felt such a strong urge to comfort and protect. I felt that fraternal comradery that came with being forced to work with others for a long period of time. I felt the paternal need to care for Peter. But this urge that I felt for you was completely foreign to me. 

"I didn't get to finish my lunch," you mumbled. I almost didn't even catch it, barely spoken above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"Some rando sat right next to me during class and kept staring at me," you huffed. 

"Did you not have time to eat before your art class?"

"The call with Miss Potts turned me off the peanut butter crackers."

Fair enough. Not exactly a call I enjoyed either. Still, you weren’t ready to come out yet. So another hour went by. I left Bruce and Rhodey in the lab and walked up the five flights to where you were. 

I sat down and crossed my ankles. Despite how much I wanted to wrap my arms around you I knew I should let you come to me. Which you did almost instantly. Your head landed on my shoulder. The plastic of your glasses dug into my skin but I didn’t care. I laid my hand palm up on my thigh so you could take it when you were ready. Again it was almost instant. 

“M’sorry,” you sniffled.

“Don’t be Sweetheart,” I kissed the top of your head. “I just want you to be happy.”

We sat in silence for a while longer, JARVIS alerted me that the Cali call was in 10 minutes and I felt you sigh. Fully bodied, your chest rising and shoulders being pulled back before slumping forwards in the out breath. 

“Have your call, I’ll make food for us, Daddy.”

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Underoos - Don’t let Aunt May keep your love from conquering all. 

Underoos - also don’t tell her MJ stayed over at halloween pls. 

Underoos - she's on a rampage

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

I stared at Peter’s messages, the voices on the conference call muddling into one monotone sound that could put anyone to sleep. When you entered with two plates, I muted my end of the call. A steaming hot dish of stir fried veg and noodles was set in front of me. 

“Thanks Babygirl,” I smiled

We ate in silence, I’d occasionally have to make a comment on the call, but really it wasn’t that important. Things I already knew were being repeated incessantly and everyone else was just eating it up. Finally when it ended, Pep only stayed on long enough to remind me that there was a board meeting tomorrow at noon.

“She sounds like she is still upset,” you stabbed particularly hard into a pepper slice. 

“Pep will get over it,” I forked the last vegetable into my mouth. “Can I see your glasses?”

You handed them over without question. So good at following instructions. I unscrewed the legs from the frames and replaced them with Anti-Pap Privacy ones I’d wiped up. Patriot Pants and Buckethead had these as well, but their’s weren’t as smart as these ones, seeing as your’s were for actual sight and not Clark Kent-ing around the city.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Giving you the gift of privacy,” I grinned and handed back your glasses. 

“How so?”

You looked at the frame, feeling the new legs, before setting them on your face. 

"They feel the same," you took a big bite of noodles.

I hummed in agreement and took out my phone. Just as your lips closed around the fork I snapped the picture. 

"Daddy, no, I'm trying to eat," you slapped your hand in front of your mouth. "Not cool dude."

"I would say it's very cool," I showed you the photo.

Similar to Halloween, the image was distorted, a flare created over your face by the shutter closing in the camera. You couldn't even tell what was on the plate in front of you.

"Okay," you swallowed. "That's kinda cool, but how are we gonna take pictures together? It was on your list."

"Easy," I smiled, moving to stand next to you. "When you adjust the lenses," I took your hand and moved your finger to the right leg of the frame, "just slide your finger here and it disables the flare function."

"Does it turn back on by itself or do I have to re-enable it?"

"Automatically turns back on after it catches a shutter from a camera or 60 seconds, but you can disable it for longer by double tapping the bar."

"Can we test it out?" 

The innocent, shy way you asked me to take a simple selfie with you pooled all the blood in my body right into my second brain. I don't how the fuck you could keep sounding so sweet, but you did and I wanted to hear you say all sort of dirty things in that voice. 

"I've got a better idea."

I marched us to the elevator and took us to the sub basement. Okay, maybe that was a bit creepy, just taking you into my proverbial basement like a murder. This was still going to be a good idea. 

The doors opened and the security lights turned on. Okay, the murder vibe was definitely not dissapating. But you seemed relaxed, absolutely trusting that whatever I was taking us down here to do would be great. The second brain in my pants was running circles around my actual brain trying to take control. 

"You just… have one of these?" You asked. 

"They come in handy for work events and fun charity galas."

I plugged in the booth and you pulled back the curtain. The screen and neon lights illuminated the basement. I slid in next to you on the cushioned bench before pulling the curtain closed. 

"All right, show me how to turn off the flare."

"Yes, Daddy," you smiled and double tapped the frame. 

"Good girl," I smirked.

The display started the countdown, our blurry image appeared just below the camera. I threw my arm around your shoulder. A canned capture sound went off and the first picture was taken. No flare appeared and another countdown came up.

I kissed your cheek and felt you giggle. Capture. Your hand grabbed my thigh and I tilted your chin so you were looking at me. Capture. I kissed you, pulling you closer to me, feeling your soft warm body mold to mine like it was meant to be there. Capture. 

Okay, my second brain was getting tired of the cutesy, PG photos. And so was yours. Your mouth opened and I took the opportunity that came with that. My tongue darted into yours. I wanted to pull all of those sinful sounds out of you again.

I maneuvered you into my lap. Your glorious ass pressed right against my throbbing cock. My lips found the exposed skin on your neck while my hands circled your waist, under your shirt. Capture. 

"Daddy."

"Stay still Babygirl," I started opening up your button down, the flannel fabric falling to the side to reveal a lace bralette. Capture.

Your head was thrown back onto my shoulder, heavy breaths fanning across my neck as I let my hands work their magic. Capture.

"God, you feel so good, Honey. Soft and warm. Are you gonna be good for me? Gonna be a good girl for Daddy?"

"Yes," you whimpered, pressing a bit harder into my crotch. "Wanna be good Daddy, please."

Capture.

"Take off your pants Baby."

As your pants came off, I opened mine up. God your ass was perfection. I wanted to sink my teeth into it. I tugged you back on to my lap, draping both of your legs over mine, exposing you to the camera. Even with the low quality screen I could see how wet you were. Capture.

"What's your color, Babygirl?" I ran my hands over your bare thighs, squeezing, letting you adjust to this.

"Green," you whined. "Please so green, need you to touch me." Capture.

I ground my cock between your sopping wet folds, letting out a deep groan. Fuck. The bralette needed to go. I needed to feel all of you under my hands. I pulled the fabric down, releasing one of your breasts. Capture.

"Inside me, please Daddy, need you to fuck me," you whined, grabbing my hand over your breast, pressing harder.

"God, sound so pretty when you beg for me cock. Tell me how bad you want it, Sweetheart." Capture.

Fuck this was torture, I wanted it to never end though. My hips kept moving between us, teasing your hole and clit. Capture.

"Fuck Daddy, I want your cock inside me. Wanna feel you. Feel empty without you. Please I need to be f-"

I plunged my cock into you. Your choked moan completely washed over me. Capture. 

"Shit, that's it Baby, keep squeezing my dick like that. Fuck, so good for me Sweetheart," I pulled out slightly, moaning as your pussy tried to keep me buried inside you. "You hungry for Daddy's cock Baby? Don't wanna let me go." 

Capture.

"Feel so good, so green, needed this, need you Daddy, don't ever wanna stop, fuck there please, right there, make me feel so good Daddy, fill me up, please."

Jesus H. Christ. 

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“Sir, why is this classed as an attempt? It seemed successful to me.”

“Jay, it’s not a gift if she needed it.”

“Very well, then.”

“Attempt two…”

2. CLOTHES

Waking up next to you, your naked body pressed against mine, was hands down the best thing of the century. In first place for all time had to be you cumming on my dick. That was pure fucking ecstacy right to my nervous system and every fiber of my being. I was pretty sure if I could bottle that feeling up, world peace would be achieved in less than 24 hours then would collapse because everyone would become addicted junkies. Kinda like I was. 

But the second best feeling of all time was trying to run away from me. 

“Where’re you goin’ Baby?”

“I got an idea for somethin’, need to write it down,” you slurred, still half asleep.

Well I guess now was as good a time as any to wake up since you took the duvet with you. I watched your fuzzy, plush form wander towards the living room before I finally threw back the sheet and got up. As I walked into the closet, the lights faded up and JARVIS displayed the top news, my calendar, and important notifications on the vanity mirror. It was just after eight in the morning… at least we got more sleep than I thought we would. 

Tom Ford sang to me in the form of a wool, O’Conner fit, houndstooth suit. It’s getting cold enough now, houndstooth was definitely appropriate. I was half dressed, laying out my tie options and picking out pocket squares for the day when you wandered in to join me. There were two mugs of hot coffee in your hand. 

“Go with the left red one,” you murmured, sipping your coffee and leaning against the vanity. A sight I could get used to everyday.

“Can you pick out some cufflinks and a watch to go with?” 

On cue, the drawers lit up and extended out of the wall. I put away the unchosen tie and grabbed the matching pocket square. Shoes and an overcoat were selected next, before I finished getting dressed.

I walked over and wrapped my arms around you, peering over your shoulder. Your fingers ghosted over the watches, not actually touching anything. What were you scared of?

“Daddy, I,” you twisted to look at me. “I don’t know what to choose.”

"Normally with this suit I wear this watch," a Cartier with custom red accents, "and these cufflinks," a platinum set with minimal detail. 

"They look like screws."

"Yeah that's why I like them," I grinned. "Now get dressed, we can get breakfast before my meeting."

I was rinsing out my coffee mug when you announced that you were ready to go.

"Where's your jacket?"

"Indiana."

"JARVIS call the place, the one I had you look up last week, we'll be there in like 30 minutes."

So rather than going to get breakfast somewhere decent, I parked the Audi outside a private boutique next to the Garment District. Just like last night, there was no questioning me. You just rolled with it. A part of me didn't want to question it all, loved that you were so obedient on instinct. But the better part of me knew I should be checking in, asking you rather than telling you.

"If you were a bird, what bird would you be?"

"Phoenix, no question about it." I smirked at your silly question. "You game for a very quick shopping trip?"

There was a moment of hesitation, telling me you weren't as immediately trusting as you could be and that made me happy. You weren't just doing whatever I said to please me.

"Yeah," you gave me a stern nod.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“I assume this falls under a need rather than a gift then Sir?”

“Yes, it was freezing outside and she only had a sweatshirt."

“Does the dress count as a gift or was the whole evening an attempt?”

“Let’s run through it again.”

3. EXPERIENCE

Babygirl 🌜 - is it Friday yet?

Me - no 😭

Me - but speaking of Friday. Cap and Bucket are doing a talk on art and life in the 40s. You wanna go?

Babygirl 🌜 - YYYYYAAAASSSSSSSSS

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Okay, so I probably should have prefaced that invitation with 'charity event at the Guggenheim', but it didn't honestly occur to me. They invited me months ago and any reason to support the arts was good in my book. They also had one of my Pollock's on display for an exhibit, so it would be nice to see it again. 

Also, I got to buy an outfit for you for the night, which really was reason enough to do anything at this point. After the positive experience buying the jacket, I felt pretty damn good about knowing what to get you. You wore your clothes like a suit of armour, shielding yourself from the view of others and the coat you picked out really showed that. The black cashmere jacket's simple, structured design had a straight cut that hid all your curves. Which I had mixed feelings about because on one hand I wanted to show you off and on the other hand I felt selfish and wanted to be the only one who saw your gorgeous body. Ultimately, I think you chose it because it was soft and had big pockets. 

You arrived at the tower in a flurry on motion, your backpack sticking out over the intense black of your coat. Peter was hot on your tail for some reason. 

"Hurry up, Petey, chop chop."

"Why can't we just go there first?"

"Not our basement, we gotta ask."

"Children," I greeted, rolling away from the operation table.

"Hey," you smiled and kissed my cheek. Oh that was a greeting I could get used to. "Can we use the photo booth?"

I looked over at Peter. He bounced on the spot, clearly excited. You obviously hadn't told him what we did in that booth because I think he would die before stepping foot in it if he knew. 

"Sure, Happy's picking us up at eight so we have plenty of time."

"Are you guys going to Mr. Roger's charity dinner?" Peter walked over to the table to look at the inside of the suit.

"It's not his dinner, he is just the guest of honor," I waved his hand away from a live wire. "It's like an arts benefit."

"Why is he the guest of honor then?" He picked up a screw driver.

"Don't touch," I grabbed the tool. "He and Man Bun are gonna talk about life in the 40s and art at the time while New York elitists ask dumb questions."

"That sounds boring."

"It will be fine, the food is always good, and I made sure our table only had good people at it."

If I had been paying more attention to you, I would have noticed the freaked out body language you were exhibiting. But Peter and I were absorbed in shop talk. It wasn't until Jay reminded me that it was time to get ready that we actually remembered why Peter came around initially. 

"Bye fam, we can photo booth it up another day. Aunt May will get mad if I miss larb night again. Text me," Peter hugged you on the couch.

You barely even mumbled a reply. I waved goodbye and cleared up my work before going over to you. Your jacket was carefully folded over the opposite arm of the couch. It made me smirk. 

"Hey Baby, you okay?"

"Do you really want me to go to that fancy dinner?"

Your voice was small and unsure. Your nose scrunched up a bit while you thought about something. I grabbed your hand and pulled you up from the couch.

"I don't even have nice clothes with me."

"That is where you are wrong," I smiled. 

I had to pat myself on my back. The dress was fucking phenomenonal on you and you couldn't stop smiling. The black velvet and tulle was appropriate for the evening and wasn’t too flashy for your taste. Sheer sleeves and scallop detail only enhanced your features. Maybe I could be a personal shopper if heroing didn’t work out?

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“You do still own Stark Industries, Sir.”

“True, true, back to why this classes as an attempt.”

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Happy pulled the Rolls forward, up to the front of the building. The nervous energy you radiated was almost suffocating. You fiddled with your hair, your phone, your glasses, anything that wasn’t affixed to you really. The valet and Happy switched positions and our door opened. I got out first, cameras began flashing and I held out my arm for you.

There was a moment I thought you wouldn't get out. But then a shaky hand latched onto the sleeve of my suit. If that wasn't one of the best damn family picture smiles I'd ever seen. I plastered my own practiced smirk on. You stepped out of the car and like the queen you fucking are, you walked up the steps into the museum like nothing on this earth could touch you. 

I was in awe. The smirk on my face became more and more real as you straight up ignored the reporters shouting for our attention. ARTGIRL, MR STARK, IRON MAN, ARTGIRL, MRS STARK.

Okay, so that last one almost had me doing a double take trying to find the reporter shouting.

Happy easily shooed away anyone who got too friendly with the ropes and tried to get closer. Your eyes never left the doors ahead. It really took all of my personal strength to not stop to fuck up there photos. It would be so easy to taunt them. 

But as I slowed down, you squeezed my arm, the chipped red nail polish from Halloween still hanging on and standing out against my black suit. Fine, we could stop another time and fuck up some scum of the earth’s work. 

Once through the doors and Happy had exchanged our invitation for three monogrammed programs. I watched the way your fingers traced over my initials on the heavy paper. You barely even noticed the super soldiers making their way towards us. 

“Queenie, glad you could make it.”

“You look great, Doll.”

“Thanks guys,” you smiled half heartedly, a blush rising to your cheeks. “Ya know, you could have mentioned that this was gonna be so… so fancy when I told you I was excited to see you guys.”

A waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes. I grabbed two, handing one off to you without much thought. No one else seemed to have any thoughts about either until we sat down for the dinner and you still hadn’t taken a sip. 

I was an idiot.

As discreetly as I could, I swapped our glasses. I wasn’t even sure what I could order you. You drank coffee… and water? Maybe? Really, I only ever saw you drinking some form of coffee. How did I not know what to order you?

Steve and Bucky were easily pulled into a conversation with the other guests - some old money foggy and some tech start up woman - at the table, trying to get a sneak peek of what they would be discussing tonight. I wrapped my around the back of your chair, intent on asking you wanted to actually drink when the chair next to you was pulled out.

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite people.”

FUCK. FUCKING HAMMER. I really did just want to flip the table. I made sure this table was set up so it would be any easy night for Steve and Bucky. I definitely made fucking sure that fucking asshat wasn’t sat here. Sure I couldn’t demand they not invite him… well maybe I could have. I hadn’t really thought about it being a necessity until now. 

“Mr. Hammer,” you plastered on that polite family picture smile.

“Justin, please call me Justin.”

“No, thank you Mr. Hammer, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to get a drink at the bar.”

EFFORTLESS. SKILLFUL. BEAUTIFUL.

Christ if that didn’t give me a semi. Who was this girl? I’d never seen you so cold. Your hips swayed subtle as you wove through the crowd making your way to the bar. The smirk that played on my lips was absolutely the smuggest thing in this room, which was honestly saying something. 

“So Tony, how ya been buddy?” He turned his attention to me.

I let the venom I felt seep into my words, “Justin, don’t you have a table or escort to get back to?”

“Ha, no, my date is at the bar. I just saw you two and want to say hi,” he made a waving motion, a smug look on his face. Why was he so fucking smug? “You remember Christine from Vanity Fair right?”

Fuck. Fuck and shit. That know it all bitch.

I knocked my glass over on the table. 

“Oh would you look at that. Clumsy me. Let me go find someone to clean that up.”

God I hate that two bit sack of shit. He would bring that woman. God fucking damn it all to hell for fuck’s sake. Jesus there was no way that woman hadn’t cornered you at the bar already. She was a fucking viper.

“-drinking so much, we fell off the bed.”

Kill me. All Father, just smite me where I stand. This was creeping up my list of top 10 biggest fuck ups. 

The light, condensing way the journalist laughed made me feel like rolling my eyes into the back of my head and then all the way around again. While your face was a blank mask, your body language was very telling. You held a dark martini glass in one hand, death grip was probably a better description. Your phone was in your other hand, being gently tapped against your thigh. The line of tension set in your back looked about ready to snap.

“Ladies,” I smiled, taking up the spot next to you, my hand settling just above your low back.

“Tony, your new plaything is so insightful. Really knows her art,” Christine’s fake white teeth sparkled in the low light around the bar.

“Well I only date the best, Ms Everhart,” I smirked, cocking my head to the side ever so slightly.

“I was just telling her about our first meeting and-”

“And yet like some form of herpes you just keep coming back.”

I looked down at her over my sunglasses. Her smile faltered and the thrill of verbally beating someone made the smirk on my face transform into a smile. 

“Sweetheart, I do need to borrow you for just a moment.”

I didn’t even wait for you to respond, if you could at all. I wasn’t sure how much time you’d spent with that bitch, but even as we walked out of the event hall and started moving through the darkened museum the grip on your drink didn’t lessen. Our rapid clicking heels echoed as we marched around the circular ramp until we came up to the closed door of one of the galleries. The hand I had on your back didn’t move, I held you close to me while I used the lock picking function in my suit to pry open the door. I scanned the room, pickup the cameras and sensors. 

“Jay, disable the security in this room.”

I waited until that was done before I moved us to sit down on the hard leather bench in the center of the space. When I saw your glass shaking slightly, I took it from you and placed it on the floor. 

“I’m not some plaything... am I?”

“No, Babygirl,” I kissed your forehead. “You’re my sweet, pretty girl. I’m not gonna let you go for anything.”

“I’m sorry I-I-I-I” you gulped. “‘M not pretty like the others.”

Tears started to slip down your cheeks. The night was really not going well for us. This was supposed to be fun, you getting to see some art, eat some fancy food, and look all gorgeous for me. The horrible feeling of failure settled in my bones. It made me feel heavy and sticky. Your chipped fingernails dug into the bench. You were really trying to not cry. 

“Honey, you are so much more,” I wiped away the tears. “Smarter, funnier, and so so beautiful.”

“I don’t feel it right now,” you leaned into my hand, your body finally releasing the tension you’d been holding. “God at least I didn’t wear makeup.”

“Do you wanna go home?”

You made a weak noise, “no, I was excited to hear Steve and Bucky speak.”

“Why don’t we walk around here for a bit, then head down when their talk starts?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled, removing your shoes and standing up. 

I watched you walk around the room. You bent at the waist to read the cards next to the painting. Occasionally I saw you wipe away at your eyes again. You stood in front of a familiar Pollock. I snapped a picture of you. The gorgeous line of your back just barely visible in the dark image, your hair shined in the security lighting and shoes dangled from one hand. 

“Daddy,” your soft voice echoed around the cavernous space.

With your drink in hand, I heaved myself up to join you in front of my painting. You nudged my shoulder before tilting your head to the name card.

“You have any other secret masterpieces here? Do you own any of his wife’s paintings?” 

“I think I had Pep buy this at an auction when I was drunk,” you rolled your eyes at me, but smiled. A real smile, first one of the night. “I haven’t seen any of Lee’s paintings up for sale.”

“Can I have my coffee?”

“Is it just coffee?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“Ah, I see, Sir, this is only an attempt because gifts do not cause stress.”

“Exactly, now attempt four… let’s be honest that was a more a gift for me.” 

4. CLOTHES, again

“All of my clothes are either here or in Indiana.”

“You have like three outfits here.”

“I don’t have any clean clothes then.”

“Don’t look at me like some Dickensian child. Just buy some more.”

“What?” 

“Buy a bunch of clothes and have them delivered here, that way you don't feel like you’re living out of a suitcase.”

And that was how I ended up having a sea of plastic packaging and paper return sheets in my living room while you did a fashion show for me. So yeah, really more a gift for me. No explanation needed. 

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“I’m assuming this final attempt is also classed as a need rather than a gift then.”

“Finally you are starting to get it, aren’t you supposed to be a super computer?”

“Very funny, Sir.”

5. LUGGAGE

I was making breakfast on Thursday morning. You were still working through an all-nighter to finish up some calculus extra credit project and I was determined to get some kind of nutritious meal in you before I had to leave for a meeting in DC. The more stressed you got about upcoming finals, the less fruit and vegetables you ate and the more coffee and peanut butter crackers you consumed. I was really hoping the week off for Thanksgiving would do you some good. You could just chill at the tower, do whatever you wanted. Sleep even maybe. 

The rhythmic tapping on your laptop suddenly stopped and you gasped. 

“What’s up?” I turned the heat off on the oatmeal.

“I’ve been summoned.”

“By what? The government?”

“The devil.”

So your parents expected you to be home for Thanksgiving and they wanted you to fly out on the Sunday red eye. What was with your parents and early flights? Also talk about late notice, did they not think you had plans with May and Peter? Which we did. As some kind of strange peace offering, May had invited me to your family Thanksgiving. I offered to have it here at the tower, but she insisted it be done the Parker way. 

But now you were on the phone at six am with a crying Peter, trying to calm him down and explain that everything would still be fine. You’d just have to virtually join him for Thanksgiving. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that kid more attached to anyone, well maybe Ned and MJ. I had a feeling Pete would be spending the weekend with us after you hung up.

“So I guess he didn’t take that well?” I poured breakfast into our bowls and before tossing in any of the fresh fruit I had into your bowl. Fruit was healthy, had vitamins and stuff.

“He will be okay, better to tell him sooner rather than later. He basically said if I’m not here at Christmas, Spider-man would be kidnapping me,” you sighed heavily and came over to the kitchen.

“Do you wanna go home?”

“I’m home already, Daddy.”

I was late to DC. What can I say? It’s not like they were going to start the hearing without me anyway. You can’t say shit like that and expect me to not get all... emotional and aroused. I’m in my 40’s, not dead. Apparently your commitment to ‘us’ was a real turn on for me. 

It wasn’t until later - when the flight, endless hearings and meetings, and political bullshit ended at the doorstep of my house that I took the time to look at your messages. I’d rather not read your messages, than leave you on read. I really was expected to be professional here so I left the device in my pocket all day like the good human adult I was. 

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Babygirl 🌜 - Who steals a suitcase?

Babygirl 🌜 - What kind of world do we live in that one of my roommates just thought they could leave a sticky note on my wardrobe saying “I’m borrowing this”?

Babygirl 🌜 - Pete is saying this is a sign I just shouldn’t go. I can’t not go. They bought the ticket for me. 

Babygirl 🌜 - Ugh. Sorry for ranting. Just so heckon rude. Hope your day's going well. You looked super profesh and cute on C-SPAN. 

Babygirl 🌜 - Yes I did commandeer the lounge TV just to watch old white dudes ask stupid questions about the internet. You did an excellent job of not letting that get to you.

Babygirl 🌜 - I GOT 100% ON MY CALC EXTRA CREDIT

Babygirl 🌜 - I’M SCREAMING OMG

Babygirl 🌜 - Okay, I’m cool. Gotta love instant gratification.

Babygirl 🌜 - DiiiinNNNneeEErrrrR

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

I wasn’t sure if you really knew what a meal was sometimes. A plate of cut up raw vegetables and chicken nuggets surrounding, what I could only assume was, a bowl of ranch dressing was not my idea of dinner. But I had to give you props for eating a vegetable.

I can’t decide if I’m more proud of you acing your project or eating a vegetable. Either way, well done. 😘

You’re such a nerd, can’t believe you watched any of that. I wouldn’t have and I was there. 

It was nearly midnight, I wasn’t expecting you to reply to messages. In truth I was hoping you’d be asleep even though you hadn’t sent a good night message. What I wasn’t expecting, was to get a video call from Peter. 

“I’ve kidnapped the target, she was way too easily distracted by Pokemon reruns.” Peter’s smiling face took up way too much of the screen, before he extended his arm to show you sitting next to him on your bed. There was a momentary flare before your face appeared. The glow of your laptop and his phone were the only real light now.

For the first time I noticed the pictures you had taped to your wall. A selection of old pictures of you and Peter together, in Indiana and in New York, were interspersed with photos of art works in museums and corn fields as sunset, or maybe sunrise. I also noticed close to your pillow was the first picture we took together and the PG photostrip. Where do you even get photos printed anymore? The more X-rated ones were blasted away at your request, despite my attempt at puppy dog eyeing you into letting me keep them. 

“Hey,” you yawned. 

“Did you kidnap her or did she kidnap you?”

“I offered him a snack after patrol,” You smiled, but didn’t look away from the screen. 

“We should all be asleep right now,” I commented, walking through the empty house, discarding my jacket and tie across the sofa on my way to the kitchen.

"But Pikachu needs us," Peter rotated the screen and showed the cartoon you were watching. 

I recognized the yellow mouse… thing on screen from the latest Longchamp bag line. Maybe I could get you one of those before you left on Sunday. 

"I'm putting my phone down."

I wandered into the kitchen and got a whiskey glass from the cabinet. I poured a double then returned to you two, completely engrossed in the show. 

"Peter, does May know you aren't actually patrolling right now?"

"Mmmmmmmaybe," his guilty smile gave him away. 

"I'm already on thin ice with her, Pete, don't make me-"

A crash came from somewhere else in your room. Peter jumped, sticking himself to the top of the bunk above you. The light flickered and I saw you reaching around to move the weird privacy curtain you constructed.

"Oh shiiiittttt, sorry, We didn't -woah- mean to interrupt new boyfriend time."

"Can we meet him?"

Roommates, two drunken ones from the sound of it. I looked at Peter's beet red face and had to hold in a laugh. His only sensible way outta this was to unstick himself, a challenge in its own. I was just glad he dropped the phone before he decided to become a piece of bed furniture. 

"I, uh, oh, mmm, I don't think now is a good time…"

"Oooooooo, well don't let us get in the way of sexy fun."

"Get it girl."

"We should do a tactical vom…"

If Peter was red before, he was absolutely about to combust now. He was still in the Spidey suit, with one of your sweatshirts thrown over the top. God that would have been great to watch him explain that. Or you honestly because when you got flustered and embarrassed it just made me want to bend you over the nearest surface and take you.

But those were not appropriate thoughts to be having right now. 

"Okay, I'm gonna go now," he unstuck himself. "Bye Mr. Stark."

"Good night, kid," I waved and the call ended. 

I finished my whiskey and ordered the Pikachu bag. Should be big enough to last you a few days, you said you had clothes at home too. It wasn't until I had flopped down into bed that you messaged again, asking if I still wanted to video call. Like I would say no to seeing your beautiful face. 

"Hey," you whispered, laying in bed with earphones in. 

"Hey Babygirl."

Even in the blue white light of the phone screen I could see your cheeks turn a bit pink. 

"I got a bag ordered for you to take home."

"You know you don't have to keep buying me things. It's really okay, Daddy."

I hummed, the familiar thrill of hearing you call me that washed over me in my drowsy state. 

"Well, what can I say? You're worth it and I enjoy seeing you with nice things."

"I feel bad not getting you anything."

"You are more than enough Sweetheart."

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

"If she doesn't like being dotted on, why do you keep doing it?"

"Because my girl deserves the world, Jay."

+1. AN UPGRADE

When my alarm started going off at four am, I groaned. I didn’t wanna be awake. In truth, I didn’t want to leave at all. Tony’s bed was warm and I was enjoying hiding away from the world after Friday night. It had been… a lot. The social and emotional exhaustion mixed with the stress had kept me awake for much longer than I admitted to Tony. When we got back in the wee hours of Saturday morning, after forcing Happy to make a pit stop for burgers, we ate on the couch dressed up in all our finery. 

“Can I post this picture of you?”

He showed me the image, I looked so different from how I felt in that moment. In the picture I appeared calm, relaxed while viewing the paintings. Inside I was a horrible bundled knot of insecurities. But social media was a performance, and I would always perform for Tony.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing another bit of my cheeseburger. 

“You can say no, you know.”

I looked over at him. He was tired, exhausted probably based on the bags under his eyes, with a smear of mustard caught in his beard. I didn't think I could ever say no to him. 

"Yeah, I know."

So he made the post on Instagram. Later when we woke up sometime on Saturday morning proper, we checked the news. Even over video, the frames of the glasses Tony has given me projected the light flare to hide my identity. There were comments about the Valentino dress I wore, some nice and other rude. Apparently, my laziness had started a new trend of just wearing your chipped nail polish. I hadn't really thought about it, too surprised with myself that it was still on. Of course, Tony's post was featured in every news story. I mostly just ignored that, like I'd been ignoring most of social media. 

But seeing as my identity was still unknown and conspiracy sites were still clawing at any information they could to figure out who I was, it was easy to put that part of the night behind me. 

I rolled over in bed. Tony must have not come to bed at all. The sigh that left my body was long and deep. I'd hoped there would be time for more cuddles before I needed to leave for the airport. Maybe I could get away with a few more minutes snuggled up in bed. 

My Instagram practically exploded when I opened it. Likes, comments, tagged posts, and DM flashed up on the screen. Ignoring them, I went straight to Tony's story first, watching him do a test for a mini blaster that caused Bruce to freak out. For as much as I stayed here, I barely saw the other man. Next Steve's story played, a video of him and Bucky at the gym. Peter's story was him, Ned, and MJ doing some… thing, I wasn't really sure what. That was enough of that. 

I moved on to Tony's account. There it was, another viral picture. A masterpiece with a Pollock. The best date a guy could ask for @ThatArtGirl thanks sweetheart. 

Stupid, happy tears slipped down my cheeks. Even the thought of going home couldn't ruin how… loved I felt. What he isn't telling you is that I anxiety cried before this picture lol 😌 #HesWorthIt #ImCryBaby

Immediately I saw a response from Tony. If you're Cry-Baby, I must be Allison Vernon-Williams. #YourMyCrybaby

"Please tell me you understood that reference," he walked into the bedroom.

"I did not," I put my glasses on and sat up. "Where were you?"

"Just working on something in the lab."

He crawled into the bed, pulling my phone from my hand. We definitely had time for this.

"When do we need to leave for the airport?"

"In like 30 minutes," I smiled, as he moved between my legs. 

"Plenty," he kissed my forehead, "of," he kissed my nose "time."

He kissed my mouth slowly, controlling me with a hand on the back of my neck. Tony took me apart piece by piece with his hands and mouth. The feel of his skin against mine shot thrills right through me. His body heat enveloped me better than any blanket ever could. His words washed over me, my mind floating somewhere with no worries, just me and Tony. Even when he pushed me over the edge again, when I thought I couldn't, my body did it. Euphoria washed over me, words fell from my mouth that I couldn't understand. 

God I loved this. I loved him.

"I love you."

The words came out of me, muffled by the sheets and my own blissed out sounds.

"What Baby?" Tony leaned over my back, still hard and buried deep inside me.

"I love you, Daddy." I felt him twitch inside me before he pulled out. Panic washed over me, only to be scrubbed away when I was flipped on to my back. The arc reactor shined brightly between us. 

"Tell me again, Babygirl."

"I love you," I touched his chest, hand over his heart. 

"Again," he plunged into me.

I lost count of how many times I said it to him. Probably well over a thousand versions of the confession by the time we actually got out of bed. 

We were late to the airport, but when I gave him a final kiss goodbye, our first time really away from each other about to begin, he gave me the best gift possible. 

"I still expect you to be a good girl while you're away."

"I promise," I whispered, despite the empty departures area. 

"Mmm," he hummed, rubbing his thumb over my cheek.

He pulled me into another kiss. I still felt love drunk from this morning. My fingers clung to his flannel jacket, his silly incognito clothes did nothing to quell my desire for him. I sighed when he pulled away, cheeks flushed and a dopey grin plastered on my face.

"I love you 3000."

#a sloth writes #tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x ofc #tony stark x original female character #tony stark x plus size reader #tony stark x plus size ofc #sugar daddy!tony stark #tony stark smut #tony stark fanfic #tony stark fic #tony stark fanfiction #iron man #sleepless in stark towers

[prismatales]

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairings: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Category: Fluff, Comedy.

Warnings: Mentions of dicks in a comical manner.

Beta Readers: @strawberryakaashi @cassroler @dadchis-girl

Summary: There’s always a first time for everything. For you and Ushijima, this was the beginning of your unique holiday traditions.

Here’s my contribution to the Haikyuu Headquarters SFW Secret Santa! This is my gift for the lovely @kandyshoppe. Happy holidays, love! You’re such an amazing friend and a great artist. Every time I see your art on discord my tummy does a flip. Hope you enjoy my little gift for you, baby!

As far as Ushijima can remember, his family wasn’t used to celebrating holidays such as Christmas while most people tend to enjoy said festivities alongside their whole families or closest friends. Growing up, the closest thing Ushijima experienced was a small dinner with his parents, the dinner usually accompanied by a simple gift every now and then.

Ushijima’s family never got the experience of setting up a christmas tree, or decorating their home with things like those red stockings people used to hang over the fireplace. There was no need to prepare a feast for Christmas night since there is no need for letting  children to make a mess in the living room as they ripped through layers of brightly colored gift paper to look for the presents Santa got them. 

Speaking of the old man in a sleigh, that was a tale nobody could manage to convince a young Ushi to believe in, no matter how many times his teachers and classmates tried so hard to make him believe in. As a result, he made the other children cry more than once when he revealed that Santa didn’t exist…

For him, Christmas was just another day of the year, nothing he had to worry about...That is until you came into his life, and slowly began influencing his perspectives after getting together and eventually moving in together into this small, cozy place of your own.

That summer day when you moved into that small house was one of the happiest moments of your lives. Ushi’s stoic expression hid an excited spark in his eyes at the idea of having a place of his own, accompanied by one of the persons he cherished the most. And despite the many ups and downs that every couple goes through, he’s never come to regret your relationship in the slightest.

Every moment becomes another memory that’s swept away just like the seasons over the passage of time. Before he realized, all the trees had lost their lively appearance and the air became cold and crisp with the arrival of winter.

And when winter finally arrived, so did the same holiday he never bothered paying attention to, that is until you came along.

Ushijima noticed the way your eyes would always fixate their attention on the houses and stores covered in beautiful assortments of lights, spheres and wreaths, admiring their beauty with the same wonder as that of a small child. It was the same way you always paid attention to the surroundings during a trip to the mall, deeply enthralled by the soft tunes of the carols while cradling a warm drink with a smile, enjoying the soothing warmth against your hands with a serene expression.

And yet, despite the utter ADORATION for the holidays, you never suggested decorating the house, no matter how many times you both passed by the rows of lights or the trees they sold at the market.

“You see...my family never bothered celebrating Chritstmas before.” You shrugged casually, stirring the simmering pot of soup over the heat of the stove. “My parents were never that passionate about the holidays, and frankly we barely bothered celebrating birthdays as well.”

With a smaller spoon you took a spoonful of the savory meal, blowing gently on the food before pushing it towards Ushi, who carefully grabbed the spoon from your hands and gave it a taste.

“Is it good?” 

“Mhm.”

Satisfied with his reply, you beamed softly at him and turned back towards the pot to turn off the heat so you both could finally enjoy some well-deserved lunch together. Said meals were always accompanied by some light chatter. He always had a new story to share about his teammates, and you always had something to say about work.

“Since this is our first year together...Would you like to celebrate Christmas together?” His question however, made the conversation differ from its typical subject.

“Well….it would be nice, I guess. Where did all this come from?”

“I see the way you look at all the decorations at the mall and how much you enjoy the songs.” He noticed you got awfully quiet, staring at the plate in front of you for a brief moment before turning back to look at him with eyes filled with hope.

“I’d love to do something with you for the holidays, but only if you’re okay with it!”

“Of course.”

Ushi's answer was short, but his tone of voice told you everything you needed to know. Needless to say, lunch was quickly taken care of before you were both out of the house and headed towards the car.

It was quite a sight for many people, watching you two go through the store almost like a pair of children with free reign over a credit card. Some people who recognized Ushi didn’t hesitate to take pictures when you placed an elf’s hat over his head (he had to crouch down so you could reach him.)

A couple hours later, you came out carrying a christmas tree, decorations and even some ingredients for cookies. Ushi had also brought something else but you didn’t get the chance to see it, since he put it along with the groceries.

Almost like a couple of kids, everything was quickly taken inside. And as soon as the groceries had been left back in the kitchen, the next thing on the list was decorating the living room.

Starting with the Christmas tree...

“ I...think we messed up.” You mutter, looking up at the mess before your eyes. Both you and Ushi are just standing there next to each other, witnessing the monstrosity also known as the “Christmas Tree”. 

The tree itself has such a beautiful shade of green and looks so beautiful that  it can easily be confused for a real one. The decorations however, were on a whole different level…and not in a good way.

“It looks good enough to me.” Ushi’s remark is filled with such confidence that you had the urge to ask if he was faking it. Because the thing in front of you two was anything but “cute”....

It’s covered from head to toe in such differently colored spheres, lights and strings that it hurt to look at it. The lights were also the wrong color, rather than that warm shade of yellow, Ushi  accidently grabbed the ones that had multiple colors, which were also accompanied by an array of different colored strings….Needless to say, it was gaudy.  The tree looked like it came out of a bad parody of the retro era...

That thing couldn’t be considered a christmas tree, but on the other hand, it’s not that bad for your first time decorating by yourselves...right?

“We’ll...worry about that later.” Your attention diverted from the shining atrocity, and instead it went towards the next thing to do on the Christmas list. Strolling once again into the kitchen with Ushi trailing after you like a lost puppy, you picked up the tablet at the countertop and began looking through some tabs, scanning the screen until you found exactly what you were looking for.

“Let’s try this one out!” The tablet is quickly shoved towards Ushi’s face, who blinked twice before grabbing the tablet away from your smaller hand and looked at the reason behind your excitement.

“Christmas Cookies?” There are  different  varieties  of cookies displayed on the long tray. From Santa Clause's face, little snowmen, gingerbread men, candy canes to even little bells, all of them were decorated in beautiful shades of red and green glaze that looked absolutely delicious. The ingredients and instructions are relatively simple, easy enough for someone who’s never baked cookies in their lives. 

The kitchen quickly resembled the white aesthetic landscape outside. There’s layers of flour everywhere you look at, the counter, the sink, your clothes and even your faces. It’s all accompanied with the comforting warmth from the heated oven and the lighthearted atmosphere as you both work in a comfortable silence, kneading the dough and rolling it into a fine layer, just perfect for the cookie cutters to do their one job. As you cut row after row of dough into different shapes, Ushi cut up some squares of parchment paper, laying them over a baking tray and shortly after, the raw pieces of dough were quickly placed down and shoved inside the oven.

With the timer set for thirty minutes, you turned to look at Ushi with excitement. He brushed the flour smeared on your cheek with a thumb, smiling softly before the two of you began cleaning the kitchen together along the rhythm of some christmas classics, waiting patiently for the oven to finish baking the sweet treats…

“....They don’t look like christmas cookies...at all.” The way you looked at these cookies was almost comical. As if life itself had been drained out every time you looked at them. If your cousins happened to look at these treats, they would think they were halloween cookies and your aunts would probably make fun of you for all eternity if they looked at the so called “bells” and “candy canes”...

“They actually taste pretty good.”  You can hear Ushi munching on some of the baked goods. There’s a slight change in his tone as he enjoys biting into one of the treats without a care. When you turned to give him an unimpressed look, you had to fight back a snort. Was he really that oblivious about their not so innocent shape?

Watching him eat that baked failure had to be one of the funniest things you’ve ever seen since you began dating, you quickly pulled out your phone to take a couple of pictures as well as a video. Ushi swallowed the mouthful of sugary pastry and turned to look at you in utter confusion. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“You really don’t see it, babe?” 

You tried so hard to fight back tears. And the phone kept shaking uncontrollably between your hands as it recorded a confused Ushi that kept looking directly at the camera. “Look at the candy canes.”

His eyes went back to the tray, raising an eyebrow in confusion at the deformed, yet tasty cookies. With the same expression full of confusion he turned to look at your giggling self “They don’t look like candy canes but that’s it.”

“Turn it upside down.” You’re trying so hard to contain your laughter at this point. It becomes downright painful to hold it in when he takes hold of one of the treats, all of his focus is on the treat’s shapes as he tries to find the reason you’re acting so strange. Until he finally turns the cookie the way you told him to. “....oh.”

You don’t know what’s funnier, the fact he’s holding a cookie shaped like a limp dick...or the fact he just kept staring at it before shrugging, taking a huge bite so nonchalantly, but by this point you’ve already forgotten how to breathe and nearly end up dropping your phone into the bowl of frosting. He may not get the joke concerning the treats, but watching you nearly slip off the counter in a fit of hysterics pulled a soft chuckle from Ushi. A barely audible one that you completely miss while you send Tendou a pic of your boyfriend eating those cursed Christmas treats.

“Alright, alright…” You wipe a small tear that slipped out before grabbing the outstretched hand before you. Taking a deep breath you look back at the baking tray on the counter. “I think we baked too many cookies. But we can still decorate and give some to our friends, it would be a waste to throw them away.”

“We can always make another batch if you feel like it.”

“Nah, doesn’t matter. Let’s just decorate these and take a break.”

After the little baking fiasco and everything was cleaned and put in its proper place, you decided to just lay down on the couch and take a break. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t disappointing that neither the decorations nor the baking turned out well. 

At the same time you have to admit that spending time with Ushi like this was better than you could have ever imagined. So what if some of the cookies looked like penises and the christmas tree looked like someone had thrown everything representing the retro era, threw it into a blender and poured it all over a poor tree? You could still see a faint glint of excitement in Ushi’s eyes when the lights were turned on. The same glint that appeared again when he was biting on those delicious treats covered in powdery sugar.

You could say it was like an adrenaline rush that you were now coming down from, because slowly your eyelids began getting heavier with exhaustion. The soft fabric of the couch felt like a warm hug enveloping your body, welcoming it to the land of dreams with each passing second.

When Ushi walked into the living room, he was greeted with the adorable sight of your hands tucked underneath a cushion, holding it closer to your sleeping face while you laid face down on the sofa. The fluffy blanket that was always in the living room during winter covered your body up to the waist, except for the fuzzy socks you would always wear at home.

But the prettiest sight of them all was that smile adorning your face even in the middle of a deep slumber. A smile that he’s always cherished ever since that time he first realized he had a crush on you.

Perhaps you would enjoy waking up to a small surprise. With that in mind he went back into the kitchen and began looking for the stuff he bought along with the groceries, ready to prepare something Tendou had shown him during one of their meetings. Something he enjoyed so much and would love to share with you…

A delicious smell flowed into the living room, slowly stirring you awake from the nap. The mouth watering scent of spices coming from the kitchen was impossible to ignore, its alluring presence pulled you in like a moth enamoured by a flame. As you found the source of the smell, the one thing you didn’t expect was seeing Ushi in front of the stove.

“What are you doing, babe?” Even in a drowsy state, that didn’t stop you from embracing his waist from behind, nuzzling into the welcoming heat radiating from him. “And what are you cooking? It smells incredible.”

“It’s called mulled wine. Tendou showed me how to make it.” You took a peek at the simmering pot, which was filled with a bottle’s worth of red wine and spices such as cinnamon sticks, clove, orange slices and anise. He swiftly removed from the heat before it could start boiling and pulled a pair of cups from the cabinets.

And just like that, you found yourselves enjoying a delicious cup of mulled wine as you sat in front of the fireplace, cuddling together under the same blanket from before. The warm and toasty atmosphere, along with the soft music in the background, was one of the most comfortable moments you’d spent together.

“Did you like the wine?”  He kissed the side of your head.

“Mhmm, It’s delicious.” You nuzzled closer to him with a smile, before taking another sip of the mug, sighing in happiness by the comforting flavor of the delicious drink. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of stuff.”

“Tendou taught me how to make it.”

“We should send him something as a thanks….as long as it’s not cookies.”

The room filled with a contagious laughter. You felt Ushi shaking as he chuckled at the reminder of the deformed treats before kissing the side of your face for a second time.

After his laughter died down, Ushi turned to face you. “I’m sorry our first Christmas together wasn’t perfect.” 

“...Huh?”

The two mugs, now empty of their contents, were carefully placed to the side as you turned around in his lap to face his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“We were supposed to have the perfect Christmas together, but it feels like everything came out wrong.”

“Toshi, listen carefully…” 

Your hands cradled his cheeks tenderly, thumbs skimming over his face and tracing circles across his cheekbones with a delicate sweetness he became addicted to. 

“Things may not have turned out perfect but we still had fun, didn’t we? Besides, look at it this way, it could be our own way to spend the holidays! Decorating the ugliest tree ever, making cursed christmas cookies, having some mulled wine near the fireplace. I’m more than happy celebrating like this.”

It felt like a weight had  lifted off his shoulders with your answer. His arms made their way around your waist, embracing you tightly as he captured your lips in a brief and delicate kiss.

“You’re all I want for Christmas.”

Taglist: @godtieruwu @hanniejji @savagetrickster @shoobirino @sugacookiies @unbreakableeiji @pixxiesdust @xmyshya @sugassetter @jayeray

#Haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu imagines #ushijima and reader #haikyuu fluff

[b-else-writes]

the tiger shark and the sun

New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender-RebelCaptain fusion AU! Feat: Jyn calls Obi Wan an old fart, Jyn tells Luke and Leia to stop being melodramatic about becoming evil, dragons, and me ranting about the “evil sexy matriarchy” fantasy trope. 

Read on AO3 | Read from start

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings

Rating: T

Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. The Fire Nation, under  Fire Lord Palpatine and Lord Vader, has been at War with the world for  the last twenty years. When Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day  Cassian, last southern waterbender, is assigned to protect the Avatar,  she seems just another obstacle in ending the War. An obstacle he would  willingly remove. For exiled firebender Jyn, the Avatar is her last way  home - and to her hostaged father, never mind her own conscience. But as  their paths keep crossing, and the Avatar needs all help in saving the  world, Jyn and Cassian find they are more alike than they ever thought  possible.

Snippet under the cut!

Jyn woke with a start, rapidly trying to figure out where she was. She was lying on a straw mattress in a stone room. The early morning light filtered in through a low window. On the ceiling were carvings of circling sky bisons.

Slowly, her memory returned. Jyn sat up, taking in the small room in Hynestia, the Western Air City. Cassian and Kay were nowhere in sight. He had removed her bracers and her boots sometime after she’d fallen asleep, and left then. But there was a dent on the mattress from where he’d been. She could still smell him – and his horrible lizard – and she gave herself a moment to imagine a world where someone like her…

She hastily shoved the thought aside. Another, more pressing concern than her unrequited feelings had emerged. She was supposed to teach. Jyn buckled on her bracers and slid her boots on quickly. She combed her fingers through her hair, repining the bun, and set about finding Enfys.

It took her a surprisingly short time to get around: the entire city seemed to have been developed and built for easy accessibility, with lifts, railings, and maps everywhere. Enfys, after she’d shown Jyn her room, had said she was going to the temple. Jyn found her and Luke curled up on the temple floor, fast asleep.

Jyn crouched and poked her. “Wake up!” she hissed.

Enfys groaned, red braids falling in her face. “Jyn, it’s only dawn…”

“Enfys, I need your help.” Luke made a noise but continued to snore. Jyn pursed her lips. “I’ll make you those wheat pancakes with dates and honey you love,” she said in her sweetest voice.

Enfys cracked one eye open. “We don’t have honey or dates.”

“I brought a jar as a peace offering,” she admitted. There was a pause. With a groan, Enfys extricated herself from Luke’s arms, pulling her cape on. Luke made a little grumble and rolled over. Jyn refrained from commenting as Enfys trailed after her to the central atrium. Enfys was perfectly liable to turn it right back on her.

As Jyn got the ingredients out from her satchel on the war balloon, Enfys asked, “So, what’s the issue?”

Swallowing her pride, “How did you teach the twins?”

There was another long pause. “You didn’t think this through at all, did you?” Enfys said, covering her mouth with her hand. Jyn glared. “I’m not laughing, I’m not!”

“I hate you,” Jyn said, swatting the date jar away from Enfys’ grip.

“No, you don’t,” Enfys said happily, dipping one finger in the honey jar and licking it. Jyn crouched to light the cookfire. It took a moment for the flame to appear on her fingertips. She frowned, but Enfys continued to speak, refocusing her attention. “Well, for me it was simple – I just followed how I was taught by my mother and aunts and elders. I already had a lesson plan ingrained in me.”

Jyn shook her head, feeling her pulse race, though it had been a decade since Master Jorus had backhanded her to perform better. “That…is not going to work.”

Enfys’ face clouded over. She stood from her perch and began to help Jyn, brushing her hands against hers. “Well, then, start simple. Like how to produce fire. And go from there. Basic punches and blocks, you do that a lot, don’t you?”

“They’re called fire fists.”

“My mistake,” Enfys said, her eyes sparkling with mirth, “Fire fists and fire kicks and fiery-ness and aallll that.”

Jyn bit back a smile, extending the plate with honey-drizzled wheat pancakes. “For her highness, the Queen of Mon Cala.”

Enfys immediately grabbed it, digging in with a moan of delight. “One of the few things from the Fire Nation worth saving,” she said, her mouth full of food.

“What’s the rest?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” Enfys said easily, making Jyn grin. As Baze and Chirrut came in, Enfys added, “Just remember to be patient.”

“I am a beacon of patience.”

Enfys laughed. “I meant with yourself, Jyn. You’re doing something new and difficult. So be kind to yourself as you figure it out.”

She sighed, resting her head against her best friend’s shoulder. “And yet you won’t share your portion with me?” she asked, fighting down her own rising panic.

“You’re impossible,” Enfys laughed, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Now eat up for your first big lesson, Master Jyn.”

Jyn stretched and popped out her muscles. She, Luke, and Leia stood in a beautiful courtyard of cream and white clay and wood. She imagined it must have been a communal space when Hynestia had still housed Air Nomads. She didn’t like dwelling on that too long. She could still feel…something clinging to the place. Fire child, they whispered, stroking her face and hair, this is what your people did.

She would have preferred pure hatred, but she felt that was not their way. It would have been easier than guilt. Especially when she saw the sadness in Enfys’ eyes.

Jyn focused back on the twins. Both wore expressions of trepidation, Leia in particular throwing her suspicious looks. Jyn tried not to take it too personally. “Have either of you ever firebent before?”

They exchanged a look. “Once,” Luke said, shifting a little, “We… we burnt Cassian by accident.”

Multiple statements immediately became clear in Jyn’s head. She pushed aside her own empathy for Cassian – and her instinctive urge to get angry on his behalf. Cassian held no grudge about it. Patiently, she said, “Most firebenders accidentally burn themselves or others when they’re starting out as children. It’s…normal.

“Alright then, let’s see what fire you can produce,” she said, folding her hands behind her back. Keep patient. Don’t be like Master Jorus. Don’t be what the Air Nomads know you could be. The summer heat touched the scars on her arms.

Exchanging another uneasy glance, the twins sank into a low hot-squat, good form, and punched.

A puff of smoke came out.

“That’s it?” Leia glared. Jyn resisted the very powerful urge to groan. “Let me demonstrate,” she said. Her muscle memory was so honed that Jyn didn’t even need to think. She sank and punched, sleeves billowing.

She produced a tiny gasp of flame.

Leia began clapping. Jyn scowled. “Don’t patronize, you know what it’s supposed to look like,” she grumbled. Jyn punched again. She slid into various forms, again and again. Only wisps of flame. “What in the…”

“Maybe you were never as good as you thought you were,” Leia said, grinning slightly.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Jyn snapped, trying in vain to produce more flame.

“Maybe it’s the altitude?” Luke suggested, though he didn’t look convinced. Jyn stared at her hands. Her inner flame felt cold and dull in her chest, despite the sunlight pouring over her skin. Sól, give me power, she thought, but none came.

Her firebending was gone. Somewhere, she could feel Master Jorus laughing.

The group sat around the cookfire, eating and chatting. The summer days were long, Chirrut knew. He could still feel heat despite the dinner hour. Baze had passed him his bowl, their fingers brushing. He smiled, gripping Baze’s fingers momentarily and grounding them both.

He heard Jyn clear her throat to speak. “There’s…a problem. I’ve lost my firebending. Well, not lost…but it’s weaker now and I can’t figure it.”

Chirrut considered as he munched. Bending was inherently spiritual, something that many had now forgotten, preferring to use as a blunt instrument. Jyn had never struck him before as someone who wanted to look within herself.

“Maybe it’s because you changed sides,” Cassian spoke up. Chirrut’s seismic sense could feel Jyn immediately perk up and orient towards him. Oh, young love. “Your firebending used to come from anger and desperation. Now you have none.”

“So, what? We piss Erso off?” Han asked, poking Erso with his sword butt.

Jyn kicked him in the shin. “Cut that out! It’s not an option.”

“What you need is a new source,” Chirrut said. “And by that, I mean an old one. The original. For earthbending, the first earthbenders were the badgermoles. When I was young, I ran away and hid in a cave. A blind child was better off gone.”

He still remembered the pain and fear as he had fled Jedha’s orphanage, stumbling through the crowds of people out into the scorching, shifting ground he had learnt was sand. Finding his way into the Catacombs. Surrounding by the dead, as he imagined he would soon become.

The Spirits had other plans. There had been a great crunch of rock, and a soft, wet snout had nosed him. They had recognized him as one of their own. “The badgermoles are also born blind. I learnt earthbending as an extension of my senses. Earthbending is not a martial art – it is a way of interacting and moving through the world, and that is the form I taught Luke and Leia.”

The wonder he had felt as he began to feel the world expanding outwards beneath his palms and feet. The grubs and creatures that lurked beneath the desert sand. The hardy plants that nourished from the earth. The secret oases. The possibilities that had exploded to him. His only regret was that it was no help to non-benders and other benders, but Chirrut was nothing if not stubborn. He had tried to help them too, as a Guardian of the Whills.

“Firebending isn’t like that,” Jyn said quietly, standing up and pacing.

“But surely you must know who the original firebenders were,” Enfys said, “I learnt from my Tribe, but the first airbenders were the sky bison. That’s influenced our bending to use gliders to fly, to our culture!”

Jyn walked over to Chirrut. He felt the same turmoil of his childhood self, in her. “It won’t work. The first firebenders were the dragons, and they’re extinct. There’s no other way.”

Baze squeezed Jyn’s hand. “There is always another way.”

Jyn was silent for a moment. When she spoke, he felt the vibrations. There is something she is concealing. “We’re not far from the island of Dathomir. The witches of Dathomir were said to be the first to learn firebending from the Dragons. They were killed off thousands of years ago. You still hear stories, but there’s no proof their society still exists. We might find something. Otherwise…”

“Sometimes the shadows of the past can be felt by the present,” Chirrut said. Several of the group shifted uncomfortably.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Luke said, “Han, can we borrow the Falcon?”

keep reading

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #jyn x erso #star wars #jyn erso #cassian andor #atla #au: atla #zutara #my fic

[greenygreenland]

Birds of a Feather Pt 1: (platonic) Scrooge McDuck & Reader

-i usually do star wars buuuuuut I'm becoming multi-fandom

-the original was deleted

-thanks a LOT technology. Three hours of hard work, down the drain

-comments will really help my mood, so please tell me if you like this

-happy father's day

Important note: You’re cursed with immortality, so you’re forever the age 15

Summary:

Scrooge has been hiding a secret from you for over two decades. You two argue and your relationship becomes rocky.

A week before

(Y/n) was seething in anger. Her chest heaved and her fingers curled into fists so tight that Scrooge worried she’d draw blood. “Twenty--no, thirty something years, Uncle Scrooge. I can’t believe you’ve hid this from me since the day you found me half-dead! How--how dare you?” 

Scrooge couldn’t stand the way (Y/n) was looking at him. Her eyes were ablaze, filled with hatred and sorrow he could not place into words. Seeing (Y/n), the girl who wasn’t so little anymore, look at him like that made his battered heart burst into little pieces. “(Y/n), I didn’t mean to--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it! You told me my family was dead! You said that I was the only one who survived that assassination.” (Y/n) stuffed a pair of trousers into her suitcase and zipped it shut. “You lied to me for decades! Why?” Scrooge’s lips withered into a frown. “I was trying to protect you!”

“’Protect me’?” (Y/n) echoed. She heaved her suitcase onto its quad wheels with a scowl. “Oh yes, because the wee little duckling who knows martial arts needs help despite surviving countless near-death experiences, adventures as your side-kick, and defeating archenemies. Yes, yes, I’m powerless, aren’t I?” Scrooge’s brows knitted together. He knew full-well that (Y/n) could take care of herself. She survived being stuck on an island as well, being swallowed by a gold-hunting dragon, and so many other things that could have ended her life for good. 

But this? It wasn’t that Scrooge thought she was weak. No, no. It was only that he knew she couldn’t handle the truth. The Eider family were an absolute nightmare. Besides the fact that they were abusive, they were greedier than the greediest ducks, and more power-hungry than the worst of kings. They believed themselves to be the best of the best (which in itself was not a lie), but because of their arrogance, their enemies spread father than the deepest oceans.

Funnily enough, that was what got (Y/n)’s parents killed.

She was a smart lass, Scrooge gave her that, but the one thing she could never seem to do was let them go. During the years Scrooge hid the true story from her, she never gave up in researching and looking into what happened to her parents. It was as if that were the only reason she existed. 

And now that she knew the truth, Scrooge worried what she’d do when she actually got back in contact with her family. Although it looked like she forgave them for ruining her life, abusing her, and for being absolute blockheads, it was clear as daylight to him that she held a deep grudge against her family. “You’re not going back to them are you?” he quietly inquired. 

(Y/n)’s glare made him feel as though he were the dust on an old book. “Guess again, Scroogey.” His expression hardened and the air thickened like jam. “Lass, you are not going back there.” (Y/n) made her way to the door, a tight frown on her face. “I don’t have to listen to you, liar.” 

Scrooge’s jaw unhinged. “I’m your guardian!” 

“Only because my parents died.” 

His shoulders tensed and he slammed the door shut. “You listen here and you listen well!” He yanked (Y/n) away from the door. “Me lying will never compare to how terrible your family treated you. You want the truth so bad? Well, your rubbish aunt hired a hit man to assassinate your parents! There! That’s the truth! Are you happy now?” (Y/n) slapped Scrooge’s hand off her shoulder, but he didn’t pay any mind. 

The two had a silent stare-off that may have lasted for an hour if it weren’t for the knock on the door. “(Y/n)?” Scrooge eyed the door as (Y/n) made her way towards it. She cracked it open just enough to peek out at the little girl before her. “Sorry Webby, I can’t play right now. I’m a bit...”

“Busy?”

“Yeah.” (Y/n) offered an apologetic smile, to which Webby frowned and twiddled her thumbs to. “Okay then. I’ll be in my room.” She made her way down the hall. “Alone.” (Y/n) frowned. “I’m sorry Webby, promise I’ll make it up to you in two weeks time. How about we get ice cream?” Webby froze, eyes wide. “You mean it?”

“Promise.” (Y/n) said. Webby smiled. “Okay.” 

Once (Y/n) was sure Webby was gone, she closed the door behind her and turned on Scrooge with a dark glare. “I’m done arguing with you. I’m leaving.” she announced. Scrooge folded his arms across his chest and seized (Y/n) by the collar. “Oh no you don’t!” He reeled her away from the door and kicked her suitcase out of her hands. “You are staying right here.”

“I’m not a kid anymore Uncle Scrooge!”

“You’re fifteen. Still a kid.”

“If you add the years after I was cursed by you--”

“It was an accident!”

“--I’m about thirty-five years old.” (Y/n) finished. Scrooge ruffled her hair with a roll of his eyes and a light-hearted chuckle. “You’ll always be my kid in my eyes. I suggest you reschedule with Webby to tomorrow.” There was a good pause before he added, “You don’t need to see your sad excuse of a family anyway. They’re nothing but trouble.”

Present

“Lauchpad, please try to stay on the road!” exclaimed (Y/n). The large man-child sped through Duckburg as if he were in a NASCAR race. Speed-bumps and pot-holes caused (Y/n) to slam into the door and Scrooge at least fives times in a row, and since he had a long day of meetings, the old man’s patience ran thin. “Eyes on the road McQuack!”

“Sorry Mr. McDee, (N/n).” 

(Y/n) wanted to be nice to Launchpad, but her stomach did flip-flops and her head ached. She should have expected this, because it was always like this, but her being her always held onto the sliver of hope that Launchpad would miraculously learn how to not crash a car. Scrooge took a good look at (Y/n), a short sigh escaping his lips. “Every dent in this car is coming out of your salary!” 

“Absolutely. Hey, hear about that crazy snow storm on the Drake Barrier Reef? I’d hate to fly into that one. You see, I’m a bit of a pilot--”

Without looking up from his newspaper, Scrooge pressed a button on the door. The glass divider slowly rolled up and forced Launchpad to keep his eyes where they should be: on the road. 

(Y/n) lied down on the seat with a sluggish frown. “I’m just gonna...close my eyes.” Either Launchpad forgot how brakes work, or he had zero brain cells left, because he continued charging through the city until he came to the manor’s gates despite Scrooge’s protests. The limo came to a screeching stop. If it weren’t for Scrooge, (Y/n) would have flown into the windscreen. 

“Why aren’t we moving?” demanded Scrooge. (Y/n) harshly swallowed and sat up. The impatient beeping of the limo’s horn didn’t help her spinning head, and neither did Scrooge’s yelling as he hopped out of the car. “Hey!” he shouted. “Jettison that jalopy from my driveway, ya deadbeat!” 

Who was he even talking to?

“Donald Duck.” 

Oh. 

“Uncle Scrooge.”

Oh.

(Y/n) didn’t care to listen to the arguing. All she wanted was a good cup of tea and a bed. 

“Jettison that jalopy from my driveway this instant, ya deadbeat!”

“Oh, here we go again, giving orders like he’s the richest duck in the world!”

“I am the richest duck in the world, now move!”

(Y/n) couldn’t take the arguing anymore. Her head spun, she felt like she’d throw up, and she really craved that cuppa probably waiting for her in the dining room. “Can you both shut up?!” A pair of footsteps made their way towards the open car door. Through the disgustingly bright sunlight, and the splitting headache, (Y/n) made out the angry face of Donald Duck.

“What did you do to her Scrooge?!” he shouted. Scrooge let out a large gasp, a clear sign he was beyond offended. “What did I do to her?! It was Launchpad’s driving!” 

There was some more chatter before three identical children piled in the limo. (Y/n) didn’t care who they were, and it seemed like the feeling with Scrooge was mutual. When the gates opened and they arrived at the front door, Mrs. Beakely scooped (Y/n) in her arms and brought her to her room. “My, my, was it Launchpad’s terrible excuse for driving again?” 

(Y/n) wordlessly nodded as Beakley set her on her bed. She poured a nice warm cup of tea and handed it to the car-sick girl. “I suggest you rest for a little before you get caught up too much excitement again.” Mrs. B. said. 

A little rest, Mrs. B. said. It would be good for you, she said. Only after waking up did (Y/n) realise she had been drugged by the one-and-only housekeeper. It was obvious she knew (Y/n) wouldn’t get a wink of sleep because she had a tendency to lay awake in bed until three in the morning, but in her eyes, that did not justify her actions, especially after all the action she missed out on. 

That morning, she stood in the dining room, PJs on and mouth agape as three identical triplets bombarded her with an arsenal of crazy questions.

"Aren't you Uncle Scrooge's famous sidekick?"

"Isn't your family crazy rich and extremely prestige?"

"How do you still look the same after so many years?"

"Botox?"

"Water from the Fountain of Youth?"

"No, plastic surgery?"

(Y/n) sent Scrooge a silent look for help, to which he shook his head with a warm smile. "Boys, don't be rude." he merrily said. "She's just cursed is all." The blue one's eyes widened, and for a second, (Y/n) thought he had chocked on his scrambled eggs. "You're cursed? How?"

"Uh..."

"Actually, I have a better question, how did you meet Uncle Scrooge?"

(Y/n) swallowed a bite of toast. Her gaze nervously snapped towards the old duck, to which he folded his newspaper shut and said, "Alright, boys. That's enough. I think it's a bit early for all these questions, especially for her. She hates mornings." (Y/n) smiled a little. "Yeah, I do." She returned her focus on the faces of the three kids. Each had large, bright eyes, extremely large smiles, and loud personalities. Which also happened to remind her of...

(Y/n) leaned over to Scrooge's ear and subtly face-palmed. "They're Della's kids, aren't they?"

"You just figured that out now?"

"I was tired, what do you expect?"

Scrooge rolled his eyes. "Besides that, we're going to Atlantis tomorrow." he nonchalantly announced. (Y/n) almost spit out her tea. "Wait, you're serious?"

He nodded, a sparkle (Y/n) hadn't seen in a while shining in his eyes. (Y/n) couldn't help but feel grateful for Scrooge. If he hadn't stopped her from seeking out her family, she'd probably be dead. (Y/n) Eider didn't belong with a bunch of prestigious, scholarly ducks. She was an adventurer, an explorer, who walked through every corner of the Earth.

But most importantly, she was Scrooge McDuck's one and only side-kick.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #x reader #reader insert #ducktales x reader

[bitchbrisket]

First Lines Tag

Tagged by @slightlyintimidating

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

As all my mutuals have been tagged already, I’ll just tag a couple of people, @tara-stofse and @rapidashpatronus

I’m also going to cheat and give you a favourite line from each one, simply because the first line is rarely the best and why not be a big fat show off where your writing is concerned? Didn’t link because I am a lazy cow but my AO3 profile is at the top of my page.

1.       (The Worst Witch 2017) A friend like you – 'Get in loser, we're going shopping!'

Sometimes I come up with good titles and sometimes I desperately flail around and this was the best I could do. Most people should know what the opening line is a reference to and it was the first thing I thought of when the idea of this fic materialised.

  ·         'I know you think you're hot stuff, but Dimity can run rings around you. You have the acting skills of a potato' she icily informed a miffed Arabella.’

  2.       (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) An education - 'I confess, I fail to understand the point of most of them.'

Again, another crappy title but for some reason, no song lyric or poem came to me on the subject of policemen raiding a Chinese brothel in the 1920s and confiscating vibrators because they look like suspicious instruments. I did lift the first line from the script because that is partly what I based the fic on. 0/10 for originality there.

  ·         ‘The benefit of having so many deities, Lin reflected, was that there was always someone in, should you knock on the door of their shrines.’

  3.       (The Worst Witch 2017) Poker – ‘Miss Bat scuttled along to the staffroom after her date and walked in, only to halt in surprise.’

Good Lord, I’m really not selling it to you with these boring titles am I? I’ve done the strip poker storyline with the hairpins in another fandom and couldn’t think up a clever title for that either.

  ·         ‘Clothes were strewn everywhere but in front of Hecate, there was a small pile of hairpins and nothing else.’

  4.       (The Worst Witch 2017) Which witch is which? – ‘Wychwood forest was a mysterious place, full of wrackspurts and helipoaths and blibbering humdingers. Sometimes you'd even see a crumple horned snorcack galloping along.’

Yes, alright I borrowed something off the world of Harry Potter. A fic based off a post off of a popular post on Tumblr and title borrowed off Dianna Wynne Jones I think.

  ·         'Watch out for the blibbering humdingers!' she shouted vengefully after the troublesome tourists.’

  5.       (The Worst Witch 2017) They do it with mirrors - 'I've missed you.'

Very general, basic bitch kind of starter. Dial up the smut o’metre because witches are having the equivalent of webcam sex. Written for the Hackle Lemonade Challenge, prompt kink. Wasn’t one of my favourites to write but it does have one of my favourite paragraphs in a smutty fic. Beats the first line anyway.

  ·         ‘She groaned and panted as her climax finally overtook her, glad of the extra support from the solid oak furniture. None of this modern rubbish that couldn't withstand a good hard fuck. There was a time and a place for IKEA but this was not it.’

  6.       (The Worst Witch 2017) Every inch of you – ‘Ada loved it when Hecate lightly raked her nails down her back.’

Diving straight into the smut for this other Hackle Lemonade Challenge, prompt kink fic. Title entirely appropriate.

  ·         ‘While many people over the years could make it happen, it was a secret delight to know that nobody did it better than her.’

  7.       (The Worst Witch 2017) The hum of your desire – ‘Ada woke up to an empty bed.’

At least it’s promising. The story can go anywhere when you start off with an empty bed. The bed is irrelevant anyway. They end up on the sofa.

  ·         ‘Hecate Hardbroom was nothing but a meticulous over achiever.’

  8.       (The Worst Witch 2017) You’re the night sky, trying to make me see your stars – ‘Hecate had been afraid to touch.’

Throws you right into the scene and lets you know there’s going to be a bit of angst in there. I love the song I took the title from (night sky – Leonell Cassio & Julia Mihevc) and I waited for a fic idea to materialise so I could use it.

  ·         ‘Ada could feel her breathing, steady and true, vibrating through to her heart.’

  9.       (Ghosts) Hide & seek – ‘Giggling madly, she galloped up the stairs to seek out the best hiding place ever.’

With several of the ghosts with backstories we have yet to uncover, the possibilities are endless. Poor Kitty had to die young so I gave her a death loosely based on an English ghost story, using all the unsavoury incidents involving her sister. Title needs no explanation.

  ·         ‘And shimmering obliquely in the corner of the landing, was the answer. The wooden chest. The one from the latest sailing ship that had brought back all that sugar and tea and rum.’

  10.   (The Worst Witch 2017) When breathing sounds like your song – ‘She hadn't let herself enjoy it at first.’

Luckily the only way from there is forward. For the Hackle Lemonade Challenge 2021, prompt firsts. Not sure where I got the title from, it’s possible I melded a couple of song lyrics together for it.

  ·         ‘I always feel thirsty after a pleasurable experience' she said cheerfully.’

  11.   (Holby City) There is no goat that foolish – ‘Serena patted down her wide brimmed hat and set off for a walk.’

It’s an ok start to the fic. The title is terrible but honestly, its just hard to find references to goats in general.

  ·         ‘She only just realised that they were conversing in English, not French. The other woman had a London accent. Good. She could shout at her more expressively in English.’

  12.   (The Worst Witch 2017) Sugar mouse – ‘What is it?’

So many possibilities here. The title does give it away, but still.

  ·         ‘In her nightmares, her grandfather had chased her around with an eyeball on a fork.’

  13.   (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) Stitch up - ‘I’d like to see you operate my sewing machine, Hugh Collins.’

Another shameless ripping off from the script. But nothing else can sum up this fic so perfectly. Title self-explanatory.

  ·         ‘Were sewing machines like dogs? He wondered. Did they take on the personalities of their owners?’

    14.   (Pushing Daisies) Girls don’t want boys, girls want damn respect – ‘Her boy always had an eye for the ladies.’

What a ridiculously clunky title. But apparently I couldn’t think of anything better. The opening line is much better.

  ·         ‘Calista was reminded of the principal at school that Emerson had crushed on so hard that he'd broken every fire alarm in the school over the course of several months just to get her attention. Some things never changed.’

  15.   (Holby City) Tell us the tale of a goat – ‘Did I ever tell you about how Serena and I met?’

A solid opening there, full of potential. The title is a bit crap. No, I have no idea why or how Serena would be working on the Italian railway either.

  ·         ‘You dressed one up in a poncho and called it aunt Gertrude?’ Fleur asked eventually. She really couldn’t think of anything better to say.’

  16.   (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) In the gracious light – ‘Jack tried not to let their questioning stares get to him.’

Based partly on the MFMM books, I’m happy with the opening line, it sets the tone. The title comes from Shakespeare’s Sonnet VII. ‘Lo! in the orient when the gracious light.’ With that, it ties in Jack and Lin quite nicely.

  ·         ‘After all, grandmama had warned him enough about the distraction of white girls. She had said nothing about white boys.’

    17.   (Holby City) Not yet – ‘Bernie wouldn't describe herself as an avid reader these days.’

Title taken from a line in the book Wicked. Opening line is pretty generic. I basically wrote this fic because Elphaba reminds me of Bernie in some respects. Also, premonition, sorry about that.

  ·         ‘In her mind, it was Serena in that cell, stretching out her hand to Bernie and chiding her affectionately for her delay.’

    18.   (Ghosts) Filth – ‘The Captain paid no attention to Lady Button's shrewish tone two rooms away.’

Simple title, simple opening line. Very direct. It’s the ‘why didn’t the Captain and Lady Button bond over the hot gardener in Lady Chatterly’s Lover together’ fic.

  ·         ‘The Captain sighed. That husband of hers had a lot to answer for. Bastard. He couldn't have killed her by poison or anything, no, he had to push her out of the damn window.’

  19.   (Ghosts & Holby City crossover) Over the top we go – ‘He couldn't believe it.’

So many things one couldn’t believe, a pretty generic opening. The title is a WW1 reference so not the correct war for the Captain but I used it anyway. Bernie is Haver’s niece.

  ·         ‘The Captain looked pleased but there was an expression in his eyes that Alison thought hid a sob in his heart.’

    20.   (Holby City) Boobs – ‘Arthur Digby was having a terrible day.’

Title, utterly crap, I know you’ll agree. Opening line, sums it up really. I like it.

  ·         'Well, call me Da Vinci and I'll paint you like one of those French girls.'

Art wasn't Fleur's strong point.’

So what did I learn about my opening lines? It does reflect my writing style, snappy and concise. I rarely ramble for long. Are they thrilling opening lines? Not usually. Do they set the scene or the tone? Much of the time. They are certainly not the best ones I’ve ever written. Considering that I don’t love most of these last lot of opening lines, I’m going to go with which witch is which? It’s the best one of the bunch, I think. 

#fanfiction

[varietywritings]

SOLACE

Draco Malfoy x OC!Esme Prewett

Solace Summary

CHAPTER ONE: THE SUNSET IS THE SAME FROM BRISTOL TO LONDON

Esme Prewett sat at her desk; the wood color was unknown even to her as it was covered in spare parchment, books, quills, and some liquorice wands—these were her favorite wizarding candies. Her audacious tabby, Sebastian, tried to fit his massive body between a pile of muggle books and an open bottle of ink. The ink tipped, spilling all over Esme’s notes from the wizarding book, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Though this would be her third time reading the book and the notes weren’t for anyone but herself as it was summer, she cursed at the cat; Sebastian looked satisfied by his accomplishment.

A loud peck on the window startled Esme, causing her to forget all about her desecrated notes. Ron’s fiery owl, Pigwidgeon, stood on her window sill, staring at Esme with his gleaming amber eyes. She smiled, sliding the window open so the small bird could enter her room. Esme untied the letter and small parcel from his leg and he began to bounce around impatiently as she read it.

Dear Essie,

We miss you over here. Mum has been intense, making us clean all the time. We’re so bored. I don’t know if they’ve written to you, but Fred and George have created loads of new joke products and we’re the test subjects. Professor Lupin nearly ate a fainting fancy. Luckily, George smacked it out of his hand. Mum was furious; it was truly hilarious.

Professor Lupin? She thought. Why would he be at The Burrow? Why is Molly making them clean? Her house cleans itself. She shrugged her confusion away and continued reading. Pigwidgeon began rapidly flying around her room; Sebastian followed him with his eyes.

Oh, Dad and Percy got into it the other day. He was promoted at the Ministry. He’s so far up Fudge’s arse that he neglects his own family. What a load of bollocks. Have you heard from him? Mum and Dad are very upset. Dad’s broken countless muggle artifacts and mum will not stop crying. He said some really awful things about not accepting us as his family anymore.

Bill is back home by the way. He took a desk job at Gringotts. I think he misses Egypt more than he lets on. You remember Fleur Delacour, right? He’s been giving her English lessons. I think he fancies her, but he won’t admit it.

Why on earth would Bill have taken a desk job? He loved the tombs. He loved Egypt. Things weren’t adding up to Esme; nevertheless, she kept reading.

It’s weird not having you spend the summer with us. I’m guessing you’ve got a lot of reading done. Hermione has too. How has your mum been? Is she even home?

I’ve attached a bag of liquorice wands. I figured you were running out. Tell Seb I miss him and I wish he were here in place of Crookshanks. Are you packed and ready for Hogwarts?

Can’t wait to hear from you,

Ron

PS: Pig couldn’t wait to visit. I’m sure he’d love it if you let him stay for a bit.

Esme sighed as she looked around her messy room. She wasn’t leaving for Hogwarts for a couple weeks, so she didn’t feel a need to pack just yet. She added Ron’s letter to the immense stack of letters she had received since her mother cut her off from the Weasley’s. There were several from Bill and Charlie, Ron sent her one weekly, Fred and George sent a couple, and Ginny sent almost as many as Ron. Esme loved receiving letters from her cousins as she was used to practically living with them until reports of Voldemort’s return surfaced via Harry. Esme believed him even though it pained her to admit. Sadly, her muggle mother believed him too and refused to let her interact with the wizarding world. As a result, Esme carefully hid the letters in her sock drawer.

She had been trapped in Bristol all summer while her mother traveled on business. As nice as the silent—apart from the occasional meow from a hungry Sebastian—house was when she was trying to get work done, she was lonely. She missed the terrible pranks Fred and George played, helping them plan those pranks, talking with Ginny, chess with Ron.

Esme laughed to herself at the sprightly little owl who had now landed back on her nightstand. Sebastian, still on her desk, was starting to drool on the parchment. Esme snarled her nose slightly, but she refused to bother him. She grabbed a clean piece of parchment and some fresh ink and began thinking of her response to Ron. She took her time so Pig was well rested.

Dear Ron,

I miss you guys too!  I’m sorry you’re bored. I am too. Can only read so much. Fred and George haven’t written to me in a few weeks. Are they still apparating everywhere? They told me they were using each other as testers and Aunt Molly thought they had been fighting.

Why was Professor Lupin at the Burrow? Is everything okay? And Bill? Why did he move back? Egypt was his favorite place on Earth. I’m happy for him and Fleur. He hasn’t written to me in a bit.

Percy has written to me, but he didn’t mention the promotion or his quarrels with Uncle Arthur. I can’t believe Percy would say things like that.

I wish I didn’t tell me mum about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She freaked out. I get it, but she has to let me live. She’s not even here, and if she was, how could she possibly protect me?

I can’t wait to get out of this gloomy house and out of this town. Sebastian misses you guys. He is restless without you and the twins torturing him. He misses watching me destroy you in wizard’s chess and frankly I do too. Tell everyone I love and miss them. Tell Gin I’m awaiting her next letter.

Pig was a delight to have today. Thank you so much for the liquorice! Also, of course I am packed for Hogwarts. You know me, always prepared.

See you soon,

Esme

Esme threw the quill down on her desk and quickly rolled up the smudge-free parchment. She reused the leather strip Ron had sent to tie her letter to Pigwidgeon’s thin leg. His excitement heightened as she tightened the knot. He almost looked as if he was smiling. She petted his grey and white feathers before he took flight out the window and back to 12 Grimmauld Place—or the Burrow as Esme thought.

✶✶✶

Esme was up rather late redoing the notes Sebastian so gracefully destroyed. She didn’t mind though; it gave her a chance to make them neater. Esme could swear she heard the front door creak open, but decided ultimately that she had just stayed up entirely too late and was incapable of proper cognitive functioning. She closed the newest ink bottle she was using and got up from her desk. She saw a sleeping Sebastian on her bed and decided to join him until she heard a loud thud from the living room downstairs. She quietly ran to her desk and pulled the middle drawer open, grabbing  her spruce wand with a white-knuckle grip.

It’s probably just your mother home early from her trip. She thought. She checked the time: 1:34 A.M. Her flight could not have landed this late. She was hesitant to open her bedroom door. It could definitely be your mother, but it could also be a murderer or two. It’s probably fine, right? How often do bad things truly happen? But Voldemort is back. Bollocks. She reaches for the door knob, but then pulls her hand away and backs up. The staircase creaks as if multiple people were walking up it.

“It’s going to be less dangerous to take her than Harry.” An unfamiliar female whisper came from the hallway.

Esme furrowed her brows and adjusted her ever-tightening grip on her wand. Less dangerous? Where exactly do they think they’re taking me?

Esme’s bedroom door flew open and a gust of wind disturbed Sebastian. The light from the hall made it difficult for Esme to see because her room was dark. Once her eyes adjusted, they met with the eyes of an unfamiliar face. She was a witch with violet hair. Esme froze before her, her heart beating at an unnatural pace.

“Ron said you’d packed already.” This violet-haired witch sighed, leaning against the door frame.

“I’m so—who are—” Esme tried to gather her thoughts to speak.

“Ms. Prewett.” A familiar voice came from a tall wizard standing behind the witch.

“Professor Lupin?” Esme smiled. Her shoulders relaxed; she didn’t even notice they were tense. Lupin was her favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to date. “What are you do—”

“No time to explain, sweetheart.” Arden, tenacious auror, Harry’s godmother, and Esme’s hero stood beside Remus Lupin reaching his chin. The Arden Walker is in my home. Esme was ecstatic as she hadn’t seen her idol since she visited Lupin’s class as a guest speaker in her third year.

“I’m Tonks.” The violet-haired witch smiled. “We have to get you packed.”

Esme smiled back at her. “Where are we going?”

“London,” Lupin chimed.

“London? Where are my aunt and uncle?”

“London.”

Esme gave the three an incredulous look. “Why?”

“Again, no time. Let’s get you packed,” Tonks declared impatiently.

Esme motioned for Tonks to enter her bedroom. Lupin and Arden went downstairs to get the brooms. Esme opened her brown trunk and began shoving clothes and parchment into it. Tonks waved her wand and everything Esme needed—books, parchment, dozens of ink bottles, her cauldron, scales, clothes, and even her postcards from her mother—chucked themselves into her trunk.

“That works.” Esme shrugged. “Thanks.”

Tonks nodded. Esme picked Sebastian up and shoved him in his blue carrier. He was less than excited, so she placed a few treats with him.

“Locomotor trunk.” Tonks said with her wand in hand. The trunk hovered and followed her wand motions downstairs.

“Ready to go?” Lupin questioned.

“I need to leave a note for my mother. She’d figure out how to contact the ministry just to spite me if I didn’t.”

“Nonsense, I already left one explaining the situation,” Lupin reassured.

“Well, then I’m ready!”

“Can you fly?” Arden asked.

“Uh—”

“No, she’s terrible,” Lupin teased.

“Hey!” Esme yelled in defense.

“Well, can you?” Tonks questioned.

“Well, no. Not well. I don’t even have a broom. I—er—borrowed George’s for class my first year and nearly snapped it in two only three feet off the ground.” Esme looked to the floor.

“You can ride with Arden. Tonks will take your trunk and Sebastian can come with me.”

Esme was elated to ride with her idol. The trunk stayed just behind Tonks as she led it outside into the streets of Bristol. The Hogwarts Crest on the lid beautifully reflected the moonlight. She used her wand to place it in the harness hanging from her broom. Lupin started to put Sebastian’s carrier into the harness below his broom.

“I’m not sure he’s going to be okay with that.”

“It’s a straight shot. Less than an hour,” Lupin reasoned.

“Your point? He’s a cat. A very pretentious cat I might add.” The three aurors looked at her with blank expressions. “He’ll be screaming the entire way there.”

“He’ll be okay.” Arden placed her hand on Esme’s shoulder. Esme relaxed and gave in.

Remus carefully placed Sebastian’s carrier in the harness. Everyone mounted their brooms. The night was warm, but windy making the flight a little rough. Arden was amazing at controlling the broom. She landed it serenely and methodically in front of a row of houses not so different from the one Esme and her mother lived in.

“I forgot to get Dumbledore’s deluminator from Moody.” Lupin grumbled.

“It’s almost three. I’m sure there aren’t any muggles looking out the window.” Tonks justified.

“Plus, they’re the least of our worries at this point.” Arden maundered.

Esme and Tonks removed her trunk from the harness while Arden grabbed Sebastian and his carrier.

Lupin moved his head back and forth to ensure there was no one around. He leaned closer to Esme and whispered, “12 Grimmauld Place. Where would it be?”

Esme, confused at first, looked to the house numbers in front of her. She found they were labeled as 11 Grimmauld Place and 13 Grimmauld Place. She blinked and all of a sudden, houses eleven and thirteen parted and an identical—except for the dirt and grime—one appeared in the middle labeled 12 Grimmauld Place. The dark night was as silent as ever before. The muggles didn’t seem to notice the sudden movement.

Lupin swiftly walked to the front door, holding it open for Tonks and Esme to carry the trunk in and Arden to carry the large cat in. Lupin checked his surroundings before joining them and quietly closing the door behind him. The hallway was dim and empty. The house was silent. Arden sat Sebastian’s carrier down and opened it. He quickly darted out of the carrier and across the room.

“Let me show you to your room. I can imagine you’re just yearning to get to sleep,” Arden said in a hushed tone; her Southern American accent almost disappearing into a more plain American accent. “Hope you don’t mind sharing a room with Ron until Harry gets here.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Esme whispered following Arden upstairs. Arden placed her trunk and the now-deserted cat carrier in the hall outside the room. Why does Harry get to take my bed? Where am I going to sleep when he gets here? Esme was too tired to figure that out. She snuck into Ron’s room as best as she could—he was snoring lightly, but she didn’t mind as she was used to sharing a room with Sebastian. She didn’t bother to change and plopped down on the bed which had what seemed like a centimeter of dust garnered on top. She suppressed a cough. I thought they were cleaning all summer.

✶✶✶

After breakfast, Esme found Bill in the lounge going over some parchment.

“What’s that?” She asked hopeful to get some information from him. No one had explained why they were in a dingy old house in London.

“Jus’ some stuff for The Order.” He quickly rolled the parchment up and sat it in his lap.

“The Order?” Esme questioned.

“They haven’t explained everything to you?”

“Nope. Just arrived early this morning.” Esme sat on the couch diagonally from  Bill.

“The Order of the Phoenix: they’re a group of retentive witches and wizards fighting against You-Know-Who’s cause. They were active during the Wizarding War.”

“Who was in this group?”

“Well, Remus, Sirius and Arden, James and Lily Potter, The Longbottom’s, and—erm—your father and Gideon. Of course, there were others too, but their names are escaping me.”

Esme’s olive-green eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly; she was nearly the spitting image of her father, Fabian Prewett; she had a long, thin face accompanied by a long, protruding nose. “My—my father?”

“Yep.” Bill smiled proudly thinking of his uncle’s accomplishments.

“Is that why death eaters killed him?”

His smile quickly faded and he dolefully looked at his cousin. “Yeah.”

Esme looked to the floor. “And now you’re a member?”

Bill nodded realizing Esme wasn’t looking at him. “Er—yeah. Along with mum, dad, Charlie, Tonks, and a bunch more. Charlie’s staying in Romania trying to recruit witches and wizards.”

Esme looked at Bill again. “And Percy?”

He hardly winced at the mention of his name. “Don’t bring him up in front of mum and dad.”

“I know. Ron mentioned the promotion and his fight with Uncle Arthur in his last letter.”

“It was horrible. Mum hasn’t been in a good mood since. Percy doesn’t believe Harry saw You-Know-Who because Fudge doesn’t believe it. Dad tried talking sense into him, but it was no use.”

“That’a a shame. So, how do I join?”

“The Order?”

Esme nodded.

“You don’t. Mum won’t let you; you’re too young. Besides, we’ve got this handled.”

“Do you? You had to leave your job—one that you absolutely love—to join this Order. I want to help.”

“Es, you can’t help. Maybe when you’re of age, but hopefully by then this will all be over.”

Esme wanted to continue arguing but decided it was best to bite her tongue as she still had information to get from him. “So, Fleur Delacour, hm?” She smirked.

Bill was surprised Esme didn’t debate him more on joining the Order but ultimately didn’t want to question this refreshing turn of events. “And who told you about her?”

“Ron. He told me you’ve been giving her English lessons.”

“She just wants to improve at her English and I’m fluent, so what’s the big deal?” His cheeks were an almost unnoticeable shade of pink, but Esme noticed.

“Do you like her?”

“Of course I like her. She’s extremely kind, really smart too.” Bill was looking off into the distance, daydreaming of Fleur.

Esme started to further inquire about her, but a loud crack interrupted her thoughts and made her jump out of her seat. The twins appeared in front of the couch. Fred was holding Sebastian.

“You arseholes.” Esme’s voice quavered. Her heart was beating rapidly. “You apparated with my cat?”

“He was fine,” George said calmly.

“He rather enjoyed it actually,” Fred reasoned. “Jumped right into me arms.”

Esme’s blinks were slow as she was trying to comprehend what exactly went through Fred and George’s minds. “I’m going to take my cat now, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for a response and reached out for her traumatized tabby who gladly snuggled into her chest.

“So, what have you two been talking about?” George asked.

“Sod off.” Esme sat back down on the couch; Sebastian curled up in her lap and started purring.

“Woah, Esmie. That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” Fred smiled.

Esme playfully rolled her eyes at the two who sat on the couch on either side of her. “Congrats on passing your apparition test!”

“Thanks,” the twin boys sang in unison.

“Is it freeing to practice magic whenever you want?” Esme asked longingly.

“Not when mum yells at us for doing it.” Fred forced a laugh.

“Speaking of unbearable, how’s Margot?” George sneered.

“Don’t know. She’s been gone on a business trip the past week, s’posed to come home tomorrow.”

“We’ll see about that.” Bill laughed through his nose causing Esme to smile.

✶✶✶

The next couple of days were monotonous; this made Esme a tad anxious. She was almost joyed by Harry’s arrival as it was something that didn’t have to do with dusting every surface on every floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. Sebastian rapturously greeted Harry at dinner evoking a groan out of Esme.

Esme sat in the center of the table between Ron and Fred. Molly droned on and on about them all, especially Harry, being too young to be a part of the Order. She could tell Harry felt it was a load of rubbish as she did too.

Sebastian jumped into Harry’s lap, prompting Harry to shift to the left side of his seat to make room for the pudgy tabby. Sebastian sat in the empty space of the chair facing the table as if he were trying to join the conversations.

“He doesn’t need to be at the table.” Molly ordered.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled.

“What is he harming?” Esme questioned.

“We’re trying to eat here.” Molly’s tone was stern.

Sebastian seemed to be offended as he glared at Molly.

“He hasn’t seen Harry in a while. They missed each other.” Fred chimed in.

“Yes, well, we’ve all missed Harry, but he needs to get down.”

Harry carefully picked Sebastian up and placed him on the cold floor. Feeling defeated, he curled up underneath Harry’s chair.

Esme carried on with Ron and Arthur throughout dinner. The conversation in the kitchen was trifling and whimsical until Sirius told Harry it was okay to ask questions. Molly blew up causing Esme to jump slightly.

“He’s too young.”

Esme rolled her eyes as Molly always used the same argument. Sebastian didn’t even want to be a part of it; he ran off to disturb Crookshanks.

Molly started to give in and decided Harry could stay for a bit and learn a minimal amount of information about just what the Order and Lord Voldemort have been doing.

Arthur convinced Molly to let the twins stay and Ron convinced Molly to let him and Hermione stay with, “Harry will tell us anyway.”

“Fine. Ginny, Esme go to your rooms now.”

Esme knew she could do better than Ron. “I don’t have a room. Harry took it. Besides, I was stuck at my house this entire summer because you made me tell my mother about You-Know-Who, so the least you could do is let me stay.” Molly’s face was an unmistakable shade of red. “Let me just add that I spent my summer researching legilimency.”

“Fine. Ginny, bed now.”

Esme regretted staying for the conversation because they weren’t given any information the Extendable Ears didn’t already hear for them.

She went to Ron and Harry’s room to gather her belongings, but found that they were already neatly placed in the hall. She exhaled deeply and turned around to find Arden walking up the steps.

“I can make you a bed.” Arden offered.

“Really?” Esme asked hopefully.

“Yep. Come on.” Arden’s accent, though subtle, was especially discernible in the last two words. She led her downstairs to Ginny and Hermione’s room where Hermione was telling Ginny everything that occurred in the kitchen.

“I’m going to make Esme a bed in here, if that’s okay with y’all.”

“Of course it is,” Ginny said.

With a wave of her wand, Ginny’s bed turned into a bunk bed. The top bunk, with white sheets and a comforter perfectly made, was for Esme.

“Thank you.” Esme smiled.

“Anytime.” Arden returned the smile.

She left the three girls to converse until they heard the creak of the floorboards that meant Molly was coming to check on them. They all dove under their covers and didn’t make a peep until they heard her heading upstairs.

✶✶✶

“Esme, you’re going to help me wash the dishes tonight.” Molly ordered.

Esme looked to Fred and George with pleading eyes, but they laughed and then vanished with a loud crack. She groaned quietly so Molly wouldn’t hear.

Esme stayed silent with every plate she washed. Finally, Molly was concerned as Esme was usually a garrulous young witch.

“Have something on your mind?”

“Hm?” Esme’s mind had trailed off to random things, such as which Ravenclaws would make prefect, which books she would need for this year, who Dumbledore would have hired for Defense Against the Dark Arts which brought her back to Harry not being allowed in the Order of the Phoenix.

Molly repeated herself.

“Oh, um just thinking about things.”

“Such as?”

“Just Hogwarts and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Esme knew she was going to regret the next thing she said, but she couldn’t not confront her aunt. “Harry deserves to be a member of the Order of—”

“This is not up for discussion.” Molly almost dropped the rag she was holding to give Esme a flinty stare which was ignored. Molly began vehemently scrubbing the dining table.

“You-Know-Who does everything in his power to spite Harry. That’s all he wants: world domination and Harry dead. It’s inhumane to keep him in the dark about it.” Esme continued to scrub a bowl riddled with leftover food particles.

“Esme, I am warning you.” Molly nearly had steam coming from her ears.

“The ‘you’re too young’ excuse is a load of bollocks—”

“ESME JOANNA.” Molly had stopped cleaning altogether.

Esme didn’t flinch and continued, “—and you and I both know it. He’s the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts in our year, besides me of course.” She knew Harry exceeded her talents at the subject but couldn’t pass up the chance to rag on him.

Molly took a deep breath before speaking. “It doesn’t matter how good he is; I have a right to protect him.”

“You don’t have a right to control him and his every move. He’s not your chess piece. He’s not your son.” Esme put the sponge and the bowl into the sink and turned to her aunt.

“Well, I am the closest thing that poor boy has to a mother. I will not continue this conversation with you.”

“He has Arden.”

“Who didn’t take him in after they died.”

Esme rubbed her brow. “—and Sirius—”

“Who was gone for twelve years.”

“Locked away in Azkaban against his will, framed for thirteen murders. And Arden was told by your beloved Dumbledore that she wasn’t allowed to have him because she was a target.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point. He has both of them now. His parents named Sirius and Arden his godparents because they wanted them looking after him.”

“I’ve been looking after him for five years. I can’t stop now.”

“I’m not saying you have to stop caring for him. He just deserves to know what is happening. You can’t keep that from him.”

“He needs to be protected.”

“How is he to be protected when the Order isn’t around and he knows nothing?”

Molly didn’t have an answer for this and Esme knew she had struck a nerve.

“Enough. I’m done having this conversation.”

“Because you know I’m right. Harry needs to be in the know, so he can be safe.”

“Esme.”

“If you keep him isolated from all of this, not only will he resent you, but he won’t ever be able to handle You-Know-Who.”

“Go to bed.” Molly pointed toward the kitchen door. Esme stayed silent and headed for the door. “Why must you argue me on every little thing?” Molly lowered her voice as Esme was leaving.

A/N:

Sorry this took so long, but the wait is over. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!

-Ghost

TAGS:

@virgiill @yourfriendly-neighborhoodfuckup

#Draco Malfoy #dracomalfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fic #Draco Malfoy x OC #draco malfoy imagine #Fred and George #fred weasley #george weasley #The Weasley Family #malfoy #the Malfoy family #weasley #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #ginny weasley #Esme Prewett #esme joanna prewett #askesme #ghostwritings #AskGhost #varietywritings #variety writings #solace #Harry Potter #harry potter series #Harry Potter fic #hp #golden trio era #Order of the Phoenix

[jergilbrt]

rebekah’s rager:  jeremy goes snooping and gets caught by an old foe  (ft. nolan and theo)  //  @hcpelessdevotion @hxllxway @hellschimera

it wasn't that jeremy didn't trust rebekah mikaelson.  it was that he didn't trust any mikaelson, dead or alive.  and he especially didn't trust them when they were hosting some extravagant party in their absurdly fancy mansion.  so naturally he went, enough vervain on him and in his system to scare off dracula, and he took every opportunity he could find to snoop around.  jeremy was in the middle of investigating when he heard the door creak open.  well, shit.

"Oh, sorry. I uh, I got lost." Nolan stammered out once he realized he was definitely not supposed to be there. It was a wine cellar, he was pretty sure, and the dim lighting made it hard to make out who it was that was rummaging around down there. Whoever they were, they tensed when they heard the door, like they'd been caught in the act. Maybe they weren't supposed to be down here either? "What're you looking for?"

jeremy turned around, taking a couple steps towards the light to see who it was.  it was just the kid.  phew.  "what're you sorry for?"  he realized that he really probably should've been a little bit more cautious, but it was a wine cellar in a giant house.  who would come down here when there were probably eight different bedrooms to rifle through?  "just snooping.  there's probably wine down here older than beacons hills itself."

"I wouldn't count on that." Rebekah had heard the movement in the cellar, despite the bass booming upstairs. "I don't remember putting up a sign that said hunters please enter" She crossed her arms as she stood in the doorway.

"I don't know, you looked like you didn't want to be found," he replied to the man, stepping further into the room, the tension beginning to bleed from his shoulders when he realized he'd met him before. He was the guy from that cafe who liked his art - Jeremy, maybe?  Before he could say anything else, a shiver ran down his spine as he turned on his heels to face the intimidating-looking woman standing in the doorway. His eyes widened when she mentioned hunters all his tension returning and them some. Everything inside him told him to run, to find a way to use Jeremy as a distraction and get the hell out of there, but he couldn't get his body to cooperate.

Theo had been on his way to get another drink when he heard Nolan's voice and then Rebekah's, he heard her mention hunters and felt his heart clench. He moved down the stairs towards the wine cellar. He didn't want Nolan to panic, he strangely didn't think Rebekah would hurt the human, but Nolan didn't know that.

"well, yeah.  nobody wants to get caught snooping around."  before he could say anymore to try and get the kid off his back, he saw rebekah in the doorway.  immediately, he stepped in front of nolan.  jeremy barely knew the kid but he wasn't gonna let rebekah do anything to him.  "well, by that logic, there isn't a sign that says hunters aren't allowed to enter.  i got an invite just like everyone else here."

"Believe it or not, I'm not going to hurt you, Little Gilbert." She rolled her eyes, "I never had any bad blood with you - and I'm nothing like my brothers." If anything, she wanted to prove that she wasn't as bad as them. "It hurts me that you think I can't just throw a party without a trap-" she faked a pain in her heart, bringing her hand up to her chest with a little sigh. "How about we propose a truce?"

Theo knew there was no danger but he still was worried about Nolan, peeking around the corner he stepped into view. "Rebekah, did we bring the party down here?" He asked coyly as he moved towards Nolan.

She turned at the sound of Theo's voice. "Apparently so." Her tone was somewhat irritated as she turned back to the other two, "As long as there's no issues here, we can all go about our merry night, right?"

"let's not get too ahead of ourselves,"  he muttered under his breath.  nothing like her brothers?  yeah, okay.  sure.  "forgive me if history has led me to believe otherwise."  stepping closer to rebekah, he wanted to give nolan and theo a chance to get out in case things got ugly.  "you really expect me to believe you're gonna uphold a truce, rebekah?"

Nolan finally got ahold of himself enough to make a beeline for Theo wanting to stay on the opposite side of the chimera as the frankly terrifying woman. No one seemed to care or notice his presence - he supposed that was the good thing about being him, he was nothing worth noticing - and he quickly got behind Theo and waited for an opportunity to dart out the door to arise.

Theo grabbed Nolan's arm, squeezing it comfortingly before letting it go. He glanced at the other guy he'd met before and then at Rebekah. It seemed like the two knew each other. "Go upstairs, Nolan. I'll meet you up there."

"I'm nothing if not a woman of my word," She assured him, sincere in her voice. "How do I know you'll uphold a truce. Wasn't it your sister who quite literally stabbed me in the back once she got enough information out of me?" She was still a little bitter about that, to say the least.

jeremy addressed theo and nolan, though he kept his gaze on rebekah the entire time.  "go ahead, guys.  we're fine."  his eyes narrowed slightly, blood boiling underneath the surface.  "don't you fucking dare mention my sister." jer took a deep breath and cocked his head to the side.  "yeah, and then you ran her off the road and she became a vampire.  after your brother used her to become a hybrid and killed my aunt jenna.  so don't pretend like your family is innocent, rebekah."

"Maybe we put aside our differences and not bring up things in the past at a party. You guys can hash things out another time, it's not the time or place, Jeremy." (this one was theo xo)

"Stay out of it, Lightbulb Eyes...please." She didn't want to hurt Theo, but if she had to. "Please, we both know Elena turning into a vampire was the best thing that ever happened to her. She'd still be pining after Damon, stuck with Stefan if it wasn't for me."

Nolan didn’t waste time getting the hell out of there, concerned for Theo’s safety but knowing full well the chimera could take care of himself. He could heal quickly too, and that was something Nolan couldn’t say about himself. He headed up the stairs and ran until he was out of the house, slowing down as he got further from the mansion, turning back to stare up at its vastness.

"don't think for one second that i'm going to be grateful for anything you or your brothers did."  jer knew he couldn't stake rebekah at her own party, but damn if it wasn't a tempting offer.  "all you do is bring people pain and death and grief.  if elena hadn't gotten tangled up in your family, maybe she wouldn't be — "  he had to stop himself.  he couldn't say it.  if he said it, he'd break, and he wasn't about to show any sign of weakness in front of her.  jeremy clenched his jaw as he regained his composure.  "go to hell, rebekah."

"You think I don't know that? I've lived a thousand years of bringing people grief. Is it so hard to believe I just want a chance at some kind of normal life?" In her hot-headed moment, she'd forgotten about Elena's demise at the hands of Katherine Pierce's Hellfire. A moment of sadness flickered through her eyes, but she hid it as quick as it had come. She knew the pain of losing a sibling. "I'm sorry, Jeremy." This time she really was sincere. "It seems we do have one thing in common....both of our lives have been ruined by that vindictive little bitch."

"yes.  it is."  he replied quietly.  there was no such thing as normal.  not for them.  not once you'd been exposed to all of the bullshit that came with vampires and werewolves and everything else this shitty world had to offer.  jeremy could tell she meant it when she said she was sorry, but his anger hadn't subsided — it had just calmed.  "we both hate her.  that doesn't mean we're anything alike."

Theo didn't say a word, this was between them and he had to respect that. But he did move a little closer.

"All I'm saying is that we don't have to be at each other's throats." Rebekah retorted, holding her hands up. "Why can't we let bygones be bygones. Both sides have made mistakes, and both sides have paid the price. Hasn't enough blood been spilled already?"

did he trust her?  no.  did jeremy think for a second that rebekah believed what she was saying?  also no.  was he an idiot?  he liked to think not.  if she was offering peace, that certainly beat the alternative of her draining him of his blood right here in the middle of the wine cellar.  “fine.”

"Truce?" She held out her hand for him to shake, a hopeful smile on her face.

his eyes grazed toward theo for a split second.  if she planned to kill jeremy, at least there’d be a witness.  tentatively, he shook her hand.  “truce.”

"Now how about we go and enjoy the party?" (rebekah)

Theo nodded, nudging Rebekah. "I knew I wouldn't have to worry about you." He grinned, winking at her as he turned. "Lets go enjoy a fucking party." He murmured, turning and heading up the stairs.

Rebekah looked at Jeremy, stepping aside to let them both leave before her. "After you."

#j. gilbert / interactions. #trapped.minievent001 #event. / rebekah's rager #ft. rebekah #ft. nolan #ft. theo #transcripts. #idk if this is what we're doing but i'm Doing™ it

[accio-jamespotter]

if harry had been a metamorphmagus

inspired by this post

when harry was a baby his hair turned so many different colors that petunia evans looked at him with as much shock as disgust. as he grew older he began noticing when his appearance changed, and the curious boy he was, stole a mirror from petunia’s bathroom and hid it in the cupboard under the stairs that she wouldn’t dare step inside. he switched the light on late at night when the house was silent and he was sure vernon and petunia were fast asleep. holding out the mirror in front of him, he scrunched up his face in an attempt to make his hair change colors. nothing happened. he tried again and again and again, but the only thing he achieved was anger.

he dropped the handheld mirror onto his lap and sighed, pondering his difference from the dursleys. there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think about his parents—who they were and who he could’ve been.

he thought about dudley. he thought about the meager portions harry was given at mealtimes and the knobby knees with which he was so familiar, and he felt angry.

he willed himself to lift the mirror once again, determined to watch his messy black hair fade to any color at all, but when he looked into the mirror he saw that his hair had already changed. it was bright red in contrast with his eyes.

when hagrid came to collect harry and prepare him for his first year at hogwarts, harry was still wide-eyed with wonder.

did you ever make anything happen? anything you couldn’t explain when you were angry or scared?

harry thought about talking to the snake and his hair turning colors. he thought about that one time when aunt petunia cut his hair and harry was so upset that it grew back. and grew back. and kept growing back as many times as she cut it.

he didn’t say anything.

when harry potter arrived at hogwarts, heads turned and excited whispers became more audible.

people kept rushing up to him, some eager to speak to the boy who lived and others anxious to watch him alter his appearance at will.

“is it true? you really are a metamorphmagus?”

harry nodded but felt ashamed that he wasn’t confident in his abilities. he didn’t want to disappoint, however, so he scrunched up his face and tried to internally imitate a bodily response to feelings of anger. he opened his eyes after realizing that they had been closed and observed several open mouths as fascinated first years saw his hair turn red.

“that’s awesome!”

“do it again, harry!”

harry, overcome with pleasure to be praised for something he had been forced to wear hats to hide all his life, obeyed his fellow students wishes. he scrunched up his face again and this time, tried concentrating on his hair and letting a certain shade of blue fill him up inside. his bright red hair faded to purple before settling at a shade of dark blue.

when the sorting hat declared him a gryffindor, harry’s hair became the crimson shade of his house crest. his sorting was met with wild applause from the gryffindor table, and he sat down to join what would become his family.

in first year harry learned to control his metamorphmagic and was easily able to transform his appearance at will. there were still a few things he struggled with, like making himself appear much older than he was and preventing unconscious changes in hair color or facial appearance, but for the most part he was able to control his magic.

when harry wandered into the empty classroom that night, he had no idea he would encounter his parents. he had no hopes other than to escape the threat of being caught out of bed after hours and when he came face to face with the mirror that showed him family, he stared, stunned, before every unconsciously altered aspect of his appearance disappeared from his body and he was left staring at the family he had never known. they saw him as he was, and he saw them as he wished they would be: alive.

in second year there was no need to brew polyjuice potion in the abandoned bathroom because harry could simply transform himself into goyle and follow crabbe into the slytherin common room. the trio discovered much earlier that draco malfoy was not, in fact, the heir of slytherin.  

the school was split between believing harry to be good and believing him to be assisting a monster in entering the grounds.  “have there been any slytherin metamorphmagi?” people started wondering.  they became cautious and hesitant around him, which drove harry crazy.  

oliver wood was too busy worrying about the quidditch cup to care whether or not harry was the heir of slytherin.  in fact, he encouraged harry to use that to his advantage. “harry, just start speaking parseltongue when the other team’s seeker is near.  they’ll shoot off in the other direction allowing you to catch the snitch!”

he showed off his metamorphic abilities during mealtimes in an effort to make people laugh.  one day, late at night in the gryffindor common room, harry transformed into snape and was putting on a show for his fellow classmates, who were cackling with laughter.  professor mcgonagall awoke from the noise and made her way up to the fat lady and through the portrait hole.  “what on earth is going on here?” she shouted, and for a split second she looked at professor snape and was in awe of his presence in the common room, but quickly she made the connection and sighed.  “harry, come with me.” harry, disguised as snape, froze and let the metamorphization fall away from his body.  

“yes, professor mcgonagall,” he said, and looked back at the gryffindors before climbing out through the portrait hole and to mcgonagall’s office.  

“i know you’re not the heir of slytherin, harry,” she began.

“—but they don’t!” harry interrupted, and then fell silent.

“let me speak. i know you’re not the heir of slytherin, and i know it’s hard to watch your peers believe that you are.  you’re doing a good job reminding them of who you are, but i can’t let you walk around making fun of professor snape.  you know that, harry,” she said, and harry nodded.

“how about professor lockhart then?” harry inquired, and mcgonagall suppressed a laugh.

“no, not even him.”

harry nodded, sighed, and stood up to leave the office, but as he was leaving he quickly metamorphized into lockhart and turned back to mcgonagall. “would you like an autograph before i go? who am i kidding, of course you do! minerva, you’re practically my biggest fan!”

“that’s not saying much, then, gilderoy,” she smiled.  “get out of here, harry.”

harry did.

in third year, harry met professor r.j. lupin on the hogwarts express. his robes were ragged and his hair turning grey, but he saved harry from the dementors.  

when harry went wondering the corridors at night, marauders map in hand, he noticed snape coming his direction and transformed into the first person he thought of: lupin. harry, disguised as lupin, noticed the way snape’s jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his wand.  

“what are you doing around here late at night? finding a good spot to howl at the moon, i suppose?”

“severus!” the real professor lupin called out from behind them. harry panicked, but lupin had already seen him. “and harry, i assume.” harry let the alterations fall from his face and he looked down at his feet. snape was aghast.

“potter, you’re in big trouble now,” he sneered, but lupin came forward and put his hand on harry’s shoulder.  

“let me take care of it, severus.  after all, it was me that he metamorphized into, wasn’t it?” lupin sounded amused and snape’s expression was priceless. 

harry was pulled into the defense against the dark arts classroom and he apologized profusely and told lupin what appeared on the map.  

nothing changed, though.

peter pettigrew escaped and left sirius in hiding.  lupin retired and harry wondered why none of his efforts were enough to truly fix things.

in fourth year, harry’s name was thrown out of the goblet of fire and his face turned bright red without the help of his metamorphmagic.

when ron was struggling to ask a girl to the yule ball, harry turned himself into fleur delacour so ron could practice.

when the weasleys showed up for the third task harry was happily surprised. mrs weasley hugged him and harry’s hair turned the exact shade of ginger hair that was so known for existing in their family. he felt like family.

in the graveyard, the jet of red light coming from harry’s wand that should’ve been reflected in his eyes only made them glow greener. after cedric’s death, harry found himself thinking about it more than he intended. thoughts swarmed his mind as he dreamed of a world in which cedric survived instead of himself. he wished it was reality. harry turned a streak in his hair yellow out of respect, which combined with his black hair to make the hufflepuff colors.

in fifth year, harry met tonks. she was wild and accomplished and young and funny and she was a metamorphmagus, like him. she showed harry how to express himself through metamorphmagic and managed to make him laugh even when he felt nothing but anger inside.

during christmas at grimmauld place, harry and tonks worked with fred and george to plan ultimate pranks to play on the rest of the guests and family. harry, always a supporter of the mischief the weasley twins created, and tonks, eager to help with pranks, were perfect for helping fred and george execute their ideas. they frequently pranked sirius until he convinced them to let him help behind the scenes.

mad-eye moody gave a photograph of the original order of the phoenix to harry, who felt upset upon seeing how many people among his parents had died trying to fight to live. he took it though, and spent the night staring at his parents and wondering what they would think of him and how different they would look in person.

harry found himself in the bathroom with the door closed but not shut fully, staring in the mirror at himself. he looked at the image of his father, closed his eyes, and made the changes necessary to morph into not the boy who resembled his father but the boy who was his father.

his eyes turned hazel like the ones in the photograph, and he looked intently into them trying to see the man he had never known.

but what good is it to try to see someone you don’t remember seeing?

suddenly the door was pushed open and sirius looked up at—at james. he stood in shock watching as james potter’s hazel eyes looked solemnly at sirius’ grey ones, now silver with the glaze of tears. harry, upon realizing why sirius must have been staring at him with tears in his eyes and a mouth that stood open in shock, shook his head and let the alterations fall from his face. his eyes returned to their brilliant green and his face softened to resemble lily’s.

“i’m sorry,” he said sadly, “i didn’t mean to alarm you.”

sirius was quiet for a moment before collecting his solemnity and continuing. “harry! harry, it’s okay. it’s perfectly natural,” he spoke as if trying to regain control of his emotions, and harry looked back at the mirror, wishing his father was next to him. he could tell that sirius wished his father was there, too. for a while they just stood in silence.

“i loved your parents dearly, you know,” sirius looked at harry’s reflection in the mirror. “not a day goes by that i don’t miss your dad. it is overwhelmingly unfair that i got to spend so much time with james and lily and you so little.”

harry returned sirius’ gaze through the mirror, and they stared at each other’s reflections, both searching for solace in the mirror; both searching for james in the other.

as the year went on, harry continued to progressively lose many of his metamorphic powers, and he felt lost inside his own body. when arthur weasley was attacked by a snake, harry confided in sirius.

“sirius,” he began, his voice slightly shaky, “what if i—what if i unknowingly metamorphized into the snake? what if i’m the reason mr weasley is in st mungo’s?”

“harry, harry—that’s not how that works. metamorphmagi can only transform into other humans, not animals or other creatures, you know that. you’re going to drive yourself insane thinking that this was, in any way, your fault. you saved arthur, but the connection between you and voldemort is too dangerous, so you must never do it again.”

“this connection that exists between voldemort and i, does it mean that i’m like him? does it mean that maybe, for a while, our minds kind of... merged, and we became one?”

“no, of course not! perhaps connection was the wrong word. it’s more like a passageway, that allows you to see into his mind on occasion.” sirius places his hands on harry’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “believe me, harry, when i say that you are in no way like voldemort.”

harry tried to believe him.

in the department of mysteries, harry easily shifted his features into antonin dolohov’s to slip past the death eaters without notice, but they found his friends and harry was forced to come forward as himself. when the order arrived, the situation became much more chaotic, and harry turned to dolohov again as to make his fight easier. he deflected curses that were aimed at his friends and watched as the curse he couldn’t shield led sirius to fall through the veil. he watched as sirius’ eyes struggled to find a familiar face and passed by harry’s disguised body twice before accepting the pain and closing his eyes. harry ran toward him, his metamorphmagic stripped from him with every step, and would’ve followed his godfather had remus not held him back.

in sixth year, tonks found harry under the invisibility cloak on the train and they walked together for a little while. tonks was not her usual self. she was not glowing anymore and her hair was now brown with a subtle purple rinse. harry, who had plenty of experience with the correlation between emotional distress and metamorphic abilities, knew what tonks’ temporary loss of ability meant, and he worried for her.

“hogwarts isn’t going to be the same this year, is it? now that he’s back?”

tonks shook her head, “no, it won’t be. some parents might not even let their kids go to school, which is silly considering there’s no place safer than hogwarts during these times.”

harry stopped walking, and tonks stopped too and looked back at him, finally making eye contact. “you’ll be all right, won’t you tonks?”

“yeah, i will be,” she said, but didn’t tell him anything else—she simply turned to harry and spoke:

“listen, harry. metamorphmagi are born, not made,” she began, and harry wondered why she was telling him this, because it wasn’t the first time he was hearing it. “i’m telling you this because you’re the same way. the boy who lived was born—prophecized to be the chosen one, or maybe not—but either way, the boy who lived was one year old when his legacy became attached to his story—a story that would follow him relentlessly no matter where he went. but you, harry, you are made, not born. you are made from the loss of your parents and the fame you didn’t ask for and the circumstances you were placed under in which anyone else would fall, but you rose. you took your situation and decided to be kind as well as brave, thoughtful as well as heroic. the boy who lived is a legacy, but you are a hero. remember that.”

she then cast her wolf patronus and they parted ways.

in seventh year, harry simply metamorphized into dudley dursley and left the house with two order members polyjuiced to look like petunia and vernon. there were no seven potters, and there was no death. george didn’t even lose an ear. everyone arrived safely at their intended destination.

when harry, ron, and hermione went hunting for horcruxes, the outcome was the same.  they were often successful, but it was difficult work and the power of the horcrux around harry’s neck drained him of his metamorphic abilities. the stress he was under made him unable to transform like he used to be able to, so when the trio was caught by snatchers they were still brought to malfoy manor and with the triumphant cries of those who had finally captured the boy who lived. 

they still went back to hogwarts to find the lost diadem, and were present during the battle of hogwarts.  

harry came out of the war feeling like he lost more than he gained. he had watched tonks and remus reach each other after searching for so long and then in the span of a few hours, he watched as everything they built fell apart. he kneeled next to tonks in the room of requirement, her eyes closed but her mouth slightly open like she was about to say something... harry kept waiting for the familiar half smile and her favorite greeting of “wotcher” to fall from her lips, yet he knew she would never speak. her hair was no longer the shade of bubblegum pink he had come to recognize as comfort, but the brown that told him something he had never known: when a metamorphmagus dies, their features return to their original state. he wished he didn’t know the answer anymore. he wished he didn’t have to look at her and know. but he remembered what tonks told him: the boy who lived is a legacy, but you are a hero.

he didn’t feel much like a hero surrounded by the casualties of the war he felt he had caused.

then he thought about it and realized what she said. she didn’t just say he was a hero, she said he made himself into what he was. he was born the boy who lived, but he became the boy who loved, and in order to honor the people he loved and make the world better for those who lived, he began his path to the forbidden forest in which he would meet death at last.

he felt the same curse hit him that did when he was one year old but this time it felt different. it knocked him off his feet and sent him into what at first glance he deemed the afterlife, but it was cleaner and emptier and brighter, and didn’t feel like he thought an afterlife ought to feel, so when he had the choice to board the train on, the decision came naturally to him. he died for his people and now he wanted to live for them—live with them.

years after the war was over harry could be found living in a nice house with a small boy by the name of teddy lupin. he had a million different shades of color in his hair because the only thing that made his godson happier than watching his own hair change colors was the two of them changing their appearances together. harry couldn’t help but smile.

#hi this is really long and kinda shitty #but i hope you like it #harry potter #metamorphmagus #nymphadora tonks #tonks #harry potter au #hp

[lazyfox411]

Spiderman: Afraid of Water (ft. Irondad)

im back from the dead yall with a fic i promised @spiderling-the-meme​ a long time ago and never ended up finishing until now. 

Length: 1904 words (a short boi)

Prompt: i honestly dont even remember what the actual prompt was my dude i just know you asked for peter being afraid of water after his experience of being dumped in a lake by the vulture and tony accidentally triggering that fear while theyre on vacation with irondad and spiderson feels so….thats basically what this is lol

Peter used to enjoy long showers. A relaxing flow of warm water, clouds of steam, and the fresh scent of soaps and shampoos. It was all enjoyable. Key word being was.

               Now, stepping under that warm stream meant reliving. This water was warm, but not all water was warm. This water didn’t surround him like a dark wall of nothingness, but some water had. He could still breath under the shower water, didn’t sink into what seemed like an endless abyss, but that wasn’t true for all water.

               Being in the water meant reliving. Reliving the night he’d been dumped in a lake and left to die, the glow of the Vulture’s eyes still refracting through the ripples. He hadn’t given it a second thought at first, but then he’d notice hid heart rate going up, the hairs on his arms raising, his breath getting short. He’d pinned it on the spidey-senses, some sort of danger near by, only he couldn’t seem to find anything wrong. It only dawned on him when he looked at all the places it reoccurred: the beach, the rain, the shower. He was afraid of the water.

               So now, Peter took shorter showers. Just to get clean, not to relax. When Aunt May offered to take him to the beach, or the pool, he politely passed. He didn’t go out in the rain unless he had to, and never without an umbrella. And no one questioned it.

               Today there were no clouds looming over the city, so Peter decide he would be safe without an umbrella. If anything, it would be snowing today; with winter temperatures blowing in earlier than usual.

               Peter stared out the window whenever he could at school that day, not to watch the weather, but rather to avoid watching the whiteboard at the front of the class. School seemed so boring now that he was Spiderman, but he had promised Aunt May and Mr. Stark that grades would come first. He might have had his fingers crossed when the subject of precalculus came up.

               “Mr. Parker,” droned the precal teacher, Mrs. Traff, a middle-aged woman with wrinkled hands and massive red glasses, “since you’re not paying attention, I can only assume you already know the material?” Her voice didn’t waver, but her sharp eyes pierced through him.

               “Absolutely,” Peter lied, hoping his voice didn’t squeak.

               “Then perhaps you’d like to provide an answer for question number two?”

               Peter nodded, slowly, as if buying time would help him in the slightest. He saw Ned waving at him from the corner of his eye, mouthing something that looked like ‘five’.

               “Five,” he answered.

               A collective wave of muffled laughter passed over the other students. Peter’s face heated.

               “Five?” Mrs. Traff repeated incredulously. “Mr. Parker, you are telling me that you believe there are currently five states in our country?”

               No one bothered to hide their laughs this time. Where just a moment ago he was beet red, Peter knew now he looked like a sheet. He looked around the room, only really seeing it now. “This…this isn’t precalculus,” he said stupidly. He was in a history room. Mrs. Traff was his history teacher. Ned was trying to say ‘fifty’.

               Fridays usually carried good vibes, but the day did not get any better after that. Between taunts of ‘Penis Parker’, Ned accidentally blurting that Peter still had a nightlight in his room (really though, Peter had to wonder, what was so wrong with that?), and a freezing cold walk home, Peter was downright miserable upon returning home.

               “What’s the matter, Spider-man?” May ruffled his hair.

               Peter liked when she called him that. When it came from May, it wasn’t a superhero name. It was just a nickname, like squirt or sport, holding only love and affection, and not the weight of the fate of the city. May was supporting him. After laying some ground rules—a lot of ground rules—and a lot of yelling at Mr. Stark, May was supporting him as Spider-man.

               “I’m okay, Aunt May,” Peter said.

               May tsked and smoothed his hair back down. “I know what’ll cheer you up.”

               Peter raised an eyebrow.

               “Tony Stark called today, asking for you.”

               “Me?” Peter asked, like she would be referring to anyone else. “Like, me, as in Peter Parker? Personally?”

               “Yup,” May said, popping the ‘p’.

               “What did he want?”

               “He asked if you’d like to accompany him to an expo this weekend. In Miami.”

               Peter’s eyes widened to saucers. From what he’d seen in the media, Mr. Stark’s expos were nothing short of amazing. A whole variety of guests, from college students sporting backpacks and sweaters to millionaires in extravagant suits sipping fancy drinks, a big inspirational speech from Mr. Stark, and all the newest ground-breaking technology that SI was funding.

               “I can go?” Peter asked.

               May pretended to think about it. “I suppose. If you promise to be good. No taking on supervillains. Or staying up past bedtime.”

               Peter was already bounding to his room to start packing. “I’ll be good, Aunt May, promise! I’ll be so good! The best!”

               May chuckled. “You already are, Spider-man.”

A sleek black car pulled up outside Peter’s apartment early the next morning. He couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was one of Mr. Stark’s cars.

               A quick goodbye to May later, Peter was getting in the car. Part of him had been expecting Happy to jump out and open the door for him, but the window rolled down and over the purr of the engine and blaring AC/DC came Mr. Stark’s voice from the driver’s seat, “Come on, kid, we can’t afford to be late.”

               “Happy isn’t taking us?” Peter asked. He’d never admit it, and he knew Happy wouldn’t either, but he was pretty sure they were actually getting along really well.

               Tony smiled, a different kind of smile, like he wasn’t quite sure of himself. “I figured we could go it just the two of us,” he said. “If that’s okay.”

               “Yeah,” Peter grinned. “That’s cool.”

               It was really cool. Mr. Stark had sort of become like a father to Peter. A rich, famous, awkward, bad-at-feelings, superhero father, but a father nonetheless. And if Tony wanted to spend time with Peter? Maybe Peter had become like a son.

               The thought made him glow.

               They talked about Peter’s school, and Miami, and how great it would be to escape the ever-dropping temperatures, and listened to music too loud and bought ice cream and got a parking ticket (“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark I’ll pay for it I swear!” “Kid. Seriously?”), and while it wasn’t a regular road trip, Peter didn’t think he’d ever had a better one.

               Tony handed the car over to the hotel valet and their luggage to the bellhop. Peter had never been in a fancy hotel before. He wondered if they were all like this, or if he was just getting special treatment because he was with Tony Stark. Either way, it was pretty cool.

               “Expo isn’t until tomorrow,” Tony explained while Peter gawked at the luxurious sweet they would be staying in, “so tonight’s for doing whatever you want, kiddo. I mean…Pete. Peter.”

               “Cool,” Peter said absentmindedly. He didn’t notice Tony’s little slip; he was too enraptured with exploring the bathroom he was pretty sure was bigger than his entire apartment. “I mean, uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, “cool.”

               “I think there’s an arcade downstairs,” Tony suggests. “Or we could go find the pool.”

               Peter has remembered to pick his jaw up off the floor now, but is still staring, wide-eyed, at the art pieces that adorn the walls of the hotel room, and not really hearing a thing that’s being said.

               “That sounds good,” Peter says, still distracted.

               He only realizes what he’s agreed to once he’s standing on the small tiles of the pool’s edge, clad in a pair of swim trunks May must have packed in his bag, and being suffocated by the strong scent of chlorine.

               They’re the only people here, and Tony has already dived into the water, and he looks very happy, instead of being terrified and looking for the nearest exit like one other particular person in the room.

               “Come on, Pete!” he calls. “The water is nice!”

               Peter’s throat tightens. “Um, I- uh,” he stammers, trying to think up some sort of excuse, but Mr. Stark is waiting for him, eyes twinkling and water dripping from his dark hair, and Peter doesn’t want to disappoint him so he makes his way forward on shaking legs.

               He crouches by the very edge of the pool, despite the thousand alarms going off in his head, and Tony swims over to him.

               “Come on,” Tony says again, reaching out for Peter’s arm. Peter freezes when water droplets make contact with his bare skin.

               Tony, still smiling, unaware of how close to hyperventilating Peter is, takes a gentle hold of his arm, and tugs. It’s meant to be gentle, an attempt to coax him, and it is, really, except that Peter isn’t very focused right now and it’s enough to send him over the ledge into the water.

               The temperature is uneven, a swirl of cold and warm, separate, but still mixed, and the water is wet and it’s everywhere and it’s heavy, why is does it feel heavy, and why is there no air, why can’t he breathe, he’s thrashing, sinking, why won’t his body swim, the breath leaves him in a stream of bubbles, where’s the air, he can’t breathe—

               A strong pair of hands pulls him back up to the surface.

               “Mr. Stark,” Peter manages between coughing up water and sucking in air, “I’m sorry, I—”

               “It’s okay,” Tony says, and in true Tony Stark fashion starts rambling, “it’s okay, Pete, just breathe. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have pulled you into the water like that, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you couldn’t swim—”

               “No,” Peter interrupts, “it’s not that. It’s not that, it’s…ever since that one time, with the Vulture, he dropped me into that lake, and I thought I was gonna die, Mr. Stark, and I would have if you didn’t come and save me, and ever since then, the water just…scares me.”

               And just like that, Tony is scooping him up like he’s a little kid, and carrying him out of the pool room. He gives Peter a towel to dry off, and looks at him, with his hands on Peter’s shoulders.

               “How come you never told me?” Tony asks.

               Peter can breathe better now that he’s away from the water, and he is silently glad Tony knew what he needed to make him feel better. He’s not glad about the guilty look that paint’s Mr. Stark’s face, Mr. Stark isn’t—Tony isn’t supposed to like that.

               Peter shrugs. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Stark. I guess it just never really came up.”

               “Will you tell me next time? If there’s ever something bothering you, I want to help.”

               A nod.

               “Well,” Tony says, straightening and moving to stand, “that’s certainly enough swimming for tonight. Or forever. What do you say we go back up to the room and watch a movie instead? I think we can probably pay-per-view Star Wars or something.”

               “That sounds great,” Peter grins. He means it this time.

#irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #iron man #spiderman #hurt/comfort #angst #kinda i guess lol #references to drowning #aunt may #prompt fill #can yall let me know if theres any tags you think i should add?? #thanks!!! #also lmk if yall see any glaring errors lol im tired and my proofreading skills want me to sleep #also I apologize if it formatted weird lol idk tumblr is weird

[elejah-wonderland]

Where Did Your Heart Go?/2

Fanfiction

Part 2 of 3

Elijah Mikaelson x Elena Gilbert

AU - the Originals never came to Mystic Falls. Elena met Elijah, seven years before in Mexico. Though they both fell in love, he abruptly breaks up with her and leaves. Years later she tries to find him as she needs the Original vampire because of …. read and find out. 

a/n: It is a little short story. Thanks so much for reading. xoxo

tags @rissyrapp20 @dendrite-lover @cassienoble2000 @captainshurley @elejahforever @hides2000

______

Elijah walked to Elena, stunned to see her standing on the beach.                  

"Elena"- he said again as if she was an apparition feeling his heart jump up in his throat.

"Elijah"- Elena said again as he  now stood a few inches away from her. She looked at him with the same loving sparkle like they were never apart, like someone had turned back time and they were on the same beach seven years ago,                

when he would wrap her up in his soaking wet arms, pick her up and she would laugh and scream that he would make her dress wet, but she would be cling onto him nevertheless, and he would smiled as he laid her on the warm sand and look her deep in the eyes as she tangled her arms around his neck not caring about anything but his lips on hers next. 

The dream now burst like a bubble, pierced with a sharpest of daggers, and as the reality of the moment waltzed back in, gathering himself from the aftershock of seeing her again, he said faintly-

"Is it you?"

"Yes. It's me. Hello. Long time -ahm"- Elena said now very composed. She gave him a serious but still quite mellow look-"it took me some time to find you."

"Find me?" - Elijah looked at her perplexed.

"Yeah- this is all weird-  after everything- a bit mind blowing- but - huh- right- I know what you are- I know everything now"

 Elena now felt like her own heart was going to jump out of her chest, and tried her  damndest to keep it cool. After so many years, after all that had happened between them and the way he had abruptly finished their relationship, his presence still had a profound effect on her.

"You know- that I’m -"- Elijah started and Elena cut in,  finishing the sentence-

"A vampire? Yes, Elijah. I found out - a month ago. And that you are not just an ordinary one. Not like the rest of them."

Elijah made a little sigh, taking the towel, twisting it in his hand. He was quiet for a moment and  then said-"No, I am not like the rest of them."

Flashback A month earlier, Mystic Falls

"Who is Elijah?"- Stefan asked Elena, who was now driving like a crazy person back into town.

"He was this guy- huh"- Elena drew a deep breath continuing-"ok-  ahm-seven years ago I went to Mexico to stay with my aunt Jenna, who was doing research on the Aztec connection with Mystic Falls for the Historical Society, and we rented a house for the summer. And- to cut it short- he and I - we had a thing- more than just a thing."

"He is the one you can't forget"- Stefan said.

"What- oh, Caroline told you?"- Elena now looked at Stefan.

"Yeah, she did. I wanted to know who was the guy, who made all other guys look bad. And why had no chance with you."

"Read the diary."- Elena now said to her friend-"well, it turns out he is not just a guy. It's the chapter- The Original Vampire"

Stefan now found the chapter and read all Elena's ancestor wrote about Elijah.

"His blood could cure Caroline and Damon?!"- Stefan now said as he read this chapter. 

"Yeah!!"- Elena now exclaimed as she glanced for a second at her friend-"we have to find him!!!"

They both soon jumped out of the car as they got to Bonnie Bennett’s house.

Sometime later, Elena was packing to leave for New York.

"How did you not know that he was a vampire?"- Bonnie questioned her friend.

"I don't know. He was not showing anything like- he ate all the food like we did, and his body temperature was normal. Like human."- Elena explained.

"Well, maybe because he is not like the others."- Bonnie continued-"Still can't believe it was him- how are you going to- you know, when you see him- he -"

"I am over him. I just need him to save my friends. Tell me what other leads you have."- Elena said to her best friend as she sat down for a second.

"Right. Ok- my dad said that Freya Mikaelson worked with him on the NYU - let's just hope this is the Freya Mikaelson we need."

Now Elena told Elijah how she had found him and the reason behind the trip to Mexico.

"I need your blood to save them."- Elena said straight out.

"You have friends who are vampires?!"- Elijah said somewhat surprised.

"Yes."- Elena replied shortly-"Can you help us?"

"Us?"- Elijah muttered.

Stefan now appeared and Elena, gesturing to the vampire now introduced him to Elijah adding-

"His brother is dying, as is my friend."

“All right. I will help you.”- Elijah said as he put his T-shirt on.

 There is nothing in this world he could ever refuse her, even though Elena would beg to differ. He took his love away. And her eyes now shoot exactly that at the Original as they set once again on him. He could see all the hurt that he had caused, in her eyes, that she hid behind the glistening brown eyes of hers.  Elena kept her calm, and deep inside wondered how she did not fall apart, right there in front of him, although both of her heart and soul has been cut in pieces after he had left her that evening and walked away like she had never mattered to him at all. 

Flashback

A few days earlier in New Orleans- in the Mikaelson house

"Are you Freya Mikaelson?"- Elena asked the woman who now came to meet her in the lounge of the Grand house.

"I am."- Freya said. It was not unusual for people to come and ask for Freya's help as a witch and she now asked how she could help her.

"I am Elena Gilbert"- the brunette introduced herself and before she could continue Freya's eyes leapt up with great interest. The witch had heard about Elena, as Elijah had told her about meeting this woman in Mexico.

"You're looking for Elijah?"

"Yes. How did you- oh- he told you about- us?"- Elena said.

"Yes. He did."- Freya said and then invited the brunette to a neighbouring room where they could talk undisturbed. Elena had told the witch the reason she needed the Original vampire.

"He cannot forgive himself for having left you the way he did."- Freya said-"and - I know you are hurt-"

"I don't like to talk about it"- Elena said-"I would never come- if my friends didn't need help. And for that I will swallow the most bitter pill ever. To save them. Please- I just need his address."

"He does not have a phone. He writes me letters."- Freya said-"Here is the address."

And the address was very well known to Elena, who gulped a bit as she put it in her bag. She thanked the witch politely and left the place, meeting Stefan outside of the house.

Stefan watched as Elena and Elijah exchanged one more look that was obviously something connecting to their past. Elena then moved her head to Stefan and stepping towards the vampire, she took his hand, making out they were more than just friends.

Elijah, making a mental sight now aske were they staying.

As Stefan replied, both then left as Elena slipped a sincere thank you to the Original.

Elijah watched them walk away and didn't move until they were out of his site. Then he picked up his shoes from the ground, his mind turning back to his and Elena’s exchanging looks- his emotions burning him like the flames of living Hell. 

In the little hotel, Elena went straight to her room and as she got in, she slumped down on the bed trying to deal with all the encounter brought back. 

Respectively, having showered, Elijah, sat down on the terrace of the house he had been living at, opening a bottle of Tequila, and as he took a long swag of the drink, his mind now played the past back like a movie.

Flashback Seven years ago, Mexico

Elijah walked to the bar ordering a Tequila. As the bartender poured him the drink, his looked around the place and like enchanted his eyes got glued to a woman that had just walked in who was looking for someone, but as she realized that someone was not there. As she walked to the bar, she asked the bartender-

"Has Jenna been? Her cell is out."

"Yes. She said that you should wait for her. She's gone with Maria."- the bartender replied-"what do you want to drink?"

"T'n'T"- Elena said now catching Elijah's look, who was still gazing at her like compelled.

"What is it? Do I still have paint on my face?"

"No. I am sorry. I am so rude. I just- I wasn't - I didn't want to stare like that. I'm Elijah. Hello."

"Elena."- she said-"Hello. Oh, I remember you now. I saw you with Diego. You bought his painting."

"Yes. You saw me?"

"My aunt Jenna is friends with Diego's sister Maria. I saw you get the painting and taking it with you. We were in the garden. You were on your way out."- Elena explained.

"Right. Yes, I like his work. I am always looking for something that is out of the ordinary. Diego is going to make it big."- Elijah then said.

"Oh, you are an art dealer?"

"No. I'm a lawyer. On holiday."- Elijah said somewhat clumsily.

"Me, too. I mean, I am on vacation. Not a lawyer. A history major at the University of Virginia. Ok. Sorry to go on and on."- Elena sipped now a bit of her drink.

"You're not."- Elijah said. 

And from that moment on, it was like they both entered a dream. Elijah let himself get lost in her, even though his mind was telling him he should stay away that very night. But his heart ruled everything out. 

His witch friend, who was with him on a mission to find an ancient artefact, noticed the change in him as he returned to the place he had rented out. He had abandoned his vampiric side completely. Being this ancient vampire, he had the ability to switch and control the demon inside him.

"This will not turn out good."- the witch muttered one night as Elijah went out to meet Elena, but she knew she could not really interfere, so she let it be. 

And as the witch said, demons and darkness were not far behind. As it was with the Mikaelson family, they never were.

As he returned to the place a night before he was going to break Elena's heart, and consequently his own, the witch informed him that the De Martel demon had visited her. 

"He will use the woman as levearage. Even kill her if they see fit. You know what he is like. We have to leave!"

Elijah looked at the witch with somber eyes, not saying a word. She continued-

"I know that you wish you were not what you are. You had your dream, now return to reality."

Elijah knew that the witch was right. And he knew that he had to be cruel to be kind. He could not risk Elena being hurt by the De Martels and drag her into his family's darkness. 

In her room now, Elena got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom and washed her face. Her heart was not giving her any rest. No matter how much she thought she was handling it, her heart pulled her to the Original.

She needed a drink badly and now went to the neighbouring bar. There, as if foul magic was following her a song by Playa Limbo- El Tiempo De Ti, was now playing that brought even more memories back -  She often played it after she returned from Mexico. Crying, thinking of him kissing her and loving her, making her feel extraordinarily special. How could someone be so wonderful and sweet and then take everything away like it was nothing.                          

Elijah now walked in the bar himself. And Elena looked at him getting up, wanting to leave.

"Please, don't go. I know that I have hurt you tremendously, but I need to explain."

"You don't have to. It must have been vampire business. Huh- and I get it. What I don't get is - why could you not tell me? What did you think I would have  done? Scream? Get away from you? I meant so very little to you, actually, otherwise you would have told me?"

"No- you meant everything."- Elijah said.

"No. I couldn't have. Everything was a lie- it actually was a lie. I don't even know who you are- not really."

"I am - what I am- half man- half demon"- Elijah said-"it was all true. My feelings were true.They still are."

"Your feelings? What feelings? You said you didn't believe in love. Your words. You looked me in the eyes and you said that you-"- Elena now shook her head-"I don't know why I am even going there- can we leave? I spoke to my friend, who is a witch, that things are not good. She can't keep them spelled much longer."

"I understand. We can leave immediately. Where is you friend or - boyfriend?"- Elijah now asked. 

“He is not- I will call him and tell him that we are ready to leave."- Elena now took her phone and pressed the speedial. 

He stepped away waiting for her to finish the conversation, not being able to take his eyes off of her like once before so long ago. Seven years for a vampire was not a long time, but for a human it could be a little life time. Elena was the same woman, with the same warm chocolate eyes full of life, but he could also see beneath that she was changed nevertheless. By the way she spoke to him and the spark in those divine eyes of hers, she still harboured feelings for him. They didn't completely die away - and his heart now felt like that there was still a possibility that she might consider his plea to let consider him.

On the plane, an hour later, Elena played the song from the Mexican band- closing her eyes- trying to fall asleep, but her mind wondered to Elijah’s kisses so many years ago and the night the made love for the first time. And how dearly they talked to one another about future dreams.

 Elijah was doing exactly the same, his heart now hoped for a miracle.            

#Elijah Mikaelson #ElenaxElijah #Elena Gilbert #Elejah #tvd fanfiction #fanfiction #alternative universe

[fallen029]

About Life.15: Coda

Previous Chapter

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"You put them up here?"

"Uh-huh." The three-year-old nodded her tilted back head, staring at the wall with admiration and glee. Her father, who stood beside her, just stared curiously at it. "Aunt Lisanna helps."

They were standing together, in the little girl's bedroom, staring at the wall beside her little bookshelf. On it was taped the usual array of drawings a child her age might find worthy of being kept, but among them were two things that stood out. Postcards, each depicting a different cityscape, now adorned the wall as well. On the back, the only thing written on each was the man beside her's signature, but it was just as well.

She couldn't read yet anyways.

But pictures? She sure could look at pictures.

"It's so pretty," she remarked with a giggle one day when her mother was surprised to find it among their typical mail. Mira's eyes widened, when upon flipping over the postcard, she saw his signature there and only swallowed some, heavily even, before slowly passing it off to her daughter who spent a long time gazing at it. Like, nearly a whole minute.

"It's from Laxus," Mirajane whispered softly as her daughter only mewled over the spectacle. "For you. I guess."

"Wow!" She was enthralled immediately.

"It's probably of a town. Near where he is." Mira could only shake her head. "Wherever he is."

They hadn't had it out yet. The woman and the slayer. After their conversation in her kitchen, she'd thought that he'd do as she said. It was what she seemed to be doing, anyways, before her sister informed her the next day that he had come by, to gift a book to their daughter. No one had seen him after that, as he disappeared for a bit. But then, that day, that first postcard arrived with no warning or explanation.

It would be a bit before she got one.

When he finished his drinking and bemoaning of his life, Laxus didn't head back to Magnolia. No. He sulked until Freed found him, in one of his typical sulky cities and convinced him he should go home.

"To your wife," the rune mage insisted. "Nothing is over yet, Laxus. Not unless you give up. Have you given up? It is not a trait I know you well for."

"What do you care?" he griped miserably as he laid there, head on the sticky table of some seedy bar, far from home. "You don't even like her. None of you like her. You've given me four years of shit for being with her. You-"

"I like," Freed told him simply, calmly, as he was certain not to touch too many things in the foul establishment, "you happy, Laxus. We all do. And you have not been, these past few months. But the happiest you were, prior to that, was with-"

"I can't go back."

"Of course you can. I am certain that Tasha is just-"

"Not her. That's not what I… I can't go back to just...what I was. Before. Pretending to be oblivious to Aura and… Fuck, I just..." He blinked some, Laxus did, before one of his hands came up to rub his palm viciously into his scarred eye. "I sent her a postcard."

"Tasha?" Freed asked, confused.

"Aura."

"I don't...why?"

"So she knows where I am. That's what you do, right?" Looking to his friend, he said, "So she remembers me. And that I'm coming back."

It was a bit numbly, but Freed found himself nodding back at the man. "Yes. That is what you do, Laxus."

Still, he had to return home. Just like his wife did. She'd been gone as well, he was certain, and had arrived back to find him absent. She didn't seem surprised though, when he showed up following Freed's insistence. It was in their bedroom that he found her, in bed oddly enough, given the late afternoon hour, but she only laid there, watching him, having no doubt heard him come in.

"Where have you been?" she asked, softly, but Laxus only shrugged, his bag falling from his shoulder in this motion. His wife didn't move though as she continued right on. "I went to see my mother. And...my father, I guess. My family."

That time his head nodded and he took another step forwards, but just one, to come to the end of the bed. Not sit down, not even reach for it, just to lord over it, droopy eyes trained down on her.

"I don't know why I went." Her eyes couldn't meet his though, as she still laid there in bed, picking almost nervously at the sheet and he'd never seen this from her before. Nerves. Anger, yes. Disappointment, yeah. Sadness? Fine. But not nerves. He couldn't be too puzzled by them, however, as he was uncharacteristically experiencing the same thing. His wife's was just manifesting in other ways though as she continued to pick at a loose thread, still unable to meet his eyes though her words continued on. "I really don't. It was probably a bad idea, but I just… No. It wasn't. Laxus. I needed to go."

There was no nod this time and Tasha shoved up then, to finally look at him, and for a moment, they both just stared. It felt really tense and dumb and stupid, in those moments, to both of them. That they had come to this. That months of pent up...whatever this was, animosity, resentment, whatever, had come to blows, but it was deeper than that.

And maybe it had been building for much longer.

It was the perfect storm, the two of them running into one another. Had it been any other day, any other week, any other time in his life, at all, things wouldn't have ended up the way they were. She was feeling low and out of options, due to her mental block as far as her art went, but Laxus was feeling kind of high on life, thanks to Mirajane's recent pep talks and encouragement.

Hopeful.

He was hopeful that something was going to fall into his lap soon, that someone was, to show him the way, and there she was. Tasha. Just moody and selfish enough to not clash with his own shared attributes, but rather highlight them. She had her own thing and he had his, but when they collided, man, when they collided…

He'd have been afraid of it. If it weren't for the hope. The anticipation. The thought that this was eventually going to end with him in the exact situation that Mirajane Strauss had pitched to him, with him finally finding what he was searching for all along.

He'd been running from it. His whole life. The idea, the concept, that nothing, no matter how bright and beautiful in the beginning, could ever stay that way. Nothing in his life ever had. People came and went, relationships lived and died. Happiness ebbed and flowed in and out, but pain was far more permanent and you shouldn't do it. Fall in love. You couldn't do it. Not when you were him. Someone like him. Who saw just how sour it would all turn out to be. In the end. Always.

But…

What if it didn't have to be that way?

And wasn't that what hope was, in the end? It wasn't assurance without adversity or confirmation that no matter what, you'd prevail. No. Hope meant that there was a chance, a high amount of it, even, possibly, that you would fail. That it, no matter what it was, would crumble. Be destroyed. End up distorted and perverted and ruined.

But that's why you needed it.

Hope.

That's why you had it.

Because there was always a chance, no odds were one hundred, and he liked the idea of it, anyways. Maybe. When he was all tipsy on the idea of love and the magic of child birth and Mirajane just had that about her. This bubbly, gross persona that was so hard to scrub off when you spent too much time around her.

And he'd been spending far too much time around her, then.

So he gave it a chance. When he got that feeling in his stomach, the first time he saw Tasha, he went out on a limb and he hoped more than he ever had before that it held his weight.

And it had.

Man, had it.

Just...not when combined with Aura's.

That was the fucked thing, really. Without Aura, there was no Tasha. The timing, the situation, the hope wouldn't have been there. He'd have never been in that town, at that time, to run into that specific person and, even if he had, Mirajane wouldn't have peppered him with all these ideas and dreams and thoughts and it was cruel, really, wasn't it? When you thought about it? That so much of life depended upon so many stupid, little things to go exactly right, to get you where you needed to be, but it just took one of those stupid, little things to be askew, to go wrong, for the whole tower to come crashing down around you.

And what had even gone wrong? It felt like they were navigating it. The deceit. The new waters that the Strauss addition to their life this had all brought upon them. They were figuring shit out. Well. Well enough, anyways. But there had been a crack, the second they'd gotten close to it. The idea of it.

Of having a kid.

It was something they both agreed upon and were going to do and he just had to do that one thing, had to make things right, with his first child, and then…

But why?

He thought it was guilt. That he was feeling all heavy and wrong about locking Aura out of his life and yeah, that was definitely a part of it, but maybe…

Maybe he didn't really want...to have a kid. With Tasha. And what that meant. He was finding, as he was becoming more involved, albeit in minor ways, with the child he had currently, that it just wasn't for him. Like he'd always thought and worried and avoided, the entire thing, for this exact reason.

And that was fine.

With Aura.

It didn't matter.

She was always going to be mostly taken care of by her mother, regardless of what had happened following her conception, and that was great. That was perfect, even. It saved him from having to confront it. Possibly damage her because of it. Pass on the curse of being unable to truly care about your own offspring.

But it would be unavoidable, with one he had with his wife. Who he actually loved. Tasha. Their kid, he would have to love and, if he couldn't, well, that was fucking terrifying because it would be so obvious, when he avoided the kid and the responsibility and she'd hold his feet to the fire, he knew she would.

He hid that fear in her. Aura. In the idea that he couldn't move passed the stage they were currently, in their marriage, until he resolved things with her. And then, after gi9ving his halfhearted attempt at resolution only for Tasha, of course, to force his hand into giving a bit more, Laxus was annoyed to find his wife no longer was thriving for this. Pushing for this. Because that meant she saw it, didn't it? How he was?

She'd said as much, anyways.

He couldn't be forced, even, really, by her, to give a true shit about Aura and that more than tipped her off on how things would go, ultimately, and there was just now helping it, was there? They were two people who thought they wanted the same things, but as it was turning out, even if they did want them, even if they hoped for them, even if they were given them, the outcome just wasn't going to go their way.

There was always a chance. Even a sliver of one. To hold out for. Hope for. That Laxus would feel differently. That Laxus was be different.

That this whole thing had been some big huge clicking of all his brain cells and, oh, that was it. That was right. This is how you care for something else. Not just give into it's every whim in hopes it didn't leave you. Not just throw as much monetary toys and gifts in its direction and pray it's mother demanded no more of you. Not just dangle your affection in front of, toy with it, give just enough so they still craved it, still put up with it, all of your lack of true approval and support. Not ignore every single good, upstanding thing that they did for you, that they sent their son, who they had to care about, right, on some level, away, just for you, to save just you and only you, but fuck it, man, because you couldn't figure it out, could you? Even then? Even with every single thing you knew in the current time, you just couldn't tell the man who raised you, sacrificed for you, gave up everything for you, that you really loved him? Before he died?

Why was he that way?

He thought it was different, with Tasha, but had it been? Did he love her? Or was it just another part of the game, another disillusioned imagining that he had, that he put on, to shield himself from the undeniable truth that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he wanted it to not be so, he just couldn't love.

Not that he was unlovable.

No.

It was worse.

Because people could love him, people did love him, he could see people loving him and react to the love that they were giving to him and even mimic it back, quite well at that point, but deep down inside, in the wells of his heart, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it never rang true. Not an ounce of it.

It was stabbing the impenetrable with the sharpest of objects, knowing it was in vain, that it was futile, but unable to do anything else, because to give up meant...well, that you were giving up. That you were accepting.

And he had, for so fucking long, but then she...Mirajane…

Gave him hope.

And it was being crushed, then, beneath his boots and he just stood there, as Tasha rose to her feet and it all made so much sense.

It had always made so much sense. …

"I don't want," she told him simply and softly as she reached for his hands, but he didn't feel it, not anymore, none of it, and it was already so numb and distant that he wasn't sure why he cared at all, "to be like them. Like that. Trapped, you know? My mother was so miserable and my father was too, for so long, together, but they had to be, because of… Us, I guess. Their kids. Or maybe something else. I don't know. But I can't do that. I don't want that. And neither do you.

"I thought that, you and me, that we had this...connection and still think we do, Laxus, and I just want everything to go back to how it was. Before. But you can't do that. You can't go back. You have to go forwards. And right now, I'm just...glad. That we found this out. You know? Before we went any further. Before we had one of our own. We just need time apart. From one another. For both our sake's. You have to get this all settled and I need to rethink...everything, I think, about all of this and I just… Whether this works or not, right now, I just need to be alone. Laxus. And I think you do too."

He did.

He had.

For a long time.

"I like them here," he found himself telling Aura, many weeks later as he stared for a long time, at the first postcard. Recalling what came after his visit to that city. About what awaited him at home. What was once a home. His marital home. Now awash in questions and a near certainty that it would never be whole again. "They look nice."

Aura beamed up at him, but Laxus didn't even glance down at her. No. Because his attention was on something else. Behind him. The feeling of her eyes. Mirajane. There, of course, watching them.

He'd had it out with her two, following the final confrontation with Tasha. Well, the big one, anyways. There were other, smaller moments, as they settled things awkwardly, at the house, but the pin was stuck in that one though he had his doubts either would pull it back out.

After drinking and losing himself, again, now closer to home, he eventually had to go back to Magnolia. Face the music there. Speak with the Thunder Legion. The old man.

...The Strausses.

He actually had the misfortune of running in to the one he'd so far avoided in the whole mess. Elfman. He was the one that was around, when Laxus came knocking at the door, and, well, the guy didn't rebuke him too heavily, but didn't invite him in either.

"Sis is out," was all he said simply. "Aura's napping. And unless you wanna have a real manly heart to heart-"

He didn't.

Plus, Elfman wasn't Lisanna, obviously, but more so in the way that Laxus could kind of influence her. He had one, anyways, over her. They seemed to see eye to eye in a lot of ways, or at least had always been something close to cordial with one another. Elfman though? Laxus had few dealings with the guy and didn't really want to start that day.

Mirajane wasn't out though. Not in the sense that she was doing something other than working her life away, up at the unforgiving guildhall. She was there, of course, tending bar in the late afternoon when he arrived. It had been a bit, since Laxus walk through the doors of the place, but he ignored any curious glances he got as he stalked right over to the bar.

"We need to talk," he told Mira with little ceremony as she continued on, mixing a drink. Still, Laxus was kind enough to add, "After work."

"You'll be here for awhile," was her attempt at a retort, but Laxus only nodded over at Kinana, a silent request for a beer.

"Fine with me," he said as he turned to go claim a table all by himself and wait.

The hours would tick away though and s the crowd in the bar thinned, even Freed made an appearance. He seemed intent on sticking around, but Laxus sent him away, before closing was officially there.

They needed to be alone, he and Mirajane did.

"Kinana has to close up or else Lisanna will be swamped in the morning and I can't stay late, or come in tomorrow, so we can go upstairs. Or outside. To talk. Or..."

Mirajane trailed off, her eyes drifting over to the pool doors and Laxus followed, when she started that way, because why the fuck not?

There was no fainting to be had, however, all those years later as they found themselves older, perhaps wiser, certainly both with less enthusiasm about the other, but still, it held true. Time had passed, secrets had been kept, lies had been drug into the light, and Laxus still found it to be true.

He'd always liked Mirajane Strauss.

For all the deceit wrapped in giggles and vitriol disguised by ineptitude, she had at one time, no matter how brief, been a friend. One that had pushed him towards extremes he probably wasn't ready for just yet and was still paying for, recovering from, but at her core, she'd never meant him any harm.

And he didn't mean her any then, either, as his arms fell over his chest and she just stared there, waiting for him to begin.

"Tasha," he said and the name felt heavy then, "and I are separating."

Mira blinked, once, and he knew. He could tell by her gazed. She'd already known this. Either from her sister hanging around Freed and Bickslow, her brother boning Evergreen, or Mirajane being so far up Makarov's ass constantly, the news had already made it back to the woman.

Still, she played it off well enough, the look of surprise and pity as she said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Laxus?"

He was trying to do it. Muster up some anger. At her. Something. But much like Mira was finding, towards him, there just wasn't any there.

His eyes fell then and, using this, Mirajane asked, "Why did you send Aura a letter?"

"Wasn't a letter."

"Laxus-"

"I'm her father." And his chest puffed out some, remembering this. Yes. What had started all this. Set it in motion. Him. "I can send her whatever I want."

"I thought that we both agreed-"

"I'm doing things my way. Tasha couldn't deal, so she's gone. Fine. But you're stuck with me, just like I am, so if you can't deal, then you better just suck it up." There it was. The aggression. The problem was he was trying to apply it solely to Mirajane when, in reality, he was always more angry at society at large. "I never wanted to be there, Mira, all the time. For our kid. Even under the best of circumstances. But I still want to be there in some capacity. And I'm going to be. You can't stop me. It's really shitty of you to spend so much time trying."

"Are we really going to do this again?"

"Apparently."

It was her turn to take in a breath and Mira held it, for a long few moments, as she stared over at the pool, watching the water cycle and filter. Clean itself. Regenerate. Infinite.

"I never said that I didn't want you in her life, Laxus."

"Fuck you."

"I didn't."

"Mira-"

"I said that I didn't want someone in it that was just going to run away and hide. And what did you do? Laxus? You ran away. And hid."

"I sent her," he insisted with a frown, "a postcard."

"Oh, great, Laxus. I'm sure she'll treasure that."

"I didn't leave her," he insisted as she just rolled her eyes. "I didn't, Mira. I came back. I had to deal with shit and I'm always going to have to do that. I'm always going to go. But that's not leaving. It's not the same thing. Not if I always come back. And I'm always going to come back. I can't...be there for her. Like you. Okay. Fine. But we both already knew that."

"Your wife-"

"Tasha wants me to be something that I can't be. That I lied to her that I could." He shook his head then, Laxus did, admitting it out loud, finally, to someone. "I can't be that way, Mira. Not just to your kid, but one of hers. I'm not-"

"I really don't want to have a pity party with you right now."

His own eyes fell to his feet and Laxus snorted, just a tad, before saying, "You should have never woken me up."

"What are you talking about?"

"When I...passed out. Here. When you asked me to-"

"Oh. When you fainted."

'Guys don't faint."

"You fainted."

Shrugging at that, he only said, "I was better off, whenever you are, when you're like that. Gone. Just out of it. Like sleeping, but… I was better there. Everything I did after you woke me up-"

"You got married, Laxus. To someone you thought you really loved. It didn't work out. Right? Is that what you said before? That happens." Okay, so maybe she wasn't so against being in on his pity party. Or at least didn't want to be involved with him falling any lower in on himself. "You don't get to just...fall in love one time and hit it out of the park. What makes you so special?"

It was on command, the answer to such a question.

"I'm Laxus fucking Dreyar," he reminded her and Mirajane nodded.

"Yeah, well, Laxus Dreyar, maybe you're immortal in legend, but you're mortal in love."

That time, the snort hurt and he glanced over at the other woman as he said, "We're working on things."

But were they?

Mira took a few steps from him then and to the pool, which still had her gaze captured, and staring down into it, she said, "When you came back...saying you'd gotten with someone and I got too...scared to tell you..."

"We don't have to-"

"We do. There's something I have to tell you."

Laxus felt doubtful, that there was still possibly anything, at all, that they possibly still be keeping from one another.

"I just… It's stupid and I'm sure you don't remember it, do you? The time we were...whatever we were. It feels like so long ago- It is so long ago. But-"

"What are you saying?"

"I felt...connected to you, Laxus. Like we were going somewhere. And I built up this stupid, childish fantasy in my head, when I found out that I was pregnant, that the two of us...that we'd… When you came back, I was going to ask you to try and be a family with me."

Their breaths caught together and Mirajane didn't wan to look back at him, to see his expression, but she knew she had to. And when she met it, niether could help it.

For the first time in, well, since the days she was speaking on, they laughed together. Openly and freely and Laxus' face hurt, unaccustomed to grinning so truly, while Mirajane buried her giggles into her palm.

"It was stupid."

"Don't say that."

"It was. We hardly knew each other. Between trying to be something real, to one another, and having a baby together..." Mira swallowed them then, her laughs, and as he did the same, she felt freer, somehow. Sighing then, her hands fell and she said, "I don't want you to hurt her, Laxus. Ever. At all. I know you can't promise me that, but-"

"I have to do things my way, Mirajane."

"And what happens when your way doesn't involve her? At all? I'm selfish, Laxus, yes, I've been so selfish with her, but if you open her up to the idea of you, to the real idea of you, and then take that away-"

"I'll never abandon her. Mira."

"Why is that enough?"

"It's not." He could admit that as well, now, to her, in that moment. "It's not enough. That's why Tasha and I… But it has to be. Between us. Because she's here, now, and we both know it, and there's no going back. From this moment. It's like I said before; we're stuck with each other. Ivan made me so fucking miserable, my whole life and I still...when I was a kid… This would have been enough. For me."

It was, he added silently, though they both knew the implication, better than nothing.

"You can always be better, Laxus. Not because someone's forcing you. Or your feeling guilty." The joy was gone and Mira went back to watching the water. Cleansed and pumped back out, only to begin again. Anew. "Not even for Aura. Just because you want to be. For yourself."

But he didn't like this advice. Changing sounded so much more difficult than just hoping.

"You don't know my life, Mirajane."

"No," she sighed softly. "I really don't know you at all, Laxus."

He crashed the night at Freed's, the man trying to get something out of him, but Laxus had already offered all he had up to the mother of his child and, as he fell asleep, her words got all tangled and jumbled in his mind as they had, all those years ago, before he met his wife.

When he arrived at the Strauss house the next morning, it was to find both sisters around, though the younger was headed out to open the bar, and only gave him weary glances as she left for the morning. Still, Lisanna knew, from all her sister had shared when she got home so late the night before, that he'd been through quite the ringer now on every end of his life and, well, she could at least offer something of encouragement, right?

"Cheer up, Laxus," she offered, eventually, as he found himself sitting on the living room floor, attempting to explain to Aura that no, this was not how you played Go Fish. "Hey, I have a joke for you. There's this really big cactus, right? And-"

"Go," Aura yelled as she finally just reached over to snatch the cards he was withholding form her from the man's grasps as her mother finally rose to put an end to their game, "fish!"

And yes, Laxus would be needing to get away for a very long time after this.

He took a job far off and lost himself, for a bit, in the work, and then some more, in the surrounding cities. But he was certain to stop off, in the biggest one, about a week into his excursions, to find a nice postcard with a picturesque rendition of the town's skyline and send back to his daughter.

It was what he found himself staring so heavily at, that day, when he arrived back in Magnolia and went over to see her. The first thing Aura wanted to show him was the home she was making, for the cards he'd sent, and as they stood beside one another, Laxus' heart didn't feel so heavy.

"And you drew all these pictures too?" Laxus went on as Mirajane's gaze didn't feel too dark, not really, but watchful. Aura hardly even noticed it as she nodded at the man's interest. She found she liked it, when he spoke. Instead of just grumbled. "All of them?"

"Yep!" She jumped, the three-year-old did as she reached up to point at one in particular. "Drew that with Bick'o."

"Bickslow," Laxus repeated slowly. "You saw Bickslow?"

Did she? Oh, man, did she ever. The guy, Freed, and Evergreen had come by all of three times, the month Laxus had been away, twice all together, and once separately, each of them, though Ever's was just with Uncle Elf, but it was great, all around. They were great.

But Bickslow was definitely the best.

The most fun adult she knew, well, actually, that was Natsu, but Bickslow was pretty dang close too. He brought her some new little knights, to add to with her other one, and it sure beat the idle conversation his cohorts had to offer up.

Laxus wanted to glance back at Mirajane, to question her on this, but knew his answers would better ride with his followers and, well, it couldn't hurt anything. If Mira wasn't going to throw a stink about it. Having some more powerful wizards taking interest in you.

It was like Mirajane said; you can always be better.

And Mirajane already was.

Aura was taking to explain to him, then, some of the different pictures and, eventually, she got to one with a big haphazard yellow circle on it that had what, if you squinted and discounted some of the fainter lines on it, looked something like a frowning face. She actually tossed her own hands over her face, at the sight of it, and glanced up at him.

"What is it?" he asked with a frown of his own.

"You!" And she laughted, all by herself, bouncing again. "Laxus!"

"What?" He tried hard not to get annoyed. "That's not- No."

He didn't look like that.

But oh, to Aura he did and, as he scowled, she was glad to see she'd captured the exact face quite well.

Moving right along though, as Aura didn't want him to lose interest, she was pointing to another picture on the wall. It looked like chicken scratch, but she insisted it was a bunch of Ps, as that was the letter of the week, it seemed, that she was working on drawing. Laxus was too annoyed by his awful (accurate) rendition to pay too much attention.

"Sign name." And she had to jump a bit, to reach the top of that paper, where in the corner, someone had written out her name for her. Lisanna or Mirajane, no doubt. Whoever had been practicing with her. "That's me."

He figured it was important, to teach a kid to spell their name. Aura had it kind of easy, he suspected, in the first half of it, but as he read it, he found it wasn't the only part up there.

"That's not your name." He didn't even swallow. Consider it. "Aura."

She frowned at him and he felt it, as Mirajane shifted, no longer just allowing the moment to go on.

"Yes is," she slurred at him with a glare because gosh, Laxus was dumb. Couldn't play Go Fish right or know somebody's name. "Aura. My name."

"That's your name," he agreed. But only because he hadn't gotten a say. Reaching down, he tapped at the corner of the paper, at her last name. "But that's not. You're not a Strauss. Your mom is. Lisanna is. Elfman. But you-"

"Laxus." Mirajane was coming over then, with a glare, but he didn't care. This moment was his. The one thing he got. That he'd fought for.

The whole reason he'd gone through the entire fucked up situation.

"Your name is Aura Dreyar."

She felt uncomfortable then, the little girl did, as her mother came over to argue, but didn't back away from the man. Just stared up at him with something of a frown. Laxus looked so serious though.

"Knock it off," Mira warned, but no.

She'd had her time.

Not just with their daughter, but to also cover this. Figure this out. How to tell her.

He wanted this, so he was going to do it.

"She's my daughter." He didn't trip over a single bit of that either. Because it was the truth. "Aura. Did you know that?"

She looked up to her mother, but the woman was only glaring at Laxus. Not that he cared or seemed to notice as, turning, he'd walked the short distance over to the window. From it, he lifted one of his most prized possessions, at one point. The purple and yellow crystal dragon.

"See this?"

"That's mine!" Still, she didn't move to snatch it, more annoyed, really, that the man was messing with it without asking. She wasn't even allowed to play with it. "Laxus!"

"That's because I gave it to you."

And he held it out to the girl. She'd never been presented with it before, just been told no, that it wasn't a toy, by her mother and aunt, but, well, if he was just giving it to her…

"What are you doing, Laxus?" Mirajane asked, but he only shrugged at her.

"She should know," was the best he could do as, when the girl tried to snatch it, he moved the little statue back some. To her, he said, "Gentle."

So she was, taking it from him, and staring at it in awe, finally, in her own hands. A dream come true.

"I gave that to you. For your first birthday." He bent over some, the man did, so he could stare at it as well. "It watched over you. When I couldn't. And it still will. I'll be gone a lot. You know. I'm a wizard."

He could be whatever he wanted, if he kept giving her forbidden objects. As she held the crystal up to her eye, she stared through the murky material, into the man's waiting eyes.

"But you'll be alright." And he reached out then, not to take the dragon back, like she feared, but rather to pat her soft, blonde hair. "You have your mother and aunt and uncle and…everyone. You have so much. Aura. And Dreyars don't need much, anyways. So you'll be alright. You'll be fine. And I… I'll be around, okay? I'll come see you again."

"'morrow?" she questioned and, when he shook his head no, she lowered the dragon slowly. She'd never actually worried about it, where the man was or what he was doing. It never felt important, really, before that moment. Something about his tone, falling from the upbeat (for him, at least) he'd had before made her lip quiver some.

Before she could start in on her tears though, Mirajane was reaching over to gently take the dragon from her once more. As Aura blinked up at her mother, the woman just smiled, that bright one, the one just for her daughter, and Aura felt it spread across her own face.

"You only get more postcards," her mother told her gently as she passed Laxus then, to replace the dragon in it's place, on the windowsill, "when he's away, you know, Aura."

She hadn't considered it before. Glancing over at the two she had then, she decided she wanted enough to fill the whole wall! If not all four walls, of her room. Then she could look at the pretty pictures all the time!

"Go! Laxus!" She moved to shove at him then as he stood to his full height with a roll of his eyes. "Get more, 'kay? Lots!"

"I don't gotta go yet, kid," he griped. "Hey, Aura-"

"You heard her, Laxus." And Mirajane didn't like it, the feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was what she'd sold him on, all those years before, what she had in her heart, for so many things, but to...hope for him, again, after how much it had torn her apart before… Shaking her head some as she watched Aura march him out of the room, she was sure to call after him. "Send lots."

Out on the street, as he walked away from the house, like he'd done so many times before, he could feel it too. Again. Inside of him. And Mirajane and Aura came to stand out on the porch, the little girl calling out to him, to remind him, to send her lots and lots of pretty cards and his life was a wreck, wasn't it?

But it had to be that way, didn't it? Just down, just enough, to feel it. The hope. To be able to rise back up. Maybe he wasn't ready to change yet, not to save his marriage, not for his daughter, maybe not even for himself, but it didn't feel so dark then. His heart.

He'd seen himself through every other deluge in his life; this was hardly the end.

"I like Laxus," Aura assured her mother as they turned, to go back inside, her skipping and pleased with her day so far. Mira lingered, watching him disappear on the horizon, but just as soon was following along behind her daughter.

"Yes," she sighed, closing the door after them. "Laxus… There's a lot to like."

.

FF

We're done. It's over. Over two years, but we're finished now. I know it's not what everyone wanted, but this was what it was always going to be, how it was always going to be (with a bit of changes, obviously, given the length of time it took me to write this) and I'm happy to be done with it.

No, there will not be a sequel to it.

Yes, there will probably be at least one or two one-shots that follow, at some point, just for shits and giggles.

Now onto the final part of Remember Me series.

#Miraxus #Mirajane Strauss #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction #15 of 15

[iliketowrite1996]

Rivals, Ratings, and Roses part 2

    WARNING- sexual themes implies but nothing graphic at all, just in case it makes you uncomfortable!

T’Challa has you pressed against the wall, his full, warm lips moving in synch with yours as hid rough hands pull you closer. He slides his tongue across your bottom lip before you gasp, and he slides it into your mouth. All you can feel his the curls on top of his head under your fingertips, his heart beating against yours. You taste the mint of his toothbrush, smell that divine cologne he always wears, and hear him whisper your name softly.

    ‘’What,’’ you kiss him again.

    ‘’Wake up.’’

    ‘’What?’’

    ‘’WAKE UP!’’

    You’re startled out of your dream then, heart threatening to beat right out of your chest as you shoot up in bed.

    Your roommates, Wanda Maxinoff and Deena Harris, are staring right at you.

    ‘’Girl, did you know I can hear you all the way down the hall,’’ Deena raises an eyebrow at you, ‘’I was in the kitchen. You sleep with your door open. I thought you’d brought someone home.’’

    ‘’Someone named T’Challa, more specifically,’’ Wanda smirks, her eyebrow raised as well.

    ‘’Did y'all just decide to come in here and raise perfectly arched eyebrows at me? Speaking of which, why are they so arched? Why are they so perfect? Did you get them done without me,’’you question your roommates, getting out of bed and making your way to the bathroom.

    Of course, they shuffle off behind you, eager to gossip about the dream you wish that you’d been having.

    The dream that seems to be a reoccuring theme in your night time routine.

    It seems to go like this lately: you come home, you and your roommates have dinner, you get some work done, you do your nightly shower and skin care routine, you brush your teeth, you read to yourself, you go to bed.

    You have an increasingly hot dream about T’Challa, and you wonder where it’s coming from.

    He’s a good looking guy, sure. And those lips look amazing, especially when he’s concentrating on  story and he’s biriting it gently and crap, what are you doing?!

    He is still the same arrogant man that drives you up the wall, gets under your skin.

So why are you thinking about his lips pressed against yours, his hands on your waist, how his lips taste and whether or not he is a good kisser or not?

Besides, he has a whole girlfriend. He’s been in a relationship with that supermodel, Nakia, ever since you met him. Before that, even. Her photo is on his desk. It’s endearing and annoying.

‘’Girl, he’s got you pressed like a panini,’’ Deena rolls he reyes, gliding into the bathroom and brushing her teeth,

‘’He does not,’’ you insist, cleaning the face cream off, ‘’He is annoying.’’

‘’Annoyingly attractive,’’ Wanda supplies, brushing her hair.

The nice thing about sharing an apartment with these two women is that you can afford the rent, you all work at different places so you can come and talk about your day with new stories, and they aren't anywhere near the subject of your recent dreams.

The bad thing is- three women, one bathroom.

    ‘’He is insufferable and a pain in the you-know-what,’’ you scoff, the three of you filing out of the bathroom to go to your rooms.

    You love these girls, and they are truly your best friends. You’ve known Deena since high school. The first thing she ever said to you was, ‘’Do you want to fight?’’. The second thing she ever said was, ‘’We’re going to be friends.’’ She’s been your best friend ever since.

    Wanda you met in college when you worked at a bookshop. Her brother had spent his time hitting on you, and you knew damn well that you didn’t want to get involved with him. She sensed your discomfort, told him to move on, and the two of you spent the rest of your shift together talking about random things and making plans for the weekend.

    ‘’All I’m saying,’’ Deena begins, her back turned to you as she slides on her jeans, ‘’Is that you have got it B-A-D bad for this man.’’

    ‘’I do not,’’ you huff out, ‘’Go to work and stop making me try to talk about my feelings.’’

    ‘’Girl, we all know how you feel about him. I could hear you down the hallway.’’

    ‘’Goodbye, Deena,’’ you laugh out loud then, sliding on your black pants.

    Ramonda is pretty lax about what you wear to work as long as it is presentable. So you wear a blue and white, bellsleebed shirt and black jeans and black ballet flats.

    ‘’You look nice,’’ Wanda states as you walk into the kitchen where she is setting a cup of orange juice on the table, ‘’Drink up. You have a long day.’’

    ‘’I won’t if I don’t come up with a story today,’’ you sigh,taking a granola bar off of the table and chomping down, ‘’I should head out, though. I promised Peter I’d walk with him this morning. He thinks taking the scenic route will ‘Clear my mind’ or something.’’

    ‘’Aww, he’s a good kid,’’ Deena sighs, thinking about the time you’d invited him over for dinner when his Aunt May had to work late.

    ‘’He is,’’ you agree, grabbing your bag, ‘’Well, I’m off. Have fun at the daycare, Deena. Have fun at the art gallery, Wanda.’’

    ‘’Will do,’’ they state in unison, and you head out of your apartment and into daytime in New York.

    The foot traffic is heavy, so you really have to shuffle to get to Peter’s apartment before seven.

    And… he isn’t there.

    ‘’He said he called your cell phone,’’ May says, looking at the clock on the stove, ‘’He left about an half hour ago. Said he had to make a run.’’

    You look down to see one notification from him nder calls and another under messages.

    Ugh.

    ‘’Alright. Sorry to bother you!’’

    ‘’No worries! He absolutely adores working with you, by the way,’’ May says fondly, ‘’I’ve never seen him so happy.’’

    ‘’That’s good to hear. Really. You have a good day,’’ you nod to her, making your way to the elevator and out of his apartment again.

You’re on the subway now, racking your brain for a story idea. Pulling out your phone, you tell Peter to meet you in the lobby so that he can walk up with you in case he forgets his ID.

Because he forgets his ID.

A lot.

‘’It was amazing!,’’ this group of teenagers gushes as you stand on the train, waiting for your destination, ‘’That spider dude totally kicked that guy’s butt.’’

Spider dude?

‘’He really did!,’’ the young girl nods excitedly, flipping her red hair over her shoulders, ‘’I wish I knew how he does it!’’

Color yourself intrigued.

You look up ‘Spider dude’’ then, and tons of videos of someone dressed in red and blue pop up, so you click on one.

He’s swinging from buildings, saving people, shooting something that looks like webs from his wrists…

He’s a modern, real superhero

And you think you’ve just found your story.

Peter  is waiting- for you in the lobby when you arrive at work, holding a cup holder with two iced-coffees and two bagels.

‘’Good morning,’’ he notices the elation on your face, ‘’What’s up? Did you find another meme?  Did someone tell you that you look like a movie star again?’’

‘’Peter, my boy, my news is better than that!’’

‘’ Okay, but ‘Peter, my boy’?’’

‘’Okay, look, I have no idea why I said it like that. The point is, my job, my promotion and your internship are saved. I’m going to need your help, but I know what we will be doing our article on.’’

‘’Yeah,’’ he asks as he follows you onto the elevator, ‘’What’s that?’’

‘’Brace yourself- we are going to an interview on the one, the only, Spider Dude!’’

‘’HAHAHA,’’ Peter laughs nervously before coughing to cover it up, ‘’Why him?’’

‘’No one knows who he is, Peter. He’s literally a masked hero, like a good-old fashioned superhero. He’s obviously just helping because he wants to because nobody knows who he is. Yet. Nobody knows who he is yet. I need you to help me.’’

‘’Are you sure this is what you want to write your paper on?’’

‘’Yes, Peter. I strive for excellence. You know that.’’

You also strive to beat T’Challa for this promotion, but Peter doesn't need to know that right now.

‘’So, Peter, will you help me?’’

He bites his lip then, and shrugs, ‘’I’ll do what’s right.’’

‘’Great,’’ you enter the office, guiding him towards the cubicle, ‘’And thank you for the coffee. You’re a life-saver.’’

‘’You have no idea,’’ he mumbles under his breath, but you elect to ignore it, because you finally have your story.

And not even T’Challa Udaku himself can bring your mood down.

That thought is short-lived because here T’Challa is, leaning against the opening to your cubicle as he greets you.

‘’How can I help you today, Mr. Udaku,’’ you swivel around in your chair, looking away from the laptop that you and Peter are currently huddled in front of.

‘’When you’re done watching videos with your intern, Ramonda would like to see us in her office.’’

You feel a little like a child being called to the principal's office, ut you ask Peter to keep working and follow T’Challa to Ramonda’s office all the way at the other end of the corridor.

‘’So, how are you,’’ he asks, breaking the silence.

‘’Um good. How are you? How long is Shuri here for.’

‘’A week,’’ he shrugs, ‘’I’m good. Tired. Nakia and I went to a party last night.’’

Let’s get one thing straight- you are not jealous of Nakia, okay? You don’t want anything she’s got.

And that pit in the middle of your stomach when T’Challa says her name is just the iced coffee getting to you.

Whatever.

He knocks before entering, and you follow suit.

‘’Hello, my queen,’’ T’Challa beams, using the nickname that he’s called her ever since her first started here, that never fails to get her laughing.

She laughs, greets T’Challa then you, and asks you both to take your seats.

You do, and she begins.

‘’So, I trust that you both came up with stories,’’ she looks to you, somehow mixing authority, concern and awe into her gaze all at the same time.

‘’I have,’’ T’Challa begins to explain, ‘’I thought ‘What’s more amazing than everyday heroes?’. So, I will be interviewing my sister, Shuri. She will start college here in the spring, and she is a STEM genius. In fact she is spearheading an outreach program from Wakanda as we speak to teach others about vibranium and its uses.’’

‘’Fascinating,’’ Ramonda looks at him with wide-eyes, ‘’That is amazing!’’

‘’I thought so, too,’’ T’Challa turns to you, that smirk evident on his face, ‘’What about you?’’

‘’Well, I can’t say that I found a sixteen-year-old stem genius. But I do know what I’m going to do- I am going to have the first, exclusive, one-on-one interview with the one, the only, Spider Dude!’’

Aaaand they’re both staring at you now.

‘’Spider dude,’’ Ramonda looks puzzled.

‘’You mean that guy that saves that buds from falling the other day by slinging, like a net or something?’’

‘’It was more like a web, but yes, T’Challa.’’

‘’What are you going to ask him? Does he speak to spiders?’’

‘’No!,’’ you defend, mentally planning to add that question to your list anyway.

What?

You’re curious.

‘’If you can land that interview,’’ Ramonda begins, ‘’It’ll be huge. I approve of both of your stories. Go and make me proud.’’

You and T’Challa thank her before exiting her office returning to your cubicles.

‘’Good luck with Spider dude, eh? Take some bug spray inc ase he gets on your nerves with hi answers, yeah?’’

‘’Goodbye, T’Challa,’’ you gripe, stalking off to your cubicle…

Where a red rose is waiting for you.

‘’Peter, what is this?’’

‘’Someone delivered it. It was here when I got back from the bathroom.’’

You pick up the single rose, carefully avoiding the thorns and reading the note.

‘’Have a good day, beautiful,’’ it reads.

And it is signed from your secret admirer.

As if you didn’t have enough to think about.

‘’Who is it from,’’ Peter questions.

‘’It does not say,’’ you set it down gently, ‘’No matter. That secret admirer can wait. Peter, you and I have a Spider-man to find. And a story to write. Let’s get to it.’’

And that’s exactly what you do.

DISCLAIMER- I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE MARVEL CHARACTERS MENTIONED, OR THEIR FICTIONAL WORLDS OR MATERIALS. THEY BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS.

@chaneajoyyy @starsshines-blog @greenswishbish @queentearra @darthmelanin  @starsshines-blog @beautycomesindifferentformsworld  @chaneajoyyy @90sinspiredgirl @theunsweetenedtruth @wakandankings @crazypup110

#black panther imagine #black panther x you #t'challa x you #t'challa x reader #t'challa udaku #ramonda #au #author's universe #tchalla x reader #reader insert #reader #peter parker #peter is so sweet

[thoughtsofdarc]

My Latest Mission - Epilogue

Tony is standing in front of the big table, looking at the people around it. The team is all there, some of the old agents and a few new ones. But even 3 years later, it still feels like someone is missing in the group, and he know he isn’t the only one who feels that way.

 He pushed aside his thoughts, as he wrapped up the speech  "We have strong evidence that Pierce is hiding in the Andes Mountains on the west coast of South America. No, scratch that... we know that is where he is. We have footage of him leaving and entering a cave in the side of a mountain wall, which we now know, holds a minor base inside. He is there, and we're going to get him, bring him back here and let him face justice. Preferable on the bottom of a bottomless pit, if you ask me!" he mumbles the last remark under his breath, but Bucky who is closest to him hears it. "We leave tomorrow morning. So, go get ready... This is the last battle" He dismisses the people in the room, but before everybody has left he adds "Oh, Cap, Bucky... could you stay?"

The two men nod and sits back down, as they watch friends and coworkers head for the door. 

"Barton?" Tony says in a questioning tone. "Yeah, I am not leaving... You have information on Y/N, right? I want to know what you got... She was my friend too" The archer says bluntly, sitting back in the chair and putting his attention to his phone instead of Tony.

Tony watches his friend for a second, before he nods.

 When the door close after the last agent, Steve straightens up "Did you find her?" Hope is so evident in his voice, but he doesn't even care. When it comes to Y/N, nothing else matters.

 "No, I'm afraid not. She is still avoiding every single search I do... I don't know how she does it, when Tin-Arm over here, let himself be caught on every single surveillance camera there was when he was on the run" Tony says and point to Bucky.

 "She's better trained for modern society" Bucky adds unimpressed of Tony's jab "If you haven't found her, then why are we here?" "I found something else that you might be interested in..." Tony grabs the little device from his pocket and presses a button. A screen appears over the table and the three men sitting there, leans in to get a better look.

 A little boy's face appears on the screen, no more than 6 years old. "Gentlemen, let me introduce to you, James Rogers..." Tony pause, waiting for the name to sink in with his friends.When he notice Steve and Bucky's eyes go wide he continues "...He showed up in a forest a little over 4 years ago, claiming that he had been camping with his Dad but had gotten lost. He had nothing more than this on..." a picture of the makeshift shirt, made from a blanket pops up "... A few biscuits, an empty bottle of water, and lastly a compass. The forest he was found in, though it was several days away on foot, is the same forest that the HYDRA base was found" Tony let himself drop to the chair behind him, and let his hand smooth out his beard around his mouth.

"No one has ever found a father to the kid. He couldn't tell anyone where he came from, or any other information that could be helping to finding his family. He just insisted that his name was James Rogers, even though there have never been any records of him ever existing. He finally went into foster care..."

 "It's the Hackers kid..." Steve almost whispers.

 "Yes. Unfortunately, we can't find him. A woman showed up about three years ago, claiming that she was his aunt and had been looking for him for ages. They disappeared shortly after... We assume the Aunt was our very own Y/N" Tony continues. Three heads snap op to look at him "Then, why can't you find her? She can't hide with a kid at her side?!" Bucky sounds almost desperate.

 "She's good. She's very good!" Tony says a sad look in his eyes.

Clint looks at his friends and sees their frustration, as he absentminded drum his fingers on the side of his phone and let his thoughts wander. He can't help but to feel guilty. Maybe, if he had stayed by her side that day,maybe she wouldn't have gotten shot, maybe she wouldn't have run... There are so many maybes.

"We will find her..." he says, and the two super soldiers nod slowly.

 "Wait, there's more..." Tony takes the little device again "Remember how we never did find any of HYDRAs money anywhere? How we have always thought that Pierce had a Plan B, making sure he could hide the money?" All three men nod again.

 "Yeah, I think the hacker and Y/N had a little plan of their own... She was good, Lilly. She hid her tracks very well, but one of my guys has finally broken down the code we found on the computer in the office on the base. She made a backdoor on the backdoor, so the second Y/N chose to release the information, all of HYDRAs money got transferred to an account that only Y/N knows where is. And I mean ALL their money..." Tony looks around to the men again, trying to make them understand. "That's millions...!" Clint says chocked. "More... A lot more actually" Tony says "She has more money than I will ever have... in four lifetimes" He push another button on the device and say "We found this..." several images appears on the screen the largest one shows a building, some kind of school, with a huge sign out front 

'The Steve Rogers Institute of Arts'.

"What the...?" Steve asks no one in particular, without finishing the sentence.

"This is the main department of a large string of schools all over the world. This one is located in France. This, along with all the other schools around the world, takes in aspiring artists, helping them on their way to reach their goals.

A woman is behind the making of all of them... Saying it was in memory of a great man that once saved her life" Tony looks at Steve, watching his reaction closely.

"She made your dream come true, Pal" Bucky puts his hand on his best friends shoulder, looking at him with a smile happier than it's been in a very long time. "We're not done... An unknown woman is behind this too..." Tony presses another button and the screen in front of them changes pictures. New buildings show up from all over the world. The largest picture is clearly taken in Africa. Bucky stare at the screen, speechless, as he remembers a conversation he had many, many years ago. A single sentence is especially clear in memory "Oh! And we are going to have kids! Many kids! I’d really love that. I’ll be the best dad in the world"

 The picture shows a group of kids, smiling and waving to the camera. A sign is on every single building on the pictures, all saying the same

'The Barnes Home - for orphans and children in need'

  A woman is sitting in one of the comfy chairs as she looks out of the large windows, watching the men run to and from the airplane on the ground, making sure everything is ready. Looking out at the world through big windows like this, reminds her of a place she once called home and she can't help the little smile playing on her lips.

 "Mom.... Mom! Look at me! Look!" A boy, just around 10 years old, is jumping from a bench and over to the large low windowsill and back again with a big grin on his face.

"James, be careful!" the woman says, but she can't help but to chuckle at his childish joy "We don't have any more band aids, so don't get hurt, baby!" she adds.

"Oh mom... I'm not going to need any, I won't get hurt" The boy says rolling his eyes, as he comes over and slumps down next to her.

 There's an adoring smile on her lips when she looks at him and wraps her arm around his shoulders before she kiss his hair 

"You know what, between you and another boy I once knew, you could certainly rid the world of band aids"

The boy smile up at her, his bright blue eyes reminding her of someone she once knew.

 A ping is heard, when a text message pops in on her phone. She furrows her brows as she digs through her bag to find it.

Her heart beats a little faster when she sees the name on the screen. There's a very short text, and a link attached to an article.

'Come home, Kid. It's finally over'

 Her hand shake when she press the link, and tears swell in her eyes when she reads the headline:

"Alexander Pierce arrested and found guilty of every charge - HYDRA is history"

Beneath the headline is an article, it goes through the horrors of what HYDRA has done. But one passage catch her eyes more than anything else...

'Researchers have found several pieces of evidence that clear the woman known as Y/N Y/L/N from all accusations'.

  "Mrs. Barton?" a man in the airline uniform asks the woman, pulling her attention away from the phone.

"Yes?"

"The plane is ready. We're boarding people now, if you would like to come with me?" The man smiles at the boy, who comes over and takes the woman's hand.

"Actually..." She says and smile to the boy too "...We have a change of plans"

 The cab pulls away and leaves them standing in front of the gates of a large tower. The boy looks up with an amazed expression on his face.

"Mom..." he whispers "...Where are we?"

The woman smiles at him and then follow his gaze to the tower 

"Home, James... We're home!"  

This is it guys, this is the end... No more My Latest Mission.  Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end of the line (No pun intended) 

I am so ever gratefull for everyone of you who have read this! You rock! 

If you are interested in being tagged in future storys (Bucky, Steve, Clint or Everything tag-list) then please, let me know! 

Again... Thank you! 

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[sweetiepie08]

The Musician with Poison Tears (Chapter 2)

Miguel Rivera’s been fascinated by the story of the legendary ghost, the Musician with Poison Tears, since he was a kid. He’s always wanted to know the full story behind the weeping specter that haunts the train station with its invisible guitar. Now 18, the travels to Mexico City to try to observe the ghost from afar and get some clues about its origin. Who knows? He might even get a song out of it.

This story is based on the art and ghost!au created by @melcecilia14​. Go check out her artwork here, here, here, and here. It’s really awesome.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Epilogue.

Bonus.

Miguel placed his song book in his suitcase, did a quick mental check to make sure he had everything, and closed the lid. He and his cousins Rosa and Abel were going to Mexico City for a week. They were staying with Miguel’s grandparents on his mother’s side to supposedly spend time together. Miguel, however, had an ulterior motive. He placed the suitcase on the floor and grabbed his guitar case next. He opened it up just to take one more peek at the instrument. He bought it when he was fifteen with his own money. He needed a new one after Abuelita found and subsequently smashed the one crafted himself. He saved up shoeshine money and birthday gifts for 3 years. It wasn’t the flashiest or most expensive guitar, but he loved it because it was his. He managed to keep this one hidden better, but it was eventually found. At least Abuelita didn’t smash it. She respected the work and savings he put into earning it too much. Instead, she demanded he sell it. He never did. He took it to a friend’s house, asked that he keep it until the heat died down, then snuck it back in. It wasn’t until a week ago that he revealed he still had it.

He was 18 now, and a fresh graduate from preparatoria. The day after his graduation, he announced that, not only was he accepted into the Conservatorio Nacional de Musica, but he was also the recipient of the Ernesto de la Cruz Memorial Scholarship given out by the de la Cruz estate to one talented aspiring musician every year. He’d expected a fight, in fact he prepared for a fight. He even made notecards for himself so that he could rehearse every logical argument he had about why they should support his musical dream. Of course it snowballed into a knock-down-drag-out the likes of which the Rivera household hadn’t seen since 1932 when Mama Coco was caught dancing in the Plaza with a strange boy. Said strange boy eventually grew up to be her husband, but that was beside the point.

It was a battle of the generations. Miguel vs Abuelita, Papa Franco, and his parents. His aunts and uncle didn’t say much, but it was obvious by their disapproving stares whose side they were on. Rosa and Abel both tried to back Miguel up. Abel argued that Miguel was exceptionally talented and should be encouraged. Rosa argued that being a musician didn’t necessarily mean abandoning your family. She then rattled off a list of famous musicians who were close with their families and never had a single scandal. “Besides,” she added, “he sucks at making shoes anyway.” However, they backed off when it came to light that they aided in Miguel’s covert auditions.

Both learned about Miguel’s musical talent years earlier having separately come across him practicing in secret. Abel’s reaction basically amounted to “That’s so cool. Where did you learn to do that? What do you mean you taught yourself? Show me!” Rosa didn’t say anything, but gave him a withering stare. He was sure it was all over and avoided the rest of his family for most of the day. It wasn’t until he reluctantly sat down for dinner and received nothing but the usual “Why don’t you eat more? This is why you’re so skinny” chides from Abuelita that he realized he was not about to be killed. When he asked Rosa about it later, she admitted that, while she disapproved of him directly disobeying the familial laws, (God, why did she always have to talk like a lawyer?) she did respect the obvious hard work he put into his craft. Over the next few years, the two of them became the only members of his family he could play for and get feedback from. Finally, when Miguel told them he wanted to audition to study music, they concocted a plan. They told their family that they were going on a “cousins’ weekend,” borrowed the truck, and drove up to Mexico City. He managed to schedule his auditions for both the Conservatorio and the de la Cruz people in the same whirlwind weekend. When they got home, their family was non-the-wiser.

The fight boiled over when Abuelita threated to smash the guitar just like she had the last one. Miguel blocked her way and told her it wasn’t there. As a forethought, he hid it at a friend’s house again, so she couldn’t get at it if it got to that point. He refused to tell her where it was. Everyone became angrier with him and started shouting at the same time. He couldn’t remember what set him off, but he finally shouted back “Maybe great-great grandfather was right to leave!”

The family stopped all at once. Stunned silence suffocated the air. His mother couldn’t look at him. His father demanded he apologize immediately. Worst of all was Abuelita. The hurt in her face was clear. She couldn’t even muster the strength to take off her shoe. Miguel had never seen her like this. She only let out a defeated breath and walked out of the room. She hasn’t spoken to him since.  

Miguel shut the guitar case and set it down by the dresser. When he straightened up, he paused to look at the picture he kept on top. It was a photo of himself and Mama Coco taken on her 99th and final birthday. He crouched by her wheelchair, and showed off his dimple while Mama Coco beamed in her pink party hat. Right next to it, he kept the last gift he ever received from her. She died before she could give it to him. She passed away a week before his 13th birthday and they found the gift while they sorted through her things. It was a small rectangle carefully wrapped in red paper with a little yellow bow on top. A card displaying his name in her shaky handwriting proved it was his. He never opened it and he never planned to.  

“Mama Coco, I messed up real bad,” he admitted to the picture. “I know they don’t want me to be a musician but it’s my life. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I love to do. Why can’t they just accept that?�� Miguel sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Still, I shouldn’t have said that to Abuelita. I took it too far. I know, I know. I need to apologize, even if she disapproves.” But she could also stand to apologize to me.

Miguel picked up his bags and headed out the door. His parents stood in the hallway waiting for him. “All packed?” his mother asked, all the usual joy and nurturing gone from her voice. The tension still lingered from the fight the week before.  She pulled him into the most impersonal hug a mother could give, which is to say, not all that impersonal, but still had an underlying discomfort to it.

“You, uh, have a safe trip,” his father said, patting him on the back. “And try to talk to your Abuelita before you leave.”

Miguel nodded and shuffled down the hallway to the living room. He could hear Abuelita’s favorite telenovela on the tv. When he peaked his head in, he saw her watching with the same sour look on her face she wore all week. He set his bags down by the door, took a long, deep breath, and stepped in with all the ease and eagerness of a man about to face a firing squad. “Abuelita,” he called, as he tip-toed up to her chair.  “Abuelita, no one’s been telling me to eat all week. I think I got even skinnier…” She shifted her head just enough to give him the tiniest glance, then went back to her program. Miguel sighed and approached her. He knelt down beside her recliner the way a peasant knelt before his queen. “I’m leaving, Abuelita. I’ll be gone for a week. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Her eyes slid in his direction, but she said nothing.

“I know you’re still mad about the whole musician thing, but it’ll be okay. I’ll be home all the time, you’ll see… except when class is in session, then I’ll be staying with Abuela Josephina and Abuelo Roberto. You know, Mama’s parents?” She gave him back a blank stare. “Come on, you know them. You kick Papa Roberto’s ass at poker every Christmas? They may not be in Santa Cecilia, but they’re still family.”

She gave him the slightest turn of her head.

Miguel let out a breath. He was all out of words for her. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to throw out his guitar, forfeit his acceptance to the Conservatorio and the scholarship, and apologize for ever considering becoming a musician in the first place. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He worked too hard for those things. Why couldn’t she at least respect the work he put in like Rosa had? Why couldn’t she just support him?

Still, he didn’t want to leave her on a bad note. Fortunately, he had another trick up his sleeve. “I know what’ll cheer you up,” he said, taking off his own boot. She looked over, apparently curious about what he was about to do next. Well, here goes nothing. One… two… On the mental count of thee, he smacked himself in the face with his own boot. As he looked up and rubbed his sore cheek, he saw Abuelita forcing her lips closed, defiantly holding back a snicker. “Careful Abuelita, you almost smiled there.” He hazarded a kiss on the cheek and got out unscathed. “I’ll be back in a week. I promise.” With that, he got up and headed out the door.

His next stop was the courtyard where his baby sister, Coco, was furiously at work with her crayons. He announced his presence by picking up a spare piece of paper and placing it on her head. She reached up when she felt the impromptu hat land on her head and turned to see her brother standing behind her. “Miguel!” she gasped, throwing herself onto her artwork. “Don’t look! It’s not ready!”

“Aw, Coco, are you making that for me?” he asked, leaning in to sneak a peek.

“I said don’t look!”

“Sorry.” He turned away and used his hand to shield his eyes. He waited patiently and listened to the sound of crayon scribbling against the paper until she announced that it was done. He turned back to see her proudly holding her crayon magnum opus. “It’s beautiful,” he said, taking it gingerly in his hands. “Another masterpiece. It belongs in the Lourve.”

“That’s you and that’s me,” she said, pointing at the two humanoid figures. The shorter one had her trademark pigtails and the taller one had his shaggy hair and soul patch. Her little finger moved up to a smiling yellow ball in the corner. “And the sun is happy because you’re home.” Her face suddenly fell and she sunk down on the bench. “You’re not leaving forever, are you?”

“Oh, Coco no.” He set aside his bags, placed the drawing back on the table, and scooped Coco onto his lap. “I’m just going on a trip with Rosa and Abel for a week. We’re staying with Mama Josephina and Papa Roberto. I’ll be back soon.”

“But I heard Abuelita arguing with Mama and Papa. They said…”

“Never mind what they said. There’s no reason I can’t be a musician and see you all the time. Plenty of other people do it.”

“But when you’re at music school, you won’t be here,” she sulked.

“No, but how about this?” He shifted Coco so that she could see his face better. “When I get my class schedule, you and I will pick out a time that we can have a FaceTime date. Would you like that?”

“I guess,” she mumbled as she flopped bonelessly against his chest. “It won’t be the same.”

“No, it won’t be exactly the same,” he conceded, “but you’ll still see me all the time, I promise.”

Coco hardened her face and, for a second there, looked just like Abuelita laying down the lay. “You’d better.”

“Anything you say.” He heard Abel firing up the truck and placed Coco back on the bench. “I’ve got to go now. Hug for the road?” He held out his arms and she flung herself into them. “I’ll be back soon, Coco. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He set Coco down and headed out to Abel’s truck. Rosa was already in the passenger seat, so Miguel threw his suitcase in the truck bed and climbed in the back. “Still planning on writing that ghost song?” Abel asked, spotting the guitar case by Miguel’s side in the rearview.

“Yup,” he chirped, fastening his seatbelt.

“You’re really gonna spend a good chunk of this vacation ghost hunting in a train station?” Rosa rolled her eyes, but Miguel paid her no mind.

“Sure am.” He’d let it slip earlier that he wanted to visit Buenevista Station. People might think it’s crazy to go on a trip to a train station, but Miguel had his reasons. That train station housed the legendary Musician with Poison Tears. The spirit was Miguel’s life-long obsession, apart from Ernesto de la Cruz that is. He wanted to see it for himself. He felt a formless song churning in the back of his mind. He wanted to write it, needed to write it. There was something stuck in his brain and he needed to get it out.

Rosa sighed and shook her head. She never did get on board with the whole ghosts-existing belief. Abel gave one last wave goodbye to the family and pulled the truck away. No radio. Just because Miguel openly defied the music ban didn’t meant anyone else was up to the task.

Miguel rolled down his window and let the wind blast him in the face. At least it was something other than silence. He felt a beat in him from the roll of the truck and he tapped it out on his guitar case. Now that they brought it up, he couldn’t stop thinking about the ghost at the station. Like all urban legends, very little was known about who the spirit was in life. But scraps of the story helped paint the picture. It played an invisible guitar, so it must have been a musician. It had poison tears, so most people assume it died by poison as well. It kept trying to board trains, so it was trying to go somewhere. And lastly, it poisoned child abusers, so it fiercely protected children. Who was this ghost? Why was he stuck there? And why was he so protective of children?

Miguel wanted to see the ghost up close. He wanted to get closer than anyone had before. Most of all, he hoped observing the ghost, what it looked like, where it went, how it acted, would give him some clues as to the ghost’s past. He thought, if he could learn just a little bit more about the ghost, he could finally get this nagging song out of his head.

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