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carnivorarium · 2 years

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✖. — [ @hxroccmplex / 𝟒 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐜𝐬 ]

👫 sorry ive been so MIA but i need. NEED. micah/sylas content

1. Sylas paints Micah’s nails for him.

It’s not that Micah can’t paint his own nails or that he’s super into wearing nail polish for any particular reason-- because I mean, 1) hardly anyone’s going to see his nails anyway since he’s wearing gloves 90% of the time, 2) the static membrane covering his hands gradually chips the paint away rapidly, so it’ll be gone within 3-4 days of him putting it on anyway, and 3) he only wears black nail polish, or if he’s really daring red, or if he’s really really really daring pink, so it’s not as if he’s wearing eye-catching colors or designs either. In other words he has no reason to want Sylas to paint his nails other than it gives him an excuse to feel Sylas’s hands on his hands. And that’s it. That’s the entire reason.

For him, it’s about the press of Sylas’s thumb pad against his knuckles while Sylas holds his hand steady, the warmth of Sylas’s fingers against his own as he adjusts the angle of Micah’s hand to make sure he’s covering the entire nail. It’s about how they’ll talk about anything-- or maybe nothing. And the silence will be like a blanket, settling over both their shoulders, something that prompts them to scoot in a little closer to share it more intimately. Maybe their knees will eventually touch, or one will feel the other’s breath ruffling the front of their shirt when they laugh at something stupid the other said. Inevitably Micah will do something like sneeze or his static will bite down on his skin hard enough to make him jolt, and Sylas will paint a wobbly black stripe up the side of Micah’s hand, or spill some of the polish (and it’s good that Micah brought up the idea of sitting on a ratty old towel he uses when dyeing his hair, right?), or smear a finger through still-drying polish. And if Sylas gets irked Micah just laughs and teases him, “What, you over there tryin’ t’ be Picasso?” but he doesn’t really mean it; he just thinks it’s cute when Sylas gets a little huffy over small things that don’t actually matter to either of them, and it makes him feel content, to have imperfect little moments like that.

And even beneath all that, there’s another simpler reason: Micah rarely gets to touch anyone with his bare fingers. It’s not that he physically can’t. He’s been practicing keeping the static in check, so that its bite is little more than a flicker against someone else, like walking through a small spider’s web or having a few loose fabric fibers tickle against your skin. It’s that his hands, for lack of better word, are ruined. In his eyes, anyway. They’re calloused all over, covered in millions of little scars from the the perpetual gnawing of his static, unpleasant to the touch. The idea of just asking for his hand to be held, in any capacity, makes his stomach churn. The question will start to form, but they’ll fill up his mouth to the brim before fully taking shape, and so when it spills out he’s asking Sylas to paint his nails instead. And when Sylas obliges, it feels like heaven.

2. Micah talks WAY MORE than Sylas.

It’s not that Sylas doesn’t talk. We both know Sylas has plenty to say when he wants to (stares DIRECTLY at our discord DMs and then DIRECTLY back at you). It’s that Micah’s a chatterbox. Whenever they’re out and about, it’s usually Micah who’s heard first. It’s a constant stream of consciousness from him, a rabbit trail that never really goes anywhere but also never seems to end. He’ll ramble on and on about what he’s done that day, a weird connection he made between two things that aren’t related at all, what he’s reading (or trying to; he’d like to read more, but he has a hard time concentrating on books), smack talk from work, the plot to a movie he saw a long time ago that he wants to watch again but can’t remember the name of, how he wishes he could live off pot stickers alone, how weird it is that he hasn’t had to dye his hair in months, on and on and on. I’m sure Sylas would interject here and there, and it’s not like Micah prattles without trying to include Sylas. He’d ask questions, ask for opinions, and prompt Sylas to join in on his chatter with physical and verbal indicators. But Sylas seems more the type to listen and chime in while Micah unravels all the tangled up thoughts noodling around in his mind.

But it’s not just that Micah’s a natural at talking a million miles an hour. Despite how many words come tumbling out of his mouth a day, he’s not very good at words. English and literature weren’t his forte in school for a reason. Sure, he can analyze a piece of writing to hell and back and understand exactly what it’s trying to say-- but doing the reverse? Nope, can’t do it. Everything he says is an ambling, sometimes stumbling jog. It never slows down; it can only speed up into sprinting bursts or cantering strides. When he has something on his mind that he needs to say, half the time he doesn’t understand how he’s translating his thoughts into spoken word. So he just lets the flood gates down and interprets his own prose, then interprets his interpretation, and so on and so on, until we get to his “uh-- ya know?” at the end. He wants every word to count, but that’s too much for him to ask for. Quality over quantity is the usual sentiment, but he can’t do that with words, no matter how much he practices or how hard he tries. So offers a generous quantity-- probably too generous. But Sylas listens to it all, and Micah’s grateful for that, because he knows it’s a lot. It’s just!!! the “talks a lot” “listens intently every time” trope!!!!!!

3. Neither of them are good at asking for physical affection.

This is something I’ve noticed in passing in all our discord conversations about them: whenever one or the other or both craves physical affection, they don’t ask for it. They don’t even really indicate that’s what they want. They just sort of... fall into it. Naturally, this tendency of theirs to avoid seeking what makes them vulnerable and wanting led to-- sometimes does still lead to --pining, and often times a very unnecessary amount. I can’t help but wonder how many times they almost held hands, especially before they started dating; where their pinkies were close to brushing, or the tips of their thumbs were but a millimeter away from each other. Or how many times they would steal glances, thinking the other was none the wiser, tracing everywhere they wanted to touch with eyes full of what they fooled themselves into thinking was a passing want. Or how the lifting of a shirt hem gave way to a peek of hipbone, or a bicep pressed snugly to a sleeve, or the tilt of a head bared the column of a neck, would cause so many misfires they’d forget how to breathe for a moment. Probably too many to count. It wouldn’t be until they were crashing together, be it from adrenaline or building heat or getting into mischief or any of the litany of scenarios they’ve been through, that it came to the surface; I want you, I want you, I want you.

Micah tends to initiate. He’ll be the one to hug Sylas from behind, slipping his hands down into Sylas’s pockets, peppering the side of Sylas’s neck with kisses. He’ll pull Sylas down onto him while they’re lounging together and trace over the other’s spine. He’ll move to stand closer to Sylas, so their shoulders touch or their hips bump together. He doesn’t mind being the one to start it, either; not when it’s with Sylas. There’s no room for self-consciousness or questioning reciprocation when Sylas usually melts into him, sometimes making fun of Micah for being a softie, but it’s never serious, and Micah’s learned now that that’s part of Sylas’s love language. And while he might not understand what exactly Sylas went through with transitioning, physically or socially, he knows just enough from their younger years that physicality isn’t exactly the easiest thing for Sylas. Bodies are imperfect. They are uncomfortable. They’re supposed to be a vessel for enjoyment, for existence, but they’re really very loathsome at times. So it doesn’t bother Micah a single bit to be the one to make the first move, to convey I want to share a bit of just being with you, alright?

4. When Micah is gone and the newest iteration of him emerges, Sylas’s name will be almost impossible for him to say.

At first. Lmao, what, you thought I’d finish this off without making it a little sad?

Micah is nothing. Nothing but the notion of wanting to be and trying to be and filling space between other people and nothingness. Nothing cannot hold anything. But he’s also Micah-- Micah as seen by Sylas, Micah as thought of by Sylas, Micah as held by Sylas. Micah, who was devoted to meaning it with his entire being whenever he said “I love you”. Everything he is, everything he can become again, is in Sylas’s hands the moment that metamorphosis is complete. The shell of him remains, and he will find his way back, and he will fall to pieces the moment he is held again. The first thing he’ll want to say, the only thing he’ll want to say when he finds his way home... won’t come out. It sticks in his mouth, catches in his teeth, lodges itself in his throat. He’ll fall against Sylas and hold and hold, wasting all his breath trying to get those two syllables out in one coherent sound: Sy-las. It won’t happen. He’ll hiss out the ‘s’, groan the long “y”, choke on his own tongue trying to curl it into an “l”, sigh out the last “as” in a ghost of what his voice once sounded like. Sylas’s name will be an echo that can’t reverberate, trapped inside the chasm of Micah’s chest.

In time, he’ll be able to speak properly again. Ish. It could take years for him to sound the way he used to. And when he does regain that accent he’d always wished to be rid of, the little clips at the end of certain words, his languid drawl, it always sounds a little bit crackly; like someone speaking through a radio, or a pre-recorded message played over speakerphone. Sylas’s name won’t be as much of a struggle, but there will be times it ends as a hiss, or Micah will start coughing uncontrollably and won’t be able to finish it. And he’ll hate it. How Micah will hate it. He wants to say Sylas’s name. He wants to feel and taste and hold the shape of it in his mouth, watch how Sylas responds to all the different tones and pitches he used to be able to say it, whisper it, laugh it in. But he can’t. Not for a long, long time. Still, he tries. And every he manages even the slightest semblance of Sylas’s name, he smiles the way he always used to.

BONUS ROUND!

The first few times they start getting handsy is going be a little bit disastrous. We both know Micah’s already a livewire when it comes to, well, the fact that he’s ready to get down to it like 100% of the time, and that he’s a hopeless romantic so that smothers most of it. But now this guy he’s hardcore head-over-heels for is touching his bare skin and oops! They’re both being zapped by the static on his hands because he forgot that sudden spikes in his heartbeat make it go haywire. And then Micah’s going to start tripping over his words to apologize and probably say something incredibly unsexy that instantly kills the mood, and even if it doesn’t when they try to pick up where they left off he might accidentally cut Sylas’s lip with his teeth when they’re kissing and oh no that’s actually a lot of blood. So what I’m saying is they are going to be living in a sitcom until Micah calms the fuck down.

#hxroccmplex #about | micah #あ–;; bonds┊( MICAH )#♡–;; though i’m only a ghost let me hold you once more ┊ ( SYLAS )#* hello i'm here with your takeout delivery i hope ur hungry..... for everything #* i love putting micah on blast in public #* they mean so much to me. i'm turning them into plushies so i can squeeze them

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desperates-fic-library · 2 years

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Bakudeku Fic recs

This will be updated! This rec list will continue to grow when I find more to add to it so make sure to come back every once in a while to check!

◈ ━━━━━━ ⸙ ━━━━━━ ◈

Bluebird by Etherealbeing

Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact.

However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -

Landscape after cruelty by ohwickedsoul

“Bakugo, you need to update your costume.” Kirishima said, “There’s this one dude in the support class- he’s got a literal waiting list, that’s how good he is- but he did my new upgrade."

“Yeah,” Bakugo sighs and leans back on his hands, staring at the bracer. “I know. I’ll go,” his mouth twists a little. “I’ll go tomorrow. This is just- this is my design you know?” he’s not explaining himself very well, and refuses to look at Kirishima.

“It can be hard to give up your first hero design, and you did a great job,” Kirishima said. “You definitely had the best one out of all of us when we first got our costumes."

Bakugo hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t design it,” he grumbled.

- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -

Yes, They're All Safe by teaandtumblr

Villains have entered UA grounds and are disposed of just as quickly, but that doesn't mean a headcount of the students doesn't need to be done. Toshinori would admit, he wasn't quite prepared for what he found in Bakugou Katsuki's room.

- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -

A demolition boy and his cryptid BF by kewltie

Bakugou of the Demolition Squad is famous for running one of the most popular Youtube channels on the web that regularly blow shit up and jumped off a perfectly good building for shit and giggles. He's also famous for his Cryptid BF™, never appearing on camera except for a few bodyshots and all information on him is kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox, therefore drawing all sort of attention and curiosity toward his mysterious boyfriend.

Deku from Deku Explains is a hopeless chatterbox who is known for uploading 20-30 minutes video that talked about his favorite shows and comics and have one of the most devoted following on Youtube. He also can't seem to shut up about his boyfriend Kacchan, who regularly make his presence on the channel as a disembodied voice.

They should theoretically have nothing in common except a shared platform to host their content and an army of fans with an endless curiosity and devotion to their Youtubers. Vidcon is where we lay our scene and the internet is about to get a rude wake up call.

- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -

Drop dead, gorgeous by thewunderkind

It's been eight years since Izuku last logged in. When he gets the chance to do so, he discovers that he's married to a user named Ground Zero. Apparently, the husband he's had eight years ago 「 King Explosion Murder 」 patiently waited and has somehow not divorced him. Also, for some reason said husband is now a professional player.

Or the one wherein Izuku learns about the horrors of online — not really — dating.

- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -

Get in loser, we're going racing by kornspiracy

After recovering from a brutal car crash, Midoriya drops out of college to help his mom pay the medical bills. With his history of illegal street racing, he devises a plan to win his way out of debt—all he needs is for Todoroki to steal his father's car. It was nearly foolproof.

Until a malfunction brings the local mechanic onto the scene: his old childhood best friend Katsuki Bakugou. The very same Bakugou who ghosted him for four years after confessing his love for Midoriya back in high school.

And Midoriya still doesn't know how he feels about Bakugou.

(Note: this is the only fic on this list that is unfinished but I couldn't not put it on here because of how much I loved it)

◈ ━━━━━━ ⸙ ━━━━━━ ◈

Thats it for now! Lmk what ya'll think of these fics!♡

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction rec list #fanfiction recommendation #my hero academia #bnha fic #bnha fic recs #bakudeku fic rec #desperates fic recs

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eyes-of-mischief · 2 years

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weekly fic recs | 27

fandoms: atla, bnha, mdzs, tgcf

atla

studying the blade by kryptonianmenace

⚔️ @ thebluespirit 6:56am wait shit i just realized no one knows who i am i can post whatever i want

blue spirit stan @ swordbitch 7:03am @ thebluespirit what are you gonna post?

⚔️ @ thebluespirit 7:05am @ swordbitch i’m gonna say the fuck word

Zuko is a YouTuber making videos under the masked identity the Blue Spirit. Team Avatar is a group of YouTubers who live together that are much more popular than the Blue Spirit. Until one day, Sokka reaches out.

atla x bnha

we are bound, by each crime and every kindness by hyugesoo

Todoroki Shouto dies, ice in his veins and ash in his lungs.

Zuko is born with fire on his lips and tears on his cheeks.

(or, when Shouto is reborn as a prince in a world desperately needing a hero.)

bnha

A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF by kewltie

mdzs

a wild heart to tame mine by theroyalsavage

It's a tale as old as time. Boy moves back to the city he'd fled years before. Boy meets superhero. Superhero saves boy's life. Superhero accidentally breaks the front window of boy's place of employment.

(Lan Wangji just wants to retire from hero work and live a quiet life. Fate, however, has other ideas.)

light travels faster than sound by Anonymous

(explicit)

“Baba,” A-Yuan is saying, tugging happily on his father’s hand. “Wei-laoshi is here!”

“Yes, I see.” Lan Wangji dips his head in Wei Ying’s direction, then begins to gently steer A-Yuan back into the house. “Let’s step aside so that he may come in. Wei Ying, thank you for making time in your schedule.”

“Oh, it was no trouble,” Wei Ying says, waving a hand. It was: he had to rearrange two lessons with other students. “Really, I’m happy to do it.” He realizes he’s still kneeling on the porch, and clambers to his feet. “Besides, money is exchanged for goods and services, right? It’s your money! There’s no need to thank me.”

Lan Wangji blinks. “I suppose… Yes. That is one way of phrasing it.”

(Or: Wei Ying gets a commission, a tutoring job, and a crush.)

tgcf

he doesn't look a thing like jesus (but he talks like a gentleman) by cangji

(explicit)

kindergarten teacher xie lian is adept at minding his own business and getting on with his life - until he discovers one of his students has a very attractive uncle who may or may not be involved with organized crime.

If You Don't Know How to Blow, Blow for Me by trufflehargau

(explicit)

Xie Lian’s eyes flicked halfway up the length of San Lang’s body, sitting rather stiffly on the sofa. He looked kind of awkward, to be honest. Then again, awkwardness was probably a bit of a given when you were sex-coaching the flatmate you’d only known for two weeks.

Or: Jun Wu has dumped Xie Lian for being bad in bed. Desperate to get him back, Xie Lian asks his new flatmate to be his sex-coach. His new flatmate surprisingly says yes.

hell is the talking type by theroyalsavage

Xie Lian hunts ghosts for the amusement of the internet, has a run-in (or two) with a demon, and falls in love with his best friend. Not necessarily in that order.

#weekly fic recs #no prompt #atla fic recs #bnha fic recs #mdzs fic recs #tgcf fic recs

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ahb-writes · 7 months

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Book Review: ‘Turning the Tables on the Seatmate Killer’ #1

Turning the Tables on the Seatmate Killer Volume 1 by Aresanzui My rating: 2 of 5 stars TURNING THE TABLES ON THE SEATMATE KILLER v1 is a densely written, yet ultimately very casual jaunt into the world of high-school anxiety. Getting along with seatmates feels like a life-or-death event. But in reality, it's only as complicated as one makes it. Admittedly, most readers may not be so patient as to wade through hundreds of pages for an hour-by-hour account of a schoolyard romantic comedy. The novel has its moments, but one must acknowledge from the outset, that a 220-page comedy novel printed in a small font type immediately suggests the author is prone to excessive detail or overwriting. Such are the drawbacks of printed adaptations of web novels, one supposes. Yuuki Narito falls into the mold of the highly competent, highly average high-school kid. He's perfectly oblivious, perfectly modest, and perfectly sociable (if he feels like it). Yui Takatsuki, his new seatmate, is attractive, popular, and a bit of a chatterbox. The assumption is that Yui's obvious glamor entrances every guy she sits next to (only to promptly rebuff them.). But the twist is that Yui, gregarious though she may be, is overly conscientious and just wants to fit in. She wants to fit in so badly that she overcompensates, a lot, and accidentally forces her classmates to veer toward (or away from) her, based on the girl's convivial nature. That Yui falls in love with the regularly invisible Yuuki is not a surprise; the surprise (and the fun) is that when Yui realizes she's in love, she goes all in, damning the consequences. A bit of good fun, and with a dash of ecchi humor, TURNING THE TABLES ON THE SEATMATE KILLER v1 is best read casually. The narrative is familiar enough that readers can predict much of the novel's twists and turns (e.g., big brother complex; interfering elder sister), but not so rote as to deprive one of a few delightful disruptions. Yuuki, for example, though oblivious, isn't cynical (as his genre predecessors typically are). He's not opposed to getting into a relationship with a classmate, he's simply unconvinced the time is worth the effort. This slight deviation from the reserved archetype means Yuuki doesn't stress himself (too much) when being kind, faithful, reliable, or romantic. Not to say the kid isn't stressed. He definitely is. It's just that he's comfortably mellow about it. The novel's low-key approach to Yuuki and other characters' anxiety is its hook. Yuuki's male classmates' obsession with branding Yui a "seatmate killer" is less harmful than it is boyishly stupid (Kento: "[She's] fixed on taking you down. The Seatmate Killer doesn't rest until she ensures the demise of her prey. It's hit or miss, and she's never missed," page 98). And Yui herself, while glib in public, secretly frets over very conversation, every laugh, and every sideways glance. The girl papers over her bashfulness with bad jokes and intense stares. Can she really be blamed if others take her behavior the wrong way? The sad reality is that Yui wishes she were less bold, less extroverted, and less attention-seeking than she currently is. The girl longs for peace, quiet, and simplicity, but got caught up in a coy quest for camaraderie ("If only she could remember her old self [..]," page 45). Insofar as challenges go, TURNING THE TABLES ON THE SEATMATE KILLER v1 is a long read. Very little happens, in narrative terms, but the story is so densely written that readers are forced to account for each character on an hour-by-hour basis. One loses very little in the way of engagement, for example, by putting the book down for a week and picking it back up again. The book's translation is good. Notwithstanding some quirky contortions and cultural differences that either fall flat or don't make very much sense (e.g., puns, comedy gags), most linguistic oddities are limited to the usual idiosyncrasies of character names or forms of address (e.g., Yuuki's little sister calls him "Yukkie," but the pronunciation is somewhat unclear). If anything, typesetting is the novel's biggest problem. The book is certainly legible, and is professionally printed, but the number of typesetting errors and mistakes is problematic: wayward apostrophes, improper or use/nonuse of italics, missing words, errant (mid-sentence) paragraph breaks, miscapitalization, mixing of American English and British English spellings, and so forth. Among these and other issues, bad line breaks are the most common by a significant margin. Experience in layout and composition isn't necessary for one to locate an incorrect line break; a few such examples, understandably, are trivial (e.g., "believa/ble," "inconcei/vable"), others are simply awkward (e.g., "exc/laimed," "retros/pect"), but some are downright egregious (e.g., "tur/ned," "sto/pped," "nickna/me," "remembe/ring," "hea/dphones," "ste/pped," "tho/se"). TURNING THE TABLES ON THE SEATMATE KILLER v1 isn't a bad book, but it is a challenge to read in a timely manner. The dreary pacing and trope-adjacent character archetypes lend the novel a casual and familiar glint; readers won't gain much by checking out the story, and they won't miss much by skipping it either.

Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

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megumitski · 3 years

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hello these are the bnha fics i’ve read so far and i just made this to track them for myself. favorites are marked with a 💥! more bakudeku plus tododeku and other ships under the cut.

bakudeku

💥 Bluebird - EtherealBeing (53k)

Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact.

Let’s Be Alone Together - lalazee (3k)

Prompt: Deku being aggressively forward in his pursuit of Bakugou, and how that big oaf would react to someone else actually making the first move.

“Are you going to spend your entire life wishing you’d kissed me or are you gonna grow some balls and fucking do it?”

Bell Pepper - ticklishivories (7k)

Midoriya knew they wouldn’t talk about it. He was right. But he never thought it’d happen again.

spilling over every side - failbender (6k)

No good deed goes unpunished, not when there's a crazy lady with a complex and Lust Quirk parading around the city. By now, Katsuki should probably be used to things blowing up in his face.

be loved - bonnia (5k)

They sit there, in the darkness of the common room, about a few centimeters between them, but miles apart. Somehow, the quiet is companionable. More than it has been in many years. Katsuki knows he’s responsible for the rift between them, and he knows even more that it can’t only be Deku who attempts to mend it.

“Hey,” he says, after a while, and Deku turns to him in question, but Katsuki refuses to look his way. “Touch me again.”

(or: the kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands)

Leftovers - brichibi (6k)

“Did you two make up?”

That. That’s why that fight felt like it was worth it, even if, technically, Izuku can’t answer her. Have they made up? Is this making up?

He actually doesn’t know.

[Or: the house arrest fic where it is, somehow, more awkward to talk through feelings than it is to fight]

lust-drunk - theboykingofhell (8k)

The one where Bakugou tries not to lose his mind to lust, and Midoriya is the useless gay who does nothing to help that matter at all.

💥 Quiet Rapture - lalazee (261k) - inc.

That A/B/O fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personality to woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.

💥 A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF - kewltie (8k)

What The Fuck Did You Just Call Me? - reading_raindrop (8k)

“A-ah B-Bakugou! You dropped some pencils!”

Katsuki stiffened. Kirishima and Kaminari froze. Basically, everyone within earshot stopped what they were doing to look at Izuku like he sprouted a second head. What did he just call him? “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Katsuki whipped his head towards Izuku with his signature death glare as he stood up from where he picked up the fallen supplies.

“U-um I said you dropped some pencils! I think this eraser might be yours to-”

“No. What the fuck did you just call me?”

Izuku starts calling him Bakugou and it pisses the explosive teen off a lot more than he thought it would

💥 take care - Chrome (2k)

There are words to say stay safe, I’ll miss you, I love you, but Kacchan has always preferred to leave things unspoken. Izuku isn’t much with languages, but he thinks he’s figured out this one.

---

“Emotional constipation manifested as over-the-top housewifery?” Mina asks. Before Izuku can say that is not what he meant at all, she nods. “Yeah, I can see it.”

Just Look At Me - Colourcubify (52k) - dnf

Midoriya is completely happy with his life. Nope, not one single regret in his twenty-seven years. He especially doesn't regret running into his old childhood friend/bully after almost ten years, nor does he regret spilling coffee all over his very expensive looking suit. How nice it will be to die with no regrets. ~~~~ AKA the sugar daddy AU I meant to be a one shot, that turned into a full fledged story.

A Nest for the Best - Camellia_Sinensis (1k)

Deku’s been nesting and asking everyone in 1-A for pieces of clothing for his horde. Everyone, that is, except Katsuki. Cue the jealousy.

unforgiving - i_write_emotion (19k)

Deku is hit with a quirk that takes away his ability to forgive, and Bakugou’s world comes crashing down. Quirkless!Deku. Pro-hero!Bakugou.

@ Deku WRONG CHAT - katyastark (16k) - inc.

Deku: THE LENGTHS I WOULD GO TO JUST LICK THE SWEAT OFF HIS ABS hnnnnnghhh

Deku: or! like! It doesn’t even have to be his abs! It could be anywhere else! I’m not picky!

Pinky: excuse me what

ChargeDolt: OMG

Uravity: @Deku WRONG CHAT

I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married. - InkspillsNotebook (6k)

Ta-Da!!!! I hope you all enjoy the finished product!!! I'm sorry (not sorry) I broke a lot of you when I first posted this to tumblr!!

Procrastination - capncapk (5k)

But it is still surprising to see his more-than-friend-but-also-lover-he-guesses in his office seeking attention though Izuku already turned him down.

Usually he'll get a text of 'wyd?' followed by a time and place if Izuku responds with a confirmation, and silence if he's busy.

Or slammed into the wall in the agency's shower for a quickie if no one was around, which despite his anxiety, he often acquiesces to.

While You Were Sleeping - Belkacaramelka (71k)

The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.

briar roses (and hundred years of sleep) - vannral (16k)

In complete honesty, no one who knows the Class 3-A should be surprised anymore. Izuku is asleep.

In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.

Yes, They’re All Safe - teaandtumblr (5k)

💥 all choked up - spicyrabbit (5k)

Bakugou Katsuki had a habit of turning away from the heard. At 16, he does this by coming to terms with wanting, desperately, to see his childhood friend cry.

💥 May I take your order, dipshit? - supercrunch (6k)

So, like, maybe Bakugou wasn’t really the best choice for this whole pizza delivery shindig.

(Midoriya in love, Bakugou in denial, and way, way too much cheese.

A BakuDeku romance in thirty minutes or less. )

blooms every hour - dynamighttiddy (7k)

“It’s you, okay?!” Deku screams. “It’s you. And I know you’ll never love me back, so -” Deku wipes his eyes and straightens. “So just leave it.”

-----

Deku has hanahaki, and Katsuki doesn't know how to save him.

all choked up - dynamighttiddy (7k)

“Deku, what the fuck are you doing?!”

Izuku asks Kacchan to help him train blackwhip. Things don't exactly go according to plan.

A Fight To The Death - iknewaman (10k)

Izuku isn’t competitive by nature, but when the blond, cocky asshole from the other table’s team gets involved he suddenly becomes hellbent on winning.

Rival Pub Quiz AU

💥 Like the Moon - osakakitty (15k)

Katsuki Bakugo is having constant, erotic dreams about Izuku Midoriya. He isn’t sure why, but they won’t go away. In order to make them stop, he needs to figure out what Izuku Midoriya means to him.

Canon-verse story in which Bakugo is confused about his feelings for Midoriya, and doesn’t know what he wants. Besides a good night’s sleep.

💥 We Wear Chains on the Weekend - surveycorpsjean (35k)

Well, in a day of revelations, it turns out that Izuku isn't as vanilla as Katsuki previously thought. Unfortunately, that fascinating discovery is overshadowed by Izuku's dumbassery, because he has zero concept of aftercare.

"Don't go to anyone else," Katsuki says, because screw it. He can do a better job anyways.

Or; Katsuki finds Izuku on a bad drop.

take me out to dinner first - dynamighttiddy (3k)

“Kacchan,” Deku chides. “What’s going on?”

Katsuki takes a deep breath.

He trusts Deku with his life. He can trust him with this, too.

“Have sex with me.”

-----

Katsuki Bakugou is one of the only virgins left in class 3-A - and with graduation just around the corner, he's desperate to change that.

💥 that ultra kind of love - dynamighttiddy (11k)

“So, uh,” Kirishima starts. “Was that your first kiss?” he whispers, almost sheepish. Katsuki’s stomach drops, and he freezes. Memories of green eyes and freckles and soft lips flash behind his eyelids. “Yeah,” he lies easily. “That was my first kiss.”

-----

In which Bakugou pretends Kirishima is his first kiss, amongst other things.

to the moon and back - kewltie (1k)

"He gets stupid when he's drunk," Katsuki seethes in his seat as he watches Izuku croon love notes into Uraraka's throat. He’d never met a worst lightweight then Deku, who become some kind of demented affectionate monster.

💥 Bridges - supercrunch (18k)

Yaomomo sighs. “We’ve got a little bit of a situation, Bakugou. Ashi—uhm, somebody might have accidentally signed you up for that modelling gig.”

Katsuki holds up a hand. "So what you’re telling me here," he says, "is that you told Calvin Klein I would model for them. In my underwear.”

Ashido sinks behind a desk to hide. “Yes.”

(The thing is, they really do need the money. And Katsuki's technically the leader of this bunch of morons, so he finds himself taking the job even though his pride will never recover. And even though nobody thought to tell him that he'd be working with his ex-boyfriend. You know, the cute freckled guy from high school who went and broke his heart.

So, yeah. This whole situation kind of sucks.)

Crescendo - supercrunch - inc. (4k)

(Izuku's band is on their way to the top of the charts. But the real star, he thinks, is the drummer.)

Guilty Kiss - osakakitty (1k)

He could feel Midoriya's eyes on him. Even though he knew it was wrong, Bakugo still wet his lips in anticipation.

(Canon-verse) A short story about making out in a closet. It's messy, but so is their relationship.

💥 Surfaces - surveycorpsjean (25k)

Katsuki has a new girlfriend, but something isn't right.

As impossible as it is, Izuku can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be called Katsuki's girl.

Classical conditioning - supercrunch (8k)

(or: how to trick a boy into going out with you.)

Alright. Maybe his idiot friends had a point, Katsuki thinks as he shoulders open the front door. His mother’s in the living room drinking coffee. Katsuki kicks off his shoes and stomps over. “Am I charming?” he demands, blocking the TV.

Mitsuki pats his cheek. “Oh, hon. Not at all.”

💥 Dance Bunny - EllaBesmirched (17k)

Katsuki Bakugou spends most week nights by himself, sitting in a corner at his local strip club and passing time until he feels tired enough to sleep. Work leaves him stressed and the new city he moved to a year ago is just different enough that he can't sleep at night and can't seem to get comfortable no matter where he is.

When he finally changes up his schedule and decides to head to the club on a Saturday night, he is instantly infatuated with a part-time dancer who can do things with his body that Katsuki didn't even know were possible. The dancer calls himself Bunny. By the second lap dance, Katsuki realizes he is in trouble.

but the entrails are the best part! - supercrunch (15k)

The boy straightens up. He’s about half a head shorter than Katsuki, face soft and youthful and sweet. He turns to look at him properly. His dark hair shines in the dying light, basket of blooms looped over one arm and mouth quirked into a tiny half-smile. The sun hits his face and makes his eyes a bright greeny-gold, just like emeralds.

Katsuki likes emeralds.

“Pretty,” he says, reaching out and picking the stranger up around the middle. He’s surprisingly heavy, although Katsuki doesn’t mind. “I like you. Come see my nest.”

The boy hits him.

He’s stronger than he looks, turns out. Katsuki drops him and falls onto his back, pain blooming across his face. Birds sing. The sky’s a lovely shade of orange, clouds floating lazily by. The boy scarpers. He leaves his basket of flowers behind, footsteps thumping on the ground and fading away as he escapes.

The sun sets. Katsuki, lying flat on his back with a bloody nose, decides he’s just fallen in love.

tododeku

(You Know You’re Really) Cute - ladyhoneydarlinglove (2k)

Kirishima poses the question, who’s the cutest boy in Class 1-A? The answers kind of surprise everyone, especially Midoriya.

Everything Except - Pouler (28k)

"In retrospect, Midoriya probably should’ve realized the moment they were enveloped in a glittering pink cloud that something was about to go Very Wrong."

After an encounter with a unique villain threatens to change the nature of their partnership, Midoriya must find a way to get things back to normal between him and Todoroki. That is, if he's certain that getting 'back to normal' is what he really wants...

count your blessings, not your flaws - PitViperOfDoom (7k)

Midoriya Izuku has never been asked out, confessed to, or flirted with, except as a joke.

Riddles in the Heart - PitViperOfDoom (19k)

The law is clear: whoever correctly answers three riddles will marry the prince, while all who fail are to be executed. The people live in fear as more challengers try and fail, and the throne grows bloodier with every passing year. But a young prince, nameless and in exile from his home, believes there may be more to this brutal challenge than meets the eye.

Of course, there's only one way to find out: ring the gong, and take the trial.

Late bloomer - Nohaljiachi (10k)

That’s why when they’ve found themselves face to face on the ring of the sport festival once more, for the third time ever since they’ve met each other, and Izuku smiled at him, eager and challenging, self-confident but never full of himself, Shouto blinked, dazed and shocked, in realizing just how blindingly beautiful his best friend was. The way Izuku’s white shirt clung on his muscles, the little peek of his collar bone and the hard lines of his pecs visible under it, the way his thighs curved and filled the school gym uniform.

‘Oh, fuck—‘ Shouto thought, his head spinning, feeling like he just got run over by a freight train. ‘Shit. He’s- hot?’

Burn and Breathe - PitViperOfDoom (11k)

Soulmates are connected through pain, and some bonds have more to share than others. Todoroki Shouto wishes he could reject his soulmate. Midoriya wants nothing more than to protect his own.

one string, fit for a bow - furihatachlookie (5k)

There was no magical moment that played a part in Midoriya's realization that he liked Todoroki. The thin red string that greeted him every time he looked down at his hand was an obvious factor, yes, but it wasn't love at first sight either.

It sorta just... happened over time.

fire and feelings - kagshina (8k)

“Uh…” he starts, eyes widening. “Your finger’s on fire.”

Todoroki’s face scrunches together, confused, and then he looks down, noticing the flame. Midoriya watches as shock flashes across Todoroki’s face, and then horror, and then finally settles on embarrassment as he puts out the flame.

“Shit,” Todoroki mumbles, and Midoriya’s lip curves upward.

bakutododeku

💥 Fire in the Mountains - EllaBesmirched (168k)

“I’ll do it.”

Enji froze, fingers curling into a fist at his side, and didn’t turn around.

Shouto froze too, feeling his own eyes widen in shock at the words that had come out of his mouth, at the fact that he had actually stood up, followed his father out of the room, and dashed after him all just to say… he’d do it? He would do it? Him. Shouto Todoroki. He would--

Enji finally turned around and fixed Shouto with an expression so scathing, Shouto had to fight to keep his chin raised. “You’ll marry the Barbarian King.”

Shouto blinked. “Yes.”

The Ballad of Love and Hate - EllaBesmirched (6k)

After eight painfully long years, Katsuki finally has Izuku back. He's determined to keep him this time, and to do that, he knows there are some things he has to say.

(mis)matched - ethydium (12k)

Midoriya doesn't hate the idea of finding one's soulmate, even though he had long since given up on finding his own. And then Bakugou and Todoroki match, and while he's happy for them, his heart breaks from all the unsaid things he feels for them.

Or:

Midoriya pines and suffers his way to his own happy ending.

pillowed by love - ethydium (21k)

As a prank, Uraraka gets Midoriya a body pillow (dakimakura) with the image of Bakugou printed on it. Then another one with Todoroki's picture. Chaos ensues.

other

For who could learn to love a beast? - supercrunch (4k) - bakutodo

Bakugou takes a deep breath and steps out into the living room, eyes automatically adjusting to the change in light. There’s a boy hanging up his coat in the hall. He’s handsome, albeit in an annoying way, hair dyed two colours to match his heterochromia and skin pale and perfect and smooth. He looks expensive. “Bakugou.”

“That’s me,” Bakugou says. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“I’m older than I look.”

(Deku was right, damn him. Pretty boys are Bakugou's type.)

Want it All - surveycorpsjean (29k) - kiribakutododeku

“Hey, so..." Eijirou grins. "Can we ask you guys a question?"

Frankendick and the Great Acid Fiasco - EllaBesmirched (11k) - shiggyxdabi

Dabi had been intending to spend a very nice Saturday getting stoned and plotting murder, thank you very much, but when a trio of UA brats on enough L to kill a Beatle accidentally dose him and two other unsuspecting homicidal maniacs, Dabi has to change his plans a bit. Apparently no else around here knows how to trip balls and fucking enjoy it.

The Twitter - EllaBesmirched (8k) - tododenki

Shouto never really intended for anyone to find his secret Twitter account. He certainly didn't intend for Kaminari to see Shouto's thirst tweets about him. Luckily, Kaminari doesn't seem to mind.

pray you catch me - supercrunch (4k)

Katsuki pushes her shirt up to kiss her stomach. It’s silly, how it makes her heart flutter, how Izuku’s whispered I love you threatens to make her cry all over again. They’re unwrapping her from her clothes. They won’t let her hide, she thinks numbly. Won’t let her curl in on herself like she’s something dirty, Katsuki’s hands tugging off her underwear so she’s naked and exposed between them. “I,” she says breathlessly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying. I’m just being dumb.”

Izuku shushes her. Another tear trickles down her cheek and into her ear. He kisses it away, humming, brushing her bangs off her forehead so he can press his mouth between her brows. “You have every right to be upset. We’ll deal with him later. For now just let us take care of you.”

“She’ll get the message once you stop talking and fuck her,” Katsuki says, slipping his fingers into her. She clenches around him and shudders. “Gonna eat you out ‘til you forget how to move. Now put that fucking motor mouth to good use, Deku.”

#bnha #fic rec #mha #my hero academia #bakudeku #tododeku #bakutododeku #i do want to start reading kiribaku drop some recs pls #im just in a bakudeku hole #im not complaining i like it here #bnha fic rec #mha fic rec

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rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

Text

Beast of Our Behaviors: Scud/OMC

Scud and a friend hang out like old times.

For a prompt request by @pandoratriestowritestuff: 9) "I don't care how good it feels, you'd better not cum until I tell you to" and 13) "Touch yourself for me", taken from @palettes-and-prompts’ 100 Smut Dialogue Prompts.

Fic title is a song from The Crystal Method.

Chapter title is lyrics from TCM and Bubba Sparxxx’s PHDream, which is what Scud has playing when he meets Whistler.

- - -

"Old man, fuckin’ prick. Ain’t even around yet and he’s pissing me off. 'He’d do this, he’d do that.' Bullshit."

Something about one of his bosses not being around, and they’re looking for him, Marley thinks. He isn’t sure, he’s been zoning in and out, letting Josh vent.

Marley lets his head go ragdoll-limp and flop on the lump of beanbag his weight’s rearranged. Just getting a hazy picture of dark shapes, so he blinks, and then he can make out a pair of pacing red denim legs. They’re baggy and hide the feet, except for the toes of the white socks. The only bright thing in the studio, with the lights off, except the crummy TV playing some DVD the guy on the street said was popular overseas (didn’t tell him it wasn’t in English, the asswipe, so it’s reduced to background noise rather than entertainment).

The pacing halts, blocking half of the yellow-haired chatterbox, and a sigh freshens the earthy reek that was just beginning to fade. He pulls it in, a deep inhale, like he isn’t high enough already. Not like second-hand does much for him.

Any kind of it. Emotions included, which is why he ignores the grumbling and reaches out, fingers wavering because his world’s inverted, to snag the hem of the pants. "Jus’ tell him to fuck off, then."

The denim kicks free. Marley goes for it again, getting a better grip, ignoring the, "Quit bein’ an ass," as the denim kicks again but can’t get loose.

"Point’a you coming over if you’re just gonna bitch?" Marley asks. Something in his neck aches as he lifts his head to look up at the face that owns the denim he’s latched on to. "Thought we were gonna do shit."

"We always do shit," chapped lips huff.

Marley licks his own. Inspired, forgetting about the denim, he fumbles off his bean bag and drops to his haunches in front of his mini fridge. Bristling with anything a stoner could want (well, the shit that doesn’t need to be cold is piled on top) but all he goes for is a soda. He thinks he read something once about it dehydrating more than doing him any good, but he’s pretty sure that’s bullshit. It’s cold going down and wets his lips, how couldn’t a drink hydrate?

Government bullshit.

But when Marley turns around, his seat’s been stolen. He doesn’t mind the view it gets him: Josh, splayed out across the chair, an angry starfish. His joint’s in one hand, sagging in a half-assed pinch between his middle and ring finger, and Marley would worry about the carpet catching if he wasn’t drawn to the point where those sprawled legs lead.

Haven’t done shit yet, might as well, so he takes one big swig of his soda, jams it up on top of the fridge between two bags of chips, and pounces—if crawling over on his hands and knees and pawing at the practically-offered bulge could be considered a pounce. A stoner’s pounce, he decides: lazy and slow.

"Mm, thought you’d never," Josh hums, and Marley scoffs and elbows his thigh.

"Been tryin’," Marley grumbles as he pries away the zipper, then the boxers beneath, to get at the stiffy that’s just beginning to take. It’s easy to pull it out, get the foreskin down, and he gets in three slow pumps on his own before Josh starts to arch into his hand. "So now you wanna."

"Man," Josh pants, somehow going boneless and tense at the same time: his limbs melt while his body goes rigid. It gives Marley something to work against, and the sigh a slower pump earns puffs the hit Josh takes up into the stuffy apartment air.

"Gimme," Marley tells him, thrusts stumbling as he reaches for the joint with his free hand.

The end’s bitten and wet but he gets his lungs filled with earthy smoke anyway, and he forces them to hold it longer than he usually would’ve. When Marley does let it go he’s dizzy, and he wavers on his knees and has to grab one of Josh’s thighs.

The joint sticks out between his fingers, wagging with him, and Josh hisses as it bobs dangerously close to his cock. "Watch it."

Marley giggles as Josh reaches for the joint for another hit. It’s a brief fight, because Marley knows Josh was hogging it way too damn much and Josh doesn’t want to interrupt the hand job. In the end he’s got the joint back in his mouth, and he’s not a starfish anymore, propped up on his elbows so he can watch. Marley doesn’t mind an audience, so he gives Josh a show.

"Fuck," comes on the heels of his thumb swirling around the head, then his palm taking its place so his fingers can drape down and stroke up. That doesn’t get as much of a reaction, so Marley goes back to his first grip. The firm, sluggish stroke down to the base mashes his hand into the blonde curls springing around it.

Josh bucks his hips again, and Marley freezes, near the tip this time. "Behave," he teases.

Blue eyes lock onto brown and Josh growls, "Y’want me to do you after? Keep goin’."

Marley giggles again, a true high giggle, as Josh tugs him forward so he’s close enough to kiss. It’s awkward, the joint getting shoved to the corner of Josh’s mouth, singing their cheeks. But it’s good, because that means Marley gets a mouthful of earthy smoke on top of the sugar of the donuts they scarfed down earlier.

Josh’s cock twitches in his grip when he leans forward enough that his own stiffy, clothed, bumps it. "Uh uh, you ain’t finishing unless I say."

And Josh snorts at that, and Marley can’t keep his composure. He outright laughs and topples onto the stoner under him, kissing him harder, forgetting about the hand job. Josh doesn’t, grinding under him, which reminds Marley that yeah, right, he’s got one too. Funny how weed can make him forget that. It aches, like he’s going to explode right there, now that he remembers.

"Touch yourself," Josh pants as Marley’s rucking up his band shirt. It’s awkward, with how he’s straddling Josh, his legs kind of holding him and kind of not. Too much distance, the bean bag and body puts between the floor and his hips.

Marley’s too busy running his fingers over the scars webbing the exposed belly to pay attention; a pinch to his hip makes him jump, and he’s scrambling for his own fly as Josh watches, smoke fogging his face, but Marley can still see the tongue poking out in the corner that means he’s concentrating.

"Cute," Josh teases as Marley gets his jeans down as much as he can while keeping his position—because right, his zipper’s busted, damn—but pauses to scowl. "What? They are."

Marley scoffs and parts his boxers briefs—ignoring the red, yellow, and green zig zags; so what if they’re stoner colors, they were a gag gift someone got him, they fit, so why not use ‘em?—and groans when he plants one hand on Josh’s shoulder to brace himself and starts to stroke. Easy to ignore, when he wasn’t getting too much stimulation; but now, shit, he’s shaking and greedy and gladly lets Josh paw at him to help.

They get in their scuffles, know how to fight, but it’s not too often they resort to it; not now, either, but the rough pets make Marley shudder, the lack of lube, the tugs that rut his balls against Josh’s pinned shaft under him. They’re both getting off, this way.

"Not till I say so," he hums when he feels it—pre-cum, not his, making a damp spot on the thigh of his boxer briefs.

Josh hisses, holding out. Marley gasps as Josh’s other hand clamps onto the back of his neck, holding him down so Josh can buck his hips up. Josh’s cock slides along his thigh, up onto his hip, and Marley angles them down to trap the rut.

The carpet’s concrete compared to the bean bag as Josh flips them. "What was that about not being a fighter, Fromeyer?"

A scoff pants into his neck as Josh tucks in to nip. "Scud, like stud, dammit. Dunno why you don’t just call me that."

"Because it’s stupid," Marley grunts as Josh picks up the pace.

They’re grinding like horny teens, kissing and pawing, but fuck it—Josh’s got work now, and it’s been a while. Probably will be, again, before they can do this again. Hopefully his hardass bosses don’t drug test.

Josh’s leaving a bigger damp spot on his thigh as he trembles and finishes. Marley’s on his heels, getting that band shirt dirty, he’ll get bitched at for that. But for now, he’s content to just let the other stoner lie on top of him. They’re trapping the mess, getting it over more of them, but fuck it. They’re high, and Marley sighs, and grabs for the joint that’s been left smoldering on the carpet. Landlord’s an asshole, anyway. Can deal with it when his lease is up.

Marley snatches his fingers back as a boot grinds the joint to nothing. He yelps, and Josh fumbles and swears. The unfazed face above them tracks Josh as he gets to his knees, no real shame as he tucks himself away, then to his feet, gesturing at their intruder but not kicking his ass. Knows him, apparently.

"B? The fuck, man?" Josh hisses. Yeah, he knows him.

Marley isn’t as brave, and his high tanks as he blushes and tries to make it look like he doesn’t have white striping his thigh, smearing his hip. He stuffs himself away, at least, in time for the black dude to finally look at him.

"Uh, hi." And because Marley vaguely remembers manners, he points to his fridge: "Pretzels?"

Which feels wrong to ask this guy, somehow. Doesn’t fit with the vibe the room’s got now. He’s still a little high.

B ignores him, and Marley can’t help but frown when he sees Josh is packing up his shit, zipping his bag and jamming his boots on. He’d hoped they’d have a little more time. Not be interrupted, at least.

"You said you were grabbing provisions," B tells Josh flatly.

It doesn’t sit right with Marley. He doesn’t talk... normally. Too formal. But Josh is used to it, doesn’t say anything except, "Yeah, had a detour. Relax, man."

"Oh, I’m a detour," Marley scoffs, poking at the remains of the joint as B steps off to look out the kitchen window. Well, the everything window, since it’s a studio. Joint’s done for, and Marley sighs. His fun’s over, anyway.

"We’re already late."

"Yeah, yeah, I—Jesus." Josh is in front of Marley, then, as he finally clambers to his feet. That catches him off guard. So does the nudge Josh gives him. "Should be back in a few months."

"Months? Shit, what kinda job is this, dude?"

"Classified," comes from the door.

Josh rolls his eyes. "Tell Davey to have more of that good shit grown, yeah?"

"Only if you bring better snacks," Marley negotiates. Chips had been salt and vinegar. Gross, even if he’s too high to care much about flavor.

"Deal."

The quick peck Josh sneaks when he headbutts him surprises Marley, and then Josh is gone, scruffy and flushed and clomping down the stairwell outside the door with his bag. Too soon, too fast, Marley thinks. Would’ve been nice if they could figure out what the DVD was about.

Not as fast as B, lunging back into the room when he looks like he’s going to leave—no, checking to make sure Josh’s gone—and hurling Marley back against his bookshelf. It doesn’t hold a lot of books, more just junk, and an empty turtle shell clatters to the floor.

"Name?" B asks, and his coat twitches, and—holy fucking shit, that’s a big knife, and Marley tells him so. "It’s a sword. Name," B says with the weird patience of someone who doesn’t have time but knows he’s dealing with someone who’s high, and forcing him to hurry won’t do any good.

"Marley." The knife, the sword, taps his shoulder. "Jacobs. Wait, what—"

The hand pinning him goes for his face, his mouth, and Marley winces as his lip’s stretched down. B lets it curl back up just as fast, leaving behind the taste of fake leather, then he’s tilting Marley’s head to the side. Marley wants to tell him to maybe take the shades off first, but then he remembers this guy has a sword. He’s learned a thing or two from buying weed and a little bit of harder stuff. Don’t piss off the guy with the sword isn’t a rule verbatim, but it’s a cousin to don’t get into shit with Stevie, who’s known to carry.

"How do you know Scud?"

Josh, Marley thinks. "Uh, friends. High school, kind of." At B’s head cock, he hurries, "Well, Josh dropped out. We still hung out after."

"Why don’t you call him Scud?"

Jesus, who is this guy? "Not his name," Marley shrugs. "I’unno, I... like it better."

"And you hang out."

Marley says, "Yeah," even though he doesn’t think he’s being asked.

B’s tone suggests he knows what hanging out implies. Marley nods, and B steps off him. For a beat, there’s nothing but the background noise of the TV, what’s a funny pastime for them flat-out embarrassing now. Doesn’t matter that it’s not in English, the yellow-haired boy’s voice is grating, annoying to both the other characters and the audience. Chanting something about a hokage, whatever that is. Soup looks good, though.

The stack of junk over the fridge crinkles as B takes something—a bag of pretzels.

"Hey, what..." Marley trails off, expecting to be ignored as B heads for the door, this time for real, Marley thinks. But he pauses. Waits. "Is Josh okay? He got this job after he got jumped at some festival, I dunno if you knew. But he’s... what kind of job is this?"

Because it clicks. B: this is Josh’s boss. Josh sure bitched about him often enough. Not to mention: provisions, running late, classified.

"Like I said," is all B gives, which, yeah.

But Marley tries anyway. Steps forward, kicks his turtle shell by accident. It skitters further than it ought to, bumps the heel of a clunky boot. "Look, just..." I don’t know what the fuck happened, but is he suicidal? Is this some bullshit he took up to off himself? Is he in too deep with something? Mob? Cartel? "... is he gonna be alright? Is he gonna come back?"

The boots turn. A gloved hand picks up the shell, and then B’s pushing it into Marley’s hands. It’s not gentle, but he think it tries to be. "He’s useful."

That sounds... less than great, but Marley takes it. How many teachers bitched at Josh for goofing off, skipping classes, not being anything but a waste of space?

"Yeah," Marley says, "okay."

- - -

In the morning he wakes up hungover, the TV screen on a purple input screen, the DVD player fried because his soda must’ve fallen off the fridge and spilled. Marley wants to just turn over and go back to sleep on his futon, but blue and red are thrown up on the walls, cops—and Marley’s wide awake and checking that his stashes are hidden like any good stoner.

There’s a body bag being rolled out of the lobby, he sees, with his face pressed up to his window. When he pokes his head out to see if his neighbors know anything, one tells him it was the landlord being carted off. Shot point-blank, and Marley cringes at that. Sure, he was a strict asshole (only available at night, no food in the lobby, no black lights in the apartments) but that’s just... rough.

Well. Hopefully Josh doesn’t have to deal with that kind of violence, wherever his job takes him. Marley entertains the idea that maybe he’s with the CIA. Nah, not Josh, who treated Rage Against the Machine like commandments when they were in high school, who rolled his eyes at army recruiters, who laughed as they got their asses chased by truancy officers.

He’d just as likely be running around with monsters, Marley snorts, and rips off a chunk of stale donut and goes back to bed.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x oc #prompt request #season of kink #felt weird having OCs and different readers in the same thing #just organizing #ignore me

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skeeter-110 · 3 years

Text

I Dreamt About You Every Night

Tony Stark has been dead for seventeen years due to a mission gone wrong. He’s survived getting blown up, palladium poisoning, terrorist attacks, and even Thanos himself, and he gets killed by - what was supposed to be - a simple day-to-day mission. Or, so everyone thought.

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two || || Chapter Three || || Chapter Four || || Chapter Five ||

Chapter Six

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

"Okay, so what's the game plan?" Peter asks three hours later when they finally were able to find the old base. When Tony said he had a rough estimate, he really meant a rough estimate. "Tony?" Peter calls out again when the scientist didn't answer him.

Glancing over next to him, Peter saw Tony blankly staring at the base. Very hesitantly, Peter shook Tony's shoulder, not wanting to startle him out of what - Peter was assuming - was a PTSD episode, but also wanting him to come back down to Earth.

"Hey, Tony, snap out of it. It's okay, you're safe. You're not going back here so they can continue to do what they were doing to you." Peter tries to calm, confusion washing over when when Tony began walking towards the base.

"Tony. Hey, Tony, what are you doing?" Peter harshly whispers, trying to get the older man to stop walking away. Making sure his guard was still firmly up, Peter followed Tony into the base, coming to the conclusion that this was no longer PTSD induced and something else was causing this.

Peter soon found him and Tony standing in a wide open room, the door slamming closed behind them. There was only one singular light hanging above them, making it difficult for Peter to look around and see what was around him. The only thing Peter knew for sure was that his spidey-sense were going off the charts, making him feel like they had just fallen into a trap.

"Even after all of these years, it still surprises me how easy it is to control his mind." A man's voice echoes all around them, making Peter turn around in circles in attempt to get even a small glance of who was speaking.

"It also still surprises me how strong your loyalty remained, even with Stark gone." The voice continues. "Maybe the loyalty runs so deep and that's why it was so easy to get into your children's minds. Or it could just be because they're simply that; children."

"Where are they? What have you done with them?" Peter growls, hating the fact that all that seemed to do was amuse whoever the voice belonged to.

"Nothing too life altering, yet. They're mainly just pawns needed for this exchange." The voice says.

"What exchange?" Peter questions, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer to this question.

"Your children's lives, for Starks."

"Show yourself!" Peter shouts, wanting to know who it was exactly that was black mailing him.

Slowly a man began walking out of the shadows, revealing himself. It was the same man from the videos, and even though Peter has seen him a million times before, it was still jarring to see him in person. If Tony wasn't standing there completely blank, Peter was sure he would make another comment about how much this guy truly looked like a vampire.

His skin was a shade of grey that you only saw on the living dead, his eyes glowed red, and his teeth were almost as sharp as a shark's.

"Who are you?" Peter questions, his confusion growing more when all the man - creature? - in front of him scoffed in disbelief. "Doctor Morbius at your service." The man greets, rolling his eyes and continuing when Peter didn't show any kind of recognition. "What, my good pal Doctor Octavius didn't tell you about me? God knows he wouldn't shut up about bringing you down. But, then again, I guess he wasn't around for too long before I got rid of him; he really was useless wasn't he?" The man - Morbius - rambled. "What do you want from us?" Peter asks, hoping to stop Morbius from continuing down whatever messed up trip down memory lane that he was going down. "Isn't it obvious? Look at me! I wasn't supposed to end up like this! I was supposed to be curing the rare blood disease I had, but Octavius had other plans. He made me into this and I want it fixed. I've seen what Stark can do - how he was able to build a new element to save himself - and I will stop at nothing to make sure he does the same for me. Even if that means having experiments on your son to figure out a cure." Morbius threatens, instantly making Peter see red and blast him to the other side of the room with his taser webs; Peter secretly thanking whatever gave him the idea to make webs strong enough to hold even Steve against a wall.

Apparently, blasting Morbius to the other side of the room broke whatever mind control he had on Tony because the man quickly snapped out of the trance he was in and began frantically looking around the building.

Unfortunate, at the same time, Morbius whistled and called in a bunch of his goons for reinforcement.

"Wha- Pete, what's happening?" Tony asks, instantly fighting the people surrounding him along side Peter.

"Long story short, scary vampire man wants you to stay with him for all of eternity - or at least until you're able to cure him - and we need to figure out a game plan to make sure that doesn't happen." Peter explains, rolling his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the bewildered look Tony was giving him. "Yeah, you kind of missed the whole monologue villains like to give."

"Okay, game plan." Tony huffs, continuing to fight off what felt like hundreds of HYDRA soldiers. "I think I've got an idea." Tony shouts, Peter moving towards Tony as best as he could while simultaneously fighting off all the soldiers.

"You better tell me the plan quick; it feels like they're multiplying by the second." Peter pants as he kicks one of the soldiers clear across the room.

"Right, well, I remember when those vampire movies began coming out, Pepper made me watch them with her, and they said that the best way to kill a vampire was with fire." Tony says, making Peter scoff.

"You can not seriously be comparing this situation to Twilight." Peter snarks, grunting in frustration as they continued to fight.

"You got a better idea?" Tony snaps back.

"Okay and how do you supposed we go through with your plan?" Peter asks on lieu of an answer, shooting another string of webs at Morbius when it looked like he was beginning to break free from the first round of webs.

"I'll distract the cult and their leader while you go out and find the kids. Once you do, get the hell out of here because I'm going to blow it up." Tony tells Peter, making him shake his head in return.

"No, not happening." Peter quickly disagrees.

"Peter, Kid, I need you to work with me on this one." Tony pleads.

"No! Come up with a plan that doesn't involve us splitting up." Peter says, making Tony realize the real reason Peter was being so stubborn about all of this.

"Pete, I know you're worried about what happened the last time happening again but you've got to trust me on this." Tony pleads, although it didn't do much to persuade Peter like he wanted.

"I-I won't. I won't leave you again- I can't leave you again. Tony I can't lose you again, I just can't." Peter practically cries, and in that moment, Peter felt like he was eighteen-years-old again. All of a sudden he was back there, back to the night where he saw his father-figure for the very last time.

"Pete, I understand that us splitting up failed miserably the last time, but I promise it's going to be okay now. You've just got to trust me." Tony says, Peter's breathing picking up as he began to look around the room, realizing how screwed they were currently.

Making a quick split decision, Peter threw his last three taser webs at Morbius, sticking him further against the wall and zapping him. Just like with Tony, Morbius' control on all of the soldiers released, causing all of them to fall down to the ground.

"That'll give you about ten minutes. If you're not outside within that time, I'm coming back in and dragging your ass out myself." Peter sternly says while Tony just pants and stares at him in disbelief and a bit of annoyance.

"You couldn't have done that a bit sooner?" Tony huffs, making Peter roll his eyes.

"Well I couldn't have just wasted all of them. We needed to figure out a plan first." Peter defends. "Now, go!" Peter says before running down a random hall.

He made sure to get far away from the previous room, trying to find a quiet spot so he could use his super hearing and figure out where in the world his kids were.

Peter could faintly hear their voices coming down from one of the halls, booking it as fast as he could down it; only stopping every now and then to see if he could hear their voices again.

Peter soon found himself lost, turning around in circles when he found himself in a hall filled with rooms, half tempted to just start busting through them when he heard a crash coming a bit further down the hall.

Taking that as his hint, Peter began running towards where he heard the crash, quickly coming up to a crossroads. Closing his eyes, Peter tried to block out all the rest of his senses to try and hear better where the kids were.

"Out of all the times for you two to quit being chatterboxes, now is not the time." Peter whispers to himself, smiling when he heard the familiar whines of Ben and Annie arguing.

Peter ran towards the closed door he heard their voices behind, fully ready to scoop both of them up into his arms and never let them go again. Just as Peter was reaching the door, the whole building began to shake beneath him, practically making him fall to his knees.

"Damn, Tony, you couldn't have found a subtler way to tell me to hurry up?" Peter grouses as he regains his footing. Figuring he needed to be as quick as possible, Peter slammed open the door, instantly ducking the limp that came swinging at him.

"Woah, hey, woah! It's me, it's me!" Peter shouts, grabbing Ben's arms which were basically just flailing in Peter's general direction rather than actually throwing punches in defense.

"Dad?" Ben asks in surprise once he gained awareness.

"Yeah, it's me, now we need to go and we need to go fast. So be quick, hop on my back. Annie-May, you can come out now and come here." Peter rapidly says, wrangle his two kids together and making sure he was able to carry both of them out of the building.

"What's happening?" Annie asks once Peter starts booking it down the hall.

"Long story short, the bad guys that took Grandpa Tony wanted him back and so now Grandpa Tony is going to blow up the building." Peter shortly answers, more focused on making sure Annie continued to hold onto his neck since he had to hold onto Ben.

"He's going to blow up the whole building? Why?" Ben questions, shivering slightly once they exited the building and the cold night air hit him.

"Kid, I'm going to teach you a very important life lesson." Peter braces, running a bit further into the filed, really making sure there was a bunch of distance between them and the building. "Never, ever, question your grandfather." Peter says, flopping down on the ground and protectively pulling both of his kids to his chest.

"Really? That's the important life lesson?" Ben chuckles as Annie lets out a bunch of giggles.

"Trust me, it took me a really long time to learn that sometimes you're just better off letting him do whatever it is he's going to do." Peter says before sitting up and looking his children all over.

"Dad, Dad. Dad," Ben stops, continuously pulling away from Peter's curious touches "we're fine." Ben reassures once he manages push Peter away slightly.

"Well I just want to make sure you both-" Peter began to defend himself, the rest of his defense getting cut off by a giant explosion going off in the building. Peter rushed to pull each kid behind him, shielding them from the heat and debris flying everywhere with his body.

Once he was sure the kids were again, Peter whipped around, expecting to see the Iron Man suit flying out of the flames. But instead, he saw nothing. There was nothing but building anxiety and all Peter could do at that moment was scream.

"Tony!"

Tag List: @spideyspeaches @lost-lunar-wolf @joyful-soul-collector @hatakehikari @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #spiderson #fanfiction #presumed dead

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 4 years

Note

Hi. Big fan over here. Can you please do the prompt (43. “Take my hand.” “Why?” “I’m trying to ask you to marry me, so take my damn hand!”) from the pinterest prompt list????

50 Prompts Cause Why Not

43. “Take my hand.” “Why?” “I’m trying to ask you to marry me, so take my damn hand!” (from anonymous)

He found her when she didn’t want to be found. She was hiding for a reason, but he spent a whole summer chasing her around the entire Middle East. Really, she should have known he would.

Something tells her he always will, if she lets him…

…and that’s something she really, really can’t do.

She sits against the headboard in the big old bed in the master bedroom of the big old farmhouse, watching him sleep. This place feels at once familiar and alien, a place that once brought joy but now brings only a slight solace from pain.

No, that’s not true. The old farmhouse also brought reunion.

Opening the door for Tony wasn’t the easiest thing that she’s ever done. When he showed up a week ago, she’d been half torn between welcoming him and evading him. She knew he was coming, knew he’d been tracking her. He’s as predictable as the sun rising in the morning, something that makes her ache in an awful way. He’ll keep coming to find her, keep breaking his own heart over and over again.

He’ll keep letting her break his heart. Over and over again.

They’ve been doing this dance for years, each getting close and then spinning away again, both afraid to make the leap that’ll end in euphoria or flames. There’s no middle ground with them. There never has been.

Now there’s no going back. As they lay together in her ancient, creaky bed, they sit on the wrong side of a line that shouldn’t have been crossed. Ziva studies the shape of the muscles of his back, watching as salt leftover from last night’s dried sweat sparkles faintly in the early morning light. The long, unbroken curve of head, shoulders, spine, legs as he lays face down in the bed… it’s an absolution and a curse. It’s shouldn’t-be and could-have-been and never-will-be-again. It’s the taste of something long forgotten, something nostalgic and warm and kind to the senses, something homey but fleeting in its perfection. It’s love, the kind that throbs and heals and tears all at once.

He must feel her eyes on him, because after a few minutes of silent, painful contemplation, she sees him turn his head to look at her. There’s a vague smile teasing his lips as he surmises what she was doing before he woke, and something tells her he knows that this is more bittersweet than just sweet. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice grumbly from sleep but undeniably warm.

“Good morning,” she replies softly, pushing curls away from her face. She doesn’t attempt a smile, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

“How’re you feeling today?” he wants to know.

She shrugs, looks out the window, watches a spider make its careful trek from one corner of its web to another, backlit by the rising sun.

Her non-answer is easily answer enough, and Tony nods. “I was afraid of that.”

Ziva doesn’t comment.

“You know I’m no psychologist, but I think if Ducky was here, he’d tell you it’s healthiest to talk about what you’re feeling.”

“Talking changes nothing,” Ziva utters softly.

“That might be true,” Tony concedes, “but it might make you feel just the tiniest bit better. Or at least it might make me feel just the tiniest bit better.”

If he’s hoping for a smile, he doesn’t get one, and she still won’t look back at him. “I have told you how I feel, Tony. You must understand how difficult this is for me.”

“Hell, Ziva, I do know. That’s what’s scaring me.”

Ziva bites her lip, feeling it begin to tremble. She can’t cry again—she’s done too much of that lately. Now is hardly the time.

Tony presses on. “Would it help if I reminded you that none of this is your fault? Whatever crappy stuff your mind is telling you, it’s wrong.”

There’s no answer. Ziva simply tugs the sheet tighter against her chest, feeling impossibly heavy. Sometimes, the world is an unbearably cruel place, and sometimes, she’s the one who has brought the cruelty down on her loved ones.

Tony sighs and sits up next to her. He doesn’t touch her, for which she’s grateful, but he doesn’t let her dissociate completely, either. “That’s what I thought you’d say, you hopeless chatterbox.” The words are teasing, but the tone is neutral. He knows he’s not going to get much out of her now. “Ziva?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Yes, I do.”

He sighs suddenly and loudly, and when he speaks again, his voice is earnest. “No, you don’t.” He pauses for a moment and then from the corner of her eye, she can see him turn his head to look directly at her. “Take my hand.”

The order is enough to truly capture her attention, and she tears her gaze away from the fat, struggling spider on the windowsill. “Why?”

“I’m trying to ask you to marry me, so take my damn hand!” Tony insists.

This surprises Ziva enough that she very nearly does as told out of reflex. “You are what? Tony…”

“No, you don’t get to argue with me. Not yet, anyway. Now please, give me your hand.”

It goes against her better judgment, but Ziva shakily offers him her right hand.

“Not the correct hand, but I’ll take what I can get,” Tony mutters, more or less to himself. “Now, Ziva, hear me out. Marry me. Come home with me. I don’t give a damn whether you ever pick up a gun again for the rest of your life, okay? If the Navy yard is hard for you to visit, if you can’t handle seeing Gibbs’ house, that’s fine. I’ll ask for a transfer. We’ll go to California or something, okay? You can still have your space, and you can process and grieve and do what you need to do, but you won’t have to do it alone.”

“Tony—”

“No, hang on, I’m not done yet! Geez, woman. Let a guy talk for a second.” He squeezes her hand. “You may be used to solitude, and it may still be weird for you to be the most important part of someone’s family. That’s fine, I get it. It’s an adjustment. But you can’t just pretend you’re not who you are to me, okay? You may have some grand plans of martyrdom and crying alone here for the rest of your life, but you’re not the only one on the planet who gives a shit about what you do. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

She’s caught up on something he said, and she blinks at him. “Most important?” she echoes, her voice muted and disbelieving.

Tony shakes his head and laughs. “You’re so smart, but so…” He stops himself before he insults her; that’s not what he’s trying to do here. “I like to think you’ve known for a while that you’re—Ziva, you’re everything to me. You’re my best friend and you’re my family. And if there’s one person on this Earth who factors into every decision I make, it’s you.”

Despite promising herself that the time for tears is over, Ziva starts to feel a few leak from the corners of her eyes. Tony takes this as a good sign and soldiers on. “Marry me,” he repeats. “Please. We’ll figure it out. Or maybe we won’t—I’m sure we’ll drive each other nuts in two weeks or less—but whatever happens, we’ll weather it together. We’re Bonnie and Clyde, alright? Better on the same team than either of us could be alone. We’re Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, we’re Kirk and Spock—two halves of the same whole.”

Tony kisses the hand that’s still limp in his. “Come on. Marry me.”

“Tony, I cannot simply—”

“I love you. Marry me.”

The word love shocks Ziva into silence. Surely he doesn’t mean that? As she looks at him, though, she realizes that of course he does. He would never say the words if he didn’t feel them. He loves her and he wants to marry her, and… she can see it so plainly on his face that he wants above all else for her to let him love her. He wants her to accept the hand he’s offering, a hand that will keep her head above the water.

None of that, however, surprises her more than when she feels herself nodding.

Tony’s expression shifts from intense pleading to ecstatic in the space of a heart beat, and he drops her hand to cradle her cheeks. “I love you,” he repeats, and the way he says it makes old words feel new and alive again. Then he kisses her, and though they’ve a long road ahead of them…

Ziva feels the slightest weight vanish from her heavy heart, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, they’ll figure out how to pull each other through it.

#ncis #ncis fanfiction #tiva #tony dinozzo #ziva david #i was thinking all day about how this ask was gonna be Fluffy and Cute and Pain-free #and then i was forcefully reminded that today is Berlin day #and i got all caught up in my feelings #so this became way more angsty than i ever meant it to lol #at least it had a happy (ish) ending?#i miss t & z so much #my heart hurts #TOMORROW I WILL WRITE HAPPY FLUFFY THINGS #but today my heart hurts #sorry anon #thank you very much for the ask and i'm sorry i made it bittersweet #i'm sure that's not exactly what you were expecting lol #but i really do appreciate the prompt! <3 #anyway here have this unpolished piece of Sad that i pulled out of my broken heart #there maaaay be some slight overlap with the dialogue from past present and future #i haven't seen it in months so i remember the gist but not the specifics #but i refuse to shatter my soul by watching it again so vague knowledge will just have to do #cynthia writes stuff too

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ofwrittenlegacy · 5 years

Note

55!: You’re a nerd pls ❤️

Thank you for requesting this! You can read it on AO3: here! Or beneath the cut.

“Kid,” Tony shifted the phone so it was sandwiched between his shoulder and his ear. “Is it safe for us to be talking while you’re patrolling?”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark!” He heard the faint thwip! of a web snagging a building as Peter soared through the Massachusetts night air. “I haven’t talked to you in a few weeks and I haven’t even gotten to tell you about how we’re learning about ‘wave function collapse’ in Quantum Mechanics today!”

Tony chuckled, setting down his cup of coffee gently. Morgan was upstairs asleep and if she got the slightest inkling that he and Pepper were having fun without her, she would appear and force the party to rage on. But there was no soiree tonight. Pepper had turned in early because she had a day full of meetings in the morning and Tony shuffled around the kitchen, reading articles about Spider-Man being generous enough to protect the MIT campus lately and drinking coffee.

“You’re a nerd, Pete.” Tony leaned against the counter, StarkPad dangerously close to his face. He had left his reading glasses upstairs and he wasn’t going to run the risk of disturbing Pepper or waking Morgan so he could read about a kid in a red onesie helping a kitten out of a tree. He’d squint for the time being. “Go on, tell me about your professor told you. But I would like to point out that I could’ve probably told you the same thing years ago.” Tony snorted.

He waited to hear Peter quip something about Tony’s large influence in his decision to go to MIT but he was greeted with silence.

“Did you stop to pull out your class notes, kid? It really isn’t that important. It’s past your bedtime, anyways.”

Silence.

Tony felt his chest constrict dangerously. Peter was too much of a chatterbox to be silent. Silent meant something was wrong. Tony reached for his watch, flicking up Peter’s vitals which he always kept on tab when Peter was in the suit.

“FRIDAY, is there a bad signal?” Tony asked. He knew there wasn’t. It was his technology and he had never heard of anything called “bad signal” or “interrupted connection”.

“No, the line is still active,” The AI replied in a calm voice. Peter’s vitals read clear. Everything from his temperature to his blood pressure read perfectly fine. The only thing concerning was...his location. The tracker led to Tony’s living room.

That couldn’t have been right. Peter was swinging around MIT’s campus, busting up fraternity hazings or whatever his eccentric child did these days.

Slowly, Tony discarded of his cup of coffee and StarkPad and moved towards the living room. His wrists itched to activate the gauntlets but he held off. The living room was dark and vacant, only Morgan’s Doc McStuffins doll lying in the middle of the floor. Tony caught a glimpse of red out the corner of his eye and turned towards his balcony. Oh.

“Tony…” Finally, into the cellphone, Peter’s voice breathed weakly.

Tony raised a brow. “Peter?”

The door to the balcony opened and Peter stepped inside, slipping off his mask. They stood there for a moment, taking each other in. Peter hadn’t seen Tony in nearly 3 months, talking to him maybe twice a week to fill him in on Spider-Manning and science. Tony’s chest ached as it set in how much he had missed those doe brown eyes and curly brown hair.

It took all of two seconds before Peter closed the space, wrapping his arms around Tony. Tony, unprepared for the weight of his lanky super child, rocked dangerously and fell backwards onto the couch, taking Pete with him.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony laughed, pulling away. He assessed the situation. Why was he here? Was Peter hurt? Was he sad? Was he sick? But he seemed to be in one piece and as bright eyed and bushy tailed as ever. “What are you doing here?”

Peter grinned, settling on the couch beside Tony. “It was a four day weekend.” He yawned. “I figured I’d swing by and see my old man and teach him a thing or two about quantum physics.” Peter nudged Tony playfully, who caught the boy by his shoulders and pulled him closer.

“Pete, I invented quantum physics.” Tony scoffed. Peter eased down, laying across Tony’s lap. Tony’s hands busied themselves by carding through Peter’s hair, without missing a beat. Just like old times. His kid was home.

“Okay, okay, listen to this.” Peter rolled so he could look up at Tony’s face. “Wave function collapse is said to occur when a wave function, initially in a superposition of several eigenstates, appears to reduce to a single eigenstate due to interaction with the external world, right?” Peter began.

“Kid, do you ever just go out and get a drink or are you always reading a textbook cover to cover?”

“Mr. Stark, this is important!” Peter whined.

“Jesus, you’re worse than a nerd. Right, quantum-whatever. Go on.”

Peter began to animatedly babble about what they had covered so far that semester and Tony listened earnestly, his eyes lighting up with pride. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he enjoyed the warmth he felt whenever Peter was around. God, his kids were so smart. He was so lucky.

When his miniature lecture was finished, Peter yawned.

“Is it okay that I came over with no warning, Mr. Stark?”

Tony almost laughed in his face but he settled for rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world.”

Peter nodded, letting his eyes slip shut.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m all for cuddles, but you’re much too big and I’m much too old to carry you to bed. So let’s move this fiesta to your room and I can fill you in on the new StarkTablet I’m working on. I want your input.” Tony patted Pete on the shoulder, ushering him up. While it was true that Tony was nearing fifty and sleeping sitting up wasn’t one of his many talents anymore, it was truly because he wasn’t about to let Peter sleep in his suit which was multimillion dollar technology. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Peter drowsily clambered to his feet and started to the bedrooms.

“I’ll race you.” Peter pawed at his eye, swaying sleepily.

“That’s not fair. You’re enhanced.” Tony checked the clock. And it’s 2 AM and I don’t want to watch Zootopia again to get Morgan back to sleep, he thought.

“Or you’re just old.”

Tony squinted.

“Alright, you’re on.”

Man, he was glad he had his nerd back home.

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angelfiresworld · 9 months

Text

UH ???? THANK Y'ALL SO MUCH ???????

#800+ followers wtf ???#tysm :')#old web chatterbox #old web #not graphics

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lemonsandstrawberries · 6 years

Text

In the Lab

fandom: MCU, Tony Stark and Peter Parker,

summary: Tony and Peter are sharing work time in the lab, and Peter can’t stop talking and making pop culture references.

length: 1 400 words

a/n: a very late happy birthday, @amazingmsme ! inspired by a prompt from the bday girl, changed a bit, but the general idea remained. this is my first time writing Peter Parker in the MCU setting (not Superfamily, but Tony acting as Peter’s mentor), so hope you like it! (also, I am gonna give a cookie to the first person that will list all the references I included in this fic!)

————–

In the Lab

"Mr Stark---"

"Not now, Pete."

"But Mr Stark---"

"I said not now. Zip it, kid."

"But Mr Stark, I have an idea that---"

"MR PARKER!" Tony suddenly bellowed and Peter felt that he was in trouble. Maybe not really in trouble, but that he crossed some invisible line.

"What is so important that you have to interrupt me?" Tony turned around from his workbench, eyeing the teenager. He purposely left Peter with his own task, which was improving the web shooters. Peter's newest design was already good but could be even better with a proper amount of work. Tony knew that from experience, as he kept improving his Iron Man armors and each design helped him learn and see what could be made better and more efficient. There was no such thing as perfection.

Peter made a sheepish face, feeling mildly scolded. He just wanted to help. "I noticed you seem stuck on one problem---" Tony twitched nervously, but let the teen continue, "and just wanted to remind you, that sometimes the easiest solutions are the best. Like Equivalent Exchange."

"Excuse me?" Tony lowered his eyebrows, looking almost irritated. Peter grinned at that.

"I meant this," he said, and trotted to Tony, leaning over his notes and drawing a circle at one equitation. "It seems off."

Tony took the note and put closer to his face. He ran through the numbers again and stopped on the place Peter had pointed out. Dammit, the kid was right. His math was way off. It probably was because his eyes were getting tired and some details had slipped past him. Kudos to the kid for noticing, though.

"Good job, Mr Parker," Tony praised, and Peter smiled a little bit brighter. "You passed this test," Tony lied and patted teenager's shoulder, just to save his own face.

Peter kept smiling, knowing his mentor better. "I am just glad we avoided that boulder."

And Tony just stared.

"Boulder? Rolling boulder? Like you know, in that scene, where the guy with a fedora and a whip has to put a bag of sand in a place of a gold statue and he miscalculated the weight and later a boulder rolls on him? That really old movie?"

"Really old---!" Tony yelled out in outrage, of course, knowing what movie Peter meant. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Teenagers. "I saw that movie in the cinema when I was around your age."

Some stunned silence, followed by ---

"Wow, that had to be a long time ago."

And Tony just glared.

"I meant," Peter panicked, "I meant that I recognize you as a mature and wise figure in my life," okay, that was better. Almost flattering. "Like, you are that little green guy and I am that guy who was schooled by him and later on his hand is cut off."

Tony had an urge to smash his head on his workbench. Almost.

"You know, that movie, Mr Stark, that old movie, that was filmed like forty years ago---"

Somehow it began to be painful to listen and Tony really missed having Rhodey around and talking to someone who he could be on his level of life experience.

"Okay, kid, kid!" Tony straightened up and pointed at Peter, ceasing his chatter. The kid was a genius, no doubt about it, but he did tend to blab a lot. Somehow Tony could relate. "One more pop culture reference and you will be in trouble."

"Okay. Sorry," Peter quickly said, sounding timid. He liked Tony and respected him, but had those weird moments of considering the older man as his best friend, before going back to thinking that although the friendship was mutual, Tony was his mentor figure on the first place. Someone he should respect and listen to.

"Now, get back to the web shooters."

Oh no.

"But, Mr Stark," Peter definitely didn't whine, "all I do lately is work on the web shooters!" he continued not to whine, meaning the pile of new designs on the side of the lab Tony loaned to him whenever he had to work with Tony. Own space was important, but on that pace of sketches, he was slowly running out of the said space.

"Hey, you just called me Yoda to your Luke, so don't question me and get back to work."

Peter walked back to his desk, grumbling all the way. "At least Yoda was funny… With you all it is is wax on, wax off…"

Uh oh.

And he could feel Tony's glare on his back.

"Mr Stark! I am sorry, it slipped out! Ah!" Peter yelped, as Tony already reached his hands for him. When strong fingers clasped on his sides it already was too late. Peter would forever curse the day, he had decided to bring Ned to the compound and so the overexcited poking fest began. Peter really was seeing everything Ned was and there was no need to poke him to make him pay attention. And poking lead to some tickling, and Tony seeing everything when he had gone out to greet them. He didn't comment, but Peter felt embarrassed anyway. Knowing that Tony knew was embarrassing. Yet, Tony didn't do anything. Unless Peter went into a chatterbox mode and he needed some quick and clean way to quiet the teen down. Like now.

"No!" Peter managed to get out, before fingers squeezed his waist. Some cheerful, bubbly laughter was already spilling out, and there was no way for him to stop it. "Nahahaha! I am sohahahry!" Peter wriggled around the hands, trying to move away. To be honest, the most difficult thing was to fight all of his instincts on pushing Tony away. Combined with his strength, it wouldn't end well for either of them. The tickling was short and playful, ceased by Peter leaping out and onto the table, and then he took the only reasonable path to freedom. Meaning, he climbed on the ceiling.

Tony stopped, his hands still positioned just where Peter was a few seconds ago. Peter eyed his mentor from his upside down position, and still caught the glimpse of the older man's smiling face. In his opinion, Mr Stark didn't smile as often as he should, and it was good to see him smiling. Even at his own expanse. When Tony's eyes caught Peter's and registered the position he was in, he smiled even more and laughed happily.

"Okay, kid, you can come down," Tony said, raising his hands up and showing that he had no more intentions in tickling Peter. "I promise not to get you. Unless you make another reference."

"Promise?" Peter asked. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"Yeah, yeah. Now get off from there, because if you fall down and break your neck, your aunt will totally blame me."

Peter smiled to himself, leaping down, and doing a somersault mid-air, his sneakers making an almost inaudible sound on the ground after the soft landing. Tony narrowed his eyes at Peter's smiling ones. 'Show off'. It wasn't said out loud, but Peter could figure it out from the older man's expression.

"Right. Work time," Tony snapped his fingers, pointing back at Peter's workbench. "And no movie, vine or… meme references or whatever for the rest of the day. Got it?"

"Got it," Peter nodded, and turned back once again to his desk, smiling to himself, and trying to not make it too apparent. He looked at his notes, suddenly feeling a rush of inspiration. Turned out that the short break was just what he needed to unblock his mind.

"Or no. You know what? I think it is time for lunch," Tony said out loud, stacking his notes in a neat pile, just as Peter started to work on another sketch. "Are you in a mood for something? How about some Del Taco? They have this new thing called fresh a voca do."

Peter snapped his head around so fast, his muscles stretched painfully. "Mr Stark, did you just…?" Peter asked, smiling from ear to ear.

"Did I just what?" Tony asked back, completely focused on his work. His back was facing Peter and he couldn't see his face, but had a feeling that he was smiling.

"Never mind, Mr Stark," Peter answered, turning to his notes back. "Del Taco sounds great," he said, still smiling. It was a fine day for science.

#tony stark #peter parker #father son relationship #peter and tony #fanfic #tickle fic #fanfiction #ticklish!peterparker

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timelcved · 2 years

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@hatigave said ; ❛ for once, shut up ! ❜ + knife ,

can’t even remember what she’s talking about - outburst is so sudden , so unexpected ! laughter spills as easily as her secrets , playful nudge to the arm is returned by a whole bump of shoulders . he’s funny , in the way that a big brother might be . actually she wouldn’t know if it’s just like that at all , she’s an only child . no she isn’t , they’ve basically adopted each other whether he admits it or not .

❝ whatever you say , dad , ❞ single syllable drawn out in that endearing way that annoying little kids do . not her fault she’s a chatterbox , not his fault he’s old . ❝ but how do you expect to get to ol’ mimi’s diner if you don’t let me direct you ? ❞ well , she could just lead him , for one . no talking in that - & her nose scrunches up with the realization . stops in her tracks to stew about it too , stares at his back , knowing that he’s definitely grinning to himself like he’s won . picks up the pace , skips over to be at his side again , mouth opening & closing with indecision . she looks like a fish .

sweet silence of fish friend can only be enjoyed for . . . less than a minute . did he remember to treasure it ? soft groan , reasoning is they’re not being attacked , & if you’re not being attacked , why keep silent ? ❝ ok look , what if we race - i’ll make it easy , i won’t use the webs ! ❞ ( didn’t say anything about the stingers , & she was an olympic hopeful , so maybe he should talk her out of the stingers too ! ) ❝ if you win , i’ll stay silent the entire meal , okay ? what’d’ya say ? ❞

#hatigave #hatigave / BARNES .#felicity flores ; IC // DOES WHATEVER A SPIDER CAN !#answered .#felix vc : buy my silence old man -

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sinrau · 4 years

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Tristan Harris, former Google design ethicist and co-founder of Center for Human Technology, appears before Congress in “The Social Dilemma.” (Netflix)

Picture, if you will, a high-tech voodoo doll of you on a server somewhere. Probably more than one server.

While the makers of that reverse-engineered avatar might not be sticking literal pins into it, in “The Social Dilemma,” filmmaker Jeff Orlowski makes a fine case that in mining data from your onscreen interactions, they are constructing a predictive version of you and trying to prick your interests and put a spell on your attention in historically unprecedented ways. (“The Social Dilemma” began streaming on Netflix this week.)

The quotes Orlowski begins his wake-up call of a documentary with — and peppers throughout — aren’t easy to top. There’s Sophocles’ “Nothing vast enters the world of mortals without a curse.” And this from sci-fi giant Arthur C. Clarke: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” And this wry quip from data-visualization guru Edward Tufte: “There are only two industries that call their customers ‘users’: illegal drugs and software.”

Yet, here’s one to add: “Be afraid. Be very afraid.” It may not be as elegant as the others, but it represents the tone taken by the tech leaders interviewed by the Boulder-based director who investigated the extraordinary problems wrought by big-tech behemoths, particularly the ones that have entangled so many in the vast web of social media: Twitter, Facebook and Google.

Among the documentary’s smart and personable talking heads: Justin Rosenstein, co-inventor of Facebook’s “like” button; Tim Kendall, former president of Pinterest and former Facebook director of monetization; and Shoshana Zuboff, author of “The Age of Surveillance Capitalism.” (That book’s subtitle: “A Fight for a Human Future at the New Frontier of Power.”)

Tristan Harris, a former design ethicist at Google, became notable for writing an early internal and legendary document questioning the addictive tendencies of smartphone tech. Think Jerry Maguire’s manifesto after his dark night of the soul. Harris caused a buzz and then, well, crickets. He went on to co-found the Center for Humane Technology, a non-profit promoting the ethics of consumer tech.

RELATED: Watch this very real Netflix doc about a man who welded himself inside a “killdozer” and destroyed half of Granby

These days, Silicon Valley is referred to in much the way we talk about Hollywood or Washington: It is a global economic force, a wielder of spectacular power, somehow exemplary, too, of some more honorable ideals. Orlowski went to one of its feeder schools.

“I was class of ’06 at Stanford. When we all graduated, that was (around) the birth of the iPhone and the birth of apps. So many of my closest friends went directly to Facebook, Google or Twitter. Multiple friends sold their companies to Twitter for exorbitant amounts of money,” Orlowski said on the phone before his film’s world premiere at January’s Sundance Film Festival.

The project came out of conversations with those friends “who were starting to talk about the problems with the big social media companies back in 2017, at the birth of the tech backlash that we’ve been seeing. Honestly, I’d heard nothing about it, knew nothing about it.”

So many of his creative, thoughtful friends were working in new tech that Orlowski wondered, “How’s it a problem?” A fan of long-form journalism, he set out to answer that question and a few others. “For me, this process was two years of being an investigative journalist. (Of doing) first-hand research with the people who make the technology and trying to understand what the hell is going on.”

Director Jeff Orlowski attends the World Premiere of “The Social Dilemma,” an official selection of the Documentary Premieres program at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival. (Azikiwe Aboagye, provided by the Sundance Institute)

He is not alone in trying to wrap his brain — and ours — around that. Orlowski was among a cluster of storytellers at January’s Sundance Film Festival, posing timely questions about societal costs of seemingly free platforms — quandaries that have been reflected in a deluge of headlines about big tech’s role in our lives, in civil discourse, in democracy. (The film’s final cut includes a few recent images of news footage hinting at the rough tango between our lives and the Twittersphere around COVID-19.)

Two other high-profile projects that should prompt a rethink were Shalini Kantayya’s “Coded Bias,” about the MIT Media Lab, where research uncovered just how racially biased facial recognition software is. It’s a searing yet inspiring look at what happens when the people making tech’s design choices, and building its algorithms, create for people who look exactly like them. Co-directors and Karim Amer and Guvenc Ozel’s vivid virtual-reality living-room installation, “Persuasion Machines,” depicts with its jaw-dropping environment the data-mining excesses of a “smart home.”

There have always been concerns about the amount of private information that customers seem so willing to cede with little regard for security. But social media is proving itself a voracious beast. It’s less about identity theft than the potential for manipulation on a mass scale. Advances in AI and machine learning have added a special — arguably dystopian-courting — wrinkle.

It’s little surprise, then, that Orlowski is asking urgent questions. He’s forged a place in the documentary vanguard. He first made a splash when he trailed environmental photographer James Balog around Greenland, Iceland and Alaska. With stunning images, Balog documented the calving of ice shelves, the receding of glaciers, and Orlowski documented him.

The resultant work, “Chasing Ice” (2012), was gorgeous and chilling — in all the wrong ways. It was a different kind of climate change doc, not a screed but a nature film that made a compelling case that there are seismic — likely irreversible — changes afoot. It won an Emmy. (Traveling through Denver International Airport, you may have stopped to watch Balog’s mesmerizing time-lapse video for his Extreme Ice Survey work.)

Orlowski’s 2017 follow-up, “Chasing Coral,” won an Emmy for Best Nature Documentary.

“This is the beginning of a decade of films about technology and the consequences of technology,” Orlowski said of the company. “There’s so much at risk and so much at scale, the way technology is designed.”

In both “Chasing Ice” and “Chasing Coral,” he worked to make concepts starkly or strikingly visual. He faced a similar challenge with “The Social Dilemma. “We were trying to think of ways to show people what’s happening on the other side of their screens that’s invisible,” he said. “How do you show people something that is literally impossible to see? You can’t see what’s happening on the servers, right? You can’t even see the servers. But how are the algorithms designed and what are they doing that control 3 billion people?”

The number is not far off: According to German data-statistics tracking company Statista, there are currently 3.5 billion smartphone users.

For “The Social Dilemma,” Orlowski weaves a narrative tale about a multiracial family wrestling with the role of tech in their home. Think of it as a dramatization of concerns. The strategy evolved out of his own response to the news he was hearing from his Silicon Valley friends and their worries around the industry’s overreach.

“Because of the way they were describing it, every time I looked at my phone, I kept seeing a manipulative machine on the other side trying to puppeteer me. For the year I was on Facebook, I thought, ‘I’m being used.’ And it gave birth to this narrative storyline we figured out this way to interweave with the documentary.”

As a filmmaker, it was a chance to direct actors. Vincent Kartheiser of “Mad Men” plays the three-yammering embodiments of AI, dialing up the needs, nudging impulses and commanding the attention of Ben. Skyler Gisondo portrays the increasingly distracted high schooler. Helping create this intricate dance between the interviews and narrative was Oscar-winning editor Davis Coombe, a local filmmaking luminary. (He also co-wrote the doc with Orlowski and Vickie Curtis.)

“I really loved doing all that,” said Orlowski. “The writing, the shooting, the directing. All of the narrative stuff was really fun and brought, I hope, a different dimension.”

Ben and his family are intended to represent the ways many of us interact with the technology, not as designers but as Instagrammers and Tweeters, friends and over-sharers, TikTok-ing kids and their aggravated parents.

Of course, recanting can be a tricky thing. We admire people who see the flaws — even corruption — in a system and alert us to the dangers. But we can also be suspicious of their declarations. Indeed, there is an undercurrent of quiet hubris intermixed with the insider cautions of a number of Orlowski’s experts.

An intentionally witty moment comes early in the movie when, after a few of them have reflected on the unintended consequences of tech, and the sense that it was meant to help not harm. Although each had been a chatterbox of insights and perspectives, every one of them grows silent, looking for all the world stumped by the simple question that Orlowski asks: “So what’s the problem?” More than once, an interviewee reminds us that one of the tools to address the hyper-speed amassing of power and profit is rather old-school: regulation.

Even more illuminating than confessing their own addictions to email, or push notifications, or Twitter are the moments when these engineers, software designers, marketing whizzes share their own practices for themselves — or their family’s rules for their children — about social media.

“I’ve uninstalled a ton of apps from my phone that I felt were just wasting of my time … and I’ve turned off notifications,” said Rosenstein.

“Never accept a video recommended to you on YouTube. Always choose. That’s another way to fight,” said Jaron Lanier, one of tech’s most innovative minds turned most trenchant critics.

“We’re zealots about it. Crazy,” said Allen, asked about social media and his children. “We don’t let our kids have really any screen time.”

And perhaps the most timely advice: “Before you share, fact check,” said Renée DiResta, research manager at the Stanford Internet Observatory. “If it seems like something designed to push your emotional buttons, it probably is.”

Subscribe to our weekly newsletter, In The Know, to get entertainment news sent straight to your inbox.

A Boulder filmmaker’s new Netflix documentary will make you want to delete social media forever

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beautifulramblingbrains · 7 years

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Bound By Honour - Chapter 3

Pairing: Eric/OC *Sarah* Fandom: Divergent/Insurgent Rating: M -

Eric has the best hand in all the factions, but can’t seem to get to grips with his life as a parent to two grown Dauntless members. The honour is passed to Sarah as she battles with the woes of an unruly daughter and a wayward son. Balanced with a intricate web of personal struggles and outsiders, can they stop their family from falling apart?

A/N: Here to bring your daily portion of drama.

Tags: @singingpeople @equalstrashflavoredtrash @pathybo@beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @lostinthebeans @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@jojuarez26 @tigpooh67 @mom2reesie @lilu46 @murmelinchen

The factionless camp is a plot just outside of Amity. It’s pretty large, spread with brick houses from old buildings as far as the eye could see. It had its own guarded entrance, the dauntless camps made from dark green tarpaulin tents starting from either side of it and running parallel to a flimsy wire fencing. Jack remembers the debate on whether they needed to be fenced in anymore. It seemed as though anyone could scale it if they tried; even a small child, and the factionless plowed the fields of Amity freely during the day anyway.

The reason why Eric hadn’t authorized to lower the fences, is because he thought that if the did, it would give the Factionless ideas on becoming a whole independent unit - and he didn’t want that, not from people who he saw as wastes of space. He said ‘oppression with a society like theirs was vital’, and stuck by it. Though, he could agree that their help in Amity made the seasonal weather changes and the forever increasing requests on produce far easier to maintain and reach each year.

“Assholes and elbows, everybody out!” A senior officer commands at the back of the truck once they come to a stop. It’s every man for himself, everybody rushing to grab their equipment and exit without being the last.

Jack is marched with the other new faces to a freshly bleached-smelling tent with cots of beds lined symmetrically either side. Men and women shared; not that that was unusual. Everything is basic, everything is bland, and it is cold. Jack breathes in deeply, trying to forget the ebbings of homesickness already cursing him, and locates a bed.

“Consider yourselves lucky with having the rest of the day off. We rise at zero-six-hundred hours!”

Next to each bed, they are given a small line of drawers for their things and a dim lamp which was already on for their arrival. Jack decides it’s best to settle himself in, make it as comfortable as possible, put his clothes away at the very least. Dumping his rucksack on the bed, he begins unfastening the straps.

“You’re the Coulter’s boy.” An unfamiliar voice has Jack peer up to a guy probably younger than him. He appears to be claiming the cot directly next to his, but facing him from across his bed, nonchalantly copying with unpacking.

“It that obvious?”

The guy studies him closer. “Your shoulder-width sure says so.”

Jack smiles to himself. If only he knew though how much he loathed his father’s influence over him. “You already know who I am then, is there any point in introducing myself?”

“No, Jack,” the guy jokes. “The names Ryan but I go by Chip too.” Jack’s frown is so unique to his father and it urges Chip to continue. “Chipped my bottom tooth when I hit the net the moment I jumped into Dauntless. It’s quite a funny story actually. As I landed, my first flew up weirdly into my mouth with the momentum and tapped my bottom tooth. Usually it’s the top, but no, nothing is ever normal for me.”

“I can relate to that,” Jack mentions.

“I called out something like ‘I chipped my tooth!’ and they wrote down Chip. Voila.”

“They didn’t let me choose a new name. It was already Jack the moment I jumped.” And if he had his second chance, he’d call himself Ardvard to really piss his dad off. He keeps himself concentrated on folding his clothes and putting them in the drawers so he couldn’t show his frustration.

“You also didn’t choose to be here, did you?”

Jack doesn’t like the fact his emotions must be so readable, narrowing his eyes at this chatterbox next to him.

“Fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Chip puts his hands up in apology. “I won’t talk anymore and let you fester.”

At the bottom of Jack’s rucksack, he pulls out his headphones at long last, placing them over his ears and playing music while falling back on top of the sheets, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Chip merely scoffs and shakes his head. If he wanted to sulk for his entire time here, it’s going to be a really long month for him.

Sundays are usually Eric’s day off. He’d maybe go to the gym for a little longer than usual, eat with his family at lunchtime, cut his hair, watch Sarah in the shower, maybe toss himself off afterward with plans to screw her later. But no. It’s different today, and for the first time, he doesn’t know whether he should continue on with the usual by the way Sarah blanks him

He doesn’t like it.

He watches her flit through the kitchen, cleaning each surface twice; even after she touched or moved anything. He even watches her fill the washing machine with annoyance while his coffee grows cold on the table in front of him.

Eventually, April brings the distraction he needs. In baggy sweats, she places herself next to him with some terribly pale face. He pushes his cold coffee towards her. “Heat it for me,” he commands. She does groan in agitation but does it none the less, only to slouch back next to him straight after.

“Mom, I need something to eat.” April uses her whiny, soppy voice full with hopefulness.

Sarah barely looks at her. “Do it yourself.”

Eric and April share a glance. He then lifts his chin, taking a breath before speaking. “I think the kitchen is clean, sweetheart.”

“It won’t clean itself. And April, before you go anywhere, you will tidy your room.” Sarah still doesn’t acknowledge them when she passes, disappearing into Jack’s vacant bedroom.

“Don’t tell me she’s sulking over Jack actually doing something with his life,” April whispers, beginning to lean forward tiredly on her forearms. Eric whacks her to make her sit up straight.

“You were drinking last night?” he asks.

“Of course.” She yawns and it pisses him off. “It was Saturday night.”

“Cut your shitty attitude, go shower, and then go to the gym. You’ve missed breakfast which is your own damn fault.” He sips the coffee quickly. “And that means now, blondie.”

Whether his daughter sensed the tense atmosphere or not, he’s more than happy she doesn’t serve him backchat. He couldn’t deal with her mouth and a wife that has legit gone crazy, and by the sounds of it - throwing the vacuum against any solid surface she could possibly find.

April doesn’t shower, leaving the apartment exaggeratingly yawning no more than five minutes later with her hair in a bun and a large sweatshirt, casually mumbling, “Chow for now.”

Still festering in domestic annoyance, he notices the cable of the vacuum is plugged in the hall, so he casually strolls over and kicks it out, ceasing the endless white noise. As Sarah appears, he smiles viciously. “It’s me.” She doesn’t share his enthusiasm and as she turns he grabs her arm. “What are you doing, Sarah? You’re stressing over nothing.”

“I’m keeping myself busy.” Her cheeks are flushed pink, hair stuck to her forehead. It’s in her eyes though that he can see everything that she’s not saying. She actually looks kind of repulsed by him - that’s not entirely unusual...

“You want to-”

“Haven’t you got somewhere to be?” Sarah’s so blunt it takes him by surprise. She plugs the vacuum back in and he pulls it out like a spoilt child.

“You don’t want me here, fine. I get it. Be angry at me all you like but it’s not going to change anything. Fucking deal with it.” She ignores him, the worst thing she could possibly do. “I’ll go fucking somewhere else!” He flings his hands up exaggeratedly in the air while storming to the bedroom to grab his jacket and collect his phone. He’s still putting it on when he reappears, just as, she again, plugs the vacuum in and disappears into Jack’s room.

That’s when he loses it.

This was always a problem. He was two sides of a coin; one shiny, one in absolute filth that no amount of soaking could clean. He never thought about what he did before he did it, and could never confess the guilt he would feel afterward.

Eric yanks on the stretched cord that lead into the room, not realizing his strength as the vacuum comes crashing out of it, and Sarah lands on all fours in the doorway.

She was fucking holding it.

“Sarah, shit I-” He steps closer as she rolls back onto her ass and leans against the inside wall.

“Get out.” It’s whispered so low he doesn’t know whether he thought it instead. She wipes at her face, still not able to look at him. “Get out, Eric.” The calmness of her voice is more threatening and telling than her words.

He wanted to stay and argue. He wanted to try and get through to her that this wasn’t anything to be worried over. He wanted to say he was sorry and imagined them forgiving each other and moving on. Instead, he does nothing and leaves his little wife be, along with a small fearful voice nagging in one ear that perhaps this was beginning to spiral out of control - out of his control. And he had no idea what he could do about it.

Wedged into a communal shower, the water running black beneath their feet, Jack still finds himself chuckling from time to time. The steam creates a mist high above their heads, voices echoing. He couldn’t have found better people to be with if he tried. Their team effortlessly formed a unique friendship in just one day alone

“It’s supposed to be the introductory day, instead my ass has been flogged worse than my initiation. In fact, worse than anything I’ve done yet.” Chip scrubs at the thick lines of dirt under his chin with a bar of soap. “I can take beatings, yelling, gun practice for hours on end, but those fields are something else. Those Amity’s must be ripped.”

Jack lets the water pour over his head for a long while as Chip continues rattling on next to him. His eyes slide to the right feeling eyes on him. He’s being watched unsubtly by a girl maybe a year younger, freely letting him see everything; the way her hair drenched over her shoulders and leading to her breasts, the toned abdomen glistening under the water. She smiles at him once he realizes he is staring a little too long and he forcibly smiles back before turning his head to the wall in front of him.

“You have interest…” Chip whispers suggestively.

Jack merely rubs a hand through his short hair, clearing any shampoo left. “Nah…” he drawls. “I need to focus.”

“She really likes you.” Chip is making this conversation too obvious by continuously glancing over to her as he turns under the water. “Jennifer or Jenny, I think she goes by.”

“She could be called ketchup for all I care.”

“You got a girl back home?”

Jack shuts off the shower, grabbing his towel hanging next to him and wrapping it around his waist. “No,” he snaps a little harshly. “I wasn’t sent here to pick up girls.”

His friend shrugs. “May as well have some fun while you’re here though, right? Maybe you should-”

“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut.” Snatching up the bottles of his shampoo from home, he looks Chip right in the eye. “Concentrate on your own business, not mine.”

Again, his friend finds himself holding his hands up. “Jeez, okay…” And Chip watches Jack leave. “Chill…” He shrugs to the girl who disappointedly looks away.

Sarah’s too busy in her preparation for her second meeting with Erudite; papers fanned around her in the boardroom, to notice Blake Hammond watching her from the open doorway.

There’s a bit of a ruckus from the other meeting rooms and offices; people skimming past, so she doesn’t have the sense to look. But he does. He watches her bite the end of her pen, then down to a flattering pair of heels, letting his eyes run up her patterned stockings to the hemline of the classical A-cut dress she wears that had risen up ever so slightly.

“Knock knock.”

Sarah jumps, her head jerking over towards him. “Oh, Mr Hammond!”

As she stands to shake his hand, he smiles pleasantly at her, closing the door behind him. “Please, call me Blake.”

“Betty was supposed to fetch me when you had arrived. I’m sorry…” she trails off as he rushes to pull out the chair for her to sit back down, grabbing the seat closest to her for himself.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I told her not to bother. Seemed a little too formal.” He remembers the folders in his hand and places them in front of him. “The plans have been drawn.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“It took a while as something far more important came to my attention. Regardless, I tried to get them drawn up as soon as I possibly could because of the issues we had in the last meeting; a lack of information, and I didn’t want it to appear any less important or as if I am wasting your time.”

Sarah shakes her head. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“Good. Well, I’ll dive right in. Of course, I am here for the preparation of the expansion, but also-”

“It still hasn’t been decided if this is actually going to go ahead yet,” she reminds him. The last thing she wanted was him to ride too high on his horse.

She expects some sort of subtle tantrum, but instead, he graces her with one of his unique smiles and unnerving her to no end with a confident stare. “That’s a given.” His words are too smooth, too low. She eventually has to clear her throat and focuses on the papers in front of her. “What I was going to say, is that there is a more damning problem I’ve stumbled across. It’s not the most pleasant of subjects, but I think you will agree that is indeed the most urgent.” Blake pulls out a small-scale map and passes it to her.

It’s a complete maze of runways and the layout of the factions. It’s hard to distinguish exactly what he is referring to. She hates to admit it. “What am I looking for? You can’t expect me to see what you see by handing me an unnoted map, Mr Hammond.” Sarah lays it flat to allow him to clue her in.

A smirk plays on his lips that she doesn’t see as he leans closer. “Our three factions; Erudite, Dauntless, and Candor have the same waste system under the cities grounds. Abnegation’s is veered off on a single system on a much smaller scale, and Amity runs with the land in the opposite direction.”

“...Okay.”

“The system has sat underneath us for countless years, adapted to our city.” With his two index fingers, he positions off a section on the map. “The problem is here. This is the evacuation.”

“That’s beyond the wall.”

“Yes. It’s collapsed,” Blake states clearly. “We need to close it off and redirect it… here,” he points it out. “Before we have a sanitary crisis.”

Sarah now believes she is not fit to deal with Erudite and wishes Eric took this damn project on. “This is a state of affairs that needs to be considered by all the factions. This isn’t an individual problem we can head all the decisions for.” It’s the best response she can come up with under the pressure.

“Your husband, Mrs Coulter, is certainly one person who can head this movement, or at the very least brandish it vital. I mentioned this in a briefing, and it’s actually humorous if I think about it, but the people of Erudite are calling for me to front the repairs and take over some of the cities responsibilities.” He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chest. “I don’t want to encroach on your husband's domain. Believe me, I really really don’t. I’m new to this game and my persistence was fighting for what my faction wanted. But this is beyond what we want. This affects multiple factions. I’m just the nose who stumbled upon it.”

Sarah swallows dryly. “So, what do you want me to do about it?” With such a harsh question, she still manages to make it sound pleasant. “Surely if it was that important you would insist on meeting with Eric?”

“I just assumed Erudite business is run through you now. You were both adamant.” Blake is leaning so far back in his chair with a look of expectancy; as if she was about to suggest something completely miraculous. Sarah only feels like she is floundering.

“I will speak with Eric. I’ll make it a priority.” Even she doesn’t recognize her own voice, and with his twitching lips, he also knows that she is at a loss.

“Photos!” Blake suddenly remembers. “I took the opportunity to gain photographic evidence so there is no delay - unlike the last problem we had. A lady like yourself shouldn’t have to venture to the source of the sewers, ma’am.”

“That’s very considerate of you.” As she studies the photos of what looks the mouth of a cave crumbling on one side, she feels his stare.

“Myriad…” he suddenly mumbles causing Sarah to slowly peer up at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to name the expansion and new parts of the buildings Myriad. I may even name the entire project that. Has a better ring to it, wouldn’t you say?” he asks. She is at a loss for words. He chuckles before adding, “...Almost like the shade of your eyes, what a coincidence. All the myriad shades of blue.” She can’t help but blush, her cheeks tinging noticeably pink. “I’m sorry if I have embarrassed you. I just found it quite fitting. Screams Erudite, don’t you think?”

“Shall we concentrate on the blueprints for the expansion?” Sarah rushes.

“Certainly.” Blake flicks through his papers. “And shall we name the sewer problem Roses?” he mumbles with his eyes still downturned to the sheets in front of him. “I have never been taken with the smell of them.”

“That’s a matter of perception.”

While she is blunt; her tone anything other than amused, he seems to be. “You’re very much right.”

“This guard malarky is a piece of piss,” Chip comments while they watch the buzz of factionless life from inside the pathetic excuse of a fence. “Do you ever think, when the factions were being made, Amity was truly the leftovers; you know, like factionless, so they made another faction to accommodate.

Chip still peers off into the distance as Jack snaps his head over to him. “You know what, you think too much, that’s your problem.”

“But who really decided that? ...This is the factions, we shall name them this and stuff them with people with these traits.”

Jack kicks a stone out in front of him. “I… mate, I really don’t care. What’s done is done.”

“What do you care about?”

Now that is a tricky question. All of Jack’s thoughts had been on showing he was just as capable as Eric thought. That he could survive without being close to home. And that he was eager to follow his father up the ladder to leadership like he always wanted.

That was a farce. Really in his mind, he’d gone along with it because after initiation and the build-up, life wasn’t so planned out and simple as he thought. He wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t like the idea of leaving home at first but came to see it as a chance to find himself.

However, he still felt lost. “Surviving the month,” seems to be the only logical reasoning he had at the moment. Steeling his jaw, he keeps his sight out in front of him.

“What’s it like being a Coulter kid?” Chip continues regardless of his friend's hostile appearance.

“Privileged.”

“And your mom’s a Stiff. That’s unusual-”

“Don’t talk about my mom.” He’d heard it all before; all the provoking insults, all the slurs against her, and it was partly why he said privileged; intentionally mocking himself over something that had been said before. They couldn’t be any more wrong. “I’m out of here,” he says suddenly, sauntering off towards the main gateway.

Chip looks to and fro between their small chosen group, signaling for them to stay there as he races to catch up. “That’s against protocol! Jack, stop!”

“Stay here then. I’m still patrolling. I’m just doing it over there, through the woods.” He smirks so much like his father over his shoulder. “Taking in the scenery.” He thinks for a moment before adding, “Need a piss too.” As long as Mark or their intakes instructor didn’t see them, no one would bat an eyelid. They were too busy splintering the groups on different activities to pay much attention anyway.

While Jack walks calmly, Chip keeps throwing a look back to the camp, stumbling to keep up and steadying the gun hanging from his shoulder. “I swear, I will point fingers if they find out. I’m not lying, so don’t expect me to.”

“Whatever.” Jack shrugs. They reach the tree line and he thunders straight through, finding a spot to unzip his flies. Whilst he’s pissing, Chip is still a nervous wreck.

“What if there are people out here?”

In annoyance, Eric’s son leans an arm against the tree, still occupied. “ We shoot ‘em. I don’t know, depends.”

“On what?”

Jack smiles to himself, zipping his flies and turning to his friend. “If they shoot at us first.” He begins hacking his way through the undergrowth, ascending a natural bank with the sound of Chip clumsily following. Reaching the top, they come to a lazy pace and Chip soon begins to relax, only occasionally mumbling to himself.

Amity had it good, and so did the factionless now. Jack’s mesmerized by the very tops of the trees swaying above him. Through the parting of them, small dashes of light were thrown down, highlighting bright blue and purple wildflowers. Below him, by his feet, moss grew on fallen logs, some type of mushroom clinging to the base of trees. In passing, he dipped his finger in the sap of a tree, memorizing the feel of the bark under his hand, the waxy layer on small leaves or the furs of the stems. Finally, he crouches down to the track of an animal, a content, honeyed smile on his face from the relaxing atmosphere around him. “The animals are still free, even behind the wall,” he murmurs, completely forgetting that Chip is behind him.

“Thanks.” Confused, Jack peers over to his laxed friend still standing, steadying his gun from swinging as he turned. His face must say ‘For what?’ because Chip runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair before continuing. “You made me remember that there is more than just us here.” Jack doesn’t reply, turning back to measure the size of the print to his outstretched hand. “That we’re lucky to be here now. Well, I’m lucky. If you hadn’t of wandered off I’d still be watching a dusty track road and rubbish skimming the floor.” Jack stands up to look for a trail in hopes of finding whatever it was that had passed through there only shortly before they arrived.

“Stop talking. All anybody and everybody does these days is just talk; nonsense, shit, who has more than me, the weather. Be quiet.”

“Be quiet and listen to nature,” Chip suggests with a blissful sigh.

“No, just shut the fuck up. You don’t have to listen or see or feel what is around you. A quiet mind brings it.”

“Is that why you use headphones?” Chip asks.

“Does it matter at all why I really do anything?”

“You are the most wayward person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, you still talk endlessly to me.”

Chip shrugs this time, peering down to the ground. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Jack’s eyes are a deep ocean when he decides to look back up from the forest floor to him, his expression altogether smothering what really rippled through his vast mind.

“We should head back.” The tall Coulter boy stands to his full height but decides to walk side by side this time then trailing off ahead. They walk wordlessly, Chip having taken some incentive from their conversation. Descending the bank they had traveled across for a change of scenery, the break in the trees is ahead of them that would expose the furthermost corner of the factionless camp.

Jack turns his head to Chip as they walk out into the warm rays of the sun, and briefly smiles.

A few shots ping from the floor and off a nearby tree that startles them both, Chip throwing his hands up to a group of Dauntless they hadn’t noticed. “Friendly!” he shouts at the top of lungs. “Jesus Christ!” he pants, nervous laughter breaking his composure, turning to Jack to comment.

Jack Coulter isn’t looking at anything other than his hand pressed to his right shoulder, bringing it away to look at the crimson spilled between his fingers. “I’m hit. I’m hit. They shot me.” His face blanches and he tips backward, losing his footing at the same time Chip grabs him.

“Man down!” Chip calls out to the Dauntless patrol, pulling the strap of Jack’s gun from him and applying pressure, using most of his weight. “You’re good, man, you’re good.” He pleads with the other patrol to hurry up with a swift glance then back to his fallen friend. “Just a flesh wound…” he comforts him.

Sarah doesn’t know the people Eric is talking to. She allows distance between them while waiting for whatever conversation they are having to end. It’s also not the first time in her life she has peered through the window of the gym and training room. Many years ago, when she was just a girl of eighteen, she remembers coming to find Eric here. It’s a weird sensual feeling; a fleeting moment of familiarity, all that might have lived before deemed itself suddenly brand new. She wanted to believe the fingerprints in the dust of the small lip of seal of the window were hers. It was a strangely comforting idea

When Eric dismisses the conversation, that’s when she makes her break. It’s a sullen, sweaty smell and lighting, various grunts from around the room that she ignores. Eric sees her coming, opting to drop the weights into their holder after only seconds of using them and shows his broad back and admirable lines that she knew of that still managed to pang the small muscles in her stomach.

He’s somewhat breathless when he turns and puts balled fists onto his hip, his vest considerably loose around his neck and a stain of sweat looping down his chest. “Wife,” he addresses her, but it’s not exactly kind.

“There’s… some things we need to talk about. I was hoping to catch you in your office but…” Her brows furrow, glancing at anything but him and crushing the folders to her chest. “...you weren’t there, so I thought you’d be here. So now I’m here.”

“Well, that ain’t obvious,” he snorts to himself.

“It’s something very important. Erudite want some answers-”

“Fuck Erudite. I’m not in the mood to talk right now.” He casually bats the air, opting to sort through the weights and lifts one in practice. “I’m done with work today. I actually thought you may just want to speak to me in general because you’ve barely uttered a word for a day or so. That was a stupid fucking idea obviously.”

“I’m trying-”

“It seems I’m always fucking trying but it’s like hitting a steel gray wall.”

Sarah sighs through her nose. “Please don’t talk over me.”

“Well, I’m getting bored of it. I’m bored of this - shitty tip-toeing.” He scoffs to himself. “In fact, I can’t even tip-toe, my shoulders are too bogged down with other people’s shit and attitudes, along with your…” He flicks a hand up and down her. “Personal issues, or whatever the fuck this is. A day is enough. This is enough.”

“This is enough?”

“Yeah,” he calls out over his shoulder. “It is.” But he’s beginning to sound less confident, trying fruitlessly to distract himself with a plain stand of weights.

Sarah drops the folder from Erudite to the floor. “Then I have had enough of this.” As she turns he’s quick to close the distance and grabs her arm, dragging her back as she fights feebly, her heels scuffing the floor.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Then don’t expect me to deal with things the way you do. This may not be a big deal for you, but you could respect me enough, at least, to comprehend exactly how I’m feeling.” She shrugs his hand off of her in a final act of defiance. But before she can fathom what he’s doing, he bends down and scoops up her foot, removing her heel and forcing her to cling onto him with her balance off. “Eric! What!”

“I don’t like these.” He inspects the shoe, then flippantly lobs it over his shoulder.

Sarah purses her lips, poking at his piercings above his brow while kicking off the other shoe to regain her balance. “I don’t like that!”

Eric pulls her hair out. “I don’t like that fucking bun, never have, and you still wear it more often than not.” He smirks incredibly close to her face, probably intending to intimidate her.

“Your hair looks stupid longer. Cut it,” she pants with the command, blowing hair from her face.

“The thing you do with your eyebrow is condescending,” he mentions and she has no idea what he’s talking about. What thing?

“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk! Your nostrils flaring are.... are.” Her nose scrunches up and she continuously stutters.

“Sarah syndrome strikes again,” he claims. “But while we’re being utterly honest…” his voice drops low and he leans more into her space. “I have to admit, I like it when you do that.”

“Don’t patronize me! Don’t glide your way out of this with your scrambled words…” She looks to his arms. “...and body. That’s not how these things work.”

“How do these things work? What fucking things?” Only minutely he glances behind her, then licks his lips. “...You, er, you checking me out?” Sarah glances behind her to a group of people leaving, and then at the clock above the door. The large room has grown vacant, probably completely aware of Eric and his wife bickering and opting to leave.

“No, Eric.” She waggles a finger, backing up, still barefoot and hair loose. She knew what he was doing; he was twisting this conversation, distracting her. “Don’t!” Sarah hits a stand of exercise equipment behind her. Scrabbling around it, she makes it only to the nearest pillar that ran parallel throughout the large room.

She would gasp if she had time. His hands clamp onto her upper arms, spinning her, pushing her hard enough against the pillar to keep her pinned, but not enough to hurt. “I saw your email about whether I’d spoken to Jack. I have.” He eases up a little, his words softer than before and eyes searching; a sense of normality settling as they stared at each other. “You could’ve asked me that yourself.”

“But we had a fight…” She says delicately, tilting her head in a way Eric loved. A fleeting image of a time when Sarah was younger ignites his blood.

“I don’t know whether this is obvious to you by now or not, but I fight with everybody.” He twirls a strand of her hair around his larger fingers, stroking the side of her cheek, then neck and shoulder, brushing down her cleavage for a moment. “You trust me, don’t you? You trust me to look out for our son and do what’s best? Let me take some pressure away from you.”

Sarah tries to look away but can’t help fluttering back up to him. “That’s the thing, Erudite-”

“Fuck Erudite for tonight. Tell me first thing tomorrow. Just tell me what I want to hear now.”

She rubs her lips together before answering, “Okay, I trust you.” And his smile is radiant. But as she leans towards him, her head cradled sweetly against his chest with strong arms binding around her, that radiant smile drops.

Maybe he should have mentioned that it wasn’t really Jack who he spoke to, but Mark. That there had been an incident where Jack was shot from friendly fire and their son was extremely lucky that the bullet went straight through, missing his vitals, and currently residing in Amity’s infirmary.

Instead, Eric stares out from over the top of her head with a dead expression, knowing that he lied so dishonourably, and says nothing.

#bound by honour #chapter 3 #eric and sarah #beautifulramblingbrains #eric coulter #eric coulter fanfiction #jai courtney #divergent #insurgent #au #third installment

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