#I don’t know physics or sewing. but maybe

[sneakobee]

My mind for the past 3ish hours. It haunts me

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Buttons

The request from @toomanytookas: I have such fond memories of my grandmother teaching me how to sew on her old Singer. Obviously a WILDLY different context for a million different reasons, but I love the idea of of Pin showing Joel how to sew or just explaining the general mechanics of using the machine. Maybe some physical guidance/touching a la the pottery scene in Ghost?

If you'd prefer to play with other characters, it would be sweet to see her teach Ellie now that she's working at the shop and I imagine she'd be curious about it!

Seams sleepover micro drabble request | 900 words | warnings: rated M for dirty thoughts and slightly dirty talk, outrageous flirting, topless Joel Miller | can be read independently of the series but is part of the Seams universe

‘Nice tits, Miller!’

Joel chokes on his corn chowder as Tommy’s voice rings loud and obnoxious in the half-empty cafeteria, a mischievous glint in his eyes when he makes himself comfortable opposite him, tray hitting the table with a clatter.

‘Seriously though, put them away before Maria sees you. This is a family place, y’know.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘Shut up, jackass.’

Tommy studies the familiar green plaid shirt on his brother that is sitting open to the sternum. ‘Buttons fell off, huh?’

‘Aren’t you a regular Sherlock Holmes.’

‘Pin gettin’ a bit rough with ya?’

Joel splutters, raising his fork in what he hopes is a menacing reproach. ‘Hey!’

‘Just jokin’, big bro. And no judgement if she is.’

He scoffs. ‘This is gettin’ real weird, Tommy -’

‘Why don’t you ask her to sew ’em back for you?’

‘She ain’t my seamstress.’

‘She’s a seamstress. And your girlfriend.’

Joel snorts. ‘You ask Maria to do all your chores for you?’

Tommy shrugs and replies around a mouthful of mashed potato. ‘Ask Pin to teach you then. What's that they say about fishermen and fishin’?’

He has a point, Joel has to concede. That’s how he ends up at your studio that afternoon, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you on the sewing machine. He likes the steady, mechanical staccato of the needle, the whirring wheel and the metallic squeak of the pedal as your hands and feet all move in almost nonchalant choreography.

He knows that under that ease lies years of experience, and there’s an understatedness about your movements that makes him stop and stare every time you're at the antique sewing machine. 

He waits patiently for a lull, not wanting to disrupt your rhythm. When you pause to inspect the stitching you’ve been working on, Joel knocks on the doorframe. 

His lips twitch when you startle, eyes wide as your head whips around at him, and it brings him right back to the day you meet, just a few feet from where he stands now.

But then you break into a wide smile. ‘What are you doing sneaking up on me, Joel Miller?’

He closes the distance with three steps, bending down to drop a kiss on your lips. ‘Just wanted to say hello - and to ask for a favour.’

You stare up at him, admiring the way a stray lock curls over his eyes. ‘What is it?’

Joel tugs on the front of his shirt. ‘Was wonderin’ if you can teach me how to sew my buttons back on.’

You eye his neckline, which is suspiciously low. ‘I thought you were just trying something new,’ you quip.

Arching an eyebrow, he asks, ‘Is it workin’ for you, sweetheart?’

Hooking your finger into the open V of the shirt, you grin. ‘I’m not complaining, but it doesn’t hurt to fix it. Take it off.’

Joel huffs, joking, ‘Buy me dinner first, at least?’

You watch his fingers push the little buttons out of the holes, baring broad chest and freckles with every downward inch. You hum when he gets to the bottom of the shirt and it hangs open, nothing but bare skin under it. ‘No undervest?’

‘Feel like showin’ off today,’ he winks and disrobes with a smooth roll of his shoulders.

You can’t help it, your breath catches - at the strong shoulders, the soft belly, the way he has one hand on his hip - and by the self-satisfied curl of his lips, you know he knows.

Clearing your throat, you stand and take his shirt from his grasp, the warmth of the fabric comforting in your hands. ‘Come sit over here.’

‘We’re not using the machine?’

‘Not for sewing buttons,’ you reply, opening a little box to find matching ones for his shirt.

‘Okay, step one,’ you seat yourself next to him and hand him the supplies. ‘Thread the needle.’

The thread looks more like a blade of the most delicate hair in between his thumb and index finger, and the needle comically small. But his hands are remarkably steady, and he surprises you by nimbly pushing the thread through the eye on his second try.

‘Pull the thread through and keep going,’ you instruct, snipping it off with scissors when you’re satisfied with the length. ‘Now, we need to knot the end. Loop the thread around your finger a couple of times, pinch it with your thumb and pull the end through.’

He does so with aplomb, and you remark, more to yourself than anything. ‘Your fingers are really dexterous for their size.’

Joel wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘You should know that first hand, hmm?’

A comment like that would’ve had you ducking your head a few months ago. But now, you narrow your eyes at him in playful admonishment. ‘So full of yourself, Joel Miller.’

Dragging your chair towards him, he leans in and murmurs against your ear. ‘Ain’t you the one who was full of me last night -’

Heat rushes to your cheek as he noses the sensitive skin behind your ear. ‘Joel, I thought you wanted to fix your shirt -’

Pushing the needle into a pin cushion, he shrugs and pulls you into his lap with a smirk, his skin hot under your touch.

‘Luckily, I don’t really need a shirt for what I want to do right now, sweetheart.’

More notes: Thank you for this adorable prompt @toomanytookas! I hope you don't mind that I tweaked it a little bit. I love that you have such beautiful memories with your grandma. Mine used to sew and do cross-stitch, I miss her so much 🥹

[heartpascal]

or is it loneliness?

▹— (eventual) spiderverse found family x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you need closure, and information. two visits kind of give you that.

▹— a/n: guys idk what im DOING. i have things planned for atsv but not how we’re gonna get there … rn im just yolo-ing. im not a big fan of this one but im gonna start writing the next one asap, which will hide fully be more found family-ish lmao arachnid is gonna start warming up to them all some day i swear

▹— warnings: angst, injuries, not good thoughts, dead parents, sensory issues, explosions, violence, fighting, blood?, damaged hearing for a good minute, peter b parker eating burgers deserves its own warning, food, mention of throwing up / nausea, insecurities about being good enough, refusing help, idk what else, if ive missed anything let me know!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree (everything taglist) @justmare @uniquemonstrosity @lacunaanonymoused @erensbbg @dulceteris @noxxing @escherichiacolli @ray-rook @i-3at-kidz @miwagila @stoneforests (is it freedom’verse) — also i only tagged those who explicitly asked to be tagged!

MASTERLIST , part one

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You spend a long time sat on the edge of the open window, staring out at the traffic below after getting back from Spider Society HQ. There’s a tangible relief that comes with returning to your dimension, like a weight being removed, a tension that is finally released from where it had been pulled taut. Your shoulders feel just as heavy as they did when you left, but you try not to think about it. You try to be happy that you’re back.

While you wouldn’t say it aloud, and you hate to even have the thought, you don’t think anybody had noticed you were gone. But then again, who would? You have no reason to be so upset about such a thing.

Time slips by as you diligently sew up the tears in your suit, frowning as you hold it up once you’re finished. It looks nothing like it used to, but then again, neither do you. Things have changed, it only makes sense that your suit would, too. You wonder if travelling through alternate dimensions can alter your perception of things. You’d swear that your suit had been a different shade before you left, lighter, maybe, but you have nothing to compare it to.

At least now, this time, when you put on your suit there is evidence of damage that Gwen Stacy had caused. The stitching along your the material where she had tore into you is a tangible thing, physical, and you run your fingers across it as if it might disappear. It’s almost a relief, to be able to feel where she had caused you pain, as opposed to the invisible ache she had left within you after fighting her the first time around.

Alongside the scar raised on your body, the fight with Gwen had left you with a sort of paranoia. An uncertainty in the back of your mind that has you glancing over your shoulder, has you messing up simple manoeuvres as you panic, thinking you hear her voice.

It must have been your third day back from the HQ that you come to the conclusion that you have to visit Gwen Stacy in her prison.

The decision doesn’t come easily. It comes slowly, torturously so, a realisation that deafens you as you glare through squinted lenses at the city around you. You won’t be able to go on like this, getting yourself hurt in stupid ways all because you’re not certain that she’s back in her prison. You’re meant to be a hero, which means that messing up, despite whatever paranoia that lingers in the back of your head, is unacceptable. It has consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh will likely be the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Except, maybe, not killing her when you caught her in that other dimension. You keep your mind on the fact that she won’t be able to touch you, that she’ll be walled away, to reassure yourself that there is no risk of either of you hurting the other — at least, physically.

But seeing her isn’t the only difficult part.

No, the hardest part is stepping back into an identity that you had lost your grasp on, long ago. You wear your old clothes, clothes that you hadn’t put on in months, and try to remember how it felt to be you, rather than Arachnid.

“Hi, Mrs. Stacy.” You say, when the door to an all too familiar apartment opens just a slither, and you catch sight of her wrinkled eyes. There’s a noticeable change to them when she realises who you are, and she’s slamming the door shut, undoing the chain, and reopening it before you can say another word.

She whispers your name like she can’t believe it’s you — and you can’t blame her.

You had disappeared, months ago, after the death of your father. Going missing was far easier than being placed in a foster system that would only hold you back. It had been so much easier, not having to face anyone, not having to speak at his funeral.

“Hi.” You repeat, when her stare lingers in the silence for far too long. The sound of your voice once again breaks her out of her trance, and she’s rushing forward to pull you into her arms as if you were her child. You suppose, in some ways, it was quite a lot like that. At the very least, your presence will remind her of the daughter she had lost.

“Where have you been? Oh, honey, I was so worried.” Mrs. Stacy says, her voice trembling by your ear as she squeezes you tight, unfazed by your lack of reciprocation. “Come inside, please.”

You follow her through the doorway, closing the door behind you as you had done so many times before. Not looking around at the apartment is near impossible, but you’re not sure how much familiarity you can take. Even just seeing Mrs. Stacey’s aged face makes your chest ache, your legs feeling shaky.

“Sit down, honey, let me get you a warm drink.” She says, a tremor to her voice as she bustles towards the kitchen which is adjoined to the living room. The news plays on the television, and you’re glad to hear a weather report, rather than some city-wide attack. Mrs. Stacy is quiet as she goes through the process of making your favourite drink, but with your enhanced hearing you listen to the telltale clink of a spoon against ceramic. You listen closely to her hitched breathing as her footsteps pad back into the room. “Here.” She hands you the warm mug, and you don’t comment on the way her hand shakes.

“Thank you.” You say, though it feels stilted, wrong, too formal. It’s hard to be normal in this setting, to be whoever you used to be, especially as she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

Mrs. Stacy stares at you for a long while before she speaks again, as if she’s still not sure that you’re real. “Where have you been? After—After your dad… we didn’t know what happened to you. Are you safe? Do you need help?” She asks, frantic once she’s gotten started on her questions.

“Mrs. Stacy, I’m fine, really.” You lie, smiling tightly over the rim of the mug as you hold it towards your face. Before, you would’ve burnt your tongue drinking it too fast, but you’re hesitant to drink it at all. The last thing you want is to become too familiar to your old life. “I’ve been staying with some friends, downtown. It’s been good.”

She raises a brow at you, and stares for a moment longer. “Honey… you don’t look well.” She tells you, and raises the back of her hand to press it against your forehead. Her frown only deepens when you flinch away from the touch. You try not to curse yourself too much, but can’t help reprimanding the way you hadn’t anticipated such an action.

The skin on your forehead is clammy, but that’s just the anxiety, the nerves at being back here. Arachnid can’t get sick.

“Listen, I… I was hoping I could ask a favour from you.” You say, hesitantly, gripping the warm mug tight between your hands, but loosen your fingertips against the ceramic when you hear a minute crack.

Mrs. Stacy furrows her brows, looking more concerned by the second, but nods. “Of course, anything.” She tells you, and places one of her hands against yours on the mug.

“I was hoping I could visit Gwen.” You voice, after one last moment of hesitation. The way her face immediately crumples at the request doesn’t give you much hope, especially as her hand withdraws from your own. “I—I know you don’t get to see her very often, and maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know. I wanted some kind of closure, I guess.” You ramble on in response to her silence, glaring down at the liquid still swirling in your mug.

“Honey,” Mrs. Stacy interrupts, her voice soft in contrast to the way yours was growing in volume. You quiet immediately, your gaze drawn up to where her tearful eyes stare at you, her expression almost mourning. “I would never deny you that, but you should know… I haven’t visited Gwenny since she was put in there.” She admits, her stare dropping to her lap, almost ashamed.

“Oh,” You voice, softly, in response. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed— I—I mean, I can’t even imagine—”

“No, don’t be silly, how would you have known?” She replies, raising her eyebrows at you strictly. “Now, I can get you that visit. I’ll call my attorney first thing tomorrow, but… really, honey, do you need me to call someone for you? Who are these friends?”

Her voice is familiar, and it’s kind, which makes it all the more painful. It’s strange, seeing the resemblance between her and the Green Goblin, and it makes a part of you ache. Your life wasn’t the only one torn apart by Gwen. In fact, her mother probably faced the worst of it. With her husband being long gone, her oldest son away at college, youngest withdrawn after her daughter became a homicidal maniac, who did she really have left? Who was looking after Helen Stacy?

You smile at her, as best as you can without tearing up, and reach out to grasp her hand, which she readily accepts. “I’m okay, Mrs. Stacy, I… It’s just a few friends of my dad, from his home town. Their kids, too. It’s better than being put in the system.” You tell her, and can only hope that she believes you. You have no way to back up these lies, knowing those friends of your father don’t exist.

“You could’ve stayed here, you know?” She says, teary and squeezing your hand so tightly you can hear your bones creaking. You smile sadly at her.

“You’re a much stronger person than me, Mrs. Stacy. I couldn’t even face my dad’s funeral, let alone be around the memories of somebody I lost. This place, it—it reminds me of her.” You explain, voice shaking as you hold back your own tears, swallowing them down and trying to breathe through the ache in your throat.

The way her heart breaks is almost loud enough for you to hear it, but she nods her head understandingly, regardless. “Of course,” She says, nodding still, “But know you always have a place here, okay?”

“Okay.” You respond, heart clenching so tightly you’re not sure it can pump your blood any longer.

“Now, what’s your number? Your old phone was disconnected.” She says, shaking her tears away to pull out a pad and pen from the coffee table. She sets the notepad against her knee, looking expectantly toward you.

“Oh, right,” You stutter, teeth chattering as you comb your mind for the number of your burner phone. “There was a mixup, because it was in my dad’s name.” You explain needlessly, still searching your mind for the answer. Finally, you remember it. You listen to her ballpoint pen scrape along the paper as she writes the numbers as you say them, and then she clicks the pen off after writing your name beside it, underlining it twice.

“How about I give you a call with the details of your visit, okay, honey?” She asks, nodding with a pleased hum at your affirmative. “Good. Stay for dinner, okay? I’ve missed you.”

Who are you to deny her that?

Though, even as you try to pretend that you help to set up the table for her benefit, and as you hug Gwen’s little brother tightly when he comes home for his, you know, deep down, that it’s for you. That this is a moment of selfishness that you’ll let yourself have, because god, you deserve it, don’t you?

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s thirteen days post Spider Society discovery, and you’re starting to regret the way you discarded that watch so carelessly. Not because you want to be a part of some cult of superheroes, but because you wish you had asked some more questions.

Surely Miguel O’Hara must’ve known a way to stop these villains from appearing in other universes? And if he did, had he already implemented whatever it was to stop Gwen escaping again? How exactly did she escape the first time? Was it a coincidence? Is there somebody out there, working behind the scenes, helping her get out?

You, unfortunately, have no way to answer any of the burning questions nagging at the back of your head. While a part of you hopes that you never see any of the Spider Society weirdos again, you also desperately want answers. Especially if it meant you could call off your visit to Gwen Stacy.

But the day arrives as any other does, and you spend every moment before the drive over to the prison desperately hoping that one of the Spider-people will show their face. None of them do, and you’re left to get into Mrs. Stacy’s car and simply brace for the journey ahead.

You’re pretty sure that swinging would be quicker, or easier, but you had no way to explain that way of transport to an interrogating Mrs. Stacy, and so you had to relent to her insistence on driving you. Now, you sit here, shifting in the seat of the car, uncomfortable without your suit underneath the clothes you used to wear on a daily basis. Even the knowledge that it’s stuffed into the bottom of your tattered backpack in the boot of Mrs. Stacy’s car doesn’t bring you any comfort.

Instead, the rough material of an old jacket has your skin crawling like you were being bitten by a thousand mosquitos, and the trousers on your legs itch like you’re allergic to them.

You suppose, really, that the spider bite that gave you so many powers had to have more drawbacks than just destroying your life. It only makes sense that your heightened senses would extend to the receptors on your skin. It makes every movement in these clothes torturous, and you wonder if it had always been this way, or if you were just so unused to wearing your old style of clothes. Either way, you hope that you won’t have to wear them for much longer.

If it all goes to plan, you should be in and out of the prison, just ensuring that Gwen Stacy is actually in the cell as she’s supposed to be. Then you just have to endure the fifty minute drive back to the city with Mrs. Stacy, and you’re free. You won’t have to wear these clothes again, won’t have to use your name, no — you can just sink back into the half life that is being Arachnid. It’s better that way.

“Okay, honey, here we are.” Mrs. Stacy says at last, having shifted her car into park. She pointedly avoids looking at the looming high-security prison ahead, instead focusing on you as you wipe your sweaty palms against your trousers. “Now you take as much time as you need in there, alright? I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

You smile tightly at her, nodding with what you hope is more of a grateful expression rather than a grimace. “Thank you, Mrs. Stacy, really. I appreciate it, more than you know.”

That much was true — after all, it wasn’t like you could tell her that she was allowing the vivid paranoia you had been experiencing to be put to rest after her daughter escaped to another universe. Mrs. Stacy, from what you could gather, didn’t even know that Gwen had been missing for any amount of time. She had no idea what Gwen had done, how many more people she had hurt, but you assured yourself that it was better that way. Mrs. Stacy already had to deal with plenty, and that knowledge surely wouldn’t help.

She was already dealing with her own grief and feelings on the situation, as well as trying to support her two sons in the matter. Given what Gwen’s little brother had asked of you when he found out about you visiting her, you knew that he hadn’t been to visit Gwen, either. It seemed that he wasn’t coping with it all very well.

“Of course, you’re family. You should know that by now.” She says, smiling with teary eyes, reaching across the console to grasp your hand tightly in her own.

Her words take a stab at your chest, especially considering what had happened to everybody else who had seen you as family. Dead parents, villainous best friend — it really didn’t bode well for your loved ones. You just reassured yourself with the fact that you’d be able to disappear as soon as the two of you returned to the city. You couldn’t put her in any danger, that way, or her remaining kids.

“I’ll—I’ll see you after, okay?” You respond, squeezing her hand in return before quickly letting go and throwing open the car door, getting out and catching a slither of Mrs. Stacy’s surprised reply before you shut the car door.

There are guards waiting for you at the gates, checking you are who you say you are, scanning you for weapons before you even get in the building. They’re satisfied after their searches, content that you weren’t stupid enough to bring a weapon into a highly secure prison. You keep your focus on your breathing as they walk you in, handing you clothes to change into as well as a box to put all of your belongings in.

The scrub-like clothes they give you are even worse than your own, sending shivers up and down your spine at the feeling of each fibre scraping against your skin. You just try to breathe through it. Luckily, the rest of the security checks blur by, which means less time spent on agonising over this visit. You barely hear a word of the statement they read to you before you go in, and your hand cramps as you write your signature against a dotted line of a waiver. All of the other legal things were sorted out by Mrs. Stacy’s lawyer, which you are more than thankful for.

Instead of having to deal with that, you just have to wait.

You think that the waiting might be the worst part of it all. With the scrubs making your hairs raise and promoting uncomfortable shivers up and down your body, as well as the cold metal seat that they sat you on, you’re far too aware of everything around you. You can hear the hundreds of heartbeats in the buildings, the beeping of security doors, the footsteps heading your way. You can smell the coffee that the head guard in the adjoining room to the one you’re in is drinking, as well as the day-old sandwich in his desk. Worst of all is the way your own heartbeat is thrumming in your throat, padding harshly against your chest, so loud in your own ears that it slowly starts to drown out everything around you.

Gwen’s footsteps are heavy, accompanied by the clinking of the chains she’s shackled in. You can practically hear the maniacal laughter that had come from her whilst in that alternate dimension, even though she’s completely silent as she enters the room.

She smiles at you when you look up, and for a moment you’re fooled — it’s soft, gentle, kind. But then you see the glimmer in her eyes that was distinctly not Gwen, and you feel the scar along your side throbbing with phantom pain.

You smile tensely at the guards, who regard you with looks of gentle concern and caution, before they attach her chains to a link on the floor beside a chair three metres away from where you sit. They nod at you, which you return, and you watch as they go and take their positions beside the door before you move your eyes back to the elephant in the room — which is Gwen Stacy.

“So, you missed me?” She asks, baring her teeth in a grin that has too much teeth to be anything friendly. Gwen regards you closely as you stare at her, watch for any signs of flickering, any signs that this isn’t real. Her brows raise slowly, the longer you’re silent, but you’re in no hurry to talk. “No? Is that not it?”

“Sure, I miss you.” You respond after another stretch of silence, tilting your head to study her more closely. You don’t acknowledge the way that your voice shakes as you speak, the way it comes out in something closer to a croak before you swallow harshly against your dry throat. “Thought I’d come to check in.” You add, brows furrowing to make sure she gets your true meaning.

“Ah,” She voices, then laughs, shoulders shaking, chains clanking loudly against her metal chair. “I get it, now.”

Gwen doesn’t add anything else after that, even though you suspected that she may take this opportunity to loudly claim that you were Arachnid, outing your identity once and for all. Apparently, if she does want to out your identity, she doesn’t want to do it like this, as she stays silent until you speak.

You sit forward on your chair, ignoring the way the guards at the edges of the room shift uneasily at your movement. “Your mom arranged this for me, you know?” You say, eyebrow raised. She probably knows what you’re doing, or what you’re trying to do, but she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she just shifts to lean backwards in her own chair, sighing as if relaxing.

“Hmm, so she can visit.” Gwen says, nodding her head as if it’s all making sense now.

“She can, she just doesn’t want to. Neither does Georgie.” You respond, and find satisfaction in the way her eyes flash at the mention of her little brother, the nickname that the two of you both used to call him. She recovers quickly, but you can tell that she knows it wasn’t quick enough. The Green Goblin cracked, right in front of your very eyes. It’s proof that, if anything, her little brother has some meaning. “He wanted me to tell you something.”

Her head tilts across from you, though she doesn’t move from her laid back position.

You clear your throat, and look at the words you’d written on your skin. She tilts her head forwards the slightest amount, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, glancing at the guards who look just as uncomfortable as you feel. “He said that he misses his Gwenny, but he doesn’t want you coming home.” You stare at her as you repeat his message, the one he had told you nervously, as if he was truly afraid that Gwen would escape and come back. Her eyes twitch as she focuses on keeping her expression cool, but you know that the words have hit something in her, even if it’s part of the Green Goblin. “Looks like you even ruined your own family.”

You’re up on your feet as she lurches forwards, flung backward from where she tried to go against her chains to rush toward you. The guards are in front of you in mere moments, but you weren’t in any danger. Not as long as she stayed in here.

It’s almost satisfying, to see her chained up. It’s so different to seeing the Green Goblin on the outside, where she could be your Gwen Stacy. Whereas in here, bound by chains of heavy metal, clothed in uncomfortable looking prisoner scrubs, she was nothing but the Green Goblin. It was reassuring, almost, to be able to pick apart something physical between the two.

She bares her teeth at you, animalistic in a way that Gwen never was, and glares at you as you follow one of the guards out of the room, the others closing in on her, ready to take her back to whatever cell she came from.

The clothes you wear become less overbearing as you keep your focus on the guards taking Gwen away the whole way back through security, only switching back to your surroundings when they hand you the tray of your own belongings to change back into. You’re relieved for many reasons, and you try to focus on that feeling as you approach Mrs. Stacy’s car rather than the way your jacket itches.

Mrs. Stacy looks as if she wants to speak as you get in the car, as if she wants to ask about your visit, but she seemingly can’t bring herself to do it. You keep your mouth shut.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Not a month later, your daily activities are back to normal, uninhibited by the daunting idea of Gwen being free. Still, though, you think about her more often, as much as you did in the time after she was put away the first time.

Mrs. Stacy had tried to call you more than once since, and at the two week mark you’d had to invest in a new burner phone. You just couldn’t risk anybody getting a hold of it and seeing her contact, or the ringer going off and exposing your position in a fight. No, it was better for her not to have your number. Besides, you had hers memorised if you needed to call her.

It was better if you tried to reduce any connections to Gwen Stacy. You’d be much better off, the less you thought about her.

Despite knowing that, you couldn’t help it. And despite seeing that crack in the Green Goblin exterior at her little brother’s words, you didn’t have much hope for her. You don’t think they’d let her out of prison even if you could find a cure, somehow. The fact of it was that Gwen Stacy’s life was over. She had no hope of a future in this world, the Goblin had destroyed that. All you could do was remember her and hope beyond anything that in one of those alternate dimensions, you and Gwen were happy together.

The thought of it played on your mind every day, a lingering pain that stung at your eyes. You thought about it so much that you had even imagined the world where Gwen had never become the Goblin, where you and your Gwen were happy. It was a suffocating image, one without any hope of being true, but you couldn’t help thinking about it.

Even as you fought villain after villain, petty criminal after petty criminal, you thought about it. Even now, as you were swinging around a bridge, dodging all the debris this villain was throwing your way, it played on your mind.

It was a distraction, and it was one you needed to get rid of.

That much became certain as the villain you were facing, Tombstone, managed to get a hit on you, sending you flying across the bridge. You landed on a car with a groan, the windshield cracking below you, and you rolled your eyes as the person in the car held a hand on their horn until you managed to climb off, a distinct Arachnid-shaped dent left in the bonnet.

Well, that would be aching tomorrow, that much was for sure.

He grinned where he was stood across the bridge from you, showing off his filed teeth, as if trying to intimidate you with the pointy edges of them.

“You’ve been a formidable foe, Arachnid,” Tombstone says, his voice barely a whisper above the wind, but you can hear him perfectly. You suspect he knows as much, and that only makes you nervous. “But I think it’s time for our battle to come to an end.”

“I actually agree.” You respond, stretching your aching back and feeling a bone shift when it definitely shouldn’t. You can’t help but wince, gritting your teeth and glaring over at Tombstone across the bridge.

You’re getting tired of these villains, of their constant spiel about how the world should be, about how everything should be how they wanted it to be. What was so wrong with the human population that everybody couldn’t just get along? Surely, if everybody got along, listened to each other, the world’s problems would be solved. But then again, this is New York, and it’s a city in which greed is bred.

A light press against your webshooter has you slinging high up on the bridge, staring down at Tombstone as he watches you intently. You’re planning your next move, considering all the variables, when a burst of orange manifests into the air behind him. He looks confused as you falter in your web slinging, dropping slightly before you catch yourself, and he turns around just in time to receive a curled fist to the face, courtesy of a familiar man in a red and blue suit.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” You murmur, lowering yourself to the bridge to approach this Spiderman, glaring at where Tombstone stands, straining against a red barrier that had materialised from the device Spiderman had placed at his feet.

“I hate that guy!” The familiar voice of Peter B. Parker says, shaking his fist as he hops slightly from one foot to the other, his lenses squinted before he finally turns to acknowledge you. “That guy sucks.”

Your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted behind your lenses as you stare at Peter, confused. This Tombstone guy isn’t an anomaly, is he? While you hadn’t faced him before, you knew that there had been a battle between him and another vigilante down in Hell’s Kitchen. And he knew your name, hadn’t been calling you Spiderman like the last anomaly. So why was he here?

Peter sighed, as if he was disappointed to be met with your confusion. “You got a place, kid? Or a burger joint, maybe?”

With that same amount of confusion, you nodded, brows furrowed as cops came to collect Tombstone, who was still in a fit of rage. You can just barely hear him swearing to get you back, both of you, through the barrier. Peter gestured a hand forwards for you to lead the way, and with slight hesitation, you swung off with him following.

Now, the two of you are sat in a Shake Shack, despite you wanting to head back to the offices you were set up in. Peter had ordered two burgers, one for you and one for him, though you had decidedly rejected the one he pushed towards you. He had only shrugged, and accepted it onto his own plate.

“My wife’s pregnant, can’t even stand the smell of these.” Peter groans, stuffing what must’ve been at least a quarter of the burger in his mouth. You just nod at his statement, though you had to admit you were slightly surprised that this guy was going to be a dad. But then again, you’re pretty sure you can remember your dad scoffing down his favourite food in a similar way. “Now listen,” He continues, speaking with his mouthful and paying you no mind as you cringe at the sound. “Miguel wants to strike a sort of… deal with you.”

“Okay?” You respond, brows furrowed. You look around the place, uncomfortable with all the people staring at Arachnid in a booth beside an old man stuffing his face. The lenses of your mask squint with you as you look at Peter, waiting for him to add anything on to explain his statement. “Then why’d he send you?” You ask, at last, when Peter makes no move to speak of his own free will, too engrossed in his second burger.

Peter held up a finger, gulping down a sip of his strawberry milkshake. “Said something about this being good practice for me,” Peter eventually answers, flashing you a smile. “You know, being a new dad and all.”

He seems to realise quickly that that was the wrong thing to say as your eyes narrow further, visible only through the shift of your lenses. The last thing you need is some random guy trying to father you. Even just the idea of it irritates you, makes the very blood rushing in your veins feel hot with anger. You had a dad, and look what good that did you. He’s gone.

Not to mention the implication of you being a child! You’re far from being a kid. You’ve been looking after yourself for some time now just fine. Whatever deal Miguel wants to strike with you is because they need you. Not the other way around. You knew that you shouldn’t have let that Spider-doctor fix you up.

“I’m not some kid. I don’t need you lot, you need me. Don’t get it all twisted, Peter.” You respond as he continues to look like a deer in headlights, clearly kicking himself for revealing what Miguel had said. You keep your voice low, fighting to stay unheard with the quietened air in the diner. “Now hurry up and tell me about whatever bullshit deal you want to strike with me, so I can say no and we can go our separate ways.”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, before immediately wincing as he realised he just directly disregarded your statement about not being a kid. “Sorry, Arachnid,” He corrects, settling his hands on the table in front of him, finally taking a break from his almost-finished food. “Nobody’s saying you can’t do this.”

“Sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying.” You mutter, averting your eyes from Peter and instead narrowing your lenses at the people still staring in your direction.

“All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t have to do this alone,” He continues, ignoring your interruption with nothing but a quirked brow. “It’s a tough job. Everybody needs someone to look out for them, you know? It’s in our nature to feel responsible for everything around us, as Spider-people. But you can’t carry the whole weight of the world on your shoulders, it’s too much!”

You stare blankly at him, remaining unimpressed with his whole speech.

Peter sighs once more, looking at you with hesitant hope that you’ll come around. Unfortunately, you’re not about to let these people think that you’re incapable. If anything, Peter’s little speech was just adding fuel to your fire. You liked proving people wrong — it’s what you thrived on. You needed to prove them wrong. Because if you didn’t, what did that make you? You couldn’t let people be right about their assumptions of you. If you couldn’t prove everybody wrong, then that meant some of the things people said about you were right. And with the amount of people who accused you of being responsible for more deaths than you saved, who portrayed you as a menace rather than a vigilante, who said you weren’t worthy of your powers, who said whatever divine intervention had given them to you was wrong, you couldn’t let them be right. You wouldn’t.

“I already told you people. I’m not interested.” You spit out at him, feeling your frustration brimming over the edge. Why would nobody just trust you? Was that so much to ask? You understand that you had made mistakes, that you had cost people their lives, but you were trying. Why couldn’t that just be enough?

Peter says nothing as you slide out of the booth, stomping your way out of the Shake Shack as if you were some kind of grumpy teenager. He could only hope that his unborn child was a less grumpy teen, but then again, he was pretty sure you had every right to be miserable. Correcting himself, he could only hope that his unborn child never experienced your reasons for being so miserable.

You make your way towards your office building, swinging through the streets whilst doing your best to keep your heightened hearing down. You really didn’t want to have to deal with anything else, tonight. All you wanted was to get back, to put on the only clothes other than your suit that didn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin. Even if it was just for an hour, you’d take it.

While you had gotten used to how quiet it was in the building a long time ago, you couldn’t help but think that tonight, it felt almost… eerie. There was something tingling, buzzing at the very base of your skull, but even as you strained your hearing, your sight, everything, you couldn’t detect anything out of place. Everything seemed normal, so you couldn’t understand why you were so on edge! It couldn’t just be Peter’s presence, surely, because he posed no threat to you. So what was going on?

Picking up your backpack filled with belongings, you stared around at the empty office, the breeze that flowed through the open window sending a shiver down your spine, even though you weren’t feeling cold. Something wasn’t right. You just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello? Anybody there?” You call out, straining your hearing once more, trying to listen out for even the slightest sound. A movement, a breath, anything, even as you couldn’t help but think that this was the most cliché horror movie like moment that you had experienced to date. Still, you heard nothing, but that nagging feeling didn’t dissipate, and you quickly lost all desire to change out of your suit.

The unease you felt only grew stronger as you stood there, unsure what to make of the feeling. It was quickly growing towards being overwhelming, but you didn’t know what to do.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to make a decision.

Unfortunately, the decision was made by one of the very people you were trying to prove yourself to.

Peter B. Parker — or at least, you were pretty sure it was him — swung through the very same window you had, only to grasp a hold on your arm and pull you out of the window as he jumped straight back out of it.

Now, you had been Arachnid for a long time now. You had gotten used to the swinging, to the way your stomach dipped and your throat tightened, but you had never experienced it where you weren’t the one in control. Finally, you understand why people you brought to safety had, on occasion, thrown up immediately after you set them down on their feet again. The feeling of falling, of having no choice but to trust somebody else to catch you, it was terrifying.

But what was infinitely more terrifying was the way that the very floor of the building you had just been stood on exploded.

The blaze was blinding, even with your lenses protecting your eyes, but the noise that came moments later was much, much worse. And sure, you had been around explosions before, but never one that big, never so close. And never so unprepared for one.

Your ears were ringing, and you vaguely realised that you had become dead weight in your shock, with Peter struggling to keep his grasp on your arm firm. After a moment, you had the sense to grab his forearm in return, trying to assist him in holding you up. He didn’t seem as effected by the explosion in comparison to you, and you wondered if he’d had the time to put earbuds in his ears as you had sometimes done before a fight. Either way, you were insanely envious as the pain in your ears increased, leaving you struggling to focus on holding on to Peter.

When he set you down, which couldn’t have been more than a minute after he had grabbed you, considering you could still see the office building smouldering, you had to hold a hand over your mouth even over your mask, trying to rid yourself of nausea. Smoke was leaking into the darkening sky, and you saw the flash of sirens below, but heard nothing other than the distinctive ringing that felt like it was melting your brain.

Peter’s hand was squeezing your shoulder, and after a moment in which you didn’t acknowledge him, he was gripping your other shoulder with his spare hand, shaking you the slightest bit. You looked up at him with a groan, squinting past the floating lights in your vision to see that his mouth was moving, no sound coming out. You shook your head, trying to get rid of that incessant ringing, but it didn’t work. You dropped your chin to your chest again, hands bracing against your ears as if they could ease your pain, and you didn’t make a move as Peter removed one hand from your shoulder.

Mere moments later, the same tingling you had felt before the building you were in exploded returned, stronger, more intensely. Your head snapped up, frantically looking around, paying Peter no mind as he spoke into the orange-glowing watch on his wrist. You breathed through your nose, trying not to cough at the smoke permeating the air, and you just managed to push Peter over the edge of the roof of the building, with you diving after him, as another explosive went off.

That explosion was smaller than the last one, and the only reason you had managed to avoid it was because you knew it was coming. You knew what the alarm bells in your head were trying to tell you now, and you spotted the projectile just seconds before it reached your feet.

Part of you was glad that your senses were dulled from the first explosion — your hearing, especially, as it meant you were less effected by the close-range on this one. You saw Peter’s eyes widen as he looked up above you at where the explosion had just occurred. You just about managed to web him before shooting a web towards the next building, feeling something in your shoulder pull sharply with his extra weight and the suddenness of the move.

You squinted down at him as he gripped the web attached to his chest with one hand, his lips moving more frantically as he spoke to a hologram projected by the watch on his other hand.

“Shit, what is going on?” You asked, though mostly to yourself, but the only way you could tell you had even voiced the words was by the way they rumbled out of your throat. That explosion had messed up your hearing, for the moment, anyway, and you quickly realised that with your slow healing and the ringing in your ears, this fight was going to be majorly difficult.

You only had a moment to think that, before something snapped the web that was holding you to the building, sending both you and Peter falling through the air. Embarrassingly, you’re pretty sure that you let out a yell of some sort.

All the air was knocked out of you the next second as something hurtled into you, sending you careening towards the windows of the closest building. Peter, for a moment, had a shocked expression on his face, before he seemingly realised what was going on, smiling and letting out a string of words that you didn’t hear. You groaned as your sore back collided with the window, smashing upon your impact, and you were sent sprawling over a desk, a monitor breaking underneath your sudden weight.

Yet again, there was a hand against your shoulder, and you paid it no mind as your head dropped back, thudding against the desk. You couldn’t help but groan, the duress that your back had been under today was certainly taking its toll, leaving your whole spine throbbing with pain. On top of that, you were struggling to catch your breath, and with the sudden adrenaline provided by the spider-sense fading, the intensity of the pain in your ears was increasing.

Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open to see a concerned Peter B. Parker looking at you, with Miguel O’Hara stood beside the shattered window, staring out menacingly, as if daring whoever it was to attack again. Peter said something else, squeezing your shoulder, and all you could do in response was hold up one thumb.

Miguel seemingly barked out an order over his shoulder, and a moment later, you were squinting against the bright orange light of a portal.

Peter was hauling you to your feet, leaning to hold one of your arms over his shoulder, practically carrying your weight towards the portal looming ahead. “No, no, wait,” You said, and you felt the way your words slurred as you became slightly delirious with a mixture of pain, adrenaline, and desperation. “Stop, I gotta—”

He only shook his head, before tipping the two of you forward until you both fell into the portal.

The dizzying feeling of inter-dimensional travel definitely didn’t help the pounding in your temples, nor the nausea you had previously been feeling, and you had no choice but to try and focus on Peter’s grip on you as you squeezed your eyes shut. When the world finally stopped spinning, or feeling like it was falling away around you, you opened your eyes just enough to take note of where you were — which was back in the Infirmary of the Spider Society HQ.

You shook Peter off, standing on your own weight and waving him away when he tried to assist you as you swayed once more. You glared, eyes narrowed, and turned to head straight back through the portal you had come from, only to see it close before your very eyes.

The same Spider-Doctor from the last time you were here snapped a band around your wrist, and you squinted down at the red and blue band. It made you feel lighter, even slightly, which felt good on your aching bones and muscles. You opened your mouth to speak as the Spider-Doctor led you to sit down on an empty bed with white sheets, but you vaguely saw the way his mask shifted as he presumably spoke. You couldn’t tell what he was saying with his mask on, but a minute later, you felt a sharp prick against the inside of your elbow.

You just about had the lucidity to murmur “You fucker—” before you succumbed to the weight of your eyelids.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, it was to a throbbing pain in your forehead, that only got worse when you tried to open your eyes. At the very least, you were glad to have your hearing returned to you, albeit slightly muffled, which you were only aware of because the sound of voices across the room was the reason for you waking.

“I’m just saying, maybe knocking the kid out wasn’t the greatest idea!” Peter B. Parker’s annoyingly loud voice says, slightly high pitched in the end. Who he was saying it to, however, you couldn’t say, not without opening your eyes. And that didn’t feel like a good idea, the lights even with your eyes closed feeling like too much.

Instead, you just groan, bringing your hand up to rest over both of your eyes. “It wasn’t a great idea.” You say through gritted teeth, more than annoyed over the situation you found yourself in. Honestly, what did these people have against leaving you be? Why did they think they had any right to tell you what to do, or how to handle things, or to overrule you when it came to your own treatment?

“Hey, kid!” Peter responds, drawing the letters out in that typical oh shit voice. From the snippet of the conversation you had caught, at least he was seemingly trying to advocate for your consciousness. However, that didn’t change the fact that he was there when that Spider-Doctor knocked you out. No, you were still pissed. And when you got your hands on that doctor? He was in for it.

Any other thoughts or feelings on the matter were overturned when you realised that your hand was resting over your eyes, not the lenses of your mask.

Who do these people think they are?

You open your mouth to jump into a rant on that exact subject, on the audacity that they all have, but find yourself silenced by somebody grabbing onto your free wrist, and seemingly dropping your mask into your hand. You feel it until you’ve got it the right way around, and then pull it over your face.

The lights are much more bearable with your lenses back over your eyes, but it’s still painful, and still worsens that pounding in your head. But it does mean that you can see who’s around you; Peter, Miguel and the Spider-Doctor. You have half the mind to leap at that doctor, but Miguel is raising placating hands in your direction before you can make the move to do so.

“Let’s all calm down.” Miguel says, placing his hands on his hips when your eyes only narrow at him.

“What is wrong with you? Who gave you people the right to—to take off my mask? To knock me out? Hell, to come to my universe and get in my business!” You practically yell out, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your back hurts with the movement and glaring when the three of them step forward to help you.

“If Peter hadn’t gotten there when he did, you would’ve died.” Miguel responds plainly, seemingly aggravated by your irritation. One of his arms is raised in a gesture towards the man, who smiles almost guiltily, as if helping you was a crime. Which, in your mindset, it might as well have been. “There was an anomaly, a villain from another dimension targeting you.”

“I can handle myself.” You spit out, though the way the room spins when you stand is almost a direct contrast to your words. Your blood is rushing through your veins, and you realise that there’s a machine beeping next to you, increasing in frequency. As you look, you realise it’s measuring your heart rate, and you yank wires off of you that you hadn’t even noticed before, as if they were exposing you somehow. “And that doesn’t give you the right to take off my mask. Who does that?”

Spider-Doctor raises his hands, as if surrendering, though seems unintimidated by the way your glare switches to him. “It was necessary. Your hearing was severely damaged by the explosion, you needed treatment. You have dampening-buds in your ears now, while your healing catches up.” While that sounds reasonable, it only makes you angrier. Why did these people even care if some anomaly killed you? If your hearing was damaged? Why did they insist on bothering you?

Miguel sighs, pinching his nose, before he lifts his head up to speak to you again. You just about stop yourself from making a snotty comment about his attitude. You didn't even want to be here, and here he was, acting like dealing with you was such an inconvenience to him. It was frustrating. “Your universe seems to be at some sort of epicentre of anomalies, and we don’t know why. Yet.”

“We’re just trying to keep you safe. You can’t deal with all of those anomalies alone, nobody can. Sometimes, you need a team.” Peter says softly, like he could convince you of the matter. “Believe me, you don’t want to learn that the hard way.” He adds on, smiling almost hesitantly, as if there’s a memory he’s thinking of connected to his own words.

You’re sighing through your nose, your teeth gritting together as you regard them. “Okay, fine, you want to come take out your anomalies, or whatever? You do that. But anything more than that isn’t welcome.” You say, at last, your eyes narrowed towards them as you wait for their responses.

You still don’t really understand it, any of it, but it’s becoming clear that you have no choice but to deal with these people. Apparently, they were not budging on all of this stuff, which — fine, so long as they stay out of your way. The last thing you need is a bunch of Spider-people stepping on your toes, or making you seem incapable in front of the citizens of your own dimension when in the end, they’ll all up and leave.

After all, you can remember your mother telling you how important it is to do things yourself. The moment you start accepting help, you relax, and when they decide they don’t want to help you anymore? You’re screwed, your sense of independence reduced to ashes. And as Arachnid, there’s far too much at stake to risk that happening.

“Here,” Miguel says, only nodding his agreement — or at least, that’s what you assume the nod was for. He throws a watch towards you, and you catch it with some confusion. “In case you see any anomalies before we do.” He explains as he watches you fiddle witht he watch in both hands, glaring down at it as if it was offensive. He’s relatively satisfied when you relax at that explanation. While Miguel doesn’t voice what else it’s for, knowing you’d only get irritated and refuse the watch, he’s silently hoping that you’ll understand. It’s so you can come to them, if you need them. They can only hope that they’ll be able to tell you that, one day, before it’s too late, without the offer scaring you off.

“So, I’m good to go?” You ask, looking between the three Spider-Men still staring at you and the watch you hesitantly clasp around your wrist. They nod, or, Peter and Miguel do, while the Spider-Doctor throws his hands in the air, exasperated.

“That dimension is yours,” Peter says, leaning over to see the screen of your watch. “The button at the bottom will input this dimension as the destination. Just press that,” He points to another button, “To open the portal to whichever dimension has been typed in.”

You nod, still pissed that he’d let the Spider-Doctor knock you out, but at least you didn’t give him a snarky comment. Instead, you just pressed the button to go back to your own dimension, and stepped through the portal the moment it was big enough for you to go through.

You didn’t expect for him to follow you through.

“Hey, listen,” Peter says, almost reluctantly, as if he doesn’t want to upset you. When you turn to him, he raises his hands, as if to further prove that sentiment. “I am sorry that he knocked you out, I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Okay, fine, apology accepted.” You say, flatly, turning to survey where exactly you are. It doesn’t take you long to notice the remains of the building you had been camping out in, the building charred and the air still thick with all the smoke that had been produced.

“I wasn’t done,” Peter sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose momentarily. “I also wanted to say that I’m sorry about your building. And I wanted to ask, well, mention about how when Doctor-Peter took off your mask, he noticed you don’t have anything protecting your ears, like other Spiders with your level of enhanced hearing do.”

You turn to stare blankly at him, while mulling through where exactly you’re going to stay in your head. If you’re being honest, you’re not paying his words much mind. So what, you don’t have anything protecting your hearing? Sure, sometimes you had stuffed earbuds into your ears when you knew you were going into a rough fight, but you didn’t know when some psycho exploded your building right in front of you. Plus, it’s not like you have unlimited resources to figure out some way of protected your ears under your mask while also letting you effectively use your hearing.

“Okay? And?” You ask, voice edging on the side of boredom. In all honesty, you just want to be left alone. You want to put on your comfy clothes, curl up into a ball and go to sleep so you can dream of a world where everything is okay. The likelihood of that happening is small, but not impossible, right?

“Well,” Peter hesitates then, which piques your interest the slightest bit. “Here, I had these made back when my hearing was crazy sensitive, but it’s not anymore, so I got no use for them!” He says, holding out two blue and red earbuds in a clear case. “You gotta wait until your ears are healed up to use ‘em, but I figured they’d do you more good than me.”

For a moment, you’re ready to deny him. To glare and insist that you don’t need his help. But then, he had said that they were originally for him, and he didn’t need them any longer, so really, would it be so bad to take them? To accept this one thing? To allow yourself to be saved of this tiniest bit of pain?

“You’re sure?” You ask, likely the least aggressive you’d spoken to him, though that’s not to say that it was asked softly. You were still firm on not accepting their help, on doing your own thing, but you could accept this much, surely? It couldn’t hurt.

Peter smiles, a short laugh leaving him, and he waves the box towards you. “I’m sure!”

“…Thanks.” You say, shortly, as you accept the earbuds offered to you. He also hands you the backpack that you had lost track of after the attack, and you accept that far more quickly. You’re glad that it feels the exact same weight as it did the last time you held it, before you shove the earbuds into the opening and zip it back up.

There’s a portal still open on the rooftop the two of you stand on, and Peter backs up to go towards it almost reluctantly. “Also, if you need somewhere to stay—”

“Don’t push it,” You respond, quickly, cutting him off before he could finish what he was saying. He doesn’t take offence to your abruptness, and smiles with a nod, before he disappears into the portal. You stare out at the city around you, looking in the direction of another building you had been very reluctant to return to. “What is my life?” You ask yourself, rhetorically, because you don’t know how you’d even answer that.

You glance behind you to ensure the portal is closed, before jumping off the rooftop, freefalling, relishing in the way the cold wind soothes the pain in your back. Before long, though, you have to shoot a web to catch yourself. You head towards the only place you know will be suitable for you, but can’t shake the way the thought of it chills you.

All you can do is hope that this multiverse stuff will be over with, and soon.

[grandlinedreams]

helloooo!! i was wondering if you could write a story about how law and the reader had a fight, but the reader feels really bad about it,, so they take a hit for him in an battle and almost die ?!!

i understand if you don’t feel comfortable with writing this,,, have a good day/night !!🫶🏻

OUGH I LOVE THAT TROPE TOO GOD LET'S BRING THE PAIN TRAIN but also love putting Law in situations. like bro if you didn't want to don't be so blorbo (borrowing a lil bit from one of my favorite books bc it has a scene like that and OOF)

[heads up!: angst, blood/injury]

There's blood on his hands.

Thick and smelling of copper, it covers his tattoos, his fingertips, his palms. When he looks at his reflection, he distantly notes that it's spattered against his neck and his shirt, too.

There's so much of it, and none of it is his.

"Captain?" Bepo's voice is small and hollow, uncertain as he watches Law sway a little at the sink before he turns the handle and begins scrubbing at his hands. "Are you okay?"

Law wants to laugh. What a stupid question ㅡ but he isn't sure how to answer. Does Bepo mean physically? Mentally? Emotionally? He scrubs at his nails, watches his skin tint pink from the force. Watery red swirls down the drain. "I'm fine, Bepo."

They both know he's lying.

ㅡ

"I'm telling you, this is a bad idea!" Your eyes are narrowed, blazing with fury as you jab your finger into Law's chest for emphasis. "You know better than this. There's no way this will end well, Law. You're going to get someone killed!"

Law's temper flares, and he reaches to bat your hand away from him before he steps around you. "If you have such a problem with the way I lead this crew, then maybe you shouldn't be part of it."

Law won't let anyone else change your bandages.

He winds and unwinds them, an endless loop with peeks at skin knitted back together with thick black thread. His hands ache with the memory of sewing you back together, knowing he'd been actively trying to wrench death's bony fingers from around you.

Pulling back, his gaze drifts over the bandages to the steady rise and fall of your chest. If there's a god who takes requests, he's ready to offer up a plea for you to make it out of this. You have to. You need to.

He still has to apologize.

ㅡ

It takes almost a week before you open your eyes. It's the twitch of your fingers that alerts him first, the shift in your breathing ㅡ and then you're staring at him. Your expression is blank and your eyes are still a little cloudy from medicated sleep, but you're awake. You're alive.

There are a thousand things that Law could say and should, but what tumbles from his lips is nowhere close to any of them.

"You're an idiot."

You blink at him. "Your bedside manner is terrible," you croak, hissing when pain lances up your left side like a wildfire. "What happened? Did I get in a fight with a sea king and lose?"

Law doesn't laugh at your attempt at humor, terrible as it is. He lets his gaze drift, assessing your injuries from minor to major, as he's done for days now. He doesn't want to look at the biggest one, the one that almost took you from him ㅡ so he stares at the bandaid on your cheek. "You were right," he finally says. "About that informant."

You blink. "Oh." You try to move a little, trying to see what else hurts. "Could you repeat that? It's not every day that I hear you admit that I was right about something."

His eyes narrow as his temper flares. "Don't joke," he hisses, "you almost died because you just had to get in the way."

He's doing this all wrong, he knows that ㅡ but he can't quite control his tongue because somewhere he's still a child demanding to know why someone is willing to risk their life for him.

"You're right," you say, and when he looks up he finds you watching him, expression neutral. "I shouldn't joke. I'm sorry."

Law studies you for several long minutes before he speaks again. "Why did you do it?"

"What do you mean?"

His eyes narrow. "Don't play dumb, [Name]. You know what I mean."

You stare at the ceiling, counting the rivets. "Because the Heart Pirates are nothing without our captain," you say, "because we can't afford to lose you. And...I needed to apologize."

Law stares.

"...Apologize." He hears you mumble softly, paler than he's ever seen you as he gathers you up, clutches at you like that alone will stop you from bleeding to death before he ever gets a chance to try and save you.

"So you almost got yourself killed in order to apologize to me? That'sㅡ"

"Something an idiot would do," you interrupt. "Good to know I'm doing what's expected of me."

"Youㅡ" Law shuts his mouth with the click of teeth, jaw taut as he tries his best not to blow up on you before his shoulders sag with a sigh. "Just concentrate on healing. And don't pull a stupid stunt like this ever again." He reaches up, giving the brim of his hat a nervous tug. "I don't like almost losing crewmates."

He doesn't like almost losing you.

"Does that mean I'm still part of the Heart Pirates?" He's confused by your question before the crux of this entire ordeal comes back to him ㅡ the argument the two of you'd had. He doesn't know if you mean to turn the knife, but you do as you repeat his words to him. "If you have such a problem with the way I lead this crew, then maybe you shouldn't be part of it."

His stomach twists. "You're still part of this crew," he reassures you, "which is why I'm telling you that you're not allowed to pull stupid stunts like this again. Am I clear?"

Your eyes lock. "Yes, captain."

The expression on his face softens. "Good."

[seattlesellie]

hi angellll hope ur studying goes well feel free to answer this when you have time or if you don’t want to no worries! butttt i was thinking abt soccer!ellie and cheerleader!reader and i just feel like reader would just constantly be tying little bows into ellie’s hair before games like im thinking of that scene from yellowjackets (pre plane crash 😳) where they’re all running into the gym for the pep rally and they all have little bows in their hair lol anyways i think ellie would pretend to hate them but secretly love it 😋

this made me physically like make a noise that was so inhuman.

🎀

“no babe— fuck off”

“but ellie! you look so cute”

ellie grins like an idiot. you called her cute and now her stomachs tying in knots.

“fine— but just one bow, alright? don’t want these bitches to think i’m weak or whatever”

you pout, and tilt your head to the side and you know that’ll get her. it can’t be asymmetrical, its two bows or nothing. ellie, however, is dumbfounded.

“oh you’re the worst, seriously” she huffs, and rolls her eyes while chewing on her bottom lip. do you know how cute you are when you pout like that or are you truly that clueless?

“what did i do?”

“you’re staring at me with that cute little fucking face”

you do that thing with your mouth, that thing you do when you struggle to hide your smile and it kills her. she takes a long, deep breath, and sighs.

“fuck it fine, two bows”

you bounce right on her lap when she agrees, planting two soft kisses on her cheeks before you put them on her hair. she has her hands around your waist— and she’s doing it too, that swallowing her smile thing.

“do i look dumb?”

she looks criminally adorable. youll never get over that contrast— tight muscle tee with her teams logo, all badass and sporty with two, out of place pink bows in her hair. if marking for her is sweet love bites on your thighs and on your neck, this is your type of marking.

“you look hot”

she squeezes your waist and you squeal. ellie pulls you inwards, and traces small, faint circles on your back before she begins talking again.

“you’re so…” she mutters, and then chuckles to herself. you really are so…

“i’m so?”

“you’re just— fuck”

she doesn’t have to say it, because with her chaste lips on yours, no further words are needed.

oops! one of the bows fell down on the floor.

afterwards, she picks it up and puts it back in her hair.

“maybe you could sew one on my tee?”

[sunnysideaeggs]

uuuuh okay thoughts about S2E1 (disclaimer: SPOILERS! and some unpopular opinions bc i WILL be criticizing alicent). most of these i had during my watch yesterday, and now i’m elaborating on them after more thinking about it. looooong post ahead

okay i liked the new intro. i will miss the blood pouring but i think the tapestries are a more visual way to convey targaryen history.

my favorite parts were the shot of vhagar and balerion in the field of fire(? idk they were eating men (green dragon black dragon !!!), the jaehaerys and alysanne portrait, alicent and rhaenyra and aegon and rhaenyra crowned side by side. beautiful.

also, the blood beneath the thread !!! targaryen history is written in blood. never forget this.

i dont particularly like jace being at the wall. it makes little sense to me, especially because the north is massive and i don’t think that cregan would like to make a procession to the wall just because a prince is there. i liked the tidbits though: jon going to the watch is a tradition he followed unknowingly :)

show me more political jace please, he’s cool.

‘surely torrhen would’ve rather died instead of bending the knee unless he believed aegon could bring unity to the 7K’ jace pls 💀

it’s funny that in one scene rhaenys and daemon had more tension and chemistry than all the scenes of daemon with adult rhaenyra. maybe what he needs is a GILF to put him in his place? lmao

LAENA MENTION LETS GOOOOO

‘make it a son for a son’ referring to aemond? alicent has no bone to pick here be fr i can smell bleach for the whitewashing a mile away

i also have issue with the writers’ choice of making rhaenyra ignore her physical needs and spend apparently days riding on dragon back and doing jumps and that when she just had a miscarriage. it’s canon that she was in bed rest for half a year because the loss of visenya took a toll on her body. it will be dumb and criticized if she’s fine to disappear for weeks but not to fight.

alyn velaryon? ok i’m mad bc corlys literally knows this dude is his son ???

i love how we all pretend that corlys and rhaenys were particularly interested in the strong boys. idk i can’t really care about that anymore

ow is helaena sewing alicent a dress? please tell me it’s not a shroud

AEGON APPEARED WOOO 🍳✨

‘where’s jaehaerys? where are his lessons?’ my man doesn’t know to what school his kids go lol

also he can recognize the twins apart with only seeing them :)✨ cute

aegon wanted jaehaerys in his council !!!! he’s making sure jae KNOWS he’s his heir and he’s on aegon’s mind

oh hel is comfortable enough with him to tell him about her prophecies, i’m just afraid that no one understand her

‘the rats’ NOOOOO

aegon is always like ‘😐❔’ around her lol

‘the queen is an enduring mystery’ he’s a poet i love him

alicole pussyeating but at what cost

why does criston has that empty look in his eyes, he had the same look in his scene with rhaenyra

where is all the raw emotion between them from last season? it’s giving cersei and lancel when it should be cersei and jaime. no deep gazes, no catholic guilt, something’s amiss

jaehaerys and egg </3 my feels they’re so cute

okay i have a bone to pick here because why is tyland being treated like a joke? i can get past jaehaerys toying with him because he’s a child, but aegon respected his allies (that’s a big part about him) and would never antagonize them in that way. it’s given rhaenyra and lady redwyne when we know both characters differ the most in the way they treat their subjects.

also, this is TYLAND LANNISTER, the most employed guy ever. he literally put his skin on the fire for his team, he’s loyal and he’s the best ally the greens could’ve asked for. if anyone is to thank for the death of the dragons, it’s him. put some respect on his name because this is the finance bro to end all finance bros.

also he’s always saying important things: the treasure in the green council, jason’s moves here. please listen to him!

another thing i dislike is the way important political moves are being brushed off. the treasure is a big big matter. it should be said explicitly what the council is doing about it being the focus of the scene. i’m sure most casual viewers didn’t catch that the comedic relief is making big money moves that will backfire later.

but anyways jaehaerys is so cute hehe

happy father’s day to aegon targaryen and aegon targaryen only

okay i’m rewatching the jaehaerys and tyland scene and i love tyland’s accent, and how polite he is to the little prince

go aemond in the council !!!

‘you do not have a seat in this council’ okay alicent please stfu. i disliked her demeanor since she was chastising aegon and tyland but this is too much. remember you do not have a seat either.

and no she doesn’t: she’s queen mother, not queen regent. aegon is an able adult and can rule without her help. i know the only council we had was with cersei but that’s because joffrey and tommen were under westeros’ age of majority. that alicent is there is out of aegon’s kindness and the council members’ respect.

also why would she be mad that the brothers are brothering ??? girl you wanted them to be on each other’s side

SUNFYRE MENTION LETS GOOOO

‘we must proceed cautiously’ i think all caution must be thrown overboard here. i know they want to portray A/R as the ‘voices of reason’ being pushed to war and all but sometimes violence is necessary to prevent more violence. what tywin said about murdering a dozen people in a dinner and a thousand in battle.

i’m tired of this aemond slander. he did it, but he’s innocent your grace

why larys kinda…

ok i love his voice

oh so now every move of alicent is seen by larys. she knows that he knows. neat.

why do the handmaidens wear green? they should wear gold ☀️

okay i initially thought syrax was sunfyre because of the pink of his wings. i hope sunfyre is golden smh

it’s neat that we remember than no matter what side we’re on, for the common people dragons are a source of fear and caution. the fishermen are loyal to rhaenyra yet they will run away from her when she’s on syrax because they don’t trust a dragon.

rhaenyra’s pain is so deep, i really empathized with her. absolutely devastating. her expression, her grabbing the cape, everything

emma is so fucking talented for real, making me feel for the death of a character i dislike

(oh how the mourning of a woman for her child will cause thousands of mothers mourning their children the same)

‘aegon the magnanimous’ when your homie gives you a ridiculous nickname

my boy sits and listens to his subjects, calls them by their names and tells them not to be afraid. hello jerard what can i do 4 u? :)

i love how egg is like ‘yea whatever take ur sheep jerard pls like me’

okay i dislike otto here. aegon is obviously into crowd pleasing (a secret tool that will be useful later) and for once it’s okay. jerard will go home with his sheep and be a diehard aegon supporter and raise his kids to be the same, tell his friends about the king’s generosity. i think otto should know better than to angry the population in time of war, even if you can’t make the flock whole, give the man grain or coin so he can feed his family and the effort of going to the king’s house.

hugh? like hugh hammer? ooooh

‘our victory depends on the efforts of the smallfolk’ close enough welcome back princess diana

another otto slander moment here. i don’t think it’s wise to chastise the king (an adult, mind you) and putting himself in between of aegon and the court like that. did we saw otto with viserys? he sat by his side and whispered his advice in a discreet manner. he didn’t try and strongarmed his king in front of dozens of people. that’s not a smart way of doing things. it’s called soft power for a reason

also, i think the directors were trying to make otto parallel tywin in that joffrey in the throne scene, but tywin was explicitly trying to get joffrey to be more involved in the council and the two were alone. give it to aegon, let him have his fun in public and manipulate him in private, that is the way. doing dumb shit like that only makes aegon look like a kid and otto like a shameless powergrabbing dude

one thing i appreciate is that aegon has his own court. he has his lads-in-waiting, he has a few ladies following behind, and that’s how a king should be. we always saw the royal kids isolated (joff, tommen, rhaenyra only had alicent) when in reality most important people will have a flock of people accompanying them every day.

now that’s what i’m talking about. larys is all about being subtle, honey trapping his way to power. that’s how the game of thrones is played. while aegon will not agree with him just like that (because larys gives him the oogies), i’m sure he will remember larys’ words.

‘as viserys wished’ oh don’t speak of him fuck what he wants

an ally would not sit there and cut her legs at the table of men? girl you do that yourself

alicent, the problem is not otto undermining you, is both of you yapping about shit aegon and aemond not care about and winning empty victories lol

aegon will probably forget about jerard next episode, but will not forget feeling his wings being cut by otto. aemond remained in the council room but will remember alicent wanting him gone.

i wish alicent and otto believed more on their kids/grandkids

mysaria apparition yay

‘you speak of highborn games, i am common born’ tell him girl

daemon don’t put your hands on women challenge: impossible

chemistry with mysaria? uuuuh

i love how everyone reminds erryk of arryk like ‘ayo where ur bro at?’ a matching set is not matching, it’s giving the parent trap

‘i want aemond targaryen’ okay at least she knows who to blame. i want to see more of vengeful rhaenyra, let women be mad

daemon going for aemond instead of for jaehaerys is such a cheap move smh, whitewashing at its finest

jaecarys and rhaenyra :(

is it too insensitive to say that jace’s hair looks great? you’re serving cunt? your brother just died and you’re serving cunt?

ow alerie florent :((((

FUCK VISERYS TARGARYEN

i really like the symbolic funeral. that shot of rhaena crying over the fire? chills

is it me or they changed joffrey’s actor? idk

uuuuh alicent idk if that’s empathy or weakness 🙃

once again i don’t think it’s neat that they show blood being a normal goldcloak. he was discharged dishonorably for femicide. be honest

cheese’s actor kinda looks like joaquin phoenix

‘i want aemond targaryen’ i hate this fucking show.

ROSBY AND STOKEWORTH MENTION LETS GOOO

criston agreeing with aemond in private but backing alicent in public is the medieval version of ‘yea kid ur right but i don’t wanna fight with your mom’

criston looks so tired :(

‘her grace speaks with two tongues’ SAY YOUR TRUTH AEMOND

it is vain to try and blame aemond for starting the war when the war was brewing since before he was born. rhaenyra wouldn’t give up her claim, daemon wouldn’t accept it. if rhaenyra ascended, the targtowers die. there’s not another version of this story

‘she holds love for our enemy, that makes her a fool’ that makes her a traitor. especially after the events of tonight. do we think rhaenyra has a designated green supporter that tries to get her to the green’s side? why would the greens have a rhaenyra cheerleader then?

gods forbid something happens and otto is not there 🙄 control freak

i like how they’re making aemond more rage-filled. careful ewan your book!aemond is showing

‘aegon the strong’ ‘my nephews have already taken that one’ but egg 💀💀💀

i really love how aegon has his court. he’s protected by the throne’s swords AND his homies got his back

the true king can sit however he likes. he lounges on the swords and they’re as soft as pillows to him. pretenders can’t relate.

in a deeper level, it shows how he’s comfortable both in the throne and surrounded by people. he has high trust. kinghood is a tool he doesn’t have any training on but he holds it like a natural

aegon truly trusts aemond. i love that for them. if they make aemond to be treacherous i’ll cry

AEGON THE DRAGONCOCK 🐲 rip leon estermont you would’ve loved shitposting

also why the ratcatchers are just walking around the keep? are they in the tunnels or in plain sight?

the kick to the doggie :( i really hope they didn’t really kick a dog for that

unrelated but i really need the rats around the red keep to mean something like larys skinchanging into them. they can’t be a red herring or just blood and cheese. they have too many shots

again, why are they out and about? isn’t it weird to see dudes in the middle of the night?

helaena’s maid looks like emma stone and she has really good eyebrows. i’m pretty sure she knows something (larys agent ofc)

how do we go from searching for aemond to threatening helaena? whyyyyyyy

oh right we had to blame the smallfolk for being soooo greedy and wicked and stupid that you tell them kill a great warrior and they kill a baby. because daemon can’t ever order a baby killed amiright?

the little beds noooooo :( baby jaehaerys

okay i was expecting more of helaena. in the books she’s described as pleading, begging, crying and so on. phia is killing it with the eye expressions but she looks stiff in comparison with only her necklace. even trying to bargain more (my husband can give you everything and more), some more tears, some stuttering would fit show!helaena’s too. that’s on the directors tho

i also dislike the choice that anyone can just barge in the room, literally they had to make the castle desert instead of blood and cheese waiting for hel in alicent’s rooms. i know someone is going to make the point of ‘why didn’t helaena scream or run?’ and yes partly. guess we had to slander alicent in another way right?

but alas, i am thankful that a prediction of the scene didn’t came true: no children being forcefully stripped. that would’ve sent me over the edge. they implied it but no child actors were harmed in this episode

omg the sounds of the head cutting and jaehaerys’ muffled sounds i wanna cry

helaena is so lost and the castle is a maze and nobody’s there and she’s lost lost lost and running with jaehaera i can’t

did she saw a vision there? when she stopped and went to alicent’s room

imagine going to comfort for your mom and she’s at it

‘return to your post lord commander’ why didn’t you criston? 🙃

also it didn’t pass me by that aegon has THREE kingsguards in addition to his four homies and his own sword. helaena had none. even if he was off duty and he’s sworn to alicent and not helaena, the lord commander is not commanding

THREE maids at the start of the episode doing absolutely nothing and none here? i’m so mad

‘they killed the boy’ :(((((

also why is helaena so disconnected? like why is she ‘able’ or is she in shock? i hope if they don’t make her go insane with pain like in the book she gets a revenge arc where she goes on dreamfyre, she deserves it.

i hope aegon kills them all.

[wickjump]

I heard thoe like Hypersomnia? Could that be true?

*quietly slides a yapping card across the table

takes your yapping card and adds it to my probably not all that legal collection of yapping cards. pleasure doing business

that it IS!!!!!!!!! (for those who don’t know, hypersomnia is ink x error x dream poly). anyway I LOVE HYPERSOMNIA. so much so that i was the one to coin the ship name hypersomnia and then became incredibly obnoxious about it ever since.

i think theyre perfect in every way. to me the initial appeal came from loving drink and errorink equally and being a fan of insomnia so why not smash em together? and then i looked deeper into it and Yes i love them.

my biggest propaganda for them is the fact that with hypersomnia, palette, pj, and gradient can exist as siblings without ink being divorced or a shitty dad, both of which im not a fan of. but then we go outside of ship kid territory and think about them and they work SO WELL THERE TOO.

the dynamic feels equal. dream and ink provide physical touch for each other so error doesn’t feel pressured, dream and error provide the romantic feelings for each other while ink is aro, and ink and error both can’t be read feelings-wise because ink has no soul and while not canon I like to think error’s soul is to corrupted for Dream to get a read on, so he feels that they’re not dating him for his aura and rather for him as a person.

and they’re FUN. and lowkey domestic in a sense too like. dream and error bond over spanish tv while ink draws them both so he keeps quiet during the show and doesn’t ramble on. dream listening to both his partners rant on about things they like while he just sits and listens with a genuine smile. movie nights? all the time. they share a big bed, but error’s part is sectioned off with pillows so he feels comfortable, though on days it feels too suffocating he sleeps in a hammock in the room. dream is injured in battle? don’t worry his husbands are the protector of universes and destroyer of worlds. ink is canonically a pretty lonely character—and while he doesn’t mind it per se, nobody ever sees his art. but now he’s got not one but TWO partners to look at his drawings!!!

AND INKS DADS!!!!!!! ASTER AND TOP HAVE TWO SONS IN LAWS!!!!!!!!! and they are SO supportive and they love dream and error and are very happy ink found people that love him for his weirdness and not ‘in spite of it’.

truce or modern au? nightmare does Not Like Them, on the contrary. and it’s funny. hijinks ensue. passive/uncorrupted or otherwise, he does not like them for one reason or another. thinks they have bad intentions, just doesn’t think they’re right, bad influences, or maybe he’s just scared he’ll lose dream and be alone. NIGHTMARE ANGST. YOU GUYS LIKE THAT RIGHT???????

need more appeal? just take whatever you like about drink, errorink, and insomnia and mash it together CAUSE THATS WHAT THEY ARE!!!!!! they are SOULMATES. TRUST ME they said so themselves.

literally any au version or interpretation only furthers the appeal. dream has wings? error uses his feathers in his dolls to make doll-dream’s wings ‘accurate’, and ink uses them in art (plus group preening, and error likes touching Dream’s fallen feathers bc he sorta knows how Dream feels now even if they’ve never/hardly touched).

fgod error/fgoc ink? dream is supportive of both of them and sympathizes with their roles (iirc dreamtale operates in a world where error’s job is necessary and not out of insanity so this is accurate too).

shattered dream and emotionless ink? great they can be 3 evil fucked up boyfriends because error is flexible like that and i like a bit of evil every so often.

it’s all great. they’re perfect. and they’re SO sweet to each other and they absolutely garden together. and every day past 6pm they sit down in the living area and error crochets/sews while ink draws and dream. aw fuck i forgot what dream does but he does some creative thing. whatever. and they take care of their kids together and they’re the BEST dads to EVER EXIST!!!!!!!! and they’re perfect and they love each other and they have rings with gems that they picked out cause they’re married. ok i know you wanted me to yap but this is too long SORRY!!!!!!!!HOPE U ENJOYED IG??

[the-possum-writes]

I loved the fire fin stuff you wrote, Can you write more headcannons about him and the reader trying to keep finn distracted while also trying to turn him back, pls

Subdue the Flame

➼Character: Fire Finn (Finn Mertens)

➼Tags (warnings): headcanons, canon typical violence, gender neutral reader, mentions of servitude, sloppy kisses, misogynistic comments

➼Synopsis: Fire Finn headcanons about distracting him in a fight during the Elemental special.

➼With the fire citizens heading for the Candy Kingdom it's up to you and Lsp to try and de-escalate the situation, mainly with you trying to defeat Flame Princess's newest champion while Lsp retrieves the jewel from Princess Bubblegum.

➼"Are you sure you can handle him? I mean he already beat you once, it’s like a more intense version of Finn... It’s lumpin hot." Lsp mutters as the two of you scout the area.

"Yeah, we just gotta improvise a bit. At least knock him off his sense until I use my secret weapon and defeat his hot headed butt for good!"

"You sound way too eager about this. But no dude you got it all wrong! the real Finn is still in there somewhere you just gotta play into his hero heart ya know? pull one of those 'I know the real you is in there somewhere' kind of speech."

It's hard not to roll your eyes at Lsp's dramatics, but if she's trying to tell you to solve things pacifically first, then sure why not. Like don’t get me wrong, of course saving Finn is a priority but knowing this prick fire version of him, it’s gonna take more than heartily speeches to subdue him.

"By all means, be my guest."

➼It goes as expected, Fire Finn just walks past her spewing something about war drums and threatens to slice her down if she tries to stop him. This is where you come in.

➼You're the only one who can confront Fire Finn either cause you're physically strong enough to match him in a fight or you have the mental fortitude to deal with the stuff he'll say in hopes of saving him.

➼Like, the guy was pulled in and created in a toxic and violent environment so that leads me to believe he's bound to say some hurtful things and make fun of you with low hanging fruit. For example, if you're a gal (or female presenting) he'll spew some misogynic comments about how he's biologically stronger "You don't stand a chance against me, I'm all hardcore muscle." or "You'll regret leaving your sewing room this morning."

➼If not, he'll still boast about how he's stronger than you and will wipe your face on the dirt.

➼Uses insults too. Mainly stuff like: nerd, loser, mouth breather, girlie, wimp, roach, useless scum, motherless bastard, to think of a few.

➼I don't know if he'll fight honorably (since the other fighters have kinda roman gladiator inspired designs) or fight dirty, but now that I think about it he'll most likely do the latter. He'll kick you in the shins and throw sand at your eyes, that's how he gets the upper hand when fighting you.

➼Dominant, ruthless and a huge show off. Overtime he gets too cocky.

"You're too much of a wimp, I bet I can beat you with nothing but my hands."

➼To mock you further he kicks away your bag and your main weapon but not without stabbing his own sword into the ground before approaching you with cracked knuckles, wrestling you into the ground as he continues to belittle you- albeit with suggestive undertones. "Once we're done with these candy nerds they'll be nothing left but cinders and ash. Maybe then I'll take you back to the fire kingdom as my personal training dummy... All for myself~"

➼You don't know if you're reading too much into this whole fight, but It's now that the physical contact makes sense. He tightens his hold on you, purposely grabbing you where you're most sensitive (that would make you blush any other day) before tossing you around like a sack of potatoes, the pain is real but it started giving you an idea.

➼If there's one mistake he's actively making it's that he's completely underestimated you and your brain power that compensates your lack of extra brawn to beat him on a one on one.

➼"Oh woo is me, you're obviously the better opponent. Might as well start getting used to serving you as you deserve." you cry out, causing Fire Finn to quirk a nonexistent eyebrow. He grips your hair by the back of your head, purposely raising you to his eye level.

➼"And how would you start serving me?" He asks, suspicious of your change of attitude but quickly allured by the promise of servitude.

➼You momentarily lick your lips, it's subtle but hypes you up for what's to come. "Like this," and you lean forward to kiss the fire elemental on the lips completely unprompted. It's a risky move, and considering Fire Finn isn't returning the kiss you're 90% certain that he's gonna slap or throw you away but the second you attempt to remove yourself from him he instead tightens his hold on your hair and pushes you back into his eager mouth, opening it up as his tongue dwells all around yours in unexpected wanton. You try your best to reprocitate but he's completely controlling in this situation as well, now holding your face with both hands as he gives you the sloppiest kiss you've ever had.

➼Underestimating how sharp his teeth are, you cut your tongue on it and has you groaning at the unpleasant metallic taste in your mouth, fidgeting in the spot as you try to pull yourself from his hold but it only served to rile him up further, running his tongue over the wound.

He eventually pulls you away to catch his breath, completely devouring your breaths as you exhale to take in the fresh air.

➼His reaction is more enthusiastic than you expected. In fact it's his crazed expression that ultimately snapped you out of your foggy daze, immediately taking advantage of his unguarded walls and you kick him where he counts.

➼Now he's the one falling like a sack of potatoes.

➼You suddenly rush to your discarded backpack as you hear him shout angrily behind you.

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT! I WILL MAKE IT TORTUROUS FOR YOU! I WON'T REMOVE MY HANDS FROM YOU UNTIL YOUR WAILING AND BEGGING FOR RELEASE BY THE TIP OF MY SWORD!"

➼There's no time to ponder what kind of punishment he's talking about since he's immediately back on his feet and just a few steps away from you, but the second you grab your hidden weapon it's over for this fire elemental. You pull out a plastic water gun and spray it all over Fire Finn, watching him shout in agony as he steps back as you blast him into submission until he lays beaten on the ground. "This is why you need a safe word my dude." You finally spew a well deserved taunt.

➼And to make matters worse and more humiliating for the fire kin, you snap a fireproof collar around his neck, courtesy of Wizard Betty.

"What is this contraption?!"

"It's a little something from a friend, a temporary solution until we find out how to turn you back to normal."

➼With a sigh, you sit back as you watch the fallen warrior attempt to rip out the collar only for it's safety mechanism to activate and spray him with cool water, like one of those automatic car window things.

"I DEMAND YOU RELEASE ME!!"

"You're not in a spot to make demands my dude, so unless you wanna turn into a popsicle you'll have to follow me." You eventually stand up with a more nonchalant attitude compared to earlier, still wincing a bit since your safety now doesn't take away that Fire Finn pulled a heavy number on you.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" He threatens, but the collar activated again before he could lay his blue hands on your neck.

"Maybe, if you say please~?"

"DIE!"

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Chapter 9 linked here

Chapter 11 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, suggestive jokes

The first two weeks of Levi’s healing went okay, him finally being resigned to the fact that he needed to rest after breaking ribs. He threw himself into the mountains of paperwork that had piled up because, in his words, “I can’t sit around scratching my ass while everyone else works.” Meanwhile, you were busy suturing up all of the uniforms that got ruined from the last expedition. The confession you two shared nights ago stayed nestled in the back of your mind as you went through the motions of work. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest and your tongue was no longer heavy with feelings unspoken. Levi now knew how deeply you cared for him and, better yet, didn’t run from his emotions as they were conveyed in his own manner.

By week 4, Levi had enough of not doing physical work. His sour mood permeated every room he moped into, cadets practically tripping over their feet to stay out of his way and spare themselves from the venom waiting to spill from his mouth. His patience was thinner than usual and he found himself snapping at everything and everyone. Even you weren’t spared of his foulness.

“Look, Levi, I’m just trying to help,” you had said one morning after he had struggled bending over to tie his shoe. You’d leaned down to tie the laces but he swatted you away, scowling.

“I’m not a damn baby. Leave me alone and get back to work.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “You’re my captain but you’re not gonna boss me around like that.”

That irritated him further. “Listen, Sergeant. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Am I clear?”

You narrowed your eyes. “All due respect, Captain, but you taking your anger out on people for something they didn’t do isn’t nice. It sucks getting hurt, trust me, I know, but it’s not permanent.”

Levi didn’t respond. You could tell he was seething and you weren’t sure if it was from your blatant lack of respect for his authority or because you were right. Probably a mix of both.

“What do you know about what I’m going through? All you do is sit in here all day sewing. I have an important job that I have to get back to. People are relying on me.”

Levi’s finger was pointed toward you accusingly and you wished you had enough courage to snap it off his hand.

“I thought we were past the petty insults, Levi. You don’t need to be a jerk to me because of your inner turmoil or whatever. You’re right, I don’t give my heart and life like the other Scouts do, and I’m sorry for that. I don’t know what it’s like to see comrades die and maybe feel like it’s my fault. But my job is important in its own way, too, and I know you know that.”

You could see that your words made an impact because Levi’s expression changed from one of dismay to something that leaned more toward despair. You were right, of course—Levi had gone too far. He had been ridiculously upset at his own shortcomings when he went to the dining hall and saw all of the missing faces from the last expedition. Every time a soldier dies, he feels like a piece of himself dies with them. Sure, it was their duty to give it all for the sake of others, and he has no regrets about any of the choices he makes as a leader, but that sure as hell didn’t make any of the losses hurt less. He internalized their deaths as his fuel to keep going. He needed to get back to training as quickly as possible so he could make sure there weren’t as many casualties the next mission and his injury was preventing him from doing so. Levi also couldn’t get the night from a few weeks ago out of his head. He knew it was the right thing to share with you how he felt about you, but he couldn’t help but think you’d change your mind about caring for him after seeing him so vulnerable and useless. He reverted into his old ways of pushing everyone away, but he should’ve known that you weren’t the type to give up easily, especially on people you cared about.

He couldn’t meet your gaze as he spoke. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But thanks for acknowledging it. Anyway, drop the shitty attitude. We’re going for a walk.”

You proceeded to exit the room but Levi stood in his previous spot.

“Did you break your legs, too? I said c’mon.” You motioned for him to come with you and he finally obliged. The walk outside was quiet, both of you unsure if the other wanted to talk. Levi’s eyes adjusted to the bright sun that warmed his body as he realized he hadn’t been in the open air the entire time he’d been injured. That was probably another reason why he was so grumpy. You, of course, had assumed this and decided he needed some time to rest outside and get Vitamin D in his system.

“Where are you taking me, brat?” he asked, trying his best to be annoyed but not finding it within him.

You gave him a sly smile and put your finger over your lips. “It’s a secret. You trust me, don’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately. But if you’re taking me somewhere to put me down like a lame horse I ask you do it quickly.”

“Hey! Dead horse jokes hit a little too close to home still,” you said, playfully scoffing. “Besides, you won’t want to repeat that in front of our gracious hosts for the morning.”

He didn’t know what you meant until he realized you were at the stables.

“I checked with the doctor the other day and she said it was still too early for you to ride your horse but we can give these guys some snacks if you’re up for it.”

Levi usually hated coming to the stables since it was dirty and smelled nasty but he couldn’t deny how his heart raced at the idea that you went out of your way to do something to better his well-being, even after he treated you rudely. He didn’t answer you but found his way to his horse, the only black one in the Survey Corps. You took that as a sign he’d agreed with your suggestion and you internally high five’d yourself at making a good call. You left to find some fruits and vegetables for the animals. You were gone for a good 20 minutes, hoping Levi would enjoy his alone time. When you came back, you saw that you were right—the captain had his hand outstretched to his horse’s snout and was on the receiving end of unstoppable licks. He looked the most at ease than you had seen him in a while and the sight of him bonding with his horse melted your heart. You handed him a carrot to feed the steed but he refused.

“You should feed him. I know how lonely you are without your own horse and that could help.”

It was a short sentence but it hit your gut with a huge impact. Levi truly did care for you, even if he was bad at showing it sometimes. You appreciated the little gesture, putting the vegetable in your grasp and offering it to the hulking creature. He ate it gratefully and you found yourself snuggling into the horse as Levi’s hand stayed stroking its face.

“Horses are just so cute. I wanna give him a big smooch!” You leaned in and gave Levi’s horse a small peck, giggling at Levi’s shocked face.

“What? Are you jealous?” you asked.

“Tch. Are you stupid? That’s disgusting.”

“Me kissing the horse or the thought of me kissing you?”

Your teasing made the tips of his ears turn red as he huffed in annoyance.

“Use your brain and figure it out,” he grumbled, leaving to feed the other horses. Your laughter echoed throughout the stables, the horses stamping their feet and joining in the fun. After a few hours and the morning turned to afternoon, you could see that Levi was getting tired from his outing.

“I’m starving. Wanna grab some lunch?” you suggested as you heard Levi’s stomach grumble. When you walked into the dining hall, there was a commotion from your regular table.

“Oh hey, here comes the duo! We haven’t seen either of you around, we thought maybe you didn’t like us anymore,” Petra said, wearing a fake frown.

Oluo chimed in. “They’re together all the time now, so if they don’t like us, at least we know they like each other!”

A round of flirtatious sounding “ooh’s” were chorused and you saw Levi give him a death glare.

“You’re not familiar with that feeling, are you, Oluo?”

The whole table burst out in uncontrollable laughter as Oluo pouted and it was like old times again. You and Levi put down your filled trays and began to eat, listening to the funny stories being swapped by your friends. As you took a bite of bread, you felt some of your hair getting pulled and saw Levi plucking something out of it.

“You have hay in your hair, idiot.” He placed the stray piece on the side of his tray to dispose of later and you went back to eating. Little did you know, the whole table was trying to hide their shock at the loving gesture their captain brazenly displayed.

“Really? Right in front of my soup?” Gunther groaned while Petra punched him in the arm to be quiet. When the meal was finished, Levi took his leave while you stayed behind to catch up with your friends.

“So, hay in your hair, huh? Did you and the captain go for a romp in the stables?” snickered Oluo and you choked on your drink.

“Wha-what? Don’t be crass. I don’t know why you would think that,” you said, embarrassment creeping up your body. You were fine getting teased about anything other than your love life, or lack thereof. That topic flustered you to no end and Squad Levi picked up on that, fast.

“Hmm? So you didn’t ride the famed black stallion?” Eld smirked. You wanted to die then and there.

“Guys, stop. I didn’t-W-we don’t… that’s gross. We’re not like that. We’re just good friends, that’s all.” Your stammering spurred on more hoots and hollers as they ignored the substance of your words. Your chair scraped the floor as you stood and slammed your hands down on the table.

“Please knock it off!”

The whole dining hall went silent. You hadn’t meant to be that loud but you caught the attention of everyone in the room. Your friends looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your outburst.

“We were just having fun, y/n, we didn’t mean to make you upset,” said Petra.

“We go too far sometimes. Sorry,” replied Gunther. The other guys nodded solemnly. You sat back down and put your head in your hands.

“Sorry guys. It’s not you… well, okay, it was you a little bit, but I’ve just had a day.”

“We’ve all been there, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Oluo placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Besides, there’s no one else we’d rather see our beloved captain with!”

“Petra!” you whined, seeing her smile, “we’re not together. I promise you that much.”

The group exchanged glances.

“Are you sure?” asked Gunther, “because I’ve never seen Levi be so gentle with anyone before.”

“Yeah,” Eld added, “you fooled us. I would’ve guessed you two were married by the way he acts around you.”

Their words were comforting. The connection you and Levi shared was something unseen before by any of his closest comrades which brought you a sense of peace that this really was something special.

“All I know is that Levi and I have a profound sense of trust in each other. I’m not sure how to describe it any better than that but I hope it’s enough for you guys to understand what I mean.”

Apparently it was a good enough description for your friends because they finally left you alone about it, opting instead to talk about a poor cadet who was left hanging upside down by their ODM gear for an hour during training. You kindly excused yourself from the conversation to clear your tray and head back to work. You felt a long arm wrap around your shoulders before you could leave the dining hall and you were met with Hange’s face millimeters from your own.

“Hay in your hair, huh?” They gasped before breaking out into a giddy smile. “Did you and Levi finally bang?!”

Only a few minutes after Levi entered his office, his door flew open, swinging wildly on its hinges, and there you stood, huffing angrily.

“I have to get out of this place for a few days. You up for that trip to the interior?”

Chapter 11

Taglist: @blueeclipsepaperstudent @raginginferno267 @come-away-with-me87

[bunniesandbeheadings]

I was at a brunch with some friends irl, and one of them asked me if the Marquis de Sade was really as bad as his reputation.

And I explained, yeah, he kidnapped some people and did some nasty things, although a lot of his writings depict worse things than he could have possibly have done. (Like physically impossible. Just very gross.)

Like what, they wanted to know.

I jokingly said, “oh, I know some people read Sade thinking that since it’s from the 18th century, his writing can’t possibly be offensive to us in the 21st but no, he’s pretty awful. For example, in one -“ and then I detailed a very nsfw episode which involves sewing needles and syphilis

And one of the men there, I fuck you not, he says “that’s not too intense. I read worst stuff every day.”

The women laugh nervously

But later when we talk about the Ottoman Empire, he tries to handwave a lot of it saying that it’s not really sex slavery, and even if it was, it’s okay and-

Like at this point even the other men were like “dude. Dial it back.”

But anyway, I apparently was hostile in correcting him and now he doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore because I … may or may not have bit his head off. And I hurt his feelings.

And I — I feel bad, because I don’t like hurting someone’s feelings

But it’s also like…yeah…if you think Sade is tame and sex slavery is cool, maybe. Maybe I don’t want to be your friend anyway…

[lovenmaze]

“A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism.”

Naruto. Beautiful and kind Naruto. He wouldn’t think badly of Sasuke, right? He wouldn’t think he was vulnerable, weak, selfish, or desperate. No, the Naruto he knows wouldn’t do that. Not his Naruto.

Sasuke softens at that, and tries; “Naruto? I- Can you touch me? Not the– just.. I just need physical contact. To ground myself. I–”

Naruto looks at him quite shocked, Sasuke doesn’t usually ask things like that. Sasuke tenses upon seeing his reaction, but Naruto quickly replies, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, nothing weird, don’t worry. You okay with holding hands?”

Sasuke inhales, then nods.

Naruto smiles and takes his hand.

He looks at their intertwined hands, it’s everything. Sasuke is holding the sun in his remaining hand, perhaps his other hand was a sacrifice for this. But it’s still not enough.

He wants to bind their bodies together, sew their bones tight, and take a bite of each other’s heart, like a ritual done in front of an altar, with a god as their witness.

Sasuke tries to calm down, but the thing within him can’t stay put, his blood is rushing, like a stormy sea; it’s maddening. The heat of Naruto’s hand is passing to Sasuke’s, his usually cold body melts under the touch. The hand of the person who saved him is within his grasp, gentle and heavy; it will ground him, warm him, and care for him. Sasuke would bleed himself open if he could if that meant showing Naruto his heart, which was so full of – Naruto, that he could hardly call it his own.

Sasuke’s heart picks up its pace, his chest tightens, and so does his grip on Naruto’s hand.

“Sasuke? You okay?” Naruto asks, Sasuke turns to look at him. It’s so blue, Sasuke could drown in them. He could never forget those eyes, he’d see them when looking up at the sky, or when he closed his.

Sasuke doesn’t say anything, he just stares at Naruto, and then at his lips.

Naruto notices, and licks his lips. God, Sasuke wants to get a taste; kiss him so that he can leave a mark, a mark on his lips, so when Naruto talks, his name will be there.

Sasuke must’ve stared for a while, because Naruto shifts and stares back, and suddenly Sasuke is so aware of the eyes on him. And just as Sasuke was about to say something, “Can I kiss you, Sasuke?” Naruto asks.

Shock evident on Sasuke’s face, Naruto panics “Oh, haha! Never mind, sorry, forget I sa–” Sasuke doesn’t even let him finish, instead allowing his lips to meet Naruto’s.

The buzzing in him is louder this time, turning into a melody, a song singing Naruto’s name.

The buzzing mellowed down and turned into a gentle humming, like a sigh of relief, finally. Finally.

It’s a kiss, Sasuke realizes. Fuck, they’re kissing. The two melt into the kiss, and warmth spreads all over Sasuke. It was slow, soft, tender; and everything.

Sasuke never thought of kissing, the act itself didn’t appeal much to him. And yet he’s here, kissing Naruto, and everything feels right; puzzle pieces slowly unraveling a masterpiece, a masterpiece of them. He feels Naruto place his other hand on his cheek, the other still intertwined with his, they’re both afraid of letting go.

Sasuke feels himself slip out of Naruto’s touch, weakened and overpowered by the feel of him. The kiss is slowly unraveling Sasuke, thread by thread, until he’s naked to the bone, revealing his beating heart.

In the heat of the moment, Sasuke thinks about their first kiss, it was a childish and silly accident, while this, was everything he had wanted. It’s so much — too much, and yet it isn’t enough, something in him wants more — he wants more. He wants everything Naruto can offer, and Sasuke, lets out a small noise, Naruto is everything.

Their lips find their way towards each other, they crash and collide; they glide against each other like a dance shared by two lovers; or a language only the moon and sun spoke of, like an eclipse.

They grew up thinking they were made for violence, but maybe this is what they were made for. To love and cherish each other, to kiss each other.

They pull apart, and Naruto groans, hands now making their way to Sasuke’s body. Sasuke relaxes in his touch, something he does with Naruto.

“God, I love kissing you,” Naruto says, breathless.

So do I, Sasuke thinks. He really does.

“It’s like you're made for me, fuck, I-sorry- it’s just-”

Sasuke gets what Naruto is saying, even though he isn’t saying anything, he doesn’t have to.

A beat.

They look at each other, they’re alive. So alive.

Naruto kisses him deeply and slowly, I can taste him, Sasuke thinks, See, he’s alive, he’s on my lips and he’s here with me, he’s alive, he’s alive! We’re alive.

As if both had realized they were alive and together; they reconnect their lips again, but this time with a sense of urgency; like they’re making up for the time they’ve lost. Their slow and careful kisses were now quick and sloppy, and the room was getting hotter.

Need and want are running burningly hot through Sasuke’s body, God he needs Naruto, needs to devour him whole; strip him off of his layers to digest, kiss his lips to stain them red; Sasuke loves so strongly — carnivorously.

Oh.

Love.

That's what it was.

The thing inside him was love all along. He didn’t recognize it, probably because it was different from the love he grew up with. This was burningly scarlet, dangerously green; he was afraid of its burn, its spreading. Maybe this was already in him even as a kid, a flame he forcefully blew out, Naruto rekindling it.

Sasuke hadn’t considered using “love”, to label his feelings towards Naruto; he believed the word wasn’t enough anyway. But he allows himself to love again, it’s Naruto, after all.

Sasuke tries to pull back, while Naruto tries to chase his lips but is interrupted by Sasuke, “Naruto, if we don’t stop–…”

Naruto turns serious, “Do you want to stop?”

Sasuke wets his lips, and pauses. He doesn’t. But he’s a bit afraid. Sasuke wants Naruto to be selfishly, thoughtlessly, and desperately his.

Read the rest: here 🫀

[sercezgazety]

It’s going to start raining soon because of-fucking-course it is. Why not. It’s not like it’s going to change anything, Dan is already completely drenched, and maybe something that isn’t his own sweat would be a reprieve. Or, you know. Herbert could do something besides peering over the edge of the hole with a flashlight, commenting on Dan’s technique and imperiously demanding changes in the angle at which the shovel enters the soil.

Dan tells him as much. Backseat driving is one thing when it’s, well, driving — and even then it’s infuriating. When it’s grave robbing, it’s a whole nother thing. It wouldn’t kill Herbert to get back down here for a couple minutes. He’s pretty experienced with a shovel, Dan reminds him, and seems to have a lot of opinions. High time he starts pulling his weight around here.

“At this depth? In these shoes?” Herbert asks, and then makes an offended sniff to drive the point home. “I’d just keep slipping and losing my balance.”

“I mean,” Dan pants, “you could have worn different ones.”

“All my shoes are the same.”

Yeah, it figures.

“Well, they shouldn’t be. You ought to have at least one pair of sneakers.” The shovel finally thuds against the lid. Thank fuck. They really took the whole six feet thing into their hearts, huh. “Specifically for this kind of occasion.”

Dan can’t see him, but he just knows Herbert opened his mouth to start saying something, and then changed his mind and closed it. He can almost hear the asshole’s thought process anyway. I don’t need sneakers, you do this kind of work. Or something along these lines. 

“Somebody needs to hold the torch,” West decides to say instead.

It’s sad, actually, how Dan’s initial reaction is this absurd sense of pride. Herbert wouldn’t have kept the original words to himself, were he interacting with anyone else. 

Christ, what a low bar to clear.

Thankfully, they’re— no, Dan, Dan’s not digging a hole the size of an entire coffin. That would take days. But the opening still needs to be much wider and longer than just the bit that would give them access to the right part of the lid. Dan’s learned the hard way that getting rid of excess soil when you’re four feet deep is bloody exhausting. There are steps to take, first you make a hole that is wide and long and deep enough, with something like shelves, so that later on you can put the contents of the shovel next to you instead of throwing pounds of dirt over your head. He’s more experienced in digging than he’d like, though it’s not often that they’re trying to get something out of the ground. And it’s not that Herbert didn’t do anything tonight, oh no. He’s been very careful to do bare minimum and pant so pitifully, it was Dan who told him to take a break. It was more than an hour ago, by the way.

At least the coffin’s made out of wood. Last time, it was metal. Almost impossible to open, and no point in doing so anyway, given that the corpse boils inside it. Dan sometimes wonders whether people who buy those things actually know how physics work. Probably not. He’s not entirely sure he knows, though he’s definitely seen the results.

Now that the lid is partially visible and the goal seems so close, somehow everything drags on. It’s as if the time was made out of rubber, stretching instead of rushing the way it does whenever Dan actually needs a couple seconds to restart a heart or sew up a wound a tad too close to an artery. Now, he wants to be done, away from here, and not only do they have to get the cadaver out and bury the empty casket, but first they need to get to the goddamn casket in the first place, and it’s already been three hours, and someone’s bound to come and catch them, there’s no way they’re getting away with it, and the it —

“Herbert.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s ancient.”

How the hell did Dan not notice that before? Yes, his brain tends to turn into mush the moment he’s confronted with a stressful situation — a terrible trait in a doctor, really, he knows that — but to such an extent? At this point, he really should be able to tell a fresh grave from whatever the hell this is. Come to think about it, all the flowers were withered when they were getting them out of the way. 

“Not ancient,” Herbert responds serenely. “Just two days old, you’re short a couple millenia.” He probably thinks he’s funny; he usually does. “Well, it’s almost three days now.”

Dan stops digging. Not the best idea, given that this way he’s probably going to remain in the compromising situation for even longer. If he gives his muscles a moment to catch up with the exhaustion, it’s going to be very difficult to start moving again.

Still, it would be nice to know why is he supposed to be moving at all.

“Herbert,” he says very calmly because he’s a calm and rational guy. Also because he’s down here and Herbert’s all the way up there, so it’s impossible to just throttle the imp without some extra effort, and he doesn’t have any energy to spare. “It’s way too old, what the hell do you even want with it? The brain’s completely useless at this point.”

Looking up, Dan half-expects to see Herbert sitting over the ledge and kicking his legs, but that’s not happening. First, there’s been no foot colliding with Dan’s temple. He’s pretty sure he’d notice. And second, when it comes to keeping the slacks spotless, it doesn’t matter how appealing disrespecting the dead might be. Herbert’s always going to choose clean clothing. Unless it’s blood. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, and yes, it’s not that noticeable on black clothes, but the shirts, the sheer number of shirts that turn out to be single-use is impressive. Herbert’s propensity for the blue ones is absolutely fascinating. At least the white ones can be bleached. The blue ones go straight to the trash. “They’re more cheerful,” Herbert deadpanned once, and to this day, Dan doesn’t know whether that was supposed to be a joke. What an absolute waste of money, but then again, when one is used to having money, they don’t consider it an issue.

It is an issue to Dan, though. Just like the fact that he’s currently standing in the middle of a grave they’ve been attempting to desecrate, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Liver failure,” Herbert informs him as if that were supposed to explain anything.

“So?”

Dan feels ridiculously proud of himself — look at him being so assertive! — for not resuming the digging. He stares at Herbert, and yes, it’s hardly intimidating, given that he needs to keep looking up and squint at the torch, but Herbert still seems a bit surprised by Dan’s resolve. He falters, he actually falters, so that’s something.

“We don’t require a body, per se,” he admits. “At this stage of research, it would be prudent to do some further tests on individual parts. They don’t need to be that fresh. Actually, we need to see what happens when the decay has not only started but progressed. The neurons atrophy immediately, so we should look into reversing the process, not only stopping it. Muscle tissue would be a good start, I figured. Although, well. Bloating would be ideal, but—“ Herbert gives a long-suffering sigh, confronted with a world that simply refuses to respect his wishes. ”For the moment, this will have to do.”

Dan wipes at his brow, which is completely pointless. He smears the sweat around, and now it’s mixed with even more mud than before.

“Is it at least embalmed?”

“...yyyes.”

“You think so or you know so?”

“I know,” Herbert answers a bit too quickly. 

Perfect.

Dan drops the shovel, and winces immediately as it clatters against the lid.

“So all of that for… parts?” he asks. He wants to sound incredulous, he really does, but it’s not even the tenth most insane thing Herbert’s demanded this month. “Not a whole subject. I’m busting my ass here, we could get caught any moment, and all of that for parts?”

“A part,” Herbert says in that monotone he uses to offer a helpful piece of information.

“And you couldn’t have gotten it at Miskatonic?”

“Well, we’ve had no fatal liver failure in weeks.” Dan can’t see it, but he’s certain Herbert is shrugging. “This one comes from a different hospital, actually. They transported the body back to the place where she grew up.” He pauses to readjust his voice and make it into something more cheerful. “Isn’t that nice of them?”

Dan finds himself digging again, but that’s not because he’s a pushover. That’s because he just wants to be done with it, and the longer they stay here, the more likely they’re to get caught.

“Why liver failure, then?” he huffs.

“You’d better focus on digging.”

Dan makes a point to stop moving.

“Why liver failure, Herbert.”

As if it weren’t already obvious that West is avoiding the answer, he pauses for a tad too long.

To learn why liver failure, continue reading here. The answers might surprise you (unpleasantly). warnings in the notes opening the chapter on ao3

[hugsandchaos]

Something I can’t wait to use with Eudaemon is Danny’s ghostly wail. It’ll be a while, because he tries to keep it as an emergency use thing only because it’s so powerful, but just think! Something I think would be interesting for this ability being revealed if it was a bit of a slip up, and wasn’t exactly the whole thing. I’m not sure if I could find a good cause for it, though. Here’s what I’m talking about:

Once, the group’s arguing was getting really out of hand. Time was already having an unusually hard time getting them to quiet down and try to talk in a calmer manner, but he wasn’t out of the ring yet. He was about to really start yelling, but Danny beat him to it by shouting at them to shut up with enough force to physically knock them all down and shake the ground.

Danny was already having a considerably long day before he and Time had to witness this, and his already grown discomfort getting worse by the second was another reason the old man wanted to get them under control, and as a bonus reason, since they didn’t trust him to be on his own just yet and he didn’t want their arguing to be the reason he runs off and gets hurt. Danny tried to keep his emotions and powers under control, he really did, but a small bit of the Ghostly Wail slipped through. It was more of a “whisper” or something like that compared to what he could do, but it was still enough to throw Time a foot or two away from him because he’d been standing so close to him.

After that, Danny threatened to sew their mouths shut and take any and all sharp objects they have if they dared to speak for the rest of the night, with Time being an exception because he was the leader and only one trying to get everyone to stop yelling. Maybe in normal circumstances, they probably wouldn’t have taken the threat seriously, but Time was the only one who said anything until tomorrow.

Danny would apologize sooner or later for snapping the way he did, and absolutely refuse to talk about what happened with his voice unless they already know about him being a Halfa. The group learned a lesson that day.

Time is terrifying. He didn’t have to snap to get them to stop arguing or use one of his looks of heavy disapproval, but Danny did. And he literally shook the ground. Time was still the main “do not piss off” member, but “do not overwhelm” now went to Danny.

That probably won’t be added into the story, partially because I don’t even know what would cause such a big argument, but it’s a nice scenario to think of.

[skelebellie]

FIRST MEETINGS

million knives [stampede] x plant?reader drabble

synopsis: you meet knives for the first time. he thinks your someone else.

content warning: mentions of sharp weapons, blood, and physical altercations

this an equal household. i pine after all siblings equally. [aka i think knives is a goofy dude and his characterization in stampede is kiss kiss].

—————

it was a particularly normal day as you spent your time around town, discovering odd patterned geological formations that helped adhere the homes to the sand below it.

was it the smartest idea to go into a dark alley alone. no. did you think anything would happen to you in the middle day. also no.

you were lost in the sauce. failing to notice the screams of town folk as you observed the calcified rock. one moment you were holding it and then boom, it was dark.

when you woke up, you were shocked to be in a white room. it sent shivers up your spine, as the environment caused old memories to rise to the surface. questions could wait until later, for now you’d try to get out of here. hopefully the town was still there when you got back.

the door was unlocked, odd considering you were kidnapped.

you also didn’t have shoes on, thankfully that old socks separated the floor and your feet. you could sense your bag somewhere within the building, your body able to feel the shawl of plant material that you had been born with, always tucked into your bag.

it was like you were an assassin, peering around every corner and ears on high alert.

the closer you got to your objective, the quieter it seemed to get. an odd sense of loneliness filling the room.

you had found your bag and shawl, even your shoes (thank god, you didn’t have the money for new ones). the only downside being that some blondie covered in a robe was holding it, allowing light to shine through the transparent shawl.

you became defensive knowing he was touching something as important as your shawl, so you started making fast paces towards him. “Hey! You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong-“. The sense of danger came first, luckily stopping you from making too much contact with the tail of sharp objects that wrapped around you. it certainly didn’t save your overalls, as a large rip formed across the front panel. damnit, now you’d have to sew it back again.

“anything plant belongs to me. im its rightful owner, a god” blondie chided at you, only causing more anger to bubble up to your throat. “J.J Doe, right? Elusive scientist who has published series of plant based experiments. No committee or board to shift through your work, your research seems to pop up in small town libraries. Never the same one.” The man stepped down from his pedestal, inching closer to you. You backed up, only for a reactive spindle of metal(?) to wrap around your neck. it swiped, leaving a sliver of blood and for the stop part of your turtleneck to fall to the ground. the more he keeps going the more work you’ll have to do to fix whatever clothes you have.

“i detest humans, a species of parasitic worms who use plants as tools for their selfish survival. however, I hate those who knowingly use their will to torture my brotheren even more.” he was too close for comfort now. a string of knives swiping close to your forehead, which you barely dodged by shifting backwards. the shift in weight caused you to fall backwards, rows of spindles wrapping around your legs, keeping you from getting up from the floor.

“should i take a finger for each sin you have committed. maybe slowly sever you limb from limb, so you may know the suffering of the plants who you experimented on. maybe-“ You were too focused on the rows of knives wrapped around your legs to notice that he now stood atop of you. crouching to straddle you as his eyes sent daggers into your mind, like a searing hot flash of static. “i should do it with my own hands. as disgusting as you vile creatures are.” his hand slowly began to approach your neck. his weapons should have instilled enough fear into you, but now you seemed petrified, tears threatening to pour at the very thought of him touching you.

“disgusting.” he muttered, looking down as you. his hand wrapped around your neck, and immediately began to squirm, your leg receiving shallow cuts as it brushed against the sharp cage around it. the contact sent an immediate blossom of heat from your neck. you wish it was another gang of badland raiders, anything but an independent plant. you covered yourself up to avoid making contact with anyone, trying to prevent the surge of information that you would receive and give which writhed out of your control.

behind closed eyes, you could see the blossom of blue, geometric shapes spreading from your chest to your neck, reaching out to the man who’s hand was around your neck. the closer it got the more erratic you reacted. It seemed like the man above you no longer intended to kill you, for now. Instead he fixated his eyes to the spread of patterns slowly approaching his hand, his own body reacting in a similair manner. the contact left your mind heavy with shocks of malice, anger, and pain? The scorching sensation caused a moan of pain to spill from your lips as fat tears fell from your eyes.

The man above you felt the fear over the connection, a dark pit of misunderstanding and embarrassment overflowing with an ebb and flow of confusion. flashes of images of syringes and scalpels as you held the blade towards yourself, harvesting your flash to run under analysis. you hadn’t been experimenting on other plants, you had been experimenting on parts of yourself.

the cage around your legs unwinded, as did the hand around your neck. you quickly moved your arms to cover your eyes, still unable to cope with the wave of information that was forced into your head. however, your action failed as another hand wrapped around your wrists to move your arms from your face, revealing puffy eyes and still falling tears. another hand came up to caress underneath your lashes, gathering the salty tears before they could run onto the floor.

“interesting. not entirely human, not entirely plant.” the contact caused a shocking sensation underneath your skin, flinching as his thumb made lazy circles on your cheek. you relaxed, feeling as if the threat of danger was finally over with. until the blunt end of a knife slammed into the already bruised skin at the base of your neck. knocking you out once more.

[infinite-orangepeel]

more eaglescout!steve/perv!eddie bc i’m obsessed

CW: eddie being possessive, steve’s toxic parents (food issues, ED, physical abuse)

steve’s parents have always been overbearing and not in a loving way. they’re controlling, demeaning, and downright cruel.

steve’s mom is most critical about his weight.

she makes him weigh himself regularly and puts him on a diet whenever she thinks he’s gained too much. he has no say over his own meals and she packs his lunch every single day.

steve’s dad is abusive in other ways.

he wants steve to be a real man’s man. he beats hits him with his belt whenever he thinks he’s being too soft or ‘feminine’ in any way (which essentially translates to being kind or gentle).

he leaves steve bruised beneath his clothes and scarred over his heart.

they fuck with his head.

they close him off from so much of the world.

they don’t let him travel, date outside of the church, choose his own friends, etc.

he knows so little about anything outside of the claustrophobic bubble they’ve raised him in.

needless to say, eddie munson is the antithesis to everything they’ve ever taught him.

eddie munson breaks rules, pushes boundaries, throws up his middle finger at tradition—curiously drawn to darkness and oddities.

and as he gets to know steve, he notices something that he just can’t get out of his head.

all of his clothes—scouts uniforms, casual wear, briefs—have his family name written in sharpie on the label. it’s absurd. he’s an adult.

“what’s this about?” eddie asks pointedly one day, flashing one such label at a half-naked steve who’s hurrying to get dressed.

“mom does it to all my clothes. always has,” he shrugs and frowns, “i’ve asked her to stop.”

and maybe in another family dynamic it might be endearing. sign of a mother who just loves her son too much and can’t let go.

but steve’s family is fucked up. steve’s family is deranged. and eddie, coming from his own fucked up family, can only read the little labels as another way to suffocate him and hold him back.

“do you want me to do something about it?” eddie cocks an eyebrow at him, “because i will. just say the word.”

steve looks uncertain. whenever eddie gives him the opportunity to choose for himself, steve tenses up.

“it’s sharpie. it doesn’t wash out.”

eddie chuckles, smirks at him in that way that spells ‘trouble.’

“lucky for you i have scissors and i know how to sew. just lay back and relax, baby. let me take care of it.”

which is how steve ends up bringing eddie his entire closet so he can repeat what he’s done to the clothes steve was wearing the previous day.

methodically and with a joint between his teeth, steve watches as eddie cuts out each ‘harrington’ label, puts them all in a pile, and tosses steve a lighter.

“go on,” he says as they stand in his backyard, “light ‘em up.”

it’s symbolic. it’s ceremonial. it feels good. it feels freeing to watch all those little labels char and turn to ash.

eddie spends the rest of the evening with steve in his lap, sewing ‘property of E.M.’ into every last piece.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn @bestofbucky, @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @jjoesjonas @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @feraleddiekinninghours @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @mcneen @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23

[astrophilic-soul]

Indchu Headcanons

Thank you sm to the anon that asked me! I sadly lost your ask but I hope you like these :3

India shows his love in a very physical way, through hugs, kisses and such while China shows it more through gifts and quality time.

Both cultures have traditions with hair, and I feel like- to them- hair is something they would only allow those they love and trust to touch. So, China would let India braid his hair and India would let him oil it.

Some hobbies and interests they would share: gardening, cooking, sewing, music

They 100% gossip, they literally know everyone’s shit. They have tea/coffee at each other’s houses and just talk shit the whole time <3

I think they know each other’s mythology/legends/cultures really well because they told eachother during their journeys together on the Silk Road! Two young and lonely immortals who’d inhabited the earth for far longer than many ever would, talking about their people as they traversed the land and slept under the stars.

I don’t necessarily think India and China were exclusive to each other in the past- especially because they didn’t have a constant string of communication. And maybe even now, I just think as older nations- they would have a hard time with monogamy. But I do think of their relationship is kinda like waves, it comes and goes- but they’re always home to each other in a way.

I very much categorize them as an old couple. They slow dance to songs on a radio while it’s raining outside. They hold each other, tracing over scars mindlessly, the story of each- known by heart. They don’t even say I love you anymore, they just know it.

And I think in a way, their relationship in modern day would be a kinda depressing. They’re finally able to focus on each other, not focused on trying to keep stability- not knowing if their kingdom would fall the next day. Far better and constant communication than the past. They’re stable nations now and yet- they’re enemies. They might not give a shit and continue anyway, but it definitely has affected their relationship. It started honey sweet and has since soured. They have their soft moments and yet- their government’s relationship with each other and the events that have transpired are a fresh wound- not one fully healed.

If one of them ever fell, the other would be utterly devastated. They’re a constant to each other in a world full of things that are temporary. Thousands of years, always knowing their other half was out there- somewhere even when they’re not together. With them gone? It would be like untying the anchor from the boat, there’s no one else- nothing left.