#IK GOOGLE IS MUGGLE

[im-not-cannon]

Regulus, going into Slytherin thinking about Sirius's advice: Just be original. - 5 MINUTES LATER- Regulus, googles: how to be normal?

[cheesymorgue]

made more hogwarts stuff too!! Will post more later but i wanna talk about some blood purity hcs for these ones :))

Butters: i'm thinking muggle born for him. His parents threatening to take his Magic bullshit away when grounding him and Cartman making fun of him.

Cartman: Liane is a witch but Jack Tenorman is a muggle. When Cartman learns about Jack being his biological dad he loses his mind. Ginger AND muggle?! Could it be worse??

Stan: He is half-blood. Sharon is a witch but Randy is a muggle, Shelly is a Squib (muggle basically). Adds to the fact that Shelly is getting neglected by her dad because of course he'd think having a wizard son is extremely pog.

Kyle: Kyle is a half-blood because a pureblood nowadays is very rare. But both his parents are wizards from magical parents. Ike is a wizard too despite being adopted! He is most likely muggleborn. I'm thinking Sheila and Gerald felt he had wizard abilities that's why they adopted him and not another.

Kenny: half-blood yet again, both his parents are wizards and so are Kevin and Karen. Not a blood related hc but he gets Kevin's old robes bc poor (at least he is not ginger /j)

Just to clarify, i am not even a fan of HP, i have seen most movies once recently but that's it, i Google the vocabulary i need bc I obv dont remember everything, but the universe is fun

[padsnprongs]

french sirius and welsh remus headcanons!!

(translations are at the end <3)

french sirius!!

sirius will sometimes speak in french to calm remus down after a nightmare because he finds it soothing

he will also talk in french just because remus has no idea what he’s saying and so he can get away with saying literally anything with no repercussions

‘Tes yeux sont beaux’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You’re hogging the blanket.’

sirius speaks in french to everyone just to mess with them

‘Ok, Sirius, do you know what you’re doing?’

‘Je ne sais même pas où nous sommes.’

‘...and that’s how I’m gonna impress Lily. What do you think?’

‘Tu sais qu’il y ont des modes plus faciles pour impressionner une fille, d’accord?’

whenever sirius gets confused, which, let's be honest, was quite frequently, he would furrow his brows and mutter to himself in french, which remus found positively adorable

welsh remus!!

sirius loves it when remus speaks in welsh, because he thinks it’s very sexy very soothing

‘Rydych chi mor anhygoel o dwp.’

‘Oh wow. Say something else.’

remus has a very strong welsh accent, which makes it quite hard to understand him most of the time.

sirius loves his welsh accent though. especially when he pronounces something differently and everyone else then has to try to figure out what he's saying

remus will sometimes digress into welsh when he’s angry. if one of the marauders has pissed him off, or he’s just gotten into an argument with someone, he’ll lapse into welsh without realising.

‘Are you kidding?! That served absolutely no purpose! Beth sy'n bod efo ti?'

the other person will obviously have no idea what’s going on, so they just stand there for a good five minutes until remus realises what happened.

sometimes remus will forget the english word for something, which everyone else turns into a competition to see who can figure out what he's trying to say first

it wasn't uncommon to see remus pointing frantically at a random object whilst the rest of the common room shouts over each other

when remus argues with sirius, they’ll both end up talking in welsh and french respectively. They’ll yell at each other for god knows how long, with no clue what the other is actually saying.

eventually, the argument will diverge into them just complimenting each other or something, but still in french and welsh. so whilst sirius thinks remus is still throwing insults at him, sirius is actually just saying really lovey-dovey stuff to him, and vice-versa, but they’re both still speaking really angrily.

‘Je pense que je t’aime!’

‘Dwi am fynd allan gyda chi!’

‘Je l’adore quand tu souris!’

‘Mae’ch gwallt yn edrych yn neis iawn!’

nicknames!! remus and sirius call each other really lovey-dovey names in their respective languages

for example, remus will call sirius 'fy nghariad', and sirius will call remus 'mon amour' (ty to cadiepughx on ig for this one lol)

because of this, Sirius has made it his goal to see how many random words he can call remus, that he will respond to, because as long as he says it lovingly, it sounds like a term of endearment

'hey, mon rideau'

remus: *looks up*

sirius and remus shared a bed since fifth year, so sirius got a front row seat to remus talking in his sleep, during which he would say the most random things.

for example, sirius once heard him mumble, 'dwi'n caru bara' (ty to remuslupinslefttit for this hc lmao)

when he asked remus what it meant in the morning, he couldn't stop himself from giggling whilst remus just stood there with a face as red as a tomato

'where does that even come from?!'

'yeah, alright, alright, laugh it up.'

they both picked up some of each other's languages over time, which made it a lot harder to talk shit about the other to their face

while remus was brought up bilingual, speaking both english and welsh at the same time, sirius was taught french from around the age of five onwards. so remus tends to lapse into welsh, but sirius doesn’t, because french is his second language.

when his parents started teaching sirius french, their method was to speak to him in only french until he picked it up, because he would learn more general phrases that way.

however, that also meant that one day sirius woke up and everyone was speaking a different language, so he had no idea what was happening

let’s just say walburga and orion weren’t the most patient teachers.

as a result, sirius tries to reject the remnants of french culture whenever he's at home

on the other hand, remus, who grew up in wales, loves welsh culture (?)

especially the food

he often tried to get the other three to try some, which they weren't big fans of

remus went to a muggle primary school where only english was spoken

when he was writing sentences out, he would always get confused between welsh and english, and end up mixing both into the same sentence, because he didn’t realise that not everyone spoke welsh.

this led to some very awkward parents’ evenings. the teacher had no clue that he was writing in welsh and suggested that he speak to a psychologist, as he appeared to be writing complete gibberish, and that was concerning, at his age level.

when sirius and remus left hogwarts, they moved into a flat together. they would, even then, speak in french and welsh respectively, just to mess with each other.

'hey sirius, can you pass me my siaced?'

sirius: *passes him a can of beans*

when sirius turned up on remus’ doorstep in 1994, the first thing he said, with a hopeful smile on his face, was, ‘je déteste tes tripes?’

remus merely grinned and said, ‘rydych chi’n twpsyn.’

translations:

tes yeux sont beaux = your eyes are beautiful

je ne sais même pas où nous sommes = i dont even know where we are

tu sais qu’il y ont des modes plus faciles pour impressionner une fille, d’accord? = you know that there are easier ways to impress a girl, right?

rydych chi mor anhygoel o dwp = you are so incredibly stupid

beth sy'n bod efo ti = what's wrong with you

je pense que je t’aime = i think I like you

dwi am fynd allan gyda chi = I want to go out with you

je l’adore quand tu souris = i love it when you smile

mae’ch gwallt yn edrych yn neis iawn = your hair looks really nice

fy nghariad/mon amour = my love

mon rideau = my curtain

dwi'n caru bara = I love bread

siaced = jacket

je déteste tes tripes = i hate your guts

rydych chi’n twpsyn = you're a dumbass (I think??)

bonus bc I was researching welsh idioms and I liked this one but couldn't figure out a way to include it lol (but it seems like something remus would say lol):

fel rhech mewn potel bop = like a fart in a pop bottle: an expression used to mean something insignificant/useless

i apologise if any of the welsh is wrong!! it's all google translated lol

p.s. ik some of these aren’t particularly believable lol it’s just for fun

[jamespottervevo]

painted red (to fit right in) 1/3

James Potter is Spider-Man, and no one gave him an instruction manual.

He really could have used that manual. 

Spiderman!AU | no movie spoilers | 7.k words | ao3  

thank you to @frxddi @n0tromulus and @sitienessuficientecoraje for beta reading!

(if you showed any above average interest in this fic [yes I read tags bc I crave validation], I’m going to tag you here- @elanev91 @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @frustratedpoetwrites @cornerforward13 @padfootdidit) 

CHAPTER 1: i feel it in my bones

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

James Potter came to in handcuffs. Again. Sirius kept a tally, for some asinine reason, of all the times he woke up handcuffed. Specifically in public. Not that he made a habit of being handcuffed in private either, that would make things a bit awkward around the house, paper thin walls and all that. He would never be able to look his mum in the eye if she walked in on him in cuffs, or the suit for that matter. He really didn’t want her to walk in on him in the suit. Not because he didn’t like it! He looked pretty sick in red after all. It was just- James took a breath, blinked once, then twice, then tried desperately to ignore the ache that had found a home at the base of his skull.

He was in the back of a squad car and for some inexplicable reason, no one had thought to try and peel off his mask. James supposed that, in the officers’ defense, the seam was really hard to find sometimes. But, on the other hand, what was with the police in New York? Had they even been trained or had they just been given a gun and told to shoot brown people?- something very fucking unfortunate for James.

He looked back down at the cuffs on his wrist, jangling them a bit to see if by some miracle the cops had forgotten to actually lock the damn things, but no dice; maybe they had been trained after all. At least they’d been so kind as to cuff him in the front. He could work with that. His eyes flicked toward the rear view mirror and he watched as a few officers milled about, surveying the scene, chatting loudly, kicking garbage, generally being vaguely scummy in a sort of indistinct way. He grit his teeth and cracked his neck, bouncing just a bit in the seat to garner up some sort of energy, to shake off the fucking jackhammering going on in his skull.

He twisted in the seat, as subtle as he could manage before kicking at the door, hard, and knocking it open. (It occurred to James later that he could have just used the handle.) Okay, so maybe he really needed to work on that whole “not alerting every cop in the area to his escape” thing, but he was like, sixty percent sure he might have had a concussion.  He couldn’t be blamed for the stupid things he did while most likely concussed, but he knew for a fact that Sirius wouldn’t let him live it down once the video footage broke.

But right,- cops, staring at him and yelling, hands drifting to weapons. James took another deep breath and pretended his head wasn’t a few seconds off from exploding before he began running, feet hard and fast hitting the pavement. He couldn’t see, sensory overload the helpful little voice in his head supplied as he jumped over a fire hydrant, down the sidewalk, sirens starting to blare behind him again. Everything was too much. Too much light, too many colors, too much movement. He picked up on it all and felt like he might throw up his Cheerios. He really shouldn’t have had that second glass of chocolate milk either.

“Come on, come on,” James mumbled, eyes dating;  he just had to find a building tall enough… He grinned as he turned the corner, all but smacking right into a beautiful skyscraper. Okay, maybe it was a little ugly but it was absolutely perfect. He glanced over his shoulder, the police turning the corner. James flicked his wrist, and offered the police officers a wave as the web shot from his hand and plastered itself to the wall up ahead.

“Well, officers, it’s been a ple-” He cut off as the force of the web retracting finally grabbed him, yanking him off toward the wall at a speed that was definitely not safe for the concussion he definitely had or the breakfast he was definitely going to throw up. He’d never thrown up in the mask and he absolutely refused for that first to happen while being chased by a few very angry cops while handcuffed.

Webslinging? Much harder while handcuffed he might add.

But cuffed or not, the feeling still opened up some part of him. Like...magic. Everytime he was in the air, James felt more alive than he thought should be allowed. Like every breath he’d ever held suddenly rushed out of him, no weight to burden him. Nothing had ever made him feel quite so real. It was as close to flying anyone could ever get, he reasoned.

Well. Flying with a little more thought, he amended, as he shot another web, twisted his body to avoid slamming head first into a billboard. Something about lotion. Or maybe yogurt. He hadn’t been able to get a clear picture while hurtling past at breakneck speed. But it had looked like Jamie Lee Curtis, so probably yogurt.

While yes, being in the air, grabbing buildings and flagpoles and billboards to swing and throw himself farther and farther away from the cops was nice (breathtaking, spectacular, fucking fun), it didn’t exactly stop his head from threatening to explode. Had the sun always been that fucking bright? When the sirens started to fade out into nothingness behind him, James began trying to find his alleyway.  

Despite what the papers said about him, he didn’t think he was a “public menace” at all! Sure, maybe he still hadn’t quite got a hang of the whole “hero” thing yet, but it’s not like anyone ever gave him a manual. Couldn’t just google “am I a spider?” or “how to be a superhero?” - though, he did think there was a wikifact article on that one actually- or even “how to look good in spandex?” And yes, maybe he’d tried to google that one.

But.

Just because knew he couldn’t truthfully be labeled a public menace, it didn’t necessarily mean people, you know. Agreed with him. So landing in the street? Not a good plan. Besides, all of his belongings were stashed away behind a dumpster and a cleverly placed board in the alley behind the Indian grocery near home. It took a few more swings before he caught sight of the familiar signs and swung himself down into the alley. His nose scrunched. Oh god. He’d forgotten it was garbage day. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed as his feet hit the ground. He stumbled, having momentarily forgotten that he had definite brain damage and also was handcuffed and probably could taste color thanks to the overstimulation.

James gave his surroundings a cursory glance- he had to be quick about this- before yanking his wrists apart, hard, splitting the cuffs with a satisfying CRACK! Fucking hurt though. And now he just had two locked on bracelets. And still had his suit on. And-

His phone was going off.

James’ train of thought slowed as he heard the blaring saxophone riff of “Careless Whisper” increasing in volume from inside his suit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. His alarm. Throwing another glance around the alleyway first, James ripped off his mask, hair standing straight up and undoubtedly looking like a rats nest. George fucking Michael was going to get him caught in a skeevy alleyway, half dressed, in handcuffs. Is this what his life had come to? Goddamnit. He hoped his mom didn’t put all that information in his obituary after she definitely murdered him for galavanting about as a superhero without her permission.

After a bit more fumbling, he managed to unzip his suit and shove his hand into it, silencing his “hey dumbass it’s time for school” alarm. Because he was a dumbass who was definitely going to be late for school. James looked around hopelessly, as if he could find a magical key somewhere in the alley that would let him get the fucking cuffs off.

What a sight he bet he was- half dressed in his Spider-Man suit, squinting without his glasses, wobbling from the concussion. James paused, and reached out to steady himself by throwing a hand onto the wall.

His (wildly out of focused) eyes landed on a mostly distinguishable blur. Huh. So, maybe it wasn’t a key, but a pipe should work, right? Without much thought (because, as James would admit, he rarely did anything with much thought) he slammed his wrists down onto the pipe as hard as he could.

The metallic clang echoed through the alley and he had to bite back a cry of pain as the reverberations shook through his wrists, but the cuffs snapped off. A couple bruises were nothing new! He’d be fine!

James spent a few more moments fumbling in the alley. Nearly falling headfirst in the dumpster while reaching for his backpack. (He’d learned his lesson and had wrapped the bag in a quadruple layer of plastic grocery sacks to keep the Garbage Reek off of it.) Tripping over his own feet as he stripped out of the suit. Almost tearing a gigantic fucking hole in his t-shirt as he tried to get it on over his head. He was doing great.

Once he was finally changed and his suit was hidden and his backpack was de-plasticed, James glanced down at his phone. Fuck. Fuck. 7:39. He couldn’t exactly websling his way to class and he’d told his parents he was spending the night with Remus so it’s not like he could manage a ride off them. Fuck.

 ----------------------

 james potter to Big Chungus: anyone near devars rn?

sirius black: tf u at devars for at 7 in the morning

sirius black: ik we have ladoo at home unless ur fatass ate all of them

remus lupin: I’m pretty sure that pete ate most of the pack james thought he’d hid in that hollowed out book on his shelf

peter pettigrew: you promised you wouldn’t tell!!!!!!!!!!!!!

james potter: 1) hate all of u.

james potter: 2) not about snacks just need a ride so come get me

remus lupin: be there in five you absolute jackass

remus lupin: but I want some of those chickpea things from the store as payment

remus lupin: the ones with the peanuts with them

james potter: literally said this wasn’t about snacks like two secs ago. Not even in the store

remus lupin: u want a ride? Bc this is about snacks now jim

james potter: ...which size bag do u want

 ----------------------

 The thing was, he’d never meant to be a hero.

He hadn’t purposefully shoved his hand into a creepy spider’s weird science prison containment cage during the field trip to RidCorp. Hadn’t gone out of his way to bend metal pipes in half on accident (that had been a shock to say the least). Hadn’t woken up one morning with the intention of sticking to walls. Door handles. Stairway railing at school. James Potter had been happy! Never wishing he had more or could be more or should be more.

Because he loved his life! He loved his parents and his friends. He played soccer and helped carry the debate team to victory and fucked around in some of his classes! No seventeen year old in their right mind would purposefully go out of their way for that sort of responsibility! He barely remembered to take out the garbage- of course he never meant to become a hero!

He’d also not meant to accidentally save Lily Evans’ life.

But life just had a way of intervening, didn’t it?

 ----------------------

 “You’re staring.”

James jolted slightly, glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose. Sirius made himself comfortable far too close to James’ ear before throwing himself down at their usual lunch table.

He decided not to grace Sirius with a response and instead rubbed his neck, pretended he wasn’t thirteen different types of pathetic. “I was not staring- I mean. No, what? Who would I have even been staring at?” Smooth, Potter, he thought, really fucking smooth. Inconspicuous.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as he swung his backpack from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor with an unceremonious thud. James flinched at the sound. (Concussed, remember? A week later and he was still dealing with headaches) A few people glanced their way, but it wasn’t as if Sirius seemed to care. Well, James reasoned, he probably had done it for the attention in the first place. James adjusted his glasses, concentrated quite fiercely at a place on the wall, poked at his food with little intention of actually eating.

Sirius snorted. “So you mean to tell me that you weren’t staring at Evans then?” The lilt to his voice made it very apparent that yes, Sirius knew that he’d been staring at Evans and was now being the world’s largest dick about the fact.

Before James could continue his scathing silent treatment, Remus sank into his customary seat. “Oh, no, James was definitely staring at Lily,” he provided. Traitor.

James pulled his phone out from his pocket and finally tore his gaze away from the very intriguing concrete wall and tapped out a message.

james potter to remus lupin: et tu brute

He set down his phone with a huff. “I was not fucking staring at Evans,” he lied. Poorly. Because as he spoke, his gaze shifted back toward her direction. James only vaguely registered Remus’s scoff at the text message because…

God.

Lily E. Evans (so he may have glanced at her student ID. Once… Okay, four times) happened to be the singularly most beautiful person he’d ever met. Fuck, that he’d ever seen. And that included Kim Possible, who he may or may not have had a fat crush on as a kid. (He had a type, okay? The guys never ceased to give him shit over that, but resolutely, James refused to be shamed for the level of self awareness he was positive people would be plenty jealous to achieve.) Evans blew everyone else out of the water.

He loved her hair- thick and red with impossibly good looking bangs. (James melted whenever she pulled it into a ponytail and had managed to fucking fail gym class freshman year because he was distracted. Over a ponytail. Gym class! He was a student athlete!) Her eyes that he could have composed sonnets about if he knew how to do that sort of thing. Her dimples. Freckles. The stubbornness written into her chin, her jaw. Her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes.

Then there was the way she laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder and only ever used purple InkJoy pens. The fact she laced her boots to the very top and tucked in the excess. How when she seemed anxious, she’d put on cherry lip balm like a nervous tick. The way she always knew the answers to anything Slughorn asked before James could even comprehend the question. How she gave tours to all the new students and never faked a smile. God. Then there was her smile. He’d thought a lot about her smile. How to make her smile at him instead of scowl. Huff. Frown.

Evans was...was an angel. A goddess. A-

“You’re literally about to start drooling.” Peter snapped James from his reverie. The tater tot that hit him in the face shortly after helped as well.

James snatched the weaponized tot off the table and popped it into his mouth. “No I wasn’t,” he lied once again, this time around the food in his mouth. He swallowed. Stole another one of Pete’s tater tots. When had he sat down anyway? Had he been that enthralled in Evans-land (again)?

Unable to help himself, James took one last glance in Evans’ direction before the undoubtable barrage of soggy potatoes could commence.

Her head was thrown back as she laughed, a featherlight hand on Snape’s shoulder. His stomach clenched.

Evans was a pipe dream.

 ----------------------

 sirius black to peter pronounced venti wrong three separate times in the starbucks line: take bets, is minnie gonna let us pick our groups for this project

peter pettigrew: i hadn’t slept in 40 hours! Bc you made me stay up! Watching every fucking fast and furious movie

peter pettigrew: and then made me give analysis after each one

peter pettigrew: and keep a comprehensive ranking of them

remus lupin: pete did you drink three venti coffees????????

sirius black: he got thru one before he said “his heart was going to burst”

james potter: jesus christ dude

james potter: but tokyo drift is obviously the best

remus lupin: isn’t gal gadot in some of those?

remus lupin: my mother keeps telling me to find a nice jewish girl think she’d be okay with this?

sirius black: jim ur opinions are trash, pete ur coffee habits are wack, remus I keep telling u we’re soulmates god. Now FOCUS.

sirius black: groups. for. project.

remus lupin: dude of course she’s not letting us work together

james potter: yeah do u like...not remember what happened last time

remus lupin: pete still can’t eat spaghetti

peter pettigrew changed chat name to PTSD (post traumatic spaghetti disorder)

 ----------------------

 He died. That had to be what had happened, right? Maybe all the brain trauma he’d been hiding from his parents had finally caught up to him. What movie was it where everything turned out to have all been a dream? Because that was another likely situation. Really, anything felt more plausible than McGonagall- Minnie, his guardian-fucking-angel, a saint on Earth- pairing him with Lily E. Evans for the history project.

James did a great job pretending he hadn’t seen the less-than-thrilled look on Evans’ face when the pairing was announced. Because he was living. The project meant he’d have an excuse to talk to her without coming across as a creep. That he’d be able to spend time with her outside of school.

Pathetic? Oh, definitely. But James couldn’t make himself care because Evans’ number was written in purple ink, tidy little numbers, on the back of his hand. He may or may not have memorized it before class had even ended. So yeah. Pathetic.  Happily, happily pathetic.

James kept looking down at his phone.

lily (love of my life) evans: meet me at the nat. history museum by on the front steps?

lily (love of my life) evans: 5:30 okay?

James knew without a doubt that if Evans had asked him to show up at four in the morning and wait all day, he would have without question. So 5:30? No problem. It gave him a little extra time for his patrols too! (Admittedly, he was the only one keeping track of his patrols, but it wasn’t like he should sit by and do nothing, not with the powers he’d been given. Right? Right.)

James couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, not even when he ducked into the closest abandoned alley to change. This time, he’d managed the foresight to wear most of his suit on under his school clothes, save for the mask and gloves. He was learning, thank you very much.

He could only imagine what he looked like, swinging from building to building while still wearing his backpack. (A text from Sirius informed him that he “looked like a whole ass fucking weeb.”)

Swinging from one building to the next, just listening, focusing, he let his senses kick into overdrive to pick up anything unusual. Since the bite, the world had grown too loud, too much, at times. James learned how to turn it off, eventually, but it took him time. Days of headaches and nausea and blurry vision, days when he could suddenly see the flecks of dry skin on Pete’s cheek from across the room. When he could smell Evans’ perfume tables away in Minnie’s class and he nearly fainted. It definitely took time. But he liked to think he’d gotten better at it all. At trying to be a hero, using his powers.

He hadn’t...done much, admittedly. He’d helped that one woman get back into her car; he’d climbed up onto the roof to grab a basketball for some kids. Oh, he’d gotten back a stolen bike, chased down a purse snatcher. Pulled a kid from the street to avoid a jackass on a motorcycle. Small things. Good things, but small things. He’d only been at this for a few months- just long enough for the police to hate him on sight and the Daily Prophet to label him a menace just because he may have accidentally done some light property damage. Maybe.

But doing nothing? Now that felt like a waste. James swung up onto the edge of a roof, plopped down to make himself comfortable, and tugged off his mask. He gulped down fresh air and tilted his head back, letting the wind rush over his face. The building was too tall for anyone to be able to make out his face from down below, or at least he hoped that was the case.

After a little more fumbling, James pulled his phone from his suit and began tapping at the screen while still wearing his gloves. Of course, that didn’t fucking work because it never worked. He huffed and yanked a glove off with his mouth, his other hand pressed against the ledge for balance. He could just imagine his obituary if he fell.

“James Potter was beloved by everyone except his mother who he’s going to send into an early grave because of his shenanigans. He looked like a fool and at the very least could have worn a jacket. He fell off the building because he never ate his ratha poriyal because his brother told him it would make him turn into a Chupacabra. It’s a miracle they didn’t fall off the roof together. He leaves behind a messy room and an angry cat who has begun peeing everywhere in retaliation. In lieu of flowers, send a cleaning crew.”

So he held onto the ledge.

Evans hadn’t texted yet, which meant he still had a little longer to kill before showing up at the museum like a lovestruck fool. James took a few minutes to absently scroll through Twitter, check his email, stockpile a few memes for the guys later. He snapped off a selfie, angling it just right before sending it to the groupchat, just to flex.

 ----------------------

 Casual. Casual. He could do casual. He could definitely do casual. Casual? Not an issue. James Potter was smooth as fuck. He kept his focus on the soccer ball in his hands as he stared up at the stucco ceiling. He tossed the ball in the air, caught it, repeated. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.

“So,” he began, fighting the waver in his voice. These were his best friends. They’d understand. Right? They’d believe him. “You guys heard about Spider-Man?” Saying it out loud felt like coughing up dust.

Sirius glanced over from his nest in the beanbag chair, raised an eyebrow, shifted slightly. Remus made a soft, disgruntled sort of sound as Sirius moved and made a bit of a show of adjusting his legs across his lap, draped from where he sat in James’ desk chair.

“You mean the dude that’s been running around in pajamas?” Remus asked, scowled down at Sirius who had simply started wiggling in the seat. Ever the help, Pete began tossing licorice bites across the room to Sirius to further egg on his wiggles. Well. Maybe hinderance, based on Remus’s look as he bapped Sirius on the head with his novel before looking over at James. Sirius caught a bit of licorice in his mouth and he and Pete threw their arms up in triumphant glee. “I’ve seen him on the news some, yeah.”

The ball was in midair as he began to sputter, sitting up. “He does not wear pajamas!”  Without sparing a glance, James stuck his hand out and caught the soccer ball in his open palm. Remus looked mildly impressed. Mildly. High praise, really.

Peter chewed on a piece his of licorice. “No, I agree with Remus. He’s definitely wearing pajamas,” he mumbled around his candy after taking his time to come to that conclusion. A conclusion James had hoped would be rational and obvious because of course Spider-Man didn’t look like he was wearing pajamas.

Sirius snorted, tapping away at his phone. “You’re just agreeing with Remus because he’s smart,” he deadpanned, gaze unwavering. Instagram, if James had to guess. But!

“So you agree with me then, right? He’s clearly not wearing pajamas!” James exclaimed, relief almost obvious in his tone. He set the soccer ball down. Uh. Fuck. Okay. His hand was stuck. He casually just...left it there. On top the soccer ball. Like anyone would do.

Sirius let out another snort. This time his eyes wandered over the edge of his phone to land on a perfectly, totally chill, super normal James who just happened to like resting his hand on a soccer ball. “What? Fuck no, of course it looks like he’s in pajamas.”

“But-”

“Remus is smart, not wrong.”

James was melting. God. Okay. Just be calm. Don’t make things weird. Take it eas- “I’m Spider-Man!” He shouted, cut himself off when he remembered they were in his bedroom and his parents were home and he didn’t need the wrath of Euphemia Potter at six o’clock on a Tuesday. “I’m Spider-Man.” He repeated, a little quieter, a little calmer.

This time, it was Remus who broke the silence first. With a surprised yelp of laughter. He set down his book and looked at James, nose wrinkled in amusement. It made him look younger, James realized, the nose thing. “Dude, c’mon. You’re telling me that you, James Fleamont-”

“God don’t remind me-”

“- Potter are Spider-Man,” Remus finished, the corners of his lips tugged up into a cheeky grin.

James suddenly felt, oh what was the word? Re-fucking-gret.

“Do you not remember freshman year gym with Hooch? Because,” Sirius started, “I do. You fell from the top of the rope climb and smacked your bigass head onto the gym floor. You threw up. We all watched you throw up.”

James could have done without the fucking laughter in his tone. Brother who? No. He was an only child from there on out. “Okay that was only because I saw Evans do this thi-”

“You also fell down the stairs last month, like, all of the stairs,” Peter chimed in because of course! Clearly it was mock-James-during-his-big-dramatic-alter-ego-reveal-moment-time! “A lot of people saw that too,” he added with clearly careful thought, fucking reminiscing about James falling headfirst down the stairs. As if he didn’t have enough brain damage already.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking (wow, he had a habit of not thinking) James flicked his wrist and shot out a web, snatching Sirius’s phone from his hand.

The room went very...very quiet. The trio turned to look at him, faces blank, as if their reactions were buffering and then Sirius opened his mouth-

“What the FUCK.”

 ----------------------

 peter pettigrew to SPIDERJAMES??????????????????????: okay so can u lay eggs

james potter: dude wtf no??????

sirius black: okay r u sure tho? Like have u really tried to lay an egg?

james potter: why. the fuck would i try to lay an egg??

peter pettigrew: science

james potter: I don’t lay eggs.

remus lupin: what happens when you masturbate

james potter: I do NOT want to answer that

sirius black: yknow, also p invested in jim not answering that

peter pettigrew: ………morbidly curious

remus lupin: it’s just as valid as asking about eggs.

james potter: I regret telling all of you anything ever in my life

james potter left the chat

remus lupin changed chat name to spidersemen? is it a thing.

sirius black: im so uncomfortable

remus lupin: good. hard questions should make you uncomfortable

peter pettigrew: ha! Hard.

sirius black: u were so pure before we were friends

remus lupin: you don’t know my life.

 ----------------------

 James shifted on the roof, slipped his phone back into his suit. 5:06. He had exactly 24 minutes to get get to the museum, change, and make himself look perfectly loveable to be just on time to meet Evans. Right. Super duper reasonable! He swung his legs around from the edge of the roof, moving back onto solid ground and grabbing his backpack in one fluid motion. The museum was...James squinted, used his finger to point as he counted, six blocks away. He could totally handle that in 24 minutes.

Wait. Mask. Right. He bent down to swipe his mask off the roof ledge when his body went cold. His muscles tightened, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as a creeping feeling rolled up his spine. He could hear see smell taste everything oh god there was a baby crying down the street- pizza- cat being chased- woman yelling on the phone- trashcan.spiderwebonthefireescape.taxisnearlycolliding.tacotruckemptyinggrease-Hey Get Out Of Her- No I Didn’t Tell Him Ab- I Love You Have A Good D- Yeah I Got The Shit It’s-

James let out a sharp gasp and broke focus, his hand curled tight around his mask. It happened, sometimes, an overload like that. The kind that made every nerve in his body go into hyper-super-what-the-fuck sensitive mode. He felt it, all the time, really. Walking down the street. When he answered the front door. When he saw the police. He didn’t have to have the suit for that.  He once tried to explain it as anxiety dialed up to fifty, when there was danger, his body reacted. Like an allergy.

Without a doubt, that spider-sense never led to anything good, especially not when the feeling came across that violently. And in that moment, all James could hear, smell, think was “Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

James yanked his mask on, took a deep breath. Focused.

“Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

He started to run and without hesitation, threw himself off the roof, arms spread, a nose dive. A leap of faith that he wasn’t about to do something incredibly stupid. Focus. James shot out a weh on instinct, catching a fire escape and throwing himself higher, faster.

“Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

Close. James was close. His body felt tense, on edge. He swung around a building and nodded at the wide-eyed woman in the passing window, waved. He heard the slam of a car door. A van. An alley.

“Yeah, I got the shit. It’s pretty low quality, you sure this is what he wanted?”

He landed with a loud, metallic thunk, a creak as the fire escape settled under his weight. James winced, scrunched his eyes shut, said a little prayer that the men didn’t hear him. He quickly ducked behind a comically small potted plant and prayed that would be enough.

Slowly, James peered around the plant, nudging one of the leaves out of the- weed. He was hiding behind a cutesy terra cotta pot of weed on someone’s fire escape. Okay then. He stored that information away for later and took everything in.

A nondescript black van sat parked in the alley, one of the back hatch doors swung open. James could just barely make out a few cardboard boxes stacked in the back. Two men stood to the side, backs turned to James’ hiding place. One in a hoodie, a cigarette in one pale hand. One in a button up shirt tucked into dress pants.

“How much more is he gonna need?” Hoodie asked. His voice hadn’t seemed to have dropped. Young sounding. James scooted a little closer, pushing the plant for cover and immediately regretted the action as the pot scraped across the metal grating. Loudly. Whoopsie.

He studied Hoodie, nose scrunched as he wondered why a teenager wou- oh. If that was a teenage dude’s ass, he was definitely going to have to reevaluate some things later. People did always think that Sirius was his boyfriend which like, gross? They were practically related and he’d seen Sirius’s dental hygiene habits up close and he did not want to get personal. If he’d date any of his friends, obviously it would be Remus. Was that even a question? Actually, Pete would be rather supportive no matter what.

James frowned. He did have a bit of an obsession with George Michael- He paused the steamrolling thoughts and just...filed that crisis away for later.

Button Up shifted, folded his arms over his chest. “Unsure. The experiments have been going as we’d hoped, but it’s not even close to passing under FDA regulations.” Button Up sighed and pulled a bulky looking phone out of his back pocket. James squinted. Was that a flip phone? Who the fuck still used a flip phone?

Button Up held a finger up to Hoodie and brought the phone up to his ear. The three waited, James with baited breath, Hoodie with restless posture and puffs of smoke, Button Up with a perfectly blank face.

Hoodie moved her weight from one foot to the other and pulled her hand from her pockets. She pushed the hood of her sweatshirt off, revealing a mess of dark, curly hair. She took a drag off her cigarette. Exhaled. “Look, I’m in a hurry here. Your boss has my number if he needs anymore, but he’s gotta remember that my supplier takes his time with this. I won’t be able to pull this much out of my ass again.” Hoodie spoke around the cigarette in her mouth, blew smoke toward the van.

Button Up didn’t glance in Hoodie’s direction. “Yes. Hello sir! I- yes...no we didn’t run into any issues- Five boxes as ordered, I’ll be...Uh. Yes. I’ll ask.” He snapped his phone shut, cleared his throat. “He wants five more shipments, as well as a few...test subjects. Double the pay if you get it done by the end of the month.” Button Up cleared his throat, moved as if adjusting a tie.

Hoodie nodded once, then twice, dropped her cigarette butt to the ground and extended her hand. Button Up clasped it in a way so professional, it was almost funny. “He better, or else. Don’t think the boss would like it too much if the Prophet caught wind of this, now would he?” There was confidence in her tone, another shift in her posture. Holding her head up higher. Power, James realized. Whatever this was, the cards were in her hands.

Button Up withdrew his hand and turned away from Hoodie, closing the back door of the van. James’ body thrummed with energy, jittered. They’d not said anything illegal, but he knew better than to doubt his spidey sense. He needed to do...something. Follow one of them or catch one in a web or… Something.

In his moment of internal debate, James had missed Hoodie’s retreat, leaving Button Up to focus on. He turned toward the fire escape as he rubbed his temples and James got a decent look at his face. He felt...a little disappointed honestly. No super badass scars or tattoos, and he wasn’t that good looking. He looked plain, forgettable. Hanging from his shirt was a security badge. James couldn’t quite make out the words, but he recognized the logo.

RidCorp. The pioneer and leader in innovation when it came to new pharmaceuticals and genetics, RidCorp was the public’s darling when it came to the future. Cures for cancer and growing new organs and...James had just watched an employee make a shady deal in an empty alleyway.

He didn’t hesitate. When Button Up turned once again, started to walk toward the driver’s side door, James dropped down from the fire escape with a THUMP. He took a moment to prop a hand on the wall, cross his ankles as he leaned. Button Up swivelled on his heels, fast.

James wiggled the fingers on his free hand. “This looked like a lot of fun. Can I join in? I’m a great conversationalist!” He wished he had a camera to capture the look of absolute “what the fuckery” on Button Up’s face.

“Shit,” Button Up hissed as he leapt into the van and slammed the door shut. Before James had the foresight to memorize the license plate, Button Up was speeding off down the alley. The van made a violent turn into the street and was reasonably met with angry honks and shouts.

James grinned, shot a web, and let the momentum carry him after the van. Button Up hadn’t managed to get very far before James caught sight of him again. He kept up the pace of webswingjump, webswingjump, until he was close enough to land a web onto the top of the van.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to swing from superpowered spiderwebs in a very crowded city, down a very crowded street, without drawing attention.

“Is that Spider-Man?”

“Who’s he chasing?”

“God that costume’s stupid looking!”

That comment was just hurtful, but it wasn’t as if he had time to stop and argue with a random New Yorker. He perched on the roof of the van as Button Up sped down the street, veering in a way that clued James into the fact he was trying to be shaken off.

He stuck himself to the roof with one hand as he bent over, upside down in front of the windshield. “Use the spray,” he shouted, pointed down at the wipers, “I’m sure that’ll help! Usually gets bugs off!” He gave a thumbs up and Button Up slammed on his brakes. The suddenness of the stop dislodged James from the roof and if it weren't for his reflexes kicking in, he’d have flown headfirst into the street. Instead, he fired off a web and swung himself up onto the side of a building, breathing hard.

The van started moving again as James carefully tried to come up with a plan. He’d not expected to get nearly so far. He couldn’t let Button Up get away!  Before he could undoubtedly have his brilliant lightbulb moment, police sirens began blaring in the background. Oh fuck.

He looked around, glad for the mask to hide his panic. Sirens. Sirens. Sirens. James tilted his head. A few blocks out still, it sounded, but that didn’t exactly give him much time-

Time. He threw a panicked glance over his shoulder toward the clock hanging off a department store front. 5:26. Evans. James looked back and the van was...gone. Fuck. The police were closer; the van was gone; he couldn’t be arrested again; Evans was going to kill him.

After a moment of deliberation, James started to websling, throwing around his weight as he flung himself up in the air, higher and higher, quicker and quicker, to get to the museum in time. Evans would make that face at him if he was late, the one that made him want to retract into his own body and wither away. Disappointment.

His heart pounded and James could hear it in his ears, breathing fast and hard and his hands were so sweaty. When he finally caught sight of the museum, a wave of relief washed through his body because not only did he see the museum, but a blur of red hair just turning down the sidewalk.

He was going to be on time. Sweaty. But on time. He swung in closer, aiming for the alley around the corner. Evans wasn’t going to hate him. She’d fall in love with him for knowing the names of all the dinosaurs and they’d get married and have the cutest child and- no. no. no. no. no.

James’ body went ice cold.

The scaffolding over the entrance where workers were taking down a metallic spider.  

The giant hunk of metal slipping out of place.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

He didn’t think.

He just moved.

It happened faster than even James could comprehend.

The screaming. The warnings. The panic.

A girl looking up too late.

The spider was too big for James to simply push the girl clear of its path. So he shot a web at her waist and pulled her into his chest, curling around her as he threw both hands up to catch the spider as it fell. (Talk about irony.) The weight of it all sent vibrations down his arms and he couldn’t breathe, too high off adrenaline, couldn’t think.

And then… quiet. People stunned into silence around him on the steps, shocked workers up above, the girl no longer screaming in his arms. James gave a grunt and dropped the spider to the side, let his arms drop.

He panted as he looked down and met a pair of green green eyes. Those eyes. Evans stared up at him in wonderment. Relief. Whatever it was, James wanted to savor the moment.

He cleared his throat, stepped away, put his hands on his hips because that’s what superheroes did right? “Alright, E- Miss?” He forced his voice lower. As low as he could make it. Pretended it didn’t crack when he spoke.

Evans blinked up at him, her shoulders shaking. He loved the coat she wore, it matched her eyes- oh god, she’d been talking. “- I...thank you,” Lily finished, hiccuped. James grinned because no one could see.

Admiration. That was the look in her eyes. He didn’t know what to say.

Sirens picked up volume in the background. Cops and an ambulance, James distinguished. Someone in the crowd had probably called 911. Right. The cops definitely still hated him. His feet did not want to move but after a few seconds of internal wrestling- he could just yank his mask off right, show Evans that he wasn’t an entire jackass- James flicked his wrists and fired off a web.

Then he finally spoke “I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” he continued trying to sound like Batman, let the web start to pull him away, “that’s what I’m here for!” God. He needed a better catchphrase. But Evans eyes were still on him and she seemed so adoring that he nearly forgot to fire off another web to keep from landing face first in the street.

He had spidey sense, not common sense.

When he wrapped the corner, he could already hear the chatter from the crowd picking up intensity, the sirens halting as the emergency responders arrived at the museum entrance.

The thought hit him as he landed in an alleyway. Evans was going to think he was so late to their meetup.

Fuck.

[soebo]

18/X – Gesneden fruit

“Hey met Eva. Hey… Kom je nog lunchen?” “Ja, hoezo?” “Nou… je bent al bijna een uur weg en je zei dat je iets na twaalven weg moest.” Op het dashboard klokje staat inmiddels zeven over elf. Het voelde alsof ik maar vijf minuten in gedachten verzonken was. “O… ik kom er zo aan. Was eh… was “ Wat zal ik zeggen? Kan niet vertellen dat ik gewoon zo lang in de auto zat, of wel? Wel snel iets geloofwaardig zeggen. Kom op. Doe het! “… was gaan tanken, zag dat de tank zowat leeg was… En reed zomaar naar de Esch in plaats van naar Hofplein. Ben er zo.” “O… oké. Ik maak zo dan alvast lunch. Tenminste, als je dat wilt.” “Ja lekker. Kan wel een lunch gebruiken.” “Ok zie je zo.” “Ben er over vijf ofzo.” 

Waar ben ik eigenlijk mee bezig? Wrijvend in mijn ogen start ik de auto. Schiekade. Ik trap de koppeling in en schakel naar de eerste versnelling.

Er is geen parkeerplaats voor de deur.

Deze deur, maar welk nummer? Geen idee wat haar achternaam is… of die van Jort. Received Calls. Call back. “Hey… kan je open doen? Ik weet niet meer op welk nummer je woont. Keek net niet toen ik naar beneden liep. En gisteren was ik euh, nogal gefocust op euh… ja jou.” Een vrolijke lach klinkt. “Kom maar naar boven. Ik sta wel voor de deur, zodat je weet waar je naar binnen moet oké!”

“Ik dacht dat je gewoon weg was gegaan, maar dat leek me helemaal niks voor jou. Ja, ik snap wel dat we elkaar nog niet kennen, maar zo’n vibe heb je niet. Dat je dat zou doen.”

Ze ziet er eigenlijk echt heel leuk uit. Vanmorgen heb ik haar goed kunnen bekijken in natuurlijk licht. Vlasblond haar tot haar schouders. Hele heldere blauwe ogen, wat lichte lachrimpeltjes en donkere wenkbrauwen erboven. Een heel licht wipneusje. Een beetje uitstekende jukbeenderen, maar een smal ogend gezichtje met een bijpassende smalle kaak en klein kinnetje. Mooie roze lippen heeft Eva eigenlijk, of is dit lipgloss? “Laat me dat maar als compliment beschouwen.” “Ja, dat is het ook!” “Ik ga hangen. Want ik zie je.” Zij loopt naar binnen, zodra wij in elkaars zicht zijn. 

Gesneden mango, peer, banaan en druiven in drie schaaltjes op de salontafel van geverfde fruitkistjes. Naast elk schaaltje is een bordje met twee beboterde getoaste sneetjes brood. Aan de verre kant van de bank staat een pak kwark.  “Zo, dat ziet er wel heerlijk uit. Verwen jij iedereen zo?” Dat kwam er een beetje verkeerd uit. Ik kijk Eva aan, maar zij interpreteerde het kennelijk niet vervelend aangezien zij lacht. “Ik word vooral verwend hoor. Het is gewoon pure luck voor jou, dat jij nu bij mij bent.” Daar zit wel wat in. Als ik nu thuis was at ik niet meer dan een half zwarte banaan en misschien een of twee sneetjes goedkope supermarkt kaas. “Eet je altijd zo luxe thuis?” “Jort eet altijd zo luxe thuis. Hij heeft het gemaakt” zegt Eva, wanneer zij de kussen naast zich slaat als uitnodiging om daar te gaan zitten. Waar is hij eigenlijk? Hij zal vast wel mee eten, aangezien er drie schaaltjes op tafel te vinden zijn.

Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, De Kronieken van Narnia, Magicians, The Kingkiller Chronicles, A Song of Ice and Fire… “Aardig wat fantasy.” “O dat is Jort’s treasure hoor. Hij is de boekenwurm.” Eerlijk gezegd verbaast mij dat niet echt. Eva lijkt mij niet iemand die veel leest. “Welk plankje is dan van jou?” “Als je twee plankjes hoger kijkt, dan zie je mijn fictie.” Kite Runner, Girl on the Train, 50 shades… “Ja, dat is wel een iets ander lijstje.” 

“Heb jij geen blauwe plekjes?” vraagt Jort vanuit de gang naar binnen lopend. “Blauwe plekken? Hoezo?” “Nou die jongen had je toch zo geduwd in Bird en toen vielen jullie best hard tegen de bar.” “Ik heb nergens last van… Had gewoon geluk.” “Ja, gelukkig wel. Ik kan zo niet tegen bloed. Ging al bijna over mijn nek, toen ik het bloed op die jongens hoofd zag. O. Mijn. God. Maar jongen, kom lekker met ons eten. Eefje zei dat je weer vroeg weg moet. Beetje jammer.” Jort draagt een grof gehaakte lange zwarte trui met een erg brede hals. Zijn trapezius is goed zichtbaar, wanneer hij voorbij loopt. Net onder zijn nek, tussen zijn schouderbladen is een kleine tatoeage zichtbaar. “Zo… we hebben zo te zien een echte Harry Potter fan. Een tattoo van de Relieken van de Dood, of moet ik Deathly Hallows zeggen?” “Schijnbaar ben ik niet de enige Rowling fan. Stupefy” Alsof ik met een toverwand op Jort richt zeg ik vlug: “Expelliarmus” Jort beweegt zijn rechterarm dramatisch naar achteren en lacht erna.

“Stelletje nerds.” Zegt Eva op een denigrerende toon.

“Let maar niet op die Muggle. Waarom moet je op de zaterdag trainen?” Vraagt Jort met zijn open hand in een stopgebaar gericht naar Eva. “O het is eigenlijk een extra training. Wij gaan met een groepje bij een andere dojo trainen. Extra training om voor te bereiden op een toernooi, die over een paar weken is.” “Wat train jij dan?” “Kendo.” “Kendo? Als in samurai zwaardvechten met bamboe?” “Je kent het.” “Ja… ben een beetje een Star Wars-nerd, dus het is weleens via Google of Facebook voorbij gekomen.” “Dit had ik echt niet achter je gezocht.” “Don’t judge a book on its covers en zo. Ga zitten en eet, voordat je straks nog te laat komt.” “Maar eh. Heb jij interesse in kendo? We hebben binnenkort een proefles voor geïnteresseerden.” “Ja, daar zal ik wel over nadenken.” “Het is gratis en kost je alleen anderhalf uur. Wie weet vind jij het geweldig.” “Misschien.” “Voeg mij anders toe op Facebook, dan wordt jij vanzelf op de hoogte gehouden.”

Eva eet met een verveeld gezicht haar fruitschaaltje leeg. Is zij jaloers op Jort, omdat wij gesprekstof hebben? “Ik zag een aantal management boeken. Van wie zijn die?” “O. Die zij van mij.” Antwoordt Eva onverschillig. “Studie?” “Ja. Wanneer ik niet een leuke serveerster ben, dan ben ik derdejaars student bedrijfskunde aan de EUR.” Als zij alles in een keer heeft gehaald en hiervoor de VWO heeft gedaan, dan is zij nu twintig of eenentwintig. “Eerste studie?” “Nee. Ik had hiervoor twee jaar bedrijfseconomie gedaan, maar het lag me niet.”

Twee jaar een andere studie, dan is zij minstens drieëntwintig. Een dame mag je niet om haar leeftijd en al helemaal niet om haar gewicht vragen. Hoe kom ik dan haar leeftijd te weten? Ik heb eigenlijk helemaal geen zin om over studies te praten, maar begon er zelf over. Waarom wil ik het toch altijd iedereen een beetje naar zijn of haar zin maken? Volgens mij is het fijner om deze vork nu in mijn oog te prikken en de oogbal eruit te lepelen. De vraag gaat echt komen wat ik gestudeerd heb. Of is er nog een manier om dat te omzeilen?

“Toe maar. En jij? Woon je hier alleen of heb jij ook andere dagbesteding, dan avonturen in fantasiewerelden beleven?“ “O. Ik studeer bouwkunde. Ja, ik wou een stoere engineer worden, toen ik mij vier, o nee vijf jaar geleden inschreef.” Antwoordt Jort spottend en maakt het aanhalingstekens gebaar bij het woordje stoere. “Maar gelukkig ben ik bijna klaar. Alleen mijn scriptie nog, waar ik nu zo super druk mee ben.”

Best lekker; vers gesneden fruit, getoast brood en kwark. “Jullie hebben echt een heel leuk huis als studenten. Ik woonde echt in een kut hokje. Woonde destijds met twee jongens in een niet al te schone woning. Niet dat de woning vies was, maar gewoon… omdat wij dat waren.” Klinkt schaapachtig uit mijn mond en ik richt mijn blik van mijn schaal naar naar Jort. “Werk jij er ook naast?” “Tuurlijk. Ik ben manhoer! Nee, nee geintje. Ik werk in de avonduren bij een callcenter. Klantenservice van Coolblue midden in de stad.” “Jij bent nu ons wel een beetje aan het ondervragen... Maar wat doe jij dan, wanneer je niet samurai krijger speelt?” Vraagt Eva ineens.

“O. Boring ass stuff joh. Ben global compensation manager. Samen met mijn team houden we de salarissen, bonussen en vergoedingen in de gaten binnen het bedrijf en doen wij voorstellen voor de budgetten voor salarisrondes en hoe wij vinden dat dit het beste verdeeld kan worden. Uiteindelijk wordt lokaal bepaald hoe ze de verdeling doen, maar de budgetten staan wel soort van vast. Lokaal wordt dan wel rekening gehouden met een marge, zodat aan het eind van de rit wel aan het budget wordt gehouden.” “Is dat waar je voor gestudeerd hebt? Compensation manager?” vraagt Eva met opgetrokken wenkbrauwen. “Nee, niet helemaal, soort van. Heb Personeelszaken en arbeid gestudeerd. Ooit in een ver verleden.” “In a galaxy far away” voegt Jort er aan toe. “Quoting Star Wars. Straks vind ik jou leuker dan haar.” Zeg ik wijzend met mijn kin naar Eva. “Je mag hem hebben hoor. Misschien houdt hij wel van pik.” Zegt Eva tegen Jort met haar hand voor haar mond alsof zij een pik vast heeft. “Hé!” zeg ik een beetje verontwaardigd. ”Ja, vannacht was natuurlijk allemaal gespeeld.” “Ik ben de bitchy one hier hoor. Niet ineens de rollen omdraaien, kutje.” Jort kruist zijn benen en recht zijn rug.

“Ik moet er zo echt vandoor. Moet mijn spullen inpakken en daarna nog wat mensen ophalen. Bedankt voor de heerlijke lunch. Kan ik wel aan wennen.” “Ik moet over een poosje ook aan het werk.” “Doe je iets na werk? Anders haal ik je op en doen we ergens een drankje. Tenminste, als je wilt natuurlijk.” “Ja, dat lijkt me wel leuk. Je weet hoe laat we klaar zijn” Antwoord Eva met een knipoog.

“Nou als ik met een vriendje thuiskom… of al thuis ben. Hoop ik maar, dat we niet in de woonkamer bezig zijn of de kamerdeur open hebben staan...” Zegt Jort met een beschuldigende blik. “Net als jullie. Stelletje konijntjes!”

Wat is dit eigenlijk? Gisteren ontmoet en diezelfde avond mee naar huis gegaan. Teruggekomen, nadat ik al de deur uit was. En eerlijk gezegd echt een leuke lunch achter de rug. Dit lijkt gespeeld, maar het voelt toch natuurlijk.  Shit. Morgen heb ik ook met Isa afgesproken. Maar als ik Eva vanavond ophaal van werk, dan eindig ik hoogstwaarschijnlijk weer hier. Wat verwacht Eva eigenlijk? Wilt ze mij als vriend? Of wilt ze gewoon even een leuke tijd met mij. Misschien kom ik er wel vanavond achter. We zijn niet eens vierentwintig uur verder sinds we ons aan elkaar hebben voorgesteld.

“Let maar niet op die nicht hoor. Hij is gewoon jaloers.” Jaloers op wat? Op het feit dat jij vannacht niet alleen was, of omdat jij eindelijk niet alleen was? Of jaloers omdat ik het ben? “Waarom zou hij dan jaloers moeten zijn? ’t Is niet dat ik bi ben. No offense.” “O none taken hoor.”

 3 WhatsApp.

“Beter bestel je blauwe pillen, opa.” “LOL”

 “11:55 CS bij de bussen.”

 Kut. Dat red ik nooit. Het is nu tien voor twaalf. “Ik rijd meteen door naar Den Haag” send.

“Ik moet er echt vandoor. Moet over vijf minuten op CS zijn, maar ik moet mijn spullen nog thuis halen. Ik… Ik zie jou vanavond.” Moet ik nou wel of geen afscheidskus geven? Weet niet wat voor boodschap dat geeft, maar vertrekken zonder voelt ook niet goed. Ik geef vlug een zoen aangezien ik naast haar zit. Het is wel een fijn zoentje. Voel me er lekker door.

“Doei, konijntje. Waar blijft mijn kus?” Jort lacht en gooit een luchtkus.