#also excuse me for the um. Long caption.

[sketchingdemonss]

i had a dream where i was in a resturant and then i saw red son wearing a shirt with porty surfing w/ the trans flag behind him. it is now a reality (or i mean the design is real atleast…) Now with flavors of Skateboard!

[guzzlingplastic111]

Missed Ya' :)

Hazel Callahan x you

takes place in Bottoms film, a short little work

Summary: you and hazel used to to be super close in middle school and liked each other. You had to move away cuz of your family getting a new job. Hazel thought she’d never see you again

~ ~ ~

It was strange to be back. 

Originally, you didn’t plan to attend the fair held every year to kick off the new school year, but Pj practically begged you. She guilt tripped you. And to be fair, an upset Pj would cost you a subtle entrance in school, hoping to blend right away into the school. So, there you were, walking into the fair with Pj and her best friend Josie, talking about how it was their year. As far as you could remember, Josie had always had a crush on Isabel, and you figured that if you ever came back, the two would be smitten for each other. But that wasn’t the case. 

And there you were, watching the two girls check out the cheerleaders, planning their next move when suddenly, someone jumped in front of them, blocking their view. 

“Hey guys,” the girl greeted. 

You squinted, trying to figure out what it was about the girl’s shaggy cut and masculine sense of style was so familiar to you. 

“Hey Hazel,” Pj greeted, not bothering to hide her annoyance. 

Hazel? 

You squinted even more, thankful that you were mostly covered by Josie’s tall body. It was hard to recognize Hazel after years of not seeing her. Gradually, her face has begun to fade from memory years after the move, the only thing you had was a fuzzy remembrance of how she looked which was definitely much different from now. 

Her blue eyes sparkled with the reflection of the fair lights, the silver chains winking at her. Hazel’s hair has been grown and styled into a shaggy cut, the layers framing her face. 

“Hazel,” you found yourself saying, walking around Josie with a smile. Something fluttered in your stomach as her eyes landed on you. 

Hazel’s lips slowly spread into a smile as she eyed you up and down. 

“Oh, you remember Hazel right?” Pj turned to you, noticing the pink tint on your face. She raised both of her eyebrows and turned to Josie 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

~ ~ ~

“Hey,” Hazel greeted, jumping up beside you as you both walked to Mr.G’s classroom. 

“Hey,” you replied, just missing how she nervously played with the straps of her backpack. 

“How’ve you been?” She asked. 

“I’ve been good,” you smiled, looking over at her “missed ya,” 

“Oh,” her eyes widened as she looked away, hiding a blush. 

You chuckled, nudging her playfully “what? You didn’t miss me?” 

“No…no no I did! It’s nice having you back.” 

“Yeah, feels good” you paused, waking over to a picture that has Jeff, the star football player on it shirtless with the caption of ‘let’s get horny’

You frowned “although this place was much weirder than I expected” 

Hazel laughed along “yeeeah” 

You laughed along with her, continuing on your way to class. Hazel followed behind you. 

“Um, hey, if you don’t mind me asking,” Hazel paused, becoming more nervous with your eye contact, she looked down “did…did you date anyone at your other school?” 

Your heart fluttered at her question. It seemed that the only reason Hazel could ask was because she was interested. You did your best to smother the growing smile on your face. You forced yourself to be cool.

Hazel could also just be asking because you were gone for so long. She had been doing over the past couple of days, sitting with her at lunch with Pj and Josie, asking her questions of what she had done of the past couple of years. You slowly learned things about her along the way too. Apparently, Hazel now knew Taekwondo and how to build bombs. Where did she learn that? You didn’t want to know.

“No,” you replied, smothering down a smile “why do you want to know?” 

Hazel scrunched up her pretty pink lips, trying to find the right excuse. You let your eyes linger on her lips while she struggled to find the right words, breaking away when her blue eyes found yours. 

“I…uhh” she stared at you, knowing that she was too far in to even lie. “I just… haven’t seen you for a while and I wanted to- fuck it” 

Your eyes widened with surprise as Hazel suddenly cupped your face with her hands and pulled you in for a kiss. You gasped at the feeling of her cool lips against yours, chapstick flavors mixing in that bit of exchanged contact. Hazel moved her lips against your own, determined to feel every centimeter of them. Fireworks exploded in your stomach, as your eyes fluttered shut. You threaded your arms around her neck, pulling your body closer to hers. After a moment, you both pulled away. 

“Missed me that much huh?” You giggled, moving your arms back to your side. Hazel looked away, suddenly shy. 

“Shut up.” 

“So, you gonna take me on a date?” You cheekily smiled at her before tossing your hair over your shoulder and shrugging “since, you know, you missed me so much” 

Hazel rolled her eyes and grabbed your hand, swinging it. You both continued walking, giddy from the kiss. 

“Yeah,” hazel replied after a moment “how does seven work?” 

[soundbodys]

AMBROSE BASSFORD: autism?

hi!!!! welcome to part 1 of "i've got some thoughts on adamandi" >:) i have some other analysis that i do want to share about other things, not just randomly diagnosing fictional characters! but this post is about ambrose being on the autism spectrum <3

i'm not a medical professional by any means, but this is just coming from both my experience as an autistic person and the research i've been able to do about the disorder. and other people's experiences! please dont come for me if things are just a touch inaccurate. without further ado: lets fucking gooooooooo!

[ID: ambrose bassford with his hands on vincent lin's shoulders. he is looking into the distance with a determined look in his eye. vincent looks towards him with concern. end ID]

(please excuse my terrible quality screenshots. um. yeah.)

i'll also preface this by saying that yes, much of this is also informed by his status as a transgender student in the early-mid 1900s. i still think it's fun to analyze and compare my (and others') experiences to his!

THE MARMORIUS SOCIETY

[ID: preston monterey and adrian farthington (or miscellaneous marmorei) putting a letterman jacket on ambrose. ambrose is smiling. there is a caption at the bottom reading "rooftops that nobody frequents where secret societies meet" in all caps. end ID]

firstly, i will address the marmorius society. i'm fairly certain that the marmorei in "word to the wise" are meant more to represent the then-present-now-past members that welcomed ambrose freshman year rather than preston and adrian, but thats ok. what matters more is the subtext in word to the wise that we can glean from the choreography and interactions between ambrose and vincent. beginning the song, and similarly his freshman year, ambrose struggles to fit in like each of the other students entering ardess. he initially seems more comfortable interacting with vincent, but then gets taken in by the marmorei. this is exactly where his mannerism and attitude shift

here, we see ambrose fitting in (or, making an attempt to) with the other marmorei. from vincent's account, we know that ambrose's actions and behaviors almost completely changed after becoming part of the society. this is a really roundabout way of saying hey, ambrose found a place where he thinks he might belong! rather than learning and adapting to normal and regular social rules, he latches onto and mimics a very specific subset of people. to him, they know what they are doing and they have a way of being social that he can't understand so he mimics instead of just adjusting the way he already was. this mimicking makes a bit of sense in that he's not quite conforming to social cues (he still doesn't exactly fit in), but he's trying to. it feels to me a bit like how it is to feel alienated from your peers, even though you are trying your hardest to mask. of course, his "off"-ness is also contributed to by his transness so take that as you will.

2. WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?

[ID: ambrose is standing facing vincent. vincent is facing him with his hands to his back uncomfortably. the caption reads. "i've been looking to include more variations in body type." end ID]

this one is shorter than the marmorius society bulletpoint. actually, most of them are. that one is long winded. ANYWAY, ambrose is kind of... interesting when it comes to his interactions. specifically, he encourages vincent to join the marmorei by saying he's been "looking to include more variations in body type." to him, he's being completely honest and genuinely wants vincent to take interest in his phaethon project. unfortunately, to both vincent and much of the audience, this comes off as comically insensitive at best or offensive at worst. this comes from a lack of awareness of social cues, similar to the lack of knowledge of social norms from the previous bulletpoint. while he knows how to conform to the marmorei, there is still a lot of social cues he needs to work on. often, autistic people will speak bluntly and honestly in their communication. this is really not that far off, even if it was just a little gag!

3. OMG, SENSORY ISSUES!

[ID: caption reading, "he didn't eat the apple because he said he didn't like how its flesh felt on the skin of his thumbs." end ID]

kind of self explanatory. all metaphors aside, ambrose doesn't like the flesh of a peeled apple on his thumbs. i understand (<- i loooove peeled apples though)

4. BLACK AND WHITE THINKING: IF NOT ME, WHO?

[ID: lyrics reading, "if i was stronger i could fix this; / cut the bad and leave the good / be the marble and the sculptor / like my father says i should." end ID]

[ID: lyrics reading, "so my parents and my girlfriend / my closest friends and you / will know i deserve their love / once there's no more work to do / there are only three people who'll be perfect in their eyes / me, myself, and i" end ID]

two screenshots! often, autism causes what can be called "black and white" or polarized thinking. it's like, there's only one solution or there are only the extremes (although, this isn't to be confused with the black and white thinking associated with BPD. i don't have experience on that but ive heard quincy and vincent can fit the bill). for ambrose, there's only one solution to both his dysphoria and distorted self worth: becoming the perfect man by... becoming marble or whatever. as if there is only ONE way to do this, without alternative methods. i sometimes find myself in the same spiral, and have meltdowns either when it doesn't work out or if i'm offered an alternative solution that goes against what i thought might work. even in the second screenshot here, we see that he thinks the only way to earn love is through this specific task. he cannot be unconvinced, even if vincent tries to offer him an alternative solution.

5. WHY APOLLO, BOYS?

[ID: ambrose is hanging off a ladder, his hand out and mouth open singing. the caption reads, "apollo's look is yours: sound body, sound mind" in all caps. end ID]

this is where i dip more into the headcanon territory than i already have. i couldn't really include every screenshot where he talks about a) apollo, b) sculpture, or c) fitness. this is kind of part of his character in general but i like to think of it as his special interests. it's remarkable how many autistic people i know who have majored in something related to their spinterests (including myself! in a way)

6. DON'T FLATTER YOURSELF, LIN!

[ID: vincent awkwardly puts a hand on ambrose's arm, ambrose looks at him longingly. end ID]

ambrose... did not interpret the social cues correctly in the scene directly after "sound body, sound mind." it's really just written in the text, but just in case, i will remind you that vincent pretty much says "hey, i kind of strived to be like you because i had this incorrect assumption of who you were, sorry about that lol" and ambrose took it all wrong and thought this was a romantic advance. he just... didn't interpret it right. honest mistake, but a very common mistake among autistic people. and, unrelated to the autism thing, his comeback isn't smooth at all lmao

THERE YOU HAVE IT! i'm sure there could be more to be said, but my hands hurt (disability) and i can't think of any more off the top of my head. feel free to add on with anything you want to say!!!! thank you for reading!!!! here's the sillies for you, as a reward for getting this far :)

[ID: preston, ambrose, and adrian with their arms on each others' shoulders, stepping in sync. end ID]

[lorbanery]

UM

EXCUSE ME

DID FMA 03 USE A DESCRIPTION OF A DND SOURCEBOOK AS FLAVOR TEXT FOR AN ALCHEMY TEXT BOOK?????

Transcription of the main text:

[...] also the DM [...] improvement [...] here or on other sites) [...] woodsy tome, with a leaf, leather [...] motif. The pages are thick and durable, [...] size is very good and text density is exception- [...] Artwork is good throughout, and all in full color. Border art is very attractive and also includes section headers for easy navigation. dozens of interesting NPC's (with however only race, class and sex as stats). a beautiful full-color rendition/map of the school [...] finer points of alchemy [...] a good chance of meeting the requirements for some of the special Prestige Classes. The school is described in great detail, populated with [ ...]

OH

OH WAIT THERE IT IS, THE CAPTION UNDERNEATH THE TRANSMUTATION CIRCLE ILLUSTRATION

Bastion Press: Alchemy & Herbalists by Jeff Ibach

Now, Jeff Ibach, while apparently a writer for sourcebooks, appears to not actually be the author of this sourcebook. As near as I can tell, the text actually seems to come, at least in part, from a review. I can't find the review, it's entirely probable that the site the review was posted on no longer exists, given how long ago the first version of Alchemy & Herbalists had to have come out for an anime released 20 years ago to have pulled the text from a review of it. But I do see endorsement quotes on all of the listings for the book, and there is one from Ibach. So that's probably why his name got pasted there instead of the actual author, Steven Schend.

Anyway, here it is! The book that taught Edward and Alphonse Elric how to perform alchemy!

[shih-coulda-had-it]

If Izuku had met the Young Torino?

I like the idea of Prime Torino being punched into present-day canon (punched by who? Toshinori, of course), and being the only one able to keep up with Deku as Deku scours Japan for AFO. Prime Torino just wants to get back home. He's too young to be a grandfather!

//

captions, and a starter beneath the 'keep reading' -

Gran Torino: What did you do to my cape?

Izuku: Ah.

Descriptive arrow pointing at the cape lists, 'bloodstained, tattered, singed,' and 'riddled with bullet holes.'

//

Not too long after Izuku cuts contact with All Might, he finds a cluster of masked people terrorizing a high-rise. Zero hints as to whether or not they’re aligned with All for One. But they’re extorting supplies from the people hiding within, and in any case, when Izuku hears the wail of a child, all bets are off.

Fighting comes easier to him now. Even if the holders disapprove of Izuku’s pace, they lend their expertise, smoothing out the wrinkles in his techniques.

He ducks under a wild swing, lashes out with the Fifth’s Quirk, yanks his opponent towards him and feels One for All flare within his veins as he preps for a punch. Standard. What is not so standard is the First’s urgent voice, saying, “Something’s wrong!”

Izuku has to drive the punch forward. There is nowhere else to redirect the energy.

One for All surges, unfamiliar and wild, and Izuku barely has time to process the foreign emotions: rage-loss-grief--a young voice that screams, “You’re awful! You’re not helping me, you’re just taking your anger out on the closest, most convenient target! I hate you!”

Something tears in the world. It’s different from a Warp Quirk, if only because it wrenches at Izuku’s gut, and also, because an extremely bright and heavy weight is flung into existence and into Midoriya Izuku. Izuku yelps, trying to slow his and the newcomer’s momentum.

They crash into a storefront on the opposite side of the street.

Amidst the shattered wooden boards (no glass? a lucky break, then) and under the stranger’s heavy form, Izuku coughs. His backpack digs uncomfortably against his spine. “Who is he,” he asks the empty air and prods wearily at the now-cheerful flames of One for All.

“Sorahiko,” says the Seventh, Shimura Nana. Her voice is soft, stunned, and terrified.

Izuku blinks. Presumably, Gran Torino stirs. His voice doesn’t sound like it did several months ago, like it’d been run through a blender and mixed with gravel, but the weariness is the same. He murmurs, “Shimura, help…”

“Help him, Ninth,” she snaps, and Izuku sees her spectral form manifest and circle their perimeter. She crouches by them, and as Izuku struggles out from beneath Gran Torino, he sees her fingers brush against the off-white suit. The Seventh twitches back as if stung.

“Did you just--?” Izuku blurts out.

“No.”

He has his doubts, but the important thing is to roll Gran Torino over so he’s not breathing in dust and splinters. The yellow cape he wears is the brightest, sunniest thing Izuku’s seen all month, and presumably, Gran Torino as he is now is the darkest, meanest he’s ever been in his whole life. Izuku heaves the man face-up and tears his own hood off, in case Gran Torino feels like punching first and talking second.

“Gran Torino?” he tentatively calls.

The Fourth’s Quirk zings, and Izuku dodges the grasping hand just in time.

“Where am I,” snarls Gran Torino, surging to sit upright and immediately looking nauseous. His hand goes to his abdomen, gingerly pressing at some invisible wound.

“Roppongi,” says Izuku. He telegraphs his raised hands, and he bears the cursory, critical once-over with patience. Torino’s grimace softens to a frown; he instinctively lifts a hand to touch the collar of his own cape, as if to make sure it hasn’t been looted.

“Your name?”

“Deku.”

Torino registers the title without comment. Instead, he nods, and he says, conversationally, “Excuse me, but I’ve got to go kick my student’s ass. If the little shit thinks he can dump my body in the middle of Tokyo without suffering any consequences, he’s got another thing coming.”

He attempts to rise, and Izuku, struck by the horrifying thought that seeing a Gran Torino in his prime will really cut All Might’s life short, hurries to say, “What year is it?”

Torino pauses. His expression darkens.

“It’s 20XX,” says Izuku, terrified of the missing answer. “Did you--did you just start teaching…?”

“I’m going to kill that boy,” says Torino, apropos of nothing.

Eep! goes Izuku’s heart. He gets to his feet, unnerved, and watches Torino lever himself upright. Gran Torino in his prime is tall, taller than even Endeavor--he thinks the Seventh is only a tad shorter. Before Izuku can witness the sheer presence Gran Torino used to exude, the Fourth draws his attention to the high-rise.

“You’re not allowed to kill All Might,” Izuku declares, too distracted to watch his words. He pulls his hood back up and over his face. “Sorry, um, I have to--”

He bolts to deal with the villains. A loud curse follows his exit, and then Gran Torino chases after him. The fight would have been a minor nuisance for Izuku, but with the added help, it’s a breeze.

Gran Torino in his prime is a nightmare in close combat. Izuku is only done knocking out two when Torino impatiently connects the dots and one-two-three-four-five men and women collapse, knocked out cold. When Torino touches down, he watches Izuku handcuff each villain to the other like a daisy chain.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a pro-hero?”

“I’m licensed.”

“Hn.”

A little awkwardly, Izuku activates the Fifth’s Quirk and gathers the cluster of villains. He doesn’t know if the nearest police precinct can hold them; too many people have broken the law in the name of survival. The country is in perpetual triage.

“Sorry,” Izuku says again, “but I need to relocate these guys.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere else. I can call, um...” Endeavor? Is Endeavor qualified to handle a foulmouthed, time-traveling pro-hero who in his prime, could give Hawks a run for his money as the fastest hero on the registry? If Gran Torino wants to escape surveillance, then nothing can stop him.

“I’m going to follow you,” says Torino intently. “I have a feeling you’re the key to getting me back home.”

“I’m busy.”

“Too bad. I’ve been told I’m difficult to shake off.” Gran Torino pops his neck from side to side. “Thirty-some years in the future, and you know All Might. You know me. Get me up to speed, Deku, or I’ll go to U.A. and start from there.”

Izuku pales beneath his mask. If he sends Gran Torino like this to U.A., then All Might really will have a heart attack! And Izuku has no good news to tell Torino, not about the future in general, and definitely not about Torino’s own fate. “There’s a lot to cover?”

“Then let’s get to a private location.”

(A bit later…)

Gran Torino glances down at Izuku and says, “Is that a scarf?”

Izuku feels insulted on Gran Torino’s behalf. Certainly on Izuku, the cape’s ends are tattered and singed, bloodstained and pockmarked with Lady Nagant’s bullets. But on the old man, it had trailed on the ground, purposely dragging in the dust. “It’s yours. You gave it to me.”

“Well, what the hell did you do to it?”

“Ah… Funny story…”

[nxrthmizu]

Crash and Burn

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | salt, lila salt

pairing | n/a

w.c | 3.2k

author's note | hey remember that lila salt fic i promised? this isn't it but this is something i made today so yep. please accept this as an apology for yknow. me promising to write and. not doing it.

Enough was enough.

“Marinette, stop accusing Lila! She just wants to make friends!”

“Take the high road.”

“Be a good model student, Marinette.”

Enough. Was. Enough.

Marinette had the connections, the power, the choice to make Lila’s entire world crumble apart. The only thing that stood between the liar’s demise was the tiniest pinch of morality and self-restraint— And no, that self-restraint did not come in the form of Tikki. Even the kwami, who had to be an aggregation of all the good and nice things in the world, was fed up and ready to retaliate.

“What a joke.” Lila cackled, tossing a chunk of her sausage hair over her shoulder flamboyantly. The two girls were in the bathroom, with Lila smirking in front of the sink and Marinette a little distance away from her. “You can make my world crumble? What is this, a threat?”

“A promise.” Marinette corrected. “Stop telling lies. Come clean to every one. No more lying about knowing celebrities left and right, no more making excuses about not being able to take your own notes, no more making up ‘diseases’ just so your life gets a little more convenient. To be frank, I really don’t care what happens to you— But by making these empty promises to introduce my classmates to great ‘celebrities’, you’re ruining their futures. Stop.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Lila sneered, face twisted into an ugly grin. “You going to cry in front of the class? Try and convince them that I, the one they adore— That I am lying?”

“No.” Marinette’s eyes were clear when she met Lila’s. The clouds of self-doubt that used to hover over the bright, shining star inside her soul had now dissipated, letting the bluenette emit a confident, glowing appearance as she met the liar head on. “I’m just going to keep my promise.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila headed off to a modelling shoot after school, pleased at the prospect of spending more time with Adrien. There were a couple tendrils of Marinette’s words hanging behind in her mind— Did the girl mean what she said? Did she actually… Was she actually capable of causing Lila’s downfall? … Surely not. Marinette may have once been the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, but there was no way she was that competent, there was no way the girl was capable of plotting.

The Italian hummed, brushing away thoughts of the annoying bluenette from her mind. She was going on a photoshoot— One that was going cause the rise and burst of her career, the one that was going to make her name a globally-known one. Unfortunately for Lila, her plans were going to be derailed quite soon— In fact, as soon as Gabriel Agreste’s car rolled into the parking lot of the shoot location.

“Explain this, Mlle. Rossi.” Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he pointed to the tabloid article on his tablet. The Italian girl froze, the headlines seared into her eyes, big and black and bold, shooting poison right into the core of her body, paralysing her cell by cell starting from her heart. “What is the meaning of this?”

‘Adrien Agreste Reported To Be Harassed by Fellow Model’— The image under the caption was one that was clearly taken by a hidden photographer. The picture was framed with leafy foliage, which suggested that the camera was tucked up in a tree. Despite the distance, it was quite obvious in the image that Adrien was reeling away, disgusted and uncomfortable as a faceless woman in an orange blazer, back turned to the camera— Invaded his personal space.

The subtitle was the cream on the cupcake.

‘Witnesses State Gabriel Agreste Ignorant of Workplace Harassment’.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

As if things couldn’t quite go down a worser path, Lila returned home to a fuming mother and an unexpected visitor.

“Lila! You come here right this instant!” The diplomat demanded as soon as the front door opened, her daughter shrinking slightly at the tone and pitch that her mother was using. The last time her mother had been this angry— Well, it was when she got expelled from her last school. “I can’t believe what you’ve done! If it weren’t for your kind classmate, lord knows how long you would’ve continued with this!”

The Italian meekly followed her mother into the living room, eyes widening until they were as large as saucers, mouth agape at the last person she expected to see sitting on the couch.

Marinette smiled kindly, waving at the girl, looking every bit the part of the innocent, pure, kind child that every parent wanted to have. Before Lila could release a torrent of questions about what the hell Marinette Dupain-Cheng was doing in her living room, her mother charged on, beginning to take out her anger on her daughter while a literal angel sat on the sofa, cradling a box of pastries from her family’s bakery.

“Your friend here tells me that you’ve been taking absences from school to go on trips to help humanity!” Mme. Rossi exploded, waving her arms around madly. “She says she’s here to share her notes from the classes you’ve missed! You’ve never left Paris this year! What’s this I hear about flying off to the kingdom of— What was it called again, Marinette dear?”

“Achu.” Provided the bluenette helpfully, the diplomat’s expression instantly softening when she talked to the other teen in the living room.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, dear.” The woman turned back to her daughter, instantly snapping on a mask of anger in a matter of a fraction of a second. “What’s this about flying off to this kingdom of Achu to help homeless orphans with some random prince?”

“Um…” Lila piped up, wriggling as her brain churned at 200 lies per hour, trying to whip up a cover of some sort.

“I’m not done! Your friend here is such a helpful child that she even went as far as to ask her family doctor is there’s a cure for your… Lying disease!” Mme. Rossi practically roared, breathing flames as if she were an intimidating dragon, her daughter flinching away from the heat. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous! And then there’s the fact that you lied to your classmates about having tinnitus?!”

“I actually do have tinnitus!” Lila cut in forcibly, widening her eyes to make herself look more pitiful. “I was just afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“Bullshit!”

“Um… Sorry to interrupt, Mme. Rossi,” Marinette piped up, the diplomat instantly cooling down as she faced the bluenette, a soft smile tracing the Italian woman’s lips. “But it’s getting rather late and my parents would love me home soon. I also have some tests to revise for tonight, so I think I should get going.”

“Oh, of course, dear.” Mme. Rossi hastily got up to help the bluenette to the door, shooting a warning glare at her daughter— ‘Sit still and don’t you dare go anywhere’, the glare read. “Feel free to come over again anytime you want, dear. I’m not home often, but you are such a sweet child. I’m sure Lila could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks for having me as well, Mme. Rossi. I really like your home. I left the pastries on the counter— Make sure to warm the curry puffs before you eat them.” Marinette returned the smile, bowing slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“Thank you for the pastries as well, Marinette. I ought to visit your parents’ bakery sometime when I’m free.” Mme. Rossi opened the door kindly for the bluenette, waving the girl off with an affectionate smile. Her parents must be so lucky to have such a sweet little thing like her, Mme. Rossi sighed internally, turning the key so she locked the door. And she seems to be a high-scoring student as well.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila seethed, having been grounded by her mother. As far as Mme. Rossi was concerned, there was a boarding school not too far away from their current residence, and by the next week, the Italian girl would be transferred over. Lila had never hated Dupain-Cheng as much as she did in that moment.

Still furious, the Italian snapped her laptop open, too angry to bother with the fact she might’ve scratched the surface. Clicking into the web browser, she started to type in the words ‘Ladyblog’— That was, before a news article caught her eye.

‘Jagged Stone Interview Reveals Underage, Obsessed Fan’.

What on Earth…

As soon as Lila clicked into the link, the news footage from the interview immediately begin to play. The date stamp on it showed that it had aired last night— Which meant that she would’ve missed it, since her mother was too busy yelling at her to turn on the television to watch Nadja Chamack’s daily news.

“As soon as I heard this rumour about some underage teenage girl claiming that she had saved my cat on an airport runway, I called Penny and asked her to book a slot for me to clarify this,” Jagged Stone said grimly, dressed in more formal attire as he sat in the comfortable, cushioned chair of the news station, with Nadja nodding equally seriously beside him. “Let me clarify— I’ve never owned a cat. I’m allergic to fur. The only pet I’ve had was Fang, and he’s an al-li-ga-tor. Not a cat. Whatever the girl is claiming, she’s obsessed and making up stories.”

“It’s also kind of bewildering that she saved it on an airport runway,” Nadja continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “That kind of thing only happens in dramas— It’s too dangerous for anyone besides authorised workers to be on airport runways.”

“Right, right!” Jagged agreed instantly. “The whole rumour is just really baffling.”

“M. Jagged, may I ask what kind of effect these rumours have on a celebrities’ career?” Nadja continued, leading the conversation on like a professional.

“Well, rumours that circulate around tend to have really bad effects, and the worse ones can hang around for a long, long time. Tabloids are often spun off from rumours, baseless and with no evidence. Those tabloids will never truly disappear, so they can leave a mark on a celebrity’s reputation as some people will believe anything— Even things they read from un-cited tabloids.”

“That is simply terrible. Have you ever had any cases of rumours created by underaged teens before this?”

“I’ve had quite a number, but none of them really got as big as this one. From what Penny has found from digging around, the teen girl managed to spread the rumour through her school and onto a once-popular blog.” Jagged explained. “Penny has also found out that the same girl has claimed that I’ve written songs for her to thank her for saving my cat! I would never write songs and dedicate them to an underaged girl— Trust me. If I could do such a thing, I’d already have written a dozen in honour of my niece— She’s my favourite designer.”

Nadja smiled at that sentence. “Then—“

The news footage cut off abruptly as Lila slammed her laptop shut, too upset to continue watching.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

On the other side of Paris, Alya was pacing around her room frantically, wondering why on earth Lila wasn’t picking up on her calls. She’d left at least four dozen messages to the Italian, who was absent from school that day. There had been a couple whispers here and there about why she was missing— Rose had suggested another impromptu trip to Achu.

Lila’s absence wasn’t the weirdest part of the day, however.

That award would go to Marinette, who walked into class with a smile, the slightest sprinkles of delight colouring her bluebell eyes when she spotted Lila’s empty seat.

Growing in frustration, Alya threw herself onto her bed, phone clattering onto the mattress with her. Within the next few minutes, however, her phone suddenly started exploding with notifications. Excited at the prospect of Lila finally texting back, Alya turned on her phone, only to be disappointed by the notifications all clamouring from the class group chat.

Kim had sent a link to the chat— Without hesitation, Alya clicked into it, frowning when she saw Nadja and Jagged appear on the screen. Throughout the interview, the colour on the Ladyblogger’s face only paled by the second until she was as white as a sheet, and if it were halloween at that time, she would’ve won the best costume award for being a ghost.

There must… There must’ve been a mistake.

A notification from Lila’s number made the blogger perk up, instantly clicking into the conversation— But her newfound hope didn’t last very long.

[Lila]

Hi, Alya. This is Lila’s mom. She’s currently grounded right now. Is there anything important you need to tell her?

[Alya]

Oh, nothing much… I just wanted to ask where she was.

[Lila]

She’s at home.

[Alya]

Okay, thanks.

Flopping onto her bed, Alya begin thinking, revising over the past few months like it was an old clip. Lila’s exciting adventures and interactions with celebrities of every kind— Lila going overseas and face timing the entire class— Lila letting her in on the secrets of being Ladybug’s friend…

… Marinette trying to tell them that Lila was lying…

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The class was awfully silent the next day. Adrien was absent as well— A social worker was looking into his home life as a result of the tabloid that arose. Things for the blonde could either get better or worse from then on, as the matters were still foggy and things hadn’t cleared up yet. The blonde maintained contact with his friends, however, calling and texting them whenever he could.

“Class, settle down.” Mlle. Bustier stepped into the class, looking very tense and uncomfortable. “Today, we will have a guest, so please be on your best behaviours, alright?”

Just as the teacher finished speaking, a tall, regal-looking Italian woman entered the classroom, a cowering principal and a meek-looking Lila in tow. The class brightened slightly at the sight of their friend— But by the way she wasn’t looking into their eyes… Things weren’t going to be good.

“Good morning. I am Mme. Rossi, Lila’s mother.” The woman begin speaking, her firm and no-nonsense tone instantly making every student sit straight, their eyes too afraid to look anywhere else but the Italian diplomat. “It has come to my attention that my daughter has been taking absences from school to do charity work— And I have to clarify that this is a lie. Lila has been doing nothing but holing herself up in her room, lying to me and saying that there are no classes due to akumas.” The Italian diplomat glowered at Damocles. “What’s even more baffling is the fact that neither her homeroom nor the principal bothered to check up with me despite a student having extended periods of absence with no note or email written whatsoever.”

The class was so quiet that they could hear the quiver of Mlle. Bustier’s trembling lip.

“In addition, I’ve been kindly told that Lila has claimed to have a lying disease, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.” It was impossible to miss the way the Italian diplomat was glaring daggers at both Mlle. Bustier and Damocles. “No one bothered to look it up online to see if it’s actual disorder, nor did anyone call me to confirm and ask for a doctor’s note, which is standard procedure.” Chills burst over the room, making every one shiver as the woman hissed out her words.

“Mme. Rossi, we didn’t want to disturb your busy schedule—” Damocles begin, only to be blown backwards from the sheer intensity of Mme. Rossi’s glower.

“M. Damocles, standard procedures exist for a reason. Unless you’d like to tell me about any other things you’ve been letting my daughter get away with?”

“N— No, Mme.”

The Italian diplomat continued on her war path. “My daughter also claimed to have tinnitus, am I correct?”

“Y— Yes, Mme.” Mlle. Bustier answered when it seemed like no one was going to.

“And I heard that the class seating arrangement was shifted to accommodate for that?” The homeroom teacher didn’t dare answer this time, for it seemed like whatever she said would be the incorrect answer. “And apparently, my daughter has also been faking broken wrists and requesting for her classmates to complete her work for her.” Mme. Rossi was practically breathing flames at that point, “And I am incredibly upset at the lack of action from the homeroom teacher.”

No one could breath.

“I have many concerns about the running of this schooling facility, and I expect to discuss this with M. Damocles privately after this. However, there is still something to be done.” Mme. Rossi swept her gaze towards her daughter, who found the floor incredibly interesting at that point of time. “Lila? Something you’d like to say to your classmates?”

“… I’m sorry for lying to you.” Lila mumbled resentfully.

“Louder, Lila. No one can hear you.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” Lila swallowed, bursting like an explosion that had finally been triggered, tears in her eyes and fists hatefully curled. “I’m sorry for lying about my diseases and injuries. I’m sorry for making you do my work,” She spat. “Sorry for causing any inconveniences.”

Mme. Rossi raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that all?”

Lila glared at her mother, who was completely unfazed. “Oh, so you want an apology from me? Fine!” She turned to the class, a maniacal glint in her eyes as she sneered at the class, a few gasps puffing from around the room as they caught their first glimpse of the liar that resided in the ‘harmless’ shell of Lila Rossi. “I’m sorry that you are all such idiots that you all fell for everything. I’m sorry that Marinette has such terrible, untrusting classmates that turned their backs on her even though she was still a goody-two shoes till the end, even though she still wanted to help you sorry peasants. I’m sorry that you were all so goddamn gullible! There! Good enough for you?”

Shock was etched into the faces of every human in the classroom— Including Mlle. Bustier, M. Damocles, and Mme. Rossi themselves. Clearly, that part of the apology had not been part of the plan.

“Did I miss something?” Said a sweet voice, followed by the presence of a bluenette, her hair tied in a half-up. A royal blue blazer decorated her lithe form, accompanied by a smart-looking white blouse and a black plaited skirt. Formal had never looked so good on anyone— And if someone didn't know better, they'd think that the bluenette was a young lawyer, emerging victorious from her first successful case.

“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed.

“I’m sorry that you’re such an annoying, little, pest.” Lila bit in the girl’s face, disdain colouring her features as she ignored her mother’s enraged gasp behind her.

The bluenette simply smiled, unaffected by the liar who had crashed and burned like the liar once wished upon her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood at her full height, the perfect image of grace and poise as she maintained her composure, quite unlike her nemesis, who thrashed under her mother’s restraining hands.

“And I’m sorry that you didn’t take my promise to heart.”

this can count as adrien redemption depending on you cause ehhh i dont like how passive he is but i havent caught up with the recent episodes, he might have become better. idk.

also where the hell is my miraculous taglist i cant find it so eep. no tagging ppl ig oops

[smallblip]

You asked, I deliver! Part II of Accidental baby acquisition💖 I lost one of the asks 😩 but anon who asked about baby Udo, I named the baby in your honour! Saddle up cowboys! I’m not good with sequels but here we are-

Babygate:

the scandal that implies that a certain boy band member cheated on his partner (another band member) and had a kid even when the mom was never pregnant.

- urban dictionary

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. Life is definitely picking up. Pieck still sends him excerpts of her dirty fanfiction to proofread, Bertholdt is still doing all he can to “retire at 30”, Annie might have eloped with said boyfriend. But he’s seeing Porco on the regular now, he’s really cute, he’s got a nice ass. Reiner can’t complain.

He’s also recently donated his Levi Ackerman standee. Only because it’s getting increasingly hard to reconcile the fact that he has a life sized cutout of his colleague’s boyfriend in his room.

What he can complain about is said colleague (and friend) dropping bombs on him. He’s one of the moderators of one of the bigger No Name servers. Sometimes he wonders if that’s a conflict of interest because, well, he knows the guy on a first name basis. But today he has other concerns. He sees his notifications blowing up and decides to go on the No Name server. And lo and behold. There’s a paparazzi shot of Levi and Hanji with a stroller taking a walk in a new channel called “MYSTERY FAMILY?”.

He cancels his plans with Porco. “Don’t text me for the next few hours, got a fire to fight.” He clicks send, and feels kinda bad, so he sends Porco really dank meme to appease him. (That doesn’t stop Porco from doing exactly what Reiner told him not to do and demanding an explanation every five minutes).

He forces himself to take a deep breath before texting Hanji-

“Hanji… I don’t mean to be rude but…

WHAT THE FUCK?”

—

So here begins babygate. A conspiracy theory that took the Internet by storm.

“Levi Ackerman had a secret marriage! He was keeping this from us from the start!”

“It’s a publicity stunt to keep No Name relevant during their hiatus!”

“It’s an elaborate scheme by the company to punish Levi for announcing the hiatus without their knowledge!”

“Levi’s mystery partner was sent by the lizard people to take control of his mind and produce half-lizard, half-human hybrid babies to take over the world! What a bitch!” (This is Hanji’s favourite).

And the internet’s favourite- this is all an elaborate scheme to cover up the scandalous love affair between Levi and Eren- the band’s guitarist.

“What the fuck?” Levi had said during dinner once, to which Reiner had to swallow his food and pretend he never read or actively looked up ereri content. Yes. Reiner knows the name of their ship.

Levi hadn’t been too worried before, but when pictures of them shopping for baby stuff leaked online, something snaps. Something snaps and Erwin tells him he needs more time to figure out the biggest PR crisis in No Name history.

It’s Levi. Levi is the PR crisis.

So in the meantime, no shock reveals, no more social media, (if possible) no more leaving the house with pregnant girlfriend in tow. “Don’t do ANYTHING.” Erwin had said, “especially not you!” Erwin had directed that at Eren, who suggested he makes an announcement. Erwin shudders. He remembers all the past scandals they got themselves into just because Eren, bless him, didn’t know when to shut up.

“I’m sorry…” Levi says to Hanji when they’re cuddled up on the couch watching a documentary on whale migration.

“Huh?” Hanji says, voice muffled through her incessant sniffling because “whales are delivered tail first, Levi! They wear their mothers like hats!”

He apologises for putting her through the mess that is him and his job. And Hanji smiles at him. He wonders if their kid will look like her. He’s hoping they would.

“Levi…” Hanji sighs, taking his face in her hands, “that night at the bar I thought to myself ‘this man has a face I would risk it all for’… I think this counts within the realms of ‘all’”

Levi scoffs, but a smile is threatening the corners of his lips. Erwin’s nagging over the phone fades a little and he sinks a little lower into the couch. He sighs one more time for good measure before saying-

“So… you wanna know which my favourite babygate theory is?”

—

“And you’re really not bothered by all this?” Reiner asks, in an emergency meeting that he had scheduled into her calendar. He hates that he’s packing things into her already busy schedule when she’s about to pop but, he figures it’s better now than when the baby’s actually out. He had booked a meeting room and everything, figuring if he projected some of the crazy shit they’re saying on the fan boards up on screen, Hanji would start taking this seriously. Because if Reiner knows anything, it’s that the fans will do anything to keep their ship afloat.

He scrolls past another post on the lizard people and Hanji gets him to pause.

“I mean… A little?” Hanji pinches her fingers together.

“Hanji…” Reiner sighs, “you and Levi discuss and rate babygate conspiracy theories you find online I don’t think you’re taking this seriously at all…”

Hanji looks at Reiner- an absolute state of panic. And she considers panicking for a moment. She’s read articles dissecting babygate and although they’re absolutely batshit, Hanji appreciates how well-researched they are. Which is a little scary. To be fair to Levi, he’s been trying to get her to worry. “I can’t keep you safe all the time, you have to be careful” like he’s going off to war somewhere. But it’s not in Hanji nature to worry about things like this. She’s a researcher at a lab who lived an ordinary life up until the point the universe hit her with a-

Sike! Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy! What are you gonna do about it?

And now she knows what headcanons and lemons are, and she really doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. So Hanji decides, she’ll do nothing. She’ll go on indulgently long walks Levi in tow, she’ll talk his ear off about work. And like a good girlfriend, she’ll listen to his demos (and enjoy them) and tell him “are you sure anger rhymes with danger?”.

“I don’t really know how to worry about anything beyond our samples getting contaminated…” Hanji says, sheepish. Reiner sighs. He doesn’t want to be a wet blanket on Hanji’s life. He wants to be fun Reiner. Cool as a cucumber. Reiner who manages to make it through dinner at Hanji’s without having to excuse himself to hyperventilate in her bathroom because Levi is right there. And he’s so afraid that he might just be able to read his mind and find out he had looked up Levi Ackerman x y/n fanfiction once in his foolish youth (youth being approximately four months back)

Reiner shudders.

“Yeah okay… That’s um… That’s cool… Right?” He says.

Hanji shrugs.

—

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what?

You go into labour of course, with a matter of fact- “oh. Look Levi. The water broke.” All while refusing to leave the house until you demolish that amazing sandwich he made for you. You go into labour and you yell and grunt like a beast as you squeeze the life out of your baby daddy because he kinda deserves it. You both kinda deserve this pain. Take it as heavenly punishment for being horny and stupid if you will.

And in the middle of it Hanji thinks huh, this feels like a mix of a reality TV show from MTV and a badly written fanfiction. Except Hanji isn’t a teen mom and she’s too old for self-insert fiction that involves a lead singer of a popular band.

But Levi is here, and he doesn’t complain one bit even though he looks like he’s about to pass out. So as far as drunken one night stands go- this is pretty damn aspirational.

The baby enters the world with a huge cry.

“Kid’s got a huge set of lungs…” Levi says, but his own voice is quivering.

“Just like her dad…” Hanji smiles.

As he watches Hanji fall asleep with their baby on her chest, Levi thinks fuck it. Fuck keeping this under wraps. Fuck the fans and them enjoying how Eren gets on his nerves. Fuck Erwin and his “Levi. You’re giving me a headache. You are the cause of this headache.” Because the baby has Hanji’s nose and his eyes and he loves them more than anything in the world.

He snaps a picture of them and tags bigdaddyzoë-

“Welcome to the world, my love.”

—

Reiner can’t help the tears that well in his eyes after seeing the picture Hanji had sent him of the baby-

“He says hi to his favourite uncle!” Was the caption, and Reiner could only reply with a crying cat meme and an incoherent text that Hanji favourites.

He’s on the bus on the way to the hospital when his phone buzzes incessantly. It’s Porco.

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK.”

“LEVI ACKERMAN IS HANJI ZOË’S BABY DADDY?”

“HANJI ZOË MY PHD SUPERVISOR?”

“LEVI ACKERMAN OF NO NAME?”

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK?”

He sends a reply at the entrance of the hospital-

“Welcome to my world”

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. He’s one of the moderator of one of the bigger No Name servers, so he can block and remove people at his discretion. Some days he lets it get to his head. It makes him feel like a king. But today, he’s putting out fires.

Erwin decided their PR strategy was absolutely no strategy, because “they’re zooming in on the pixels Levi. Once they doubt the pixels, they won’t believe anything we’re saying”. With that. Babygate has officially taken on a life of its own. Eren still sends Levi babygate articles to annoy him, and to Hanji because she asked very nicely. Hanji thinks Erwin’s strategy makes sense, Levi thinks it’s just lazy. But Erwin framed a certificate that says “survived a PR crisis (sort of)” that Hanji had insisted be hung up on their wall, so that closes one chapter. Besides, Eren has been spotted going out on dates with a mystery girl. Which has the double effect of diverting attention away from Levi and exacerbating babygate because “see? Told you the company’s doing all they can to prove they’re not together!”

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” Levi had thrown at Eren, to which he had responded cleverly with a-

“Could’ve said the same for you!”

Touché…

“See? That can’t be Levi! Look at how he’s smiling!”

“That can’t be a baby! Looks like an animatronic to me!”

“Do they even make animatronics that realistic?”

Reiner pins his “no slander” rule- one day they’ll get it. Or at least he would’ve gotten rid of all the people that don’t.

“Who’s this bigdaddyzoë anyway?”

“Maybe she isn’t real? Company probably invented her…”

“Heard she’s a crazy groupie who got knocked up…”

“Heard she’s hot…”

… several people are typing

—

“So… I heard from Reiner you were defending my honour in the server?” Hanji quirks an eyebrow.

Levi shrugs. Whatever goes down in the server stays between Leviackerman173810 (leviackerman and all 173809 permutations of said username had already been taken) and the hundreds of people who haven’t quite figured out he’s the real deal. Besides, Erwin has issued him three warnings so it’s best to lay low for now.

“My hero…” Hanji chuckles, pressing a kiss on Levi’s head. Below them, baby Udo wriggles and yawns against the fabric of Levi’s shirt. Cute.

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what? You look at your son and know he’s going to break hearts like his father of course. And if you’re Levi, you pray to god he never asks about babygate because Hanji has read up enough about it to be considered a connoisseur.

One day the internet will break when they find out the identity of bigdaddyzöe. But for now baby Udo has his parents wrapped around his tiny fingers and he doesn’t quite understand the concept of him being the spawn of every typical band member x y/n fanfiction. Or the centre of a very popular, very absurd, yet strangely believable internet conspiracy theory. Or the canon plot that has sunk one of the biggest No Name ships. And that’s okay.

[brokcave]

The amount of times I had to re-edit this, all just to add that damn read more command.

Anyways, I know I'm late for Valentine's but eh, they never said you could only post lovey dovey wholesome stuff on only one day.

So take this CyberOwl fluff, I need to see more of this ship I swear jdndndbsbsbs

(Apologies as well if there's anything weird on it, haven't used the old typewriter in a long while.)

"Phoenix I don't think this is right…"

"It's lookin' fine mate, don't worry" Phoenix assures him as he watches, through his phone, Sova pours some sauce on the pan, watching it bubble around a steak. Sova then flipped it around, wanting the meat to absorb sauce some more.

"I am curious though, why'd you call me when you could've called Jett or Neon? They know more about cooking than I do." Phoenix hums out as he scrolls around some video chat filters, making Sova look more ridiculous than he is now.

The man had worn his usual cargo pants and gray shirt, but he had a light pink apron that had the typical caption "kiss the cook" on it. His hair was being tucked in with a black headband that had cat ears on, his excuse was that he broke his so he had to borrow someone else's, to which may be Omen's. Phoenix screenshotted him as he chuckles to himself, sending them to Jett and Raze. Both of them responded with laughter and hearts.

"It's because you were the only one available today and it's also because I wanted to um...ask for…" Sova mumbled the last part, feeling embarrassed for doing so. Phoenix cocks his head, quite curious as to why Sova had suddenly become bashful.

"Come on man, you can tell me. I won't tease ya or anything!" 

"Really?"

"Try me"

Sova sighed, feeling a bit tense, "I wanted to ask for...for advice on how to ask someone out…"

"..."

Hearing no response from the other, he turned to his phone to check if he was still there. Sure enough, he was still there, biting his lip from giggling. To which he failed, as he looked at Sova's unamused face. 

"H-hey wait ha, I wasn't teasin' ya! If anything, I'm proud of ya!" 

Sova blushed a bit, he was lucky it wasn't visible in the camera. He continues to stir the sauce as he talks with Phoenix. 

"If you're going to ask someone out, you just gotta be chill about it. Be cool, you know?"

"How can one stay cool in such a state?"

"Well hmm, just...think of the others in their underwear. Then you'd gain confidence by then, yeah?"

Sova couldn't help but laugh, Phoenix, the man who'd be able to swoon and charm men and women alike, would be giving this kind of advice.

"H-hey man, I don't know what else I could tell ya besides to try and stay chill 'bout it. Sure, looks matter but I think it'll be even better when you're just...you."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Well, it's better to show them the real you rather than a fake one, and I'm sure they'd love a genuine man like you."

Sova smiled, thanking Phoenix. Both of them continued to chatter as Sova cooked the steak, then Phoenix asked a question.

"Sooo, who is this lucky girl? Or guy? Is it Sage? Breach?"

"Its C-"

"Nonono wait, let me guess, Chamber!"

"Cypher."

"Oh...that works too."

Sova chuckled, sure he was close with the three of them but when it came to Cypher, oh, his poor heart goes crazy. Reyna would even side eye him at times, hearing his heart beat rapidly every time Cypher was in the room.

"Never knew you had a crush on him, always thought both of you were rivals since, ya know…"

"Well, we were, we decided to move past it due to our work being affected. And I'm really glad we did…" 

"Oh yeah? How come?"

Sova smiled softly while putting away the spatula he had, letting the steak settle. "After we made an agreement to move past it, we slowly started to work more together. In and out of battle, we were both always with each other. Then when my equipment broke after a failed mission, Cypher came in offering to fix it. And he did fix it, but it caused him to overwork himself. He was overtly cranky and sluggish for the whole day, so I decided to take it upon myself to get him to rest, to which he thankfully did. After that, the rest was history."

Phoenix smiles, placing his head on both of his hands. Feeling soft at Sova's reminiscing.

"Sure there's still some insults thrown around here and there, but it mostly just turned into teasing. We would also start working on plans together, tinkering even…Especially when being casual, I would always find myself in his workshop casually talking with him or when I'm resting. He would just be beside me on his couch, either working on a small gadget or just lying there on my shoulder. His presence was always so welcoming and warm that it was hard to get away from. Hearing the way he talked and hummed sounded so much better than my music playlist, oh what I'd give for him to continue on. The way he would work was always so mesmerizing, I would always get distracted by it. His hands were rough yet so delicate every time he held onto me or onto one of his gadgets, and oh, his face…" Sova paused a bit, smiling even more. Looking dreamily as he remembers the time Cypher would take his mask off in the workshop.

"He would always make jokes on how ugly he was, but I would beg to differ. His skin was smooth with faded marks, his hair had little curls around making you want to play with it, his eyes were green as olives and were a true definition of 'softness'."

"Um, Sova-"

"No matter how many scars he has-"

"Bud-"

"He will always be-" 

"Sova?"

He froze, startled by the new voice behind him. His heart beat as he knew who it was, yet he begged to the heavens to tell him that wasn't who he thought it was. 

"SOVA THE STEAK!" Phoenix shouted, noticing the smoke from the pan. Sova quickly looked at the steak and immediately turned off the stove, his lips drooping as he looked at the semi-burnt steak. His poor masterpiece laid there on the pan with a few burnt marks around.

He heard light footsteps coming close to him, "Sova, what do you..." the other drifted off as he noticed Sova's phone, revealing Phoenix who was smiling awkwardly. "Um...Hey Cypher…"

"Damn it.." Sova mumbled, enough for Cypher to hear but not enough to make it eligible. They both stood there in awkward silence, Sova just lost in thought, wondering how long Cypher had stood there. How much did he hear him rambling? What does he think of him now? Would he laugh? Would he-

"Ahem" Cypher interrupted his thoughts, making Sova look at him with surprise. "Ah, Cypher, sorry erm...is...is there anything you need? You don't usually come here at this time of day..." his gaze being unfocused on Cypher's figure, still wondering how the other would react.

"Well, I wanted to borrow something from you but-" Cypher went closer to Sova, making the other move back further until he was being squished by the kitchen counter and Cypher. 

"Your little speech had me intrigued, please, continue." His tone changed, emphasizing the last word. 

He looked away, the nervousness eating at him. He wanted to shrink away and hide away in his bed, wanting to pass out and forget it all. 

"Sasha~ don't keep me waiting." The use of his name had sent shivers down his spine, making him feel even more nervous.

Cypher held Sova's jaw, turning to face him. There was really no escape for him, might as well deal with it now. Might even get his chance to actually ask him out.

"I uhm...well…"

Cypher's digital eyes, piercing through him. Not making it any easier for him to continue.

"No...no matter how many scars...you have...You will always be beautiful in my eyes." Sova blushed furiously all while Cypher kept watching him, unsure of what exactly his reaction was. Sova continued.

"I know that we've had our differences in the past. I hate, no, I regret not looking closer at you. For insulting you almost everyday. For being inconsiderate of you. For not even acknowledging you...If I would've continued to be blind-" Sova then cupped Cypher's cheek, eyes shining as he did so. "-then I would've never been able to tell you how much I...I love you…"

It was silent, seconds passing by as Sova was slowly starting to regret his choice of words. There wasn't much of a reaction from Cypher as he continued to stare at Sova, oh how bad he wanted to rip the mask off, just to know what his reaction was.

"Do you...really mean all of it..?"

"What?"

"Do you really...feel that way towards me?

"Yes...yes I do…"

Another awkward silence, Cypher continued to look at his eyes, trying to find any sort of lies in it. But all he saw was sincerity in them.

After a couple minutes, Cypher slowly lifted his mask up to his nose, revealing the faint scars on his cheeks and nose. His stubble had grown a bit, along with a small mustache on him. Sova thought it looked good on him, his hand gently caressing his cheek all while Cypher leaned in on him. 

Sova then looked at his lips, it looked so soft and kissable, he thought. As if Cypher had read his mind, the man leaned forward closing the small gap between them. Locking his lips onto the other. Sova's eyes widened at the sudden action but later leaned onto the kiss after having a taste of him. 

"I love you too, عزيزي"

They continued on kissing, as if this were all a dream. Hands exploring and grasping onto each other, not wanting to let go. Bodies brushing up against each other and later pushing the other up onto the counter without letting go of their kiss. After a few minutes, they both parted for air. Both of their eyes filled with love yet hunger lurked in one of them, Cypher went in for a kiss again but this time he trailed his kisses down onto Sova's neck, making him gasp. 

"W-wait Cypher, the food-"

"We can have it later, dessert looks much more appetizing anyway~"

"Cypher!" Sova squeaked out, the attack of kisses affecting him greatly.

"Um, you both do know I'm still here right?" Phoenix spoke up but was later disconnected from the call, he then later sent a message to the others, warning them not to go into the kitchen for a long while.

When asked why, all he would say was that Cypher and Sova needed some alone time. 

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (1)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha meets you on an outing with Wanda and does a little digging.

Warnings: dark themes, cyber and in-person stalking

A/N: happy (almost) Halloween! I wasn’t planning on posting this so soon (especially when I just started another series yesterday) but I am having sooo much fun writing this that I couldn’t wait any longer to start sharing it! I hope you like it as much as I do, and excited to hear everyone’s thoughts!

**also if your user is bolded in the tags it won’t let me tag you!**

-

Natasha hadn’t expected anything extraordinary to happen today. Then again, one never does.

The day started with Wanda barging into her room that morning, begging Natasha with her best puppy eyes to accompany her on a trip to a local bookstore. It worked, only because she knew the consequences of not going were far worse than the actual trip. She may even find something she likes there.

The aroma of fresh coffee greets them at the door, inviting and just light enough to avoid crowding their senses. Natasha follows quietly behind her excited best friend, carefully looking over every person that crosses her line of sight. The building was smaller and tucked away from the busy parts of the city, so the traffic was lighter than most places.

“Hi! Do you need help finding anything?”

Your voice is light and upbeat as most customer service voices are, with a bit of genuine kindness blended in. When Natasha turns to meet your eyes, your beautiful and expressive eyes, she finds that your gaze and smile reflect your tone. A rare sight for someone in her line of work, and she welcomed it eagerly.

“I’m good, thank you!” came Wanda’s voice as she hurried off to grab the next books in the series she was reading, and you turned your attention to the red haired woman whose eyes raked slowly over your frame.

“I wasn’t looking for anything, but I do like what I see.” Her words washed over you in a chilling way, somehow warming you in the same moment. “Have you worked here for long?”

“A couple months. I haven’t been in New York very long.” You began to fiddle with your fingers, feeling a bit nervous with the unrelenting attention she gave.

“The position suits you.” She smiled as she picked up on your nerves, relaxing her rigid stance a bit. “You’re very beautiful, by the way.”

“Oh! Thank you!” If you weren’t nervous before, you definitely were now, and you were sure it showed in the way your voice squeaked. “Um, you’re beautiful too. Really beautiful.”

She let out a lighthearted chuckle, and the pools of green seemed to brighten as they continued to hold your gaze.

“Thank you. Those words don’t usually stick unless they’re offered from someone who means them.” She stepped closer, close enough for you to catch all the tiny details of those eyes that never seemed to blink. “I’m Natasha.”

You took her waiting hand as you introduced yourself, silently gasping when her grip tightened a bit, her thumb caressing the back of your hand. The room seemed to quiet around you, and you felt almost like a fly caught in a web without the dire consequences. In fact, you wouldn’t mind staying there.

“Excuse me.”

You ripped your hand away, breaking the heavy moment between you as you turned to the elderly woman with your brightest smile.

“What can I help you with?”

Natasha’s eyes followed you as the customer was led to a different corner of the store, turning when she heard Wanda’s footsteps approaching but never looking away from you.

“Okay, I got what I needed.” She held up her bag of books with a grin, frowning as she heard a few of her best friend’s thoughts and sighing when she followed her line of vision. “No.”

“What?” She finally averted her gaze for the first time since she spotted you. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“You forget I can hear your thoughts--”

“You said you’d stop doing that--”

“--so I know what you’re up to, and I really don’t think you should do that!”

“Wanda…” She stepped toward her with a smile much too sweet for someone like her, placing her hands on Wanda’s shoulders. “You must be mistaken. I’m not up to anything.”

-

Natasha wasn’t even home five minutes before she was tucked away in her room again, working quickly to hack into the bookstore’s database. You were easy to find, given that there were only a few workers and you were the only one with your name. Your address and phone number was scribbled on paper, as well as your work schedule. She then moved onto social media with your full name.

You weren’t on Facebook or Twitter but she found you on Instagram, grinning at your public page giving her easy access. She scrolled through pictures with friends from your hometown, going to their pages and writing their names down too, and then she spotted a picture of you holding hands with another woman.

It was from a while ago and the only time the woman’s face appeared on your account, so you must have forgotten to delete this one with the others, she assumed with the time gap in the dates between the post before and the post after. The picture was captioned “my love”, and it made Natasha’s blood boil, leading her to go to the page of your past love. As much she despised Brittani Gray for having you in the first place, she was grateful for the loose hold that allowed you to slip away, bringing you to New York to be with someone else. 

To be with her.

-

Natasha ate dinner with the other Avengers while sharing her usual laughs and snarky comments, even helping clean up before retreating once more to her room. She exchanged her t-shirt and jeans for an all black pants and hoodie ensemble, throwing a few things in a small bag that she strapped to her back and quietly leaving the room. She sighed when she opened the door to the stairwell and Wanda stood there, body covered in all black clothing and arms crossed over her chest.

“I know where you’re going.”

“Please stop reading my mind,” Natasha sighed heavily.

“I will, if you let me come with you.” She smiled when Natasha raised a brow curiously. “As your best friend, I deserve to know what’s so special about this girl that has you stalking her after a five minute conversation.”

“Fine, but you need to be quiet and stay out of my way.” She stepped toward Wanda, quickly pulling up her hood and tucking her long hair inside of it. “Come on.”

-

Within minutes, Natasha and Wanda were hidden in the shadows of the fire escape outside your bedroom window, watching as you went about settling in for the night. Wanda had enough decency and fear of Natasha’s wrath to look away when you began to undress, but Natasha only stared more. The bra and underwear revealed as your outfit was stripped away were simple enough, yet they stirred something inside of her core as if it was expensive lingerie.

“Look at you,” Natasha found herself muttering as she took a picture, smiling at the screen. “You’re perfect.”

She took a few more as you walked around the room, letting out a frustrated huff when you took off your bra underneath your sleep shirt and pulled your arms through the sleeves. Natasha finally prepared herself to leave when your light turned off, and you couldn’t be seen any longer through the sheer curtains. The two Avengers walked back home in a silence that Wanda eventually broke.

“So Joe Goldberg, what’s your plan from here?”

Natasha thought for a moment. In the beginning her mind was so focused on having you all to herself from the moment you spoke, but now the wheels were turning and her lifelong training was kicking in. And a plan was forming.

“Step one is to take her on a date. Step two is to make sure she knows she’s mine.”

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @witchxaf @sxphiaswitch @sakurat123 @muted-stoneheart @fayhar 

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Notting Hill AU Snippet #10

Kara doesn't call.

Lena doesn't know if she wants her to, of if she just aches for a new kind of hurt, after the sting fades to a throb fades to a bonedeep sense of loss. When her therapist asks, she tells the truth: she doesn't know what she expected by inviting Kara Danvers into her home a second time. It had simply felt... right.

Weeks bleed together, time losing its meaning as Lena trudges through attempts from her friends to distract her. She sees Lex more than ever. He and Nia set her up on more than one date, but not one scratches Lena's surface.

"I could kill her for what she's done," Lena overhears Andrea telling Lex one night. "Look at her: it's as bad as Veronica."

"Worse, even." Lex's voice is low and concerned. He's always good for a laugh, but is at a loss when every single joke lands like a sack of bricks. Lena doesn't hear anymore. She slips out and texts an apology the next morning.

One day, Nia visits the bookshop with Querl in tow. She's radiant with excitement, enough so that even Lena nearly catches it.

"You are going to love me forever," Nia says, offering Lena a slip of paper. On it is written a phone number.

"What is this?" Lena asks.

"The number of Kara's agent in America."

The news hits Lena like a kick to the stomach. Her chest locks, and suddenly it feels like she can't breathe.

"I thought," Nia continues, suddenly nervous when Lena doesn't respond, "now you can finally call her. Now that things have calmed down. Get some closure, if nothing else..."

Lena still can't respond. Finally, Nia curls her hand around the slip of paper for her.

"Just, promise me you'll think about it, okay?"

It lives in Lena's pocket for a week, heavy and foreboding. Twice, she almost reaches for the phone. In the end, she throws it in the waste paper bin outside the shop and walks away.

---

One night, Lena finds herself sitting on her brother's couch. With Lex sitting next to her reading the paper and Andrea working on her laptop in the nearby armchair, the room is quiet. Normally, Lena prefers the silence, but tonight it weighs on her like a lead blanket.

"I should have known better, shouldn't I?"

The question slips from her without thought, marking the first time she's spoken of the great Kara Danvers debacle since it happened. Both Lex and Andrea look at her, and suddenly Lena's eyes fill with tears.

"Maybe-- maybe I'm just not meant for you two have. I should have taken the hint when my first crush fell in love with my brother instead. Spare myself the trouble."

"No," Andrea says, snapping her laptop shut and setting it aside to focus her entire attention on Lena. "No, just because I didn't love you the same way doesn't mean you aren't meant for happiness."

"Yeah," Lex chimes in. "And it's not been all sunshine and roses for us either. But the not so great moments are the entry fee you pay to get to the good stuff."

Lena wipes her eyes. She wonders if this was how the american colonies felt-- taxation without representation. Well, consider this her declaration. She's done.

"No," Andrea says again, recognizing the look on Lena's face. "You don't get to give up, Lena. We won't let you."

"Mmhmm," Lex agrees with his wife. "No one deserves to be happy more than you do. You'll get there... and maybe sooner rather than later."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Lex says, folding his newspaper and handing it over, "that someone's back in London."

"Lex..." Andrea warns.

"What?"

Their conversation fades out as Lena stares at the headline. Kara Danvers Returns. It features a picture of Kara in a ballgown, grasping her academy award with a beaming smile, and a second image of a filming location filled with actors in period costume. The caption identifies the location as Hampstead Heath.

Though the image of Kara brings fresh tears to her eyes, Lena feels a strange sense of calm. Kara is okay. In that moment, she realizes that so much of her anguish was the not knowing whether Kara had recovered from the media blitz that had ended their tryst so spectacularly.

Now she does, and Lena feels... okay.

She coughs a laugh, wiping her eyes again as she stands. "I should go."

"Oh, Lena..."

"No, Drea, I'm okay. Thank you." Lena sniffles. "For caring."

Andrea rises, enveloping Lena in a hug. "I do love you, you know. That's never not been true."

Lena nods. "I believe you."

---

For a few days, Lena thinks the peace of knowing Kara is okay will be enough. But three days after Lex hands her the newspaper, Lena finds herself in Hampstead Heath, walking past horse drawn carriages and crewhands working diligently, eyes peeled for a flash of blonde hair.

She runs into a production assistant first. "Can I help you?" he asks, subtly shifting to stand in her path and keep her from going any further.

"Um, yes, hopefully. I'm here to see Kara Danvers, if she's not busy. I'm a friend."

"A friend," the guy says, clearly unconvinced.

"Yes, as far-fetched as that seems. I--"

She stops abruptly when the sound of a familiar laugh drifts through the air. In an instant, Lena zeroes in on the source, and sees Kara stepping out of her trailer with her agent in tow, her face alight with mirth.

Her agent grins back, clearly pleased with herself as she peels off to head in a different direction. Kara joins up with a trio of other actors heading towards the south lawn of the hampstead manor. They pause briefly, and in that moment Kara turns, and their eyes meet.

Electricity fills Lena from head to toe, rooting her to the spot even as her hand lifts in a hesitant wave.

Kara stares for a moment more, until Lena carefully retracts her hand. Only then does she say a word to her costars and take her leave, closing the distance to where Lena stands with her new friend.

Said friend notices Kara's reaction and stands aside, allowing Lena to approach the picket line marking the boundary of the set. They meet on either side, neither speaking for a long moment.

"What're you doing here?"

Kara's question cuts like a knife, and Lena has to swallow against the sudden lump that rises to her throat.

"I heard you were in town," she says softly, "and I..."

Again, she doesn't know why she's here. She doesn't know what she wants to say or how she hopes this conversation will end. She's just... here.

For now, even with all things unsaid between them, it feels like enough.

"Excuse me, Kara?"

Another production assistant calls for Kara, and the moment shatters. Kara holds up one finger, earning them a few more seconds.

"Um, things aren't going very well, and it's our last day, so..."

"Right, you're clearly very busy, I shouldn't have--"

"But if you could wait?" Kara asks, cutting Lena off before she can bolt. Lena looks at her, and in Kara's gaze she sees nothing but a wary earnestness. "There are... things to say."

Lena feels herself nod. "Of course."

"Okay," Kara breathes. "Great. I'll come find you when I can?"

Lena nods again. Kara leaves, taking all the air in Lena's lungs with her. Lena flexes her trembling hands, then hides them in her pockets when someone approaches and offers to take her behind the cameras.

The walk through the cultivated garden filled with costumed actors is thrilling in its own way, allowing Lena a glimpse into Kara's life as an actor rather than just a celebrity.

"Here," her guide says, passing Lena off to the sound technician. "Bill here can hook you up with some headphones to listen in. The actors are already mic'd."

Lena offers Bill a smile of thanks when he hands her a headset. There's also a small monitor, allowing Lena to see what the cameras currently see-- Kara Danvers running lines with another woman.

"So I ask you when you're telling everyone, and you say..."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Right, and then I..." On the monitor, Kara nods under her lace parasol. "Got it. Thanks, Siobhan."

Her costar, Siobhan, nods, then leans back against the fence behind her. "So. Who was the hottie you were talking to on the way to set?"

With a jolt, Lena realizes that she's suddenly the topic of conversation. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, fidgeting with her headset-- but not removing it. Not yet.

"Oh. No one."

Lena swallows, her cheeks heating with a mortified flush. She was so stupid for coming here-- but Kara's not done.

"Just a friend from the past. It's actually kind of an awkward situation-- I don't know what she's doing here, actually."

The ground falls out from under Lena's feet, making her stomach swoop sickeningly. She tears the headset from her head, and shoves it back into Bill's hands.

"Sorry, I've got to--"

She doesn't bother finding an excuse. She simply bolts, and doesn't look back.

previous / next

[theholycakehole]

Impulsive Decisions || Dream x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Dream x GN! Reader

Warnings: None! Well its my first Dream fic and it hasn’t really been edited so maybe that should be a warning lol but mostly just fluff :) Also use of irl names, idk how Dream feels about that so please let me know if I should change it! :)

A/N: Heyyyy... Long time so see! Um... so here’s a dream fic! I am done my first year of uni now so if yall wanna start up some requests I can try and do that again? Probably will mostly be along the lines of the Dream SMP or maybe even other streamers since that’s what I’ve been interested in lately. My requests have never really closed, I’ve just been inactive, but I’ll try to start writing again!

It was a long night of shifting between games with friends and discord conversations. I combed my hair back as my eyes grew tired as the screen shifted to a victory for the imposters. I sighed leaning back in my chair seconds before I got the last kill of the game, earning Karl and me the win.

“Wow…” Rae spoke up as everyone began to unmute.

“S/N??” Sykkuno piped up from his side of the call. I let out a little tired laugh as I returned to the main lobby.

“I think that was LG for me guys,” I spoke out hearing a few pleas against it. “Sorry, I’ve been streaming for like…” I trailed off checking the time, 12:30, “6 hours now? I’m ready for bed, honestly.”

“I should probably do the same,” Dream spoke up, him being in the same timezone as me.

“You guys really should leave the east coast, PST is where it’s at.” Corpse mumbled as I opened back up my stream chat.

“I know, I know, but I can’t get myself to leave my hometown.” I laughed out as I skimmed over my chat reading the goodnight wishes and the thanks for streaming messages.

“Well, I live on the east coast and I’m fine to stay up.” Karl joked as I let out a yawn.

“Does anyone have any fills?” Toast asked. “If not we might have to end it here.”

“Toast aren’t you in the same time zone as me right now?” I asked out. “Go to bed.”

“I don’t need sleep, S/N.” He commented back.

“Ok fair.” I chuckled as my little character ran around the lobby before going to the computer and messing around with the skins and hats.

“Sorry guys, I think all my fills are done for the night.” Corpse explained to the lobby.

“Its no worries we can always play another time!” Rae reassured everyone. “Well, goodnight everyone!”

“Goodnight!” Everyone chimed before signing out of the call.

I muted myself and ended my stream, forgetting to leave the call. I thanked the donos and read chat, making tired comments. I answered a few questions I managed to catch in the chat before ending the stream. As I was about to leave discord I saw that Dream’s little icon was still in the call with me.

“Lurking much?” I joked as I unmuted my mic.

“I thought you were going to bed?” He remarked with a small laugh.

“Eventually, I just couldn’t use my brain anymore after that last game.”

“I don’t blame you, you played well, y/n.” Using my real name rather than my stream name clarified that he wasn’t streaming either. “If you’re not too tired, we can stay on the call if you want?”

“I’m down, honestly, I’m just winding down before bed.” I mentioned as I checked my phone, opening a few social media apps to catch up on what I missed since starting my stream.

“So, y/n when do you plan on visiting? Sap and I are still waiting for you to come down.” He questioned, causing me to look up from my phone, closing it before setting the device back down on my desk. His camera obviously was not on but I found my attention on his discord profile picture.

“Soon, Clay.” I laughed leaning back in my chair and tucking my legs up to my chest.

“You said that last time.” He laughed a little more tired this time.

“Flights can be expensive, especially so last minute.” I made an excuse as I looked over to my second monitor and found myself googling flights.

“I literally told you I’ll pay for your flight to Florida, y/n.” He teased as I hummed in response, my attention mostly on the travel website I was looking at.

“I’m a big girl Dreamwastaken, I can pay for my own flight.” I chuckled before closing the website.

“Y/n your classes are done now, you have all the time in the world, leave Canada and come visit, please?” I smiled at his question before letting out a yawn.

“Fuck it.”

“Wait really?” Clay piped up, shocked and excitement evident in his voice.

“You made a really convincing argument. When do you want me to visit?” I asked before re-opening the tab and looking at prices.

“Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Thats not happening Clay.” I laughed before finding a date and hovering over the purchase button. “How about the weekend? It gives me time to pack and get some things sorted.”

“Yes! Perfect! This is so exciting y/n!” He smiled, his voice raising a little bit which caused me to laugh. We sorted out the details and eventually booked the tickets and talked about how excited we were for me to come to Florida.

I’ve known Dream for a couple of years now, mostly through streaming with friends. Obviously, I knew of him before because of the Dream SMP and how popular it got. But through the years we have grown close, this even confused fans. Shipping was natural and happened quite frequently, which we ignored in the beginning, but as time passed feelings began to grow. We never talked about it but the flirting and the comments we’d share both on stream and off-stream just felt so right.

We were both faceless content creators, and being this close was quite strange as we have never met or let alone seen each other in person. As I packed my clothes a couple of days later I felt the nerves settle in. I shook off the panic of what if he doesn’t like me or think I’m attractive enough. But it was hard to shake.

I found myself jittery as the plane began to descend. I peered out the window looking at the ground as it grew closer and closer. The nerves grew more and more intense as I knew Dream was the closest he’s been to me since we first met. I felt myself smiling through the panic as I reached to grab my backpack under the seat in front of me.

When we finally were able to disembark the plane I quickly texted Clay that I was here and told him that I was wearing a f/c hoodie so they could find me. I tried to find the baggage claim as I followed the people who were on the same flight as me. My phone buzzed in my pocket telling me that Clay responded.

‘Sap and I just pulled in, see you soon!’

I smiled at his text message and the nerves went crazy, but a huge smile was on my face at the same time. I opened Twitter and quickly started a new tweet to show my audience that I was on, in fact, a last-minute trip. I attached a picture I snuck as I disembarked the plane and made a quick caption before posting and pocketing my phone.

My phone began to buzz from notifications as I plugged in my earbuds and played my music while I tried to locate myself through the airport. As I finally found the baggage claim I stood by one of the conveyor belts and scanned over the luggage trying to find my own. A couple of minutes passed before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I quickly turned around, pulling out my earbuds to see the face of one of my streamer friends.

“Y/n?”

“Sapnap!” I smiled before pulling him in for a hug.

“Hey, how was the flight?” He asked as we pulled apart and stood waiting for my luggage.

“Long enough, I’m just excited I’m here now.” I smiled as I pocketed my phone after wrapping the wires from my earbuds around it.

“Trust me, so are we.” He smiled in return. I saw my suitcase and quickly went to grab it, Sapnap helping me as well. “Clay is in the car, we were struggling to find a parking spot so he pulled up and is waiting for us.” He informed me as he took my suitcase and helped me wheel it out. “He’s nervous.” He mentioned as we grew closer to the doors.

“Trust me, so am I. Other than people in my everyday life, you two are the first to see me in person, or even my face.” I said as I fidgetted with the strings of my hoodie.

“You’re in good hands, y/n, try not to worry.” He smiled softly at me.

We exited through the doors to see a vehicle parked up to the curb. I felt the nerves build up in my stomach as a head of ashy blonde hair exit the car door. A smile found its way onto my face as my eyes lit up. As the man walked around the car he stopped in his tracks and replicated the same, bright smile, green eyes lighting up. I stopped everything and bolted forward pulling Clay into a tight hug.

“You’re finally here.” He muttered into my h/c hair, pulling me in tighter.

“I’m finally here.” I smiled into his green sweatshirt, feeling at ease.

[1ddotdhq]

���Wed 2 Dec ‘20💚

Harry Styles Reacts to Banana Innuendo Rumors by Making EVEN MORE Banana Innuendos part TWO

Good morning/evening/night to Harry’s post and Harry’s post ONLY! (Okay that’s not true but it was definitely a highlight of my day). In case people haven’t seen it yet, it’s Harry in a light blue custom made suit putting a penis banana in his mouth. The picture is captioned “Bring Back Manly Men” so take a suck on THAT Candace Owens! It was only one of many great pictures in his variety shoot (including another, um, fruity picture of him biting into a pomegranate okay Persephone we get it), but Harry did indeed choose That One to post on This, the day after banana necklace dickscourse, BLESS. Harry’s interview was a little more in depth than they have been in the past, touching upon his feelings on race (“Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music. There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change”), as well as his tattoos (the only time he regrets them is in the DWD makeup chair), his love of reading, fashion and art, his exercise routine (Kid Harpoon couldn’t keep up!),  and his feelings on success and acclaim (“It’s never why I do anything...it's always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff...Fans are the best A&R”). 

The problems arose - as they so often do - when One Direction was mentioned. The article said that “The proof [of the band’s benefits] is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members- Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles- each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond”. Leaving aside the bad math (that's 4 people!) one name, of course, is notably missing: Louis has in fact enjoyed quite a lot of success both with Walls (remember when his album went #1 on iTunes in the UK AND the US literally 2 months ago?) and his pre-Walls singles like “Back To You” and “Just Hold On”. It got worse because the author tried to back up her claim with Harry’s quote, “When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band...but we loved being in the band...I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it”. By linking her own words with Harry's quote she made it seem as though Harry said it to agree with her biased take, which we'd know he didn't even if we hadn't heard him say this exact quote without that slant multiple times before. Fans were quick to point out both to the author and to Variety that they were wrong (to describe the reaction mildly), and the author rather than fixing the mistake, doubled down and began blocking fans. Plenty of people were quick to say that of course HSHQ and Harry had approved this content, despite more knowledgeable fans trying to be heard protesting that that is not how it works. (Remember how just recently Vogue got Harry’s whole ass FAMILY situation wrong and it was not corrected until after print, for example?) In fact, even the magazine didn't really proofread this- the print version of the article is different and says, “The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members - Styles, Malik and Horan”, effectively erasing both Louis AND Liam. It's an annoying take either way, but it's one the author more than likely picked up by doing her research on harrie twitter, not on orders from Jeff.

And because we DO NOT STAND FOR LILO ERASURE ON THIS BLOG, let’s talk about Liam’s Web Summit panel! It was 25 minutes of Liam and Marian Dicus (VP of Spotify) being interviewed about the current and future state of the music industry. Both of them, of course, noted that things had changed very quickly in their careers back at the beginning of lockdown, and how it had seemed surreal, at first, but that Liam had found that the way he was operating now (with Veeps and Tik Tok and Instagram lives) had made his platform a two way interaction with his fans. “For a long time I've been living in a dream world where I thought I was speaking with my fans but really I was just talking at them whereas we as artists ask a lot of rhetorical questions... I wanted to start a conversation”. Marian discussed how engaging fans differently WAS one of the most difficult things to puzzle out at the beginning, but that as months have passed, it seems artists like Liam have found a viable virtual future in the music industry (Liam tells us that he's been doing “stadium size shows” on Veeps which is an exciting clue about the mystery of how many tickets they're selling). They also went into the way music trends change as a response to social and political occurrences, how comfort songs gave way to protest songs this summer. Liam said, “People want their artists to have an opinion nowadays it's not that we can stay out of the conversation anymore-- and nor do we feel that we should in many places-- but for me it's a fine line because I realize what I do for people is an escape, people don't want things rammed down their throats every day and news messages from me about things that they don't want to hear about if they've come to listen to music, so its a real fine line that we kind of teeter on”. And about his opening acts, he acknowledges that his fanbase are mostly young women (based on the data breakdowns he gets from his team), and so he feels a responsibility to mentor young female artists in the industry so that more people like his fans have a voice. In an interview full of really fascinating music and technical discussions, this remained my favorite moment from Liam. Just like we won’t erase HIM, he refuses to erase US! And let's not forget our Liam alarm of the day-- it starts out absolutely adorable (“good moooorning!”), is hilarious in that apparently he just rambled completely unscripted and then they awkwardly cut it into 25 parts, but today's installment is frankly not relaxing! “only 23 sleeps til christmas have you done your shopping are you prepared” excuse me Liam YOU ARE STRESSING ME OUT. The promised relaxing sleep story affirmations are still 'coming soon'-- hurry up please I need them to decompress after that alarm!

Now for a lightning round of epic proportions: DWD darling pictures and vids keep comin’ and Harry and Florence are both looking GORGEOUS as Jack and Alice,  after the Variety shoot dropped ‘THE CAPTION’, ‘BRING BACK MANLY MEN’, and ‘LOUIS IS SUCCESSFUL’ trended worldwide on twitter, Tan France said “yes please” to Harry's banana post, Harry reiterated that London was home and he didn’t want to be in LA for longer than he needed to,Variety has its virtual show tomorrow at 5 pm PST so see you there! Veeps is sending out emails promoting Louis’ show to people who bought LP show tickets, fans have already started to receive their Louis Tomlinson Live From London merch, Trinity College in Dublin’s Law society presented Niall with an award for, uh, his Irishness, I guess? (Just kidding, it’s for “his incredible talent and work ethics which is famously underscored by a distinct humility despite unthinkable success”). It looks like he will be giving a talk when he’s presented with it, and I’m honestly really interested to see what it’s all about - is he...gonna be talking to law students? Idk but tune in on December 7th at 12 pm GMT to find out!

[stolethekey]

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

hello! this is for the (final!) @b99fandomevents—i can’t believe how far these two (and this show) have come, and i’m gonna miss them so much. i got to write this for @amydancepants-peralta, who wanted a fic where jake and amy have a disatrous first date, and then amy decides to transfer to chicago—jake has three days to convince her to stay.

enjoy! (you can also read this on ao3.)

It’s their first date, and it’s a disaster.

Neither of them has said anything in the ten minutes since they’ve sat down. Jake buries his nose into the menu, hoping that he looks occupied enough with choosing an entrée to excuse the heavy silence that has settled over the table. A few feet away, in the other side of the booth, Amy does the same thing.

A young man in a pressed suit and tie approaches their table, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes!” Amy nearly leaps at the chance to talk to someone who is not Jake. Jake tries not to feel too hurt by the desperate excitement in her voice. “I’ll take the chicken piccata, please.”

Jake lingers around the chicken parmesan but ends up going with a steak, because he’s determined to show Amy and maybe himself that he can eat like an adult. They pass their silk-embossed menus to the waiter, sip their waters, and suddenly it’s too quiet again.

“You got a haircut,” Jake notices, wringing his hands nervously under the table.

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long, and then Jake says, “This is awkward.”

Amy chokes out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Another moment passes. Jake swallows the non-existent saliva in his mouth. Their waiter, mercifully, returns with their food a few minutes later. Jake doesn’t want him to leave. He does, of course, and then they’re left in that terrible silence again.

Jake makes it through half his steak before speaking again. “Should we, um, just get really drunk?”

Amy grimaces, reaching for her water. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated. “If we can’t do this sober, what’s the point?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s stomach, but he stabs his fork into his a piece of broccoli anyway. - It’s the day after their first date, and Amy asks for a transfer.

Jake learns about this through a wail from the evidence lockup that he hears from a good twenty yards away. He bursts through the door, frantic, to find Charles curled in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Charles gets out the details in between sobs, or at least enough details that Jake gets most of the picture. Amy put in a transfer to Chicago, it’s been granted on account of an emergency vacancy that needs to be filled, and she has three days left at the Nine-Nine.

“Three days,” Charles gasps, tears streaming out of his eyes. “Three days, you have to convince her to stay, Jake, you have to—”

“Hold on,” Jake says desperately, watching Charles dab at his face with a completely saturated tissue. “Let me get you another box of Kleenex.”

He opens the door to leave and runs straight into the source of Charles’s despair, in the flesh.

“Oh,” says Amy.

Jake closes the door behind him before Charles can see her and have a heart attack, then crosses his arms. “Is it true? Are you leaving?”

Amy has the grace to look self-conscious, shuffling her feet and shoving her hands in her pockets. She nods, and Jake feels strangely like the walls are swimming around him.

It just makes sense, she says. She has family there, and New York is too crowded, too expensive, and maybe Chicago is a better place to live anyway.

“Is this because of me?” Jake demands. “Because of…you know…our date?”

“No, of course not.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.

Jake scoffs before stalking past her into the bullpen, ignoring her half-hearted call of his name. He blinks back the hot, furious tears forming in his eyes, and internally he starts a calendar. - On Day One, Jake calls in sick to work.

He responds to the “r u ok??” texts from Charles, Rosa, Gina, and Terry with a copy-and-pasted “I’m ok. Just feeling gross.” He ignores the ones that mention Amy. He also pretends like he doesn’t notice that Amy hasn’t sent him anything.

The morning is spent mindlessly scrolling through his social media beneath his blankets, with no regard for time or his grumbling stomach.

At noon, Charles posts a picture of the squad from Halloween with the caption “Gonna miss my favorite Halloween-hater. #SayonaraSantiago.” Jake decides he’s had enough Instagram for the day and finally hauls himself out of bed.

He orders a pizza, then turns his phone off and the TV on. Inadvertently, the pizza becomes both lunch and dinner and one Die Hard movie becomes a marathon—and before he knows it, the sky outside his apartment is dark.

“Well, that was productive,” Jake mutters, brushing the pizza crumbs off his lap before standing up to toss his trash into the garbage.

On Day Two, they aren’t talking to each other.

Amy looks up almost timidly as he walks out of the elevator, then waits until he reached his desk to let out a small, hesitant “Hi.”

Jake grabs the file waiting for him on his desk and walks out of the bullpen without looking at her.

So, strictly speaking, this is mostly his fault.

That fact does not do anything to quell the mixture of anger and hurt writhing in his stomach. He spends the day furiously completing paperwork in an empty interrogation room, jabbing his pen so furiously into the paper that he rips a hole in an I-918 and has to start over.

At noon, Rosa stops by with a turkey sub, which she drops wordlessly on the desk in front of him before sliding back out the door.

At five, he has completed more paperwork than he has in the last month combined. He drops the stack of files on Terry’s desk, forces a smile, and says, “Finally caught up on all those forms you’ve been hounding me about.”

Terry, his eyes piercing and slightly concerned, does not laugh. “Dismissed.”

It’s Day Three, and Holt has had enough.

He assigns Jake and Amy to label evidence in the lockup together, much to Jake’s chagrin. Amy turns and speeds off without a word. Jake turns towards Holt with a big, reproachful protest on the tip of his tongue but is cut off by Holt’s raised eyebrows and stern expression.

“Peralta, you need to get over yourself.”

“What?”

“You need to get over yourself,” Holt repeats. “Your partner of six years is leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t spoken to her in three days.”

Jake snorts, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, she’s leaving because of me, so—”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Holt says, not unkindly. “If you let her leave like this, you might never get the chance to talk to her again.”

Jake stares at the ground, furiously attempting to dig a hole in the ground with his toe.

“I know you don’t want this to be the way things end.” Holt’s voice is gentle, and Jake can’t bring himself to look up. “It would be unwise to let your pride get in the way of your last chance to save your friendship.”

“Whatever,” Jake mutters irritably, but something uncomfortable has begun to form in his gut. “Gimme that Sharpie so I can go write case numbers on a bunch of ziplock bags.”

Jake does not, in fact, get over himself—at least not for the first few hours. He chooses to instead label evidence in the same furious silence that has occupied his past three days, pretending he doesn’t see the furtive, almost timid glances Amy throws his way every few minutes.

Then he walks to a bodega for lunch and realizes mid-chew that this is Amy’s last lunch at the Nine-Nine, and the uncomfortable thing in his stomach grows a lot bigger.

He finally swallows his pride on his walk back to the precinct, and when he re-enters the evidence lockup the thing in his stomach has started feeling a lot more like guilt.

Amy walks in a few minutes after him, tossing a balled-up sandwich wrapper into the trash, and notices that he’s watching her. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jake says quickly. “I do.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, and Jake’s heart sinks a little.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” Jake says. “For how I reacted, and for icing you out the past few days. It was immature of me, and stupid, and I should’ve been an adult about it, but—well, I guess we both know I suck at that sometimes.”

Amy snorts, but her expression has softened slightly. “Thank you.”

“And I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jake continues, almost determinedly. “We’re gonna make this the best day you’ve ever had at the Nine-Nine.”

Amy laughs slightly. “I don’t think that’s possible, given the amount of work we have left.”

“Who cares?” Jake shrugs. “The best part of work has always been the people anyway.”

And for all the organizational skills Jake may lack, he sure knows how to delegate. All it takes is a couple text messages to a new, Amy-less precinct group chat and the rest of the Nine-Nine is off. Gina cashes in on a favor and gets Shaw’s to close its doors for the evening. Rosa makes a last-minute motorcycle trip to a local party store and uses a sizable amount of cash and her surprising aesthetic skill to acquire a large box of decorations. Charles says, “leave the food to me,” and no one is brave enough to question him about it.

Jake stays with Amy on the floor of the evidence lockup. They talk and laugh as they work, reminiscing about their years at the Nine-Nine and the particularly memorable perps they’ve brought in.

There’s also a supercut of the stuff that wasn’t work at all—the precinct parties, Charles saving Thanksgiving, the Boyle-Linetti wedding. There are the Halloween heists, the Jimmy Jabs, and there’s the Bet, with a capital B. Neither of them mentions the last one, but Jake is definitely thinking about it.

“Remember that time Terry tried to do the full bullpen and almost knocked a tooth out?” Amy asks, grinning widely. “I thought Sharon was gonna pull him out of the force immediately.”

“You have no faith,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I knew she’d let him stay.”

“You did not.” Amy points at him, narrowing her eyes. “You were so scared when she came to pick him up.”

“I was not—”

“So scared. I’ve never seen a grown man visibly tremble like that, but—”

“God, shut up.” Jake throws a balled-up piece of tape at her, and she laughs. It’s a real one, this time, one that’s bright and infectious.

They let it fade into a gentle silence, one that’s more comfortable than the ones of the past few days.

There’s a beat, and then Jake says, “Don’t go to Chicago.”

He expects Amy to be surprised by this change of subject—to recoil and give an affronted, “what?”

Instead, she sighs, long and slow, and closes the manila folder in front of her. “Jake—”

“I mean, I know it’s your decision, and I respect that,” Jake says quickly. “And if you truly meant what you said to me earlier, about how it’s important to be near your family and it’s a better place for you to live and you’ve grown out of New York—if that’s really the reason you’re leaving, then that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll shut up about it and we can just have a big blowout goodbye party and you can leave.”

Amy picks at the edge of her boot and says nothing.

“But if it’s not—if you’re leaving because of what happened on our date—I don’t want to be the reason you give this up, Amy. I know how much you love it here, and this place loves you too. Captain Holt is a phenomenal mentor to you, we both know that, and you might not get that in Chicago—you’ve done so much good work here that I know you’re proud of, and I can’t be the reason you don’t have that anymore.”

Amy looks at him, her eyes a stormy mix of unreadable emotions, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Jake says, splaying out his hands in front of him. “That date was kind of a disaster, we both know that. And I think it’s because we were both trying too hard, because we cared too much. Because we’re friends, Amy, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t care if we never date. I don’t care if I never get to hug you, or kiss you, or do any of the things I’ve so desperately wanted to do. I just can’t lose your friendship. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and an even better friend, and I would be more than happy to just be friends with you for the rest of my life. God knows it’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve plenty,” Amy says softly.

Jake swallows the way that makes his chest flutter. “I’m just saying—I’m laying my cards all out on the table, here. I want you to stay, and I respect it if you don’t want that. But please don’t let me be the reason for you leaving.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Amy gives him a small, wistful smile that says everything Jake needs to hear.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Party at Shaw’s it is, then.”

Amy slaps the last label on a duffle bag, checks her watch, and stands. “I’m actually taking off early—I need to clear up some stuff at City Hall before I leave. I’ll meet you there?”

“Oh,” Jake says, a little dumbfounded.

Amy notices his expression and shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s not—I mean, this has been settled for days, Holt knows, I was always leaving at three today. So it’s not, like, spontaneous, you know. I would’ve told you earlier, but—"

“I was being an ass. Yeah.”

Amy gives him that little sad smile again, and Jake wants to kick a wall. “I’ll see you at the bar,” she says, almost gently.

Jake forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” - When he pushes through the doors of his favorite bar a few hours later, Jake is expecting loud music, streamers, and—if Gina’s Instagram stories were credible—possibly Mario Lopez. Instead, the bar is completely empty.

There are no balloons, no decorations—the only set table is in the middle of the floor, and on it sits a pizza, two salads, and two glasses of water.

“What—what is this?” Jake mutters, mostly to himself.

“A dinner between two friends,” Amy says, emerging from behind the bar. She gives him a small, slightly nervous smile. “And if it goes well, a second date.”

Jake blinks.

“You were right,” Amy tells him, carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to the table. “Our friendship is the most important thing, here, and it means a lot to both of us. I mean, that’s why we were trying so hard in the first place, right? Neither of us wanted it to fail.”

Jake nods in silent assent, not trusting whatever his mouth would say if he let it.

“But it did fail. Miserably.”

“Uh-huh,” Jake says, somewhat stupidly.

“So the worst thing that could happen has already happened, and we’ve gotten through it. And I think—I think, now, having gone through the past few days, we know enough to give it another shot. As long as we set very clear boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” Jake repeats. “Boundaries are good.”

“Yeah,” says Amy with a slightly amused smile. “So, we’re friends. Really good friends. And that’s what we have to protect, above anything. So this is not necessarily a date. It’s a dinner, and we’re a pair of very good friends who are gonna eat it. And if we want to, afterwards, we can decide to call it a date.”

“Can you do that?” Jake asks. “Label something a date after it’s already happened?”

“Who cares?” Amy smirks. “Since when have you followed rules?”

Jake swallows and shrugs.

“Anyway, if it’s awkward, or weird, then we move past it. It’s a slightly awkward moment between friends that doesn’t have to mean anything. No more silent treatment, no more rash decisions, just two friends who are still friends afterwards. Got it?”

“Afterwards,” Jake says slowly. “So—Chicago—”

“Yeah, I’m not going,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling. “That was a dumb thing I did to avoid this guy I went on a terrible date with.”

A broad grin starts to make its way across Jake’s face. “He sounds like he sucks.”

Amy laughs, then pulls out a chair and points at it. “So—pizza?”

The grin on Jake’s face softens into something smaller, something gentler. “Definitely.”

They each take a slice, then a bite, and Jake will never admit it—but it’s the best Meat Supreme he’s ever tasted.

[moldisgoodforyou]

so you lied

warnings: angst :///// but with a resolution

wordcount: 2.5k

______

After two Princess Diaries movies and three bottles of wine into the night, Rafe, Julia and Allie were sufficiently tipsy - Rafe a little more so. He had insisted on ordering pasta to the girls’ house and Julia kept Sophie updated with several Snapchats, captioning the first with ‘your sugar daddy is my favorite person tonight.’ (Sophie just sent back ‘you’re the worst.’) 

“You guys are fun. I miss Sophie though.” Rafe lamented as the movie ended, taking another sip of wine. He hadn’t paced himself as well as the girls did and was amusingly drunk - Julia’s encouragement and constant refills didn’t help. 

“You’ve told us that three times now, buddy.” Allie grinned. 

“Yeah.” He mumbled. “She’s not gonna be happy with me.” 

Julia sat up, eyebrows raised. “Why? What’d you do?” 

“I did nothing.” Rafe paused. “Well. Maybe I did something by doing nothing.” 

Allie frowned and reached over, kicking at his foot. “Spill.” 

“I spilled?” He looked down at his glass and patted his shirt. Julia laughed, shaking her head. “No, Rafe. Tell us what you did. Or...didn’t do.” 

“Oh.” He took another long drink of wine. “Colin told me not to.” 

“I will take your wine away if you don’t tell us.” Julia threatened, reaching for his glass, and he held it back out of her reach. “No! No, I’ll tell. I’m working with Brooklyn.” 

“Like...your ex, Brooklyn?” Allie clarified. 

“Yeah. She’s at my internship and she sucks. I didn’t tell Sophie she’s there.” He groaned, letting his head flop back against the couch. “Soph’s gonna kill me.” 

Both the girls sat there, processing what he had just shared. 

“I messed up, didn’t I?” 

Julia nodded. “Big time.” 

“You have to tell her, Rafe. Soon as you can.” Allie told him, but grabbed his phone out of his hand when he pulled it out of his pocket. “Not now though. You’re drunk and she’ll think something’s wrong.” 

“Ughhhh.” He grumbled. “Colin said I shouldn’t tell her because I shouldn’t make her stress.” 

“Yeah, Colin’s single for a reason.” Julia quipped, rolling her eyes. “Look, I don’t even know this girl, but I know she’s trouble. She made Sophie cry after that gala you guys went to.” 

He frowned, sitting upright. “She cried?” 

“When she told us the next day, yeah. She was pretty upset.” Julia took his glass and refilled it, ignoring Allie’s elbow to her side. “What happened with her?” 

“Sophie?” 

“No, your ex.” 

“Jules.” Allie chastised, sending Rafe a sympathetic look, but he shook his head. “S’alright. Our dads kinda set us up, and she was easy to be with, at first. Then she got kinda, uh.” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “Controlling? I dunno. One time I told her I had to go meet with some girls for a group project, and she accused me of cheating and told me I was a horrible person, then didn’t talk to me for days until I apologized. Which is kind of messed up.” 

“Shit.” Julia mumbled. “You deserve better than that.” 

“I have better, with Sophie.” He pointed out, then sighed. “She’s really gonna hate me.” 

“She’s not going to hate you, Rafe.” Allie handed him a water bottle, tugging a little to take the wine glass away. 

“It’s easy to hate me.” He told them matter-of-factly, and they both frowned, unsure on how to deal with him in his drunken state. “It’s not, bud, we like you.” Julia countered, then stood and offered her hand. “I think it’s time to go home, don’t you?” 

“No, fuck, I can’t go to Colin’s. I’m sober. Wait. No, I’m not sober.” He accepted her hand and let her tug him up, throwing his arm over her shoulders for support. 

“Jesus. Okay. You can stay in what’s gonna be Sophie’s room, but if you throw up, I’m telling her. Five glasses of wine, Rafe, this is weak.” Julia rolled her eyes and he patted her head affectionately. “You guys are the bestest.” 

Allie followed behind them up the stairs, hands out to catch him if he tripped and fell. Once they got up, Rafe stood in the doorway, swaying a little. “We should call Sophie.” 

“It’s, like, 5am there buddy, she needs to sleep.” Julia insisted, steering him toward the bed that Sophie bought before leaving and had thrown a couple blankets on top. 

“Oh, you’re right. She needs her sleep.” He sighed, curling up on the bed and wrapping a spare blanket around himself. “I miss sleeping with her.” 

“Gross.” Allie muttered, nose wrinkled. 

Rafe shook his head, insistent. “No! No, not like that. But also like that. Both.” 

“Okay. We don’t need to hear it.” Julia laughed and tugged his shoes off for him. Allie set a water bottle on the nightstand. “No calling Sophie, okay?” 

“No calling Sophie.” He repeated, nodding. “Angel needs sleep.” 

Julia pretended to gag. “You two are so cute, it’s disgusting.” 

He yawned, pulling the blanket tighter. “I’ll set you up with James again if you want. Sophie said no but she’s not here to decide so we’re allowed to do whatever we want to do.” 

She laughed, subtly taking a photo of him to send to Sophie. “That’s okay. Sleep tight, Cameron.” 

He merely nodded, closing his eyes. The girls left the room, quietly shutting the door behind them. “We have to tell her, don’t we?” Allie asked, frowning. 

Julia shook her head. “No. He’ll tell her, we’ll just remind him in the morning.” She paused, thinking. “He’s good for her.” 

Allie nodded in agreement. “He is.” 

_____

The next morning, a very hungover Rafe was sent on his way out the house with a bacon, egg and cheese bagel and a lecture from both the girls. His head was spinning and he felt nauseous, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the wine or anticipation of having to tell his girlfriend he lied. 

“Omitted the truth,” he had tried arguing with Julia, who promptly socked his arm. “No. You lied. Nice try.”

Once he was home in Colin’s parents house, tucked away in his room, he had to give in. Sophie picked up the phone on the third ring like always, a little sweaty and breathless. “Hey, Rafe, can I call you back?” 

“I - uh, can you talk now?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. She frowned, picking up on his stress and flushed cheeks. “Um, yeah, just let me find a spot to sit. Are you okay?” 

He nodded, not wanting to tell her much more. “Are you running?” 

“No, working out in the park.” She flipped the screen to show a gorgeous grassy green park view looking out over the ocean, with clear blue skies. “I was almost done, anyways, you’re saving me from crunches,” she flipped the screen back, grinning. “What’s up?” 

Out with it, Rafe. He told himself in his head, feeling sicker by the second. “So, uh, you know my internship?” He cursed himself internally the second he spoke. Of course she knew about his internship. 

“Yes…?” 

“Right, yeah. So we have this group of interns, and we’re required to do this weekly events, you know. So, yeah, that’s pretty cool, I guess.” 

Sophie frowned. “Rafe, what is up with you? You look like you’re about to throw up, did you really drink that much last night with the girls?” 

He scowled, trying not to think about the alcohol. “No, just. Thought I just probably share that Brooklyn is one of the interns too. My ex,” he added for unnecessary clarification. 

“Oh.” 

That was it? He thought, pleasantly surprised. “Yeah. That’s all, you can finish your workout. Sorry to bug you.” 

“She’s been working with you? Is this new?” Her tone was scarily even, her face showing zero emotion. 

Oh. So maybe he wouldn’t be getting out of it that easy. Rafe swallowed, knowing he was in trouble. “Um, no. She’s been there since week one like me.” 

“So you lied.” 

“No!” He scrambled to come up with an explanation. “I thought - Colin thought - we figured it might be better to not have you worry -”

Her voice turned incredulous, on the verge of breaking. “You thought it would be better to lie and not tell me, rather than openly communicating? Isn’t that exactly what she did to you?” 

Suddenly it all made sense why she’d heard about three things total about the internship he’d been working for nearly a month. 

He felt his stomach drop and a wave of regret wash over him. “I fucked up, Sophie, I’m sorry. I should have told you.” 

She shook her head quickly, not wanting him to see her cry. “I have bad signal. I have to go.” It was a shitty excuse - the picture was crystal clear - but she hung up right away anyways. Never mind him wanting to say a million more words to apologize, him trying to find the words to explain. He tried calling her back immediately, but she rejected the call - twice - and he figured he should just give her space. 

_______

She called him back at around midnight her time, when he had just gotten home from the store. “Hey, Soph.” He answered with a gentle tone, a little wary. 

“Hey.” She murmured back, equally quiet. “Can we talk?” 

“Should I be worried?” He joked. 

“Rafe.” 

“Sorry.” He immediately apologized. “Not funny. Give me a second to get my things inside and I’ll facetime you?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“Okay. Just a couple minutes, angel, I won’t make you wait long.” He hung up and practically scrambled to get in the house, offering a quick greeting to Colin and his family before locking himself in his room and shoving a towel under the door to soundproof as much as he could, then called her back. “Hi, told you I wouldn’t make you wait.” 

“True to your word.” She mumbled. Her eyes were a little red and puffy, and he could immediately tell she was anxious from the way she chewed on her lip. “Can you just be honest with me, please?” 

“Yeah, anything. What do you want to know?” He frowned, hating seeing her so upset and knowing he was the reason for it. 

“I know you would never do anything, I’m not questioning that. But why did you lie? That hurts, Rafe.” She took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry again. 

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I thought I would be able to avoid her, and I didn’t want to stress you out when you couldn’t do anything from so far away. I’m sorry. I was wrong.” 

“Yeah.” She agreed. “Are you working closely with her? More than you thought?” 

He grimaced. “Yeah. Not just her, it’s all the interns, but we have a dinner or we go to the bar almost every week. And she kinda, um, goes out of her way to hang around.” 

“Oh.” She murmured. “Has she tried anything?” 

“Meaning…?” 

“I don’t know.” She paused. “I don’t know if I want to know that much, actually. You’re right, I can’t really do anything. She knows we’re still dating though, right?” 

He nodded quickly. “I have a picture of us pinned up on my desk, it’s hard to miss. And I’ve made it clear.” 

“Hm.” She scowled, clearly wrestling with how to deal with the situation. “You promise you’ll tell me if she, like, asks you out or something though, right? 

“Yeah, of course. We’re always at work or work events anyways, so. She’s fairly, uh, limited. I think.” He shrugged. “I won’t let anything happen, okay?” 

“I know,” she nodded. “I just don’t like her being around when I’m not. She hardly held back when I was there at the gala, I don’t even want to know what she’d be like without me there. Are you doing alright, though?” 

“Uh, yeah. It’s fine.” He hedged, not wanting to worry her further. 

“You’ve hardly told me anything about her.” She pointed out. “What happened?” 

Rafe winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do we have to talk about it?” 

“No, I’m not going to make you, but. I would like to know.” She raised her eyebrows. “I can tell you about my exes if you want?” 

“Soph -” he started, but she rambled on. 

“Or the guy I lost my virginity to? I think he came in like, half a minute, it was sophomore year -”

“Sophie! No, stop, I don’t want to hear it.” He gave her an exasperated smile and she brightened a little, glad she was able to somewhat turn the mood. “Another time, okay? I don’t really want to talk about her anymore. I miss you.” 

She softened, nodding. “I miss you too. I wish you were here already, I feel like everything reminds me of you.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” He settled back against the bed, content. 

“The mangoes at the market, because you always get that mango smoothie in the library when you’re studying with me. And when this guy Mateo, at work, he has the best handwriting and he writes in that same cursive-print hybrid that you do. Oh! And I got you a shirt yesterday but I can’t show you, it’s a surprise.” She reached across her bed to her nightstand, pushing a brown bag out of view. 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Tell me about this Mateo kid. He’s the one that called you Sofia, right?” 

She raised her eyebrows, grinning at his complete lack of effort on an accent. “Sofía.” She corrected. 

“So-fee-a.” He repeated slower. “How do I say, this is my girlfriend?” 

“Um…este es mi novia. Wait, no. Esta? I’m not sure.” She hid a yawn behind her hand. 

“Tell me more?” 

“In Spanish, yeah. I like listening.” He smiled at her yawn. 

“Alright, let’s see. Um…” She trailed off, going into a slightly stilted description of what she did that day, then gave him a proud smile once she finished. “Not bad, right?” 

“Not bad at all! I mean, I have no idea what you said,” he grinned, “But you sound great. Practically a local.” 

“Shut up.” She yawned again and rolled over, pulling her pillow to her chest. “Tell me about your day. Even the boring stuff.” 

“Alright.” Rafe started telling her, keeping his voice low and soothing, and it wasn’t long before he could tell she was half-asleep. “Sophie, baby?” 

“Mm?” She mumbled, squinting one eye open. 

“Go to sleep. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” She murmured, nodding. “You’re my favorite, no matter what.” 

“No matter what.” He echoed, nearly whispering by now. “Miss you.” 

She was already asleep, her ring resting on its chain around her neck and on top of her pillow. He had half a mind to say something and tell her to take it off, but just watched her for a few more moments before hanging up. 

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

[scoopsgf]

can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it! 

1. 

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

2. 

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

3. 

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

4. 

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it... 

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps. 

[emmaannaelisabeth]

Short Circuit

ahh hi everyone, remember i told you about some new ocs earlier? now you'll get to meet two of them. i hope you like them!lore uses she/they pronouns and honestly that was a challenge to write but i hope i've made them and all of you that use she/they pronouns justice. also even though i'm posting this, the characters might change over time just as we all do. to know where this takes place in the swk au, look at the caption of the post. possible tws: mild swearing.

The blade is already clean, but Ava keeps polishing it with her soft rag. She sits with her legs crossed on the couch, a thin blanket draped over her legs. Her dark hair is up in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands of raven black hanging down, falling over her shoulder. “So how did the lab go? You got teamed up today right? Like you talked about.” Without taking her eyes off her knife, she asks Lore about the science project.

Lore is lying on the floor, her legs propped up against the couch, sticking straight up; their left arm is bent up, her hand resting on the back of their neck. Her wide-legged pants have slipped down to her knees and her feet are bare; the afternoon sun shines through one of the windows and makes the hairs on her leg glitter.

She draws in a deep breath and catches the ball they were throwing into the air. “Horrible”, she answers Ava and throws the ball again, catching it perfectly as it falls down. “I love physics but like for real, I can’t with this guy.”

Ava huffs and raises her eyebrows, glancing at Lore. “That bad?”

“Huh, you have no idea”, they complain. “Saints, my partner.. He’s such an idiot.” She throws the ball again and shakes her head, rolling their eyes. “First of all, he doesn’t say a word. And secondly, he’s way too confident for not knowing the difference between voltage and current.”

“I don’t know the difference”, Ava laughs, lifting up her knife and turning it in the sunlight falling in from the window across the room.

“But you’re not taking an extra science class thinking it’ll go perfect just because you’re a year older”, Lore says and pulls her free hand through her wavy shoulder long hair. “He’s an H guy, he doesn’t know anything about physics.”

“He’s an H guy?” Ava laughs and rolls her eyes. “Sometimes the history dudes should just stick to their trading history.”

“I know”, Lore mutters. “I mean, I chose the Science path because I actually like maths and physics. But this guy can’t even count 37 minus 15 in his head.”

Ava chuckles and glances at Lore on the floor. Their golden earrings glitter in the sunlight and the dark orange patterned scarf around her head makes their green eyes look even greener than they usually are. Her brown hair lies around their head like a halo of mahogany. She throws the ball into the air once more; her open sleeve slides down their arm as she lifts her hand to catch the ball, showing a small golden chain around her wrist.

“Is he hot?” Lore’s eyes widen and their thin eyebrows fly high up on their forehead at Ava’s question. They try to hold back a laugh, grinning, squeezing her eyes shut. They fail to catch the ball and it falls down on her chest. “Well, um”, they begin and pick up the ball before it has rolled away. “He’s got hot potential.”

“Hot potential?” Ava lays the knife down in her lap and looks at Lore, frowning. “As in..?” She trails off and raises her eyebrow at Lore, giving her a subtle grin. Lore turns her head and meets Ava’s gaze and then they burst out laughing. Ava tries not to join, but Lore has got that kind of big broad loud laughter that you simply cannot resist.

“Ah, nah”, they chuckle, shaking her head. “He’s too stupid.”

“What, he’s too stupid?” Ava covers her face with her hands. “Excuse me but have you seen Eskil?”

Lore chuckles, her double chin making an appearance as she turns her head to look at Ava. “Oh, I’ve seen that crackhead almost kill himself, thank you.” They shake their head and squeeze her eyes shut. “What was it last time? Didn’t he try to fry something?”

“Oh Saints”, Ava breathes, leaning back on the couch. “Yes, he tried to cook.” She sighs and blinks slowly. “He almost burned down the apartment.”

Another chuckle passes Lore’s lips and she rolls their eyes. “But like, Eskil is smart”, they say. “This guy isn’t. He connected the wire wrong and short circuited the battery.”

“Eskil would’ve blown up the battery. What’s his name?” Ava asks and raises her eyebrows in excitement. Lore rolls her eyes.

“Mr. Quiet Ass”, they say.

“Seriously, Lore. I wonder if I know him.”

“Mr. Overly Confident.”

“Florence.”

Lore sighs and stops fiddling with the ball. “I don’t know”, they say. “It was something short.” She pauses. “He’s got pretty hands though.” Her eyes are locked at the ceiling. “And a ring.”

“Lore”, Ava says and grins. “You looked at his hands?”

“What? No,” Lore says and frowns at Ava. “I did not, or like of course I had to because I needed to know he fixed it right, the wire.”

“And you don’t remember his name? Saints.”

“No, you know I’m bad at remembering names. I can remember faces but not names.”

“Okay but what does he look like then? And give me a one to ten.” Ava puts her elbow on the armrest and rests her head in her hand, as she waits for Lore to speak. At first, Lore’s eyes widen but then the fragment of a smile flicker’s past her lips, there and then gone. Almost unnoticeable.

“He’s got dark hair, almost black, one strand fell down into his forehead when he destroyed the battery. He wore a knitted shirt and black pants”, they say and frown, squint their eyes, as if to remember everything correctly. It always amazes Ava how good memory Lore has, she can remember what a person wore two weeks ago, and she always pays attention to the little details, like the fact that her lab partner had orange socks and short nails.

“His eyes were grey, almost colourless and he had round glasses”, Lore says. “He had some acne scars on his cheek but you don’t really notice it. He’s got a pretty sharp jawline. He was pretty tall too, just a little taller than me.”

Ava huffs, glancing at Lore, as she tries her best to hide a grin. She doesn’t know who the guy is but from what she can tell, he definitely has hot potential. “And what number do you give him?”

“Three”, they say. “I give Mr. Stupid a three.”

“What?” Ava frowns and straightens her back. “You can’t give him a three if he’s got hot potential. That’s at least a seven.”

“Ah, fine”, Lore sighs, meets Ava’s gaze. A smile hides in the corner of their lip. “Maybe an eight then.”

Ava laughs and raises her fist into the air. “I knew it.”

“Oh, hold on there”, Lore giggles. “He’s still stupid. He’s still Mr. Short Circuit.”

“You told me he was tall”, Ava says.

“That you’re tall doesn’t help when you leave your brains at home.”

Lore shakes their head at Ava, who’s tilting her head to the side, one eyebrow raised. “Nuh uh”, Lore says. “Not gonna happen.”

“Why not? You told me you wanted someone too.”

“He’s frickin annoying! And honestly, he’s not that nice either. He might be an eight but he didn’t say a word to me unless he really had to. I don’t need people like that in my life.”

“Maybe he was just nervous?” Ava tries.

“I don’t like him.”

“You do, I know that face.”

“I hate him”, Lore says and throws the ball into the air again, trying to hide the fact that she’s blushing.

“You don’t”, Ava teases.

“I do, with every fibre of my eternal being I say I do.” They catch the ball and throw it up again with a little more power than the last time.

“You’re not eternal.”

“I still say I do.”

Ava laughs and shakes her head. “Well, you know what-”

The door to Ava’s apartment squeaks when it opens and Eskil’s laughter fills the room with the same warmth as the sunlight does. “Djel, she glared at you the whole time?” he says and the door closes.

“Yeah, she looked so mad. I tell you, if gazes could kill I’d already be buried”, another voice says. “Deep.” Ava recognises the voice as Arie’s, Eskil’s best friend for as long as she can remember, and gets ready to get up and greet them. Lore moved here with her family a month ago and hasn’t had the chance to meet Arie yet. Ava picks up the dagger and stands up, but before she’s taken another step, they’ve entered the room.

Eskil and Arie stand there, the height difference hopelessly obvious in the sunlight. “Oh, you two look like you’re having a good time”, Eskil says, his smile bright as always. Then the room goes quiet. Lore stops throwing the ball as soon as her gaze lands on Arie. “For fucks sake”, she mutters and stares at him. He’s got round glasses, a ring and orange socks.

“Saints”, Ava whispers and the dagger slips out of her hand and cuts deep into the wooden floorboards. No one moves.

“Why y’all so weird?” Eskil breaks the silence, a question mark written all over his face. He looks at Arie; he’s staring at Lore, his back straight and jaw twitching. Then Eskil’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

“Oh.” He points at Lore with one hand and the other at Arie. “So that’s…” He can’t even finish the sentence before he’s bending over with laughter. He wheezes and grabs Arie’s arm, barely even able to stand straight.

“Well, man”, Eskil says and claps Arie on the back, drying tears from his eyes. “I ship it.” Arie turns his head to his friend. Eskil tries desperately not to laugh, pressing his lips together so tight they go white.

“I’m gonna kill you”, Arie hisses and Eskil can’t keep it in anymore. He bursts out laughing and stumbles out of the room as quickly as he can. Arie follows right behind him. Lore covers their face with her hands.