#and 1 entirely platonic friend (except for that one time)

[dannybobany]

Really old oc of mine I decided to draw (because he kinda looks like Basil omori)

He’s so old in fact I was never a good enough artist to draw him how I wanted when I still used him so. Here’s a gift for my younger self :}

[about-faces]

Last night, I was once again struggling to actually write smut for a Harvey/Bruce/Gilda fic, when I noticed a very timely new guest comment on my Gilda fic, Bust. It was the first truly critical response I’ve gotten so far, and while that sort of thing would normally send me into a depressive tizzy, I actually found it really interesting!

So instead of actually writing the ship, as I should have been, I wanted to take this opportunity to think about just why the heck I shipped them in the first place.

Here’s how I responded, with added scans to hopefully better illustrate my point, plus some additions that occurred to me upon drafting this post:

I’m actually glad you raised this point, because I would have felt the exact same as you just a few years ago!

I’m gray-asexual, and I used to be a bit bothered by the rise of Bruce/Harvey shippers, because it was their canonical platonic FRIENDSHIP that mattered so much to me. I gradually warmed up to the shippers, because 1.) I realized I was ace and they probably weren’t, and 2.) they at least understood the importance of Bruce and Harvey’s bond, which is more than I can say for LOTS of official DC media.

Still, something bugged me about the ship, and I realized what it was: the lack of Gilda from the equation. She’s always been deeply important to me, especially her scant older appearances, and erasing her for a Bruce/Harvey ship (even one I’d come to appreciate) didn’t sit right with me.

But like you said, it’s not canon, and I’ve always been deeply invested in canon, even the stuff that’s frustrating and contradictory. So yeah, the throuple would have bugged me too.

Except! It all depends on WHICH canon you’re talking about!

So over the past 15 years, I’ve been obsessed with tracking down the entirety of the obscure, forgotten Batman newspaper comic strip from 1989-1991. I’ve posted the entire thing at @batman-daily, and I strongly encourage you to check it out. A couple years ago, I reread it and noticed something really interesting: the remarkable relationship between Bruce, Harvey, and the latter’s wife, Alice, who is Gilda in every way but name. They are all mutual friends, with Alice even going to visit Bruce alone to help/bully him to take care of himself.

It all reads like a perfect long-game setup for a love triangle, or for Harvey—having become Two-Face—to go after his loved ones in a jealous rage, like he did in Paul Dini’s “Two-Timer,” a story which notably showed that Grace had feelings for Bruce.

With that in mind, consider the final story arc of the newspaper strip, wherein Bruce acknowledges his OWN feelings for Alice and PASSIONATELY KISSES HER, all in a hilariously roundabout way to save her marriage to Harvey! It makes sense in context and is frankly hilarious.

And it works! Because Harvey isn’t jealous! The love triangle conflict you expect NEVER HAPPENS! Because they all love one another! And that love saves Harvey in the very end!

Was it explicitly a throuple? No, but nor have Bruce and Harvey ever canonically touched dicks. And yet the love between Bruce and Harvey in canon is true and real enough that shippers who want to make it sexual are perfectly allowed to do so, because it’s the love that matters. At least, for those of us who aren’t afraid to acknowledge the love between men, platonic or otherwise. And that love is rooted in canon.

So consider this: the mutual three-way-love between Bruce, Harvey, and Alice/Gilda is ALSO canon. That comic strip has been officially accepted as DC multiverse canon in the “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Absolute Edition,” which designated it as Earth-1289.

Furthermore, there’s something else you need to consider: the fact that Harvey HAS been used in love triangles against Bruce in several stories in recent decades. I already mentioned “Two-Timer,” but there’s also Nolan’s “The Dark Knight,” the animated “Gotham By Gaslight” film, and the Telltale game. In various ways, these stories serve to throw a wedge in the friendship between Bruce (the protagonist, whose story serves him) and Harvey (the guy who is going to lose it all, the woman included). I hate that shit. I hate the contrived drama that’s meant to stir up needless added conflict between two men who love each other.

And then, on the other hand, you have Mariko Tamaki’s Gilda story from “Batman: Black and White.” Tamaki depicted Harvey and Gilda being in a distant, loveless marriage, where even on their wedding day, he was constantly ignoring her in favor of work. The only person who could actually get his attention was Bruce.

At the time, this felt an awful lot like that problem I was talking about with the Bruce/Harvey shippers: raising up the gay ship while throwing the woman under the bus. In this case, for the purpose of doing an avenging girlboss take on Gilda. I hated that too, especially when Tamaki didn’t even follow through with the gay subtext in her next, miserable Two-Face comic.

You know that meme of a bride, groom, and best man all kissing one another, while the bride flips off the cameraman in the end? @whipbogard redrew the Tamaki wedding scene as that meme, right around the time I reread the comic strip. And suddenly, everything clicked into place for me.

After a lifetime of never, ever having any serious fandom ships, I fell in love with the idea of Bruce/Harvey/Gilda. Take what the comic strip did and bring it into the mainstream canon I love to spite the canon I hate.

In those great old Gilda stories, she saw through Harvey’s bullshit and knew how to reach him, however temporarily. She could do the same with Bruce. She’d be a valuable third voice for the ongoing toxic relationship between Bruce and Harvey, the one who could love them both while also getting to be frustrated with how fucking stupid and fucked-up both these men are.

Before she was reduced to a ride-or-die killer housewife in "The Long Halloween" (which, I'll grant you, has its own appeal), classic Gilda would actually stand up to Harvey and tell him to cut out his shit or else. I love the idea that she can also see right through Bruce, understanding how very alike he and Harvey are, even if they don't want to admit it.

Writing Gilda this way speaks to me as a longtime fan of both men, while also wanting to try to develop her place, as a woman stuck in the middle of their decades' worth of conflict and angst. She sees these men at their best, worst, and most pathetic/ridiculous, and while she's got the nerve to stand up for herself and call them out as needed, she still loves them nonetheless. For me, Gilda has become the voice for fans just like me, who are helpless to stop Batman and Two-Face from continuing the cycle of violent, toxic friendship, but still loving them nonetheless, and always hoping for the best.

So, at this point, let’s say I’ve at least managed to make you grudgingly accept my reasoning for the relationship. Even if that’s true, I’m gonna guess that the mention of a threesome felt like it came out of left field. I can’t argue with that. I wanted to actually write that as its own smutfic but, being ace, I struggle with that. But I really liked the idea, and as I was writing this, it just really wanted to be mentioned, so I included it.

The response has been positive (until now), which indicated to me that I had been successful in introducing Gilda as a viable third into a slice of fandom which had only shipped Bruce and Harvey. This is fanfic, after all, such things are expected, even encouraged, so I leaned into it.

Now, if I were ever (un?)fortunate enough to write for DC, officially? I doubt I’d have the nerve to go that far. But I’d still want to at least embrace the polycule-coded relationship between those three that we saw in the newspaper comic strip. I think it adds a whole new, refreshing spin on their ongoing dynamics, while being rooted in relationships that were established all the way back in 1942 by Bill Finger.

Finger’s story, at its heart, was all about how love can save a life. How love is the only way to defeat the villain. For Harvey Kent’s part, Gilda’s love was every bit as important as Batman’s unwillingness to give up on his friend. So I’m just taking it one step further within the freedom allowed me by fanfic.

Sorry for the length of the reply, but as you can see, I only came to this shit after several decades of thinking about 80+ years of official material. I hope I have at least been able to lessen your feelings of being jarred out of a story you otherwise seemed to appreciate. For my part, I hope to further develop the potential of this fucked-up polycule in future stories, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll be able to get you on board too. Hope to see you then!

(art by ofossart)

[doublekanble]

heart

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 5.5k

or, alastor is a man of many things, and you believed he can never love without hurting his love. tw: a small paragraph of al eating your heart.

1. “–I was right.”  you coughed, the more you do, the more your voice choked on itself. Your body seized and shuddered with every beat of your heart as blood spew from the wound, already giving up on getting yourself away when you can barely breathe. He wishes he could’ve made it easier for you, but he got caught up. “you really are selfish…”

As the hand he’s holding onto quickly grew cold, Alastor hoped, for all its worth, that when he fall, however long it’ll takes, you’ll find the strength to finally accept his love for you. For now, he set his left ear over your heart, his hair stained red, Alastor listened closely for what he thought was the last time, as you and your life stops entirely.

(having done this time and time again, for the first time in a long time, he felt a longing for warmth, your warmth, the one seeping from you and dissipating with the cold air in the night.)

2. If there is ever a need to described himself, then Alastor would be the first to say that he is a man of many thing.

The charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor second to none. He’s your friendly neighbor who greets you with a smile and a caring friend. He’s the perfect son and an amiable stranger. Everything you want, he will be. Everything, except all you ever wanted from him is someone to talk to.

You’ve always a strong fascination for writing from years gone by. From the gloomy and miserable words of a poor but astute poet, riddled with nihilism and pain, to a long-gone romanticist who wrote fairy tales and chasing love he couldn’t held in his hand, or a myth, lost to time and rewritten over and over again. All the books you ever care to curated in your home is that of the classic and the dead.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so attached to you and the poetry you sewn into existence with clumsy words.

With his unfortunate lot in life despite his mother’s best effort –god bless that woman, Alastor would, in time, learn how to play charade better than anyone else, barely remembering the last time he bother to show care to anyone else with love and honesty rather than bemusement. He doesn’t need moth-bitten books to guide him through conversation when he can just as easily play the role of a salesman, granting you the option to pick between a piece of stale bread or the last supper. But only a salesman in the end, his words and gestures is with all the saccharine and none of the sugar.

Although he could never hope to weaves paintings with his word, ever only a mockery of one, Alastor welcome his shortcoming in strides, as long as people bought into his act. For the love he lacks in his heart, valuable you, his treasured companion, would make up for it all.

In stark contrast to his hidden callousness, you were a much more genuine person. The books and stories you gathered throughout your short-lived life give you a means to convey the feelings that made up your whole existence. In the occasion where he manage to pick the right topic, you would choose to hastily penned out your thoughts, writings border-on obsessive as you speak of vivid strokes of emotions no single word in any language can ever hope to capture. And yet, your heart, enraptured by the scenery, frantically beat so loudly in your chest as you speak of worlds end and death departed with shared poison; it would also spoke of a love so ordinary and mundane.

You’d never mourned the Danish storyteller that chased love endlessly, simple deeming it a life worth living. He wondered if you ever regretted telling him that.

(you sing praises to the odds and the out of sort while cursing at the commonplace of life, Alastor charmed the ordinary and laugh at the macabre death brings. as long as you’re there by his side, he have no need to love anything else.)

 3. Just like everything else about you, your close proximity to Alastor is not the standard, and should always be seen as an exception.

That evening, you both got shooed away after a particularly early dinner, his mother’s only excuses was that you, the esteemed and beloved guest, already help with cooking, so it’s only natural you’ll get to spend the rest of the stay resting up. Even if the most you ever did was being so horrendous at chopping veggies, Alastor ended up taking over your load instead.

He laugh about it, saying that you’re pretending so you don’t have to do the work. His mother slapped him on the back of his head, while he nearly chop off his own fingers, she comforts you about your culinary skill. You smile at him when she turns her back on you both, knowing full well Alastor’s fighting his instinct to throw the first thing in his hand at you.

You two stand awkwardly on the porch and stare at the only available seat before Alastor argues that he did the most work so he should take the rocking chair. You point out how he’s practically whispering in the hope of his mother not noticing, he doesn’t bother to deny it.

After some mindless chatter, Alastor would suddenly joke about how if he were to ever read the same works as you, maybe he’ll be able to conceived a love so vicious and gentle too. You, sitting just by his feet, only gives him a sheepish smile. It wasn’t until before you’re at the front of his door, already bid his mother goodbye and ready to go back, that you would throw a remark at him.

“I think you’re a pretty vicious guy on your own,” you walk the three step down and continued through the front walk nonchalantly, hands in your coat pocket instead of linking with his like usual. “If you were to love someone, you’ll hurt them in the end. Even if you were to read all of my books.”

You stand at his gate. Although you’re waiting to see whether he’s going to go with you, you might as well have been gauging his reaction. Unconsciously, as he catches your gaze, he relaxed his grip and stride towards you like a panther to a sitting duck.

“You’re welcomed to, by the way. Just don’t dog-tag them.” Faint stinging shot through the heart of his hands from where his nails was digging into. His laugh sounds more like choking as he ignores your offer for now.

“Now, I wasn’t aware you have such a dreadful view of me, let alone thinking I can’t – what?” incredulously, Alastor barks “Love?! HAH!I supposed one of us are going to have to break that pathetic news to my mother.”

The moment he reach you, he catches a soft sigh falling from your lips, “It’s not that I think you can’t, Al.” the nickname that he imprinted on your frontal lobe sounded like nails on chalkboard, “It’s that I think you shouldn’t.”

“How delightful…”

You turned and began to walk on your own. If Alastor was anyone else, he would’ve taken this at face value and get offended at your eccentricity.

“And where, pray tell, does these impressions of yours come from?” He snatched your left arm, pulling it from its resting place and do the job himself. You give him a look, he smiles.

“I’ve been watching you.” His expression must’ve been something, enough for you to instantly stop on the sidewalk as you stammered and tries to pull your arm from him. “Not like that you deviant! I was just trying to get a read on you, since everyone kept talking about you being unattached and all.”

“Yes, yes, I know. What now, you want in on the chase? It’s ok dear, I know I’m utterly irresistible!” Refusing to let go of you, he only laugh on as you scowl. It’s well known to everyone that Alastor have been available for the longest time since anyone ever known him. It was also a well-kept mystery, the fact he have never courted a single person throughout his entire life.

“Utterly hogwash, that’s what you are.” Huffing to yourself, you finally would relent your arm to him. Your shared steps echoing across the darkening street, it’s near curfew. “I do have to say, I see what they meant, about you being a good spouse and all that,” He smiles a bit brighter at that, “But I just can’t see you being vulnerable with anyone else. You despises things not going your way, and love just have too much uncertainty!”

“Yes, yes,” he repeats, as if soothing you from a tantrum, “Weak and frail Alastor, the poor soot of New Orleans, unable to tear his ribcages open and show everyone his organs the same way his beloved whimsical friend here does every day ~.” You hiss as he settled his own weight against you with his head on your shoulder, nearly knocking the both onto the ground, “I guess you’ll just have to be with me for the rest of your life then! If you don’t, I’ll simply drown in my own piled up misery! What a life it’ll be!”

“Sure you will. Now get off and take me back home you dramatic coot.”

4. At that time, there was no need for Alastor to inquire your meaning of “vicious”.

In direct contrast to your trusting nature, you’re also perceptive and doubtful to a fault. The first slight of your tongue was a comment on how he can stop smiling around you. Always with that same gaze as you have now, lying underneath him. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he said to you that day. But it was enough for you to stood up and walked from the table with a ten-dollar bill pin under your half-finished lemon tea. The issue was quickly resolved with a phone call to your home, but he quickly learned that you don’t take kindly to – and quite frankly, refused to participate in – saccharine sweet insult.

But at what point did he stop hiding himself and let you read him freely, he thought. If he bit down on his tongue until he bleeds and shut you out like how he did to so many others who couldn’t even take one step near him, then maybe something could’ve turn out differently.

Replaying that moment over and over in his head, for the first time in his life, Alastor think about the concept of love, really think about it. It simply was an aspect of life that he never pay mind to, equating it with romance book and kissing under starry skies, and thus, utterly useless. When he think of love, all he have to go off of is his dear old mother, who sacrifices and suffers so much for him, which, in time, he pay her back with everything he have. His life was only about her and himself and the bodies under the forest floor and it was everything he wanted and more. Until one rainy day, with his eyes on the script he’s writing out for tomorrow’s broadcast, bleary-eyed and hearing the bed calling his name, he thought about you.

When he came to, he already dropped his coffee cup. The brown liquid burns, even through his slipper.

After that, Alastor would start picking out books from your carefully curated shelves, sitting in your armchair and skims through the lines while you spread across the ground like an old cat, he tried to find the feelings that you described to him in the same page you’d read a million times and over. But as he does so, he would soon find that there’s not a single word in any of those old and yellowed pages of yours that is able to captured the quickly spreading rot in his heart. In a frenzied, Alastor would burn through your small library faster than you could ever hope for.

(Alastor knows that time and time, again and again, as long as you’re willing to reach for his hand, he will never let go of yours.

at some point, he’d stop caring about whether you’re willing to at all. why would he, when the meaning of being able to love you became all he care to know at all.)

5.

“You don’t need to love like I do, you know that, right?”

He turns to you, on your stomach, lying in your nest of blankets and pillows with a pencil in hand putting down incomprehensible charcoal shape.

“Bragging now, are we?” he gets up from the armchair and settled down by your side, eyes watching your hand while propping the book he was reading in his lap. You crank your neck and stare at him with a look, “And how are you so sure I want to love like you, dear?”

“You’ve been plowing through my books.”

He sends you a beaming smile, acting innocent while playing with your hair.

“You offered.”

“Aren’t they all the one I told you about?”

Your eyes on the book he’s holding, then the one he just placed back into the shelves. It feels like he’s back in his mother’s kitchen, with his dirty nails behind his back and a poor excuse for the missing bread on the dinner table. Except this time, there’s just you and him in your small living room, and you’re looking awfully smug about it.

Raising his hand in the air, he sigh pitifully, “Ah~, guilty as charged, darling.” and offers nothing else. The silence afterward is enough of a white flag anyway.

Pleased with what you got from him, you turn back to your work, seemingly unaware (or even worse, maybe you don’t care at all) about the gnawing in his chest and the storm raging in his head while his hand weaves through your hair.

The last time you talked to him about love, you more-or-less called him and his love hazardous. While Alastor have no trouble with accepting it from anyone else, with you, it feels as if you’re discarding a part of him to the dogs. Although his knowledge on many topics far exceeds yours, when it came to pure and genuine emotions from the heart, you’d know enough to examine him under all type of love there is, and time after time you’d deemed him impossible to ever love. And despite knowing loving and love is wholly separate, it tears him open to even considers that you’d thought of him as unable to love and be loved and something about it is just so incredibly agonizing to the point of wanting to rip you open so you can see just how unlovable you are too.

But in your living room, sitting right next to you the way no one else is allowed to. He sigh, making sure his words doesn’t come off as unpleasant as he feels.

“If I don’t have to love like you, then how do you supposed I should be doing it?”

“I’m not sure, but hopefully not at all.” You said offhandedly, but you might as well just drove a knife through his stomach, but it’s you, so he let it be, “If you can’t help yourself though, you’ll probably do something really horrible.”

“What do you supposed I’ll do?”

You turn to him, a hint of surprise in your eyes at how close he is now, but you let him be, “Undecided. But you seems like the type to let it eats you alive.”

“I’ll let my love eats me?” Laughing in disbelief, he could almost call you cute with how you nodded to yourself, resolute in your idea about him.

“You’ll let it eats you, yes.”

Alastor chuckled to himself as he tap your sketchbook twice, you hand it to him.

“Well, I’ll need to make sure that I won’t be alone, aren’t I?”

You laugh openly and said that’s true, he’s too selfish to be taken alone. Alastor couldn’t care about how much of that was just more of your usual jest and how much of it is your view of who he is. If you, who love so selflessly and readily, agrees without push back, that someone as selfish as him will doomed whoever it is that he loves so much, then who is he to deny.

At that time, the line of charcoal you put onto the paper come together to show a shadow of a small man dragging a coat by his unseen feet, a mock-up from one of the stories that you loved. Alastor stop wondering if he ever could love something like the poems and stories you’ve read a million times over, instead, he think it’s best if he loves the way you expected him to, the way he can see himself doing.

6. To be loved is to be changed.

You told him this while he stand in your kitchen, trying to shoo you back to the table so he can work without fuzzing over you. And now, while he’s holding you, so cold and so unlike you, Alastor wondered whether you would like it if your bones were to be buried in the same spot as the others.

As much as he’d love to keep it near with him, there’s not a single excuse in the whole round earth that can ever help him convinced his mother of letting him uprooted the garden out back and buried you down there, neither can he bring you with him everywhere. Alastor wants to try taking you to the morgue after he’s done, but how do you explain bringing in a set of skeleton with missing ribs? It’s simple, really.

You don’t.

He lifted you up in his arms and sat back on his sofa, your lulling head settled just below his chin, wanted to savor what’s left of you for just a bit more before rigor mortis sets in and makes you even less of what you are now. The gramophone in the corner of his room spewed utter nonsense as Alastor closes his eyes.

It’s Tuesday tomorrow, but he will have to roll up his sleeves and get to work on cleaning out one of the guest room in his hunting lodge if he doesn’t want the ants to take you first. He’ll have to call in sick, too. Alastor likes to think that when he sees you again, you’ll at least have the will to appreciate the troubles he went through for you and not complaint about being locked up inside. You and the love you have for him, akin to small river, a gentle stream, with orange and yellow leaves floating across, tucked in a forest somewhere. It widdled down the rocks and carved a path for itself. The same one that you oh so heartlessly withheld from Alastor.

You'd appreciate being bury in such a scenery, it’s a shame you won’t be, though your body would’ve made way for the prettiest flowers. But you’ll have to take what he can afford to give. To be loved is to be changed, after all.

(when, not if. having gone on for this long, he’s sure that you’re suspended in between life and death in the hell you refuses to ever believe in. half of him prayed that there’s not a river there so you can drown yourself in it just to forget all about him. the other half prayed you’ll remember nothing at all, even of the literature you love so much.

at some point, where will you stop being yourself? when you forget enough of yourself? Alastor doesn’t need to care about the semantics. he knows he’ll choose you time and again, even if you forget how you love.)

7. You take your time reading through farewell letters.

Unless the cats and dogs on the street can write, then there’s only a few, you kept a significantly smaller number of friends by your side. But it must’ve been hard to even focus with Alastor sitting right next to you.

“Darling, surely we can-“

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already was, Alastor.”

Desperately holding onto your wrist and halted your pace for just a second, he all but plead a hopeless case.

“You’re not thinking straight! Are you really just going to up and leave because someone told you so? After living your whole life here?!”

Your hand, moving like clockwork, already finished with the letters, refusing to stay in his. You pulled back from him and place the rest of the letters in a small wooden box with a deer carved on its lid. “You know it’s not just that.”

In times like these, he wonders if it was himself who have gone mad. As if the whole world is in on one big joke and you are just following along with it. Any moment now, you’ll burst into laughter and tell him that everything is a lie. You’re not moving to Washington to help a friend you know for some years with their business, and you’re not leaving him, not after everything he showed you. But you’re holding onto the letter with his mother’s name written on the front with misty eyes as if you have no other choice. So he held you by the shoulders to the point digging his nails into it and turned you to look at him.

“Then what else is there?! For Christ sakes-“ you look as if this is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do in your life, he felt as if this is the hardest battle he have to fight, “Please, mon Chéri, talk to me...”

Alastor collapse onto you, his whole weight pins you down on your small couch. Head on your chest, he listens as your heart beats just a bit faster. You let him.

“…what do you think we are, Alastor?”

Without hesitation, he reply.

“We are whatever you want us to be. Whatever it takes for you to stay.”

For someone like you, a romantic at heart, just like who he is now, that should’ve been enough for you to at least considers the possibility of forgetting about what’s right and wrong. For sure, it would’ve been enough for you to stay, if you were anyone else.

But you’re you, and he’s only himself. The romantic in you see through his act for the longest time and still fall in love with him, but just like how your love is selfless and kind, it’s also viciously rational. If you were anyone else, you would’ve ignored the rational part of yours.

“I’m sorry, Alastor.” All this time, he was desperately proving himself to you. Doing everything in his power just so you’re willing to forget your rationale and love him just as much as he loves you. “We’ll die loving each other.”

He doesn’t care if he die, Alastor wants to scream out. He’s ready to die to love you, he have been screaming out all this time. But despite all of his effort, you deemed him a love not worth chasing after till death, while he already planned the path to hell with you.

Your fingers, shaky and gentle, brush through his hair. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have to place himself bare and vulnerable like this. But if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t have love you at all. And if it’s death holding you back from loving him, then so be it.

8. For a long time now, Alastor knows you more than anyone else.

You were never a dancer, not by choice either. Its pathetic in the cutest way, how you froze up and refused to move, the way you stutters and try to pull from him only ever makes him want to bully you more. But from the way your brows draws together, to the way you’d tripped over yourself chasing after his footstep, all of it, Alastor earned from you.

From the way you stayed up overnight, to how the bottom of your shoes dragged against the pavement as you walk. From the tip of your pencil, to the bottom of your bookshelves. Every books on your shelves and every sketches. Alastor swear with all his life that no one else knows better than him when it came to you.

He knows intimately the curves you’d penned on your signatures; he knows how you’d change your mind at a moment notice about anything, he knows how you take with you small things on the side of the road that you deemed pretty enough and he knows you still have a lot you want to do here that you’ve told your lovely friend. So it’s only normal for Alastor, the person you grown to love so much, to know exactly why you refuses to even considers being by his side, and it’s just his luck that he also knows just how to write a letter with words just like yours.

So when was it that you got a friend you trusted so wholeheartedly, so faithfully, so much so, you’re your dearly cherished Alastor became a second thought in your mind? Weren’t you a romantic? Weren’t romantics idiots who can’t think straight when it come to love? So why was it that you alone refuses to let yourself love him and remained so loyal to someone you only considered a friend, someone who couldn’t even tell your lettering from his? Was it them? Who fed you lies after lies to captured you in their own hands? Was it them who taught you the telling and sign of a madman? Is that why your view of him was so horrible, you' refused to ever fathom life with him?

He knows you would’ve hated him for this, but Alastor adores you, and sometimes you just don’t know what’s best for you, even when it’s staring at you from across the front walk and following you to your home.

So if someone as rational as you can be swayed back to his lodge for just one more visit, then your friend surely can be swayed too, to come and visit you some other time, down here in your beloved New Orleans.

9. If anyone ever ask anyone else, then they will say that Alastor, beloved local radio host of New Orleans, is a man of many things. But if they were to ask you, then he’s one of the person you cherished the most, and your dearest friend.

He’s everything, the charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor that’s second to none. Alastor plays himself as your friendly neighbor who will always greets you with a smile and a clenched fist behind his back, hiding a stain just on the cuff of his sleeve in the early morning, a caring friend that offers you help just in the nick of time. Alastor is his mother’s perfect son, who spent more time comforting her about your whereabouts than to care for his own fracturing mind; an amiable stranger, gripping the newspaper detailing yet another disappearance with a bit too much force. Everything you have ever wanted him to be, he was. And yet, to his utter bewilderment and maddening grief, you refused to let him be anyone other than a friend you talked to about everything.

In the letters you saved from your beloved pen pal-turn-missing person, they would call you mature and wise. Sentimental words and kind, to his eyes, all are but hollowed gestures advising, agreeing, and offering you a place up in Washington until you can forget all about him and move on with your life, leaving Alastor to be nothing more than a nostalgic blot on the tablecloth, nothing more than yearning in early Junes. Until you forget the fact you ever love him at all, all because you decided that you couldn’t afford to let yourself be love by him.

Keeping all of it in mind, Alastor decides your dear friend should be bury far away from the comfort of your room. Three years, seven months and eleven days after your death, Alastor dragged a body into the woods. Not just any old one like usual, but not anything else too special.

It’s odd, even though you’ve been gone for the more than a year by now, it’s almost as if you’ve neve left his side. Maybe it’s the rest of you, lying peacefully in your nest of pillows and blankets, in your room that he diligently maintain. Maybe it’s your shared books he sometimes takes from his shelves and skims through in the dead of night after a hard day. Maybe it’s the locked box, sitting by his work desk welcoming him home after a night out, the same one he held in his hands, void of blood and anything else.

Or maybe it’s the reverberating sounds of heartbeat, so unlike his own. In both his waking days, in his reveries, over the sounds of the jazz band down in his favorite speakeasy and following him into the woods. Ever so silently, oh-so gently, utterly viciously in his left ear.

In any other case, Alastor finds he absolutely adores the idea of your ghost haunting him until his fell into his grave.

(you said that he should never love because he couldn’t be in control. he mourn the fact you never even let him prove you wrong. Alastor would’ve let you dance on his rotting corpse if that’s what it takes for you to let him call you his.)

10.

Somewhere in his heart, Alastor had hoped that you of all people can evade the hand of rots.

It’s a genuine shame that in the end, all of the words in the world will do nothing to stop you from sharing the lot with the others, he thought, staring down from where he straddled you with his hand peeling off layers of skins and fat. Warm fingers brushes against your hollowed cheek, before raising a small hammer and bringing down onto your bare chest. Alastor wants to preserve you for as long as possible, but to do that properly, he might as well take all of your innards out and sewn you up. It’s not that he’s not open to that idea, Alastor love every part of you. It’s just that he’s sure you’ll be extremely upset when you find out. So he’ll have to get comfortable with doing things the hard way, no matter how hard it is to do so.

With steady fingers in spite of the drumming in his ears, Alastor patiently picks out every pieces of bones he could, placing them into a small, wooden box. With a wistful smile, he closes the lid and set it aside. He miss you already.

Pushing your lungs out of the way, he dig his hands in. With blood runs up to his wrist, Alastor tries to be as gentle as he can while pulling your heart out. One hand holding onto it, another carefully cutting away everything that ties it to your body.

Distinctly, every part of you was always warm, and over time, Alastor, who’s hands are as cold as winter itself, find comfort in your touch. It was almost like you were made just for him, and him, you. And now, with your heart, cold and silent in his hand, Alastor realized what a miserable life it will be to go on living without your warmth with him from now on until he’s six feet under. But it’s ok, he’s sure of it, because above all else, what he’s been chasing after this whole time is in his hand.

For a brief moment, Alastor wondered if he were to meet you in another lifetime, one where you aren’t so complicated and so in love with the idea of living a fair life and a right love, would you have let yourself be wrong and love him. But he’s glad that your love, with all its beautiful intricacies that causes him this much pain, with a wound in it, still look as beautiful as he hoped.

Sinking his teeth into it, into you, the taste of iron and metallic flooded his mouth and drown his senses as he closed his eyes shut and nearly buckled under the taste of you. There’s not a single word in the book to describe the visceral sensations running through his blood and spreading through his every veins. Alastor shivers, the back of his head felt numb, his fever grows as he desperately takes his time and savor you. It’s a shame you can’t last forever, but he’ll take what he can get for now.

(as his teeth tears into your veins, he hears a sounds, so familiar, somewhere in the corner of his ears. it wasn’t until he caught his own heart beating that he realized that the rhythm he’s hearing isn’t his at all.

until the day you two can meet again, until then. he pray he will never forget the sounds of your heart, beating so gently.)

[toffee4you]

Sleepover Headcanons—--

First Years

Content: Prefect!reader, platonic, everyone's rowdy, Sebek's getting clowned on

Other parts: second years, third years

How would the twst boys behave during a sleepover at Ramshackle?

Ace

He's the first friend who comes over (along with Deuce) and only brings his own possessions to the sleepover. That bag of chips he bought? Yeah, they're for himself. Maybe he'll be willing to share if you make a fool out of yourself, though.

Maybe the only sharable item he brought is his deck of cards, but you were quick to ban that due to his habit of cheating.

Ace isn't that much of a handful when it's just Deuce and Grim. They have their usual petty fights, but you're able to meditate it. The real problem starts when more people begin to join; he's definitely beefing with your other friends, namely Sebek. Have fun trying to ensure nothing gets broken!

He's one of the last people to fall asleep out of the first years... And the first to pull pranks on the sleeping ones. First it's Jack, then it's Deuce. He really motivates you to not fall asleep in all the wrong ways.

Deuce

He comes with Ace but ACTUALLY brings snacks and drinks for everyone.

You don't have to worry much about Deuce fighting with others, the only issue is when Ace provokes him into arguing. You'll have to break it up before things spiral into a fistfight.

He falls asleep pretty late, but not late enough to outlast professionals like Ace... Or just exceptions like Ortho. He becomes the victim of getting his face drawn on.

Epel

This is being kept a secret from Vil for... Reasons. You're pretty sure he'll get dragged back to Pomefiore if his housewarden finds out, even if it's a weekend. After all, sleepovers typically mean staying up late.

He mostly brought apples and apple products due to the mass amount of it that he has, but rest assured he brought a game or two as well.

This one right here is the initiator of the pillow fight. He ends up smacking Ace in the face while shouting at him with a thick accent to the point where everyone's just confused, then everything goes in a downwards spiral from there. At least it was fun.... But the only terrifying part was dodging Jack and Sebek. you really wouldn't want to get hit by them, even if it's just with pillows.

Jack

He was just honestly doing his best when he brought protein bars and movie disks. At least the bars are chocolate, so despite how dense they are, nobody minds too much. No one wants to mention his choice of movie genres until Ace does and gets into another small fight.

He's fun to be around since he doesn't rage after games like most of the others (sometimes Deuce is fine). The only issue is that things will get noisy when he catches anyone cheating, so you'll have to oversee the games.

He tries to stay up like everyone else, but since he's so used to his regular sleep schedule, he falls asleep first. He's the victim of having makeup all over his face and getting all prettied up in ribbons and braids. Admittedly, you joined in with braiding his hair and tail.

Sebek

This guy pulls up with his Malleus plushie and immediately becomes the target of jokes within the first 15 minutes of the sleepover. He actually does bring a few refreshments though, which is surprising. You suspect it might have been under the directions of Lilia.

He seems really on edge the entire time since he's not guarding Malleus, but once he gets into the mood of the sleepover, his mind won't be as occupied on it. Plus, Malleus and Lilia ordered him to attend for his own good. He needs peers to hang out with.

#1 game rager, and Ace/Grim are having a field day out of it. He's not good at online games at all, so his only wins are either playing against Jack or playing tabletop games instead.

Watching him chomp down all the snacks starts to make you concerned that maybe there isn't enough at all. Fortunately, an unknown hero (...Ace...) replaced his drink with dark coffee to hold back his appetite. Sebek will try to pretend he can drink it at first before he has to give up, and that's when round 2 of the jokes begin.

Falls asleep around the same time as Deuce, and immediately, everyone wants to test out if his singular lightning-shaped hair strand can actually charge up devices... And Ortho. It's a rumor that was going on for a while.

Ortho

Ace, Deuce, Epel, and Grim get HYPED when he comes because they just know he has all the good games with him. The video games.

He did research on what kind of snacks to bring, plus Idia actually gave him the advice and budget for it so his little brother would look cool in front of everyone!

Naturally, he crushes everyone in online games, but he did try to slightly nerf himself after some of the others game raged.

Surprising good at pillow fights too. He's speedy and able to dodge by flying, plus his power output can be stronger than what it looks like. In fact, he nearly knocked Deuce out cold with a pillow and had to apologize later.

Ortho charged earlier in the day so there's no issues with staying up all night. No one exactly suspects him of being mischievous because they're all focused on Ace, but in reality, he's the ONLY person who gets to have the last laugh at everyone when they fall vulnerable to face-drawing and pranks in their sleep.

Grim

Your little furry friend. He didn't really help you prepare much for the sleepover and kept trying to get into the snacks beforehand, but he's super excited for it.

He talks big everytime he starts a game and rages when he loses, requesting to play something else or to do “another round” until he wins. There is no in-between.

He accidentally sparks jealousy in Sebek when casually mentioning how often “Tsunotarou” hangs out with the both of you, thus causing another fight. It's easier to break up a fight with Grim since you can just grab him and swaddle him. Kitty burrito.

Makes for an amazing pillow or heater when he falls asleep. The only difference between during a sleepover and during usual naps with him is that your other friends get to experience the fluff as well. Note that this does not stop the pranks from happening.

Special: Ouija Board

Epel is the one who brought along an Ouija board, and Ace pushes everyone else to play it by questioning their bravery.

Already, the two people who are fearing this board the most are Sebek, Grim, and Deuce—they won't admit it, though. Each and every one of them is pretending like this game is child's play.

Jack is probably calling this stupid but plays anyways because he won't stand for being called a chicken.

It starts with a simple question of “Are you there?” and ends with panic as the planchette moves to “Yes.”

It seems like everyone forgot there were actual ghosts at Ramshackle, but it was funny nonetheless seeing everyone panic; especially Grim. You would've liked to think that he'd be used to it by now.

When weird rumors about Ramshackle start circulating the school again, you'll know exactly why now. Even Malleus asks about it during his next visit. You might've spotted Rook lurking around the dorm a few times too.

[moni-logues]

Different Spaces

Pairing: Bangchan x reader

Genre: friends to lovers, smut

Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out...

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: one (1) handjob, little bit of cum-eating, that's pretty much ya lot!

AN: YES, she's a MULTI BLOG NOW. And obviously it's Chan. It was always going to be Chan lmaooooo. Anyway, this idea crept into my head last night and then I wrote it today to put off writing something else 😅😅😅 I HOPE YOU ENJOY! It's unbeta'd (except for @minttangerines reading it to make sure it didn't suck lol) so forgive the typos please!!!

ETA: you can now find part two HERE!

*~*~*

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time. 

Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach- 

That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.  

You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.  

You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.  

It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking. 

“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked. 

He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.  

“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?” 

You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?). 

“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!” 

He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute. 

Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather unfresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).  

And it was the same as it had ever been. 

But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.  

And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?  

You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.  

But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.  

And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.  

“Chan?” you said quietly. 

He twisted his head a little. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I... touch you?” 

You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled. 

“What do you mean? We already are touching!” 

You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers. 

“No, I mean... touch you.” 

“Oh, sh-… Uh.”  

You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.  

“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.” 

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.” 

“Are you sure?” you asked. 

He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”  

His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted. 

“You don’-” Then he hesitated. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...” 

Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed. 

“Channie likes it rough, huh?”  

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks. 

“Um, well, uh-”  

He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you. 

“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.  

He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.  

“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?” 

He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go. 

“Sorry, I-” 

“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.  

“Yeah, got it. All yours.”   

“Thank you.” 

You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse. 

“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.” 

He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.  

It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.  

“I’m-.. I’m-…"  

You didn’t need him to tell you. 

“I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.” 

With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.  

“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”  

You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.  

Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed. 

“I can do you one better.”  

You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.  

He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment—you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?  

Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again. 

“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”  

You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction. 

“Thanks.” 

You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased. 

“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”  

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?” 

He looked alarmed for a second. 

“Do you want to take it back?” 

“No.” 

“Good, neither do I.” 

“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.” 

“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!” 

“Chan, you were holding my hand. We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.” 

He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question.  

“You always wanted it?” 

“Yep.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“Because you didn’t want it!” 

“How would you know?! You never asked!” 

“Ok, well, did you?” 

He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic. 

“I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer. 

“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.” 

Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.  

“Do you want it? Now?” you asked. 

“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that. 

“What changed?” 

When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged. 

“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”  

“And?” 

“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here, even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”  

“Fair enough.”  

“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?” 

That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.  

“Since the moment we met.” 

“Shit.” 

“Shit.” 

“I had no idea.” 

He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.  

“So, what now?” he asked.  

You shrugged. 

“You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?” 

“I guess both?” 

“Can I be honest?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.” 

And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.  

“I... am amenable to that.” 

“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?” 

And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands.  

“Fuck, ok, give me a second.” 

You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg. 

“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-” 

You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips. 

“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?” 

He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that. 

“Yes, please.”  

Fuck.  

With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world. 

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.  

[awkward-halfhug]

probably not the best sedative | eleventh doctor x reader

summary: the Doctor takes you on a tour of planets. Your heart almost can't take it

chapter: 1 2 3 4 5

contents: pda, obliviousness, grammar

(also on my ao3)

3.4k

You have a problem. A serious problem. And the Doctor is not helping it in the slightest.

Burr was lovely. Picturesque, just as the Doctor described. And the locals were extremely polite. It was a little odd having people call you things like 'baby' and 'my love'. Much less odd hearing the Doctor call you those, but you were trying not to think about that. In fact, that was exactly your problem.

After the success of Burr, the Doctor apparently deemed you comfortable enough with strange alien customs to take you on a tour of planets with similar 'etiquette requirements'.

First was a planet called Stapleton whose inhabitants thought it rude not to hold hands with your traveling partner, be it family or friend or spouse, what have you. That was fine, for the most part.You were used to that by now; traveling with the Doctor meant running from danger a lot of the time, which meant having the Doctor grab your hand at regular intervals and off you went running.

Still, there was something different about holding hands while running to make sure you don't lose each other on a hostile planet, and holding hands while leisurely strolling through a gorgeous environment, with no baddie on your tails. A main difference, you've decided, is that when you're running, you has no opportunity to think about it. That's definitely not the case when you're just sightseeing. You've had plenty of time to think, and most of your thoughts seemed to circle back to the same simple descriptors. 

Warm. Calloused. Gentle. 

And

Holding mine.

It's such a simple thing, really– holding hands. The Doctor and the Staplers (yes, that's really what they're called) seemed to think nothing of it. But you couldn't stop your hand tingling for hours after he'd let it go, reluctantly almost, upon returning to the TARDIS.

No matter how much you think about it, you still can't wrap your head around how completely normal the Doctor seems to think all of this PDA is. He just walks around kissing and holding hands and calling pet names and doesn't even bat an eye. You wonder if people were like that back on Gallifrey or if that was something the Doctor had just picked up having traveled so much. You wonder if you'll become so cavalier about it in time as well. 

The second planet–or third, depending on whether or not you counted Burr– was Rune, where it was apparently considered rude to be heard speaking aloud, except on the rare occasions when the monarchy made an announcement of some sort, in which case anybody not of royal blood was only aloud to speak their agreement.

This one had irked you a bit. Still does, when you think about it.  How ridiculous and unfair! But the Doctor had been quick to explain that it was perfectly normal for the locals, and that it only seemed strange to you because things are done differently where you come from. He wasn't wrong. But still. Totally unfair.

But that led to the work-around. Whenever you needed to speak to each other, one of you would simply lean in real close to the other's ear and whisper it. This basically meant you spent the entire trip looking like gossiping school children, which, to be fair, wasn't far off from the truth. The Doctor had a lot of amusing commentary on the local goings-on, and especially about the royal family. You'd lost track of the number of times you'd had to muffle your giggles in his jacket. He was better about holding in his laughter, but he couldn't wipe the goofy grin off his face. Incorrigible. You love the dummy.

But like, not– not in that way! Platonically! You love him platonically. In a friend way!

Ahem. Moving on.

The next planet, Penny Isle, was the worst one. In fact, the Doctor had actually been blushing as he'd tried to describe their particular brand of etiquette.

You had to kiss. A lot.

"You have to understand", the Doctor had hurried to explain " it's like punctuation to them. Like, literally, punctuation. They're very big on grammar there; even have a grammar police. Can you imagine? An actual grammar police! I've wanted to go for years, just for that. Of course, that's not the reason I'd be taking you, but that bit's a surprise."

The Doctor had begun wringing his hands nervously. You, on the other hand, are certain you had looked much worse. You had backed up a couple steps to lean against the console, and had started hyperventilating a bit. Sure, you'd sort of kissed at breakfast the other day, but you had written that off in your head as a one-time sort of deal. But this? Kissing the Doctor, many, many times? Technically you could go without kissing very much at all, if you didn't have much to say to one another. Except this was the Doctor and anybody who'd interacted with the Doctor for more than a minute knew how much he liked to talk. That's a lot of punctuation!

The Doctor must have noticed how freaked out you were getting, because he'd started to backtrack, saying something sweet like "Of course, if it would make you uncomfortable, we don't have to go. It's probably not even that great there. How about we head somewhere else, yeah?" He'd gone over to the TARDIS console beside you and started flicking buttons, but he'd paused when you finally spoke up.

"What's the surprise?"

His eyes had flicked to hers, a sparkle in them, before looking back down at the console. "Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? But I can tell you this, it'll be worth it."

'Worth' kissing the Doctor? Repeatedly? A little voice in your head had been screaming 'sign me up!' since he'd first started speaking. You had another, disturbingly quiet voice, telling you it would be a bad idea. But like you said, it was pretty quiet for some reason. And that darn curiosity of yours was piqued with all this talk of a surprise.

"Okay" you'd said. The Doctor's head had whipped toward you like a puppy who'd just been promised a treat. You had tried very had to ignore the implications but you couldn't deny it was flattering.

He'd made you repeat yourself a few times, so he knew you were really quite sure. You weren't, but he didn't need to know that. Before youknew it, you were breathing Penny Isle air and the Doctor was giving you the rundown of everything he'd heard about the planet.

The first few 'punctuations' were easy. Simple little pecks on the lips, over before you could blink. And you were glad for it, too. You couldn't have handled a whole day of those kisses from the kitchen. Particularly not starting out with them. As it was, you had been all nerves at the start; so much so that you'd had to get ahold of yourself when you'd attempted your first sentence with Penny Isle grammar. You kept dissolving into giggles as you leaned in for a comma. The Doctor had been remarkably patient with you, considering how many times you'd failed, just inches from his lips. You'd been literally laughing in his face, which, when a kiss was involved, probably was offensive if you thought about it too hard. Thankfully, the Doctor hadn't seemed to take any offense. He'd just stood there expectantly, fighting to keep a serious face, as though that whole scenario hadn't been utterly ridiculous. By the time you finally managed to hold yourself together long enough to add the 'comma' to your sentence, you had well and truly forgotten what you had been intending on saying to him in the first place.

After those first few, you had decided that it was kind of ridiculous to be stepping in and out of each other's space every few seconds to 'punctuate', especially considering how fast the Doctor could speak sometimes. You imagined you both must've looked pretty comical, so at one point you didn't step back. You'd grabbed his hand, laced your fingers together and leaned into his arm, all the while holding your breath and hoping he wouldn't call you out on how unnecessary it was.

But he hadn't called you out. In fact, he'd squeezed your hand a little, before continuing on in his commentary as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. He even kept unconsciously giving your hand those little squeezes throughout the day. Each time your heart felt like it was being squeezed with it.

Thinking back, you suppose all that time on Stapleton probably does make it almost normal for you to hold hands now. Just thinking about it makes your heart do that squeezing thing again.

Does that mean that the...punctuation...will become normal for them too? Your fingers drift up to your mouth; the phantom-feel of his lips on yours causing them to tingle at the memory.

You shake your head of the thought. Not likely. Especially considering how ridiculous it had gotten.

The kisses had snuck up on you in frequency. You'd almost gotten used to the little pecks he'd give you, or vice versa, while you leisurely strolled and enjoyed the scenery. It had started to become natural, even when they stopped being pecks and started becoming lazy lip-pulling type kisses. You could see how the locals would get used to it. But then he'd started to get excited about something, as the Doctor often does, which meant rambling. Which meant punctuation. Lots, and lots, of punctuation. Thankfully, he hadn't raised his voice in excitement like he normally would have, had their faces not been centimeters apart. In fact, his voice had dropped in volume, nearly whispering the closer they got. Even when he got particularly excited, he would only whisper-yell.

Your poor ears were grateful. Your poor heart, however, not so much. The combination of the hand holding, the close proximity, the whispering, your breaths mingling together, and the punctuation? You're genuinely amazed that at no point during the day did your heart give out given the speed at which it decided to gallop for the entirety of the rest of the day. You can still feel it racing, and you've been back on the TARDIS for several hours now.

All of that sensory input, all mixed together, basically ruled out retaining any of what the Doctor told you the entire day. You'd tried, you'd really tried to pay attention to his words, but you couldn't force your focus away from all the commas, and periods, and exclamation points, and even question marks.

Yeah, that's right, he'd started emphasizing every punctuation mark. You'd had to tell him to slow it down a couple of times, because you were losing the ability to breathe. It had been hilariously ironic having to punctuate that sentence, so you 'punctuated' it with a little laughter too. He'd seemed to get it, though. He'd laughed and blushed and apologized, and had the cutest little 'oops' expression on his face that you had the nonsensical urge to say something else, just so you could punctuate that.

Unbelievably, the police actually approached you both for punctuating too much. On top of that, apparently you'd been punctuating incorrectly. You blamed him entirely for that one. He was doing most the talking, and therefore was obviously the one in charge of the grammar. And furthermore, you hadn't been listening to a thing he'd been saying anyway, so how could you have known he was using poor grammar? You couldn't exactly tell him that part, though. Besides, if they'd asked you, you'd have informed them that his grammar was not poor, whatever their guidelines. You'd have told them he was actually quite good at it. Regardless, you'd been sat down and given a forty-five minute long lesson on the proper usage and mechanics of Penny Isle grammar, including but not limited to, what kind of kiss and where on the face to place it, for each corresponding punctuation mark.

After all that, you'd been let off with a warning, thankfully. The Doctor and you were both kind of curious what sort of punishment the grammar police doled out, but you weren't curious enough to actually test it out. They'd looked so serious that the Doctor and you had had to purse your lips and just nod lest you both burst out laughing. This was made especially difficult when the Doctor leaned in and whispered in your ear "Sure, if you wanna take all the fun out of it". When the police left, the two of you did laugh, long and hard.

Eventually, you got ahold of yourselves. Miming a zipper over your mouth, you pulled the imaginary zipper shut and watched him fake-pout. You unzipped it so you could smile at him, then quickly zipped it shut again. The Doctor had rolled his eyes but after you raised an eyebrow at him and reached for his mouth, he nodded, and zipped his own mouth closed.

You saw the sights in silence for a while. It had been kind of nice. You didn't let go of his hand, but it would've been weird to at that point. Right? Right.

The surprise, as it turned out, was indeed worth any discomfort you may or may not have felt about the whole kissing part of the day.

The Doctor had led you to a body of water when the sun had started going down. Locals had already started gathering in hoards, but with a flash of that blank paper of his, the Doctor had managed to secure you both a place at the very edge of the water. He'd stepped away for a little while, and just when you'd started getting worried he'd miss whatever was about to happen, he returned with two mugs of a foamy beverage. He settled down cross legged beside you on the grass and you sipped on what seemed to be the Penny Isle version of hot chocolate. It was fruity. Neither of you could decide if you liked it or not.

Finally, the show looked like it was about to start. Several platforms you hadn't even noticed before descended from above and came to a stop a few feet above the water. They seemed to hang from nothing, and you could hear no engines of any sort. Spread out on top of the different platforms sat an entire orchestra, poised with their instruments at the ready, and complete with a very short maestro on the center most platform.

The little maestro lifted his baton and his orchestra readied themselves. 

The Doctor had started to speak but was quickly shushed by your fellow audience members. One disgruntled woman in particular had felt it necessary to let out a string of words that you assumed was a highly insulting burn in her culture, judging by the fire in her eyes. Unfortunately, the effect was lost when the woman brought a hand to her pursed lips and blew the Doctor a kiss, while still attempting to set him on fire with her gaze. You and the Doctor had shared a wide-eyed look of disbelief before taking hurried sips of your alien hot chocolate to hide your snickering faces from the lady. Putting down your mugs, you huddled closer together, and the Doctor continued his commentary, this time speaking as quietly as he could, directly into your ear. You're pretty sure he had been telling you how the light show was presented every year by the locals, and something about the how the tradition had started. You can't be certain, however, because what you remember most was, once again, nearly everything besides what he was saying to you.

Like how nice the warmth from his body so close to yours had been, especially with the evening chill.

How the weird alien fruity chocolate thing you'd both been drinking had made his breath hot against your ear, and how ironic it was that that heat had made you shiver.

How that same weird beverage that you couldn't decide whether or not you liked had tasted surprisingly good on his lips. Almost like candy. Delicious, addicting candy.

At some point it had dimly registered in your candy-addled mind that the Doctor hadn't spoken for several minutes, and that you'd been sharing what was possibly the longest punctuation mark in Penny Isle history. You also remember thinking that if you got hauled to jail by the grammar police, it would be worth it. So, so worth it.

Abrupt silence from the orchestra seemed to shock both you and the Doctor and you had sprung apart, looking around like meerkats, as though you needed to remind yourselves where you were and why. You had been pleased to note that you were not the only one of you whose breathing was ragged, and that the dreamy expression that you surely must have had on your face was reflected on his. He was as affected as you, and while you still had no idea what to do with that information, it had put a goofy smile on your face that you tried, and most likely failed, to suppress before turning to watch the show begin.

You leaned into the Doctor's side as you noted the sun dipping lower and lower on the horizon. In moments, the lake was dark, and the audience was as silent as the musicians. For several long, almost reverent, moments, you and the Doctor sat in the pitch black silence, feeling a cool wind nip at your skin and rustle your hair. The Doctor put his arm around you and tucked you into his side so you could leech off his warmth.

A stringed instrument of some sort broke through the silence, so quiet at first that you had thought you'd imagined it. It sounded low and deep, like a cello. But steadily it grew louder, soon joined by several more of the same instrument.

Percussion, deep and strong and startling, started up from what must have been the outer edges of the lakeshore. The effect had been foreboding in the pitch dark, and you had burrowed further into his side. You'd ignored the soft chuckle you felt reverberate through his chest, and focused on the irrational sense of security you felt as both of the Doctor's arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace to protect you from the big bad instruments. 

The steady banging of what you'd guessed were timpani, grew to a thunderous roar and you felt your muscles tense in anticipation of whatever came next. The banging ceased all at once, leaving only a singular cello plucking out a simple, monotone tune that somehow made you more tense than the relentless drums. So when a tiny light lit up in the middle of the lake with a bright twinkling sound almost announcing its presence, you had huffed a laugh of relief. This one light seeming a hero, vanquishing the darkness. One by one, more tiny lights appeared just above the water, all followed by windchimes and the delicate plucking of harp strings.

A sigh fell over the crowd as the glowing lake and twinkling music washed over them all. You felt yourself lean back and melt into the Doctor's embrace, all the tension eased.

As bells and what sounded like flute-playing joined in, you watched in delight as the little glowing lights - alien fireflies it looked like- started to dance! They moved in groups or trailed behind one another in curves and lines, perfectly in sync with the melody. The Doctor whispered about them practicing all year for the honor to perform at this show. He punctuated his statement with kisses pressed to your temple, and your heart fluttered with pleasure. All of it– the airy music, the dancing lights, the light kisses to your skin and the Doctor's warmth cocooning you- had felt like floating in a dream that you never wanted to end. You were so content, so happy, and so relaxed, that you didn't notice when your eyes fluttered shut. You didn't notice the show end. You didn't notice the Doctor picking you up and carrying you back to the TARDIS. And you only barely remember him tucking you into bed and murmuring something into your hair.

Now, having woken up from the best sleep you've had in a while, and running your mind through all the events from the day prior, you keep coming back to this one obvious truth:

You have a serious problem. Because you're pretty sure you have feelings for the Doctor.

thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging/commenting, it means a lot ♡

[puppetmaster13u]

<- A/B/O Anon

HI- *coughs* well, they aren’t exactly headcanons, just ideas I have that I wanna chat about.

I’m on a big Omega!Bruce kick so here they are. (these can or can’t be connected but I do love the idea of them being connected)

1. Brucie Wayne is a known Omega, one that flits from date to date. The thing is, Batman is known as an omega too. This time he’s the embodiment of an Omegan Mom protecting their nest Territory from all threats. Like Omegas used to do in the Olden Times™️, feral behavior and scenting is common >:3

2. A/B/O Dynamics don’t actually exist outside Gotham. Sure, some Gothamites have moved out so A/B/O is known, but isn’t seen outside Gothamites.

So when Dick Grayson came to Gotham he was very confused and didn’t really understand what was going on.

When Bruce eventually scoops him up and brings him home, Dick is even more confused. Atleast in Juvie the A/B/O behaviors were stifled except for posturing, but now outside of Juvie? In the home of an Omega? He’s gonna get the full brunt of Bruce both fussing over him and trying his best to not cross the line of Bruce being his Pack Guardian and not Pack Omega. (Either way, for Dick it’s very much smothering)

It doesn’t click for Bruce or Alfred until Bruce comes sulking to Alfred about his pup being broken and not even accepting being scented! Doesn’t Dick want to feel safe??? No one’s going to touch Dick if he’s smothered in Wayne Scent!!! (Maybe eventually Dick gets startled when he starts to instinctively responding as a pup would/is able to smell scents/feel pack bonds)

3. When Jason gets tossed into the Lazarus pit, it actually repairs his pack bonds. Sure, it’s not perfect, Jason can’t actually reach out through the bonds to respond- but he can feel his Pack’s love, not to mention their desperation to get him back as soon as they realize Jay’s bonds are back. (Talia, meanwhile, is still trying to convince Jay that Bruce doesn’t love him and how he replaced him, but that doesn’t quite work as Jason can feel his Pack’s love- not to mention the absolute adoration coming from the newest, weakest, and youngest link in the pack)

4. And finally four- One of the Robins vanish from the Teen Titans for quite a bit- and when they come back, they’re questioned on where they went. Robin sighs and just says Batman was being broody again, and the Teen Titans just think that Batman was brooding.

In actuality, the Robin had to deal with Bruce being broody in the chicken sense. AKA, “You Are My Child And I Will Keep You In My Nest And Focus Entirely On You And Your Well-being. ..What do you mean taking care of myself? I have to take care of my PUP!”

I absolutely adore all of this. Love the idea of it being a Gotham thing because Gotham is just Like That. Like there's so many curses and magic and who knows how many chemicals that they're like, still human but also just built different.

Gosh, if heats are a thing I like to think they're more platonic. Just, fussing over pack members and being the Broodiest Thing Ever with every family member and will get Upset if one tries to leave the Nest where they are Safe and can be Taken Care Of.

Pfft, the poor Justice League are not prepared for Batman to get broody on a mission and force them all to take care of themselves with no context. They're not his pack, but well, they have fought together and they're sort-of friends, depending on the timeline.

Poor Damian is going to get smothered, Bruce is going to get Very broody the moment Jason returns, and with Another Pup. Tim & Dick get yoinked back from the Titans Tower to be smothered and snuggled and absolutely covered in the family's scent.

Absolutely love the idea of them learning how to be a pup and pack together and am vibrating in utter glee at all of this.

[bizbat]

I Know a Place ~ 1

~ Spiderverse x Fem!Spider!Reader

~ Reader is shorter than Miles, Pav, and Hobie, but appearance is otherwise not mentioned

~ Possible love interest include: Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar, Earth 42 Miles, and Margo Kess.

~ Reader is a newer spider, who, after losing a fight against an anomaly that found its way into her universe, is consoled by her friends.

~ Wc: 1.9k

~ You can find more of my works here

~ Contents include: Fluff, Romance, Mostly platonic as of now, Slight angst, Comfort, Horror, Mentions of blood, Intimate non sexual touch, Slight Yearning.

Somewhere, in New York . . .

A group of teenagers clad in brightly colored spandex suits, sit in a booth at a small cafe. The cafe itself is a cozy, little hole-in-the-wall, known only to those lucky enough to live nearby. The teenagers rest their tired bodies, allowing their muscles to melt into the soft leather seats, as they're embraced by the warm aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon, vanilla, and cocoa.

The calming scents swirled in the air, providing the teenagers a much needed sense of comfort and relief. They chatted amongst themselves, some excited from the battle they had just won, some wearily listening and occasionally providing their own input. All engaging in the conversation one way or another. All except for one.

One of the teenagers sat silently staring into her drink. Her mind, like her peers, was still on the fight the had just walked away from, though unlike them, she wasn't exactly satisfied with the outcome. She tried to focus her gaze on the hot beverage clasped between her hands, and not on the dirt and blood splattered on her gloved fingers.

Everytime she closed her eyes she could still see it.

Horror starts here -

Previously . . .

He was an anomaly, a horrifying variant of the criminal Rhino. He was a massive man with stocky , tree trunk-like stubs for legs. He had huge, muscular arms, his fingers were thick nubs, a solid plate of keratin from his first knuckle to the tip of his fingers. Despite his giant stature, his bodybuilder physique, and his inhuman limbs which were covered in tough, dark grey skin, the characteristic that most caught the teenager's attention was his face. Two massive tusks sprouted from his skull, piercing his flesh, and causing dark blood to leak over his head, face and shoulders.

He was clearly in pain, screaming as he flung any and everything he could lift over his head. Cars, fire hydrants, chunks of sidewalk. Nothing was safe from him in his rampage. He spared no mercy as he threw objects towards innocent civilians. Thankfully, by the time Y/n had gotten there, most of the bystanders had already fled the scene, and the few that remained were quickly moved to safety. The teenager turned her attention back to the rhino-man as soon as the last citizen was safe and secure.

"You really do live up to the n-"

Y/n could barely get a word out before she was flung into the side of a building. She slowly rose to her elbows, her head spinning as broken glass clattered onto the ground around her. She felt something warm and wet run down on cool on her face beneath her mask. She hobbled to her feet the minute the loud, incessant pounding in her head stopped, another quip already on her lips, only to be interrupted once again by a whack to the face. She felt like she'd been hit with a wrecking ball as she flew through the air.

Horror ends here -

She crashed into the pavement, her head smacking the ground that cracked around her, before slowly rolling to a halt. She tried to push herself back up, with what felt like boneless arms. Her arms weakly trembled before collapsing beneath her weight. Fear rushed through her veins as the sound of thunderous footsteps approached her weakened body.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, her fists clenched and her breathing quickened as she braced herself, preparing her body to take more abuse. She felt dread embalm her entirely, her sweat cold on her skin, as the Rhino rose his arms above his head.

But before the Rhino could bring his clubbed fists down upon Y/n's crumpled body, the loud riff of an electric guitar rang through the air.

Her eyes remained closed, as bright yellows, purples, and blues flashed across the sky in blinding geometric shapes. Y/n's stiff body ironically relaxed at the sound of fighting and music, her body and mind fully exhausted. She only began to open her eyes when she heard a familiar voice softly calling her name, gently coaxing her to rise to her feet.

Currently . . .

Y/n sat near the window, strictly gazing into the mug between her hands. She had been so focused on her own moping she hadn't noticed the conversation around her had begun to lull.

"Y/n, you alright there, bruv?"

Her head snapped up, her attention suddenly placed on the british man seated across from her.

"Huh!?" Y/n's gaze drifted to the other teenagers sitting with her, unintentionally now the center of their attention. "What do you mean? I'm fine. I'm okay."

The teenagers around her exchanged glances before turning back to her. "Y'know, it's okay if you aren't okay, though," Gwen, the blonde sitting beside her replied, her voice had been the one to pull Y/n from her pained stupor. Gwen gently placed her cup of hot cocoa onto the table in front of her, before lightly stroking Y/n's forearm with her thumb.

"I know, I'm okay. Really. . . I am." Y/n dropped her gaze back to the hot, sweet smelling beverage in her hands. The cafe the teenagers took refuge in had some of the best food and drinks any of the spider's had ever had. It was a family business, run by an older couple and tended to by their granddaughter. It had been a place of comfort for Y/n since she had come across it while chasing a pickpocket down an alley.

Unconvinced, the rest of the teens sat quietly. "Is it about the fight cause if it is you got nothing to worry about" said miles, a chocolatey ring on his top lip. "When I was 'bout a month into being Spider-man, I had to fight Scorpion." Miles shook his head. "Lost so bad, it was on the news. My mom heard about it."

"Really?" Hobie questioned, taking a bite of his pastry, "That bad, huh", he followed earning a glare from Miles.

"Oh please, that's nothing! When I first became Spider-Woman, I got absolutely wrecked by Doc Oc! I got publically laughed at for two weeks!" Countered Gwen, her hands moving as she spoke. "I couldn't go out without hearing someone laugh about it."

Hobie chuckled, causing Gwen to toss a large marshmallow in his direction, "And what of you, Pav?"

"First of all, what about you, Hobie? You've never lost a fight?" Said Pavitr, flustered at the sudden attention. "Oi we'll get there when we get there, yeah? Your turn."

Pavitr sat back in the booth, his hand raised to his chin as he thought of his most embarrassing loss. "One time I . . . got . . . a got a bloody nose through my mask?"

"Yeah, but did you lose?" Asked Miles.

". . .no. But it was on TV!" Pavitr raised both hands in defence after earning a playful groan from the whole table, "Of course not", and "No surprise there" flying from his friend's mouths. "I'm sure mine will happen sooner or later!" Pav turned to face Hobie once again. "Okay, okay, your turn, Hobie. Tell us your most embarrassing story." Hobie sniffed, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head. "What's there to talk about, mate? I never lose."

"Right." It was the first thing Y/n had said with a smile on her face. Hobie glanced over at her, a soft smile replacing the frown she wore earlier. Hobie straightened in his seat, "Well-I mean- I-This one time right," Y/n laughed at his sudden disposition, "I was just off holiday, y'know, so of course I'm gonna be a bit rusty, a little out of it, y'know," the table began to giggle at his frantic excuses.

"But yeah, I'd just come off holiday, I start to swing around, warm up, got my blood flowing again, out of nowhere, this-this airship comes flying my way, absolutely massive, comes outta nowhere," "Oh it came at you, did it?" Pavitr asked between laughs. "Yeah," Hobie claimed, a faux irritation coating his words "It came at me, Pav man, you even listening? So it comes at me," he continued.

"I'm looking down, hundreds of adoring fans below, all lookin' back up at me, my senses kick in, little too late, yeah, but they do," Miles wheezes at Hobie's erratic retelling, his fist lightly pounding the table, as gwen writhes in her seat with her head thrown back. Y/n and Pavitr exchange glances with tears in their eyes whenever Hobie stumbles over his words or repeats himself.

"I look up at just the right time for the universe to take it out on me, i guess, and then WHAM! I smack into the aircraft, face first, all my fans still watching me as I plumet to certain death, just laughing, like I don't protect them everyday from the cold, greedy hands of a power-abusing, capitalistic, autocratic, and bigoted nightmare!"

By now every teen at the table is in hysterics, laughing so loud the table shakes with all their food and drink. Hobie and Miles have taken the slapping each others arms, as they cackle at Hobie, as Gwen has visible tears pouring down her face.

After being yelled at for being to loud and calming down, the group sits in a pleasant silence. Y/n sighed, yeah, today could've gone better for her, but in the end, she was thankful she had the kind of friends willing to embarass themselves to make her feel better. "Thank you, guys," Y/n mumbled out, a happy yet somber expression on her face, as they began to meander out of the cafe. "For tonight, and for . . . earlier."

"Aye, no problem, Y/n," Miles said, slipping an arm over her shoulder and looking into her eyes, a warm grin spread across his dimpled cheeks. "Any time." Pavitr gently stroked her knuckles with his thumb as he held her hand. The teens took off in the direction of Y/n's home, joking all the way. They saw her safely to her door.

Noticing the time, Gwen turned to Y/n and wrapped her arms tightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I gotta get going," she saldy muttered as she squeezed Y/n. She pulled slightly from their embrace. "But I'll see you tomorrow?" Gwen stared into her face for confirmation, a playful smirk rising to her face as her cheeks heated up. "Bye Gwen, I'll see you tomorrow." Y/n felt her own cheeks grow warm, a little dismayed when Gwen fully pulled her arms from her.

Pavitr swallowed her form in his own muscular arms from behind, resting his cheek on her head. "I have to leave too," He groaned. Y/n giggled as he complained, a playfully sad look on his face. "I'll see you tomorrow too, Pav." Y/n laughed again as Hobie had to physically pull Pavitr away from her, before squeezing her shoulder himself and winking as he stepped through the portal.

Miles was the last to leave, he always was. He wanted to make sure Y/n was okay, having been no stranger to messing up himself. "You good?" Y/n sighed again, but this time it was filled with much less sorrow. She looked up at Miles and felt a warm smile rise to her lips. "I'm good Miles . . . Thank you. Really." Miles shrugged his shoulders as he beamed at Y/n before hugging her goodbye like the others. He lingered, just a bit, before letting his arms slip from her shoulders.

Miles stepped towards the portal, turning to grin at Y/n for the last time that night.

[writingstoraes]

someday 🌅

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine/drabble (angst)

notes: was in the mood for some angst so... lmk what u guys think!

warnings: none that i know! plain angst, unrequited feelings, mutual pining (??) and all that

about: charles has loved you since he was 18.

Charles has done many stupid things in his life. Emphasis on the many — he's lost count, and doesn't even bother to recall which foolish decisions had made its way to his list.

But if he had to name one, if he had a gun to his head and his life depended on it, he has one extremely stupid decision he regrets every single day: not telling you how he felt from day one.

You would think that the Charles Leclerc had the greatest moves of all time, swaying people with his words and charming personality, wrapping people around his finger effortlessly. But when it came to you, he stops in his tracks and forgets the entire English, French, and Italian vocabulary. It was the exact opposite: he was absolutely smitten for you, you've got him completely wrapped around your finger to the point that he'd cancel his plans when you call.

But you were his friend. His greatest friend. More than great, because you've been with each other since you were children, and he'd be damned if he risks losing you by telling you how he really felt. It's stupid, he knows. It's been what, 7 years? He has the courage to drive around a racetrack in a car that goes 300 kilometers per hour yet telling you the three aching words he's been keeping to himself for so long seems to be harder than driving a car with no steering wheel. It's the typical book trope of slowburn and pining, except he thinks he's all alone in this battle.

The moment he met you, he knew he wanted you in his life for a long time. You were his first friend, you even came before Pierre, before any teammate he has ever had. You've witnessed his highest highs and lowest lows, the days he cried over losing a karting competition and even the day he knew he had a spot in the Formula 1 grid. You knew each other better than you know yourselves. Sometimes, no words need to be spoken for you to know what the other needed.

The first day he realized he liked you was a day of intense denial. You had just started dating someone from your high school and it was fair to say he didn't like the guy very much. He'd tell you he thinks the guy was bad news and you should stay away, jokingly might he add. He would get unfamiliar and displeasing twists and turns in his stomach when you mentioned someone else's name. Sooner or later his brother Lorenzo would notice the dagger of a look he sent your "premature" boyfriend, and would make Charles realize that he was just jealous. He didn't want to believe it — you were his best friend, and he can't like his best friend. He tells himself it's just an unwritten rule.

He was in F2 when he realized he loved you. More than a best friend, not just platonic. He had lost a race that was crucial to his chase for the F2 championship and the unrelenting expectations were piling on his shoulders. He runs away, far from the track, ensuring no one else finds him. His family was looking for him, team principal and engineers ringing his phone without halting. But you, you refuse to let Charles wander around alone. Sooner or later you find him, and you don't say anything just yet. You sit down beside him, letting his head rest on your shoulder as he silently let the tears fall down from his eyes. He was craving comfort that day. He wanted someone to just listen, to make him feel that he was still human, capable of mistakes and it's okay — and you did just that. You did more than that.

Ultimately, he decides to never tell you how he felt. He hopes it'll pass, because he was sure you didn't feel the same. But it didn't, it just grew more each day he spent with you.

There was a day he realized his love for you pained him. You knock on his door, tears laced with mascara ink running down your cheeks. In your hands was a torn-up present you were supposed to give your boyfriend. At the time, Charles has made his peace letting you go, to someone you loved, if it meant seeing you happy. He sends you smiles when you run into him and you're with someone else, he helps you pick your outfit for dates, what gift to buy for your boyfriend because you needed a guy's opinion. He tells himself he's okay with it, as long as you're happy, as long as you're in love — even if it's not with him, as long as he gets to keep you in his life. But all that comes crashing down when you face him at his door completely heartbroken. It shatters him to see you this hurt, and he realizes it pains him, greatly, to let you go and be with someone else. He's furious at him for ever hurting you, furious at himself for letting it happen, when he's right here and he could treat you so right and so well.

Charles has loved you for as long as he can remember. He's loved you since he was 18, back when he hasn't grasped the entire concept of love yet. But he knew what it was, and it was you.

He still loved you when he was 20, when he saw you laugh from across the table during family dinner. He's captivated by your smile, eyes almost disappearing as you laugh at Arthur's not-so-funny joke.

He's loved you when he turned 21, the day you flew out to surprise him on his birthday, cake in hand with a cheesy smile on your face, after having stuck only 20 candles on it because you dropped the other one.

Even when he was 23, he loved you still. He finds you at your hotel room in Abu Dhabi, desperately trying to stay awake because you made dinner plans. You greeted him with a smile, even though he was kept late by a team meeting.

He's loved you in every scenario, in every which way. Even now, especially now.

He'd be lying if there weren't times he thought you'd finally reciprocated. The longing stares, touches that radiated comfort yet felt like sparks, he felt it all. Just when he thinks he can come out and say it, he remembers you're just a really good friend. Charles was just merely too afraid to give in to his assumption and face you. Even if he's contemplated about it a hundred times, he chooses to stash his feelings for you in a box and stow it away it in a little compartment in his head. He thinks it's better to just be your best friend, because losing you is something he can never handle. He thinks someday this will pass, but it never has. He doesn't think it ever will.

Charles looks at you — he gets reminders of why he's immensely in love with you. To him, you were his person. His soulmate, his peace in human form. You were his favorite place to go to when he searches for comfort or peace, or even when he's mad, frustrated or sad; being with you just makes it all better. He gets to be his truest self with you, a version of himself separate from the car and behind the whole world who watches him like a hawk, and you love him for it still. His heart swells every single time he sees you in the crowd, looking up at him proudly as he celebrates with champagne and a trophy on the podium. But he loves it even more when you stay with him at his worst races, when his car suddenly stops or he delivers a terrible lap time. You stay amidst the chaos. In the middle of all of it — there you were, with no plans of ever leaving him.

He looks at you — and it shatters him that he cannot love you the way he wants to. So he reminds himself, what's love without a little pain, right? He's willing to go through it, as long as he doesn't lose you. Just as long as he does not lose one of the biggest reasons why he chooses to keep going every single day.

It's not like he hasn't tried to move forward himself. There were desperate tries to get over you. He's opened himself to dating other women, but every time his relationship with someone else progresses, he feels like he's committing infidelity. He had went on dates and dated some, but it never worked. He feels tethered, like there was something pulling him back, and it was you. No matter how much he's tried to move forward, he will always choose to come back to you. Even if it aches him to do so. What a martyr, right?

If he had to take a shot every time a reporter has asked him why he's still single, he would be passed out on the sidewalk for three days. There were conspiracies, theories; complex ones at that. They wonder how can someone so deluriously handsome like Charles Leclerc be single? He's got it all, so how the hell does he not have a girlfriend? Charles Leclerc has definitely not got it all, he thinks. He's got the looks, the talent, all good things except for one — the woman he loves does not love him back. Charles often sends them a laugh, a light chuckle. Their theories were so complicated as to why he was single but the answer was simple. The answer was seated in the motorhome of Ferrari, red headphones on, silently cheering for him.

The thing is, Charles can be a good pretender. But not to the people dear to him. His brothers, Carlos, even Fred, all see the way his gaze lingers on you. They all see the small smile that forms in Charles' lips when you're around or how he laughs at the corniest jokes you tell. They were all thinking the same thing. Charles, was not a good liar. So they wonder, why couldn't you see it?

They wonder to themselves, because not only do they see Charles, they also see you. How your body tenses when Charles seem to get a little to close to a girl, how your eyes sparkle when you look up at Charles on a podium, how relaxed you seem to be when you're in Charles' embrace.

Were the two of you such good friends that the thought of being something more becomes negligible, just so you don't lose each other? Or were you just plain oblivious? Was Charles just wrong?

Charles blinks. He spaced out, yet again. He faces the interviewer, giving her a smile as he adjusts himself on his seat.

"Are we ready?" The interviewer sends a nod to the camera man.

"For the first question of the day, and I am pretty sure you are sick and tired but I will ask you anyway - why is Charles Leclerc still single?"

And there it is. The dreaded, over-asked question. Why was he single? Ah, because there's a small part in him that believes that maybe someday, the two of you could be something more. He hates to admit it, but a part of him hopes, and hopes a little bit more each day.

He lightly laughs, and he looks at you once again. You were a few meters beside the cameraman, watching him be interviewed.

"Ah well, I am proudly single, thank you for asking." He chuckles.

He smiles.

"Maybe when the timing is right. Someday."

He shifts his gaze to you again, smiling small, eyes sparkling. The look of love. Painted on his face was the exact portrayal of love in movies, in books, and in songs. He does not realize it, but maybe he loves you more than he thinks he does. As long as it was you, he does not mind waiting for the right time, even if there's a possibility it won't come.

You send him a smile back, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You tell yourself to snap out of it, to stop looking at him like he hung the stars and invented love itself. He was just your best friend. He probably does not feel the same way. You can't feel this way. It's an unwritten rule.

But there's a reason why you've stopped dating other people for the past 3 years. There's a reason why you look at him ever so dearly and why you were out of reach and out of it when he dated other people. You just haven't realized it yet.

Maybe, Charles was right. All you needed was time.

Someday, you'll realize it. That's when the time aligns, that's when timing becomes just right.

---------

tagging: @slytherheign mwah ily! this is dedicated to her bc not only do i love her but she LIVES for angst so 🫣

notes: my first charles angst? i think? let me know what u guys think! this idea did not stop pestering me so i had to write it before i study, anyway, thanks for reading 🤍

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: M6 in OHSHC

~ I know I missed my regular HCs yesterday, so have this random crossover that's been bouncing around my head since February as an extra! credit to @helshollowhalls for getting this idea off the ground ^.^ ~

-- the M6 and MC in this case are also students at Ouran High School. MC and Haruhi are friends because they are both the relatively normal ones in their friend group. --

Julian

Joined the host club before Haruhi hit it off with MC and invited them to stop by for a visit. He saw the costumes from a distance and assumed it was a theatre club

He still thinks it's a theatre club, just weirder and more flirtatious

He's into it. Attends all the events, takes expectations seriously, and gets so into his roles that he genuinely forgets himself

He likes Tamaki, he does, but it's also a little too much like looking into a mirror so he keeps his performances on the other side of the music room, closer to where MC or Haruhi are sitting ...

His all-leather look is so popular the club has multiple plague doctor themed events, giving Julian an entirely new frame of reference for what having a long list of patients can mean

Genuinely cares about every person that walks through the doors and goes above and beyond to make them smile

Has a dedicated fan club

Desperately wants to be let in on the twin's antics, but every time they include him in their pranks he ends up spoiling them because he can't keep a secret to save his life. Still gets dragged into them

Likes to dote on Honey

Has a personal goal of getting Mori to speak more than 2 sentences to him per day. His personal record is 1 1/2

Fully aware of the fact that Kyouya is the reason the club is functional and has a healthy respect for that

Asra

They ... never officially joined, actually. Everyone thinks they have but they haven't. They just like to show up for shits and gigles

And because MC is there and it's fun to watch them laugh

Does he have a lot of fans? Yes. Does he ever sit with/entertain them? No. Do they somehow believe he's still a host regardless? Yes. Kyouya can never get a non-blurry picture of him

Somehow always has a costume on theme though. Nobody knows where they got it. Renge denies giving him one

Renge also made a mad scramble to study up on gender theory after hearing him say that it was a social construct and goes out of her way to introduce herself with she/they pronouns now

Asra and the twins kept a wary distance from each other for the first week. Then they reached some kind of mysterious agreement in three minutes and have been hell on everyone since

Between the twins' total disregard for social appropriateness and Asra's magical talents, nobody is able to see where the next prank is coming from. (except Muriel. but he's special)

They looove to make Lucio and Tamaki look silly

He's got a soft spot for Mori and a surprisingly good friendship with Kyouya. He sees right through Honey's cute facade and doesn't really care to play into it

They and Honey do have a "naptime is sacred" agreement though

Keeps falling asleep in the piano. (not on. in. it terrifies Tamaki)

Nadia

She joined officially as part time assistant manager when she found out that MC was a regular customer and that Lucio was hosting unsupervised. She sees herself as responsible for both

Until she met Kyouya and realized that Lucio was perfectly under control. And that MC was just there to hang out

Stayed anyways because 1) MC, obviously, 2) Kyouya is her platonic soulmate, 3) she likes having input on the costumes, and 4) she gets to fluster girls as much as she wants to

She and Kyouya have regular sympathy sessions about their respective loud blondes. Kyouya is significantly fonder of his than Nadia is of hers

She is unexpectedly protective of Haruhi's friendship with MC and constantly facilitates more space for them to hang out

Honey is scared of her and doesn't know why. Then he saw her own martial prowess and realized he might have found someone on his level

Mori likes her because she doesn't try to change him

Tamaki desperately wants to impress her. She likes him more than she lets on, if only to let the entertainment drag out a little

She lets the twins get away with way more than anybody expects her to, mostly because Asra's usually involved and the end result is watching MC laugh until they cry

Regularly clashes with Renge over aesthetic visions

Muriel

Has never been interested in joining the club. Will never be interested in joining the club. In fact, he has gone out of his way to hide from the club

Until the hosts thought it would be fun to secretly follow MC when they took their lunch break out in the garden maze and spotted him. Once they did, it was all over

Muriel is not a host, but he has a standing invitation and regularly gets hunted down and dragged along by the twins

Asra doesn't stop them because he knows that Muriel actually gets along with Mori really well and considers him a potential friend

Muriel usually comes by when the club is closed to visitors, if only because of his effect on guests

They either get scared off by his intimidating aura or take it as a challenge. Neither of those things end well

Honey likes to climb on him when Mori isn't available

Part of the twins' agreement with Asra involves no messing with Muriel beyond dragging him in for visits. They find that boring and generally stay away

Muriel has 0 patience for Tamaki, who ends up slowly shriveling into a ghost every time his sparkles are met with a dull eyed stare

Kyouya doesn't mind Muriel being around as long as the club is closed. And because it makes Mori unusually talkative

Renge tried to critique his character once. She needed coffee after

Portia

She's not one of the hosts but she is partners in crime with Renge so she may as well be an official club member

Their novel reading skills combined makes them both ten times stronger and it's terrifying. Nadia won't stop them because she's best friends with Portia, and Kyouya's just ... done with it all

Besides, no harm in letting them run wild when Portia's presence bumps up attendance by 15% because she knows half the school

Oh, and because Portia's the one who really took care of the Lobelia girls

What, you think they just gave up and twirled away, satisfied with being nothing more than a mini-arc? That's what Haruhi and most of the hosts think, but ...

It's got nothing on the Legendary Lesbian Showdown that happened behind the school. That entire strip of greenery is saturated with triumphant girlboss cottagecore vibes

She and Tamaki have the sibling relationship he always craved because he reminds her of another tall, dramatic, moody guy

She likes the twins but they're so scared of her general competency that they just bring her occasional pastry offerings

Loves to dote on Honey, but won't hesitate to parent him either and it drives him up the wall. Mori secretly finds it hilarious

Regularly gives tea serving etiquette lessons to the hosts because it pains her to see them doing it wrong

Lucio

He overheard several of Tamaki's fangirls talking about a handsome blonde guy and mistakenly believed they were talking about him

Got so upset when they corrected him that he went to visit just to see who his apparent competition was

Saw the costumes and daily parties and felt the FOMO so hard that he waltzed right in and started trying to out-host Tamaki

Tamaki only sees Lucio's enthusiasm to be the best host ever and completely misses all the other red flags so he makes him an official member on the spot

Kyouya initially objects, until he notices the boost in visitors due to the never ending puzzle that is Lucio and Tamaki's daily interactions (locally referred to as the "Blonde-Off")

Mori stays way far away from him because he doesn't like being told what to do. Honey stays right up close because he wants a front seat for the chaos. This does occasionally cause tension

The twins have an absolute field day with him - messing up his hair, switching out his eyeliner, leaving banana peels everywhere

Asra only enables them further

The pranks on Tamaki ramp up too, because the Blonde-Off has to stay interesting and they can't give the boss too much of an advantage. That just wouldn't be right

Lucio and Renge have a love/hate relationship over his character because her criticisms are accurate and it helps and bothers him

[charlewiss-writes]

better on you / charles leclerc

masterlist

day 1: hoodie (part of one-word november prompts!)

summary: why seeing you wearing his clothes made his heart race like that? why you couldn't stop smiling after realising it smelled like him?

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

word count: 968 words

warning: poorly proofreaded (? don't know if this classifies as a warning but there's mentions of platonic!mick and pierre too

author's note: so unfortunately i have my main @charlewiss shadowbanned rn:( so I'll be posting everything here until it goes back to normal.

you two were friends. at least that's what you used to say to everybody that asked. your best friend mick, his best friend pierre. even his family. and you weren't lying: you two were friends. if you wanted to be more, well, that was another topic to discuss.

it had happened slowly, and as cliché as it sounded, you didn't realise until it was too late. hell, you had tried to deny it every single chance that you got, thinking that, maybe, if you refused it every time someone asked, it would go away. but it didn't.

at first, you didn't think anything different of it. you knew charles since you two were kids, and knew that he was naturally a very attentive person: always sending good morning and good night texts, asking for your family every chance he got, and talking nonstop to you throughout the day, even when his schedule didn't always match with yours. still, pierre was sure that his friend wouldn't go the extra mile like he did with you. and mick saw how the monegasque looked at you, and specially how he looked at him when you got too close for his liking. the german boy was sure that there was something between you two, even if you two didn't see it yet.

like every weekend off he had during the season, you two would meet at a local café in monaco were you used to spend your evenings when you had some homework to do for school. now, it was just a ritual you liked to keep, to maintain some sense of normalcy. to think that the charles in front of you was the same little boy who you used to know back then. but it wasn't like he had changed. he just grew into the man that he was always meant to be. just a little older, skin thicker after what he had to endure at such a young age: loss, defeat, pain. charles carried himself like he was older, wiser than any guy his age.

still, when you meet its like time hasn't passed for you two. you're sure the laughs you share are pissing the other clients on the shop, but you don't care. you two laughed like old times, telling funny little stories and catching up on what you've been missing, since it wasn't usual for you to go to his races.you two spent the entire day together, but even then, it all fell short. even if you spent a whole week together it would seem short. only a lifetime next to him would suffice. and even then, if you had forever guaranteed, you would still need more of charles. how could you ever get enough?

fuck, you were down bad. and still, you didn't even realize it. or didn't want to face it.

when the owner of the shop had told you sweetly that the shop was about to close, you payed the tab and, without a single question, began walking to your home that was just s couple blocks away. the weather was nice when you two met earlier, but now the wind had picked up, making your arm fill with goosebumps.

"hey, you're cold?" he started taking off his hoodie, wrapping it over your figure. it was still warm thanks to his body heat, and you could smell his perfume on it. why were you suddenly flustered? "didn't realize it would be this cold" you chuckled, and took his hoodie from your back to put it on properly.

you two continued walking and talking about every single thing that crossed your mind. except one.

he wouldn't dare say it to you, but he was absolutely amazed at the way his hoodie looked on you. it was huge, considering he was certainly taller and bigger. charles couldn't hide the smile and sparkle on his eyes, even though he had started avoiding your gaze to try to not get caught. he realized something had changed inside him. it was like something dormant had awakened.

all the sleepless nights talking, even when he should've been asleep. all the times he had talked to pierre about you. all the resentment he has built toward mick, even though he didn't deserve it, just because he was the one making you laugh. all the anger he had towards him, cause he was too coward to do anything about his feelings, being scared that you would reject him. he knew he didn't want to fuck it up. after all, you two were the closest friends, meaning that your family was close too, and he didn't want to mess it up just because he wanted to follow the lead his stupid heart dictated.

too engulfed in his own thoughts, and at the same time, on your conversation, that he hadn't noticed that you had already arrived to your destination. fuck, if he would've noticed he would've walked slowly. just to get a couple more minutes with you. a triple header was coming, meaning that you would see eachother for nearly a month. these were the hardest parts of the season for you both, even if you hadn't mentioned it to one another.

"this is yours" your voice brought him back to reality, grounding him. you extended your arm, intending to give back the piece of clothing you desperately wanted to keep. it had made you feel closer to him, even though he was by your side the whole walk home.

"no, no, keep it on. it looks better on you anyways" said charles, smiling now. he got closer to you, so he could give you a big hug that lingered for a bit too long, and left you feeling more warm and fuzzy that hoodie could ever give you.

[thelureking]

I had this idea to make a list of all the games I played in 2022, half as a recommendation list, and half because I struggle to remember when I played what. I have a really bad time ranking stuff, so I'll just list them chronologically (or, as chronologically as I can remember).

Note: Sometimes I dont have a lot to say about a game, but that doesnt mean I didn't like it or that it isn't good.

So, with that being said:

1) Our Life: Beginnings and Always

This game has put visual novels on another level entirely. How must I go on knowing that I will never be treated like royalty by any other game like this did. Our Life tells the story of your friendship and/or romance with Cove Holden, your new neighbor. This Visual Novel remembers an insane amount of stuff you choose, and it can put you in the state of mentioning something you did as a kid that you completely forgot about. I actually really liked how you can go the entire game as just friends, or choose when your character develops romantic feelings. I cannot overstate how well made this entire thing is. Can't wait to play the DLCs and for the sequel to be released.

Absolute recommend.

2) Iron Lung

If you have a computer, you can play it. It is not an option.

Claustrophobic above all, this game captures the pure dread of the unknown, building tension and atmosphere as you travel through this unknown planet's red sea. Highly recommended.

3) An Outcry

Amazing game that I don't see enough people talking about. The first game that made me actually physically ill while playing an alternative route. I don't know what hit me the most, the subject matter or the type of person I played in that route, a person I know exists and maybe I've met, a person I hope I never become. I knew what the game was specifically referencing, but I found it good that it was able to trigger that response on someone who lives in an entirely different place, with different historical events, but with enough similarities that made the feeling of dread and disgust that much real. Its message is clear and loud as it should be, and one that I think maybe now more than ever needs to be heard. I cannot recommend this game enough.

4) Stillwater

Now this is a Visual Novel that I really liked and would have loved for it to be longer, but I love it as it is. It left me wanting more about the world and its characters, and I think that's a good thing. It feels unfair that this is the one I typed the least about, knowing how much I liked it. It's really worth the read/play.

5) The Caribbean Sail

Have you ever wanted to be a sailor or a pirate? Have you ever wanted to grab a ship, sail into unknown destinations, encounter supernatural phenomenons and watch as your fellow crew members die of disentry five seconds after leaving your first port? Because if so, I have the perfect game for you. It's inspired by the Oregon Trail game, and that's literally what the gameplay is like, except on the sea. Which was enough of a selling point for me.

6) Carrion

My child, it has every disease. Loved the concept when I saw the trailer, forgot I can actually buy games now, and then proceeded to do that. Being able to live my fantasies of being a flesh creature that destroys and eats everything in its path was a delight. The creature is my child and I love it very much.

We need more games that let you play as the monster, I'm serious.

7) The Life and Suffering of Sir Brante

This game is both my beloved and the thorn on my side. Who would have thought that in a game like this you would proceed to suffer through life? I said to myself as if I hadn't known what I was getting into. You'll experience loss, you'll struggle to make a name for yourself, your family will fall apart, and you may never kiss your best friend Tommas who gave you a totally platonic ring to commemorate your friendship because the game doesn't want you to.

Or you'll have a different experience than me on my first playthrough.

You follow the titular Sir Brante from the moment of his birth to his last breath, exploring the world he lives in, full of injustices that at times made me go "I do not care about the lots, give me a fucking gun so I can take you to the fucking Twins". There are many branches regarding life paths, the fate of your family and that of the entire city you live in. But don't worry about it now, keep looking at those toy soldiers at the store as a little kid, I'm sure nothing will happen in the future.

8) Princess Maker 2 Refine

And apparently I didn't get enough of walking a kid through life.

Who looks at a game about raising a little girl by managing her monthly schedule and balancing her stats, health and money and says "yes, this is the game I'll play to destress"?

I do that. Don't ask why.

I have only reached two endings, in one my beautiful daughter became the royal painter, her art held as the most beautiful and inspiring in the entire world. In another, my girl made a name for herself by exploring the lands surrounding the kingdom, so fast on her feet nobody could even scratch her; she married a dragon prince and became the teacher of her own fighting school.

And even with all of that, her goddess mother was not happy.

So yes, this is the "divorced dad who got custody" experience.

9) Planescape: Torment

What can change the nature of a man? That is a question posed by one Ravel Puzzlewell, night hag of the Gray Wastes. It is one of the many questions that this game asks, intertwined by the many philosophies it presents. Planescape Torment does not stick to one question, it asks many, and it lets you answer.

It is a beautifully written game, one of the best I have ever read. There is one moment that I do not wish to spoil, but it still sticks to my head months after I experienced it. As a writer, I found myself fascinated by how a certain event was told, all because of the way it was presented.

It feels like an injustice to not talk in length about Planescape: Torment, but I seriously don't want to spoil anyone who hasn't played it yet. A blind experience is fully worth it. All you need to know is that this is the game that made me post for the first time here, two dumb memes for myself and one short analysis that sometimes reminds me that yes, people can interact with it. Shameless link to it here

10) Growing my Grandpa!

If I had to describe this game without saying too much, I would say it's "heartwarming horror". Two words that don't usually go together, but that they perfectly fit here. The story is, like the title says, about growing your grandpa, more like helping a girl grow her grandpa, but still. Strangely sweet and unnerving, I was tense the entire time, and even when I had to replay it to get the second ending (this was entirely my fault, since I could have gotten it way easier) that tension never left.

11) FAITH: The Unholy Trinity

I don't remember how I found out about this game, but I remember waiting patiently for it to get a steam release so I could buy it and play its three chapters all together. The day finally came, and all that waiting was worth it.

The gameplay is simple, yet the developers found a way to have me both crying in fear and frothing by the mouth out of anger every time I saw the game over screen (affectionately). In terms of difficulty, I would say the game is easy until it isn't, looking at you Chapter 2 and 3 Final Bosses, you bastards. Then again, I saw people say they struggled in places I didn't, so I would say it depends on the player.

The story is so interesting and it's still marinating in my brain please I need people to talk about how the prologue of chapter 2 and the one note in chapter 3 relate please. The cutscenes are also so well done, and I had to restrain myself from using one as a second picture because I didn't want to spoil any of them.

All in all, a must play, fully recommend it.

And remember:

GARY LOVES YOU

12) Inmortal Mantis

This is a tricky one. On one hand, the game starts off by basically spelling out every action you have to do, and suddenly it goes full on "fuck around and find out" mode. On the other, the game implements some interesting mechanics that I would love to see developed on a longer game, but I am not going to put the length against it while knowing how hard it is to make a game. And maybe being short plays in its favor.

13) Who's Lila?

This game is my King in Yellow. I cannot stop thinking about it. I finished it with all endings and achievements in a day, and it wont leave me alone. It is always there, forever crawling at the back of my head, stretching itself over my brain and weaving my thoughts into a spiral as easily as a spider weaves its thread. It made itself a home in my mind and I won't kick it out any time soon. I played it because the concept of controlling a character's face in place of a dialogue wheel was interesting, and the story and the way it's presented (hand in hand with the gameplay) lured me deeper and deeper. I cannot even describe it without giving it the praise it deserves. It takes full advantage of its medium. Playing this game is an experience that I can't recommend enough, and I'm surprised it hasn't gotten the recognition it deserves.

14) Someone stole MY LUNCH!

This visual novel is pure fun. The humor is so good I found myself reading the entire thing out loud while wheezing. I actually found out recently that it's made by the same people that made Stillwater, which, looking at it now I should have known. It's good and I'm not still over not seeing that one joke coming; well played.

15) MILK INSIDE OF A BAG OF MILK INSIDE OF A BAG OF MILK INSIDE OF A BAG OF MILK INSIDE OF A BAG OF-

... INSIDE A BAG OF MILK is a short visual novel about a girl going to the grocery to buy milk, and the challenge this seemingly small action can be. It is your responsibility to help her through this.

The steam page description perfectly summarizes it: "This is an artistic manipulation with word and form, only then - a game."

Reblog with more games

Or, you can jump to the 2023 list!

[alwaysthegeorges]

What Dreams Are Made Of - Peter Parker x Reader (1/2)

Summary - You and Peter are friends. Except when he looks at you like that.

Warnings - Fluff, pining, talks of sex

Word Count - 4.4k

a/n - this went so far from what I had originally imagined. part 2 will be hardcore smut so stay tuned

!gif not mine!

You and Peter Parker were friends. That was all. At least that's what you told yourselves.

As a neighborhood hero yourself, you spent a lot of time with Peter. Being at the "bottom of the food chain" at the Avengers tower had its perks, of course, but it also meant that whenever anyone was too lazy to go get what they needed, you and Peter were tasked with the errands. Thor wanted a sandwich from the deli across town? Whatever. Natasha craved a chocolate cupcake from the bakery right across the street? No problem. Except when they made you take the friendly neighborhood Spiderman with you to get him out of the house.

Peter had the tendency to hole himself up in his room for days when he wasn't saving the city or doing patrols. Legos and whatever online forums he was browsing took up most of his time, which was frustrating to the entire tower, especially you. Totally not because you liked him, but because it wasn't healthy. So, every few days you had gone solo, Tony would drag his young protégé out of his room (sometimes by physical force) and force him to accompany you.

Being one of the few young women living at the tower and working with the team, they all treated you like a younger sister, just like they treated Peter as their younger brother. They all knew you could both hold your own on the battlefield, but they also knew sometimes you needed big sibling advice, needed to be told which side of the wrench to use, or even to be pushed together with your crush so you guys would just kiss already and stop pining. Steve's words, not yours.

What you loved about the team is that they always looked out for the two of you. What you hated was having to go around like their assistants to get them coffee from the 24-hour gas station at 4 a.m. so they could plan for whatever major fundraising event was coming up. If they were up, so were you and Peter, just in case they needed something. It may have been annoying sometimes, but they did so much for you that it only felt right to give that back in the ways you could. So, when coffee was requested for the second time in four hours, and the idea of buying a coffee pot for the tower was waved off, you and Peter headed out to the gas station.

The ding of the bell sounded as the two of you groggily shuffled in, the clerk side-eyeing you like you had just ruined his night by showing up for the second time in a night. As you browsed the aisles separately to shoot the shit, occasionally calling to one another to grab a certain snack, you could feel the long night getting to your brain. Of course, when you got groggy and tired, your brain started to tell you Peter was sending you signs that he liked you more than a friend, which was preposterous. Peter was dating MJ, and it was going well. However, you couldn't shake the fact that his glances at you felt longer, his arm around your shoulder felt less platonic, and the air felt thicker when you were alone together. But of course, that was all in your head, as you tried to remind yourself as he tossed you your favorite snack before heading to the checkout counter.

"Put your stuff up there too, and I'll just put it on the business card. Tony really shouldn't trust me with this thing when I'm near candy," Peter joked, smiling back at you as you came up behind him to put your items on the counter.

"I don't know why he keeps giving it to you instead of me. I'm clearly the more responsible one," you quip, eyeing the 3 different packs of candy you had grabbed along with the coffee cups.

The two of you shared a stare, chuckling at the haul as Peter shoved the card into the reader. His head whipped around as the card reader started beeping rapidly, taking it out with confusion.

"Sorry man, you shoved it in too hard. Sometimes the reader can get sensitive with that stuff," drawled the clerk, and Peter gently put the card back in with a chuckle.

"Jeez, Parker. Hope you don't treat MJ like that card reader," you joked, shoving your elbow into his arm. His face went red and he laughed, but then suddenly found the reader to be super interesting.

As the two of you carried your bags and drinks back to the tower, the air felt tight, and he hadn't spoken a word since he wasn't able to take his eyes off the reader. You had a feeling it had to do with your joke about MJ, so you piped up.

"Hey, sorry if the card reader joke was weird."

"No, no, it's fine. It just took me off guard," he said, not taking his eyes off the pavement.

"I didn't mean to imply that you were.." you trailed off. That he was what? Rough? You couldn't imagine Peter being rough. Sexually at least.

"No, seriously, you're fine. It's just- we haven't exactly-" he coughed.

"You two haven't had sex?"

"It's not that she doesn't want to, I just haven't-"

The conversation got cut off by the elevator opening, causing a stampede of tired and overworked heroes jonesing for their liquid sleep. After distributing the goods, the two of you made your way into the main living room and sat on the couch, finally digging into your haul of sugar. After a beat of silence, you sat back on the plush couch and looked at him.

"So?" you asked innocently.

He finally looked at you instead of the floor.

"What?"

"Why haven't you guys done it yet? I thought you were in love or something."

"That's a long story," he started, shifting in his seat. He suddenly found the floor more interesting again.

"If you don't want to talk about sex, that's fine. But you're always raving about MJ to me, and you've been quiet all night. You can tell me if something's going on, you know. We're friends," you said, shifting forward and placing a hand on his forearm.

Peter looked at you, and a beat passed as he searched your face. You were worried you had upset him or pushed too hard, but just as you rescinded your hand and opened your mouth to apologize, he spoke.

"She told me she loved me and I just... I couldn't say it back."

Your mind immediately reeled. Why couldn't he say it back? Did he like someone else? Was he lying to protect her from people coming after them?

He must have seen the look on your face, because he pretty quickly launched into an explanation so your mind wouldn't work too hard.

"I wanted to say it back," he started, taking a deep breath. "Something just told me that if I did, then she'd want to have sex, and I know we've been dating for 4 months, but I'm just not ready for that. It's too important and I don't want to waste it on-" he stopped. His face immediately reddened as you sat up quickly.

"Too important? Why?" you asked curiously, not being able to contain your thoughts.

"Just, never mind. I'll talk to you later."

With that, Peter got up and stalked away, leaving a trail of confusion behind him. Your mind raced for answers but came up short, and you ultimately gave up and shuffled back into the meeting room. There was some large map on the table, so you ended up near the end, where Steve was watching, looking bored.

"What was that all about?" Steve asked, apparently in a mood to talk about anything else than a charity event.

"Nosy much?" you joked, giving him a look.

"Indulge me. It's not that often we get a gloomy Peter."

"I think I pushed too hard when he told me he and MJ haven't had sex yet," you admitted with a sigh. Steve looked at you with surprise at the answer.

"Really? I thought they were madly in love~" he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I know, I was surprised too. But apparently, it's 'too special' to do with her yet. But I can't figure out why. He's being weird about it, like he's never done it before-"

The realization hit the two of you like bricks.

"Oh my god, little Petey hasn't had sex yet? Isn't he like 21?" Steve asked, a bit too gleefully.

"Yeah, we're only a few days apart. That makes so much sense now! But I wonder why he feels like it wouldn't be special enough with MJ."

"Why don't you go ask him? Sounds more interesting in this stuff, anyway."

You nodded and cupped Steve on the shoulder before heading to the hallway with both your and Peter's rooms. You slowed as you came up to his door, bringing your hand up to knock, but stopping. He's probably had enough sex talk for the night. Instead, you dropped your hand and went to your own room, sleeping a little more peacefully with the knowledge that maybe Peter and MJ weren't as solid as you thought.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

A pounding at your door woke you up with a jump.

"C'mon, we're gonna be late!" A voice called from the other side.

You rolled over to look at your alarm clock. 11:30 a.m. With a groan, you got up and started to get dressed.

You had been distracted all day. The whole team had to be at this too-large banquet hall to set up for the charity event that night, but your mind was definitely not on fancy curtains and chocolate fountains. As much as you didn't want to admit it, a part of you was relieved that Peter and MJ weren't as serious as you thought. A part of you wanted to know why he was so adamant that MJ wasn't the one he wanted to lose his virginity to, but the other part told you to leave it alone and keep it in your pants. As much as you wanted to fantasize, Peter had in no way made a pass at you, nor should he. He was your teammate. It didn't matter that his eyes gleamed when the two of you stood a little too close, or that his hand seemed to linger when you accidentally touched hands at meetings. He had a girlfriend, and that was that.

You had just started to accept this fact when you glanced at him across the room, and he ducked his head like he had just been caught staring. You brushed it off, trying to convince yourself that it was just a coincidence and that he was probably just thinking about your conversation last night. You had hauled yourself into focusing on the decorating so much that you didn't even notice at first when he showed up at your side with a coffee and your favorite dessert. You jumped a little when he said your name, but thanked him sweetly for the gesture. Peter brought you the combination a lot when he could tell you were tired or stressed. He was just a good friend like that, and you had forbidden yourself from thinking about it any other way years ago.

"I'm sorry about last night," he offered, sipping his own coffee.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I overstepped," you said, placing a hand on his arm. So muscular from training, yet so soft- nope. Not thinking about that. You removed your arm and tried really hard to focus in on the conversation. His eyes seemed to wander anywhere but yours, which wasn't like him, but you were trying not to push too hard again.

"You didn't. I'm just a little sensitive about sex. I just want it to be perfect, you know? And I know that it probably won't be because it rarely is, but I just have this picture in my head of what it should be. And I'm not ready to give that up just yet. Even if I do like MJ."

You felt a ping in your heart at the last sentence, but you soldiered on.

"That's okay. You shouldn't have to settle for something that's not what you want."

"Thanks. I'm trying to keep my expectations down, anyway. It's not like I have the means for a candlelit rooftop," he laughed, shoulders seeming to ease a bit. You chuckled, trying very hard to not notice the cute blush donning his cheeks.

"Oo, candlelit rooftop, eh? What other fancy plans do you have in mind, mister romantic?"

His blush deepened, and he hung his head to the floor with a sultry chuckle before bringing it back up with a look you couldn't decipher.

"Let's just say that when it happens, we won't leave until the sun comes up."

With that, Peter sauntered away with an air of confidence, leaving you to pick your jaw up off the floor all by yourself.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

The alarm set on your phone went off with an annoying ring just as you were putting on your second earring. Fortunately, a lot of important people were going to be showing up to this fancy event, so Tony had instructed the entire team to put on their best. For you, that meant your old-that-doesn't-look-old prom dress you were surprised still fit. You peered into the mirror, giving one final look at the glittering navy that hugged your body so well it was sinful. Your hair cascaded down one shoulder, the other side pinned with silver and diamond pins. It was safe to say you cleaned up well.

You grabbed your phone to shut the alarm off just as Peter opened your door. You stumbled back from your bed in surprise, and as Peter opened his mouth to apologize, he stopped. Like a deer in headlights, the man looked you up and down with his mouth quite literally hanging open.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you said, chuckling at his gawking.

Before you could even register what he was doing, Peter ripped his phone out of his pocket and took a picture. He lowered it after the shutter sound, smiling the biggest you had seen in months.

"Did you really just-?" you asked in disbelief, not being able to control the laughter that spilled out. This man.

Proudly, like a kid showing his parent the artwork he just created, he showed you the picture he took. It was half blurry and the lighting was terrible, but he seemed so pleased with himself that you couldn't help but laugh.

After you got ahold of yourself, you grabbed your clutch purse, sliding your phone in. You walked out of your room, grabbing Peter's hand and pulling him along with you to the elevator like an excited puppy.

"We have a banquet to endure."

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

The banquet was roaring with people, laughing echoing off the walls, and too-drunk women reaching for more champagne. The few people you had talked to didn't have much to say, and only really wanted to talk about their boats and mansions. You decided to steer clear of them for now, going to grab yourself a second flute of champagne from the bar instead. You sipped your glass as you surveyed the scene, and caught the eye of a curly-haired, golden retriever of a man, already staring back at you. You noticed him politely excuse himself from the people he was talking to and saunter over to you, a half-empty glass in a hand of his own.

"Come to bore me with details about your boat, Parker?" you asked jokingly as he reached you and set his glass on the bar.

"Oh, of course. But my glass was also getting empty," he quipped, winking at you before turning to watch the bartender fill his drink.

"You weren't coming over here to tell me how exquisite I look tonight like the other old men looking for a sugar baby, were you?"

Peter picked up his glass and took a long sip before pausing to answer.

"I would describe you as ravishing, darling. And that's not exactly the kind of baby I'm looking for," he said in a jokingly I-am-rich-and-serious tone, going to sip his drink again. You choked on the hair, shaking your head at him. In the background, you noticed a band start to play a slow melody.

"You're lucky you're cute, Parker," you chuckled, taking the time to look him up and down like he had done earlier. Man, did he clean up nice.

"Don't think I don't see you checking me out. If you're going to gawk, at least make it subtle!"

You gasped out a laugh, looking back up at his face to see a cocky look on his face.

"May I remind you that you basically tripped over yourself to get a picture of me earlier?"

"Mm, I don't recall. Shall we dance?" he asked, brushing past the question with one of those goddamn smiles. He sat down his drink, now empty, and held out his hand for you to take.

You shook your head at him with a smile, but ultimately put your cup down and took his hand. He grasped it gently, but like you would slip away if he let go. You could feel the suaveness in his steps as he pulled you onto the dancefloor and into him, chest to chest. As you swayed to the music, hand in hand, so close all you could smell was his cologne, a soft silence fell between you. The music tumbled through the air as he held you, and for once, you let your mind wander. Your gaze drifted all over his face, taking in his freckles, his dimples. The way his mouth curved just so. It was overwhelming, how sudden you felt it. You had known Peter for so long, and your friendship was so solid. You didn't let yourself think about him the way you truly wanted to because you couldn't give that up. You wouldn't trade it for the world. He was so good, and soft, and caring. He sometimes cared more about your well-being than you did, especially when the nightmares would come and the depression would take over. The nights you woke up screaming, he would rush in and hold you for hours, getting you a snack once you had calmed and staying with you until morning. He would go out of his way to run errands with you sometimes, even if it was just getting toilet paper from the corner store. He was everything to you, and you couldn't risk that just to have him not feel the same. It would be the loss of your life. So, you hid it. You didn't allow it to swallow you whole, until now. Here, in this sparkling ballroom, dressed to the nines and bathing in Peter's scent, all you wanted to do was scream that you loved this man. It took everything in you to hold him so close, and yet keep the biggest secret from him. It was too risky.

You thought, at least. In the time you were lost in your head, your faces had gotten close. Too close. You looked up through your eyelashes into Peter's beautiful brown eyes and tried not to drown in your thoughts as you felt his breath on your cheek. As you felt his lips brush yours, your eyes fluttered closed-

A crash. You both jumped back as the music abruptly ended, and everyone turned to see the too-drunk wife of a very rich guy you had spoken with earlier in the middle of broken glass and champagne on the floor. Of course, she ran into the champagne fountain. There's your life.

You and Peter shuffled off the floor now that the mood was sufficiently ruined. You ended up settling at one of the standing tables nearby. The silence as some waiters cleaned up the broken glass slowly began to kill you. Doubt crept into your mind because Peter was your friend. He didn't like you like that. He surely felt you shift and didn't want to ruin the moment. Stupid, letting you feel for him. You knew it would ruin everything.

Peter shifted uncomfortably from side to side, and though the band had picked up again, you could tell something was off. He wasn't as chatty as usual, and he wore a solemn expression you couldn't place, solidifying the fact that you had fucked up.

"What's wrong?" you asked gently, breaking the silence.

"I broke up with MJ," he answered, almost a whisper.

"Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I had to. She's not the one I can't stop thinking about," he admitted, eyes shifting back to yours.

You reeled back, confused. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

"Who is she, then?" You tried not to let the hurt infiltrate your voice. Of course, he met someone.

Peter's face shifted.

"What?"

"Who is she?" you gulped, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. You couldn't look him in the eye.

"Are you fucking with me? If you are, it's not funny," he said flatly. Your world was spinning. The warmth in your chest was gone now, leaving a gaping hole of emptiness in its place.

"Surprise, I don't watch your dating life with a microscope. Just tell me."

"You are unbelievable," he said, stepping back and shaking his head. You could see the hurt on his face.

"Peter-"

"I have to go," he said flatly, and rushed off without saying another word.

You felt the emptiness in your chest rise again, and even though the champagne tower was ruined, the bar sure wasn't. You stalked over to the bar and ordered the strongest drink they had.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Come to the roof read the text you received from Peter. This had better not be some superhero emergency.

You shoved your phone back into your bag and headed towards the elevator, pushing the highest button when you got in. Peter had been gone for about 30 minutes, which gave you plenty of time to sulk over whatever the fuck had happened. Oh, and gave you time to shoot down a couple shots. To your dismay, you were only tipsy. Stark apparently didn't allow too hard of liquor in case, well, what happened with the champagne tower.

As the elevator reached the rooftop, you took a deep breath, trying to soothe the nerves in your stomach. Fucking anxiety.

As soon as the door opened to the crisp night, you saw him. Peter, standing at the end of an aisle of candles. You stepped off the elevator, now officially confused. You walked towards him up the aisle of candles slowly, as if to not startle a deer. He was quiet as you approached, but you still couldn't read his face. You had been friends for years, and yet he still baffled you sometimes.

"Sorry, I uh, I'll leave you be," you pushed out.

"What?" Peter asked, pulling his hands from his pockets.

"You meant this for someone else? Wrong number, I guess. I'll let you get to it."

As you turned to walk away, Peter snagged your hand, pulling you back toward him.

"What do you see?" he asked plainly.

"What?"

"Describe what you see."

Still confused, you obliged, scanning the area.

"Candles. A blanket. The skyline. You," you answered, meeting his gaze once again.

"What does this look like?"

"A date? I guess?"

"And I texted you to come up here," he said, a small smile returning to his face. He grabbed your other hand, which was now apparently free. When did you set that down?

"You meant to text someone else," you replied confidently.

"I did not mean to text someone else. I meant to text you."

"But that means-" you stopped.

"I set this up for you. Us." His smile widened, and he began to pull you closer. Your cheeks reddened. It suddenly was very hot on this roof.

"Why?"

"You are so beautiful. Fast. Strong. Smart. You can be a little daft sometimes, though."

And with that, he brought his hands to your face and kissed you. Not too hard, but definitely not soft. He kissed you like he needed you, like you were oxygen and he was drowning. He put everything he had into that kiss, and it sent you soaring. You wrapped your hands around his wrist and waist, pulling him closer to you and kissing him back. You didn't realize how much you needed this until this moment. It was everything. Spring breezes, crunchy fall leaves, the stars twinkling at midnight. It was the glowing sun and the shining moon, the waves crashing on beaches, and birds singing in the morning. You never realized how much you were missing out on until this moment, when he was kissing you and you were kissing him. It was the moment you burst. There was no hiding anymore.

The kiss slowed, and you pulled away just enough to look him in his big, beautiful eyes. Breathless, the two of you sighed into soft laughter, unbelieving that it finally happened.

"So this is why you couldn't have sex with MJ?"

"You have had my heart since we met. I just didn't realize it yet."

He kissed you until your lips were swollen, until you felt there was no more air in the atmosphere. It was so perfect, and sweet, and him.

You moved to lay on the blanket he had set out, legs getting tired and weak after finally getting to feel everything you had suppressed for years. He held you, and you softly exchanged stories and sweet nothings. You told him everything, he told you. It was nothing short of perfect. The two of you lazily made out on the blanket under the stars and relished in the feeling of finally. Peter didn't even care when the sun rose over the skyline, because even though it was his first time having sex, it was deeper. It was his first time fully loving. Reveling in this happiness and the full extent of what it is to love and be loved. It was what dreams were made of.

[aemondsbeloved]

From The Tides Masterlist

Summary: You are the daughter of a fisherman in a small village of the Stormlands, uncaring of the impending civil war amongst the Targaryens until one day when a boy floats to to the shore of your village. Except this is not ordinary boy; Riddled with nightmares and loss of memory, Lucerys cannot remember who he is, until he does. From the moment you hear of Aemond Targaryen you are consumed of hatred for him. Aemond Targaryen is a near kinslayer grappling with his position. For him it was simple: align with Rhaenyra after Lucerys was heard to be living or lose his head, let his entire family lose their heads. He does what he must, as he always has; Just as he tolerate his nephews presence he tolerates the lowborn girl turned handmaiden to the Queen who looks at him like he is a monster and does not fail to express her mind no matter the time of day or what decorum allows. His grandfather thinks she is a lowborn upstart who would take any power she is given. His mother looks at her with trepidation and worry. His sister enjoys her company too much and might even consider her a dear friend. Aemond does not know what to do with her.

Pairing: Lucerys Velaryon x reader (platonic), Aemond Targaryen x reader (eventually romantic)

Series Warnings: incest relationships mentioned (daemon/rhaenyra, helaena/aegon), except canon aegon in this series, threats of violence against women, enemies to lovers, canon divergent, Queen Rhaenyra AU

[ao3 link]

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | more to come!

[watching-sam-and-dean-again]

Sam & Dean are, in fact, soulmates

It’s rant time again! (Sorry)

I saw an idiotic interesting take on Twitter last night where someone claimed that Sam and Dean aren’t soulmates, and that they couldn’t understand how anyone could interpret it that way (particularly referring to "Dark Side of the Moon"). And they actually wondered what show soulmate-truthers (my term) were watching.

Umm, the actual show?

I’ve paraphrased the comment slightly and replies slightly, and I’m not posting a pic of the actual post, because I’m going to try not do that on this blog, but also, this person is just like the others in the replies (and in fandom) who “interpret” the show a certain way because it suits their destiel narrative. They all drank the cool-aid, so why single one out? At the same time, this take shows so little media literacy that it pisses me off. Thus, the rant.

Please do read on if you’re interested.

One argument I saw under this tweet was that Dean needed to find a road to lead him to Sam, so it proves they weren’t in the same heaven.

Wrong.

If they weren’t in the same heaven, Dean wouldn’t have been able to find Sam. Period. We know this because Ash has to do a little spell thing in order for them to leave their heaven (“Winchester Land”) at all. They can’t just jump heavens on their own. We also see this in later seasons. People just don’t hop into each others’ heavens without some sort of help.

Another stupid argument I saw is that Sam and Dean can’t be soulmates because "they’re BROTHERS!”

Wrong Again!

While having a soulmate is often (maybe even most often) seen as a romantic trope, being soulmates is actually not inherently romantic. Let’s even just stay on the WB/CW level for this one for a minute. Dawson and Joey consider themselves soulmates in Dawson’s Creek, but they don’t make a good couple, they work better as friends, and they don’t end up together. While they aren’t entirely platonic, them being soulmates ultimately isn’t about romantic love either. Sorry, I stumbled onto a reactor watching this show lately, so it’s fresh in my mind. You could also make arguments for Xander and Willow, Joey and Phoebe, or Christina and Meredith (Grey’s Anatomy calls it “my person” being science-based, but it amounts to the same thing). Ultimately, being soulmates just means two people have an incredibly close bond, love each other dearly, understand each other on a deeper level than most, and often need each other. Despite what some hellers think, not all love and closeness is sexual or romantic. Finally, if someone sees being soulmates as having to be romantic, they should probably take it up with Kripke.

Anyway, let’s round this rant off at three flawed arguments with this one: people are “free” (passive aggressive) to interpret the episode how they “like,” but Sam and Dean bring soulmates is not actually supported by the episode.

Ugh!

Why the hell would the writers have Ash even mention soulmates in the scene at all, if it wasn’t to tell the audience (and the boys) something important about the characters? Knowing that soulmates share a heaven isn’t necessary to the plot at this moment (if they aren’t soulmates). We have been told people have individual heavens in most cases, so we don’t need to know the soulmate exception to generally understand how heaven works. But we do get this bit of exposition because 1) it tells us why Dean was able to find Sam on his own (with no spells, even though people don’t usually share a space), and 2) because it tells us the info that they are soulmates, bound together no matter what. It deepens their whole tangled up relationship, for better or worse. Is it a bit unusual for brothers to be soulmates? Yes! That’s the whole point. Sam and Dean are weird. This is not news. Where have these people been for the last 4.5 seasons??

Also, Ash looks directly at Sam and Dean after he drops the soulmate bomb. And each of them looks uncomfortable. The scene takes a beat here, a short one but it’s clear, so the audience can acknowledge this info. Why would the camera focus on the characters’ reactions if the soulmates line was a just a random little nugget of info? People hellers will write whole distractions on the significance of “parallels” between characters and “interpret” scenes using head-canons as support, but they can’t don’t want to understand that the camera lingering on the brothers when they learn information about themselves is significant? Also, it suggests in the script that Ash looks away from them to give them a minute to process this info. Why would he care if it didn’t pertain to them? (Hellers. Have. No. Media. Literacy.). Sam and Dean are soulmates. It’s canon.

Also, this is another episode but it adds confirmation. In 15x20, Dean feels Sam on the bridge in the new heaven before he sees or hears him. Thus. Soulmates!

[shxtodxroki]

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜: 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙼𝚘𝚖𝚘'𝚜 𝚃𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝟷-𝙱

Summary: What’s it like being Momo’s “forgotten” twin in class 1-B, stuck living in the shadow of your model sister as jealousy clouds your relationship with her?

Warnings: Momo is described as the reader’s twin as per the request, pretty heavy angst, insecurities, brief descriptions of bullying

Pairing: Familial/Twin! Momo Yaoyorozu x Gender Neutral! Reader (No romance in here, only familial and platonic relationships)

Word Count: 1.4k

- When you were young children, there was never any differential treatment between you and Momo. There was little to compare you on and you were both wonderfully well-behaved children, so you received equal love and attention

- Your relationship with one another in the first few years of your life was great, you constantly spent time with one another even if you didn’t share the same interests. It really was like everyone said when they talked about twins, it was like you had your own personal built-in best friend

- There were never any secrets between the two of you and you always felt comfortable going to one another for anything, you were one another's closest confidants

- Unfortunately, when your quirks developed, that all changed and your life was forever altered

- Momo developed her quirk first, and immediately she was flooded with extra attention. Her quirk was so amazing and powerful and held so much potential, the people in your life couldn’t help but fawn over her

- But at the time you weren’t really bothered. You too were fascinated by her quirk, and you figured that everyone’s attention would only temporarily be focused entirely on your twin. You thought that you’d be back on equal footing when you developed your own quirk, and you might even get your own moment in the spotlight, so you never really grew frustrated with the lack of attention on you at the time 

- However, when your quirk did finally develop, it was… not quite what your family was expecting, and that’s when the differential treatment truly cemented itself into your life

- Your quirk allowed you to internally tear apart the molecules of non-living materials, destroying things without creating any actual explosions (though you did still send debris flying whenever you used your power)

- It was an amazing power, truly. It had so much potential to benefit you as you grew older and learned how to properly utilize it for your goal to become a hero

- But it was destructive and frightening at first glance, while your sister’s was sophisticated and useful while not seeming threatening to the average person

- And as much as your parents were supportive of you, you could tell that they always favored the quirk that she manifested over your own

- They actually went out of their way to brag about her and her quirk, to tell all their friends about how much of a prodigy your sister was, and you were just an afterthought, tacked on at the end to put on the facade that they cared equally for both of you and your quirks

- And this mindset quickly spread amongst your inner circle. The favoritism went beyond your parents and infected every family friend, every mutual friend you shared with your sister. Everyone you thought had cared for and loved you unconditionally was suddenly showing their true colors, leaving you feeling completely isolated and abandoned

- Most were subtle with it, often not even realizing that they were rambling on and on about Momo’s potential without so much as mentioning your name

- Others weren’t so kind, teasing you on the playground and calling you names. Quirk development often brought out the worst in small children, and you were no exception when it came to your classmates' wrath

- They called you “evil” and “scary”, said you were destined to be a villain and cowered away from you in fear, and they swore you could never amount to the power your amazing sister had

- Momo tried to defend you from these harsh words, she truly did. She still thought of you as her best friend, her other half, and she always bit back whenever kids were mean to you in her own way. She refused to hang out with the kids who teased you, and she constantly praised you to try to make up for the damage others were doing to your confidence, to try and get you to see your quirk as the amazing power she believed it was

- Unfortunately for her, when you’re told over and over again that you’ll never match up to the person closest to you, your confidence starts to dwindle. You start to compare yourself to them, to make everything a competition in your mind. You start to resent them and their seemingly effortless success

- You knew it wasn’t fair of course, Momo didn’t deserve your anger or hatred. You could see how hard she was trying to hold your relationship together, how hard she tried to encourage you even as you began pulling away from her

- So you put on a friendly face, and you tried to get along with her whenever the two of you were at home together. You tried your hardest to pretend everything was fine, but you two slipped away from one another and lost the bond you once had as the years passed and resentment grew within you, your inseparable twin compatibility fading away

- The first time your parents had ever seemed truly proud of you was when you received your acceptance letter into the hero course at UA, relishing in their cheers and hugs as they immediately ran to tell everyone in the family that you had made it into one of the most prestigious schools in Japan

- For once you were the star, the center of their attention, and you could feel your heart warming at the thought that you had finally proven that you could surpass your sister at something, you had finally made your parents proud :')

- Even your brief moment of accomplishment was overshadowed the moment your sister returned home from her extracurriculars later in the evening, though, eager to show off her own acceptance letter into the hero course at the very same school you were going to

- And of course she had made it into class 1-A, the top class for first-year hero students, while you had only managed to snag a spot in class 1-B

- And despite Momo’s cheers for you when you numbly passed your letter over to her, squealing about how ecstatic she was that the two of you would be training to be heroes at the same school, you couldn’t help but feel like you had been sidelined and labeled as the “leftovers” yet again

- As the school year began and you two attended UA together, however, you realized that it may be for the better that the two of you were split up

- On the rare occasion that you interacted with Momo’s classmates or were within their vicinity, you could always hear them sing praises of your sister and her amazing quirk. It was clear she was one of the strongest even amongst her class of top hero contenders, and many of her classmates weren’t shy in complimenting her amazing abilities

- And she deserved it, you knew she did. She really was amazing, spending the vast majority of her free time studying and training to improve the abilities of her already amazingly powerful quirk

- Your sister truly was an absolute powerhouse and an amazing future hero, but hearing how she overshadowed you yet again made you positively sick to your stomach, leading you to rarely ever interact with the students in class 1-A, even the friendlier faces who you could tell tried to be kind to you when you crossed paths

- Logically, you know they don’t mean to hurt you with their words. They’ve all been friendly to you in the past, they just don’t know you very well

- But every time they refer to you as “Momo’s twin”, not even bothering to use your own name, you feel a part of your soul shatter as frustration bubbles within you

- In class 1-B, though, you were able to be your own person for once. Sure, you weren’t at the very top of your class and didn’t receive the same praise your sister did, and class 1-B was frequently looked down on when in direct competition with class 1-A, but you were yourself in there for once in your life, not just a shadow of your sister

- Your classmates cared about you, wanted to be your friend for once, and not at all because of your relation to your sister. They enjoyed your presence alone, and they truly believed that you could be amazing as a hero with the quirk you had been born with

- For once you finally had something that was yours, and you cherished it with every ounce of your being, flooded with emotion at the realization that you finally felt whole again for the first time in so long when you were amongst your classmates

- But every day you were haunted by the relationship you had once had with your sister, the way she had essentially been your other half. You had the sibling bond that every child wished they could have, and watching it continue to slip through your fingers with each passing day as you felt powerless to stop it slowly chipped away at you, even as you tried to ignore the anger, pain and shame you felt whenever her name was mentioned

Request - Anonymous said: hey can i request a Momo's twin sister in 1-B? Maybe as the shadow twin and she has some jealousy of her model sister? Maybe a destruction quirk?

A/N: Sorry this one was so angsty lol, I don’t often get to write angst since it’s not my specialty so I kinda went heavy on this one without realizing. Also if anyone’s interested in seeing a continuation of this story, and/or some sort of addition of a love interest with one of the other students (not Momo of course) then please let me know! I feel like this ended kind of awkwardly but I just didn’t know where to end it off on, so I hope it wasn’t too abrupt or awkward! If you have any requests feel free to send them in to me, as my requests are open right now! :)

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