#and how is he texting if his eyes are wonky you may ask

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Heyyyyyyy. I love your imagines. I was wondering in honor of Kylian joining Real Madrid today, Can you make an fluff imagine where you go with him to his Real Madrid presentation with his family and friends to support him and it’s cute behind the scenes moments leading up to his presentation ? An already established relationship .

Thank Youuu ❤️

I'm so excited about Kylian joining Real Madrid. So proud of him. I wish him success in his future, and may he accomplish all his goals💛

Sorry if this one is a little wonky, wrote it on my lunch break.

Presentation Day

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — You support Kylian on his presentation day.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 3.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, supportive reader, Kylian is playing for Madrid y'all!!!

Today is the day.

The day that Kylian had been waiting for his whole life. The day that would mark a significant milestone in his career. The day that he would be presented as a Real Madrid player.

You're so proud of him. You can't even put it into words. You've seen him work so hard for this. How much he's sacrificed to get here. It's a day that he deserves to celebrate and you can't wait to do just that. By his side.

You still can't believe that you're here for this. You can't believe that he picked you to be here with him for this special day. You can't believe that you've been able to be a part of his life these past three years.

You remember the day you met him. You had just started working at a popular news company and your first assignment was to attend a Paris-Saint Germain game that he was playing at. You were doing some interviews with some of his new teammates and he walked by and you couldn't help but stare at him. He had this air about him, this confidence, this spark in his eyes that made you just want to know him.

When he walked into the room where you were doing the interviews, you almost dropped the microphone in your hands. He was so handsome up close, so charming. You introduced yourself to him and you couldn't help but stare at him. You were nervous as hell but he made you feel at ease. He made you feel so comfortable in his presence and you found yourself laughing and joking with him.

After the interview, Kylian offered to show you around the stadium. You couldn't believe it. Here you were, walking beside one of the most talented footballers in the world, chatting like old friends. He was easy to talk to and genuinely interested in your work. Though the conversation was very surface level you were surprised at how down-to-earth he was.

By the end of the tour, he asked for your number. To your delight, you exchanged numbers, not entirely sure if he would actually reach out. But he did, later that evening, and from that day on, you started texting each other regularly.

It wasn't long after that he asked you to be his girlfriend. You said yes and you two became inseparable. The chemistry was undeniable between you two. You couldn't get enough of each other.

You went to his games, you were there for him when he needed you and you were his rock. He was your everything.

You never could have imagined that three years later, you would be standing in the bathroom of your new home, getting ready for his presentation at the Santiago Bernabéu.

You're wearing a black jumpsuit with a gold belt that accentuates your waist. You've curled your hair and did your makeup. You're even wearing the gold necklace that he bought for you last week. You want to make sure that you look good for him. You want to make sure that he knows that he deserves this day. That he deserves everything that he's worked for.

You're slipping your shoes on when you feel a tap on your ass. Without even looking up you know who it is. You roll your eyes at his antics but can't help the smile that creeps onto your face.

Even after all these years together, you still get butterflies in your stomach when he touches you.

"Kylian," you scold, but the playfulness in your tone tells him you're not really mad, "do you have to do that every time?"

He grins, his touch lingering a moment longer before he steps back, hands in his pockets. "Sorry, couldn't resist," he replies, his tone light but his eyes betraying a hint of nerves. You know he's trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm for what lies ahead.

"Tu es magnifique," he says, his voice softening as he steps closer, his hands finding your waist. His French accent is as sexy as ever. Sending child down your spine as his hands continue to hold you close. His eyes raking your figure in the mirror.

You look perfect.

You blush, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you."

"I mean it," he whispers, his gaze sincere, his grip on your waist tightening. "You look so beautiful." He meets your eyes in the mirror again. "I'm so lucky to have you." He pulls you flush against his chest. "Tu es la femme de mes rêve." His lips brush against your ear. "I couldn't imagine being here without you." He finishes his words with a gentle kiss to your neck.

Your heart melts. Your heart beats faster. You've heard him say these words before. You've heard them more than once but each time still gives you butterflies. Each time makes you love him even more.

You lean back into him, wrapping your arms around his around your waist, savoring this intimate moment with him before you have to share him with the world.

"You ready?" he asks softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

You turn to face him, his hands still holding you close, your arms finding their way around his neck. You bury your face in his chest. You take a deep breath and breathe him in. You smell the cologne he's wearing.

"I should be asking you that" you whisper, your hands resting lightly on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palms, steady but perhaps a beat faster than usual.

"I'm a little nervous," he admits with a small frown, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your waist.

You know how much he's worked for this. You know how much pressure he's under. You know how much he wants this. But you also know that he's going to do great. You know that he's ready for this.

You reach up to cup his cheeks in your hands, your eyes soft and encouraging. "It's okay to be nervous," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "But you're going to do amazing. You're Kylian Mbappé You're going to rock this. I know you will. You've worked so hard for this." You tell him, your hands finding their way to his neck, your thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the skin there.

He's silent for a moment before he pulls you into a tight hug, his head burying in your neck. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, letting him take comfort in you. You let him hold you like this for a few seconds, feeling him breathe you in.

"I love you, thank you for doing this with me. For being here." he mumbles into your skin, his voice so soft and so sweet.

You smile. Your heart racing at his words.

"I love you too," you whisper back.

He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "Seriously bébé," he says, his voice soft but full of conviction. "I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you for being with me every step of the way. You've sacrificed so much to move here with me. I will never be able to thank you enough for all the things you do for me. I promise to always be there for you, to support you, to make you happy. To be the best boyfriend I can be. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." His hand rests gently on your cheek, his thumb brushing against your jaw.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you look at him. You're so in love with him. You can't believe that this man is all yours, that he wants to be with you, that he loves you just as much as you love him. You can't believe that you found each other.

You want to say so much, want to reply to his little speech but you can't find the words to express how much you love him. So you kiss him instead.

A soft kiss, one full of love, one full of affection. One full of hope. Your lips linger on his for a few seconds before he pulls back. You're both smiling at each other.

"We should head downstairs," he whispers softly, breaking the silence again. "We don't want to be late"

You nod and you step back. He lets go of you, letting you walk out of the bathroom first.

When you walk into the living room downstairs, his family is there waiting for you two, chatting animatedly. They look up as you both enter, smiles lighting up their faces. His little niece and nephew are sitting on the couch with their mom when they see you come in. Without waiting a moment they stand up from their spot on the couch and run up to Kylian.

"Uncle Kylian! Y/N!" They squeal in unison.

He bends down and picks them up. One on each arm. He swings them around and they giggle in glee. You watch as his face lights up with a bright smile. His eyes meet yours over his niece and nephew's heads and he grins at you.

"I missed you guys so much," he whispers in their ears.

They're still laughing when they land back on their feet. He sets them down and gives each of them a kiss on the head before they turn to you. "Y/N!" They greet you with equal enthusiasm.

"My babies," you coo, bending down to pick them up. "I missed you two so much too!" You give each of them a hug. You give them each a kiss on the head before you set them back down. The second you set them back down they're on Kylian again, completely enamoured with their uncle.

"Be good for your mom and dad today," he tells them softly. "I want to see you after the presentation." His eyes light up with excitement.

"We will," they reply in unison, giggling.

He pulls away from them, giving each one another kiss on the head before he turns towards everyone else. Kylian's mother approaches you with open arms, pulling you both into a hug. You were in the shower earlier when they arrived so she hadn't seen you yet.

"Mes bébés," she said, tears shining in her eyes. “I'm so proud of you, Kylian. And you, my darling,” she adds, embracing you in turn, ”thank you for being here with us today." she coos, kissing both your cheeks.

Kylian's father pulls him into a tight hug next. He pats him on the back. "Fier de toi, mon garçon," he says, his eyes shining with pride. "

The other family members join you, each expressing their admiration and support for Kylian. His father squeezes your shoulder affectionately, his siblings exchange jokes with him to lighten the mood.

Silently without anyone noticing you sneak a picture of Kylian and his family gathered together in the living room. It's candid, raw, real. Capturing the support and love surrounding him on this monumental day. Kylian's smile is wide in the picture, the kind that radiates insumontable joy. You feel tears prick your eyes as you look down at it, happy to have frozen this moment for him.

As the final hugs are exchanged, Kylian’s agent steps forward, checking the time on his watch. "It's almost time," he announces, his voice calm but firm. "We should get going."

You all head outside, where a convoy of sleek black cars waits.

You would be riding with Kylian. Because today was also the day you would come out to the world as his girlfriend.

Even though everyone knew by now that Mbappé was off the market it was still a hush on who he was dating. At first, you guys had done it for the sake of your job. But now that you would be staying in Madrid with him, the both of you decided not to keep your identity a secret anymore. So this was technically your first appearance together. All the more reason to be nervous.

The plan was to arrive together at the stadium, walk in with him, then get separated to go to where his family would be sitting while he gave his speech.

You two slip into the car together. He pulls you into his side, his hands holding yours. You both sit there quietly for a second, the only sound being the driver's voice talking through the intercom.

He's fidgety, his eyes darting out the window to the passing buildings. You squeeze his hand gently, reminding him of your presence. He looks at you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the car started moving.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You ask him softly, his hand squeezing yours in reassurance.

"I'm good, trésor," he assures you. "Just excited and a little nervous."

You nod, your hand rubbing circles into his wrist. "I'm so proud of you," you tell him sincerely, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly at your touch, breathing in deeply before turning to face you fully. His lips meet yours for a brief kiss. He smiles against your lips, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

The rest of the car ride is silent.

You're pulled out of your comfortable bubble when the car stops.

The stadium.

You're here.

You both sit in stunned silence for a moment, your eyes wide as you take in the sight. The stadium is already packed with thousands of screaming fans, each holding a white Real Madrid jersey with his name on the back.

Kylian is silent beside you, his eyes wide, his hands resting on his thighs. He takes a deep breath. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours.

"Ready?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, a smile on your face.

You two slip out of the car together, Kylian holding your hand tightly in his. They don't notice you at first since you're hidden behind him, out of sight, but he pulls you beside him and wraps an arm around your waist. The cheers from the crowd grow louder as the realization of who you are girlfriend sinks in.

You smile shyly, trying to hide your face in his shoulder.

He laughs, pulling you closer to him.

You both walk towards the entrance of the stadium, the screams of the fans reaching an all-time high. Kylian smiles brightly at the cameras flashing in your faces, his free hand waving at the crowd.

You both stop walking for a second, posing for pictures together. You're conscious of the cameras flashing around you, of the fans screaming his name. The whole situation is a little overwhelming but nothing you can't handle with him beside you, holding your hand.

You both pose for a few pictures, then you walk inside, the crowd quieting as you leave them behind.

You're led to a room backstage, where you'll wait with Kylian until it's time for him to go on stage. The room is buzzing with activity – staff members are rushing around, checking last-minute details, and ensuring everything is perfect.

You find a quieter corner of the room where he can take a moment to collect himself. He sits down on a plush leather chair, his eyes scanning the room but his grip on your hand never loosening. You can tell the nerves are killing him.

“Do you want some water?” you ask softly, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his skin.

He nods, and you quickly fetch a bottle from a nearby table. When you hand it to him, he takes a long sip, then leans back, exhaling slowly. “Merci,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You sit beside him, placing your hand on his knee. “Remember, they’re all here for you. They believe in you, just like I do.”

He turns to look at you, his eyes softening. “I know. It’s just… a lot.”

You nod, understanding completely. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed. Just take it one step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes locking onto yours, drawing strength from your calm presence. The door opens, and one of the staff members steps in, clipboard in hand. “It's time miss Y/N,” he announces, waiting for you at the door.

That's your cue.

You stand up, offering Kylian your hand. He takes it, rising from the chair, his grip firm and warm. He pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that speaks volumes about the emotions coursing through him.

“I’ll be right there in the audience,” you whisper against his ear gently stroking his back “I’ll be cheering the loudest.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Je t'aime fort,” The tone of which he says it is the most endearing you've ever heard from him. It makes your heart swell. You wish you could go with him.

“I love you too,” you reply, placing one last peck on his lips.

With a final squeeze of your hand, he releases you and you follow the man to the section reserved for his family.

As you enter the stadium, the roar of the crowd is deafening. The energy is electric, every person present filled with anticipation. You find your seat next to Kylian’s mother, who greets you with a warm smile and a comforting squeeze of your hand.

The lights dim, and the stadium falls silent. The anticipation is palpable. The lights dim slightly, and the murmurs in the stadium grow louder. The large screens display a montage of Kylian’s best moments, a tribute to his journey and accomplishments.

Then, the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers, introducing Kylian. The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise almost overwhelming.

You're crying as you watch him walk to the stage, grateful that you get to witness this moment with him, a moment he's been waiting for a long time.

Kylian steps onto the stage, his presence commanding yet humble. He looks out at the sea of faces, his gaze searching until it finds yours. You smile at him through your tears, giving him a small nod of encouragement. He smiles back, gesturing at your crying.

The jumbotron pans to your face as you laugh at his antics and everyone in the stadium realizes who you are immediately. They start cheering even louder.

The warmth of the moment envelops you as you watch Kylian take center stage. His speech is emotional thanking his fans, his teammates, and the club for believing in him. He speaks with passion and sincerity, his words resonating with everyone in the stadium. When he finishes with his "Hala Madrid", the applause is thunderous, echoing through the massive arena.

You and Fayza hold on to each other as you cry your eyes out, Kylian's words of thanks to you echoing in your ears. You both hug each other tight, both of you overwhelmed with emotion.

It's such a powerful moment one that sends shivers down your spine. The beginning of a new era. The start of your new life together with him.

-Bianca🌻

[anotherfuckingmarvelfanaccount]

Peter’s Birthday

Oh my God, 3 fics in a week. Must be some sort of new record between my writer’s block and school. Don’t expect this often, I’m just priortizing writing more than some of my unnecessary (unhealthy) hobbies (scrolling through social media and rereading texts that only make me feel bad about how happy/stupid i was). Is that a toxic trait? I feel like that’s probably a toxic or a self-depreciation kinda thing or something. Oh well. I had so many ideas for Peter that he definitely gets a birthday next year, and maybe the year after that. 

My Masterlist

Pairing(s): Peter Parker x Reader, Implied!Happy Hogan x May Parker, Tony Stark x Pepper Potts

Warnings: Fluffy!!! implied smut right at the end, reader kinda has a mental breakdown bc she can’t cook, she also got fired for no reason (but let’s just go with her boss made sexual comments and she didn’t reciprocate the feelings bc peter and so he fired her bc that seems like it happens enough), matt murdock is mentioned, he also gets shot and comes to the reader and peter to get patched up, reader knows how to do stitches bc of peter. mentions of violence, guns, bullets, a drug ring, and punisher

Word Count: 2509

Summary: After being fired from your job, Peter gets you a new one working for Nelson and Murdock. After you burn his birthday dinner, Peter reminds you that you’re going to May’s for a party tonight. After the party, your new boss needs some stitching up after a nasty fight. What a day in the life of Spiderman’s girlfriend, especially on his birthday.

Just before Peter’s birthday, you were pretty much broke. You had just gotten fired from your less-than-minimum-wage-paying job, and were in the process of job searching. Even though the pay was terrible, it was still better than nothing. And you were looking specifically in the proximity of Stark Tower for your next job, especially since you knew Peter was Spiderman and was working for Tony. You weren’t a superhero, but you helped out when you could, especially with patching Peter up, since he was very prone to getting beat up by not-so-friendly neighbourhood purse robbers. You still got him a nice card and everything, but you felt terrible that you couldn’t afford a gift for him. 

He knew how much you were beating yourself up over this for about a week beforehand, and reassured you that he didn’t need anything, only you.

But you felt shitty about not being able to get your own boyfriend a gift for his birthday, especially after the beautiful necklace he had gotten you for your last birthday. A spider with an engraving in the back that said “For my princess, I love you.” and unless he had 3-D printed that shit with Ned, you knew it had to have been expensive. So you decided to make Peter a spectacular birthday dinner.

Except you burned the pizza you were trying to make from scratch. So then you tried to make him a birthday cake.

But you forgot to add eggs to the cake and then you overwhipped the icing. Finally, as a last resort, you tried to make your mom’s chocolate chip cookies.

Yet somehow they wound up raw on the top, burnt on the bottom, wonky, and completely unlike the way your mom makes them. Not being able to take it anymore, you burst into tears after closing the oven. You couldn’t buy your boyfriend a present due to lack of funds, make him dinner, cake, or cookies; and you couldn’t even order takeout because of just how broke you were while trying to find a job in New York.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was how Peter came home to find you. Surrounded by blackened pizza, a deformed cake, chunky icing, and lumps of cookies. And bawling your eyes out.

“Hey, hey, princess. What’s going on?” He asked softly, coming over to wrap you in a hug.

“I- I-” You hiccuped, not being able to get your words out.

Peter rubbed your back, letting you cry. “It’s okay.” He mumbled, surrounding you with comfort. “I’m here, princess. Everything’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” You wailed, still surrounded by your failed creations.

“Then you gotta tell me what’s wrong, princess. Why are you crying?”

“I- I’m too broke to buy you anything after I got fired for no goddamn reason, I burnt dinner that I was trying to make you, I forgot to add eggs to the cake, I overwhipped the icing, and I don’t even know what happened to the cookies, but they look both raw and burnt! And I’m too broke to order in takeout, unless you’re buying, we’re gonna have to go hungry tonight because I’m too broke and stupid to do anything!” You cried, sobbing into Peter’s shirt after your hell-hole of a week. 

Peter softly shushed you, letting you cry into his shirt, knowing how emotionally taxing the last few weeks have been on you. “Honey, I got you a job.”

You made a questioning noise, pulling your head out of the collar of his shirt. Ah, I’ll get the tear stains out in the laundry this weekend. You thought, looking at Peter curiously.

“It’s not with Mr. Stark.” He started, “But you will be working with a superhero. At the very least I’ll know you’re protected.”

“Don’t tell me I’m running PR for the Hulk.” You said, smiling softly at your protective boyfriend.

“You are definitely not Bruce’s new PR person, but that is a great idea, he definitely needs that after Hulk hasn’t been let out in a while. But no. I got you a job working at Nelson and Murdock, you’re gonna be a secretary there, and Mr. Murdock, or Matt as he’ll insist you call him, is Daredevil.”

“You got me a job at Nelson and Murdock, working with Daredevil, in Hell’s Kitchen?” You asked, summarizing what he said.

Peter nodded. “I did, yes.”

“Oh, Peter!” You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck. “God, I love you so much. What would I ever do without you?”

“Well-”

“We’re not talking about the ruined food surrounding us.”

“I was going to say you’d be a lot safer, but since you mention it..”

You glared at him jokingly. “Help me clean it up, please?”

“Of course, princess.” He said, kissing your forehead. “And don’t forget that we have to go to May’s tonight for the party she’s throwing for me.”

“Oh, I forgot! I wouldn’t have tried cooking if I had remembered!”

“It’s okay, my love. Everything’s okay. You go get ready, and I’ll clean up the mess.”

You kissed Peter softly, thanking him, and heading into your shared bedroom to get changed. You took a quick shower, washed your hair and blow dried it so that you wouldn’t have to wait for it to dry. When you came out of the bathroom, Peter was all dressed up in his suit and there was a dress on the bed that matched the tie laying next to it.

“Of course you want me to wear your favourite dress for your birthday.” You chuckled, dropping the towel from around your torso and getting Peter to help you into the dress. He did the most important part, of course, zipping you up in the back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While you started on your hair and makeup, Peter used the full-length mirror in the bedroom to tie his tie. It wasn’t until you glanced over at him that you remembered that Peter can’t tie a tie. “Pete, c’mon in here, you know you can’t tie ties. Now, while I’m tying, you pick the eyeshadow and lipgloss or lipstick you want me to wear, birthday boy.”

“What about that really bright pink lip gloss that you love wearing when you’re teasing me because of how good it looks on you? And maybe pair it with this eyeshadow?” He pointed to your favourite shade of eyeshadow on your favourite pallet. (A/N:If you have more than one eyeshadow pallet, unlike me. What? Who only has one in this day and age, I know.) 

“Of course, Petey. When do we have to get there again?” You said, straightening the tie around his collar.

“Sweetheart, we moved a floor up. We just have to take either a flight of stairs or the elevator for one floor.” Peter chuckled, softly kissing you before you finished your makeup so he wouldn’t ruin anything.

You sighed while doing your eyeshadow, “That means May heard the smoke alarm going off when I burned the pizza.”

“Probably, yup.” Peter said, kissing the top of your head. “But you know she’ll just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I’m definitely not. But you got me a job, so I guess I can’t complain too much, can I?”

“You start Monday, and Mr. Stark is bringing Matt to the party tonight so you can meet him.”

“Oh yeah, who’s coming to this thing?” You asked, pulling your favourite lipgloss out.

Peter rested his chin on top of your head, lightly wrapping you in a hug. “May, Happy, Tony, Pepper, Matt, Ned, and MJ. And then you and me.”

“And we’re definitely getting kicked out early tonight because May and Happy will want to spend the night together.”

“Don’t tell me things like that, princess. I don’t wanna hear about who my aunt’s dating.”

You chuckled, giving yourself one last glance over in the mirror. “I’d say they’re doing a little more than dating, sweetheart.”

“I did not need to hear that.” Peter said, putting your heels on for you and dragging you out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the party, you and Peter went back upstairs to your apartment to tuck into bed for the night, and possibly the weekend depending on how you woke up feeling. One way or the other.

Matt Murdock was really nice, although what Peter had forgotten to tell you was that Matt’s blind and has enhanced senses. His hearing is impeccable, he was even able to tell when Peter was teasing you at the party based on how your heart rate changed, from across the room.

Note to self: Don’t flirt with Peter at work. You thought, realizing that Matt also probably had an enhanced sense of smell.

A tap at the window brought you out of your brain, finally allowing you a little peace, until you realized that Peter was snoring peacefully next to you and was not the idiot currently tapping on your window. You disentangled yourself from Peter carefully before creeping to the window and opening the curtain a crack. What, did I think about my new job too much? Can he read minds too?

“Matt?!” You whisper-yelled, “What the fuck are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night! I haven’t even started work yet!” Instead of speaking to answer your questions, he just moved his hand off of his shoulder, which definitely had a bullet sitting in it right now and was going to be gushing all over your bathroom in a minute. “Come in, don’t drip on the floor.” You sighed, giving your new boss entry to your home through your bedroom window.

“Nice place.” He said, walking over to the bathroom where Peter had surely told him that you keep the first aid kit.

“Princess?” Peter groaned softly, waking up slightly. “What’s going on, where are you?”

“I’m right here, Pete.” You told him, walking over to the bathroom. “Apparently I’m going to be spending my nights patching up two self-sacrificial idiots now. Fuckin’ superheroes.”

“Two? I thought I was the only one you patched up.” Peter moped, following you into the bathroom.

You gestured to Matt, sitting on the edge of your bathtub. “I was, except saying ‘no’ to my new boss seems like a bad idea, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t fire you for not patching me up, kid. Peter told me that you help him out when he’s hurt, and I got into a bit of a predicament tonight.”

“I thought the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen didn’t like guns.” You mumbled, dipping the tweezers in some rubbing alcohol.

“I don’t.” He responded. “Jesus, fuck, that hurts!”

“I thought you were Catholic, Matt.” You said, pulling the bullet out of his shoulder.

He chuckled, “I am, but I swear when I’m getting a bullet out of my shoulder.”

“Fair point. You don’t mind if I sew this up, do you? A band-aid won’t fix this.”

“Whatever you need, kid. Just as long as I don’t bleed out on your floor.”

“Can’t be killing my boss before I even get to my first day of work.” You said, threading a small needle with medical thread.

Matt raised an eyebrow, “Is that medical thread? How do you know how to do stitches?”

“I took a medical class in highschool, May works at the hospital, and Peter’s been a clutz since we were kids. I’ve seen him sewed up more than once before I started doing his stitches.” You told Matt, tying the knot around the end so you wouldn’t lose the needle. “I’d ask if you’re ready, but you’ll know before I pierce your skin anyway.”

“I will, so go for it, kid. You can’t hurt me more than I already am.”

You nodded, starting to thread his wound shut. “Good job getting it to stop bleeding, princess.” Peter said, kissing your forehead softly. “But Matt, who’s shooting at you with a .38 at 1AM halfway across the city? And why come back to this end to get sewn up? Don’t you have someone that helps you?”

“I don’t have anyone that helps sew me up, sometimes I can call Foggy if I know he’s not with Karen, but since they’re usually together, I usually have to hope that I won’t bleed out in my sleep.”

“You’re sending a text to one of us with your location, and we’ll both be there. There’s no need for you to get all the way from Hell’s Kitchen to Queen’s with a bleeding wound.” Peter said, pulling the roll of bandages out of the first aid kit to pass to you when you were done with Matt’s makeshift stitches.

“And would you believe me if I said I was busting a drug ring?”

“The only part I would find unbelievable is that you didn’t have backup.” You said, beginning to wrap his shoulder. “And don’t give me the whole ‘The Devil works alone’ spiel because I know that Daredevil and Punisher are quite close, and you could’ve called Peter or Tony for backup. No more working alone, because eventually you’ll bleed out before someone can fix you.”

Matt smiled, eyes moving back and forth between where you and Peter’s voices were coming from. “Okay. If I see something that I can’t handle alone, I’ll send a text to Frank or Peter, and if I get into trouble from something that I can handle, I’ll text either you or Peter to come patch me up, kid.”

“Sounds good to me.” You said, cutting off the bandage and tucking it in. “Try and change those in the morning, and if not, we’ll swing by to change them for you. I’ll change them Monday when I get to the office.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Matt said, pulling you in for a hug and heading over to the window. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Take the door, Matt.” Peter said, leading him through your tiny apartment. “Elevator is at the end of the hall, on the left.”

Matt chuckled. “I can hear it whirring, Pete. But thank you.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Matt.” Peter said, closing and locking the door behind him. He turned around to see you leaning in the doorway between the living room and the bedroom.

“Can we cuddle?” You asked, making grabby hands for your boyfriend.

Peter smiled, coming over to wrap you in a hug. “Of course we can, princess.” The two of you, still hugging, walked back to the bed. “Did you clean up the bathroom?”

“I put everything away and cleaned up any residual blood. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can, baby girl.”

“Are you upset that I didn’t do anything.. sexy for your birthday?”

Peter hugged you tighter, kissing the top of your head. “Of course not. We can do anything any day of the year, we don’t need to do anything special for my birthday.”

“Maybe we’ll be in a better spot next year and I can do something special for you.” You said, peppering kisses across his chest.

“..What if we did something now?” Peter asked, rolling the two of you over.

[mudskip-muses]

@loveleftbehind cont. from (X)

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] thank fuckin god it was either u or tak and she would have killed me

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] its # 2 i promise

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] i was welding stuff

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] and looked at the light for too long

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] and my eyes felt funny so my boss sent me here

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] i can still see but like

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] not enough for them to let me leave by myself

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] i told them i wasnt driving but the didnt care

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] 🤬

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] tell bagel i say hi

Then, almost as an afterthought despite it being the first message sent to him,

[Text: That Bitch 🐶] oh its the clinic across the street from that porno shop u know the one 

[theangrycomet-art]

Something Doesn’t Fit

“Right, so Norrisville was built in the Kami Carp valley because-” Debbie prompted, raising a brow at her tutoree as he scratched at his head.

“Because of the mining resources- right?” Randy glanced up at her to see if he was right, something struck him. Ignoring the paperball that had unceremoniously bounced off his head and onto the floor, he squinted at his text book.

“Wait, hold up, what Valley did you say it was?” Randy asked, eyes narrowed as the flicked across the page.

“Uh, the Kami Carp Valley?” Raising a brow at him, Debbie paused her pencil twirling, curious. He was getting his epiphany face- Cunningham had the gears turning in his eyes as some unseen pieces slipped into place. “Why?”

“Because- that doesn’t fit.” Scratching his head, his brows furrowed as he scanned the history book, pageegs flitting past like a deck of cards. “Are you sure that we aren’t supposed to be in the Kamakura Valley?”

“Randy...” Trying not to sound too incredulous, she shot him a sideways glance as she continued carefuly. “That’s in Japan. We are in Texas. You know, in the US?”

“Yeah- but- I mean- look at this.” Dropping the book to the table, he leaned over it, reaching for his sticker-ridden laptop. Keystrokes filled the air as he pulled up something. She glanced at the pages of his text book- a portion back in the earlier chapters where an art pieces stretched across the pages. It was a piece painted by one of the locals a few hundred years ago. One of Norrisville back when the Ninja first appeared. The town was small, unassuming, and unimportant to most of the world back then.

“Aha!” Randy crowed victoriously, only to be hushed by the librarian. Grinning sheepishly, he turned back to her, tapping his pen between the book and the screen. “Eh?”

Blinking, Debbie fond herself staring at some charts- some measurements on the Kamakura Valley roughly 800 years ago.

The speed at which this kid was able to find research at the drop of a hat would never cease to amaze her. If she hadn’t known how full his schedule already was, she’d have blackmailed him onto the newspaper team by now.

Without so much as a moment’s of hesitation, he quietly ripped out the page from the history book, earning him a scandalized noise from her.

“I’ll tape is back, they’ll never notice.” he reassured her, dismissing her with a wave of the hand, the other taping it against the screen. It only took a few moments but once he’d adjusted the size of the chart behind it, the resemblence...

The inked lines of the ancient artists playful sketch of their home lined up with it almost perfectly to the charted lines.

“Don’t you think that’s a little weird?” he insisted.

“Okay, it’s a little uncanny. Get it, cause valleys??” She spared a glance towards him, smirking at his mock frown.

“Why don’t you leave the puns to the professionals.” He drawled dryly as a second paper ball struck his head.

-//-

There’s no way Norrisville is +800 years old an originally from the US.

A small headcannon of mine that is that at some point in Norrisville’s history, the Sorcerer, in an attempt to free himself, ended up teleporting the ENTIRE town across the planet.

This has happened a couple of times within the last 800 years or so- until eventually Norrisville ended up in would be Texas, USA in the early-1800s, hence the towns wonky history.

Randy only notices from his time in the Nomicon and his freshman science project on tectonic plates (he was partnered with Bucky and now may or may not owe him $15 bucks because he actually used the info they learned from it)

Debbie has a love/hate relationship with this discovery that Norrisville has moved across the globe. LOVES the story behind it- but there’s not explanation besides “magic” and no one will take her seriously if she published it.

The history books just kind of jump around and avoid how Norrisville got where it was and just teaches standard US high school history requirements for the most part.

[courageous-she]

Needing You- Charlie Gillespie

Charlie x female reader

Summary: You’re having a rough day and go to your best friend for some comfort

Word Count: 3037

Author’s Note: I haven’t really written in a while but became a SIMP for this boy after watching JATP. Here’s something I thought up while I should have been working at work. Also the formatting may have gotten a little wonky so sorry for that. Um anyway, hope you enjoy!

**

You: Hey, are you home? Charlie: Yeah, why, what’s up? You: Can we hang out? I don’t really want to be alone rn Charlie: Sure thing! I can come over? You: Actually, can I come over? I don’t feel like being in my apartment rn Charlie: Of course, doors unlocked <3

You locked your phone, resting it on your chest and letting out a long sigh. Life had just been hitting too hard lately, so you texted Charlie hoping he’d be able to distract you and take your mind off of things. You simply needed some quality time with your best friend and to not think about everything going on in your life right now. Luckily, Charlie was always down to hang out and was always flexible on what the two of you would do.

You lifted your head just enough from your starfish position on your bed to glance over your outfit. You’d changed into your comfy clothes when you got home a few hours ago. These would be fine, Charlie has seen you in worse clothes, and probably in an overall worse state than this. Shrugging, you stood from your bed and grabbed your keys, making your way over to the bus stop at the end of your street. 

Quietly opening the door to Charlie and Owen’s apartment, you carefully left your shoes at the door. You looked up and noticed Owen and Jeremy sitting on the couch in the small apartment living room. “Hey, Y/N” Owen and Jeremy said at the same time, both giving a quick nod of the head. You waved back, making your way down the hallway to Charlie’s room. It wasn’t odd for you to come over to the boy’s apartment, so Owen and Jeremy didn’t question it. Owen was more used to your frequent visits than Jeremy because Owen actually lived there, but both boys knew how close you and Charlie are so it would be odd if you didn’t show up at some point during the week.

Charlie’s door was open a crack, a low light creeping out into the hallway. You pushed the door open just enough to slide your body through, and closed it when you were all the way inside. 

“Hey” Charlie said softly, sitting up slightly in his bed and closing his laptop. Instead of responding, you pulled the covers back on his bed and slid under. Charlie watched you, slightly confused, but lifted his arm for you when you began to crawl under it resting your head on his chest. His arm around you hugged you closer, while his other hand came around to rest on top of yours that was resting on his stomach. 

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” he asked, voice soft. You shook your head ‘no’ on his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?” Again, you shook your head. Charlie’s chest rose up before he let out a long sigh. It wasn’t often you got like this, but when you did it always broke Charlie a little inside. “What can I do to help?” “Is it okay if we just lay here for a while?” you finally said.

“Yeah, ‘course it is. Want me to put on a movie for background noise or somethin’?” Charlie asked, leaning over slightly to grab his tv remote. You simply nodded a ‘yes’ against his chest, knowing he would just choose a movie for the two of you. 

Charlie ended up choosing “Onward”, a Disney movie was bound to put a smile on your face, he thought. The two of you silently watched the movie, staying in relatively the same position. As the movie was coming to a close, tears began to make their way down your face, landing on Charlie’s shirt. He looked down when he began to feel the wet spot on his chest. Moving so he could see your face better, Charlie smirked at your current state.

“Are you crying?” Charlie asked, the goofy smirk not leaving his face. You lifted your head from his chest, glancing between his smirking expression and the puddle on his chest. 

“What? He never got to meet his dad! After all that!!” you said, pouting out your bottom lip so you didn’t start sobbing. Charlie chuckled before sitting back and pulling you back into him.

“Haven’t you seen this before? You knew this was coming” he replied while turning his attention back to the screen.

“Just because I’ve seen it already doesn’t make it any less sad, Char.” But he could tell by the tone in your voice that you weren’t talking about the movie anymore. He grabbed the remote, stopping the end credits. You started to sit up, wiping the remnants of tears from your face.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” he asked, voice soft and understanding. You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your head on your knees facing your friend sitting next to you.

“Everything is just so overwhelming right now. It’s like nothing can go my way and just keeps piling on top of me. I feel like I’m drowning and I’m so over it.” There was a comfortable silence between the two of you for a moment “I hate feeling like this” you whispered. Charlie put his hand on your back, rubbing small circles.

“Hey, hey, look at me” he said. Your eyes remained fixed on a random spot of his bed. “Y/N, please” he whispered. You shifted your gaze so that your eyes met his. “I know that things might be really tough right now, but I know you, and I know how hard you work, and I know that you will get through this. You have the weekend to forget about things and relax for a bit too, I’m here to get your mind off of the stress.”

You smiled at his reassuring words; he always knew what to say. You moved so that you could rest your head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Char, don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know, probably die or something” he said casually. You punched his shoulder jokingly and laughing at the boy next to you. “You hungry? We can order some food” 

“I didn’t bring my wallet with me” you said, remembering that you’d only grabbed your keys on your way out. 

“Don’t worry about that, it was on me anyway.” Charlie said, scrolling through UberEats on his phone for something to order. “What are you feeling?”

“Char, I’m not letting you pay! At least let me Venmo you?” you asked, already beginning to feel guilty at the fact that he offered to pay.

“Y/N” he said, putting his phone down and turning to face you, “You’re not paying,” he placed both hands on your cheeks, squishing them slightly, “Do not. Worry. About it.”

“But Charlie,” you replied, turning your body to face him straight on, “I. Feel. Bad” you mimicked his position, placing both hands on his cheeks and squishing them. And there the two of you were, hands on each other’s cheeks, squishing them. That was until you heard Charlie’s bedroom door slowly creak open.

“Hey guys, Jer and I were just wondering if you wanted to order food?” Owen asked, walking in while looking down at his phone. When he looked up and noticed the way you two were positioned, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Uh, I’m sorry, did I walk in on something?” he asked concerned, but slightly amused. 

“Perfect timing Owen!” Charlie said, taking his hands off your cheeks and grabbing his phone again, “Y/N and I were just having the same conversation”

“I was thinking maybe Chinese?” Owen asked, resuming his scrolling on his phone. You and Charlie looked at each other, an unsure look on your face.

“Eh, not really feelin’ it” Charlie replied, going back to his phone for food inspiration.

“I was kind of craving pasta from that Italian place down the street” you said.

“Pomodoro?” Charlie asked, and immediately he looked at Owen and they gave each other the same look. “Yes!” They both said at the same time.

“I’ll go ask Jer what he wants, text me your orders.” Owen replied, leaving the room. But before Owen asked Jeremy what he wanted to eat, he explained in detail what he saw when he walked in on you and Charlie. The two boys grinned at each other, knowing how the two of you felt about the other, and knowing that neither of you would say anything to the other.

**

When the food arrived, the four of you sat in the small living room eating, joking, and watching a variety of YouTube videos. You loved hanging out with the guys, it was always entertaining and you definitely got a workout from how much you laughed. 

After everyone had finished eating, the four of you decided to put on a movie. You sat next to Charlie on the smaller couch, leaning into his side, while Owen laid out on the bigger couch and Jeremy had a spot on the floor with some pillows. 

You’re not sure how long into the movie you made it, but eventually you fell asleep on Charlie’s shoulder. He hadn’t noticed you fell asleep until Owen brought it up.

“Hey man, she out?” he asked, leaning up on the couch. Jeremy looked over too, noticing your sleeping figure resting against Charlie. Charlie glanced down at you, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Yeah, she must’a fell asleep” he said, eyes resting on you a little longer before turning to look at Owen. Owen smirked and looked at Jeremy, who matched his smirk before the two boys looked back at Charlie. “What’s the look for?” he asked confused.

“Oh, come on, Charlie!” Jeremy said, “You are head over heels for her!” he whisper shouted.

“And you have been since day one” Owen added. 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Charlie whisper shouted back. The boys couldn’t see but underneath the blanket, Charlie was pulling you closer to him. He felt like he had to protect you despite there really being nothing to protect you from.

“Don’t avoid it Charlie, it’s so obvious” Owen retorted.

“The only question is, when are you finally going to tell her?” Jeremy asked.

As Charlie was forming his response, his felt you shift next to him. All three boys shifted their gaze to you, hoping you hadn’t heard what they were talking about. You shifted so that your face was resting in the crook of Charlie’s neck. He shivered at the feeling of your breath on his skin.

“Char?” you asked, too sleepy to open your eyes. Charlie squeezed your side to let you know he was there.

“What’s up? You alright?” he asked.

“ ‘m fine. What time is it?”

“Uh, it’s about 12:30” 

“Shit!” you said, quickly sitting up from your comfortable position and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, “The last bus leaves in 30 minutes, I gotta go!” You started to stand up from the couch, but Charlie grabbed your hips, sitting you back down on the couch.

“Chill, Y/N! I’m not letting you get on a bus in the middle of the night! You can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch tonight” Charlie said, trying to calm you down. Jeremy coughed from the other side of the room, giving Charlie a look. Jeremy was crashing on the couch considering that he didn’t actually live there and had planned to spend the night. Charlie shot back a ‘not now’ look, returning his focus on you.

“I can’t take your bed. I’ll take the couch” you said, not wanting to put your friend out any more than you had tonight.

“Well, actually, I-I’m supposed to be sleeping on the couch” Jeremy finally spoke up. Charlie shot him a look, causing Jeremy to shrug and shy back out of the conversation.

“Then I’ll take the floor, but I’m not taking your bed” You said, bundling the blanket that was piled next to you. 

“Y/N, you are not sleeping on the damn floor. Either you sleep in my bed or we’re both sleeping on the floor. End of story” Charlie said, a little more stern this time.

“Well with that logic, why don’t we both just sleep in the bed?” you asked, shrugging. Charlie’s eyes went wide. Owen and Jeremy’s heads quickly turned their attention to you, smirks threatening to appear on their faces. 

“I-I mean, if-if you’re cool with that, yeah we could do that” Charlie stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected you to offer to share a bed with him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to pass this opportunity up.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t cool with it, but now that we’ve settled that, I’m tired. Goodnight boys!” you said, standing up and waving.

“ ‘night!” Owen and Jeremy replied, waving as you made your way back to Charlie’s room. What you didn’t see was the two boys silently cheering Charlie on as he slowly stood and made his way to his room. 

You were already tucked away when he made it, closing the door softly behind him. He made his way through the dark and found his way to bed. He slipped in next to you, laying awkwardly on his back, not exactly knowing how to sleep next to you. He turned his head to look at you. Your back was facing him, breathing slow. He figured that you’d already fallen asleep given how tired you were, so he got comfortable and eventually fell asleep.

**

Charlie woke with a start when he heard you start to cry out in your sleep. He couldn’t make out what you were saying but he knew that you were having a nightmare. He immediately pulled your back close to his chest, arms wrapping around you. His cheek was pressed against yours as he whispered in your ear. “Hey, hey, you’re alright, I’m here, you’re okay” You woke up, heart racing, and hands grasping Charlie’s arms that wrapped around your middle. He loosened them enough for you to turn around and face him. 

“What would I do without you?” you asked, cuddling closer into his chest, eyes closing in comfort. Charlie took a deep breath, he felt like now was the time to tell you. Tell you how he really felt, how much he wanted to never be without you.

“Y/N?” he whispered?

“Yeah, Char?”

“Can I tell you something?” He was trying to keep his nerves down, knowing you’d be able to feel him shaking.

“Of course, you can tell me anything.” You replied, shifting to lean slightly over him. He mimicked your position, the two of you leaning to face the other. “I like you. Um, like more than a friend kind of like you. And I don’t want this to ruin what we have so if you don’t feel the same way that’s- that’s cool we can forget I said this.” Charlie rambled. You were taken aback by the sudden out poor of emotional truth. Charlie was beginning to accept that you didn’t feel the same way until you made a move. You leaned in and kissed Charlie, all of the bottled-up feelings coming to the surface. 

“I like you too, Char,” you whispered, hand cupping the side of his face, “God, I’ve liked you since the day we met” you laughed, remembering your first encounter on set with Charlie. Charlie sighed from relief from next to you.

“I was so scared you didn’t feel the same…”

“How could I not, Charlie? I literally couldn’t survive without you.” You spoke. A smile crept its way onto Charlie’s face before he leaned in for another kiss, deeper and more passionate than the first. The two of you spent much of the rest of the night like that, moving between sleep and giggly sleepy kisses. The next morning, the two of you slept in a little later than normal, and laid in bed cuddled up watching TikToks, sneaking kisses in between. It was a kind of bliss you didn’t think you’d ever experience. Both of your heads turned when a short knock was made against the door.

“Are you guys dead in there?” Owen asked through the door. The two of you chuckled from the bed.

“We’re fine Owen!” Charlie shouted.

“Are you sure? It’s like noon-thirty and I haven’t heard anything from either of you?” Owen shouted back. You laughed at the boys, moving to get out of the bed and answer the door. Charlie pouted at the lack of you next to him. You opened the door to see a concerned looking Owen. 

“Good morning, Owen” you smiled.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, noticing Charlie’s lack of shirt and a messy bed.

“No, you didn’t. We were just getting up to grab some breakfast” you replied.

“Oh, well I was going to ask if you guys wanted some waffles? Jeremy and I just made some” he said, still looking between you and Charlie, attempting to put the pieces together on what happened when the two of you went to bed last night.

“I’d love some waffles! Let me just grab my sweatshirt and I’ll be right there!” 

Owen nodded, leaving the room. You turned to look for your sweatshirt somewhere on the floor. Feeling two arms wrap around your waist, you giggled, placing your arms over Charlie’s.

“You know you don’t have to go out there.” He said, lips hovering just over your ear.

“No, I don’t have to.” You said, “But we need to eat.”

“There’s something right here I could eat.” Charlie replied. You spun around quickly in his arms, slapping him lightly on the upper arm.

“Charlie!” You couldn’t believe how quickly he responded with that!

“What!? It’s true!” he winked at you.

“Well too bad because that is currently not on the menu. I want waffles!” you said before breaking free of his grasp, grabbing your sweatshirt and skipping out of the room to the kitchen. Charlie was left standing in his room, mouth agape, but laughing at how you handled that. What would he do without you?

[the-gay-prometheus]

AU Segment - What’s In A Name (Parts 1 and 2 Combined!)

Oh hey, hi, hello. I finally finished this bit! I’m not sure how I entirely feel about it, but considering all of these segments are still just ‘test runs’ for this AU, that’s kinda to be expected. No warnings needed for these to my knowledge, just wholesome silly stuff and a bit of heartfelt moments thrown in. Just some notes before I share this full segment: 1. You’ll notice that unlike the last segment I posted, the creature is simply called Creature with a capital c rather than “the creature.” There is a reason for this! The narrator, although omniscient, has a bias toward Victor and his point of view about this character. The name of said character changes along with Victor’s view of him - from being a mess of all kinds of nasty things (’beast,’ ‘monster,’ ‘demon,’ etc.), to simply being ‘the creature, then to being more of a formal name ‘Creature,’ and finally to his actual name. In moments where Victor is particularly upset with this character, the title used by the narrator may change to reflect that. 2. This is veeeery very long considering it’s both parts 1 and 2. Knowing tumblr, formatting may get all screwed up, but I’m hoping for the best! 3. Both parts will also be posted to ao3 in their own works, so if you’d rather have links to them there so you’re not endlessly scrolling through a massive wall of text, feel free to ask! 4. I’m still practicing my ‘not-so-angsty’ writing, so some parts may be a little wonky because the wholesome silly stuff is not quite where my skills lie yet 😅 5. Special shout-out to @fergus-reid! The name ‘Percival’ suggested in part two that Victor rejects because it is a ‘name that he heavily considered’ was 100% influenced by his incredible podcast “The Marksbury Incident” - a beautifully written and acted modern/cross-over type AU where Victor is also a trans man (and canonically considered the name Percival for himself)! It’s a really neat story and I totally recommend checking it out! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are appreciated! Without further ado, I present ‘What’s In A Name?’

PART 1: “How about… hm… Gabriel?” Victor and Creature trekked along the mountain trail, Victor taking the lead so Creature wouldn’t go too far ahead. “That’s a good name, don’t you think?” Creature shrugged his shoulders, pausing to inspect the nearly white bark of a silver fir, tracing along the jagged edges with curiosity. “Is that a no?” Victor asked, somewhat out of breath as he turned to check on his creation. “Yes, that is a no,” Creature mumbled as he looked upward toward the top of the tall conifer. “Oh! I know! How about Luca? It means light!” Creature turned toward him with a disappointed frown. “Perfect, because surely I am the light of your life,” he remarked with clear sarcasm. For a moment Victor was almost impressed; after all, this was the first he had heard him make any kind of obviously sarcastic… joke? Was it a joke? “Well, no, that would be Henry,” Victor replied, turning back toward the trail and motioning for Creature to follow. “But you were born of lightning, so it would at least have some sentimental meaning?” The creation shook his head. “I would rather not be consistently reminded of my origins.” The two continued along the trail, Victor staying quiet as he tried to think of another name that might work. As they walked, they came along a portion of the trail with a steep, rocky cliff that harbored the continuation of the trail on top. Victor, being the stubborn person he was, insisted that he could climb up himself, but each time he tried to scrabble up, he would lose his hold or lose his footing and fall back down. Though he continued to insist he could do it, Creature lifted him up and set him on the top of the stone. Victor shot him a nasty look, brushing off his clothing as if where he had touched him was somehow now dirty, but Creature ignored it and hoisted himself up to the top with ease. “Then how about Adam?” Victor suggested, turning and starting his way down the trail once again. Creature stood at the cliff edge, staring at his creator. “After all, you came up with that one yourself.” “I… I do not want a name that I came up with,” Creature began. “I would much rather it come from you.” Victor gave him an odd look. “What does it matter? A name is a name, right? I named myself and you don’t see me complaining about it,” he retorted, crossing his arms. He glanced off to the side, then frowned. “Well… I suppose Henry technically helped- but I’m the one who chose it.” Creature crossed his own arms and gave him the kind of look that said ‘well, there’s the answer to your own question.’ Victor stared at him, then dramatically waved his arms and spun around. “Fine! Fine. Alright. What if I said I was giving that name to you because I thought it fit you and not because you came up with it? I mean, it is rather fitting considering-” “Then you missed my entire point of what I had said when I brought that name up,” Creature cut him off. Victor looked back to him. “Then what were you saying?” “I said I ought to be your Adam but… that it was not who I actually was to you. It was…” He hesitated. “A painful moment for me, Victor. To come to the realization that everything I should have been was everything I never would have had the chance to be.” Victor sighed, hanging his head. “Well, what if it’s who you are to me now?” he asked, his voice sincere. Creature shook his head. “That makes no difference. Once again it would simply be a reminder of such dreadful memories. I would rather live my life without being constantly reminded of my past simply by someone calling me by my name.” Victor didn’t answer, opting instead to take a step and continue onward. Creature hesitated, but followed all the same. “Gilbert?” Victor called out as he walked. Creature couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well that was out of nowhere.” “But is it a no?” “Yes, it is a no.” Victor made a grunt of disappointment, then looked around, pointing to a tall conifer with beautiful vibrant orange needles. “What about Larch? Like the tree?” he asked. His creation paused, looking at the tree and others of its species around them. “It is certainly a beautiful tree,” he remarked simply. “Though I am not sure it is a good name.” “Come on, it’s a great name!” Victor exclaimed, turning back to the trail and clambering his way up a boulder that blocked the path. “I will… give it some thought,” Creature promised with a slight smile, hopping over the boulder as though it were only a mild inconvenience. “That doesn’t sound like a no to me,” Victor proposed, grinning. “It is not a no, but it is also not a yes,” Creature explained, reaching up and plucking a handful of the orange needles from one of the trees and inspecting them closer. “Then it’s basically a no and I should keep going,” Victor suggested. Far ahead, the trees cleared and open sky above distant ridgeline could be seen - signifying they were nearly home - and Victor let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you I’d have a name for you by the time we got home. You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.” “And I told you that these things take far more time than what one walk will procure,” Creature countered. “Not that you listen to me, of course.” He continued onward, passing Victor, who watched as he walked by. “I don’t listen to anyone,” Victor called to him as he watched him walk. “I thought that would’ve been fairly obvious by now.” “Oh, it is certainly obvious, but that does not make it - or you, for that matter - any less irritating, Victor,” his creation answered from ahead. Victor frowned. “Hey- Hey! Wait up!” He scrambled as he broke into a run, tripping over a stone and nearly falling but somehow miraculously not falling flat on his face. “What was that supposed to mean?” Creature kept walking, pausing to lift a bough that crossed in front of the path and ducking beneath it, holding it away from the trail so Victor could pass without walking into it. “I was simply stating a fact,” he mentioned, letting the branch go once Victor was through. “Hmph.” Victor strode past him, ducking his way through the last tangle of branches before emerging to the ledge where their little hut stood. “Could’ve kept it to yourself,” he grumbled as he straightened his vest and brushed off his coat. “I will keep that in mind,” Creature stated, emerging beside him with at least one twig sticking awkwardly out of his long black hair. Victor looked up at him, staring at the twig in his hair with narrowed eyes until Creature got the hint that there was something there, then started making his way back toward their home with his shoulders drooped and his eyes on the ground. Grumbling something about how ungrateful his creation was, he made his way to the door, reached for it, and then- whack! The door flew open, hitting Victor directly in the face and knocking him backward. He clutched at his nose with a yelp of pain. Creature couldn’t help but chuckle - this was at least the third time this had happened in the past week alone. It was Henry who had opened the door, and who had promptly let out a sharp gasp of surprise upon seeing his boyfriend dramatically writhing around on the ground with his hand over his face. “Good lord Victor!” he exclaimed, dropping to the ground to check if he was ok. Victor sucked in a breath and hissed it out through his teeth, slowly removing his hand from his nose and blinking his eyes back open. Upon seeing Henry, directly above him, he managed a half smile. “You’re lucky I love you,” he sneered, pushing himself up onto his hands. Henry grinned, planting a kiss on Victor’s lips, which Victor gladly reciprocated. As he pulled back, Henry stood, offering a hand to help his boyfriend up from the ground. “I know I am,” Henry answered Victor’s original statement with a smirk. “Not that he poses much of a threat regardless,” Creature quipped from behind them. Victor rolled his eyes and Henry snickered. “Well, threat or not,” he began, wrapping his arm around Victor, “How’d it go? Did you two finally figure out a name?” “No, we didn’t. That one is too stubborn,” Victor complained, pointing to his creation. “I simply did not relate to any of the names you suggested, Victor. That is not stubbornness, that is…” He paused, thinking of how to word it. “Well… I suppose it could be stubbornness.” Henry shook his head. “Not stubbornness at all. A name is an important and meaningful thing, so if you have yet to hear one that you feel fits you, then it just doesn’t fit and that’s all there is to it,” he explained with a kind smile. Victor gave him a side-eyed glance, then sighed. “Alright, sure. Not stubborn. Just irritating,” he retorted, giving Creature a sneer. Creature stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, you did create me, after all.” Henry tried to hold back a laugh, and couldn’t help but let it out as Victor pushed him away with a scoff. “I am not irritating!” he announced, earning even harder laughter from Henry. He spun on his heels to face him, crossing his arms. “It’s not funny! I’m not irritating!” “Pfff- Yes you are!” Henry exclaimed through his laughter. Victor wanted to be angry, but Henry’s laughter was contagious as always and he found himself starting to snicker along. “No I’m not!” he repeated, though much less seriously. “You most certainly are,” Creature mentioned, starting to chuckle a bit himself. “I- I am absolutely not,” Victor reiterated, trying to make himself sound very serious but only making himself - as well as Henry and Creature - laugh even harder. “Yes you are!” Henry teased, reaching out and flicking Victor’s nose. Victor flung his hand up and stumbled back. “Ow! Henry that’s still sore!” he exclaimed reaching out to flick him back. Henry jumped out of the way and took off toward the open land of the ridge just beyond their hut still laughing as he gave his boyfriend a look that seemed to say ‘just try to catch me.’ Victor smirked and ran off after him, shouting “You sly bastard- get back here!” Creature watched them chase one another, his laughter slowly subsiding to a smiling sigh. Name or no name, he felt like he was finally so much closer to the life he wanted - a loving family of sorts, though a strange family it may be. He watched as Henry switched directions and came up from behind Victor, tackling him to the ground. Though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, he could hear as their own laughter turned to quiet words, and then to quiet as Henry silenced Victor with another kiss. A content expression on his face, Creature lay back, sprawled out on the ground, and watched the clouds as they passed through the sky. PART 2: The afternoon was fair-weathered and peaceful, blue sky hardly obscured by a few fluffy clouds with the sun casting its brilliant light evenly over the mountains. Creature had spent just about the entirety of the last few hours still lying on the ground, the first half watching the clouds that passed by while considering each shape they took as they changed with the wind, and the second half so well at peace that he had fallen asleep. That was, of course, until the feeling of something being dropped on his chest caused his eyes to snap open. Above him stood Henry, who was looking down at him with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. Creature managed an awkward smile in return, and looked down at what had been dropped on him. He recognized the small leather bag and gently plucked it off his chest, reaching up to drop it back into Henry’s now waiting outstretched hand. “Fancy a game?” Henry asked with a grin, shaking the bag and causing the contents inside to clink and rattle. Creature chuckled and slowly lifted himself upright. “Of course, though you could have woken me in perhaps a less startling manner,” he replied. “Where’s the fun in that?” Henry joked, tossing the bag back and forth between his hands. “Will Victor be joining us?” Creature inquired as he rose to his feet and brushed the dust and dirt from his cloak and pants. “Begrudgingly, yes,” came a flat voice from behind him. He turned to find Victor standing there, looking almost entirely unamused - almost, though Creature could tell he was actually looking forward to it. Henry was the first to jog over to their typical outdoor playing spot, a fairly flat length of stone close to the edge of the ledge, and emptied the contents of the bag onto the ground. An array of clearly non-professionally made dominos, all somewhat unevenly cut with a yellow-stained tint (the clear sign of being made with real bone), clattered down and Henry quickly flipped any that fell right-side-up over so that only the blank sides were facing. Creature arrived and sat down carefully, knowing the drill by now and beginning to choose his five tiles. Victor flopped himself down beside Henry, faking an annoyed sigh as he started to pick his tiles. Henry caught the fake sigh and snatched one of the tiles Victor was about to pick before he could take it, resulting in the two in the two of them giving each other mock-mad looks before they both devolved into a small fit of giggles. As the two of them continued to pester each other while picking their tiles, Creature picked up his own tiles to see if he had managed to pick up a doubles tile. “All-threes as usual, correct?” he mentioned above their antics. Henry looked up at him with a nod. “Yes, unless you wanted to try something different today?” Creature thought for a moment. “No, I am content with the usual.” “Well that’s perfect,” Victor quipped as he looked at his tiles, his expression brightening. He set one of his tiles down, one with six pips on both ends. “Twelve points for me,” he mused, picking up a small splinter of stone and scratching twelve tally marks down beside him on a bare spot of the stone ground amongst a multitude of other scratched-over tallies from games past. “Perfect for me too,” Henry teased, placing a tile with six pips on one end and none on the other. “That’s twelve points for me also.” Victor shot him a clearly sarcastically scathing glance, which Henry countered with a smirk as he reached for the stone splinter Victor had been keeping tally with to tally his own points. “It seems we are starting this with a tie,” Creature examined, placing a fully blank tile beside the one Henry had placed down before picking up a much larger splinter of stone beside him and carving out twelve tallies for himself. Victor gave him a disappointed glance before checking his own tiles and finding one he could place, though it would earn him no more points. Henry placed his next tile and the turn was passed to Creature, who managed to score another twelve points. “Hey Victor, I think I figured out what name we should give him,” Henry mentioned with sarcasm as Creature scratched down his tallies. Creature glanced upward, listening carefully. Victor didn’t answer, but instead rolled his hand in a motion that meant ‘go on.’ Henry snickered as he placed down a tile of his own. “I think we should call him Victor the Second because at this rate you’re going to lose your winning streak.” “No, I think we should call him Henry,” Victor countered, voice dripping with sarcasm as he played his own next tile and scratched down six points for himself. “I am not taking either of your names,” Creature muttered with a slight smile as he placed his next tile down and etched twelve more points on his tally. “That would be far too strange.” “Fair enough,” Henry replied, checking his tiles and realizing he needed to draw from the free-pile in order to place one down. “How about… Ah! I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “How about Hector?” Both Victor and Creature gave him an odd look. “Hector?” Victor repeated, raising one eyebrow as he also picked up a few tiles from the free pile in order to find one to place down - which he did, and scratched in three points for himself. “Henry, Victor,” Henry explained, raising one hand with each name. “Hector,” he finished, clapping his hands together. Victor couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter, and Creature chuckled softly as well. “Amusing and sweet, Henry, but I do not think that is the name for me,” he replied, placing his final tile down. Checking over the playing area again, he grinned. “And I do believe that is a win.” Victor shot his glance down. “What?!” He looked at what had been put down. “How? Are you already out of bones?” Creature nodded. “Indeed.” “Ha!! The unbeatable Victor finally tastes defeat!” Henry exclaimed, ruffling his fingers through Victor’s hair - Victor, who flicked his hand away to take a closer look at the spread as if somehow that would make it change. “No, no - not possible. Absolutely impossible.” He looked up at Creature and squinted. “You cheated somehow.” Creature gave him a confused look. “I… do not believe it is even possible to cheat at this game?” “Don’t mind him, he’s just being a sore loser,” Henry reassured him, bumping Victor in the shoulder with his elbow. Victor gave a huff and crossed his arms. “Rematch?” Creature nodded. “If you are both so inclined.” Victor glanced away, trying to hold back a smile. Truth was, he actually was very much enjoying himself. “... Fine,” he said at a length, beginning to flip and mix the tiles. They each plucked their dominos from the pile. “Anyone have a double six?” Henry asked as he looked at his tiles. Victor and Creature both looked at each other as if asking each other the same question, then both shook their heads. Creature looked back down at his tiles, then placed down a double five. “Good enough.” “How about Daniel?” Victor asked as Henry played a tile. “Do you have a reason for that name?” Creature responded as Victor played his next and scratched a new tally of three. “Not particularly. It’s just a nice name,” Victor replied, gesturing that it was his turn. “I see.” Creature placed a tile, and scratched a six for himself, which prompted a quiet ‘scheisse!’ from Victor. He couldn’t help but smile at the reaction. “I would have to say no.” “Does it have to be a name with meaning?” Victor asked as he watched Henry play his turn. “I would prefer it to, if possible.” Victor thought for a moment as he placed his next tile. “Percival is a good name,” Henry suggested with a smirk toward Victor. Victor gave a thoughtful look, then furrowed his brow and gave Henry a look of flat annoyance. “He can’t just have the name I didn’t take,” he muttered. “You had considered naming yourself Percival?” Creature inquired as he picked up a tile from the draw pile and placed it down, etching a twelve in his tallies. “Considered it, yes,” Victor grumbled in reply. “I… do like the sentiment of taking on your unused name,” Creature mentioned, thinking it through more as he watched Henry play his next turn. “Well- you can’t have it,” Victor responded, picking up two tiles and placing one down. “What about Prometheus? I fancied myself to be like him while I was making you, so there would be some meaning to it.” Creature took a moment to think, then shook his head. “I feel I really do not want something that relates in any way to my creation. Not… that I resent being created, mind you, but I have tried to put the past behind me as much as possible, as you know,” he explained as he set down his next tile. Victor sighed heavily, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand as Henry played his turn and scratched a twelve down for himself. They continued their turns in relative silence, until finally as the sun was beginning to set in the sky it was Victor who placed his final tile. Though he felt like he should be celebrating that, instead Victor felt… defeated. He got up, muttering, “Good game, both of you,” before sulking off back to the cabin. Henry watched him go with a concerned gaze. “Have I… said something wrong?” Creature asked quietly, suddenly beginning to worry that he had hurt his creator in some way. Henry sighed. “No, you’re fine,” he reassured him as he began collecting the tiles and placing them back into their holding pouch. “You coming inside?” Creature shook his head. “I… think I will stay out here for the time being.” Henry smiled at him and gave him an understanding nod before making his way to the cabin. As he stepped inside, he set the pouch down on the side table by the door and made his way into what they considered the ‘common space,’ where Victor sat by the fireplace which only softly glowed with a freshly started fire. “Are you alright, love?” Henry asked gently, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around him. Victor heaved a shaky sigh and rested his head on Henry’s shoulder. “I just… I feel like I can’t do right by him,” he mumbled, pressing himself closer to his boyfriend. “Nothing I’ve ever done has been… right.” Henry listened carefully as he spoke, holding him tighter and resting his head against Victor’s. “Well, you’re trying, aren’t you?” he suggested softly. “I think he’s just happy that you’re trying.” “Trying isn’t enough,” Victor stated, sitting upright and staring into the small, flickering flames. “After all I’ve done and all I’ve said, trying isn’t enough.” “Then let’s change our approach,” Henry recommended with a smile, reaching out and gently turning Victor’s face toward him to give him a tender kiss. Victor exhaled softly and leaned into it, then slowly pulled back. “How so?” “We could start by doing what we did when we chose your name.” Victor’s eyes widened. “Oh!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Henry, you’re a genius!” “I’m flattered, but that honor belongs to you, love,” Henry quipped with a grin. “Come on - let’s start reading.” The two of them scoured the collection of books that Henry had brought up with him, picking out names and sounding them off to each other one by one. They went through book after book until the sun disappeared and the sky went dark, either one of them occasionally throwing a new log into the fire to ensure they had plenty of light and warmth. After a few hours, Victor stared down at a page, and uttered, “I think I’ve got it.” Henry looked up from his own book and set it down, swiftly moving over to him. Victor pointed a word out to him. “That one.” Henry gave him a quizzical look. “Are you sure? That’s hardly a name.” Victor looked up at him. “I know, but think about the meaning! It’s perfect!” Henry thought for a moment, then wrapped his arms around him with a smile. “With a bit of tweaking, I think you might be right,” he murmured, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You really do mean it, don’t you.” Victor glanced back at him. “Hm?” “You’ve really come to care for him, I mean,” Henry explained, releasing his grip. Victor hesitated, but then nodded. “I have - genuinely. I just… hope this will be enough to prove it.” “I’m sure it will be perfect.” Creature was sitting out near the edge of the ledge, resting his weight on his hands as he stared up at the stars as they glittered above. Victor took a deep breath as he stepped outside and breathed out slowly. You can do this. It’ll be fine, he thought to himself as he walked over as quietly as he could. He sat beside his creation, and tilted his head back to look upward as well. Creature turned his head slightly to look at him, then returned to his stargazing. “Agape,” Victor said suddenly. “...What?” Creature asked, once again looking over to him. Victor kept his eyes on the stars, but smiled slightly. “Do you know what it means?” Creature stared at him, thinking, then returned his gaze upward. “It is… Greek.” “That’s right.” He thought some more, racking his brain for memories of the word. “One of the… three Greek forms of love, correct?” Victor nodded. “Indeed.” He glanced away as he continued to think. “...If I recall correctly, it is considered the highest form of love. A deep, profound respect. Some define it as… the mutual love between God and man, and between man and God.” Victor’s smile grew - his creation’s intelligence still continued to amaze and fascinate him. “That is also correct. Though… I think I’d like to propose a more general definition.” Creature looked over at him. “What definition would that be?” Victor took a moment, then closed his eyes. “The mutual love between a creator at his creation, and between a creation and his creator.” Creature’s eyes widened, and for the sake of trying not to immediately shed a tear by thinking about that statement, he stared back up to the heavens. “That is… a definition I could approve of.” “How about a name?” “A… name?” “Is it a name you could approve of?” Victor reiterated, opening his eyes and looking over to see that Creature was now once again staring at him, though this time clearly not trying to hide the tears in his gleaming yellow eyes. His silence disturbed him, and he looked away. “...No, no nevermind - forget it. Forget it.” “Victor I,” Creature began, his voice soft and shaken. “That is so much more of a meaningful name than I could have ever imagined.” Victor glanced back at him. “Are you sure?” Creature nodded, smiling wide as tears streamed down his face. “I have scarcely been more sure.” Victor swallowed back tears of his own and smiled back to him. “Then consider it finalized, Agape.” He paused, then leaned forward and embraced him as tightly as he could. “Agape Frankenstein, my first and only…” he paused, thinking for a moment, then smiled contentedly, “son. My first and only son.” Agape didn’t know how to react at first - he was overwhelmed with so many emotions; relief, hope, joy. The most he could do was wrap his arms around his creator - his father - and finally take in what it really meant to be loved.

[annab-nana]

“I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but that failed.” With Peter please <3 ( if you’re still doing these ofc )

Okay babe! Here you go :) I am always open to blurb requests whether I’m doing a blurb night or not so you can send in whatever whenever!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Peter, you scared me,” you whispered to the boy who hung upside down outside your window when you opened it to let him in. He chuckled at you before turning right side up and climbing into your room, silently shutting the window behind him.

“Sorry,” he muttered before pulling his mask off completely, giving you a clear view of what you were working with. Thankfully, tonight was one of the better nights in terms of cuts, scraps, and bruises. The small bruise that appeared under his eyes a few days ago was healing from what you could tell, but there was a small cut on his eyebrow and his lip was busted again. You pointed to your bed, telling him to sit there while you went to get your first aid kit 

“Sit still,” you whispered while dabbing the peroxide-coated cloth to the fresh cut on his brow. It was on your favorite one too. You both referred to that one eyebrow as his wonky brow. It was easily one of your favorite physical features about the boy along with his charming brown eyes and the delicate little freckles that dusted his cheeks. 

While your eyes were trained on the slit in his brow as you tended to it, his fell upon your face. He loved to watch you when you were focused, the sight being so adorable to him. The way your tongue poked out a tad as your concentration grew. How your eyebrows knitted together while you maintained your focus on cleaning the small wound. He couldn’t help but fall further in love with you. 

“Y/n, I- I- uh,” he stuttered, his honey browns flickering between your own eyes before he let out a sigh. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. 

“What is it, Peter?” you questioned as your attention moved from aiding his minuscule gash to just him, the boy who risked his life every day to protect the people of Queens and sometimes the whole world or even the entire universe. You admired Peter before he told you about his abilities and now you appreciated him so much more. 

“I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but that failed,” he laughed nervously while looking down to his hands that sat in his lap. Your fingers went under his chin to lift his face, his gaze meeting yours once more. 

“I love you too, Pete.” You smiled at him before quickly pecking his cheek. Pink dusted his cheeks when your lips pulled from him while his eyes widened slightly at you. You giggled before you continued to clean him up. 

“Are you staying here or swinging back home?” you asked Peter as you put all the supplies back in the kit and put it away. 

“Probably back home before May sees I’m not there and freaks out,” he let out a little laugh while stepping closer towards the window, pulling it open. You walked over to him when he slipped out and turned back to you. 

“Goodbye, Peter. I love you,” you grinned after speaking, feeling heat rush to your cheeks at your proclamation. 

“I- I love you t-too,” he stumbled over his words again but you found it all the more endearing. “Good night, y/n.”

“Good night. Swing safely,” you joked as he shot a web towards the corner of the building adjacent to yours. 

“No promises,” he said with a wink before he jumped from your window sill. “I’ll text you when I get home!”

[zarathelonewolf]

Currently writing the first two chapters of my KNY AU... They're about the main OC, Masako, and how she exactly became a Demon Slayer. I'm gonna spoil you something: it wasn't really easy for her, since she was her father's only daughter, and he became more protective of her when he came back from a mission so gravely injured that he had to retire and become a cultivator: she had always trained with him before that moment and listened to his stories, and although he already knew the dangers of the profession his daughter wanted to choose... the dangers of the path he had chosen and that she wanted to follow... he had let her passion for training fester. That was because she was already showing some form of propensione for the Stone Breathing, which her father was expert of.

However, after his injury, even if he did let her train on her own as he occupied himself by training other apprentices as cultivator, he forbid Masako from ever becoming Demon Slayer: she could still train for leasure, or as a hobby, but now that Ryu (her father) had lost both his friends, an arm and a leg in his last mission, he really didn't want her to end up the same way he had.

Just like Hinata, one of Ryu's trainees, had told Masako one night before going to bed, when she asked him why Ryu didn't want to send her to a possible death but was OK doing so for other young promises... Ryu's only crime was loving her too much, and worrying like every parent would have in his shoes.

She rebels, one night, by taking his father's kusarigama while he sleeps and letting her frustrations go in the forest, using the weapon to create a whole opening among the trees. She knew the first forms of Stone Breathing by self-taching and observation of her father, so the devastation was pretty heavy. She was seen by Kaito, the apprentice Ryu was training at the time, and then scolded by her father and never allowed to train anymore... Not even in her free time, or with a staff, like she had done until her rebellion. He did so because he realized that, to keep her truly away from the world of Demon Slayers, he had to use a firmer hand. He ignored her when she started to try and make amends in the days afterwards, and the Masako Ryu had known until then started to fade: she treated him with immense but cold respect, tried busying herself by doing more "feminine" activities and spending more time with her mother instead of her father, didn't ask him for stories or stare at his training with apprentices anymore... she interacted much, much less.

Ryu realized that he had done something wrong: he had lit a fire in his daughter ever since she'd been eight by letting her train with him, and now that he had lost so much and retired and that she had grown up to fourteen years, in his attempts to shield her, he had severed a strong bond and turned her world upside down. He remembers her last words after the forest incident: she had said, utterly devastated, that the embers in her heart would never truly be set ablaze and that they would have never burned anything worthwhile... That all her efforts in the end were for nothing, and that she would have changed nothing through them.

Ryu, at some point, grows tired of the atmosphere and follows Kaito's suggestion: he writes to his old Sensei, his cultivator, Fukunaga. Since Fukunaga's style isn't to text back, he pops out in front of Ryu's house with his eagle to pay him a visit.

Fukunaga listens carefully to his former apprentice, then asks him to see his daughter and allow her to show him what she was truly capable of.

After examining Masako's performance, Fukunaga has a loooong talk with her father. Since he was affectionate towards his students, former and present, but didn't let it cloud his judgment, he concludes that it would be infinitely better for Masako to become a Demon Slayer instead of letting her fade away, and that if Ryu would keep being immovable, Fukunaga would have trained her himself, to ensure the hardships of her life as a Demon Slayer would be lightened by solid experience, training, and validation. He also observed that it would be wiser for him to contact "an old friend of his" to teach her the basics of Wind Breathing: she wasn't totally compatible with Stone Breathing, and the imput of Wind Breathing could allow her to develop a Form that would be perfectly fit for her: it wasn't the first time Fukunaga attempted joint training with another cultivator in tow.

He gives Ryu a week to decide, and then he leaves, after sparing an encouraging look to both father and daughter.

I bet you already know where this is going: Ryu allowed her to follow Fukunaga, and she swore to him that she would have come back after her eventual Selection, and every mission, to reassure him that she was alright.

During her training, which goes on until she's 16, she fuses Stone and Wind Breathing creating Diamond breathing: it uses two swords, one bigger than the other; the bigger one is used to charge the enemy, as shield even, and for the heavier strikes. The lighter one is used for feints, and strikes that require speed and precision. Trust me: it was incredibly wonky when she first developed it, and Fukunaga and Igarashi (her cultivators) had discouraged her idea in the beginning, but as unstable as her first version of the style was, she survived the selection...splendidly,might I add, even getting herself a friend.

She becomes Pillar when she's 18,almost 19,after destroying a draconic demon on her own: a Lower Moon that swam noisily and messily in a river, making it flood often and becoming the doom of the nearby villages. She gained three ugly scars on the left side of her face, maiming her left cheek and her chin,and one on her back, but her smile stayed just as fierce and her eyes never wavered, even if one of them was milky and her smile looked scary as hell because of the wound; she was lucky she didn't loose mobility of that side at all. Her Hashira alias is Diamond Pillar, from her now almost perfected Breathing Style. She makes best friends with the old Stone Hashira and the Shadow Hashira. Shadow Breathing, for those curious, derives from Wind and Water Breathing: his main holder bonds with Masako because their styles both developed by fusing two already known techniques, and the Stone Hashira respects her efforts. Shadow breathing will become lost in the Canon era because of his holder's misterious death; don't worry, he isn't the one that has the demon friend. He dies while on spy duty: he had infiltrated Douma's Cult, and Masako is sent there with his tsuguko as replacement of the Shadow Pillar... The same mission in which her tsuguko will lose his humanity, and immediately rebel Douma's influence out of pure spite and conviction, saving some prisoners and his teacher in the process.

Masako sees the Stone Hashira retire and leave the spot to Gyomei Himejima (19 years old) when she is 23,and gets her own tsuguko when she is 26: her tsuguko, Kai, is extremely bubbly and optimist to a fault, and she has become more serious with age, but they get along nevertheless.

She is 29 and he is 17 when they investigate the Shadow Hashira's disappearance in Douma's cult and Kai becomes a Demon.

When they are far away from Douma's clutches and sure that he isn't interested in the pursue anymore, Masako has to make a tough choice: but even if her tsuguko agrees with her that she has the duty to kill him and offers himself to justice, she chooses to spare him in the end. She tells him to regain his optimism, because his rebellion has shown her that he would be on the Demon Lsayers side no matter what, and he was still fighting his new monstrous instincts as they spoke, so there was still plenty of humanity in his heart.

In her report, she writes that Kai was lost when they evaded Douma's Cult because he covered her escape with the civilians, and that other infiltrations of the Cult were discouraged.

She spends a whole year helping her former tsuguko, hidden in a cave close to her very narrow den, manage his cravings for human flesh with every method immaginable: she fed him wild animals, exercised in meditation, and allowed him to sleep much more once she understood that it would inhibit the stronger fits of hunger. She neglected her duties as a result, worrying her colleagues, especially the very perceptive Gyomei. They were already suspicious because her report had, um, "plot holes" so to speak, but they had dismissed them believing that it was hindered by her recent loss. It was the other reason they gave to her difficulty of going on missions... But they became flabbergasted when, at 30 years old, she disappeared. Like, just, poofed out of existence. She didn't participate to an Hashira meeting, and the now super-worried Himejima charged himself with the duty to check out her den and ensure that she was alright.

When he entered, he immediately felt the stench of human blood, and... and of a Demon. He had touched the walls and the floor, and realized they were caked with blood: there were no plot holes that time, a fight had happened. Her den had been well hidden, but a Demon had clearly managed to get there. He didn't find a corpse anywhere, not even in the area around the narrow house in the mountains, and using his hyper-sensitivity, he had concluded that Masako had likely been killed a week before... and none of them had noticed. Not even finding her crow, he stopped his investigation and called an emergency meeting, explaining his findings.

Little did they know, Masako had realized that she couldn't hide anymore and that they may have found out about Kai's condition, so she had to enact a fake death: she made Kai use some of his Blood Demon Art to give the feel of a demon's attack, and wounded herself on her forearms and her shoulder, not fatally, but she still splashed the blood on the walls, and then ran away with Kai. She also let him destroy some trees and rocks of the place, and part of her house.

Kai would, again, beg her to kill him, because he still somehow saw himself as an hindrance, a burden, that she had to bear and that had led her to abandon her higher responsibilities. It was his fault that they were on the run, and with an unknown future, now.

Masako, though, is adamant: she chose to stay by his side out of her own volition and following the evidence that he was still human deep down and that his demonic instincts wouldn't win anytime soon, so his condition could be managed. She tells him that they can still fight the un repenting demons without necessarily being Slayers, and that they had new options to reconsider: all the while, they would stand by each other.

Kai is finally convinced. He lets out a roar and he finally curses Douma and Muzan by yelling their names, without dying in the process: thus confirming that he has fully severed his connection to the two, and Muzan's Name Curse doesn't bind him anymore. Kai then follows Masako.

So... For those of you that have gotten until this point: congratulations.

This is, at the moment, Masako and Kai's story. Know that they will meet the rebellious demons later during their self exile,and they still slay bad demons on their own as the White Spirits, two vigilantes.

They will meet the Slayers in the Canon age, when Masako is 34 and Kai is... Um... Oh geez.

How old would he be? 25,maybe,but since he is a demon... I dunno, is it really important?

Remember, this is FANON MATERIAL. THE ORIGINAL WORK IS GOTOUGE-SENSEI PROPERTY, KIMETSU NO YAIBA, AND I CLAIM IT IN NO WAY. MY FANFICTION AND FANARTS ARE NON PROFIT, AND I OWE THE INSPIRATION TO THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.

See ya!

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Comic buff with a thought, I notice the P5MM art and composition is more striking and closer to p5's art and style than the other manga, which is fine, but kinda... flat. (I find myself thinking there's something missing when I read it, then I look back at P5MM and I notice how there's more clever paneling, imagery, and stylistic choices akin to the games in it (like that one goro panel ya had a rant about) and I realize what's missing) That could be why P5MM is brought up more, just a guess. I dunno how you feel about all that though, I'm curious.

Under the cut cause it gets long cause of pictures:

I am very big on art style and visual presentation. I do actually judge a book by it's cover (manga, game, movie, show, yadda). If I find something pleasing to my eye I'll read it.....even if the contents are trash. Domestic Girlfriend is one, horrible manga (didn't finish, was holding out for Momo, aka best girl, and getting closure for her....then I bounced). Didn't watch the anime (didn't need to I was way ahead in the manga I think), but I know that opening is wasted on it. ldskfjaf Don't invest your time into it, it's not worth it, you would probably learn better morals from P5.......probably. But yeah I found the art style pleasing enough to try it out (I's not amazing by any means, but I like looking at it....or did.....that writing man....dat was bad ;w;).... *waves hands vaguely in air* yeah.

Fun fact, it's why I got into Persona. I happened across an ad for P4 on the PS2 in the Gameinformer magazine, it showed a screenshot from an animated cutscene plus one of the fully body art for the chars and I was like "Yes this is my jam!" (which only doubled down when I read what it was about, and it was a murder mystery and the article also talked up "the mystery of the glasses" which fakldjsalkfs yeah). So yeah it really clicked for me.

Tbh it's why I'm probably going to get back into freaking Bleach, and it's why I got into it and Naruto over One Piece (I don't think I'll ever read ON I'm sorry). Tite Kubo has sexy art what can I say? Can't trust a thing that man writes now but eh. It's also the reason I read a lot of Shojo (and now Yuri) manga, cause their art style is usually what I find very appealing (even if I've read the same gd shojo love story just by a different name for the 1000th time, give me the flowers and sparkly eyes! they are my life blood!)

And I've mentioned I really like Saito's art style. I've (attempted) to color some of his pieces on top of animate some manga frames (most of which I haven't actually published......I...I should....get around to finishing those up....haha...aha....haaaa). I really like his art, it's pleasant. But even with good art, I can still see past it and see what BS it's peddling and it can hamper my enjoyment of it. If I don't look at the context of the scene or the words on the page, I can be down with it. But when I'm reading.......I get annoyed. I balk at anything with Goro. I guffaw whenever Makoto's on screen (cause Saito nails her from P5, she acts useful but really she's useless but the narrative views her as useful it ironically makes her useless......it's the weirdest thing I've ever witnessed >.>). Like Saito really.....gets P5 it seems, down to it's flaws even (tho he can actually make the good parts of P5 shine, or at least parts that P5 failed to execute....execute in a way). But he also makes the flaws.....shine that much harder for me.

Now the Reg manga? it's nothing special art style wise, in fact it starts off VERY wonky, and while still wonky, has gotten a lot....better/cuter (esp Ryu). Not like shojo cute just.......I wanna squish their wittle faces cute (at times when it's not serious).

Like when it comes to Reg Manga these are the two pieces that have appeared in it that I feel kinda hit the P5 mark in terms of style:

(look at Mona, coming into this world like the pustule that he is 8U)

Which isn't much, but it's something. At least Reg's AOA is better looking than the anime. 8U

But I dunno, as the chapters go on, the Mangaka allows for more cuter expressions, and I just like their neat:

(btw I colored that page)

I dunno, it's not as overtly cutsey as Saito:

But they are still charming in a more simple way (without out having them go full chibi), it subtle but it gives it flavor. "Silly why are most, if not all those pics of Ryu and Anne?" I dunno guys maybe you should ask them how their backs are doing, cause they're the ones who are carrying the Reg manga when it comes to this! 8U

Tho I do think the first ch or two of Reg does a better job capturing P5's feel than the rest of the chapters, I think the mangaka is just.....bogged down by exposition and the game's BS that a lot of text on their pages so it almost reads like a novel:

ALots of text, not the most dynamic of framing with the panels. It's kinda eh. I haven't really read the manga past the 2nd dungeon tbh (I mean......as the residential #1 Makoto hater, I think that's fair.....that I'd start to zone out during my least fav dungeon....and then continue zoning out during my 2nd least fav dungeon askfdjaflk)

But during the first two dungeon arcs, I liked how.....bad the PT were at thieving, I liked how green they were. It was obviously a learning process. I also like some of the fight choreo (Saito did the best hand to hand one in the series in P4U's Yu vs Sho....which I actually animated....spoiler.....no I have no released that...my dumbass wants to tempt fate and see if I can redo it in color even tho it took me 4 days non stop to get that animated in just black and white.....but I am a fool so alas 8U). I mean it's not mind blowing, but it was simple and decently thought out, which is more than I feel like we usually get (esp with the anime shows....or at least P4/5's).

But I think what draws me in is....it's lack of P5 style. P5 style has them being still oh so cool despite being new at everything. It's tired me out. P5's how identity is style. It's....style over substance (gonna rile some feathers with that....Cvit(?) vid title). But P5 is overtly stylish, to the point it......weighs on me. Drags me down. Tires me out. I don't think they're cool, I'm bored with it. Ironically, Reg manga lacks that, which......def would make someone (and me usually) give it much of a passing glance. It's very basic I guess. But.....consider me, being in P5 hell, surrounded by all it's nausea inducing stylishness, sees a small break in the hellish hurricane to see.......normalcy. It kinda makes me connect better with the kids (kinda, it's still P5).

They feel like normal kids, trying to do their thing (sometimes trying to look/act cool and failing), and.....it's just the absolute antitheses to P5's brand......and I think that's why I like it. KLFJDSAFLKJA;

Anyway, who knows, maybe when I catch up on Reg in english and re-read MM with the official translation I might change my mind about a few things, or at least how I rank them. But for post length sake, and my sanity sake, I think I should keep the anime and mangas out of the "Which entry do you hate least" post......because I should just make another post where I go into both mangas as well as compare and contrast the anime! :D I'm just delaying some insanity for later haha....

Wait.........I just remember Day Breakers exists......and I liked it....still do....don't have much issue with it. Well shit, that is probably the one entry I hate the least. fklsdjfalkjdfkla;jsL;FJljsfdlskafaj *sobs* nO NO, I committed, and that's just a sad loophole. fdklsajflakfj *sobs* I still need to the game thing, cause let's be honest, the games are where it counts.

So right now my ranking for manga/anime is:

Daybreakers>Reg manga> MM>>>>>>>>>>TV Show Anime and it's OVAs (may the burn in the hell fire from which they spawned)

Oh, one last thing, forgot to put it in but I dunno where to put it now. I like how the manga tones down the pervyness some:

I mean Ryu is a fellow monkey. u_u .......but it's for the best I don't have to see his ape expression. ;w; (iirc the pyramid scene was a lot shorter/faster, but that's by the grace of reading and books rather than animation I suppose).

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 74: Stellar Nucleosynthesis

The future is uncertain, but then again nothing ever is.

First  Previous  Next

“Hey. Beloved. Hey.” Lips brush against Keith’s, fingertips traveling down his bare side to cup his hip. “Beloved, wake up. Your mom’s here and I’m pretty sure she wants to cook and eat me.”

“You’ll be fine. You’d taste terrible. She knows that already.”

“It’s pregnancy test day… We kinda need you for that.” Lance kisses his cheek, cuddling up close behind him. “Don’t you wanna know if we’re having a baby? If there’s gonna be a tiny, miniature Keith running around?”

Keith sighs, lacing his fingers over Lance’s to keep the man’s arm around him. “I’d rather they looked like you.”

“What? No way!” Lance pouts.

“I hope they at least have your eyes. I love your eyes.”

“Aw-w, Beloved. I love your eyes.” Lance kisses his shoulder. “But before we can start arguing over inherited traits, we should do a pregnancy test.”

“We can argue now. But,” Keith says with a heaving sigh. “I guess we should take a pregnancy test. Before Thace straps me down and bleeds me by force.”

“Keith.” It’s Krolia, clearly having gotten impatient listening to Lance coo over him. “You have a package waiting from Thace.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” Keith sits up, Lance sitting with him.

“Your hair is a mess.”

“That’s your fault.”

“Yeah. It is.” Lance snickers, kisses his cheek. “I think Krolia got breakfast started, so whenever you’re ready, come join us, okay?”

Keith nods, spends a few minutes finding the energy to deal with Lance and Krolia in the same room and find out if he’s pregnant. He’ll be exhausted before lunch.

Krolia’s cooking breakfast when he emerges. Lance is patting out dough for flatbreads. They’re a little uneven, still a little wonky around the edges, but he’s got a proud little smile on his face. Keith swears he falls in love all over again when the Altean holds one up for his inspection.

“My good man, they look beautiful.” Keith wraps his arms around his mate’s waist, kisses his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“I know you’re lying to spare my feelings, but thank you, beloved.” Lance sprinkles more flour on the table, starts on another lump of dough. “That came for you.” A long, thin finger indicates a parcel wrapped in paper. “Thace makes paper, doesn’t he? It’s like a hobby or something.”

“Yeah, he does. It's how he and Ulaz fell in love, actually. Thace used to write all these letters for him. Still does. And for his kits.”

Keith takes a deep breath, unwraps the parcel. Inside is a small case about the size of his palm, made of dark, brushed metal. He blows the breath out through his cheeks.

Lance opens up an accompanying slip of parchment. “Okay. He left instructions. Step one, open the case and remove the test strip capsule and packaged sanitary wipe.”

Keith opens the box. Inside, there’s a small, metal device of matching color with a narrow screen at the top and a glass capsule containing a thin strip of silver material with a tiny depression at one end. He pulls out the capsule.

“Unscrew the lid of the capsule, removing the test strip. Insert the flat end of the strip into the port at the bottom of the device. Put the lid back on the capsule. Carefully clean the selected finger. Then, pull on the lip of the capsule to expose the needle punch, set it to the side of the pad of your finger, and press down quickly. You should feel a sharp prick. Squeeze a small amount of blood from your finger and put it up to the sample plate at the bottom of the strip. Press the button on the device and wait- Fifteen doboshes?!”

Lance groans. Keith shakes his head, smiling despite his stress. “I suppose we could wait two more movements and I could pee into a capsule and we could have results in one dobosh instead.”

“No, we’ll just do it now,” the Altean grumbles.

Krolia chuckles. “Be grateful you have a test you can take. I just had to wait until I could feel you. Besides, this device will also screen for any deficiencies Keith may have accrued during his season, and send the data directly to his reproductive care physician, in the case Thace.”

Keith bites his lip, staring at the capsule, before handing it to Lance with a pleading look. Lance sits beside him at the table, finding the sanitary wipe and unwrapping it, cleaning Keith’s left index finger, though not before squeezing it to watch his claw extend. Just for fun.

“When you say ‘wait until you could feel him’, what do you mean?” Lance asks, pulling off the capsule lid. The outer dome pops off to reveal a smaller, similarly shaped piece of metal beneath, with a hole at the bottom.

“After a phoeb, I could press down on my lower abdomen and feel a hardness where my womb would be.”

“I guess fifteen doboshes doesn’t sound so bad now, hm?” Keith asks. Lance kisses his cheek. The Galra smiles, opens his mouth to say something else, only to let out a surprised squeak when Lance presses the pricking device down on his finger. “There we go. All done.”

Lance squeezes a bead of blood from the tiny wound in the side of Keith’s finger, presses it to the sample plate. He looks back at his husband. “Whenever you’re ready, beloved.”

Keith hesitantly presses the purple button on the device, eyeing the Galran text on the screen:

TEST: ANALYZING…

“Now what?” Lance whines. “I wanna know.”

“I mean, the chances of me being pregnant are not in our favor.” Keith says, accepting some steak and eggs from his mother. “It’s my first season, and my family has a history of fertility issues. Plus, even if I am pregnant, the chances that I won’t miscarry are also not in our favor for the exact same reasons. Best not to get our hopes up.” The Galra shrugs, scooping his breakfast onto a piece of already cooked flatbread, sprinkling it with salt and spices, and shoving it in his mouth. “Besides, I was spotting for a couple quintants after my season, so-”

“That happens either way. You know that,” Krolia prompts. At Lance’s confused looks, she explains. “It’s not uncommon to spot blood following season.”

"Come on now, beloved. Let's try to be optimistic, okay?" Lance watches Keith’s enthusiasm for his breakfast fade before his eyes, ears drooping. He places a hand of his husband’s shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you go take your bath while we wait? The test will be done when you get back and you can keep yourself busy with this mess.”

Lance tugs at a tangled lock of hair. Keith nods, worrying his lip. “Yeah. Yeah, okay… You won’t be mad, right?”

“Not even a little. And I won’t peek. Pregnant or not, you’ll be the first to know.”

Keith nods, resets his demeanour. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Watching him retreat into the bathroom, Lance turns to Krolia. “He’s going to be devastated if we’re not pregnant.”

“Oh, absolutely. One hundred percent.” She sips her tea, forwing after her only child, a worried furrow to her brow. “Totally crushed.”

Lance nods, snatches up the uneaten half of Keith’s breakfast, sets it back out by the fire to keep it warm. Now he just needs to keep himself busy until Keith comes back.

“I should get packing,” he muses. “We’re leaving tomorrow either way, and Keith has managed to acquire many presents.” He turns back to the warrior at his table. “Will you kindly bring yours tomorrow? It should make leaving easier on him.”

“Certainly.” Krolia sets down her borrowed tea cup, rises to her feet. “I assume that is a dismissal?”

“A soft one, but please, if you don’t mind. Whatever the near future holds, let it be ours, first.” Lance inclines his head. Krolia nods, leaves, leaving Lance to his waiting.

After fifteen doboshes, the device on the table beeps. Lance lungs for it, misses at the last tick. “No, no. I said he got to see it first-” Lance groans, cards a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’m okay. I’m a grown up. I can be patient.” One tick. Two. Patience is not Lance’s strong suit. “I’m just gonna…”

Keith’s still in the tub, hair still tangled, knees tucked up to his chest.

“Hey, beloved. The, uh. The results are in, if you want to come take a look.”

“O-Okay.” Keith begins raking fingers frantically through his wet hair, cursing when they snag on the knots.

“Whoa, hey.” Lance gently coaxed Keith’s hands into his lap. “Let me do that, hm? Before you hurt yourself.”

“It’s just hair,” Keith whispers.

“Not to you.” Lance kisses the top of his head before pouring a lightweight creme into his hands, coaxing it through Keith’s hair. “Though I’ve noticed you don’t braid it so much anymore. Isn’t that what your father did?”

“Yeah. But I’m not my father. My father is gone… I could be becoming a father right now.” Keith draws in a rattling breath, tugging on a detangled lock of hair.

“Yes, we both could be.” Lance starts on another section of Keith’s hair, wrinkling his nose as loose strands tangle around his fingers. Their servants must hate cleaning their bathroom. And their quarters for that matter, given Keith’s fur. “Beloved, are you alright? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m… scared.”

Lance’s hands pause for a moment, then continue their progress, working up and up until they eventually comb all of the tangles out of his hair.

“Me too. It’s… a lot. I know. And even more for you than for me. But listen.” Lance scoops a pitcher of water from the adjacent basin, pours it slowly over Keith’s head to rinse the creme from his hair and the many loose strands from his hands. “All that test tells us is whether or not we’re pregnant. There’s plenty of time for us to change our minds if-”

“You changed your mind?!” Keith whirls, alarmed.

“What? No! Not at all. But if you have, then-”

“I haven’t. I just- I know I'm the one who has to carry the kits and all that, but if you wouldn't mind helping? Just maybe picking up a few extra duties here and there, stuff like that.”

"Of course I will. What else would I do? You- I couldn't possibly do enough for you," Lance whispers. Keith’s violet eyes meet Lance’s, resolved, but still somehow soft. Lance nods, presses their foreheads together. “Are you ready then?”

“I think so. Can you get me some clothes while I dry off?”

“Sure.” Lance kisses Keith sweetly, hands him his towel. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Doboshes later, Keith’s staring at the little device like touching it might kill him. It’s certainly killing Lance. Finally, with a determined huff, Keith snatches the device off the table, looking down at the screen. There’s a long pause, an agonizing stretch of silence, ears full of static instead of the rising bustle of the village outside.

A tiny breath escapes through Keith’s mouth, eyes gaining a dangerous shine to them as they fill with water. He tips forward and melts against Lance's frame, arms loose by his sides, head resting against his collarbone.

“Woah, hey.” Quite worried, Lance wraps his arms around his husband, holding him close. Lance kisses his fluffy ear, rubbing circles into his back. “Are you okay?”

Keith nods, snuggling closer.

“Do you, uh…” Lance clears his throat, tucking Keith more beneath his chin. “Do you want to give me a hint? You’re killing me here, beloved.”

Keith sets the device in his hand, wraps his arms around Lance’s waist. Keeping on hand on the small of Keith’s back, Lance lifts the device so he can see it, turns it right side up so he can translate the Galran properly.

TEST: POSITIVE

“Oh, my- Keith!” Lance drops the device, ignoring when it skitters over the floor in favor of holding his husband in a tight embrace. “Oh, Keith. ”

Keith pulls away. “I can’t believe it. It was so easy! I did it!- Wait, you did it? We did it?”

“Who cares! We’re having a baby! We’re gonna be parents-” Lance tears up. “I’m finally gonna be a dad.”

“Lance you’re not even nineteen.” Keith shakes his head, more fondness than anything else.

“Yes, but I’ve wanted it all my life,” Lance sniffles.

Sighing, Keith draws Lance in for a gentle embrace, though not before a tender kiss. “Now let’s hope I can carry it.”

“I know you can, beloved. I have absolute faith in you.” Lance kisses the crest of his shoulder. “And I’ll be here to help every step of the way, I promise you.”

“I figured as much. You’ll definitely be a thorn in my side more often then not.”

“A thorn is a starving man’s arrowhead.”

“I- What?” Keith pulls back, baffled. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“A pain in the ass can still be invaluable in the right circumstances.”

Keith snorts, breaking into giddy laughter as he snuggles back in. “Alfor taught you that one didn’t he.”

“No. Coran did. I was the thorn as a child, screaming for attention to rescue him from probing questions about when he and my father began seeing each other… I was a very well-trained son once upon a time.”

Keith laughs again. “I can imagine!... My good man, I love you.”

“I love you too, beloved. So very much.”

“Can we- Can we just go and curl up together? I know we need to pack, but please?”

“Yes. We can definitely do that.” Lance presses their foreheads together, feeling a stir of pride when he hears Keith start to purr, that anxious/excited trembling in the man’s body settling at the loving gesture. “Nothing would make me happier this day.”

Lance’s hands find Keith’s, twining their fingers together.

“Nothing at all.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

21st Century Friction

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 10,817 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 6: Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Peter needs an arts credit to graduate, but he didn't mean to pick the course that even the English majors avoid! Luckily, he has the help of Michelle Jones, the tutor Tony hired for him. Unluckily, she just overheard him insulting her entire academic discipline. They're not breaking off the arrangement―Peter's determined to do well in this stupid English course to keep his average up and Michelle won't let his bad attitude stand in the way of a cheque from Tony Stark.

With one tempestuous meeting down, they only have two semesters and twenty-five books to go.

Peter’s in big trouble―huge―and Mr. Stark did tell him that if he’s ever in trouble he should ask for help, so he calls, looking for help, and gets nobody, so he calls again and gets Happy, who hangs up once Peter makes him understand that, no, this isn’t about somebody trying to kick his Spidey-suit ass but about him trying to pick a new class (Happy’s next to some freaky machine at the time and it makes the cell reception wonky), but who finally listens all the way to the end on the seventeenth time Peter manages to get through to him without having his call dropped, and then Mr. Stark is told about it and though Peter isn’t immediately apprised of the solution to his own problem for some reason, he’s informed that cash has been flashed and that the solution will, inevitably, be attained.

Until then, Peter begins the first week of his third year of college and shows up to the labs and lectures of every class on his schedule, including English 1034: 21st Century Literature from A to Z.

AGUALUSA, José Eduardo ― A General Theory of Oblivion

“A tutor?” Peter hisses into his phone, pacing the tight corridor of the library’s fourth-floor stacks. “How is his solution to get me a tutor? I don’t need a tutor! I’m smart, Happy, remember? What did I want instead? Well, I don’t know! I have to keep all my core classes for my major, but maybe he could’ve made them give me credit for taking something online from another college? I’m not screwing up my schedule for English lit. I don’t even know why I gotta take this! I know how to read, you know? I’m just―”

Oh sure, he heard the other person enter the aisle, but he assumed it was to grab a book, so the noise of annoyance that leaves his mouth when his phone is snatched from his hand and his call ended is absolutely genuine.

“’Sup,” says the person, who’s a woman his age, who’s handing his phone back with a lazy gesture, who’s apparently entirely cool, casual, and unapologetic about unceremoniously hanging up on Happy for him. “You gotta take English lit because it sounds as though your vocabulary needs it and, hi, I’m Michelle. Your tutor.”

She mumbles an indelicate string of words after that as she turns and walks away from him out of the stacks and Peter picks up ‘entitled asshole’ even though he isn’t trying to listen, just follow her and set this thing straight.

“Uh, no, you’re not,” he assures her, alarmed when the place he’s trailing her to turns out to be a table where her stuff is waiting―open notebook, two different coloured pens, a copy of the syllabus for English 1034. No, no, no!

“Well, I can’t guarantee you’ll actually learn anything since you seem to have a combination of a pretty thick skull and an overinflated ego, but I’ll hold up my end of the deal. Let me guess, Business major?”

“Bio,” Peter grits out, grasping the back of the chair intended for him as this Michelle person slides neatly into hers, like the library’s her living room because she lives here. Fine. He’s happy for it to stay that way. He has access to all the books he needs in the sciences library on the other side of campus.

“Well, my condolences to the parts of your brain which, in most people, would produce non-literal comprehension and creative thought. But I’m sure you know the names for those, don’t you, Science Guy? Ok, quit making that face and let’s go over your syllabus.”

She doesn’t look up the entire time she speaks and Peter has never heard a person sound so pretentious in real life.

“Are you kidding me? No. Even if I wanted or needed to be tutored, it wouldn’t be by you. You grabbed my phone out of my hand!”

“Yeah,” Michelle agrees, meeting his eye with something firm in her own, “and you were talking on it in one of the library’s Quiet Zones. I’m not here to give you a lesson on Comparative Ignorance.”

“What makes you think you can just do that?” Peter demands. He feels sort of ridiculous and like he’s simultaneously taking the argument a step too far and a step not-far-enough; he’s not usually like this, but then, other people aren’t usually like that.

“The fact that I was paid in advance.”

She nods towards the chair and Peter doesn’t know why he does it, but he sits, still mad.

“Stark paid you to tutor me,” he states.

“Boy, are you struggling with the concept of exchanging currency for services too? Maybe there’s a basic Econ class you could still get into.”

“Why you?”

“Why you?” Michelle counters. “Why can’t smarty-pants, Stark-patroned Peter Parker just suck it up and get through a single English credit? Seriously, why not, since you seem to think it’s just reading and therefore easy. Why not just bribe the college to hand you the credit? You want me to tell you where the Financial Office is? I could show you because, ok, about me now, I’m here on scholarship because I couldn’t find a benevolent billionaire to smooth my path for me.” She straightens up in her chair, eyes practically volcanic with heat. “And here’s another why me for you: because I love what I study, I think literature has worth and beauty, and, oh right, I have the highest grade point average in the entire School of Arts and Humanities.”

Peter’s so floored for a minute that he forgets why he’s angry.

“It wouldn’t be right,” he finally says, trying to at least regain the moral high ground after her offhand suggestion of bribery. “Buying a credit. It wouldn’t be right.”

“So… instead you demean the entire discipline, like that’s going to help you.”

He scoffs.

“It’d help me more than you would.”

“Helping you is why I’m here.”

“You sound thrilled about it.”

“Hard not to be when I have the honour of tutoring the Spider-Man,” she says, matching his sarcasm.

Ugh, he hates that she brought that up. By his third year, he’s become less of a novelty in the halls―these days, people get more excited about a sighting of the local gopher who lives in a hole near the Astronomy building―and having it thrown in his face like this is even more uncomfortable than requests for selfies. Or the few mortifying pleas for his autograph. They’re locked in a mutually-irritated glare, which Peter breaks with a groan and a roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t want to be in this class,” he admits.

“And yet the online course selection process is so very hard to fuck up. Thus, you did in fact choose this class. Unless… does Tony Stark pick your classes for you?”

Peter ignores that. He can’t both fume and be cooperative enough to get her help, which he’s starting to think he might need. Maybe she can give him some kind of insider English department knowledge that will rid him of English 1034.

“It is an interesting choice,” Michelle continues carefully. Is she smirking at him? He can’t quite tell.

“I didn’t read the description.”

“What did you expect ‘20th Century Literature from A to Z’ to be?”

She’s mocking him, but Peter feels like his mistake in taking this particular class is an easy one to make. He has plenty of reasons to back him up.

“It’s a first-year level English course, it’s non-essay, and ‘A to Z’ made it sound like an overview,” he lists confidently.

“In case you don’t already know or suspect this, nobody who’s actually in the English program takes it.”

Michelle’s tone is extraordinarily smug.

“I thought you guys loved to read,” Peter says accusingly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Not a novel every week for two semesters! Dude, you picked a course with twenty-six required texts. ‘A to Z’ is for the alphabetical order of the authors’ last names.”

“I know that now,” he grumbles, eyeing the booklist Michelle has neatly aligned next to the syllabus on their study table. “And now all the other full-year non-essay English classes are full, so I can’t drop this one because there’s nothing to pick up in its place.”

“That’s an insanely stupid mistake.”

“Noted.”

“Ok, if you’re ready to move on, what were your thoughts on Agualusa?”

“You still want to tutor me?”

She looks at him like he’s truly the uncomprehending, unimaginative Bio-dunce she described.

“There are few things I want less than I want this. The only possible enjoyment here is getting to meet one of the unsuspecting idiots who signed up for that class, and even that doesn’t cancel out the way you belittled my area of study and those who study it. So.” Michelle extends a hand and, when Peter realizes what she wants, accepts his panic-purchased copy of A General Theory of Oblivion. “Time to prove you can read.”

BEATTY, Paul ― The Sellout

“I see you found the place,” Michelle greets without looking up from what she’s reading (which is the book for his course).

Peter attempts to glance around without being obvious about it.

“It’s the same table we sat at last time,” he says, mostly certain.

“I know.” She looks up. “I just thought you might get lost in unfamiliar territory. Had you ever been in here before last week?”

He laughs bitterly as he slings his backpack off and lets it slam into the leg of the table, making Michelle frown.

“Yeah, I had.” Once. When he toured the college with May before applying to undergrad. “Don’t be so gatekeeper-y. These books aren’t just for English majors.”

“Oh, so you avail yourself of them often for pleasure reading? Sorry, sorry,” she adds quickly and something inside Peter eases at the hope of an apology, “I forgot I was talking to the guy who signed up for the most reading-heavy class the English department offers. Of course you must love to read.”

“I just want to get my mandatory arts credit to graduate.”

The motive should be obvious, Peter thinks, but maybe she’ll take pity on him because he’s offering an explanation.

“You’ve already successfully postponed it your first two years. Why not push it to next year when you can take a lighter class?”

“There are a lot of required fourth-year courses for my major. I don’t have room for anything that isn’t impor―”

He cuts himself off, but Michelle looks pissed. What? It’s the truth! If he thought English was more important than Biology, he would’ve studied English!

“You’re trying to get me to wait for an easier class and you told me I shouldn’t assume English was easy,” he accuses.

“It’s not! I didn’t say an easier class, I said a lighter one. You know, with fewer books to read. English ten-thirty-four is an easy class.”

“Yeah right!”

“Really, Peter?” He’s startled to hear his name leave her mouth. “Exactly how deep were you expecting the analysis to go when you only spend a week on each book? That’s a Monday and Wednesday course, right? So you’re only actually discussing the book for three hours. A bunch of your assigned texts are over four hundred pages, which means covering around one hundred and thirty-three pages every hour of discussion, or a little over two pages every minute. And that’s just content. If you were actually digging into any of these books, you’d discuss themes, historical context of the subject matter, intertextual influence…”

“You’re pretty good at math,” he says wryly. “I bet you could have majored in that instead.”

“I could’ve majored in anything, but I chose a subject that actually has a soul.”

“It’s cute that you’re so noble about it,” Peter says, feeling like an honest-to-Thor asshole because he’s never disparaged anyone or anything by calling them or it ‘cute’ before, “considering the current arrangement.”

She gives him a harsh look before finally asking, “What do you mean?”

“You’re studying something so intellectual and culturally important or whatever and looking down at people in Business and the sciences. Lots of us love what we’re majoring in and some of us are in it for a career with a good salary. I’m just worried you’re being a bit of a hypocrite. How superior can you feel when you’re peddling your English-major wisdom for a paycheque from Tony Stark?”

Michelle can’t really murder him―his reflexes are too fast, his body too durable, and the most dangerous thing she appears to have at her disposal is a blue ballpoint pen―but she kinda looks like she might give it a try. Ok, so undercutting her integrity in a vengeful rant was probably beneath him. She was being such a snob though!

Finally, her expression relaxes and she uncaps her pen (Peter flinches), poising it over the page where, last week, she composed him a strong set of notes as they attempted a rocky discussion of the book.

“How much did you get read?”

CHOI, Mary H.K. ― Permanent Record

Peter sits and nods at Michelle when she looks up.

“We’re past the add/drop date,” he announces. “Guess I’m officially in English ten-thirty-four for the rest of the year.”

“And when you graduate, it’ll be right there on your transcript, smuggled through in between the important courses. Even if you can’t hack it and fail the class,” she concludes with a small, scornful smile.

“As far as I know, you’re being paid too much to let me fail.”

It feels like a gross powerplay the second he’s said it. If they’re really going to do this, he needs to start taking the meanspirited way that she roots against him in stride. Does he think about finding a different tutor every time she makes a sly comment like that? Sure, but he’s stubborn enough about maintaining a strong average to recognize the value of learning from the best student in the program.

“So…” he says after a minute, watching Michelle flip through his book to find where he’s marked the passages examined in class. “We never really agreed to it out loud, but I guess this is our standing place and time to do this?”

“Yeah, there’s a clipboard where you sign up to reserve a specific table. I put our names down for every Thursday for the rest of the year.”

“Really?”

“No, numbskull,” Michelle informs him lightly. “You can’t reserve a table, only the study rooms. I knew you didn’t know how the library worked.”

“How ‘bout, instead of that, we talk about the demands of fame.”

“Oh? Are you trying to open up to me?” She taps the end of her pen hard and fast against the table as though to emphasize this is something she doesn’t have time for.

“No. I did my assigned reading.”

He reaches out and grabs his book, dragging it back across the table.

DAY, Kate Hope ― If, Then

“I kept waiting for it to get good. Why didn’t it get good?” he asks, spinning the book on their table, then trapping it under his palm.

“Patience, spider-brain,” Michelle instructs. “It is good. It’s suspenseful and subtle and atmospheric and it’s no wonder those things went right over your head. Weren’t you at least interested in Ginny? She’s a surgeon.”

“So?”

“So, you’re in Biology. Don’t you want to be a doctor or something?”

“I don’t know yet,” Peter says with a shrug. Man, is she going to start bugging him about figuring out his career path? He has May for that. “Do you know what you want to be?”

“A tutor,” she responds flatly.

He’d smile if they were friends because she’s apparently hilarious.

“It takes some time to build if the part you’re most interested in is the sci-fi stuff,” Michelle concedes. “Did you read it to the end?”

“I didn’t have time. I had to start the next book early because I have a big lab assignment next week.” He sighs and lets his head fall into his hand just thinking about it.

She frowns and looks down, so he can only assume she disapproves of his priorities or his poor time management or something.

But then she mumbles, “You should try audiobooks.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, because that’s actually a great idea. He can listen on his way to campus in the mornings and he won’t have to carry the book on the days he doesn’t have that class. It’ll mean buying an audio copy of everything he already purchased, but he’ll still use the hard copies most of the time, and it’s not like Mr. Stark’s going to begrudge him another hundred bucks. Plus, almost all of the books for this course are novels, so it won’t even feel like doing homework!

In the midst of excitedly thinking over how much time he’ll have if he takes her advice, he glances at Michelle. She’s ignoring him.

ENDICOTT, Marina ― Good to a Fault

It’s the first week of October and Peter thinks he has the hang of this being-an-English-student thing. He read-slash-listened-to the whole book this week and even though the next two weeks’ novels are a couple of the longest in the entire course, he’s undaunted. When he gets to the library and finds Michelle―the classes they have right before this tutoring session end at the same time, but she always beats him here―he brags about being totally on top of his reading. She’s possibly starting to smile at him when he says, “I’m getting good at this. You want any tips?”

“God, Peter!” she blurts. “This is the third year of my major! Try to have some fucking respect!”

He holds up his hands placatingly. Once his books are out, Peter starts watching her and notices a syllabus at her elbow that isn’t for English 1034. Aggressively highlighted in green is tomorrow’s date and ‘MIDTERM.’ His don’t start for another week. He never consciously realized that Humanities students had midterm stress too. Michelle must be taking more than one English class right now, plus whatever else fills up her schedule. Jeeze, that��s a lot of reading, and she’s reading enough of his books to help him on top of doing her own shit. Peter winces and keeps his mouth shut until she’s ready to begin.

FLYNN, Gillian ― Gone Girl

They’re in the thick of midterms and having a particularly grouchy (on both sides) tutoring session.

“Quit writing a bunch of nothing,” Michelle criticizes, like that’s somehow useful feedback.

“I’m getting to my point!” Peter complains.

“They’re long answer questions, not essays. You won’t get any pity marks for filler like you do in a Bio exam.”

“They don’t give marks for filler in Bio exams!”

“Well then where did you learn to answer questions like this?” she snaps. “Do you want to start this one over or try another one?”

They glare at each other for several sluggish moments.

“I’ll start over,” Peter decides, meeting her challenging look with his own.

“Fine.”

This time, Michelle not only passes him the question she came up with but also rips a piece of paper out of her notebook, tears it into thirds, and hands him one of those as well.

“One-sided,” she instructs.

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Be concise.”

“If you took your own advice, I’d be able to write in silence right now instead of being distracted by the sound of you talking!”

In what seems like a blink as Peter looks up from his paper and tightly-gripped pencil in confusion, Michelle has her bag packed and shoves back from the table.

“Help me study!” he yells after her in desperation.

“Earn it with something more than money,” she calls back, flipping him off over her shoulder.

GO, Justin ― The Steady Running of the Hour

Groveling wouldn’t be well-received, Peter thinks. Instead, he brings Michelle an iced coffee as an apology for being a dick last week when he was freaking out over midterms. They’re experiencing a final flare of summer weather and it seems like a practical offering as well as a symbolic gesture. Unfortunately, the man at the front desk makes Peter toss the coffee before he’s allowed in because of a No Food and Drink policy. He feels really awkward about it and distinctly emptyhanded when he approaches Michelle at their usual table.

When it’s clear that she’s not focused on anything else, Peter spills the story and does end up saying, “I’m sorry” out loud. She likes one of those things enough to smile at him―not a big one, but not a sarcastic one either―and he exhales in relief.

“I really appreciate that you’re doing this,” he adds during a lull when they’re looking over the notes he made in class, trying to decipher his professor’s analysis of a certain passage.

He studies Michelle’s downturned face until she looks up and meets his eye.

“When do you get your midterm results?”

“Not for a couple of weeks. The prof doesn’t seem like he’s in any rush.”

“Are you worried about how you did?” she asks, propping her chin up with her fist. It makes her mouth slope into a playful pout and he follows the line of it with his eye for a second.

“Kinda.”

Michelle shakes her head.

“You shouldn’t be. You’re working hard. I know you passed.”

It’s the first session that they don’t fight. Feels good.

HAM, Rosalie ― The Dressmaker

“Holy shit,” he breathes when Michelle enters. “What is that?”

The day has finally come that he beats her to the library, which is the first shock, but this is an entirely separate and far less expected thing.

“It’s Halloween,” she states. As though it’s no big deal that she just walked in here wearing a silky-looking, floor-length, emerald green gown. Well, he assumes it’s a gown and not a skirt that sits really high on her waist, but he can’t see the entire thing; she’s wearing a cropped hoodie over top. The juxtaposition makes him grin.

“Where did you get that?”

“I made it.” Just as Peter’s mouth is dropping open, she huffs a laugh and says, “Of course I didn’t. It was my grandma’s. The style’s not totally right, but I thought the colour was a pretty good match.”

“Right,” he agrees as she swishes over and sits, cautiously smoothing the dress as she does so. “Because you’re obviously supposed to be…”

Michelle rolls her eyes as she takes the opportunity for illuminating him.

“Cecilia Tallis. From Atonement,” she prompts. “Keira Knightley played her.”

“Oh, ok, yeah. I think I saw part of that one time when my aunt May was watching it.”

“It was a book first,” Michelle teasingly informs him.

“I know you’ll be amazed to hear that I haven’t read it.”

“So amazed.”

“You look good in green,” Peter throws out there while she’s still looking at him.

“Don’t be weird about it, Parker.”

He totally sees her smiling to herself when they turn to their books and wonders if they’re friends yet.

ISRAEL, Lee ― Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Nope, nope, nope, they’re definitely not friends yet! After their revision session last week, Peter thought more about his and Michelle’s potential friendship, then started to feel weird about the fact that he’s paying her―or that Mr. Stark is, on his behalf. It’s been rare lately that both he and Mr. Stark aren’t busy at the same time, but with Peter’s midterms over and a new month beginning, Tony worked out a time for them to speak in person. Peter might have got rambling a little under the heady influence of his mentor’s full attention and maybe some things came across incorrectly. It wasn’t a meeting though, and he definitely didn’t know that decisions were being made!

“I thought you were finding this helpful!” Michelle says.

“I am,” he insists. “I left Mr. Stark a message. I’m gonna set it straight!”

“Oh, like you set it straight over the weekend? He fired me as your tutor!”

“I didn’t know he was doing that!”

“What did you say to him?” she demands.

Fuck, this is going to be embarrassing to say face-to-face. Peter glances at their table―where they didn’t sit down, due to this accidental termination―and feels himself get all overheated and shifty.

“That I felt weird about paying you.”

“Because English is so worthless you should be able to learn about it for free? Yeah, I guess you could’ve made the internet your tutor, but it’s a full two months too late for that!”

“Dammit!” Peter says, frustrated. “No! Because I thought maybe you and I were friends now because it seemed like maybe we were and I’d definitely like us to be friends, but I didn’t want you to feel obligated to be nice to me as a friend or anything more than a tutor just because you’re being paid. Do you want to be friends with me?” he summarizes bluntly.

“Yes.”

He frowns in confusion.

“Really?”

Michelle’s eyes dart to the side, then zip back to his face.

“…Isn’t that what you want? I think that’s literally what you just told me you want.”

“And the money thing?”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going to fix that as soon as we’re done today. My time and expertise are valuable as hell and I’m super willing to take Tony Stark’s money.” She gives him a weird look. “My friendship is not for sale.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to assume―”

“I mean, I don’t know how people make friends over there in Biology, but―”

“Ok, that’s far enough,” he says, laughing when she smirks to admit she was kidding.

“I guess you better start calling me MJ too,” she says, taking her usual seat.

“If I had any extra names you didn’t know, I’d totally let you use one in exchange.”

She shrugs easily and picks up this week’s novel when he places it on the table within her reach.

“Speaking of people using other names…” MJ says as she taps the cover. “Ready to talk about a famous forger?”

“Smooth transition.”

“Thanks… pal?”

“No,” Peter says to ‘pal,’ making a face.

“No,” she agrees. “I’ll just have to remember that we’re friends now without a new name to remind me.”

“You’re officially my meanest friend,” he jokes.

MJ snorts.

“Peter, with all the time we’re spending together this year, I’m gonna be your best friend.”

JOHNSON, Adam ― Fortune Smiles

“Seventy-three!” Peter cries out when he strides into the library that Thursday. Desk Man shoots him a look and Peter mouths, “Sorry.” But if that guy’s annoyance with Peter is on the rise, so is the strength of his friendship with MJ.

“Seventy-three?” she repeats excitedly, then pauses, seemingly waiting for him to say more.

He understands. For her, getting a 73 on an English exam would probably be a blow to her average and something she’d struggle to course correct from on the final. He’d feel the same about receiving that grade in one of the classes that make up his major. But for his first college English exam? A discipline that’s forcing him to learn a completely different type of material and regurgitate that knowledge on an exam that’s neither practical nor multiple choice? It’s huge. He beams to let MJ know he hasn’t come to complain about her ineffective tutoring. Totally the opposite.

“That’s great,” MJ says. She rises from her chair because Peter’s too hyper―even a full day after getting his mark―to sit down yet.

“Yeah?”

“I told you you’d do fine,” she reminds him.

Then she goes to shove his arm and Peter misinterprets it, pulling her in to finish what he thought was the beginning of a hug. Just as he’s realizing and loosening his arms from around her, MJ’s hands come up and squeeze his back once, ending in a few reassuring pats. They break out of it, holding each other at arm’s length and she gives him a firm nod in conclusion. Peter laughs awkwardly. After that, they re-establish their usual rhythm.

“So, the first short story collection on your booklist,” she says as she sits. Rather than taking his regular spot across from her, he drags the chair around the circular table so they’re side by side. MJ watches him without protest.

“These are the first short stories I’ve read,” he tells her.

“What did you think?”

“I like it. It’s nice how it breaks the book into chunks. Makes it seem shorter maybe?”

“Definitely.”

Weirdly, their opinions about the book and what his prof wants him to learn from it continue to closely align. Of course, they don’t get through everything because, after about 15 minutes, MJ asks if he brought his midterm with him. He yanks it free of his backpack and they spend the rest of their time going over it. With a 73, Peter expects a lot of the review to be criticism (of the constructive variety) and notes on what he should’ve done better or different. Instead, it’s MJ gasping (quietly but happily) every time she finds a place where he mentioned something they went over together. He watches her eyes scan over where he described If, Then as ‘suspenseful, subtle, and atmospheric’ before going further into his comparison between that novel and Gone Girl. She catches his eye, her expressions changing like a shuffling card deck. Peter sees impressed come up, then pleased, then a third, unfamiliar thing that’s gone when MJ flips his exam to the next page.

KOCH, Herman ― The Dinner

“How is this book so horrific and so good?” Peter asks wonderingly.

They were going over his class notes until the notes referred to a page number of the novel. When he couldn’t remember what happened there, they looked it up. It was just supposed to be a refresher, but it turned into them reading nine pages―waiting for each other before flipping when their reading speeds raced, constantly slipping out of and regaining first place.

“It’s giving me rage-hunger,” MJ said.

“Rage-hunger?”

“Yeah, you know, when you’re incensed about something to the point that you start getting really hungry? Happens to me at protests.”

“Listen,” Peter says, dropping his voice to a compelling whisper. “I have pretzels.”

“Here?”

He nods.

“Do we risk it?”

“Yes,” she insists.

While she keeps watch, glancing around, Peter grasps the edge of the pretzel bag in his backpack. His expression feels pretty constipated as he struggles to open the bag soundlessly, but it’s worth the effort when he feels it give. Furtively, they sneak pretzels from his bag―balanced between their legs under the table―up to their mouths, attempting to chew as silently as possible and speaking in a soft slur with pretzels distending their cheeks.

LINK, Kelly ― Get in Trouble

Yeah, so, after being caught with mouths full of pretzels, they’re slightly afraid to immediately return to the library. Instead of meeting there on Thursday to go over all of Peter’s notes at once, he and MJ snatch time all week long. It’s another collection of short stories this week, so they go over the first one before he even attends his Monday English 1034 lecture, meaning he’s super prepared to participate for once, after running his thoughts by his tutor in advance. The next time, they do story number two, plus his class notes, then continue meeting when they can.

Peter hesitates before asking if she still wants to get together at their regular hour on Thursday. What if she feels like she’s given him enough of her time this week? What if she made other plans? But when he does ask, she’s surprised that he ever considered them not having their scheduled session. He’s not entirely sure why he was so scared she’d say no. That was silly. Although they both acknowledged that they’re friends, he thinks they’re finally starting to act like it.

So they meet on Thursday. And then they meet on Friday too. They say it’s for tutoring and keep Peter’s copy of Get in Trouble between them on the table of the student community centre, but they don’t open it. MJ trades him a bite of her pizza slice for some of his fries. He laughs hard when she gets ketchup on her lip, then swallows the sound down as she licks it off.

“Did I get it?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter replies, stupefied.

MOYES, Jojo ― Me Before You

“Well,” he says, retyping his notes to add MJ’s insights, “here’s another one where I can count watching a movie as part of studying.” Peter keeps typing for a minute, but she doesn’t respond, so while his eyes remain on the screen he asks, “Are you judging me? I promise I’m still going to read the rest of the book.”

Finished, he looks over to see MJ staring intently at the open novel. Peter concentrates on the book first―she’s right near the end―then on his friend’s face. Is she…?

“Are you crying?” he asks softly, leaning towards her.

He thought she might hide her reaction, but she raises her head and sniffs as tears pour down her cheeks. She’s so naked with emotion that Peter shudders.

“Maybe,” she says, making them both laugh, hers a bubbling noise from the wetness in her throat. “But ignore this. I said I wouldn’t spoil the ending for you.”

“Obviously, nothing dramatic happens,” Peter sarcastically infers. “You cry all the time. I have zero reason to think it has anything to do with Me Before You.”

Smiling, she finally wipes the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan.

“I still have a little bit left to read.”

“Borrow it,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I can listen to the audiobook for a while, or you can just keep it overnight and we’ll hang out tomorrow and I’ll get it back from you. Unless you think you’d need longer.”

MJ rolls her eyes at him.

“Please. I eat Jojo Moyeses for breakfast. I’ll probably finish it during the break in my next class.”

“So, you wouldn’t even need it overnight then,” he says, trying to be sly. She lets out a laugh.

“You want to read it so badly, don’t you?”

“Maybe I just don’t like lending out my books.”

“Liar. I bet you’re going to read the rest all in one sitting.” MJ smirks and stands the book on the table like both she and it are taunting him. “Don’t you need to prioritize your other courses, Peter? What about Biology?”

“Offer revoked,” he tells her, making to take the book back. She doesn’t let him, holding it up and away from him.

“Are you going to spend all night reading for pleasure instead of doing your science homework? Shame on you, Peter. What about your future?”

He stands too quickly in his attempt to grab the book, startling MJ, who rocks back in her chair a little too far. But it can’t tip faster than his reflexes can react; Peter instinctively grabs her around the waist and pulls her against him as the chair topples and the paperback hits the ground with a soft thump. They haven’t been this close since they hugged after his midterm results. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything, fingers shifting against MJ’s back as she gets her balance. Seems to take her longer than it should, but he won’t let go before she’s ready. Which’ll be any second now, he’s sure. She’s flushed, eyes roaming his face. Probably about to tell him she can stand all on her fucking own.

Any second now.

NG, Celeste ― Everything I Never Told You

It’s the second week in December and their final tutoring session of the semester. Exams start tomorrow, though the one for English 1034 isn’t until the 21st. Peter should be psyched―after this exam, he’s halfway done the course―and yet his shoulders carry some heaviness into the library, along with big, wet snowflakes. He perks up at the sight of MJ, then grows subdued just as fast. They’ve become the kind of friends who meet during the week, always at school, usually with at least the pretense of studying. She’s never been to the apartment he shares with three roommates; he has no idea where she lives. Their most secure connection is a list of 26 books and after today’s session, 14 of those will already be behind them. Theoretically, they’re committed to spending another semester together (unless the world ends via hostile alien takeover, or Mr. Stark fires MJ again and she agrees to it for some reason). What happens after that?

Peter doesn’t like the way winter break looks like a preview for the end of the school year in April. He’s sure that’ll come up quick after the new year because second semester always feels shorter than first. Will they be close enough by then to make plans for hanging out over the summer? He knows MJ’s from here, but not if she’ll be around. And what about next year? He won’t be studying English. Are they gonna see each other on campus or both be too busy with their final year of undergrad―keeping up grades and searching for their first job opportunities right out of college? And then? Will one or both of them move away for work or grad school, or just to find a cheaper place to live while they’re starting out? Seriously, they could be faint memories to each other in under five years.

He's weighed down with all of this as he flops into his seat at their table.

“Do you think you’re ready?” MJ asks just before she glances up.

“What?” Peter replies, devastated.

“For your exam.” She meets his eye and her expression collapses inward a little as she assesses his mood. “What’s wrong?”

He looks at her face. It’s easy to admit to himself that her eyes are more trusting than they used to be when they stared back into his, and he has to allow that she’s more trusting too. Same with him. They’ve smoothed each other out, rounded off each other’s bluntest angles. Peter has no desire for them to ever have another shouting match like they did during the early weeks of this arrangement. In fact, his ideal dynamic for them would be the complete opposite.

“I guess I’m… worried.”

“We should get together next week.”

“That would be great,” he tells her with eager relief.

Wow, what would they do? Grab lunch? Dinner? Hot chocolates and ice skating at Rockefeller Center? A movie at his place? All of his roommates have early or no exams (lucky bastards) and plans to head home for the holidays right after, leaving him alone in the apartment.

“This is a late exam,” MJ says, doublechecking the date in her planner, which includes all of his deadlines (in red ink) alongside hers (in blue), “but the library’s open practically every day but Christmas.”

Oh. She means get together here. Of course. He didn’t really make it clear that the exam isn’t what he’s worried about, or at least it’s not the main thing.

“Well,” Peter says, “consistency.”

“What’s up with you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes are him, apparently not satisfied since he does still sound kinda bereft.

Retrieving his novel and his laptop, he says, “Nothing,” and thinks, I was just wishing we were more than friends.

OZEKI, Ruth ― A Tale for the Time Being

They hang out once before his exam, when MJ helps Peter with prep, and once after, when he’s getting a jump on his reading for semester two. The second time, totally by accident, she meets May.

MJ’s at his apartment for the first time and the two out of three of his roommates who’ve already returned are being loud enough that Peter can’t forget their existence the way he wants to (just for right now) and ignore everything in the world that isn’t his tutor/friend/person he’s been pining for every spare second since they’ve been apart. Two weeks is too long. They’re finally taking an honest crack at the novel he’s been assigned for next week, the first week back at school, when there’s a knock at the door, followed by cheerful hollering from his roommates. Peter knows who it is even before he rises and sheepishly lets his aunt hand him everything he forgot at home when he packed; his roommates love May.

Though he told MJ she didn’t have to get up, she’s suddenly next to him at the door―he’s startled to feel her briefly lean against him―then being pulled into a hug by his aunt. When she leaves for a minute to go to the washroom, May drags Peter away from his roommates.

“Who was that?” she wonders, face lighting up with curiosity and premature excitement.

He feels himself turn red and itches at his cheek like he can scratch the flush out.

“Just a friend.”

His aunt raises her eyebrows doubtfully.

PALAHNIUK, Chuck ― Choke

After spending last Thursday giving A Tale for the Time Being the attention they should’ve the week before, they’re back on schedule with a new book. Sort of back on schedule. They start off discussing the novel, but when Peter runs one of his prof’s assertions about it past Google, he finds out Choke has a movie version. He and MJ glance at each other. Yeah, why not? It’s only their second week back on campus and they don’t have their full studying stamina back yet. They trek down to the film library in the basement to see if they have a copy.

Soon, they’re wearing bulky borrowed headphones, hunkered down at the corner computer in the viewing lab that’s kept in the dark, watching a film about a sex addict. They’re awkward at first, or maybe it’s just Peter, but eventually he relaxes, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. MJ shifts around next to him. She kicks her shoes off and brings her feet up off the floor. They’re tightly side by side to watch the same computer screen, so when she crosses her legs, her knee lands on his thigh. Peter stares at it for a minute in the screen’s glow, missing the movie. He lays his palm on top of the rough, cool denim, and MJ turns her head to see what’s up. Immediately, he moves to withdraw his hand from her knee, but she pats the back of it, giving him permission.

Heart thumping, Peter eases the headphones off one ear. The room’s completely quiet, apart from the way MJ exhales heavily through her nose as she settles into position for the rest of the film. He swallows. He should tell her, right now.

“Hey, MJ…” he starts.

But she doesn’t look, doesn’t turn. Can’t hear anything outside those fucking headphones. Weirdly, she does glance at him a few minutes later, unprompted. She reaches out and pauses the movie. He lifts his headphones off when she does, eyes drawn to how they mess up her hair.

“Did you say something?” MJ asks.

Now, now, now, Peter tells himself.

“Uh, no.” He gives her a tight smile and unpauses Choke.

QUICK, Matthew ― The Good Luck of Right Now

“You have other friends, right?” Peter wonders aloud as MJ reads over the short responses he’s composed for an online participation thing that his prof made worth a truly stupid 4% of his grade.

“A couple.”

She says it straight, unembarrassed. He understands her well enough to know she has no interest in tricking people into believing she’s more social or at all inclined towards networking. Those people, whoever they are, were lucky to have her let them in. Abruptly, Peter realizes he’s probably being counted among them. He grins to himself.

“Plus, like, class friends.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

He does the same thing―always attempts to figure out who seems nice so he can try to be paired with them for group projects or have someone to sit with if they have another class together in the future.

“Any other kind of friends?” Peter asks tentatively. MJ quits reading his laptop screen and side-eyes him. “Like a… like maybe a boyfriend?”

It’s probably a no. It has to be a no. Even with the length of time it took for them to talk about their personal lives, she would’ve mentioned a boyfriend by now. Wouldn’t she?

“I… a boyfriend? No, I… Why would I have…? Do you?”

Well, this is a surprise. He expected her to either answer straightforwardly or question if he ever listens to what she says. But she’s oddly flustered and inarticulate. And blushing, Peter notices, though she won’t let him hold her gaze.

“No,” he says, settling for the single syllable that’ll do the job.

MJ sort of nods, then directs his attention to the screen.

“Just a question, but has anyone ever taught you how to use basic punctuation? Jesus, Parker.”

As much as that comment’s much more in character, every one of his senses screams, ‘MISDIRECTION!’

ROWELL, Rainbow ― Fangirl

“Say nothing,” MJ instructs when they run into each other in front of the library, coming from opposite directions.

About what? Peter wants to ask, but he doesn’t say even that much because the look on her face is intense and because the wind is icy, slicing their faces with snow that’s more like sharp daggers. He bounds up the stairs next to her and straight inside when she jerks the door open with her mittened hand. All the way upstairs and to their table, he keeps wary eyes on her. He only looks away for a minute to set his backpack down and shrug out of his outer layers; the library’s kept almost stiflingly warm and dry. They pile their wet outerwear on one of the extra chairs, then MJ glares at him before he can sit. He stares back, baffled.

“Nothing,” she reminds him, and unzips her hoodie.

Does he look silly with the way his jaw drops? He can’t even care. She’s wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt.

“I―”

“No words. No sounds of any kind.”

So Peter grins in silence and retrieves the usual studying accessories from his backpack. Eventually, MJ groans out her admission.

“I forgot to do laundry.”

He continues to say nothing about the shirt, even when he is permitted to speak so they can discuss his reading. What he wants to say isn’t something she’d like―that he’s deduced from the laundry comment that this is an old shirt, not a recent buy. Meaning she’s had it since who knows how long before she ever met him. Meaning she’s a fan.

SENNA, Danzy ― New People

“How are you liking the course?” MJ asks him out of the blue. She’s tracing the curving shapes and purple letters on the cover of this week’s book with her fingertip.

Peter laughs.

“My prof’s never even asked us that.”

“That’s because profs don’t want honest answers. Only in essays, and even then, you have to pad them with all the shit the prof said in class in order to stroke their ego into giving you a good mark.”

“Cynical.”

She smiles dryly.

“Thank you. But really, how are you finding it?” She looks nervous about how he might answer.

“A lot of work,” he says honestly, “but it also feels like less work than my other courses.”

“Because it’s a fluff discipline compared to Biology?”

“Stop it, no, because you’re helping me. It feels like something I’m doing for fun.”

“Who are you?” MJ shakes her head, wearing a smug smile. “If the you from September could see you now. Oh, actually, that reminds me. Put your number in.”

She hands him the new phone she mentioned she’d be getting last weekend.

“What did you have me saved as in your old one?” he asks, adding his number to a new contact page. MJ takes the phone back before he can input his name.

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” He’s fairly certain she’s joking.

“Did it contain the word ‘dickhead’?”

She shrugs and slouches in her chair, phone held low and close. She finishes entering his information out of his line of sight.

“You’ll never know.”

Maybe not, Peter thinks, when MJ gets up a while later to refill her water bottle, but he can at least check what she has him under now. She left her phone out on the table, screen up, so he texts her an innocuous ‘testing, testing’ and watches for the new message to pop up.

Evidently, he’s in her phone as his normal name. His name, plus a heart. His real one’s suddenly beating very fast.

THIEN, Madeleine ― Do Not Say We Have Nothing

It’s almost Valentine’s Day and their college’s week-long study week, two compelling reasons for Peter to tell Michelle Jones―tutor, friend, precariously deepening crush―how he feels about her.

Before their tutoring session, he psyches himself up in the bathroom mirror, until other people walk in and he has to pretend to be coughing. He doesn’t really feel ready and their time together ends up being sort of a flurry anyway because part of the library’s being painted and there are fewer tables. With a ton of people on the cusp of more exams and big assignments due before the break, it takes Peter and MJ a while to find a table. Even after that, the paint smell gradually fills the air, forcing them to stop early.

God, and he didn’t say anything!

“We should meet up later,” he asserts firmly, at the same moment MJ says, “Try again tonight?”

“Yeah,” they say together.

Peter grins and she smiles back before quickly ducking her head. He bites his lip, restraining himself from catching her chin with his fingers and tilting it up.

“Ok then,” he says. “Ok. The library’ll probably still stink, so… my apartment?”

“Or my place,” MJ offers, slightly wide-eyed.

“Oh, yeah. That would be, that’d be good.”

“You can walk back with me, if you don’t mind waiting for my class.”

He doesn’t, and they do that, and as MJ’s unlocking the door to her apartment, he finds out two things: that she has a roommate and that her roommate’s staying the night at her boyfriend’s. Whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be romantic or anything. They’re discussing art and politics during China’s calamitous Cultural Revolution. There’s no way MJ would even be thinking about… but then she leads him to the couch instead of the kitchen table. And she sits down next to him, letting their thighs touch. And his breathing just isn’t steady for the hangout that goes two hours before they even think to check the time. So many times, he has the feeling they’re one brush of their legs, one bump of their shoulders, one tuck of her hair with his fingers away from something more, but every chance seems to come and go while the tension stays.

Eventually, Peter gathers his stuff and lingers with her in the open doorway of her apartment. She’s leaning into the frame, smiling at him as he says a bunch of nothing, just to make the night last longer. He takes a breath. Ok, he’s gonna do it. He’ll tell her.

The next second, MJ’s pressing her mouth to his. Then, while he’s still dazed from the kiss, she pushes him out the door and says, “Um, see you after study week, Peter.”

URQUHART, Jane ― The Night Stages

What’s this mean? Peter wants to ask her, right after the kiss and for the whole study break. Except he’s in the city, doing Spidey-patrol and finishing the nearly-500 pages of Do Not Say We Have Nothing, and she’s in New Orleans, building affordable housing with a charity. When he texts her because he can’t resist asking how she is and what she’s working on that day, she always gets back to him, but there’s nothing flirtatious in her words, nothing to assure him she shares his preoccupation over the kiss. So startling, so make-the-hair-stand-up-on-the-back-of-his-neck. And it was supposed to make everything clear, when one of them made a move (in his head over the weeks before it happened, it was him), not confuse the hell out of him.

It's awkward when they meet on campus on Monday. Neither of them goes in for a hug and they carry on a stilted conversation about how each of their breaks went, Peter twisting his fingers around in his sleeves. At least they didn’t postpone this until Thursday. He senses that they’re both thankful for the length of this week’s novel and how many times it guarantees they’ll meet (their productivity per session definitely took a nosedive when they became friends). He assumes the relief comes from wanting to push past this awkward stage by getting used to each other again. Then, when they meet in the library the next day, MJ picks a different table. Actually, a completely different floor. It’s basically dead, no other students or staff in sight, and, with his face flushed with desire and anticipation, she braces a hand on his thigh, leans in, and kisses him for the second time.

On Wednesday, it’s the same spot (but later because Peter has an evening lab) and he initiates, hand on the back of her neck as they kiss slow and deep, never even unpacking their bags.

Thursday, they meet at their old table, like normal, and do some actual work. But that night, he walks MJ home and tries to give her a goodbye kiss that turns into them making out with her pressed up against the closed door of her apartment.

They agree, on Friday morning, that Peter really needs to devote some concentration to this novel, so they study at his place that evening. Because all of his roommates are home, they’re camped out in his room, on his bed, but with his door wide open. The most they attempt is holding hands, anxiously separating when one of his buddies pokes a head in to ask if Peter’s seen his phone charger.

By Saturday, at her apartment, they abandon pretenses, though they haven’t exactly said in words what it is they’re doing without those pretenses. Are they friends who kiss? Are they dating? Is MJ his girlfriend? None of that is as pressing as pulling her onto his lap and kissing her until they’re tired and she checks her phone to see that it’s almost two in the morning. Reluctantly, MJ climbs off his lap and Peter watches her disappear into her bedroom. He strips off his jeans and falls asleep on her couch wrapped in a blanket and his school hoodie.

The next morning, they look over his notes because he’s here and they might as well. Their socked feet overlap beneath her kitchen table. She refills his glass of orange juice before he notices it’s almost empty.

VÁSQUEZ, Juan Gabriel ― The Sound of Things Falling

He’s in love with her. It’s the beginning of March, the air has quit biting, MJ’s blushing when he uses his high school Spanish to correctly pronounce the characters’ names, and he’s in love with her.

WALKER, Karen Thompson ― The Dreamers

Peter falls asleep at her place again. This time, MJ’s tucked into him when he wakes up. Gradually, he drags up a fuzzy memory of her padding into the living room during the night, putting him on alert until she nudged him over to make room on the couch. Her roommate’s home. They don’t care, don’t flinch apart when she walks into the room. He hangs around most of Saturday, only leaving because he really needs to do some work on his other courses. MJ kisses him when he goes, gently stroking his earlobe with her thumb.

X ― N/A

“No X?” she checks. “Are you sure?”

“It’s on the syllabus,” Peter points out, pulling MJ’s feet across his thighs as he eats an apple. They found an alternate study spot that allows food.

“Yeah, I know, I have the copy from the beginning of the year, but I figured your prof would update it to add something.”

“I think he told us one time that he was going to,” he says, trying to remember exactly. “Now, he says he was always planning on leaving this week free for us to ask questions in class before the exam.”

“But there are still two full weeks of classes before exams,” MJ says skeptically. “If this break was intentional, he’d do it the last week of classes instead.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I know there are two weeks left, but I don’t know what else to say. No X.”

“Semi-related,” she prefaces, giving him a serious look that makes Peter pay attention, “is it ok with you if I consider you my boyfriend?”

He laughs until he realizes she looks genuinely unsure of what his answer will be.

“Please.”

Peter holds his apple out of the way when MJ wiggles forward to hug him.

YAZDANIAN, Showey ― Loopholes

“You wanna go somewhere with me?” MJ asks.

Peter knows she’s been watching him rearrange the digital copy of his notes―simplifying and streamlining so they’ll be easy to study from between now and the date of his final exam. It’s very comforting, her undemanding gaze, and he feels himself emotionally stretching into it, like a cat. He loves to be near her. His girlfriend.

“Yes,” he says. “I mean, where?”

She laughs gently at him and props her elbow on the table, right next to his.

“The English Department scheduled a year-end trip to see a play.”

“That sounds very… high schoolish,” he decides, grinning.

“Hey, some of us aren’t too up our own asses to understand the thrill of a field trip. Maybe in Biology―”

“Ugh,” Peter groans jokingly at her relentless, unserious digs at his chosen discipline.

“―you’ve lost your sense of childlike wonder.”

“But I might be able to get it back if I go to this play? What’s the play?”

“Romeo and Juliet,” she mumbles.

“You want to see that? It’s depressing and, and overdramatic,” he states, though he’s never seen it performed, and definitely never read the play.

“I don’t really care about seeing the play,” MJ says as she gives him a meaningful look.

“Oh. Aw.” He smiles at the thought that she just wants to spend time with him. “Do I have to sign up or something?”

“I… might have already signed you up.” Peter raises his eyebrows at her and it’s enough to push her to continue. “It’s supposed to be an internal thing, just English majors, but the turnout for anything with any significant cultural value’s always really low―” MJ rolls her eyes. “―especially right at the end of the year, when people are starting to focus on exams, even though it’s a great opportunity to see a high-quality production with cheap student-group-discount tickets. Anyway, I talked to the prof because he knows me from teaching me last year and asked if you could come because you are taking an English class even if you’re not majoring.”

“He agreed?”

She nods.

“As I suspected, there were a bunch of tickets left over because they always reserve too many. They’re great seats.”

“Why are you trying to convince me to come?” Peter teases. “Apparently, I already signed up.”

Despite the dozens of times they’ve met this year, comprising probably a hundred hours, and the affectionate admissions, and the kissing that’s been driving him insane for more, this is their first date date. He’s excited to be at the theatre because he’s never gone before, and he purposely didn’t tell Mr. Stark about this so he wouldn’t try to pay for it; Peter bought his own ticket. They’re deep into the second part of the play, intermission behind them, and before things can get gruesome on stage with the stars meeting their violent ends, he leans in so close to MJ that his nose brushes her ear.

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers.

She turns her head, smile clamped together by the way she’s biting her bottom lip. There’s joy in her eyes that makes his heart drop and flip and soar back up, too high, into his throat. He’s still looking at her when she turns her face back to the performance.

“Also, I love you,” Peter says, almost choking on his heart.

Swiftly, he kisses her cheek and settles back into his seat, but MJ tugs the hand that’s been entwined with hers since they sat down. She leans across the armrest between their seats and he’s happy to move the rest of the way. Something hot courses through him when she not only kisses him more roughly than he anticipated but grabs the tie he wore with his button-up, blazer, and good jeans. When she releases him with a smirk and a pat on his chest, Peter practically collapses back into place, stunned.

“Oh,” MJ adds, glancing at him again in a quick flick, “I love you too.”

ZOBOI, Ibi ― Pride

There are three stacks of books on the surprisingly nice hardwood floor of MJ’s bedroom. It’s small compared to the size of his sense of accomplishment for seeing this demanding course through to the end. Although this is the first time Peter’s assembled all 25 books at once, they aren’t organized alphabetically; there’s a pile each for books he remembers well, those he wants to reread sections of, and ones where, logically, he knows he read them, and yet he can barely recall the plot. He feels pretty goddamn good about the fact that, out of 25, only 2 made the third pile. Actually, one’s unaccounted for, because it’s the last book on his syllabus and it’s currently dangling from his hand while he takes a break from reading it.

“Hey,” he hisses at MJ.

Lying on her back on her soft, thick rug while she studies for one of her exams, his girlfriend angles her head to look at Peter, hanging over the side of her bed.

“What?”

He grins.

“Nothing. Just wanted to say, ‘hey.’” He’s so used to her rolling her eyes. “How’s the floor?”

“Not bad.”

“You wanna come up here?”

MJ eyes him suspiciously.

“I need to study,” she reminds him. “Everything I know about your books got mixed up with everything I’m supposed to know about my books and I’m still mentally untangling.”

Peter keeps staring down at her, trying to make his eyes wide and pleading. It takes her seconds to give in. She groans as she starts to sit up, appearing to lead with her knees and elbows as she rearranges her limbs, collapsing and unfolding like a portable lawn chair. MJ steps gingerly over his book stacks, then he’s grabbing her waist and pulling her to the bed, where she flops down beside him. Her head’s facing the wrong way though, so Peter shuffles around, getting her socks out of his face. They take turns sighing tiredly―the extreme burdens of another year of lectures over and another round of exams about to begin―then Peter tilts his forehead to touch hers.

“Happy you’re almost at the end?” MJ asks softly.

“Yeah, but I also kinda wish I could take another English class next year. I think I actually did better in Bio this year because I got to take a break from it with something that was totally different. Does that sound possible?”

“Mhmm.”

She lets her eyes close―probably resting them after concentrating for so long.

“I’ll miss reading this much.”

“And?”

With her eyes shut, only her eyebrows prompt him to go on.

“And I’ll miss talking about what I read with you,” he says.

“Maybe you don’t need to worry about that,” she suggests.

“Why not?”

MJ smiles.

“Because I’ve been working on a new list of books I think you’ll like since October. We can meet in the library and talk about them.”

“Every week?” Peter checks. “What about Biology?”

“If you have time,” she clarifies.

“No, I mean I’ve spent a year studying English lit, learning about your discipline.” With a grin, he trails his fingers down MJ’s throat, stopping at the neck of her long-sleeved shirt. “So, I was just wondering, if you’d be interested in studying Biology.”

He kisses her neck where he stroked, then up beneath her jaw, making MJ laugh until she gasps instead, gripping his hair.

“I don’t think we should wait for September.”

“Well, you’re still the tutor for another week,” Peter reminds her. “I’ll follow your lead.”

[rambling-at-midnight]

Meddling

Anonymous Request: #8 and #80 for Peter Parker, please?

#8: “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain to me what you’re doing here.”

#80: “Why is that your password?”

It’s a widely known fact at school that Peter Parker is sort of a dork. He doesn’t make the best decisions. He gets caught in the wrong places. He says the wrong things. He says the right things at the wrong time.

It’s a widely known fact in Queens that Spider-man is super cool. He always shows up where he’s needed. He can take out eight men at once without breaking a sweat. He’s got witty retorts ready any second. He’s got crazy powers that make him strong and sticky.

It’s a widely known fact in the Stark tower that Peter Parker is kind of a genius. He can keep up with Tony Stark and is in the workshop with him 90% of the time he’s there. The other 10% of the time Peter spends at the tower is with you.

It is also a widely known fact in the Stark tower that Peter Parker has a crush on Y/N Stark, and that you have a crush on Spider-man.

Tony takes great amusement in the irony of that statement, although sometimes the obtuse way both teenagers skirt around their feelings for each other can be frustrating. Peter is literally the only guy Tony will ever accept for you because he can trust the webslinger would rather die than hurt the feelings of someone he loves.

“Hey, FRIDAY,” Peter greets when he walks into the common area.

“Hello, Peter,” the AI responds.

“Is Y/N here?”

“No,” FRIDAY says. “She does not return from the cabin until Thursday.”

Peter wilts a bit but nods. “Okay.”

See, the reason the ratio of Tony-to-Y/N time is so wonky is because of how much time you spend in the super-secret cabin. Tony insists on it for your protection or something like that.

“I’m still here,” Tony points out, pouring himself a coffee, and smirks when Peter jumps.

“I didn’t know you were there!” the teenager gasps, putting a hand to his heart like he’s in danger of a heart attack.

Tony snorts. “Is your Peter-tingle still not working?”

Taken aback, Peter stares at his mentor for a second before shaking his head. “I have got to stop Aunt May from talking about me to you. And no, I’ve told you this a thousand times; it doesn’t work when I’m around people that aren’t threats to me!”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Tony shrugs, yawning. “Now, as I’m sure my presence is more than enough a substitute for the presence of my daughter, let’s get to work, why don’t we?”

Peter blushes. “Okay.”

“Speaking of my daughter,” Tony adds, “when are you going to ask her out?”

Peter falls flat on his face.

~~~~

You seriously love having private jets at your disposal; trips are so much more comfortable and quick. Especially private jets that are eco-friendly, because it means you can flaunt your wealth without worrying about people on the internet dragging you.

Nah, you’re just kidding. You don’t flaunt your wealth that much.

Just a little.

“I’m home!” you call when you walk into the quiet common floor of the Avengers tower. All the lights are off. You frown. “Dad?”

Nothing. He must be on a business call. They seem to pop up unexpectedly all the time and you don’t begrudge him for them.

Besides, it’s late. You’ll go to sleep and greet your father in the morning. And hopefully Peter.

You roll your eyes at yourself and check your phone in vain for new messages, but nothing comes through. Not your dad checking to see if the flight landed on time, not Peter sending you a meme, not even Natasha texting you mission details in the rare occurrence you’re allowed to accompany the team.

Nothing. Complete radio silence.

Being a Stark is more isolating than one would think.

You sigh and rub your eyes, excited to go to sleep in your comfortable bed in your soundproofed room.

“FRIDAY?” you try.

“Your father is otherwise engaged, Y/N,” the AI responds. “He sends his regrets. If it is any consolation, I am pleased to see you again. So to speak.”

You smile up at the ceiling. “Thanks, FRI.”

FRIDAY lights up the walk from the common area to your room. You’ve seen enough horror movies to have a faint sense of how creepy it is to only be able to see a few feet in front of you at a time, but you trust the AI. It’s not like anything’s going to happen to you. Besides, even if there is something or someone there, you’ve been trained in enough forms of combat by literally every Avenger so you’re pretty confident you can handle yourself.

You open your door, still contemplating your phone’s screen as if staring at it will make people send you texts, but something crashes in your bathroom and you jump. The door swings shut behind you as you rush to the bathroom.

A trussed-up Spider-man struggles to his feet from where he is in your shower.

Wait. Spider-man in my shower?

You raise a single eyebrow, relaxing and crossing your arms while leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain to me what you’re doing here.”

“Did you let the door shut?” Spider-man squeals.

You frown, confused. “Uhh...” A quick glance over your shoulder confirms that the door is, in fact, closed. “Yeah.”

The superhero groans. “No!”

“Um, you still haven’t explained a thing, and you’re down twenty seconds,” you prompt, tapping your wrist that doesn’t even bear a watch.

“Long story short, your dad locked me in here,” Spidey groans. “And now that you’ve let the door shut, you’re locked in here with me too.”

You bite your lip. “Uh... why would Dad lock you in my room, Peter?”

“I have no idea,” Spider-man replies, then freezes. “Wait! Who’s Peter? I—I’m not Peter, I don’t even know a Peter!”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.” Spinning on your heel, you tug on your room’s door handle. True to his word, the door doesn’t budge.

“Seriously!” Spidey, hot on your heels, insists. “I really—I’ve never met you before in my life! I mean, I’ve seen you, because you’re famous because you’re Y/N Stark, but you’ve never met me! Or seen me! Or—”

“Peter.” You sigh and put your hands on your hips. “Honestly. Do you remember when my father announced to the world that he was Iron Man?”

“That’s a pivotal moment in history,” Spidey mutters, “so I’m sure that everyone remembers that.”

“Yeah. And did you know that he walked into that press conference with a fully detailed cover story as well as paid actors as witnesses to back up his story?”

“Uh...” Spider-man shifts his weight on his feet back and forth.

“And instead of simply reading off the cards like he was supposed to, he proceeded to announce to the entire world his second identity. So no, my father is not very good at lying or keeping secrets. And, Peter, do you remember that one time I walked in on you and Dad working on one of your suits?”

Spider-man crosses his arms over his chest. His mask reveals nothing of what he’s thinking.

“I made a joke about how cool it would be to meet Spider-man,” you continue, “and you proceeded to stammer on for five minutes about how that would be crazy for me because I’ve totally never met him before. So no. You and my dad are both terrible at keeping secrets and lying.”

You reach for the mask, hesitating for a moment to see if he’ll pull away. When he simply huffs, you tug the mask off, revealing Peter Parker’s flushed cheeks and bouncy curls. You can’t help the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. “You’ve known for months?”

“Months and months.” You grin crookedly at the flustered boy. “But seriously. Why are you locked in my room, Peter?”

“Okay,” the boy says quickly. “I came by today because I knew you were coming back and I thought it would be cool to say hi to you and show you this cool design we’re working on for your suit. We got repulsor rays just like Tony on the palms of your hands as well as the flight stabilizers, but it was tricky because your suit isn’t metal. But we got it eventually! And—”

“Peter,” you interrupt. God knows the boy could speak for hours by constantly going off on tangents.

“Right, right,” he says, biting his lip. He has no idea how attractive you find that action. “So I was here. And Tony thinks, I don’t know, that it would be funny to test the strength of the web formula we’ve been working on. And it’s not going to dissolve for two more hours,” he groans. That explains the weird white substance keeping his hands together. “I could get it apart, but that might rip my suit.”

“Yeah, I was wondering why you were wearing the old suit,” you remark.

“We were trying to blend the Iron Spider suit and my old suit together,” Peter explains. “So I was modeling this suit. But if I rip it now, it could destroy this suit completely, and what if there’s an emergency?”

You glance around your room. There’s a pair of scissors on your desk and, despite knowing it’s a long shot, you try to cut the web fluid holding his hands together. The only thing that happens is the scissors get stuck. Same with the pocketknife you try to use.

When you approach Peter with a stapler, he jerks away. “No! It’s pretty much unbreakable. You’re just going to get more stuff stuck in it!”

You can’t help the giggle that bursts from your lips when you see Spider-man, Queens’ very own superhero, with red cheeks and floppy curls, thwarted by his own weapon with a pair of scissors and a knife sticking out of his shapeless white cuffs.

“Great, now she’s laughing at me,” Peter groans. “Wait, can you do something for me?”

“Sure,” you say, still snickering a bit.

“Tony put my phone on the bed.” He gestures in that direction. “I’ve been hearing it go off. I don’t know if it’s Tony, or Ned, or May, or anyone else. Could you bring it to me?”

You retrieve the phone and hold it out to him. Peter holds up his webbed hands in vain, but it’s no use. No fingers are available to punch in the password.

“Just tell me it,” you sigh when he tries in vain to punch in the password with his nose.

“No!” Peter blushes furiously.

“Dude, May’s gonna be worried about you. Just tell me.” You roll your eyes. “Not that I couldn’t hack in anyway, but it would require FRIDAY and a lot more time and effort than you just telling me your password.”

“FRIDAY?” Peter asks hopefully, staring at the ceiling. Just as you’d suspected; your father either disabled the AI for your room or commanded it to not respond to their of your pleas for escape.

“Seriously,” you groan. “You do realize you can change the password right away, right?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Peter groans, which is absolutely the worst thing to say. You perk up immediately.

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling.” Peter crosses his arms and glares at the wall.

“Is it your old crush’s name? Uh... Michelle or something?”

“I never liked MJ,” Peter snaps. “She’s just my friend.”

You snort. “Uh-huh.” Quick as a flash, you snatch the phone up from where it was sitting on the bed next to his thigh. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I will not.”

“What’s the worst it could be?” you ask. “I promise I won’t tell Dad.”

“That’s a lie.”

“You got me there. If it’s something about My Little Pony or Dora the Explorer I’d have to tell him right away. You know me too well.”

“It’s not My Little Pony or Dora the Explorer!” Peter exclaims.

“Well, unless you tell me what it really is,” you tease, “I’m going to have to assume it’s one of those two categories. Want me to guess My Little Pony names until your phone locks you out forever?”

Peter groans and flops onto the bed. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say primly. “I’d never dream of teasing you, Pete.”

Peter mumbles something.

“What?”

“IsaidmypasswordisY/NParkernospaces” he rushes out.

“What?”

“I said,” Peter gets out through gritted teeth, “my password is Y/NParker, no spaces.”

There’s a long pause of silence and Peter chances opening his eyes to look at your reaction. You’re staring at him evenly, the phone in your lap forgotten. “Why is that your password?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Peter pleads weakly. “I’m never going to be able to live this down anyway.”

“Peter. Why is that your password?”

“Because I like you!” he bursts out, his tone a lot louder than he’d intended it to be. “Duh, Y/N. Like you said, I’m sorta bad at hiding stuff. Even your dad knows. It’s why he locked me in here.”

“What?” You unlock the phone quickly and check the texts. There’s two from May asking why Peter’s not home yet, one from Ned about a homework assignment, and three from Tony.

Tony Stark: You’re going to read this either when those webs dissolve or when Y/N unlocks your phone, which means she’s going to discover your password and your crush on her

Tony Stark: If so, hi, Y/N! Love you! Sorry I couldn’t be there to greet you but I had to play matchmaker for some oblivious teens

Tony Stark: Go get ‘em, tiger ;). You’re not leaving the room until you do. But no funny business!

“This is so embarrassing,” you and Peter groan at the same time. You exchange startled glances.

“What do you have to be embarrassed about?” Peter asks. You show him the screen of his phone.

“My stupid meddling father,” you glower, quite sure that he’s listening to your conversation now.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sighs.

“What are you sorry for?” You frown.

“For telling you how I felt. I know your dad thinks you like me back, but it’s totally fine if you don’t. We can stay friends. Or if you don’t even want to be friends, I guess that’s all right. It’d be awkward because I come to the tower so much to work with your dad but I’m sure we can work something out. Besides, you visit the cabin so much—oomph.”

He grunts with surprise when you lean forward and press your lips against his. For a moment you think he’s going to try to keep talking even while kissing, but then he sighs against your lips and his webbed hands go to your stomach. He groans with frustration. “This sucks,” he groans, breaking the kiss. “I can’t touch you at all. I can’t even feel you through the webs. And—oh my God, I could have stabbed you!” He leaps to his feet, looking at his webbed hands and the weapons sticking out of the mess with horror.

You double over with laughter.

“It’s not funny, Y/N!” Peter whines. “You could have been seriously hurt! Your dad woulda killed me! Do you have any idea—”

You stand and, avoiding the weapons, press your lips against his again. It seems to be an effective way to stop the rambling and keep his mind on one track. More or less.

“I bet the door’s unlocked now,” Peter mumbles against your mouth, breaking the kiss again, and you growl with frustration.

“Peter, shut up and kiss me.”

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist!

[signsofsam]

9-1-1 Week, Day Two: Come a Little Closer

Buck tosses his controller down when he loses yet again, hands going into the air as he mutters something about Eddie cheating, again. “It’s not possible for you to be this good. What are you doing? How are you doing it? Teach me your ways, Obi-Wan! I wish to be your padawan!”

“Anakin ended up evil in the end, Buck; I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t know evil if it smacked you upside your pretty head.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Prompt: “You scared the shit out of me” + fun

AO3 Link Here

Notes:

Song title is from Rollercoaster by Bleachers. 

This is part one in a series (Day 3 is part 2, Day 5 is part 3). Thank you all for the lovely support of my writing; my week has gone kind of wonky after receiving bad news on Friday, and honestly right now I really need the happiness posting fics brings me. But you didn’t come here for my sob stories so here you go.

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.

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“You want to maybe come over after school? Bobby’s going to be home and I think he said something about cooking burgers, and we’ve got the PS4?”

Eddie never wanted to move to California. He loved Texas, he loved his life in Texas, but Abuela was sick, and she needed his parents, and so here he was, starting his life over in LA at sixteen. And it was difficult, at first, but then he’d met Buck in school, and it made California so much better. Buck’s tall and muscular and good looking and funny and smart and Eddie may-just may-have the slightest crush on him (after he went through his initial do I really like guys? I think I really like guys phase and decided that he at least liked Buck and that was fine and he didn’t need to define it any further for now), and he can’t really figure out why Buck wants to hang out with him, the new kid, when he’s fairly affable and popular.

But that’s what Buck did-he came and sat with Eddie at an empty table his second day there with an easy smile and a “hi, I’ve Evan, but everyone calls me Buck. I think you’re in my English class?” Eddie hadn’t asked why Buck didn’t go by Evan; instead, Buck had prodded him about where he came from and then asked about a million questions about Texas, and that was it. Buck became Eddie’s best friend, and a light in the dark of California, and through Buck, Eddie gained a whole gaggle of new friends.

“Yo, Diaz? You coming tonight? I gotta text Bobby yes or no.” Buck’s grinning, and Eddie jumps, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

“Sorry. Um, yeah. I just need to let my mom know,” Eddie answers, and Buck’s smile widens before he has to turn back to focus on their teacher. 

When they first hung out, Eddie thought maybe Bobby was Buck’s stepfather, but then he met this petite African-American woman in uniform who Buck had squeezed in a tight hug and introduced as his mom, Athena, and Eddie had realized that Buck’s past wasn’t the normal apple pie, all-American upbringing he’d thought. Through the months, he’s met Athena’s kids, May and Harry, and her ex-husband Michael, and how they all seem to work together as one big, happy family, and one night after some football game he and Buck had gotten super drunk and Buck had told him how his real parents had abandoned him and his older sister. He’d been sloppy drunk as he told him about finding Bobby when he was twelve, Maddie gone, and how Bobby would say Buck rescued him just as much as Bobby rescued Buck. He’d smiled about how Bobby first introduced him to Athena, and how it’d been tough to blend their families at first, but now...now that was the only type of family he could imagine. He considered May and Harry his siblings (and Maddie. He’d gotten sad as he talked about her, and even drunk, all Eddie wanted to do was comfort him), and Michael was another grown-up he could go to and trust, almost like a third parent. 

Buck likes to blabber about sad things when he drinks, but most of the other time, he’s like an overzealous, overjoyous golden retriever. He’s practically bouncing by the time they get out of school, leading Eddie to his Jeep, and his happiness is infectious, especially when it mixes with LA’s perfect weather and Buck singing whatever pop song comes up next on the radio.

Bobby is preparing things in the kitchen when they come through the door, and he smiles when Buck greets him. “Hey, kiddo, kiddo’s best friend.”

“Hey, Mr. Nash. Thanks for letting me come over.”

“No problem, Eddie. You two are lucky; Harry’s gonna help me with the grill, so the gaming stuff is all yours’. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours; you two have fun.”

And they do. Playing against Buck is fun, because he gets so weirdly competitive and flustered when he loses, and, to be frank, Eddie is kick ass at Mario Kart. Buck likes to trash talk, and he has yet to realize that Eddie can listen to it while solely focusing on winning the race, and that Eddie knows it riles Buck up  when he doesn't react, and that’s all sorts of fun by itself.

Buck tosses his controller down when he loses yet again, hands going into the air as he mutters something about Eddie cheating, again. “It’s not possible for you to be this good. What are you doing? How are you doing it? Teach me your ways, Obi-Wan! I wish to be your padawan!”

“Anakin ended up evil in the end, Buck; I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t know evil if it smacked you upside your pretty head.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Eddie glances at Buck, and he doesn’t seem...mad. He’s watching Eddie through his thick eyelashes, eyes just as bright blue as ever, but...he’s searching for something, too. Buck leans in, and the kiss is soft, sweet, a barely there press of lips, Eddie’s hands still around his controller, and he doesn’t have enough time to react before Buck pulls away, eyes wide and...scared? He’s watching Eddie, cautious. “I-”

He freezes when Eddie drops the controller, and Eddie can feel him shaking when he wraps his hand around Buck’s bicep to pull him close and kiss him again, Eddie’s other hand coming up to card through Buck’s mussed hair, and it takes a moment, and Buck’s gasping into him, and it’s everything Eddie’s thought about since Buck sat beside him in the lunchroom all those months ago. 

Someone coughs behind them, and they break apart, Buck grinning sheepishly at Athena. "Dinner's done, if you two want to come join us outside," she says, eyebrow raised, but she breaks out her own smile when Buck nods. "I'm going to send Harry in here if you're not out there in five minutes." With that, she heads back out to the patio, and Eddie and Buck are alone again. 

Buck groans, pressing his forehead into Eddie's shirt. "Well, that wasn't at all embarrassing or anything," he whispers. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Huh?"

"I was scared to kiss you, because I wasn't sure if that was what you wanted and I wasn't sure if you were going to do something like punch me or-"

"I've pretty much been dreaming about kissing you since I met you, Buck. This is completely all right. I’m completely not opposed to doing it again sometime.”

Buck grins. “Yeah?”

“In fact, we should do that again after a date, on Friday? I’ll pick you up at seven?” 

“So...you want me to wait until Friday to kiss you again? I don’t….I think I have a better chance of winning Mario Kart against you.” Eddie laughs, and Buck kisses him again, quick, like lightning, well aware that very soon his very nosy younger brother will come searching for them. “A date on Friday sounds fantastic, though. I’ll be there.”

So yes, Eddie misses Texas something fierce, all the time, but...one look at Buck smiling cheekily at him across the table? Imagining what could be? It made California feel a little more like home. 

[skamamoroma]

Episode 5 (Part 1 of 2): Wtfock S3

So, the episode that changes everything! (Beware, this is LONG)

Robbe is so lost. He is actively making choices but is making the wrong ones for all of the worst reasons. He has fallen out with his friends, he’s shouted at Milan and distanced himself from Zoe, he has upset Noor and cheated on her and has hurt Sander purposefully in the worst way possible, in turn, breaking his own heart. The fact that he starts the episode off by saying that he can’t see his mamma is so telling. He can’t face her. He always makes time for her and being alone (even the music keeps saying he’s ALONE ALONE ALONE) it is always when he thinks of her and this is no exception… it’s just that he isn’t in the right headspace and I get this overwhelming feeling that he feels like he has tainted himself. He doesn’t like hurting Noor, he has done stuff with Sander that he is convinced is wrong (even if it felt the complete opposite) and his internal oppression is so overwhelming, it’s like he’s even denying himself his mamma who he loves and always WANTS to see. 

I love the fact that he reaches out to Jens regardless of the advice he gets because… I mean, lets face it, it’s terrible. Jens can’t be blamed. He doesn’t have a clue what’s happening, he just tries to offer some well meant guidance and in many ways it’s very very sweet and gentle advice. He isn’t full of bravado and I kind of love him in this moment. He’s a young guy telling his mate that sex isn’t that big of a deal, he doesn’t need to worry or pressure himself… that’s SWEET and what everyone should hear. Sex doesnt have to happen at all if you don’t want it to. The fact that he’s so kind to Robbe is really lovely of him. He’s a GOOD friend in this moment. He just doesn’t know what Robbe needs or why he’s so upset so the advice is awful in the circumstances but regardless, he was so genuine to Robbe and I want to SQUISH him for being so decent and lovely….

But I can’t help but want to crawl under a blanket when that clip segues into Noor and Robbe. Now this scene was met with pure OUTRAGE when it aired and I can’t help but laugh. The fact that Life on Mars is playing is so TELLING in so many ways. I made a post about it at the time but the lyrics and metaphorical meaning to that song fit the moment brilliantly:

The girl in the song is lonely and uses cinema and the “silver screen” to escape. She seeks the escapism of the world of movies to avoid her real life which is unsatisfying to her. 

“But the film is a saddening bore, for she’s lived it ten times or more” - it doesn’t live up. She’s left feeling underwhelmed and unsatisfied because the problem lies in the fact that her wish for escapism fails. It doesn’t do what she hoped it would. 

Then the song asks “is there life on mars?” - aka, to me, is there possibility elsewhere? The song suggests that focus be placed on all of the wonder and fantastical stuff that the escape world provides…. But the fundamental is, you can’t escape your real life and your truth, no matter how hard you try. 

AND DOESN’T THAT JUST PERFECTLY SUM UP THIS MOMENT.

Also, Sander has game. We know this. It may be weird and unconventional and he may seem, currently, like the world’s biggest Manic Pixie Dream Boy but his love of Bowie is cool and edgy to Robbe… so if he’s going to try to “woo” Noor and make it all romantic then he’s going to try to channel that but I think the overwhelming reason that song is playing is because Sander is STILL ON HIS MIND. He’s unable to remove Sander from his life. He chose that song and absolutely thought of Sander when he did it… which means he can’t stop thinking of him and also kind of includes Sander in this moment. His presence is felt, reminding us that Robbe felt so comfy and lovely and at ease with Sander and, well, here, it’s really very uncomfortable and upsetting. 

It’s like Robbe is trying to mimic Sander’s ability to turn moments into something dream like. 

The moment itself is so heartbreaking. Robbe is trying to hard. It’s all candles and low light and covering Noor’s eyes. It’s text book romantic. It’s staged and planned and the “i’m trying” is written all over it… which contrasts BEAUTIFULLY to when Sander and Robbe find themselves in the same room with the same low light and it’s all instinct and casual joy and intuition… nothing staged about it. I LOVE that they had made that contrast even if we don’t know it yet in episode 5! The contrasts and parallels are ALL OVER this season and I’m a total sucker for it. 

It is shot beautifully. Each moment is chosen so specifically because this is kind of the height of Robbe’s pretending… he comes down the other side after this. This moment is HUGE and they really sell it as such. It’s also meaningful to me that they kept it in, not only as a parallel to how all of this stuff SHOULD be when Robbe experiences it with Sander but also to perhaps show someone who may feel like Robbe does that you truly don’t have to do this to yourself. If you WANT to try and experiment then, no problem, as long as you’re safe and kind about it… but this isn’t what Robbe is doing. He KNOWS. He’s felt nothing so far and they’ve done a LOT. He’s forcing himself. Which is why the way he holds Noor tightly at the start KILLS me because the camera focuses in on it and, to me, it feels like it’s purposeful to show how much Robbe is trying trying trying…. The EFFORT. It truly shouldn’t be that way. 

The music going wonky and hazy as Robbe moves down her body makes me want to cry… it all does but THE PARALLELS. I know I’m jumping to future episodes but  the fact that Robbe does the exact same thing with Sander but enjoys it and loses himself in a VERY different way is just hugely meaningful and YES Wtfock …. I LOVE this shit hahaha. Robbe looks like he’s going to pass out. It’s not meant to be sexy or comfortable viewing. The music makes it a little haunting. Noor is beautiful and fun and rebellious and is, in many ways, a lot of the things Sander is… but she isn’t Sander. She is wrong for Robbe and that idea of ‘if I can’t make it work with her then who can i make it work with’ comes to mind… and Robbe knows who. 

And god if the next clip doesn’t shatter your heart...Willem H is incredible in it from start to finish. The way it’s shot is, again, BEAUTIFUL and makes it all the more gut wrenching and raw. 

The dream is definitely over. The sounds of the outside world are loud now and it’s all back to reality with a pretty sharp smack in the face. Robbe looks like he’s going to cry and it’s clear that they stopped because something just didn’t work. I LOVE that there’s hardly any dialogue. There doesn’t need to be, it’s written all over Robbe’s face and it’s the biggest moment of realisation for him… the absolute confirmation he needed but you can’t feel happy, it just all makes you feel so so sad. 

The fact that when Noor asks if it’s her, Robbe replies “no, you’re amazing” ---- and isn’t that just the crux of it. She is and he does mean it. She’s being so gentle and supportive and understanding and she is someone he really likes as a person. I think that’s the thing that makes him so sure after this moment because he genuinely likes her… just as nothing more than a friend. I want to wrap him up and tell him it’s all going to be ok in this moment. He looks so broken and defeated but AHHH the way these clips are constructed it so so so good and it’s because they’re so good that the meaning behind all of this, the changes they made from the originall just work so well!

AND WE GO STRAIGHT INTO HEALING. 

I love that this night feels like the lowest low in terms of lying to himself and he’s off the back of some really awful behaviour so there’s no other way to go but up and ENTER MILAN. Oh this clip is so lovely, so healing and GOOD GOD was I pleased that this wasn’t the full Pride clip. This was EXACTLY what Robbe needed at this moment. The Pride clip has a very important place but not yet, not when Robbe is THIS broken. It wouldn’t have worked. Thank you wtfock! 

Milan is there with the casual relationship chat...always there to remind Robbe that he, as a gay man, has an active and happy dating life. HE’s there, offering his time (ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES hahaha) and being such a chill pillar of support. He’s also INSISTENT which is exactly what Robbe needs. He sometimes need stuff dragging out of him and he’s so deep in his hole… Milan gently, gradually helps him climb out. 

The really cool way Milan asks if Robbe feels the same as this guy who likes him… it is so lacking in any drama or parade and is simply a question. Milan makes it SO EASY for Robbe in that moment and he’s a total star. I love him so much for the fifteen minutes he gives!!!!!! That little giddy smile he gives Robbe when he realises that Robbe might have feelings for a guy is just precious! He’s so FOND of Robbe. He’s thrilled that Robbe feels able to try to be open. I love that little moment he leans forward and encourages Robbe. He’s on his level, not pressurising but is solid in his offering of support and advice. You can SEE how Milan is a little emotional when he’s saying what he would have said to his younger self… and Robbe still has that look on his face that says he can’t be what Milan is saying he might be because, well, that stuff is WRONG or BAD, right? He’s not like Milan, he’s not like the guys on Grindr, he’s not like the guy at the dance show, he’s not those words his friends have used…. It’s SO IMPORTANT. I love that they included this because it shows the level of homophobia and the casual way it has been presented to him that he sees being anything other than straight as something WRONG for him to be but also something SPECIFIC. He doesn’t see the multitudes of humanity in it all, he just knows that words like ‘disorder’  have been used and that if you’re gay then people call you names or you have to be always wanting to hook up for sex at night… he can’t see a place for himself in all of this confusion. It’s painful but SO VERY spot on as an experience for many an LGBT+ person. Milan looks a little exhausted by Robbe’s refusal to allow himself to chill out with his feelings and seems a little sad that Robbe is still fighting it but the words he uses next change EVERYTHING. I don’t think he even knows how much they changed Robbe’s life. 

They’re important words. Robbe IS normal and if he doesn’t start to be honest with himself then he will hurt everyone around him, he’ll lose himself and the people around him… and little does Milan know how deep Robbe is in that hole already… ONLY FOR THE GOD DAMN SONG TO SING “here stands a man at the bottom of a hole” at me and I’m all giddy with the wonder of the soundtrack’s ability to heighten a moment. It’s all haunting and brilliant!

We’re back with Jens and it’s like a little check in with him after his advice. For the first time Robbe is being HONEST. Not completely but he’s still being as honest as he can be in saying there’s someone else and that they won’t go away even if he’s tried… and then that word - HER. I love that moment. Willem H kills it. His face changes instantly. He’s reminded that this moment is bigger than he expected, that he’s not ready yet. I’m still proud of him though because we, as an audience, realise that Robbe has taken some of what Milan said to heart and he’s allowing himself to ACCEPT his feelings. 

The fact that we go immediately into the break up scene is perfect… and look, I can’t help but find so much of this scene funny. It’s heartbreaking but it’s also a little like a parody. Regardless, Robbe is the only Isak to do this and I was so proud of him, so pleased he really took control of his life. As I mentioned back in episode 3 - he has stopped letting people boss him around and dictate to him. He’s trying hard to do the right thing and we KNOW he doesn’t like to hurt people. I have a TON of respect for my guy for doing this… and a whole load of love in my heart for his adorable nervous self tearing napkins apart as Noor arrives. ENDEARING AS HECK. 

Let’s address the elephant in the room - OLD TOWN ROAD. Hahahaha. People found it so funny (me included) but it also kind of WORKS because isn’t the whole song about leaving stuff behind, leaving behind an old life. YES THE LYRICS ARE RIDICULOUS with all the boobies and sports bras of it all but it also kinda works!!!! Still makes me smile though. (also, I’d kill to know Wtfock’s music budget for this season because OH BOY)

Robbe, bless him, does the typical dick-ish thing and takes someone to a very public place to break up with them. DUDE. Hahahaha. I adore him but no, boy, no. Poor Noor, man. Honestly. Robbe is doing all of the right things, he’s trying to be honest, to stop anyone else getting hurt but it’s messy and imperfect. Regardless, that moment he lets Noor hold his hand to say goodbye is so beautifully kind. He has just broken her heart but he tries to be gentle.

BUT GUYS. The parody feeling comes from Robbe just saying to Noor he needs to be by himself and then we enter the next day and Robbe is stalking Sander at school. Hahahahahahahaha. Makes me laugh so much. Oh god, we know why he said what he did. He couldn’t say the real reason but it makes for hilarious viewing and makes me feel so endeared towards Robbe because he really IS taking Milan’s words seriously. He’s trying, in every part of his life, to be better and to stop causing pain and to be kinder and more authentic with himself. It’s a lovely process of change and growth!

BUT THESE NEXT TWO SCENES! I LOVE the first one. I love how Robbe is, once again, taking some control of his life. I can’t help but find the whole process of Robbe seeking Sander out so sweet, culminating in him seeing Sander in his ELEMENT. Robbe smiles INSTANTLY when he sees him. Actually no, he BEAMS. His whole face lights up! I love so much that he gets to see Sander like this, to appreciate Sander’s art and creativity and to see Sander’s passions in real life, to see him surrounded by something that makes him who he is. It’s a really beautiful moment and you definitely feel like Robbe really has allowed himself to realise he LIKES Sander - a whole lot. He practically swoons when he sees him. I love that we see that Robbe sees the heart of Sander and really truly likes what he sees. He’s not pretending anymore. 

Then we get that ADORABLE little moment of Robbe in the toilets. I’m so happy they included it. It’s so full of nerves and sweetness - we’ve never seen him like that before. This MEANS something to him. Seeing Sander again makes him FEEL something and he wants it to go well so badly. He is so visibly excited! It makes me wonder if he’s ever felt this before or ALLOWED himself to. I don’t think he has. It feels like the first time.

Robbe is so swept up with trying and learning and reaching out that I think he truly didn’t think it could go wrong. Sander looks so hurt and his face is devastating to see but I’m also proud of Sander for at least that moment of self preservation. Robbe looks like he’s going to cry. That giddiness disappears instantly and he’s met with the crushing realisation that the warnings Milan gave may have become a reality and it’s his own fault. 

Then we get one of my favourite clips of the whole season.The opening song - “take me back to my younger days, I was happy with the simple things” - with Robbe looking wistfully at the sweet kids and their mamma. Both a longing for simpler times and also for his own mamma who he loves and no doubt wishes was around more so he had someone to just give him a cuddle. He’s navigating all of this stuff himself and it’s all so MUCH to handle. 

But Sander appears and oh man, he couldn’t stay mad for too long. He offers that 5 minutes and I feel so fond of him because of it. Like i said in episode 4, I genuinely feel like Sander understands Robbe’s heart. He knows he’s a sweet, lovely guy. Yes, he was hurt and yes, he deserves an apology but the idea of Chernobyl in his head and hurting people because of it is nothing new to Sander… I feel like that’s a part of the reason he accepts Robbe’s apology so quickly and also, well, he feels that he’s in love with him and that Robbe is the one. SO… that 5 minutes was inevitable!

The whole moment between them with Robbe trying to hard to verbalise his feelings and failing and opting for his VERY CUTE head explosion is so damn SWEET… no wonder Sander’s face changes a little, softens and you can see the edges of a smile. Robbe’s telling him that their kiss was monumental for him, he didn’t for one second think Sander was inappropriate… and Sander just sees the truth in him. 

That moment that Sander walks towards Robbe is so filled with surety and confidence. He doesn’t falter for a second and that CHALLENGE he gives Robbe is perfection. It’s like he’s daring Robbe to back away but he doesn’t move a muscle. Sander denies him a kiss and asks the important question using their little metaphor - “what about now, how do you feel now?” and Robbe’s “fuck Chernobyl” is the biggest “FUCK EVERYTHING ELSE, I want you”. It’s huge and important for him to say that and to be willing to accept that he’s putting all of that confusion and panic and hatred for himself aside and trying to say FUCK IT because he wants Sander. It’s quite an admission and no wonder Sander kisses him!

That first little kiss is just so great. Robbe looks so comfortable and swoony that Sander has accepted his apology and that they’re doing what he really genuinely wants them to be doing. He has Sander back and close and Sander’s kissing him and he’s trying to say FUCK IT to all of the nonsense… it’s such a healing celebratory little moment and it is also the BIRTH OF THE BABY KOALA. 

Talk about Robbe feeling at ease. I think in this moment he 100% embodies the FUCK IT principle! He allows himself to behave and react as he FEELS rather than forcing himself and it’s beautiful. He’s so affectionate and clingy and it’s the first time we realise how Robbe shows his love  - through touch! We haven’t been able to witness it yet and the difference in the way Robbe behaves here compared to the way he has behaved for the past 4 episodes is SO OBVIOUS. 

I love the fact that when Robbe kisses back properly and leans up to wrap his arms around Sander’s neck, he gets so close that there’s ZERO space between them at all, even their faces. You FEEL how Robbe adores Sander, how much he feels and he tries to show it. Their chemistry in this moment is off the charts. Robbe touches Sander with such tenderness, holds his face so gently, kisses so softly… it’s all just very LOVELY and we get a first introduction to the truth of who Robbe is! I feel like he’s so open and on show here and he’s LOVELY. I also feel like the kiss is 50% apology too. He kisses with purpose like he’s pouring meaning into it and the fact that Sander smiles into it and almost stumbles backwards just sums it up!!

Britt interrupting is standard, we expect it because she’s one of the final obstacles to deal with. It’s here that we are introduced to SANDER DRIESEN: KING OF ROMANTIC ONE-LINERS. He means it too. He wants that future. I believed him at the time and I’m so happy I did because if you believe these words then you believe that he means the rest...  

I LOVE that little moment when Sander pretty much whines into the kiss that he has to leave and Robbe holds onto him, looks pained to let go and their kisses carry on but becaome gradually lighter and less desperate but still THERE. It’s adorable and CHEMISTRY IS INSANE. 

I also love that Sander feels less dream-like now. We’re starting to see the cracks there, the real Sander. We’ve now seen him in his natural habitat, we’ve seen him hurt and angry and we’re now seeing him woozy after quite the kiss so he’s stumbling and smiling and swooning at the same time as he walks away. He’s so much more human and I like that Robbe’s realisation that he wants him and is rejecting all of the pretending has also come alongside seeing Sander as a little more than Mr Dreamworld, the kind of escapism. Robbe’s allowed something a little more real now and not only is he accepting he wants it but he’s also going after it and I was so happy for him and proud of the steps he took to make things better.

And I’m stopping here because this is HUGE and there’s still some really important clips in this huge ass episode so I’m splitting this up! For your sanity (you still with me?!) and also for the sake of it not turning out to be War and Peace because between the cuddle clip, Pride clip, date night and the end of this episode… I need more space to get into all that. CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS EPISODE. WHIPLASH. Anyway, give yourself a medal if you’re still awake and thank you again for all of the very very sweet messages I’ve received recently!

[luxinexitium]

yeoubi, from sunny

ACCEPTING! / wordstuck.co.vu prompts / @cir​

yeoubi: 'fox rain'; a sun shower – the event of having a light rain while the sun is still shining

he doesn’t have many talents—or, rather, not many that he’s proud of. all in one night, kyungsoo can pick pockets, outrun cops, find the fastest route out of any given district, and make a home out of any sturdy surface. as a bonus, he can even go the entire night without a wink of sleep. it wasn’t always so easy; he failed plenty of times in the first few years. early on, most successes were the result of trial and error, dumb luck. now, he knows the signs and patterns like the ridges of his palms or the criss-crossing veins in his wrists. these talents are as much a part of him as is the air in his lungs.

over the past few years, he’s picked up some new tricks. italian meringue, puff pastry, chocolate soufflé, phyllo dough... they aren’t easy by any stretch, but kyungsoo can manage them without setting the kitchen on fire. he’s also learned how to send texts, how to look up recipes on the all-knowing naver, and how to care for household plants. though these may be small talents, they’re successes all the same for kyungsoo, and they are parts of himself that he can actually be proud of.

painting.. is a different story. holding a pencil to write is difficult enough, but guiding a brush across the canvas may as well be like learning to ride a bicycle with one leg. according to sunny, he’s apparently improved since their first encounter, but kyungsoo has a feeling she’s only saying that to be nice. his strokes are still clumsy, grip too stilted. last week, they’d been working on an impressionist-style piece, but kyungsoo’s end-product had taken a hard left into something equal parts bizarre and embarrassing. (”where did you even get that colour?” sunny had asked, and kyungsoo could only bury his face in his hands, forgetting entirely that they were stained with oil paint.)

today, they must be feeling nostalgic because they’re painting plein air in the outskirts of the city. a thin layer of clouds hangs over them, providing just enough shade to forgo the usual parasol. the rustling leaves, the chirping cicadas, and sunny’s intermittent instructions come together in a pleasant melody that lulls kyungsoo into a peace he has dearly missed. on the canvas, his trees more closely resemble scattered fingerprints, and he’s still struggling to blend the colours as seamlessly as sunny does, but he takes her advice to heart and tries only his best. with enough practise, he may one day surpass the skills of a six-year-old with fingerpaints.

rain arrives without warning, creeping up on them from behind, and the nearest trees for shelter are just far away enough that the change in weather catches onto their canvasses. dejectedly, kyungsoo looks over his half-finished painting and watches the colours bleed into one another. if the landscape had looked wonky before, it’s totally unrecognisable now. all of his efforts, washed away by the rain.

“it’s ruined,” he sighs, holding the canvas at arm’s length to keep from wearing the paint on their ride home. beside him, sunny assesses her own work, running a critical eye over where droplets of rain have left tiny dents in each stroke. her painting could have passed for a mirror image of the scenery, but the little rivulets of runaway paint have transformed it into something like a half-remembered dream.

“i wouldn’t say that,” sunny muses in that lyrical way that reminds kyungsoo of a songbird. “now, i think i’ll remember this day forever.”

a few moments of disbelief transpire between them before kyungsoo turns back to his own canvas with sunny’s comment bouncing between his ears. everything’s been distorted, warped, and stretched, but.. it’s also unmistakable what happened. the gentle susurrus of rain, the sticky paint on his fingertips, the sunshine pouring over the fields in spite of the sudden showers.

this certainly is not his best work, but perhaps it is his favourite.

[raybyanothername]

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Fuller House (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jackson Fuller/Ramona Gibbler Characters: Jackson Fuller, Ramona Gibbler, Bobby Popko (Fuller House), Lola (Fuller House), Gia Mahan, D. J. Tanner, Michelle Tanner Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Problems, Scent Marking, Scenting, Pheromones, Knotting, Puberty, Angst and Feels, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn Series: Part 2 of Alpha Jackson Summary:

Jackson's continued adventures at figuring out this whole alpha thing. And complaining about it.

Basically every trope from A/B/O fanfiction turned into a punchline. Because puberty sucks for everyone. Its a rule.

-.-.-

Chapter 14: Cookies are a Legitimate Coping Mechanism

The cold air of San Francisco poured in from the open window in the kitchen. It seared across Jackson's too warm skin as he plopped down at the table.

3am is the best time for breakfast.

"Awake again, insomniac?" Michelle groused as she climbed the stairs from the garage with narrowed eyes and reindeer pajamas.

"Sleep is for those with decent coping skills," Jackson grinned as he glanced down to see that Michelle's pajamas had feet on them. "If the last week has proven anything, it's that neither of us inherited those."

Michelle rolled her eyes, "There is only room for one snarky alpha in this house." She shoved his head down lightly and sat in the chair next to him.

The plate of snacks he'd nicked from the fridge was slid closer as Michelle kicked her feet up.

"Alright Baby Alpha," Michelle sighed, cookie rising to her lips, "Make like T Swift said and calm down."

It was perhaps the lamest alpha command Michelle had tried yet. It hadn't worked any better than the others she'd tried on him, but it did make Jackson smile.

"I think the offer to smother me with pheromones had more of an effect?" Jackson offered. Michelle wrinkled her nose.

"That was a threat, Jacks, not an offer," Michelle gestured with a pretzel stick before biting it in half. She spoke around her chewing, "And your amusement is not appreciated."

Jackson grabbed a cookie and shrugged, "You're the one that keeps trying to whammy me."

The second half of the pretzel hit his head.

"Not my fault I'm impervious," Jackson grinned around a mouth full of cookie. Michelle snorted, shook her head.

A whole week of midnight bonding with his aunt had taught Jackson several things. 1) Michelle didn't sleep much. 2) Her alpha abilities were either useless against him or her cancer was starting to mess with them. 3) She wouldn't admit to any of that. Even when bribed with all manner of stolen Christmas desserts!

"So, you saw your alpha doc yesterday right?" Michelle asked, brow raised and eyes focused on Jackson.

Jackson, very confidently, did not choke on his cookie. It just got caught in his throat a little.

Michelle snickered, eyes crinkling as she smiled, "I'd apologize, but I'm obviously not sorry." Jackson glared at her as he reached for his glass of milk. Michelle shrugged, "In my defense, your mom wanted me to ask."

"Uh, she was there," Jackson narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. His arms gestured out, "She even brought up my knots, again! As if it wasn't humiliating enough talking about pheromones and how I triggered Ramona's heat!"

With arms crossed over the table, Michelle leaned forward. She didn't say anything. Just kept her face angled towards him as Jackson kept talking.

"He wants me to track Every time my instincts are triggered!" Jackson hands were flying now, a glower focused on the wall. "As if I even recognize the trigger half of the time!"

"Pretty sure that's the point of tracking it," Michelle chuckled, eyes closing for a moment as she sighed. Jackson frowned.

He did not appreciate reason during his rants.

Michelle's arms rose up, cupping her face as she propped up her elbows. She stuck her tongue out at Jackson, "That, and he wants to map out who your brain is classifying as 'pack' now. With no active scent marks, you're hormones still all wonky, it could be… what was the word DJ used… 'enlightening?'"

Yeah. Ngo wasn't even hiding his data collection for that paper now. He hadn't stopped scribbling throughout the whole damn appointment.

"You get anything useful out of it at least?" Michelle's elbow shot out to nudge his arm.

Jackson blushed.

The answer was yes. But finding out his attraction to Ramona was wholly teenage drama and not a remnant of the scent mark? Not something he was planning to share.

With anyone.

Not Ngo. Not Popko. Definitely not anyone with Tanner as their last name.

"You still tracking Ramona's scent like a bloodhound?" Michelle asked as she reached for a cookie.

Michelle was magic.

Possibly, she'd traded her soul for it because she seemed to give zero fucks about… well, most things.

Maybe that was just the dying thing?

"I will take your silence as confirmation," Michelle bit the cookie in half. Jackson watched her teeth sink into it.

The sharpness of her teeth was disconcerting as they eviscerated the chewy cookie.

“Have you ever…” Jackson trailed off as Michelle reached for a carrot stick now that the cookies were gone. It broke in half between her back molars. Jackson cleared his throat, “...scent-marked someone before?”

“Yup,” Michelle nodded, chewed her carrot. She was staring at him, eyes lulling and face flat.

Jackson groaned, “You’re gonna make me ask?” He looked at her, eyes wide. His puppy dog looks were significantly less effective now.

Or maybe Michelle was just immune to their effects…

“Watching you suffer brings me joy,” Michelle didn’t crack a smile even with her sarcasm dripping all over the room.

Jackson huffed. Definitely immune.

“What happened when you scent-marked? Was it as complicated and awkward as -”

Michelle snorted, her face finally breaking into a grin, “No Alpha in the history of Alphas has probably had this awkward of a presentation.” Michelle pointed her next carrot at him, then frowned at it, “Seriously, why are there not more cookies in this house?”

“If I get you more cookies, will you be helpful?” Jackson narrowed his eyes. Michelle turned her head, giving him a side-eye.

“Are you telling me there are more cookies?”

Max’s secret stash was easy enough to find and pillage. He set the Chip Ahoys bag in front of Michelle and she immediately held it to her chest like it was a baby.

Jackson snickered, “Okay, I get it, you love cookies, can we get with the storytime now?”

“How Rude…” Michelle muttered as she set the cookies back on the table and opened them. Jackson rolled his eyes. She huffed, “Fine~”

Finally!

“It wasn’t anything romantic,” Michelle shrugged, smirking at him as she brought a cookie to her lips, “So it’s not quite the same.”

Low blow. So rude.

“But yeah, my first pheromone party, I marked this girl I went to college with. It took me about a week to figure out why I was getting these nasty headaches," Michelle gestured with her hands as she spoke.

It may or may not have been a ploy to distract him from looking at her face. Which was twice as expressive as usual.

“Luckily, she was a beta, so it wasn’t quite as dramatic on her end.”

Annoyance flashed across Michelle’s face and her next bite of cookie ended with a particularly loud snap.

“So… what happened?” Jackson asked when Michelle quietly chewed her cookie with a pinched expression.

“Oh, she’s my assistant now,” Michelle shrugged, brows rising, “She texted me an hour ago to nag me about sleeping. Apparently I’m keeping her up with all my late night emails.”

Jackson’s face froze. His nose wrinkled.

That was not where he was expecting that story to go.

“Are you saying you’re still scent-marking her?”

Michelle gestured wide with the bag of cookies, “It makes it easy to keep track of her at shows?”

Lies. Definite lies.

Narrowing his eyes, Jackson scooted closer.

Michelle rolled her eyes, “Okay, so maybe it’s impossible to remove a scent-mark from a beta and now she’s stuck with me.”

“So…” Jackson spoke slowly, nose still wrinkled, “...all scent-marking is complicated.”

“Well, duh, dude,” Michelle snorted, “You’re literally coating them with your scent to the point that it becomes part of theirs? Outside of a honeymoon, that level of proximity and closeness is usually deemed a bit inappropriate.”

True.

Annoyingly true.

Jackson blushed, ideas in his head slamming into each other like pro wrestlers.

Michelle cackled beside him and Jackson jumped at the sound. She smirked, “Interestingly, your scent still gets all peppery when you’re freaking out.” She leaned forward, eyebrows wiggling, “Anything you’d like to share, nephew?”

“Uh…” Jackson’s mouth fell open and he blinked a few times, head tilting, “...no?”

“Wow,” Michelle’s forehead wrinkled, “You really are a shit liar.”

“Hey!” Jackson yelped, lips puckering in a pout.

She flicked his forehead.

Mean.

Jackson rubbed at the spot on his head, “Aren’t you suppose to be offering me advice and wisdom?”

“That’s your mom’s department,” Michelle waved her hand in the general direction of the stairs and then towards the Gibbler house next door, “Stephanie is sarcasm and witty comebacks.”

“And you?” Jackson asked, when Michelle dropped her arm and grabbed another cookie.

Michelle leaned towards him, smile plastered on her face, “I’m annoying.”

The laughter came out before he could stop himself. Bursting out of his chest like air from a balloon.

“See, sometimes annoying is helpful,” Michelle sniffed the air, “I can’t smell the peppers anymore.”

That did not bring him any degree of comfort.

Maybe Michelle’s nose was going? Yeah. That could be it.

Not that Jackson wanted to smell like Ramona. He just wanted her to smell like him. Wait! No…

Okay. Maybe a little bit.

But she was back on the suppressant now and it literally made him gag, so who could blame him?

“Nope, take it back,” Michelle shoved at his head, pushing him away from her, “There it is again.”

Definitely not her nose going then.

-.-.-

If you enjoyed this chapter and are feeling generous: https://ko-fi.com/raybyanothername

This chapter was finished during one of my live-writing sessions over on twitch! Feel free to drop by. :)