#and then i have all of friday for this essay and technically saturday as well but it'd be awesome if i could get everything

[justinefrischmanngf]

i really really really don't want to write this essay T______T but i have to ! and it'll all be over by the end of the week ! but my god i literally don't want to do it at ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!

[binnie-bitch]

In Your Arms - Stray Kids Fanfiction

Pairing: Bang Chan/Female Reader Tags: Fluff, Angst, Unrequited Love (but it’s not actually unrequited), Love Confessions, Implied Sexual Content Word Count: 4k Summary: You’re in love with your friend Bang Chan, but you’re afraid to confess. A/N: This is a commission for @thefangirloncrack  Also the second time I wrote a reader fic (Technically the third, but we don’t talk about the first), but it was fun to write! I should write more reader fics. It’s different and trying out different things is always good. Anyway. Please enjoy! ~~~~~~~~~~

Bang Chan smiles at you over the table. Bang Chan, your friend, and the bane of your existence, who agreed to sit down and study with you despite being busy with his own school projects. 

You know he has an essay due this friday, and yet, here he is, in the library, with his gentle eyes and warm aura. His body heat radiates where your ankle is squished between his legs. You have given up freeing yourself from his grasp ten minutes ago. His puppy eyes are hard to resist. It also doesn't help that his friend Changbin drags him to the gym every week.

Chan taps his pen on the back of your hand the moment you look away. You would never complain if he saves you from a headache that comes with trying to comprehend another academic text.

"Do you need something, oppa?" you ask.

"Y/n," he drawls, "are you free this weekend?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"What are you planning?"

Chan's smile molds into a grin. "A party! Well, it's not my party, but I'm invited."

"And you don't want to go alone?"

"You like parties!"

He isn't exactly wrong, but not right either. You don't hate parties. You can stomach them every now and then, but only because most of them involve Chan. He has made a habit of inviting you when you never said no before. You can't start now.

"I guess I have time," you say carefully.

"Great!" 

Chan practically bounces in his chair as he gives you the details, and doesn't stop beaming until you both decide to leave the library. He gives you a hug before you part, like he always does. You might never learn how to not melt into his warmth. Your heart also never stops aching when he pulls away, and you swear that one day you'll break and keep him close for just a little longer.

When you first noticed it, you had just decided to try dating again. Chan was so encouraging. He had been ever since you met, that fateful day where you were crying in the back of the library over some stupid guy from history class. And he kept being there for you when no date went well.

But that's the problem, isn't it? Chan is sweet. So annoyingly sweet. No man had a chance when you started comparing them all to Chan. It's all too easy with him. Including falling in love.

That's how you find yourself rummaging through your closet on Saturday evening in a fruitless search for a good outfit. Whatever a good outfit means. Does it even matter what you wear? It's not like Chan will care. Every other girl at that party is going to be much prettier-

Fingers snap right at your ear. You shriek and jerk away, tripping over a pile of shirts. Minho just watches you fall with something akin to guilt. Or maybe boredom. You can never tell with him.

"Okay, that answers my question," Minho says.

"Question? What question?"

Minho sighs. "If you're listening."

"Oh. Sorry. I was-"

"Thinking about Channie-hyung?"

You shut your mouth immediately. Heat rises into your cheeks, and you bow your head, but Minho's attention is relentless.

"You know, y/n, maybe you should just tell him."

Eyes growing wide, you perk back up. "Absolutely not!"

"Words are a powerful tool. Bla bla. Whatever. He's not a mindreader."

"I don't *want* him to know!"

Minho rolls his eyes and takes his seat back on the bed. With his suffocating presence gone, you push yourself back to your feet, and continue your search. But building that pile of clothes won't help you.

You stare down at the shirts and pants, a colorful mess so unlike Chan. He once said that he appreciates your style. It's a nice contrast to his neverending closet of a black void. He seems to appreciate a lot about you, always giggling and blushing when confessing these things. 

You haven't returned those words yet. They always linger in the back of your throat, but the many things you appreciate about him marinate in something much deeper than they do for Chan. If you dare to spill your thoughts, there is no saying what else might bubble up with it.

You glance at Minho.

"What if he doesn't like me back?"

Minho smiles as if you’re a puppy left in the rain. "Then you can move on at least."

"But what if-"

"Y/n, you think too much. Give your pretty head some rest and just do things."

Just tell Chan? It sounds so much easier than it is. You can't help but imagine all the ways this could go, and none of them end with you in Chan's arms. You want to be in his arms. You want to-

Minho scoffs, pulling you out of your wandering mind.

"If you don't tell me now, it might be too late."

You frown. "And if I do tell him, he won't be my friend anymore."

"Chan? Not your friend? Please." Minho waves his hand. "He'll get over it. You both will. And then you can go and find someone else."

A sigh falls heavy from your lips. Minho is right. You have been looking for the right outfit for an hour now, and for what? Chan won't have a moment of utter awe like a guy in a teen movie when the girl comes down the stairs in her prom dress. If he doesn't feel the same as you already, there is no hope it will change.

Admitting defeat took bravery, and you like to think you're very brave.

"I'll tell him tonight."

Minho gives you a thumbs up. "You got this!"

—-------

You absolutely do not got this. The moment you arrive at the party and Chan hugs you, it's over. All that confidence from before dissolves like cotton candy in water. He's so warm and his voice vibrates through your whole body and his smile has you weak in the knees.

"Hey, y/n! I'm so glad you're here," he says, guiding you into the house that was already overflowing with drunk college students.

You let him push you, because your body refuses to do anything else. Chan is wearing a tight black shirt and leather pants, and you can't help but take in his muscles. With his collection of hoodies, you rarely get the chance. But it also reminds you of how unbelievably attractive Chan is. He's kind and hot, and there is no way you can compete.

As you slip through the crowd towards the kitchen, you hold onto Chan's hand like a lifeline. There is a constant buzz under your skin like a colony of ants and your head overflows as you try to remember your plan. You can't pick through your thoughts with the constant booming music and the heavy mix of sweat and alcohol in the air. 

It’s too much. You can’t focus. You can’t-

It all melts away when Chan turns back to you, beaming brighter than the sun. He’s so close, you can smell him. Sharp and woodsy, like wandering through the forest after it rained. It grows stronger as he leans in even closer, hot breath stroking your ear, and chasing a shiver down your spine. You hold your breath.

"Do you want alcohol or water?" Chan asks.

You exhale softly, ignoring the disappointment nagging at your chest.

"Alcohol," you say, tilting your head so your lips brush his cheek.

Chan tenses. You feel it where you're still holding his hand. His expression is impossible to decipher as he pulls back, but you're sure there is something akin to the excitement filling your nerves.

He smiles.

"I'll mix you something!"

You nod, and follow him to the kitchen counter. Dozens of different bottles cover the top along with packs of plastic cups. Chan takes one of the cups. You look away when he reaches for the vodka bottle. It's more fun if he surprises you.

You watch his face from the corner of your eye. His brows are knitted together, and the tip of tongue peeks out between his teeth. He's so concentrated, you don't dare to say anything, but the music alone is distracting enough to keep your thoughts at bay.

His bright smile is back when he hands you your drink. You accept the cup, but hesitate at the green liquid that's actually in there. Chan watches with many expectations and you take a careful sip. Apple and vodka immediately overwhelm your senses. You shudder, but swallow anyway, and Chan laughs.

"Too much?" he asks.

"No," you purse your lips like you've just bitten into a lemon, "it's good, just a bit strong."

"I can make you another!"

You laugh and quickly pull his hand away from your cup. Just to prove your point, you drink more, and hope that the kick of alcohol will help you later.

"See? It's fine. Thank you, oppa."

Chan laughs too. "You should thank my friend Jaehyun. He taught me how to mix."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever meet him."

"You might today. He's around here somewhere."

"Later." You hand Chan an empty cup. "It's your turn."

"I have to drink too?" 

You pat his shoulder, giggling. "You should try your own concoctions."

"Fine, but only because you complimented me!"

You keep giggling as Chan gets busy mixing again, but your insides are twisting like you're on a rollercoaster.

Everything that is Bang Chan holds you hostage. You can't look away from him even when you try. Like a moth to flame, you lean into the heat oozing from his body. The urge to trace his muscles tingles at your fingertips. You grip your cup tighter, and it crumbles a little, spilling some of the liquid. 

Minho is more than right. You need to know, before you lose your mind. If Chan doesn't like you back, you at least know, and maybe get over your feelings. Otherwise, if you don't say a word, there is always that small chance that maybe Chan feels the same. And you know that as long as that chance persists, your feelings and yearning will persist as well.

"Oppa."

Chan meets your eyes. You take a deep breath.

"Oppa, can we go somewhere more quiet? I need to tell you some-"

"Chan!" 

You freeze at the melodic voice carrying through the kitchen. At the same moment, you also watch Chan's expression change. He smiles. He smiles like he so rarely does, only when he's incredibly happy and excited. And he smiles like that for the girl joining you at the kitchen counter.

And then she kisses Chan.

The plastic cup cracks and deforms between your tightening grip. More liquid spills over, sticking to your fingers, but you don't care. No one points it out. Chan is too busy hugging that girl that you've never seen before. Or maybe you have. She's beautiful. You would have remembered her, wouldn't you?

She looks at you with cupid bow lips curled into a sweet smile.

"Are you y/n?" the girl asks.

You nod.

"Oh!" The girl claps her hands together. "Channie told me so much about you! It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Sana!"

You stare at her, blinking. She holds out a hand, but as you fail to take it, Sana slowly pulls back, expression faltering. Both of you look at Chan. Realization seems to finally dawn on him.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry!" He bows his head, laughing nervously. "I wanted to introduce you to Sana today, but this is not how I planned it."

Sana gasps. "You didn't tell her about me?"

"Well, no? I wanted to!"

"What… Who…" You inhale sharply. "And who are you, Sana?"

"Chan's girlfriend!"

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend-

The word bounces in your head until it throbs at your temples. Your next breath stutters, your throat tight. Whatever you could have said gets stuck and even as you swallow, you feel like choking. 

What even was there to say?

You straighten your back and slowly put down the cup on the nearest surface. Concern twists Chan's face, but you can't look at him for more than a few seconds. Your eyes burn at the edges. You take another deep breath, swallowing, chest tight and heart heavy.

"I need. I need some fresh air."

That's all you can get out, and even then your voice breaks at the end. Whatever protest Chan tries to give, it doesn't reach you through the white noise building in your ears. 

You squeeze yourself through the crowd. You try to remember where the front door is, but your vision blurs and your head hurts. Somehow, you do actually manage to get out of the house, and a sob breaks out from deep within your chest. 

You blindly walk away from the music, the voices, and Bang Chan. Alcohol buzzes hot in your guts and you feel sick, but you can't stop. Your feet carry you all the way to your dorm and even then your body refuses to just throw up. All you can do is fall into your bed and succumb to the tears.

—-------

Minho was wrong, actually. Knowing for sure about Chan's feelings doesn't help at all. It's actually worse. As they say, ignorance is bliss. It gives you all the room to be delusional, to cling to a hope that maybe there could be more. 

There can't be more.

You're not even sure that there can be anything anymore.

You can't call Minho that night. He's just as much as Chan's friend as he's yours. You burdened him enough with the knowledge of your feelings. Crying to him was only going to make things worse. 

So you don't. You don't tell anyone. You ignore their messages and calls. Chan even comes knocking on your door. You bury yourself under your blanket until he leaves. On Monday, you avoid Chan like the plague. Minho is harder to dodge. He outright hunts you down during lunch break.

It's nice. Telling someone. It doesn't take away from the weight on your heart, but it soothes your mind. A little. Just enough that you don't feel completely insane for crying about this. Minho holds you and it's the first time in so long that it's not Chan who comforts you through a heartbreak.

It's also Minho who invites you to another party two weeks later. 'Inviting' is a strong word. He knocks on your door two hours before the party starts and tells you to pick out an outfit. You don't ask why. You're too tired to argue. Maybe going out helps. Maybe you can drown yourself in alcohol until your heart stops aching.

This party is again at a stranger's house. You find some familiar faces from college, but you don't know half their names. Minho drags you to get some drinks and then leaves you for 'important business'. Not that you particularly care when you’re here to drink anyway. You sit on the kitchen counter and watch everyone else enjoy themselves, because what else are you going to do? Try to dance and mingle with the crowd? You don’t know them. You don’t want to know them.

You're halfway into your second beer when a guy takes the open space next to you. His knee bumps yours and you meet his eyes. You vaguely remember him. 

Hyunjin? He's definitely one of Minho's friends, but you never really talked. He's pretty though. You want to run your fingers through his blonde hair, but that might be the alcohol speaking. It has loosened both your heart and mind, not enough that you can't make decisions, but enough that you can actually smile back at Hyunjin.

"Hey," you say.

"Hey," Hyunjin says sheepishly, clinging your beer bottles together, "you look a little lonely."

"So you thought you would give me some company?"

"Maybe."

You snort, amused, but not really that endeared. Not that you don't appreciate it, but you're not really in the mood to talk. But you don't really have to talk.

"I would feel less lonely with a kiss," you drawl, not sure if this was the right way to go.

But Hyunjin leans in closer and his hot breath ghosts over your lips and you just want to forget. So you slip a hand into his hair, tugging at the soft strands. Your mouths and tongues meet in a touch devoid of emotion. 

This is to scratch an itch. Nothing more. Yet, guilt eats at the back of your head. You kiss Hyunjin harder, but that small voice won't shut up, and Hyunjin tastes like beer and cookies and you wonder if Chan would taste better.

You pull away, breathless. Hyunjin stares at you with expectations that you can't fulfill. You slip off the counter, about to say something that could get you out of this, when you suddenly catch sight of Chan.

"Y/n."

"Chan."

"You…" He glances at Hyunjin, lips pursed, and then meets your eyes again, "Can we talk?"

You don't want to. That's a lie. You really want to talk, but you're scared. Your body is on fire and yet icy cold as you wrap your arms around yourself.

Chan steps closer and reaches out. Hesitantly, you mimic him, and he takes your wrist.

"Sorry, Hyunjin-ah," Chan says, but you know he doesn't mean it.

Then he moves. Still held by his strong hand, you follow. He squeezes through the crowd and you barely keep up. When you stumble, he catches you, smiling faintly. 

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"Somewhere more quiet."

“Chan-"

"Y/n, please."

You slowly nod, and Chan resumes walking. He only slows down as the crowd thins out and you reach the bottom of a staircase. For just a moment, Chan looks at you, eyes darting all over your face as if trying to find something. He seems to have found it and smiles again.

The upper floor is almost empty. Only a group of girls are standing in front of the bathroom. One of them is talking through the door, probably to a friend. They give you concerned looks as Chan pulls you past them towards another room. You wave at them, smiling, and one girl nods and gives you a thumbs up.

If this was worthy of a thumbs up remains to be seen.

Finally, Chan stops. He lets go of you and closes the door. You take a few deep breaths, your heart running a whole marathon, and it definitely doesn't help that Chan dragged you into a bedroom. A quiet place for sure, but you feel dizzy from the sudden wave of thoughts crashing over you.

"Sorry."

You look at Chan. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats, scratching the back of his head.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I- Well- Maybe we should sit down."

You hesitate as Chan takes a seat on the bed, but he pats the space next to him and his puppy eyes still make you weak. So you sit with him. Your shoulders brush together, and you're immediately filled with his body heat. As your heart flutters, you close your eyes and indulge in that sensation that you’ve missed so much over the last two weeks.

Yeah, there is no way you can get over Chan any time soon.

Chan clears his throat.

"I didn't plan to do it like this, but then Minho said you're here and…"

"Of course. This is why Minho dragged me here."

Chan chuckles. "He really wants us to make up."

"You don't even know what you did wrong."

"I do, actually."

Probably Minho's doing too, but right now, you can't blame him. You would probably do the same. 

You sigh. There is no way out now.

"You didn't actually do anything wrong, oppa."

"I kind of did."

"No," you insist, "I should have told you sooner."

"I should have realized sooner," Chan says.

"To be fair, I really tried to be subtle about it-"

"That's not what I mean," Chan puts a hand on your thigh and the touch burns through your pants, "I should have realized my own feelings sooner, y/n."

You whip your head around so quickly, you're surprised your neck doesn't break. It does hurt a little, but you can't spare a thought for it, your mind too busy trying to comprehend what Chan just said. 

*His* feelings. His feelings?

You blink slowly, eyes wide, but your brain refuses to understand anything. If you're wrong, if you misunderstood…

Chan looks away. A red hue dusts his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You mindlessly reach out and pinch one of his ears, getting a giggle out of him. He also manages to meet your gaze again and his eyes spark with so much honesty, your heart stops for a moment.

"Y/n." 

His voice is so low and he's so close.

"I really like you, y/n."

Is this real? You pinch yourself, but no, you don't wake up. Chan is still there, an expression of so much hope and guilt and…love.

You swallow hard.

"What about Sana?"

"I broke up with her."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"When?" you ask, very much ignoring the crack in your voice.

"A few days after the party. Well, she broke up with me." Chan laughs a little. "I don't know. I think she could tell what was up with you and she told me to really think about what you mean to me. It was kind of bizarre, but yeah, I did think. A lot. And then Minho came to me and…now we’re here."

You can't help but laugh as well. Of course Sana could tell. And of course Chan didn't get it. You wonder if it would be weird if you thanked Sana for this and decide that yes, it would be weird. It's enough if you thank her in your head.

You sigh softly and cup Chan's face, thumbs tracing his warm cheekbones.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you. I was so upset, but like not at you. At myself. I thought… I thought it was all lost."

Chan nods. "It's okay, but you don't have to worry. Nothing is lost."

He tilts his head and presses a kiss to your palm. The spot tingles, his lips plush. You want to kiss him so badly.

"I like you too, Bang Chan," you whisper.

Chan giggles and envelops your hands with his'. He's so warm all over. His smile, his laugh, his touch. 

You pull him closer and his eyes widen in surprise. This time, you giggle.

"Oppa, will you be more than my friend?"

Chan hums thoughtfully. "And what should I be?"

"Come on! Don't make me say it!"

"Nope, no idea what you want from me~"

You huff, pouting, and you refuse to play along with his game. So instead, you breach the last bit of space between you and finally kiss him.

It's gentle. That's all you can think of. It's gentle and almost hesitant, like you're both not quite sure how this works. Chan's lips are as soft as you imagined and he tastes like cherry chapstick that probably belongs to Minho. You tried it once, but it was too sweet. Not this time, though. Not on Chan.

Slowly, you pull away, and Chan leans his forehead against yours.

"I want to be more than your friend," he whispers.

"What does that make you then?" you tease and he laughs.

"Your boyfriend?"

"I would like that very much."

You kiss again, not sure who leans in first. It doesn't matter. Chan wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you so close that you feel like you're melting together. Every piece of clothing that is taken off heats you up more until you're dizzy again.

You don't care whose bed it is when Chan rolls on top of you, your lips slotting together like two puzzle pieces. His hands roam your body and it's hot, so hot. You're candle wax in Chan's arms, molding under his flame and sticking to his fingers.

It's where you belong. It's where you always belonged.

[lilliagradiewrites]

go get her, kid. (peter parker)

Summary: Peter Parker is hopelessly in love with Tony Starks’ teenage daughter, and Stark encourages him to shoot his shot.

WC: 7.4k (holy shit)

Warnings: Bad language, , really nothing else. A lot of cute peter and a painful amount fluff. A tiny bit of angst too.

A/N: I found myself watching Tom Holland interview clips today and I just couldn’t help myself. Here we are: my first peter parker/ spiderman one shot! I have some Harry and Jj pieces in the works, so keep eyes out for that!

LET’S DO IT!!!

--------

Peter  found himself in this position far too often. Staring at you shamelessly while you worked away at whatever was on your desk, usually a school assignment or some tech project. His crush had been going on for quite some time, but it was getting more and more difficult to hide.

You and Peter had been best friends ever since your dad first recruited him. Something clicked between the two of you, causing an instant friendship. As time went on, you grew closer and closer to the superhero, and he quickly became your best friend. You began surrounding yourself with his friends without even realizing it, becoming close with Ned and MJ almost instantly. They were great people, and you loved being around them, but something about Peter was just different. Your energies matched perfectly for some reason. He got your humour, liked the same things as you, plus he was a great conversationalist and an even better listener. Some of your favorite memories were made with Peter.

Despite knowing practically everything about the boy, you were completely oblivious about his huge crush on you. Ned was the only person who truly knew, though many other people had their suspicions. The Avengers had an idea about it, considering you were what he talked about 90 percent of the time. MJ could tell because of the way he looked at you. When he looked your way, his pupils enlarged, his cheeks went pink, and the look on his face was entirely lovey-dovey. It was so obvious just in the way he gazed at you when you spoke.

He was looking at you in that way now, though you weren’t aware. He was meant to be studying (it was the whole reason he came over to your house, or at least that’s the reason he told you), but he couldn’t bring himself to care about chemistry homework when you looked so damn beautiful. Your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail keeping it away from your face as you worked. Your hands flew across the keyboard on your laptop, typing out something Peter probably wouldn’t understand. He was smart, sure, but you were intelligent in a different way. You were insightful and observant, you got things other people couldn’t begin to process. Your brain understood things in a different capacity than most. Peter assumes you got this trait from your father, who was the exact same way.

“What’re you typing? Something for school?”

You nodded, your attention not wavering from the laptop screen. “Yeah, an assignment for AP Lit.”

“Oh, that one project you told me about? With the essay and the powerpoint?”

You nodded again. “Mhm.”

Peter furrowed his brows, moving off your bed to come stand near you at your desk in an attempt to get a better look at what you were working so eagerly on. “I thought that project wasn’t due for another month.

“It’s not. I had an idea for the essay, and I figured if I get started early, I have more time to edit and perfect it.”

“You’re such a perfectionist.” Peter says with a light chuckle, looking at the state of your desk. It was both chaotic and organized at the same time. Pens, highlighters, pieces of paper, a book with annotations scribbled in the margins, notebooks with neat class notes printed inside of them in your pretty handwriting. They were all scattered about the surface, but Peter knew you well enough to know that there was always a method to your madness. As you observed longer, he realized that all of the items were in different sections on your desk, based on categories and subjects. He smiled lightly, realizing that this messy but technically neat surface was probably a very accurate representation of what goes on in your mind.

You finished the paragraph you were typing with a flourish, a satisfied smile resting on your lips. “There. I have a basic outline done for the essay portion. Obviously, I’ll have to go back and add a little more and elaborate on the points, but the basics are there.”

Peter glanced up at your laptop screen. His eyes were met with a never ending sea of typed out words. He smiled; this was so you. Your ‘outline’ is another student's essay doubled.

“You’re gonna write more than that?”

You looked back at him, and he saw your face for the first time during the encounter. His cheeks went slightly pink at the sight of you, and he prayed that you didn’t notice.

You didn’t, or perhaps you just didn’t say anything. You continued on with the conversation without skipping a beat, and relief washed over Peter because of this.

“Of course I am.” You stated with furrowed brows, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This is so boring and basic, and has no detail whatsoever. Anybody who reads the summary of the book online could write this. I want my teacher to know that I thoroughly read and understood the novel, you know? I don’t want to submit some surface-level shit, I want to really pick apart the undertones of and the meaning behind the story.”

Peter nods, pretending to understand what you meant. He’d barely been paying attention to the words you were saying, too encapsulated with your beautiful eyes to do so. You turned back around towards your work, causing your best friend to snap out of his trance-like state.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’m bored.”

You had now picked up a pencil and a highlighter, working on the chemistry notes he was supposed to be taking. “Don’t you have work to do, Pete?”

“...No.”

You paused your writing to gaze at him skeptically.

“So you did your book report for english?”

“Yes.”

“Your worksheets for pre-calc?”

“Mhm.”

“You read the assigned chapters for Pschycology and finished the quiz you had to take on them?”

A nod was your only answer.

“What about chem? We have notes, essay questions, assigned reading, and a formulas worksheet due next tuesday. Have you done all of that?”

Peter hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I have.” It was a clear lie. “Can we watch a movie now?”

“There’s no way you did all of that. Go finish your work, and then we can watch a movie.”

A groan escapes Peters lips as he turns, resting against your desk. “But that’ll take forever. Your dad kicks me out at 11:00. We’ll never have time to watch one.” He whines.

You smile slightly, unable to fight it. Not replying to your friend, you spin around in your chair, raising your voice slightly, “FRIDAY, connect to dad please.”, the command directed to nowhere in particular.

“Connecting to Mr. Stark.” The familiar robotic voice echoes throughout your room.

“What’s up, Y/N/N?”

“Hey, Dad? Can Peter stay a bit later tonight?”

“Why?”  Your dad’s voice replies through a hidden speaker, his tone almost accusatory.

“Because he wants to watch a movie but I won’t let him until we’re done with homework. We won’t have enough time to finish the movie if he leaves at normal curfew? Pleeeaseee, Dad?”

You can hear your father sigh. “Fine, but only because it’s not a school night and I’m feeling generous. He’s gotta be gone by one though, no exceptions.”

Both of you smiled widely, and you erupted in cheers. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Kid, be ready for training at eight. A later curfew doesn’t mean an exception from your early morning saturday sessions.” The statement was directed at Peter, who nodded, despite your father not being able to see him.

“Got it, Mr. Stark.”

“FRIDAY, disconnect.” You heard Tony’s voice from the other side.

“Disconnected.” The sound of the AI confirming the command filled your room, and the space fell into a brief silence once again.

You spun in your chair, turning to face Peter with a smug smile on your face. “There, now we can get our work done, and watch a movie. Satisfied?”

Peter nodded, giving a roll of his eyes and heading back over to his workspace on your bed, plopping down and continuing his assignments.

An hour and half later, Peter gave a heavy sigh, finally closing his textbook with a smile. “All done!” he announced proudly.

“With everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

You closed your notebook you’d been working in, standing up. “Great. I’ve been done for half an hour, I’ve been working on future assignments while I waited for you to finish up. Ready to watch that movie?”

Peter nodded excitedly. He loved watching movies with you, because you always cuddled up close to him on your bed while you watched. Peter loved being in close proximity to you, even though it made him a little nervous.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asked, beginning to clear his things off your bed.

“I don’t know. We can discuss while we go make popcorn.”

Peter’s eyes lit up; he loved popcorn.

“Okay!” He tossed the rest of his things in his school bag, zipping it up quickly and dropping it in the corner of your room. “Lets go!”

You chuckled at his childlike behavior, following him out of your bedroom door towards your kitchen. The entire journey down the stairs, down the hall, and to the kitchen was filled with Peter going on and on about movies he wanted to see.

You grabbed the microwave popcorn from the pantry, unwrapping it and tossing it in, starting up the machine.

You continued to listen to Peter as soft popping sounds filled your kitchen.

“Oh, you guys have Disney plus, right? What if we watched that new star wars show thingy? The mandalorian?”

You smiled at this statement. Though you didn’t see the boy in any way but a friend (at least that’s what you told yourself), you found Peter’s Star Wars obsession very cute.

“I mean, I would watch that, but I don’t think I’d understand it.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve never seen the movies.”

You watched in amusement as Peter’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock. “You’ve NEVER seen the Star Wars movies? Are you kidding me, Y/N?”  

You laughed at his reaction, moving to fetch the fully popped popcorn from the microwave and transfer it into a bowl. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve been meaning to watch them forever, but I guess I never got around to it.”

“I can’t believe this!” Peter exclaims in disbelief. “We’ve been friends for a year and a half now, and you’ve never seen the Star Wars movies? This is insane! I talk about them so much… did you just never understand what I was talking about?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Nope, I never have. I kinda just let you talk about it, because I planned on watching the movies. I figured I’d understand what you meant when I watched them.”

“Holy shit… we’re watching the first one tonight, Y/N. No arguments, we’re doing it.”

You grabbed the now prepared bowl of popcorn, smiling at your friend. “Alright, let’s do it.”

You headed back up the stairs, the sound of your footsteps accompanied with the sound of Peter murmuring in disbelief as you made your way to your room.

Once the two of you arrived at your destination, you closed the door, placing the bowl of popcorn on your still cluttered desk.

Peter climbed into your bed, while you rummaged through your drawers in search of comfy clothes. “I’m gonna change into pj’s before we start, i want to be comfy.”

Peter nodded. “FRIDAY, put Star Wars: The Phantom Menace on Y/N’s TV.” He spoke out in a slightly raised voice. The movie appeared on your screen, waiting to be started as you changed.

A few moments later, you emerged from your bathroom, now wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a slightly oversized t-shirt.

“Y/N, this is about to change your li-” Peter’s voice trailed off as he looked at you. The oversized shirt you were wearing… was his.

He choked on the piece of popcorn he’d been eating. “I-is that my shirt?”

You looked down on what you were wearing, realizing that it was, in fact, Peter's. “Oh shit. Yeah, sorry. You left it at the lab once, dad gave it to me to give to you, and I guess it just got mixed in with my clothes. I’ll wash it and give it back.

Peter shook his head, coughing again. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it. It looks better on you anyway.” his cheeks went pink as he realized what had just left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say the last part.

Your cheeks went even pinker at the compliment, which you couldn’t deny made your stomach flutter a little bit. “Okay, thanks.” You smiled at your friend, climbing into the bed beside him. You cuddled in close to him, probably closer than need be, but Peter didn’t seem to mind.

“FRIDAY, start the movie.”

---

A few hours later, the credits were rolling, and Peter was red in the face. You had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, and had moved even closer to him in your slumber. You were now full-on cuddling the boy, and he had no idea what to do. Your leg was moved over his, your head lay on his chest. One arm thrown around his waist. He liked having you this close, but his stomach was in a constant state of butterflies, and he was worried that the sound of his heart beating loudly in his chest would wake you.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it must’ve been close to one, because a knock sounded from the other side of your bedroom door.

Without waiting for an answer, Tony entered the room. “Alright, kids, it’s almost curfew, time to wrap it up…”

His eyes landed on you and Peter, cuddled up in your bed.

“Kid, what the hell is going on here?”

“Mr. Stark! Um, Y/N fell asleep while we were watching the movie and she kinda… I don’t know.. Ended up like this? Nothing’s going on, I swear, it’s just… I didn’t want to wake her up…”

Peter’s face was the color of a tomato at this point. Stark still had his suspicions about the boy’s intentions, but had a feeling that Peter was telling the truth. “Alright, then. You’d better get your ass home and get some sleep. Like I said, you don’t get a free pass from training because you were cuddling with my daughter till one am.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “No, Mr. Stark, I- We weren’t… I Wasn’t…”

Stark chuckled at the boy’s flustered state. “I’m screwing with you, Kid. Now get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you at 8 AM sharp at the compound”

Peter nodded frantically. “Yes, sir. 8 AM. Got it.”

Tony turned and left without another word, leaving Peter slightly panicked. Did Mr. Stark think that something was going on between him and Y/N? Would he be mad if there was? Peter didn’t know what to think, but he knew that he should probably leave before Tony decided to come back.

Peter climbed carefully out from underneath Y/N, setting her head gently on her pillow. He tried his very best not to wake her as he moved out of the bed.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Love you lots.” Peter whispered to his ‘best friend’, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. With that, he slid your window open, climbing out of it and swinging his way home.

Peter was completely oblivious to the fact that Tony had been standing quietly outside your door when Peter said his goodbyes, and Tony saw the entire encounter. The ‘goodnight’, the ‘i love you’, the sweet forehead kiss.

Tony had his suspicions, but that night it was confirmed: his newest recruit had it bad for his daughter.

Strangely, Tony didn’t find himself terribly angry over it.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of your alarm blaring frustratingly loud. You groaned at the noise, picking up your phone to turn it off. The time on your phone screen read 7:00 AM. Groaning again, you pulled yourself reluctantly out of bed. As much as you hated getting up out of bed, you knew you had to if you ever wanted to complete your training. Your father had promised you that you’d get a spot on his team if you trained hard enough, and you were extremely determined. It had been your dream for years to become an Avenger, so you had been training your ass off for months to earn your spot.

This is how all of your Saturdays had begun for many weeks. An alarm going off at seven in the morning, waking you up to get ready for training at eight. It was a normal routine for you at this point, but for some reason the early wake up never got easier.

You moved about your regular morning routine, heading straight for your bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Once your basic hygiene was done, you brushed through your hair, changed into some clothes (your training uniform was at the compound), grabbed your phone, and headed downstairs.

You made a beeline for the kitchen, where your father was already making his morning coffee. When he noticed your presence, he gave you a tired smile.

“Morning, Y/N/N. Sleep well?”

Still half asleep, you gave an exhausted nod. “I shouldn’t have stayed up that late last night. I’ll yell at Peter when I see him. He always manages to convince me to let him stay late.”

For some reason, your father gave a light chuckle at your words. “I bet he does, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrowed at his statement. Something about his tone of voice didn’t sit right with you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, making your way over to fix yourself a cup of coffee.

Your father smiled smugly at you, passing over the coffee pot and a mug. “Nothing, honey. Be ready in fifteen.”

Still suspicious, your eyes followed him as he placed his coffee mug in the sink and moved from the room. Why was he acting like this? Did Peter do something last night? You remembered falling asleep halfway through the movie, not being able to make it through the whole thing. Had something happened while you were sleeping?

Deciding not to let it bother you, you pushed the interaction from your mind, focusing solely on fixing your coffee. You were barely functional without it, and you knew you needed to be fully aware for training. You had to prove to your father that you could keep up with the Avengers, and that you’d be a useful asset to their team.

You downed the coffee quickly, knowing you had only a few minutes left to get ready. When your father gave you a time warning, he always meant it. And, you knew all too well, he would leave you behind if you were going to make him late.

He’d done it twice before.

Once you had finished chugging the remnants of your coffee, you placed the mug neatly in the sink, right beside where your father had left his. The drink had been an instant pick-me-up, and you automatically felt more awake. You found yourself getting more and more excited for the day ahead of you. Though waking up early on saturday mornings was a pain in the ass, you did enjoy training. You got to exercise, learn about cool technology, and screw around with your best friend. What wasn’t there to like?

Now that your best friend had crossed your mind, you pulled out your phone to text him. You sent him a message every morning, or he sent one to you. It was just a thing the two of you did. Over the past year the two of you had been close, it became some sort of routine.

Y/N/N: morning spidey. u awake?

Within moments, he was typing out a reply. He always answered your messages quickly.

Spidey: yes i am :) ready for training? I’m gonna kick ur ass in sprints today

You chuckled lightly at his response. You and Peter had always been insanely competitive towards each other, and it really jumped out during training. Unfortunately for you, Peter usually won the challenges. You always blamed it on the fact that he had more experience and super strength; he blamed it on the fact that ‘you suck’ and ‘he’s just that awesome’.

Y/N/N: u can try, but idk how that will work out. I’ve beaten u in all of the other sprints for weeks.

Spidey: doesn’t matter. I’m showing out today

Spidey: bring ur a-game, irongirl.

You smiled at the message.

Y/N/N: always do, spiderboy

He started typing back immediately, and you knew exactly why. He called you irongirl to screw with you, so you had begun calling him spiderboy to get on his nerves. It worked every time.

Spidey: Y/N!!! It’s spiderman!!!

Y/N/N: spiderboy!!! It’s nova!!!

Spidey: ugh. Ur impossible.

You grinned widely. Your playful banter with Peter has always been one of your favorite parts of the friendship.

Y/N/N: but u love me anyways :)))) see u soon

Spidey: u better be glad i do. see u soon

You reread the texts, unable to fight the smile on your face. Everytime you interact with Peter, you remember how much you truly love him. Being an avenger, and the daughter of one of the smartest and most famous men on the planet, wasn’t easy. Peter was the only one who had a taste of the madness that was your life. Having him around was having a sense of normalcy, and so were incredibly grateful for him.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your voice being called from the front door of your house.

“Y/N! Time to leave!” Without hesitation, you locked your phone, slipping it into the pocket of your sweatpants.

You hurried towards the front door, not wanting to be left behind again. When you arrived, your father was already standing there, holding the door open. You gave him a smile and a quick thank you for holding the door, then made your way out. The driver was already waiting patiently in front of your house. This was one of your dad’s six drivers.

“Morning, Bernard.” You say kindly to the driver, climbing into the back seat of the range rover. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Y/N. How are you?” The older man replied. You really liked Bernard, he was one of your favorite drivers. He was an older man, in his mid seventies, and you found him to be the sweetest person in the universe. Sometimes, he’d bring you your favorite candy when he used to pick you up from school, and he was always so considerate and kind.

“I’m good. Tired, but good.”

The man smiled at your reply. By this point, your dad had finished locking up the front door of the house, and he climbed in the backseat beside you.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” Bernard said professionally to his new passenger, and your dad nodded as a reply.

“Morning, bernard.”

The conversation ended there between the two men. Your father wasn’t a very social person with people he didn’t know, and Bernard was aware of this fact. He mostly talked to you when you were in the car, and Tony went on his phone and did Lord knows what.

“How is Dorothy doing? Is she feeling better?” You asked the man as he began pulling out of your driveway. Dorothy was Bernard’s wife, and she’d gotten sick the week prior. Given her age, Bernard was very worried about her.

Bernard smiled at your question. “Much, much better. They released her from the hospital yesterday, she’s back home and doing great. Thanks for asking.”

“Of course!” You grinned back. “Did you ever find out what she had?”

“Pneumonia, just a very bad case of it.”

You nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m glad she’s better! I was worried when you first told me.”

The conversation continued, talking about anything and everything as you drove to the compound. He told you about his wife, his four kids and what they’re doing. His granddaughter had a baby a few days before, and he was extremely excited about it.

After a 20 minute drive, you pulled up to the building you knew so well. Bernard went to the normal procedure of getting through the front gates, and then pulled up to the front of the compound.

“Well, here we are.” Bernard announced, parking the vehicle. You and your father began climbing out of the backseat.

“Thank you, bernard. Tell your granddaughter I said congratulations!”

He wished you a kind goodbye, and then you were gone, leaving the car and heading towards the compound.

When you walked into the main section of the building, you spotted your best friend in the kitchen. You had to admit, he looked incredible, standing near an open window in the early morning light. He was already dressed in his sleek, black training uniform. It was tight against his body, showing off his muscled body. Sometimes, you forget how beautiful Peter is.

“You’re staring…” A singsong voice came in your ear. You whipped your head towards the voice to see your father walking away from you, smirking. You stood there, feeling slightly confused. Had you really been staring at Peter?

At times, you forget that Peter is only your best friend. The two of you act like an old married sometimes. You spend all of your time together, and you know each other so well.

Strange feelings you couldn’t understand had crept up on you before, especially recently. You couldn’t deny Peter was attractive, and he was a great person, too. How could you not love him? The issue is, you found yourself loving him in a different way than before…

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. You couldn’t be thinking about this right now, it’s not the place or time. Peter was standing right in front of you, and you needed to be focused for training.

You could process your feelings and emotions at a later time.

You began walking up to Peter, who was leaning up against the counter holding a cup of coffee.

“Morning, loser.” You said teasingly, greeting your friend. His head snapped in your direction, and he smiled when his eyes found you. (You thought you could see his cheeks go pink, too, but you forced yourself to ignore it.)

“Hey! How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” You replied, leaning against the counter beside him. “I didn’t even notice that you left last night, I was really out. Did my Dad come in and tell you to leave?”

The pink in Peter’s cheeks darkened at your statement. Of course, this was the perfect time for your father to reenter the room. “Yeah, I did. He seemed very comfortable, but I kicked him out at one.”

Peter and your father were making direct eye contact. Your dad had that stupid smirk on his face, and peter was bright red.

You looked between the two of them, not knowing what to think. Before, you were just suspicious, but now it was confirmed: something happened last night between the two of them, and you were determined to find out what.

Hours later, you’re completely exhausted from training. You worked your ass off, and had successfully beat Peter in sprints.

“That’s right! You lost! How amazing is spiderboy now?”

Peter rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Whatever, Y/N. I let you win.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did not! I won because I’m better!”

Peter just smiled at you. You took a swig of the water bottle in your hands, turning around to look at your friend as you did.

The sight you were met with was very sweet. Peter stood there, smiling at you with a look you could only describe as adoration. You looked back at him, a small grin resting on your face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The brunette boy says cheekily.

“Why are YOU looking at ME like that, Parker?”

You took a step closer to him, his eyes widening slightly at your movement. He said nothing in response to your question (though it felt more like an accusation), and you smiled again.”Got nothing to say?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Parker!” You jumped what felt like 20 feet in the air at the sound of Natasha’s voice, breaking up the little moment between you and Peter.

You stepped back away from him, and you couldn’t help but notice the sadness flash across his face before he turned to the other woman in the room.

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Tony needs your help in the lab. I believe his exact words were ‘he needs to be here in five or I’ll kill him.’ A few minutes have already passed, I’d start running if I were you.”

Peter’s eyes widened for the second time. “Oh, shit, okay. Thanks, Nat.” He turned his head quickly in your direction. “I’ll meet you in your room when I’m done, okay?”

You nodded with a smile. Peter planted a quick kiss on your forehead before jetting off in the direction of the lounge.

Grinning to yourself, you turned towards the sink, your back facing Natasha. You begin cleaning out your now empty water bottle, thinking over the previous interaction with Peter. You loved when he kissed your forehead.

“So, how long have you liked him?” You were so deep in thought, Natasha’s voice made you jump once again. When you’d fully processed her words, your cheeks went pink.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you like him.”

“Like who?” Play dumb. That’ll throw her off your trail… right?

“Peter! Come on, you’re caught. Just admit it, Y/n, you’re making things harder on yourself.”

Finally, you sighed. Drying your hands on a towel, you turned reluctantly back towards Nathasha. “Is it really that obvious?”

The woman broke out into a grin at your words. “Of course it is! You two are hopelessly in love with each other. It’s almost hard to watch.”

Your cheeks went pink at her statement. “With each other? Oh, no. You mean I’m hopelessly in love with him. It’s not mutual. I’m just his best friend.”

Nat rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on! ‘Just his best friend’ my ass. He loves you, Y/N. He’s even more obvious than you are.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I promise you’re wrong.”

She looked at you pointedly. “I was right about you, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but…” Your voice trailed off. You couldn’t argue with that. Nat grinned smugly at your reaction.

“That’s what I thought. Please confess to him when he meets you in your room later. It’s painful to watch, I can’t do it any longer.” And with that, Natasha was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Was it really thought obvious? Could everyone tell how you felt about peter? You could hardly even tell how you felt about him; the line between best friend and crush had been blurred for so long. If everyone could tell that you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, you would be incredibly embarrassed.

Even worse… what if Peter could tell that your in love with him?

You shook your head, as if clearing your thoughts. No. You couldn’t think like that. Of course he didn’t know; he would’ve said something.

Right?

Sighing, you walked off towards your room to take a shower, pretending you weren’t going to think of him while you were in there.

---

While Natasha was exposing your feelings, you were completely oblivious to the fact that Tony was doing the same thing to Peter in the lab.

When the boy walked in, Peter fully expected that he was being called for one of three reasons.

One: Tony had a new mission for Peter.

Two: Tony needed help with an experiment.

Or, three (the scariest option): Tony wanted to scold him for (albeit unintentionally) cuddling with his daughter the night before.

Peter could only be described as apprehensive as he walked carefully into the lab, where Tony was hunched over a table, working on something that Peter couldn’t see.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter spoke nervously, a timid way of letting Tony know of his presence. “Nat said you needed me. Is that true, or was she just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, no, I called for you.” Tony replied. He made a few last touches on whatever he was working on, then turned around towards peter. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Okay, option two is eliminated. Now, the question at hand is: will it be option one or three?

“Oh, okay. What about?” Peter said casually (or at least, that's how he hoped it came across.)

Tony gave a pointed look to the boy before speaking again. “My daughter.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly.

Shit, shit, shit.

Option three it is.

“Is this about last night sir? I swear I can explain-” Peter was quickly speaking.

But, before he could finish, Tony was cutting him off.

“This isn’t about last night, kid. I mean, it kind of is, but not really.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

Unknown option number four?

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I saw what happened before you left last night. The forehead kiss, the ‘I love you,’ all of it.”

Peter was bright red in seconds. “Oh…”

“Do you love my daughter, Peter?”

The boy’s cheeks somehow managed to go a darker shade of pink.

“I-I uh.. O-of course I do, she’s, uh, she’s my best friend.” Peter stammered out.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I mean, Peter.” The man says, his tone borderline accusatory. “Do you love her, love her?”

Silence. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he opted for nothing at all.

“I already know the answer, Peter, so you might as well just come out and say it.”

Peter pondered his next move. If he played his cards wrong, this conversation could end in him losing his life. Tony Stark was not one to be messed with, especially when it comes to Y/N.

On the other hand, Tony Stark was not one to be lied to, either.

Peter sighed, accepting his fate. “How did you know?”

Much to Peter’s surprise, Tony gave a small smile. “I see the way you look at her, kid. I’ve looked at many girls like that in my day. That enamoured look. You're in love with my daughter, and I have some questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yes, questions, kid. Keep up.”

Peter nodded. “Alright.”

“How long?” Tony asked.

“How long…?” Peter didn’t understand what Tony was aking.

“How long have you been in love with Y/N! How long have you known?”

Peter looked away, breaking eye contact momentarily out of nerves.

When did he begin loving you? Now that he’s truly thinking about it, he can’t really remember.

Maybe it was the first mission that the two of you did together, back when you still known as irongirl. It was a bank robbery, an easy task that Tony had given for your very first mission.

Maybe it was that one time when you dragged him out of bed at 6 AM so that you could show him your favorite coffee shop.

Perhaps it was when you took that faithful mission to Asgard, when you gained your powers accidentally, earning your new title as Nova.

Or, it could be the time that you and him stayed up late binge watching a show he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you that night. You looked so beautiful that night, getting excited as something cool happened in the show. Your hair was tied back, wearing an oversized shirt, your face makeup free. He couldn’t help but smile as you laughed, and didn’t think he’d ever heard a more beautiful sound in the world.

Yeah, he thinks it was that night.

“Um… about ten months ago, I think? That’s when I realized, but I think I’ve loved her for longer. I just forced myself not to acknowledge it, I guess.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “I get that. What is it about her?”

Another question the boy had to think about.

“There’s a lot of things, I think. Like how excited she gets when she talks about things she’s passionate about. Oh, and the way she laughs when something’s funny in a movie or a show or something. And the way she sends me memes or videos that she thinks are funny. They’re usually not very funny, but of course I think it’s hilarious just because she sent it to me. And she always listens to me when I talk, even if I’m talking about something stupid and boring like science stuff I think is interesting. She talks back to me like she cares what I’m saying, and I know she probably doesn’t, but she acts like she does, and that’s enough. She always drags me out to go on adventures, or, at least, that’s what she calls them. Usually it’s just going to get coffee or try out some new restaurant she heard about but it’s still fun. She’s just so amazing, and I think she makes me the best version of myself.”

The rant ended, and for a moment, Peter forgot that Tony was even in the room.

“Damn. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m impressed, kid. To be honest, I expected some shallow answer like ‘she looks hot in her suit’ or something like that.”

“No, sir. Of course, she’s beautiful, but Y/N is just so much more than that.”

Tony gave another sweet smile to the boy in front of him.

“She likes you, too, you know.”

Peter’s head snapped toward Tony again.

What the hell did he just say?

“What?”

“Y/N. She likes you.”

“No way. She just sees me as her best friend. I’m probably like a brother to her. She doesn’t like me like that.”

“But she does, kid. I know my daughter better than I know myself. She is head over heels for you, spidey. Which is why you should tell her how you feel.”

“Tell her how I feel? Why would I do that?”

“Because she likes you, too, and then you two will be stupid kids in love.”

“Are you serious?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Peter paused for a moment. “I thought you’d kill me when you found out I liked your daughter, not convince me to go talk to her about it.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. I brought you in here with the intention of killing you, or just telling you to stay away from my daughter. But after you went on that little rant about why you loved her, I just couldn’t tell you to keep away from her. You really love her, kid, I can tell. So go talk to her.”

“You’re sure you won’t be mad if I ask her out?”

Tony shook his head and smiled.

“Go get her, kid.”

-------

Freshly clean and feeling a significant amount better, you sat on your bed scrolling on your phone. Thoughts of Peter had begun to fade (mainly because you forced them out of your mind) and that helped to keep you from stressing about what’s to come.

You had decided to confess how you feel to Peter.

True, this plan could ruin everything. Today could be the day you lost your best friend, and that thought made you want to cry.

But today could also be the day you finally get to kiss the boy you’ve loved forever, and that thought also made you want to cry.

You didn't have much time to think about it further, however, because Peter was knocking on your bedroom door.

“Y/N? It’s me. Can I come in?”

You paused immediately, your heart rating speeding up.

Oh, shit. This is it. This could be the beginning or the end of you and Peter Parker.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. It was now or never.

“Yeah, Petey, come on in.”

The door opened, and the boy you loved so much walked in. His cheeks were pink, you noticed. His cheeks only went pink when he’s nervous. Why was he nervous?

You could tell by his damp hair that he had also showered before coming to your room.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He rushes out.

Oh.

“Same.” is your reply. What else are you meant to say?

“Oh, really? Well, uh, you can go first. I’ll wait.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, you first. You said it first, so it’s only right that you go.”

Peter’s hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it. Another nervous habit of his.

“Can I sit down?”

You nodded. Why was he even asking? Usually he’d just plop down whenever he pleased, no questions asked. This behavior was very out of character for the boy you knew so well.

The boy sat down on the edge of your bed, and then took a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I just have to. I don’t want you to hate me, and I really hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, but…”

Peter paused for a moment, and looked into your eyes. They were brimming with concern, and he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. He broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining, mustered up all the courage he could, and then blurted it out.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for I don’t know how long. I wasn’t planning on telling you, because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it was starting to get physically painful and I just- I can’t hide it anymore. I love you and I’m sorry.”

Peter clenched his eyes shut, unable to look at your face. He waited (very anxiously) for a reaction, but it never came. Eventually, he opened his eyes, gaining the burst of bravery it took to look at you.

Your jaw was dropped, the expression on your face unreadable.

Oh, no. No no no no no. He’d fucked up. He fucked everything up and now you were never going to speak to him again. He’d lost you. Damn you, Tony Stark.

“Y/N…” He began his apology solemnly. “I’m-”

But he never got to finish his sentence.

Because you were pouncing on him before he had the chance to.

You were on him within seconds, kissing him with so much intensity that he fell back on the bed. He was taken aback for a moment, but quickly kissed you back.

For a moment, the two of you just lay there, wrapped in one another, kissing like there was no tomorrow.

A kiss that made up for all the ones both of you had longed to have in the months before.

You pulled away gently, looking into Peter’s eyes.

“I have loved you for so fucking long, Peter. I was going to tell you that I loved you today.”

“Are you serious?”

You laughed lightly. “Of course I’m serious, you dumbass.”

“Hey!” Peter feigned offense.

You pecked his lips. “You’re a cute dumbass, though.” And then you were kissing him again, and it’s all you could’ve asked for.

----

After a while, the two of you had finally tired each other out, and now you sat cuddled against each other on your bed. No movie or show was playing; it was just you and Peter, listening to each other’s breathing and the sound of your heartbeats.

You looked up at the beautiful boy you were cuddling with, only to find he was already looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out, Parker?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his cheeks went red (for the millionth time that day.)

“Oh, yeah, I- I just thought- nevermind, uh- Y/N, will-”

“Yes, of course I’ll be your girlfriend, Petey.” You cut him off, saving him a few extra minutes of nervous stammering.

He smiled sheepishly at you, then leaned down to bring you into a kiss.

You cuddled back down into his chest, smiling warmly.

You can confidently say that right now, in this moment, you are the happiest you’ve ever been.

[eyesfangsandwings]

The promised con report

I’ve had a bit of rest, and I think I’ll make my first essay something light! Anyways, hello! I went to Othercon in both 2020 and 2021. I had a fantastic time at both so I thought I’d give my experiences in case anyone was on the fence and might want an insider view of the experience. Here we go! Under the cut in case people want to save some dash space.

Spoilers: it was good.

I will be honest and admit I almost didn’t go to the convention. I had very positive memories of Othercon 2020 and I had this irrational fear it wouldn’t measure up in some way. So I was a last second applicant, and I really do mean last second, as in I technically missed the window to sign up by a few hours.

So when I woke up that morning I was a bit of a sadsack, certain that I wouldn’t get an email with a link to the server and trying to convince myself that was fine and I’d find out something else fun to do over the weekend. You can imagine my surprise when I got an alert with an email from Othercon! Of course that immediately changed my mind that it was fine if I didn’t get to go, and I went straight to the server.

Maybe it was my imagination but it definitely seems like it was slightly bigger this year! I went to the first panel, the species dysphoria meet-and-greet, and it turned out that having a proper voice call was going to be very difficult as there were eighty people who jumped in. I didn’t get a chance to speak but there were a lot of people with really interesting opinions! I even learned a few new terms to put towards feelings of dysphoria I’ve had for quite some time.

Unfortunately, despite being interested in quite a few other panels (RIP kinfood panel) I kept missing a lot of the other Friday panels, and I was torn on whether or not to go to a watch party...I ended up wishing I had, however. There were still a lot of interesting conversations going on more or less all the time in the channels, however! And I got to infodump about fursuits at a few points. :p

I turned in earlyish, and woke up on Saturday, which was probably the busiest day. I went to most of the panels bar the fictionkin ones, and they were incredibly insightful. Special shoutout to the species euphoria panel which was one of the most wholesome experiences of the entire convention.

Sunday was for the most part the relaxed day! I only went to one panel, and it seems I really should have attended the create-a-dragon panel given that everyone had an...interesting time, going by the results. Closing ceremonies had what seems like a new tradition for Othercon, the MEGAHOWL ™....but this time with soup, several people reciting (among other things) Shakespeare soliloquies, the Bee Movie script, and a few people somehow having a conversation while the Discord call began to violently glitch out from having too many people speaking, howling, yipping, meowing, growling, etc. a lot.

...Yeah, it definitely has the usual wild, untamed atmosphere of an IRL convention, not that I’m complaining. ^v^ Afterwards there was a watch party of A Whisker Away and this time I got to tune in! I couldn’t stay up until the end but it was a really fun movie.

Closing thoughts: I’ve been severely isolated from the otherkin community for a long time. I attended Othercon on a whim last year and more or less did again this year. I don’t regret it either time for a second. It’s been the first time in years I felt aligned with the community and helped me feel at home with myself. There were a few minor roadbumps but it was an extremely well run affair. I don’t want to call it life-changing but the fact I’m starting to re-engage with otherkin instead of just being solitary over in my corner should be some indication. It’s inspired me to finally start talking about my experiences, which...is not easy to do, to say the least!

But, the hows and whys of that is another story for another time. Come back around the campfire sometime and I might talk about it. :>

[odd-i-writes]

Scheduling Disaster

AO3

Peter had a pretty solid schedule, one that he did not like to mess up, please and thank you. Monday to Friday he had school, so from about 7:30 to 3, he was in class. Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays he had Acadec practice after school until about 4 or 4:30. So, after school or AcaDec practice, Peter was free to patrol, which he did until he was expected home around 6 for dinner. Then, after dinner, he did homework, until about 9 or 10, when he’d patrol again. And on school nights his curfew was strictly at 12:30 AM. It used to be 12, but after missing it so many times he got Mr. Stark to convince Aunt May to extend it, just a little bit. 

The only day in the school week that was different was Friday, which was when he’d patrol until about 5 or 6, before going to Mr. Stark’s Tower. Usually, they would have some lab time, eat dinner, and maybe watch a movie. Sometimes they would be in the lab all night, and sometimes they’d skip the lab all together and just watch a movie. Either way, Friday nights were dedicated as “Mr. Stark time.” He usually slept over in the Tower on those nights, mainly because Mr. Stark didn’t like the thought of Peter swinging home in the early hours of the morning, and Happy had woken up at 4 AM just to drive all across New York City one too many times. Either way, it meant that Saturdays were typically spent sleeping in, eating breakfast with Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark, spending some more time with the man, usually in the lab, and doing homework. Occasionally he’d hang out with Ned and, or, MJ on Saturdays too. Then, starting around 8 or 9 PM, he’d start his patrol. Saturdays were the only night where his curfew was mostly non-existent, as long as he texted Mr. Stark hourly updates. Technically it was 3 AM, and Peter was home in bed most Saturdays before that, but sometimes he stayed out later. What could he say? The city needed him. Sunday was dedicated for homework and spending time with Aunt May, and then patrolling at night with his usual curfew.

All this to say, Peter liked his schedule. Everything had a place and was timed out specifically so that he would have time for everything. Being a teenage superhero was hard, after all. Most people got that little chart that had “Social Life — Good Grades — Hobbies” on it and were told to pick two. Peter’s chart looked more like “Social Life — Good Grades — Extracurriculars — Mr. Stark/Lab Time — Spidermanning — Family” and yet was still told to only pick two. But two wasn’t enough for Peter, would never be enough, so he found a way to do it all. 

But he wasn’t complaining, no not at all. His schedule worked, he got to do everything he needed. Sure, it left him a little tired, and sure, sometimes he’d after to eat meals while doing homework, or while patrolling, but it was worth it. There had been no problems with his schedule so far, even though Ned had once called it a little bit “too much”, and Mr. Stark had commented on it before, but nothing more than an “I’m worried you’re overworking yourself, Pete,” so he was fine. 

After all, he’d always been like this, it wasn’t anything concerning. It’s just that, well, after the Vulture incident, and getting closer to Mr. Stark, and being in Junior year now, he was busier. And sure, maybe he had become more strict about his scheduling after The Incident, but it was just because he had more on his plate. That’s all. He just needed to make sure nothing, and no one, messed up his schedule. And no one would because everyone and their dog knew that Peter’s schedule was important. 

That is, until he walked into the common room in the tower Friday evening. 

A brunette was sitting on the couch, staring intensely at some game on his phone. He’d obviously not heard Peter walk into the room, or if he had, he was just ignoring him.

“Uh… hi?” Peter said, his voice shaking just a little. 

The brunette looked up immediately, a brief emotion of something showing on his face before he just settled on a disgruntled look. “Who are you?” it came out as a sneer and Peter bristled. He said it as if Peter didn’t belong here, but it was Friday, it was his day to be here. His day to spend time with Mr. Stark. He opened his mouth to say something, to give a retort, or at least to give his name, but Mr. Stark chose that exact moment to walk in. 

“Oh, shit, Pete. I forgot to text you,” he looked genuinely surprised that Peter was there and, ya. Wow. That hurt a bit.

“This is Harley, he’s going to be staying here for a couple of weeks. There were some family problems and—”

“Tony, who’s this?” the brunette—Harley—asked, shooting a quick glare to Mr. Stark. It was clear that he didn’t want Peter to know why he was here. And for the most part, Peter understood. After all, he was a stranger, and strangers shouldn’t know the happenings of your family. And yet, it was just another stab to the heart. This boy, who could have only been maybe a year older than Peter himself, seemed to be close to Mr. Stark, close enough that he called him “Tony”, and close enough that Mr. Stark even forgot about Peter. 

“This is Peter, he’s—”  

“His intern,” Peter interrupted, giving Tony a look that clearly said “no Spider-Man”, or at least, he hoped it said that. 

Harley gives him a weird look, and Peter gets the immediate feeling that he’s not wanted there. He shifts uncomfortably and turns his attention back to Mr. Stark. For now, he didn’t have to worry about Harley. 

“Uhm, so, lab night tonight is…?” Peter trails off. 

“Uh, well, I have to get Harley here settled in, but once that’s done I don’t see why we can’t work in the lab once that's done,” Mr. Stark scratched his beard, peering down at the two teens. 

Peter smiled, that was all he needed. He didn’t mind waiting a little bit before having lab-time. He could always work on homework in the meantime.  

“Speaking of that, though, Pete. You can’t stay over tonight,” Peter’s head shot up, and Mr. Stark must have noticed the faint look of sadness that crossed his face, “Well you can, it’s just that. Well, I sort of told Harley he could sleep in your room tonight.” 

This time Peter looked at Harley, and then back to Mr. Stark. He hoped his emotions weren’t showing too much, but he’d never been good at hiding them. Aunt May always said he wore his heart on his sleeve. But the idea that Mr. Stark not only forgot about his and Peter’s lab night, but he also gave Peter’s room to some… some stranger? It hurt. It felt like he was being replaced.

“You’d think that with what, over a hundred floors and probably more than twice as many rooms the old man would have a spare bedroom somewhere, but apparently not,” Harley grumbled, stretching out on the couch where he was sitting. 

He was so comfortable here, arguably more comfortable than Peter was. Peter always held at least a little bit of respect for Mr. Stark and his home, no matter how much they bantered, but it seemed like Harley just knew Mr. Stark more. Peter pressed his lips together, he hated it.  

“I don’t have guests often,” Mr. Stark shrugged, “What can I say.” 

A tense silence fell over the three. Harley was looking at his phone, seemingly refusing to look at Peter, and Mr. Stark was eyeing both teens with a careful eye. Peter, on the other hand, stood in place, with his backpack hanging off one shoulder, and shifted awkwardly a couple of times. He didn’t know what to do, but it seemed like Harley didn’t want him here, and Mr. Stark was barely acknowledging him. 

 “Anyways, what do you want for dinner, kid?” Mr. Stark turned, heading towards a seat. 

“I guess—”  

“Pizza would be good, Tony.” Harley’s voice was loud. It demanded attention, unlike Peter’s which seemed to be getting quieter and quieter as the day went on. It was so easy when he was Spider-Man, but when he was Peter Parker it was so much harder to force people to see him, to listen to him. But he’d never felt like that with Mr. Stark before. Mr. Stark had always listened to Peter. Even before the Vulture Incident, Mr. Stark showed interest, even though he didn’t directly speak to Peter. Months later he found out that the man had listened to all of his phone messages, and had kept a close eye on Spider-Man to make sure he was safe. After the incident though, the man got closer to Peter and listened to him in person.  

But now, with Harley here, he felt like it was hard to be heard again. 

And, on top of that, Harley answered to Peter’s nickname. Mr. Stark always called Peter kid, and only Peter. And yet, Harley answered to the name too? It was petty and childish, but it made an anger boil in Peter’s stomach. He caught Harley’s eye again, and the other boy just rolled his eyes before sending a brief glare. Mr. Stark didn’t even notice the looks Harley was giving Peter, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge them. Peter sighed, he could tell when he wasn’t wanted somewhere. 

“Uhm, Mr. Stark?” Peter called out, just as the man was telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to place a pizza order. 

“Ya, kid?” 

“I actually forgot that I uh, I’ve got a big essay due Monday that I need to work on. MJ said she’d help me, but I gotta call her tonight about it… so I’m uh. I’m gonna go? And skip the lab for this week,” he could feel himself starting to shake a little bit. He just wanted to go home, maybe go on another quick patrol, and then watch a movie with Aunt May. 

Mr. Stark gave him a weird look, and for a moment Peter was wondering if the man could read his mind. He got more and more nervous the longer the silence went on, but he spared a look over to Harley, and the other boy was finally giving the barest of smiles. Apparently leaving was a good decision, then. 

“Ya,” Mr. Stark finally spoke, “Sure kid. Just give me a text when you get home, ok?” 

“‘Kay. Bye Mr. Stark,” he turned around heading towards the elevator, “By Harley.”

 .. 

Peter swung home. It was the best way to get his mind off of things. He wasn’t necessarily looking to help people out, but he stopped by a few people who needed his help. There was nothing serious, but it made him feel better. Just something as simple as helping someone find their way around, or helping a young lady get to a subway station, anything like that, helped Peter feel a little lighter. The anger he felt at the Tower slowly seeped away, and soon he felt good enough to go home. 

He entered through his bedroom window, changing into pyjamas, and sauntered into the kitchen of the apartment. 

“Peter?” Aunt May’s voice rang with concern, “I wasn’t expecting you home tonight. Did something happen?” 

She set down the knife she was holding and walked over to Peter, placing her hands on his cheeks as she checked him over for any injuries. Peter just shook his head and wrapped his arms around her. 

“No, I just missed you,” he lied. He didn’t know how to tell Aunt May that Tony replaced him with some kid from Tennessee. 

Aunt May hummed, brushing her hands through his hair. Peter could tell she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press any further, so he appreciated that at least. They stayed like that for a few moments, Peter enjoying the warmth of the hug until—

“Aunt May? Whatever you had on the stove is on fire,” Peter mumbled. 

“What!” And just like that, the hug was over. His aunt ran over to the stove, turning it off as quick as she could and fanning out the flames. “Why didn’t your… your… Peter Tingle—”

“Spidey Sense” 

“Say anything? Can’t you tell when something is about to happen,” her voice cracked as she tried to get the flames under control. 

“It doesn’t like… always pick up on everything, May. It just does, sometimes?” Peter shrugged, “I don’t really know how it works.” 

“Well, figure it out would you? So we can avoid any more kitchen fires, at least.”

“I think we can do that if you just stop trying to cook,” Peter laughed. 

“Hardy har, laugh it off, Pete. I guess we’re ordering in for the night, does Thai sound good?” There was soft clanging as she placed the pan in the sink, turning to give Peter a look that only Aunt May could. 

“Ya,” Peter smiled, “That sounds good.” 

 ..

He and Aunt May watched old rom coms all Friday night, and Peter chose to sleep in on Saturday, something he didn’t do very often. His plan for today was to get some homework done and then Ned and he were supposed to build the Lego Death Star before Peter went on patrol. That was all put to a stop when at 9 AM Peter rolled out of bed to the sound of his phone ringing. 

“W’ss’p’” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“Are you asleep right now? At—oh, it’s 9 in the morning. But still, that’s pretty late for a boy genius like yourself,” Mr. Stark’s voice echoed. 

“I’s Saturd’y M’ss’r St’rk,” Peter yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, trying to get his mind to clear up, “I get to sleep in.” 

“Mhm, well, get that lazy Spider butt up,” Peter could practically hear Mr. Stark rolling his eyes, “We missed out on our lab night last night, so how do you feel about coming over today? You can even stay over tonight if you’d like, I got Harley set up in his own room now.”  

Peter immediately perked up. Clearly, this meant that Mr. Stark still wanted him around, especially if he was reaching out to him first. It meant he’d have to cancel on Ned though, and he probably wouldn’t start his patrol until later, but… well, it was worth it.   

“Ya, that sounds good Mr. Stark. I can be there at like, noon?” It would give him a couple of hours to eat breakfast, get started on his homework, and text Ned to cancel their plans. His friend would be disappointed, he was sure, but he’d understand. Peter would tell him they could do it next weekend. Plus, Mr. Stark didn’t mention anything about Harley, so Peter was hoping it would just be his mentor and him. It would give him an opportunity to work on some Spider-Man updates that he had thought of, plus he needed to fix some minor bugs. 

It was nothing serious, but a couple of nights ago he had swung face-first into a wall after getting distracted, and it had hurt the coms in Peter’s suit. Mr. Stark knew about it and they were supposed to fix it last night until Harley happened, so Peter was sure it would get fixed tonight. 

“Sound good, kid. Just head into the lab when you get here, I’ll have some lunch waiting for you.”

“See you then, Mr. Stark!” 

Peter did a small flip off of his bed, excitement making him restless. He’d been so upset and worried that he was being replaced by Harley, but clearly, he wasn’t! Mr. Stark obviously still wanted him around. He popped his head out of his bedroom door, shouting out “Aunt May! I’m going over to the Tower in a couple of hours!”  

Aunt May turned from her place on the couch, looking up at Peter with a raised eyebrow. “It’s Saturday,” she said as if that was an explanation for her confusion. And, in her defense, it was. Peter was only ever at the Tower on Saturdays if he woke up there in the first place, he rarely went there if he had slept at home.  

“Ya, but with our lab night getting canceled last night Mr. Stark wanted to do it today, so I’ll probably be there all day, or at least until I go out on patrol,” Peter shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. But Aunt May looked at him with an all-knowing look and Peter was sure she knew more than she was letting on. “Well, as long as you get your homework finished it's fine,” was all she said.  

Peter nodded, quickly going back to his desk and getting to work. There wasn’t much to do and he was sure he could finish most of it, at least, before he had to get to Mr. Stark’s. 

 .. 

Peter may have overestimated his ability to get his work done in time by just a bit. He had been planning on taking the subway to the Tower but found himself in need of swinging, and even when he swung all the way there he was fifteen minutes late. Not the worst, but he felt like it was different today. Different because now Mr. Stark had another “kid” he could work with. 

He changed quickly in an alley outside the Tower and entered through the backdoor as usual. There was a happy skip to Peter's step as he got into Mr. Stark’s personal elevator, with his bag slung on one shoulder. Despite the fact that this messed up his schedule, Peter was just glad he was actually going to spend some time with Mr. Stark. His only hope was that Harley wouldn't be there. 

“Good afternoon Mr. Parker,” F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke, “Would you like me to bring you up to Boss’ lab?”  

“Yes please, F.R.I.”

The elevator was small and fast, and despite the fact that Mr. Stark’s lab was on the 90-something-th floor it only took a matter of seconds for Peter to arrive. He walked through the halls with ease, his muscle memory bringing him straight to the lab. There was a slight tingle from his Spidey Sense, but Peter paid it no mind. It was probably because he had been so upset when he was in the Tower last night. Plus, his Spidey Sense was just like… anxiety, but for superheroes. He put his hand against the sensor and the doors opened for him.  

“Hey Mr. Star—” he froze.  

There was a lanky, tall body sitting at his spot. At his desk. 

“Hey,” the other boy mumbled, not lifting his head from where he was staring at something on the— no, on Peter’s —desk. “The old man’s gonna be back in a few, he said he had something to do.”

“He’s not that old,” Peter mumbled, feeling the sudden need to stick up for his mentor. He knew or at least had a feeling that Harley was just teasing Mr. Stark. It seemed like it was their dynamic, but still. “F.R.I. could you let Mr. Stark know that I’m here, please?” 

“Right away, Mr. Parker,” she replied. 

“You’re uh,” Peter shifted uncomfortably, “You’re at my desk.” There was a bit to his tone, one that he hadn’t done on purpose, but he didn’t correct himself. 

“What? Are you gonna go cry about it to mommy?” Harley finally lifted his head from whatever was so important on the desk, but only to roll his eyes, “I don’t see your name written on it anywhere.” 

That’s because it doesn’t need to be, Peter wanted to say, because only he and Mr. Stark went into this lab. 

But instead, he just shrugged, “It’s where I work,” was all he could say. The anger was starting to boil in his stomach again, and Peter could feel the tinge of… something. Jealousy? But that wasn’t like Peter. He never got jealous. Uncle Ben taught him better than that. 

And yet, he couldn’t think of another word for the emotion he was feeling towards Harley. Harley was replacing him. He took Peter’s “Mr. Stark Time” away from him, he disrupted Peter’s carefully planned out schedule, he took Peter’s nickname, took his spot in the lab, and took his room. Mr. Stark was replacing Peter with Harley, so ya. He was jealous. Sue him. 

“God, are you such a goody-two-shoes that you have to come into work on the weekend? Can’t you just like, go home? Tony has me here right now, so he doesn’t need any more help,” Harley gives a glare before going back to whatever he was working on. 

Peter bristled, opening his mouth to retort back. But he didn’t know what to say. That he and Mr. Stark were close? Obviously not close enough for Mr. Stark to remember when they were meeting, or be there on time, or mention that there would be some other kid interrupting their time together. 

And speaking of the devil, right at that moment Mr. Stark walked in. There was a tense silence in the air, and Mr. Stark looked back and forth between the two teens. Just like Aunt May, Peter had a feeling that Mr. Stark knew more than he was letting onto. But then, the man just sighed, took off his iconic sunglasses, and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“You two catching up with each other?” 

“Uh, ya, I guess,” Peter shrugged, hovering awkwardly over his desk. He had things in it, important things. Spider-Man things. Things he didn’t want some stranger looking through. He shot Mr. Stark a look, trying to convey exactly that with just his face. He furrowed his eyebrows, sharply pointing his head to the desk, and luckily, Mr. Stark nodded. 

“Hey, uh, kid,” And fuck. There was that name again. This time Peter knew it wasn’t directed at him, Mr. Stark was looking directly at Harley, “That’s Pete’s desk, and he’s kind of got a system, so why don’t you move to the end of it, gives you both room to work there, ok? We’ll get another desk set up soon.” 

Harley raised his head, huffing slightly, but he moved over wordlessly. Or, almost wordlessly. If Peter didn’t have super hearing he wouldn’t have heard it, and Mr. Stark definitely didn’t hear it. “Neurotic much, eh?” Harley mumbled under his breath. 

Peter tensed. Harley was treating him no better than how Flash did, and it was causing him to be on edge. His Spidey Sense wouldn’t stop tingling. It wasn’t telling him that there was an immediate danger, but it was like it knew that Harley didn’t like him. 

Nonetheless, Peter sat down at his spot, making sure to sit at the opposite end of the long table, just so that Harley wouldn’t be able to see what he was working on. He guessed that he and Mr. Stark would have to wait to repair the coms in his suit. They couldn’t exactly pull it up in front of Harley. Because of Secret Identities and all that. But that was ok. Peter could work on updating his web formula. 

He’d had a few ideas on how to improve it. One, he’d really like to make a set of quick-dissolving webs, because 2 hours was sometimes a bit much. He also wanted to see if he could develop his webs to be able to cover injuries. Right now he was able to do it on himself, but he knew that it had chemicals in it that would be unsafe for broken skin. The only reason he used it on himself was because of his healing factor; it wouldn’t be able to do any lasting damage. But it could probably cause light chemical burns on regular people. 

He brought out some scraps on paper, as well as a sheet that had his original web formula on it, and got to work. It was silent for the most part, Peter usually preferred to work in silence, only chatting with Mr. Stark on and off. But today Peter didn’t say a word. Even Harley was quiet for the first little while. But then, he kept speaking up, asking Mr. Stark to come over and look over his work, or making little quips. Peter kept his head down, feeling more like a stranger in the lab than he ever had before. It was hard, he didn’t always know what the other two were talking about, and the one time he had tried to join the conversation he had just gotten a small glare from Harley. 

So, Peter just sighed and kept his head down and focused on his work. He was making good progress on the equations so he’d be able to test it out soon. He worked on his webbing so often that it was practically second nature at this point. Slowly the hours ticked by, and Peter found himself ready to test it out. The first one to test out was the quick dissolving webs because Peter felt like it was most important. He was really starting to get complaints from the police who kept finding criminals webbed up to the wall. Apparently, it was hard to get out of. Who knew. 

“Mr. Stark, do you think you could come and check this out for a second?” Peter asked, ignoring the fact that the man was with Harley. Surely he could spare a couple of minutes. 

“Just a minute Pete,” the man hummed, scratching his beard as he peered down at Harley’s work. 

So Peter waited, and waited, and waited. In reality, he probably only waited about 15 minutes, but it felt like ages as he watched his mentor interact with Harley. Finally, Peter stood up and grabbed a couple of vials and chemicals from the shelf, sighed a bit as he did. And no, he was not pouting at all, and if F.R.I.D.A.Y said anything different he was going to reboot her. 

Eventually, Mr. Stark comes over, just as Peter is setting everything down at his desk. He gives Peter a look that distinctly says “really?” and Peter just shrugs. It wasn’t like Harley paid him enough attention to really get that he was working on Spider-Man stuff. 

“Looks good, Pete, go ahead and move to testing it out,” the man ruffles his head and Peter shoots him a grateful smile. 

There were so many emotions going on in Peter’s head, and he really didn’t know what to think, but he was happy to get some attention from Mr. Stark. Maybe he really was just jealous of Harley. He wasn’t used to sharing Mr. Stark’s attention, and it was a lot to get used to. And yet, even with that knowledge, Peter couldn’t make the burning anger go away. 

And, Peter couldn’t say he felt good about his current emotions, but when Harley’s head shot up when Mr. Stark praised him he couldn’t help but feel a little smug. 

He was here in the lab for a reason, after all. Mr. Stark would never work with an idiot weekly. 

Well, debatable, because Peter knew he was kind of an idiot sometimes, but that was more street smarts. He knew that when it came to science he was nowhere near being an idiot. 

Just as the silence was coming over the three of them again, Mr. Stark’s phone rang. 

“Rhodey? Ya, no I’m free, what's up?” Mr. Stark called out, probably louder than he needed to, “Wait one sec.” 

“Hey, you two, I’m just going to head to the common room for a second, you’re good here by yourselves?” He gave them both a suspicious glare, but both boys nodded, “Ok good, don’t die, have fun, all that jazz. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

And then he left. 

And Peter knew what the man was doing. He was never the most subtle person in the room. Or in the world, probably. But that was what made him Tony Stark, and it was one of the qualities Peter admired in Mr. Stark. He was always confident and sure about his decisions. Even if that decision was forcing two teenagers to spend some time together, despite the fact that they clearly didn’t like each other. Plus, it helped that he had super hearing, so he could hear Mr. Stark say, “Rhodey, I just don’t know what to do with them” as he walked away from the lab. 

“God,” Harley bemoaned, getting up to walk closer to Peter, “You’re such a pest, you know that? Like you literally work here every week, but I can't even get a full day to hang out with Tony? You’ve always got to pop up in one way or another, fucking annoying.” 

Peter forced his lips together, trying to hold in an outburst that was surely going to happen, and just shrugged. “It’s my work, I like it,” he said through clenched teeth, “And you’re the one who showed up during our workday, that’s not my fault.”  

“Can’t you just like, leave him alone for fucks sake. He’s probably annoyed too. Like, just go home,” Harley sighed, and Peter’s Spidey Sense immediately perked up. Something was wrong. 

He looked up at Harley just as he was pouring a vial of chemicals into his web mixture, peering at the other boy to see what was causing his Spidey Sense to go off. But the brunette was just standing there with his arms crossed, and— was that? Was that a pout? Weird. 

But Peter didn’t get to think about it anymore, because before he knew it his body was moving without him thinking about it. He could feel the heat against his back as he grabbed Harley’s arm and shoved him down, blocking the other boy with his own body. There was a loud BOOM, and the room shook slightly, and for a moment Peter was sure it was going to collaps— 

No, he thought, don’t think about that right now. 

And it was over just as fast as it had happened. He felt some minor burns on his back and arms, but nothing feels too amiss, other than the adrenaline that was currently pumping through his body. So Peter took a chance, and stood up, quickly looking around the room and down at Harley, who was now sitting on the floor. The other boy looked fine, though there were hints of a mild burn on his right arm. But the lab, on the other hand… well it was a mess. 

The web formula had clearly exploded, and there were sticky webs all over the room. The vial he had been mixing it in was broken, and there was a small fire over the table, which Dum-E quickly came to extinguish. 

Peter just looked around with wide eyes, his hands shaking from the adrenaline, as Harley looked up at him with equally wide, and concerned eyes.

“Fuck—” Peter began to sigh, but he didn't get to finish the sentiment before the doors to the lab were swung open.  

“What the hell happened in here?” Mr. Stark burst through the lab, sounding just as out of breath as Peter felt. His eyes held a fire in them, but he looked equally angry, concerned, and disheveled.

And Peter doesn’t remember a time he’s been this afraid to face Mr. Stark. Probably not since the Ferry incident. But he fucked up this time. He hadn’t been paying attention when he was grabbing chemicals, nor pouring them, and he caused an explosion. He was just happy it was minor. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I got distracted,” Peter mumbled his head down as he refused to face his mentor. 

“Distracted?” the man shouted, and Peter was almost certain that he was angry enough to breathe fire, “You know you can’t get distracted in the lab, and especially not when you’re handling chemicals Peter! You know better than that!”

“I know, I jus—” 

“No, Pete. The adult is talking now, listen,” Mr. Stark put up a hand, and for the first time, Peter looked at the man’s face. He looked angry but also concerned. “If you were tired or hungry or something you should have let me know, I wouldn’t have made you come in today, but you cannot, be distracted. What if there had been a bigger explosion Peter? What if people got hurt? Were you not thinking at all?” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter’s voice quivered. 

And at that, Mr. Stark paused, took a breath, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked calmer, and Peter was sure he was going to walk over and tell Peter that he was sorry for yelling. But instead— 

“Harley,” Mr. Stark spoke, and Peter’s shoulders deflated, “Go up to MedBay. I want to talk with Peter alone for a second.” 

And for once, the brunette left the pair without saying anything. Apparently, the trick to get Harley to be quiet was to cause a minor explosion. Who knew. 

Mr. Stark waited a few moments before turning back to Peter. It was clear he was still mad, but Peter didn’t think he was going to yell anymore.  

“Peter, what were you doing? How could you get so distracted that you poured the wrong chemical? What if you had gotten hurt?” 

“I heal fast, Mr. Stark,” And, ok ya. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say to the man who was clearly concerned about him. But it was true! The burns would be gone by tomorrow. 

Mr. Stark just sighed and ran a hand down his face. He took a few deep breaths, and Peter instantly recognized it as a tactic for the man to hold in his anger. 

“Fine then,” it clearly didn’t work well enough, as Mr. Stark snapped at Peter with such venom that the boy took a visible step back, “What if Harley got hurt? He doesn’t have any superpowers, Pete, he can’t heal like you can. Sure, you can’t get hurt, but he could have gotten really hurt. If it was worse, he could have died, Peter.” 

And at that, Peter’s eyes welled up with tears. Mr. Stark was clearly concerned about Harley, and clearly mad at Peter. Did he not see that it was the other boy who put Peter so on edge, so tense, and that was why Peter made the mistake? 

“I’m… Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean—” 

“I know. But Peter, this can’t happen. You’re going to have to go home for the day, and we’ll see about next Friday. I haven’t decided if you get lab privileges or not.”

Tears began to fall, but Mr. Stark either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was quick to turn on his heels and walk towards MedBay, where Harley was. Because of course. Peter was beginning to feel like a fool. It was obvious that Mr. Stark and Harley were close, and were “connected” as Harley had said earlier. And Peter? Well Mr. Stark only spoke to Peter in the first place because of Spider-Man, not because of Peter Parker. Sure, Mr. Stark clearly cared for him, and wanted him around, but not in the same way as Harley. Peter was never invited to stay at the Tower for more than a night, not like Harley, and Mr. Stark was clearly more concerned about Harley’s safety than Peter’s. 

(That’s not quite right though, is it? Somewhere deep down Peter knew he was just getting worked up, and he was just overly anxious and jealous. He knew Mr. Stark cared for him just as much as always, and he knew that Mr. Stark liked both Peter and Spider-Man. But right now? Right now Peter was too upset to think rationally. Later, he might look back on it and realize that it was a mixture of being jealous, angry, and probably the pain that came with the burns.) 

Peter walked to the elevator, his head hanging in shame, as tears spilled out of his eyes. It was just a stupid mistake, but Mr. Stark was so mad at him, and only cared about Harley being ok. He sniffed, rubbing his eyes as F.R.I took him down to the lobby. “Take care, Mr. Parker,” and Peter swore he could hear a hint of concern in the AI’s voice. He shot a small smile up to the ceiling but said nothing more before leaving.  

He took a deep breath once outside, trying to get in as much fresh air as he could in New York City. He walked as quickly as he could, his mind already made up about what he was going to do. He had planned to patrol after lab night anyway, and sure he was a couple of hours early and hadn’t had dinner yet, but it was fine. He’d stop by a hot dog truck or something during the patrol. 

So Peter ran into an alleyway, hopping as he kicked off his shoes and changed out of his civilian clothes. Going on patrol would be a good way to use his built-up adrenaline, anyway. He could use any lasting anger and jitteriness to help people. So once he was in his suit, and his bag was webbed up high on a while, Peter got to swinging. 

It was still rather early in the night, only about 5 or 6 PM, but it was the end of November so it was already dark, but even so, he wasn’t expecting much. There was a young teen that was trying to rob a small grocer early into the patrol, but all it took was Spider-Man showing his face, giving a wave and a short “Hey kid, I’ll buy that for you,” for the kid to back off. Peter didn’t really have money to be wasting, but he figured the young kid needed it. Plus, it was just a sandwich that was a couple of dollars, it wouldn’t kill Peter to lose that amount of money. 

Peter swung around for another hour, and nothing much happened. He stopped a group of bullies and walked the poor kid home, but other than that Peter just swung and kept an eye out. It was when Peter was sitting on the edge of a roof, peering down onto the streets and keeping a careful eye out for any trouble that he heard it; 

“Hey! Fuck off!” and even though Peter had only known the guy for just over a day, he already knew his voice like the back of his hand.  

It was hard to forget the voice of the guy who was replacing you.  

(But he wasn’t, and Peter knew that. Or would know that, once he calmed down.)  

And for a brief second, a second that Peter was not proud of, he hesitated. It wasn’t like he didn’t like Harley, sure, he wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan, but he didn’t deserve to be attacked. But, shit. Really? Really? The guy that's been at Peter’s throat all day, the guy that Peter was mad at, is getting attacked and now Peter has to go save him. Because of course, he does.

So Peter swings down, climbing down the wall straight above Harley. There was a guy with mangly blonde hair and a hand that was roughly holding Harley against a wall. When Peter looked closer he could see a gun in the guy’s other hand, which was being pushed right into Harley’s stomach.  

“Listen, I literally, don’t have anything, man,” Harley said, and Peter could tell he was trying to stay brave, trying to put on a show, but he could hear the shake in his voice. And wow, Harley reminded Peter of Mr. Stark. 

“Look at your fucking shoes, your jacket, I know money when I see one,” the man sneered, shoving his gun further into Harley’s stomach, “So pay u—” 

“Hey man! Stealing isn’t nice!” Peter chose that moment to jump down, giving the man a kick to the shoulder to get him to back off Harley.  

“Fuck off bug boy,” the man spat, trying to take a step closer to Harley again, but Peter stood directly between the two. 

“I feel like purposefully calling me by the wrong name is just rude, I mean come on! I have a spider on my chest,” Peter rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air for good measure, “But if that's how it's gonna be I’m gonna call you Mr. dumbface, cause really your face is annoying me right now,”  

There was silence. 

“Ok, so I’m a little out of it today, but a little laugh would’ve been nice,” he turned back to Harley, who was staring at him with a slightly gaped mouth. 

“You… you’re… Really?” was all Harley stuttered. And, ok, ya. Maybe Peter should have seen it coming that he wasn’t the only one who could recognize voices. 

“Listen we’ll talk about it later, ok, lemme just web this gu—” 

“I’m not going back to jail!” the guy yelled, suddenly a lot more defensive than he had been before. And Peter didn’t like that. A guy with a gun? Easy-peasy, just had to disarm him. Usually, they didn’t even want to use their weapon. But an angry, defensive guy with a gun? Well, that was significantly more difficult to deal with. 

Peter had a split second of warning when his Spidey Sense went off. It wasn’t enough, he knew it wasn’t. But his instinct kicked in and he grabbed Harley’s arm, shoving him to the ground just like he had done earlier today. 

And really, Peter needed to stop with constant, daily, accidents. This was getting a bit much. 

 There were three shots, the first two went into Peter's stomach, and the second in his right shoulder. He grunted but didn’t fall. He gave the guy a good punch in the face, knocking him down to the ground. 

“That…” Peter grunted, kicking the gun away, “That was rude.”  

He quickly webbed the guy up, sparing no amount of webs to ensure that he would stay on the ground for a while. He stumbled back, placing a hand over his stomach as he tried to assess the damage. He didn’t think the bullets hit anything important, but he also couldn’t tell if they were still in him or not. What he did know is that he was bleeding fast. 

A hand landed on Peter’s shoulder, and his first instinct was to attack. His Spidey Senses were going haywire, everything felt like a threat. He went to spin and web up whoever was grabbing him, but he was beginning to feel dizzy and practically tripped over his own two feet. And fuck, he felt like shit. 

“Hey! Hey! It’s me, it’s me. It’s Harley,” the brunette said, leading Peter to sit on the ground, away from the mugger. 

“You’re… You’re bleeding, like a lot. What… What do we do?” and this was the first time Peter ever heard Harley sound unsure of himself. 

Peter’s first instinct was to ask Karen to call Mr. Stark, so he did exactly that. But his mind was starting to get foggy, and it felt like there were cotton balls in his mouth. Every word was a struggle, and every breath hurt, and fuck he just wants to be at the Tower so Mr. Stark and Dr. Cho can patch him up again.  

“Kaaareeenn,” Peter mumbled, each syllable feeling like another stab to his stomach, “Karen… Kareeeen,” He kept calling out for her, but the AI is strangely quiet. 

There’s a reason she doesn't answer though, and Peter knows it… but he can’t remember. His brain is too foggy, and he doesn’t really know where he is anymore, or who he wants. He just knows he needs Karen to answer him. So he kept mumbling her name.  

“Oh my god, I think I broke Tony’s genius child,” Harley mumbled, and yes! Yes! That’s who Peter needs right now! 

“Mi’ss’r… Mi’ss’r S’rk,” he stuttered out, nodding at Harley, who just stares at him with wide and confused eyes. Peter just continues, “Miiiis’errrrr S’arrrrk. Call. Call, Mi’ss’r S’rk. Karen, Kaareen, call Missss’r S’rk.” 

And he can hear Harley mumbling above him, something about “breaking a superhero”, and how “Tony is going to kill him”, but he doesn’t really care, but wow, his stomach hurts. And his shoulder hurts. And how much blood has he lost? A lot, probably. Somewhere, deep down, Peter knew that he only got this foggy, this out of it, when there was internal bleeding. Which, ya, he didn’t like that he knew that, but what could he do? His brain wasn’t working fast enough right now though to be able to relay that information to Harley. 

“Ok.. Ok… Get him to Tony, he can help. Ya, ya. That’s a good idea. Phone… Phone… ok. Ok, that’s fine, no phone. We’ll just walk back, totally fine. Just gonna walk back to Stark Towers with a bleeding … Spider… guy,” Harley kept mumbling and it was starting to get on Peter’s nerves. Why wasn’t Karen answering him? 

(Because... his mind supplied unhelpfully, you were supposed to fix the coms with Mr. Stark but you never did.)  

And suddenly he was being lifted up or at least helped up. “C’mon, C’mon. I need your help here, you gotta walk with me, we’re not that far from the Tower, just walk with me,” Harley kept speaking, and when Peter whined (no he didn’t, he’ll deny that if you ever ask him about it), Harley made sure to speak quieter. 

Peter doesn’t remember a lot about the whole trip, but he does remember tripping and falling a couple of times, and Harley telling people to move out of their way. “Just, just a few more steps, we’re almost there and then Tony’ll fix you up, he’ll fix you up, don’t worry,” at this point, Harley was talking more for himself than he was for Peter. Peter was barely listening. 

Peter doesn’t remember being taken up to the MedBay, nor does he remember Mr. Stark walking in with Dr. Cho, and he definitely doesn’t remember the surgery that was performed to get the bullets out of his stomach. Apparently, the one in the shoulder was a clean shot. He was informed of everything a few hours after he woke up. 

But when Peter first woke up he looked around the room, ignoring the familiar itch of an IV in his arm. Mr. Stark was asleep in a chair in the corner. For the most part he looked calm, collected, even somehow bored in his sleep, but Peter could practically feel the tension seeping off him. Then, there was Harley, who was sitting right next to Peter’s bed, and wide awake. 

“Uh… hi,” was all Harley said. 

“F.R.I, can you turn down the lights please?” was all Peter had the energy to say at first. It was too bright. It was always too bright in the MedBay. Immediately, the lights turned down by 50%, and Peter mumbled out a thanks. 

“Are you ok?” he turned to Harley, looking over the boy to see if there were any injuries. The only one he could see is the mild burn from earlier that day. 

“Am I— am I ok? Dude, you got shot three times while wearing a red and blue spandex suit! What the fuck,” Harley looked shocked, maybe even a little angry, “God, I hate New York. You’re all so weird here, what the fuck is even happening?” 

“I dunno, this feels like a normal Saturday night to me,” Peter shrugged, trying to make light of the situation. He didn’t like that the other boy was concerned over him. 

“Normal? God, I hate it here,” Harley ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a laugh. There was a beat of silence before Peter broke out into a choked laugh too. Soon, the two boys were hardly able to contain themselves, Harley was doubled over laughing, and Peter was leaning back. Neither of them really knew what they were laughing about, but they both couldn’t get over the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. 

“It’s actually early Sunday morning, now,” Peter’s laughter got caught off, and he snapped his neck to look at the man in the corner. 

Now that Mr. Stark’s eyes were open and aware he could see that they were a little red and a little swollen. But Peter was more focused on the whole “Sunday” thing. 

“Aunt May!” he bolted up from bed, ready to get dressed right that minute. 

“Has already been contacted,” Mr. Stark sighed, “Really, who do you take me for?” 

Peter didn’t answer, he just shrugged and continued to look at his sheets. He was still feeling shitty about the explosion, and he didn’t know how to face the man. At least, though, his mind had cleared up from his previous anger and jealousy. Obviously, Mr. Stark cared about Peter and wanted him around, the tear marks on his face proved it. 

“Listen, both of you...” Mr. Stark trailed off, and both boys kept their eyes on the man, waiting for him to speak. “I’m sorry I blew up at both of you today,” and at that Peter sent Harley a look, who just shrugged and mouthed ‘I’ll tell you later’, “I shouldn’t have yelled, but honestly? You’re both annoying little shits, and you worried me.”

“Peter’s the worse one,” Harley muttered. 

“Says the guy who got mugged on his second night in New York,” Peter shot a teasing look. 

“Hey! Tony told me to go for a walk! What was I supposed to do?” 

“Bring your phone for one,” Mr. Stark chimed in. 

Both boys looked at him sharply, “We’re not talking to you.” 

There was a beat of silence before the two teens broke out into laughter again, and Mr. Stark just sighed. 

“I can’t believe I’ve spent two days trying to get you two to like each other, and all it took was a mugging, getting shot 3 times, and getting both of you to save each other,” he rolled his eyes, “I’ll write that down for next time.” 

“To be fair, you maybe should have warned both of us that you were going to try to force a new friendship,” Peter mentioned. 

“Don’t be too hard on him, Old man is old enough that he’s probably got dementia or some shit,” Harley chipped in. 

“He does forget things a lot, one time he forgot to wear pants to a meeting,” 

“That was one time!” 

“Ya, ok Mr. Stark.” 

“My God, between the two of you, I’ve created a monster,” Mr. Stark sighed as Harley cackled, “Go ahead. Laugh all you want. I’ll be in the kitchen, eating normal human food that a certain Mr. Parker won’t get until the literal holes in his stomach are healed. And Harley? I just don't want to feed you, so suffer.” 

And with that, the man left. Both teens laughed briefly, rolling their eyes at their mentor. 

“Listen, I’m sorry I was hard on you earlier,” Harley finally spoke up, “I was just excited to spend time with Tony. I haven’t seen him in, jeez, like four years? And it was a bit of a shock to find out I had to share him.” 

Peter shook his head, “No, I’m sorry too. I wasn’t very welcoming to you, and I definitely didn’t make any effort.”

There was a silence, an awkward one that Peter wanted to fill. 

“I uh, well. I don’t really have a lot of men in my life, not a lot of father figures I guess. I had my Uncle Ben, but he died… a while ago. And well, Mr. Stark stepped up a few months ago, and I guess I kinda latched on a bit too much. I was jealous when you came,” he shrugged, whispering the last part. 

Because, God, it was so hard to admit to someone that you were jealous of them. But it had to be done, especially if Harley was staying at the Tower for a couple weeks. 

“Jealous of me?” Harley sounded shocked. 

“Ya, I mean. He like, didn’t even text me to cancel our lab night, and he gave you my room, and you were with us for our lab day, and we didn’t even do our movie night. I thought you were replacing me, which is stupid, I know now, 

“Dude. Tony’s known I was coming here two weeks ahead of time and literally forgot to set me up a room. I showed up at the front door and he was still shocked. He didn’t forget to text you, he forgot I was coming,”

“Oh.” 

“Ya, oh. And, well, I’m only here because of family stuff,” Harley paused, and Peter could see that he was debating whether or not he should continue. 

“My sister got sick. Cancer, they said, so she and my mom had to go to the hospital while she gets treatment. And my mom, well, she didn’t want me home alone, and she knew she couldn’t really take care of me and my sick sister. So Tony said I could stay here for a few weeks until they were back home. So I wasn’t here to replace you, I’m just a charity case,” and Peter’s heart practically broke at the way Harley’s shoulders sagged. He knew that feeling. 

Mr. Stark wasn’t the best at letting people know his true intentions, and it was easy to feel like you were a burden to the man. Peter should know, he was President of feeling that way. 

“Harley, listen. I’ve only known Mr. Stark for like, a few months now. Less than a year,” he started, “But I know for a fact that he doesn’t let just anyone stay in the Tower. He only lets people he really, really, cares about in here. And his lab! Plus I see how he talks with you! You’ve got him wrapped around your finger,”

“Says you,” 

“Well then the two of us together? We can get anything we want,” and that made Harley laughed. 

They settled into another silence, this one much less awkward. The only sounds were of their breathing and of the machines beeping. 

“So, uh, Spider, eh?” Harley raised an eyebrow, “Are you some sort of bug superhero?” 

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter answered incredulously, “Haven’t you heard of me?”

“Uh, no?” 

“The Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man?” Harley shook his head, “Crap, I’ve gotta start working outside of New York, I guess.” 

“So are you a mutant?”

“What?” Peter laughed, “Nah, until about a year ago I was totally normal, less than even. Asthmatic, and I needed glasses, and honestly a strong gust of wind could’ve knocked me over.” 

“What changed?”

“Radioactive spider,” Peter shrugged as if it answered everything. 

Harley barked out a laugh, “What?” 

“It bit me, now I’m like, part spider I guess.” 

“Shit… That’s wild,”

“Ya,” 

And with that, both boys were silent again, this time both of their breathing began getting shallower and shallower, and before they knew it they were passed out. The last thing Peter heard was Mr. Stark walking by the room again, 

“Monsters, the two of them.” 

[astyle-alex]

April Wrap-Up & May 2021 Goals

Guess who let this semester's Finals period sneak up on her? THIS CHICK.

So while this month was in some ways WILDLY productive, it was also extremely limited in what was produced and what I was producing took a lot more time for a lot less objective output in the easily visible stats... (I'm actually not even done yet, I've still got one more paper left to finish up by the end of the week).

Therefore, I did not quite make it to may usual monthly goal of 50k in new words written, but considering most of what I wrote was  short-hand notes, but since if I'd written the bullet points out into full sentences (or even actual words in many cases), I would definitely be solidly into the 75k range, I'm actually pretty chill with that outcome. I wound up at ~47k and averaging ~1,600 per day.

Again, my forward progress on the day to day was actually quite steady, so I have no real complaints, only wistful regret that one cannot magically manage to focus on pleasure projects & side hustles while also devoting due time to irl school / work obligations...

The project labeled "Gatewatch" is really just a pile of plot bunny notes on my phone that I needed to get out of my brain so that I could concentrate on school. It's a stand-alone original fiction project that I think could turn into a really cool novel, but for the moment, I don't think it'll be able to get off the ground.

I still need to finish my last essay and then I am getting upsettingly close to running out my queue for Sun & Stars... so I'll be trying to put my focus into that this month.

Speaking of goals, I didn't even look at what I'd hoped I'd get done for April, so let's see how I ended u doing:

I did not query anyone for anything... I did not write anything new at all but I did post 3 new chapters of Sun & Stars, here & on Ao3, and I posted 4 chapters of Multiverse Mishap, with 2 new going up for both the Bat Version and the SPN version... I definitely got my 4 media reviews up... and I got 6 job apps in, though one of them was to be a zoo keeper (which I'm not really qualified for, but it might be kinda cool and was listed as 'entry level' with no experience requirement), so at least that one probably shouldn't count as a legitimate job app, but still... And, including the Duchess post, I technically did post 3 'other' types of post, so I'mma roll with that as a minor victory!

Over all, that's not nearly as bad as I feared it might be.

Which means I can head into May feeling almost confident!

So, May 2021 Goals:

- Query 3 Lit Agents

- Post 3 Chapters of Sun & Stars, here & on Ao3.

- Draft 3 full chapters of Sun & Stars.

- Post 4 Chapters of Multiverse Mishap.

- Post 8 Media Reviews

- Make 3 other kinds of Post (special release, culture crit, write life, etc)

- Submit 12 Job Applications

And May 2021 Schedule:

Monday: Post new chapter of Multiverse Mishap. (Biweekly)

Tuesday: Post new chapter of Sun & Stars.

Wednesday: Post Media Review.

Thursday: Special Access, Write Life, or Culture Crit posts.

Friday: Post Media Review.

Saturday: Post new chapter of Multiverse Mishap. (Biweekly)

Sunday: No Post.

Hopefully, I'll be able to get reorient myself this month, and (best case scenario) finish up Sun & Stars well enough to be confident in wrapping up it entirely by the end of summer. I have no idea if I'll continue with Gatewatch, but you'll be the first to get any updates on it!

We have the Kentucky Derby coming up this afternoon and I literally have no idea who is running or what the odds are, so I'm not betting (tragically), but I will definitely be watching and looking forward to marking the semi-official start of SUMMERTIME!

I hope you guys have a wonderful May!

GOOD LUCK!

[fxkthatdairy]

The Principal’s Office: Part Two ~Grayson Dolan

Overview: (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) was the new 5th grade history teacher at The Dolan’s Private academy in New Jersey. She moved from across the country to teach at the school. On the first day, an unexpected visitor stops by her classroom to check in on her. What happened when they fall head over heels for each other? Check out to see.

Warnings: None in this chapter

(Y/N)’s alarm began to ring at 5:30 in the morning. She rolled out of her bed and turned her alarm off. She stretched out before walking into her bathroom. Today was her first day teaching and she was excited and nervous at the same time. This was her first job as a teacher and she didn’t know how the kids would like her. Then she realized that Grayson would be there and her heart started racing. She snapped herself out of it realizing he would never be with her. Reason one was the fact that he was technically her boss and reason number two was the fact rarely did the hot guys fall for the history nerd who’s never even had a boyfriend before. She sighed and stripped from her pajamas and stepped in the shower. She took a quick shower and got out and dried off. She did her normal morning routine, curled her hair and slipped into her first day outfit which was a pair of dark green jeans with a white button down and gray sweater on top of that, a pair of nude flats and her purse(visual below).

She grabbed everything that she was going to need including all of her lesson plans for the week, her laptop, her phone cord, her good pens that she specifically bought for grading, and a few little decors to make her room unique. She moved all her stuff to her car and began heading to work. The school was about 20 minutes away from her house and she used those 20 minutes to mentally prepare herself for this day. When she arrived at the school she parked in the teachers parking lot and grabbed all of her things and made sure to throw her lanyard with her ID on it so that she was able to get into the school. She scanned her badge and quickly looked to see what hall she was on and what her room number was: 319. She walked down the long hallway until she reached the 300 hall and walked down in finding room 319. She room was larger than the rooms that she remembered from her fifth grade classes but then again she attended a public school. The room had rows of desks, a large white board, a projector screen, plenty of closet space, a beautiful white desk with a fairly comfortable leather chair, and a huge computer monitor. She placed her bag down beside her desk. It was now around 7:15 and she had an hour and 15 minutes until school started. She began pulling out the stuff she had brought to decorate her classroom and desk. She placed her pictures in her desk that included the pictures from her graduation, her family pictures, a picture of her and her mom, and many of her at historic sites. She plugged in her essential oil machine and put in a slight bit of peppermint oil in. She began hanging her history posters and maps from every topic in the semester and wrote her name on the white board in cursive. She also set up the calendar that she had bought and arranged the desks how she liked them.

“You’re here fairly early. I thought I was the only one here this early.” A voice said from the door way. That voice belonged to the one and only Grayson Dolan; the principal of the school.

“Yeah, I wanted to make some personal touches and make sure I was prepared for the day. I hope you don’t mind.” She said as she noticed he was looking around.

“These photos are beautiful. You seem very passionate about History and your family. I find that very admirable Ms (Y/L/N).” He said. Her heart fluttered almost out of her chest.

“Thank you sir. My mom has always been there for me. History has been apart of my life since as long as I can remember.” She said and made sure everything was in order before she walked back over to her desk.

“Well I’ll swing by later to check on you and see how you are doing. Maybe I can bring you lunch around lunch time. Have a fantastic day (Y/N).” He said and with that he was gone. The one thing (Y/N) didn’t know was that Grayson Dolan was absolutely in love with her. He felt a connection with her that he’s never felt before.

It was now 8:15 and she had 15 minutes until her first class of the day would arrive. She sat down in her leather chair and turned the projector on and pulled up her welcoming PowerPoint that she spent a good three hours making. Her plan for today was to introduce herself to the class and get to know some of her students. She then went and stood in front of her door to welcome the children into the classroom. The school bell rang indicating that school had begun and she had five minutes before all her kids needed to be in her classroom. As all of her students filled her room she welcomed them with a warm smile and handshake. The tardy bell rang and she shut her door making sure that it locked in compliance of school rules.

“Good Morning and welcome back to school. I hope each and every one of you had a fantastic weekend and let me be the first to welcome you to fifth grade History. My name is Ms. (Y/L/N) and I’m so ready for this year with you guys. Now it’s time for role.” (Y/N) spoke and everyone was present so she sent in attendance and then grabbed the remote to change the slides as she stood to introduce herself to the class.

“So I thought instead of giving you guys work on the first day, that we would take this time to get to know each other starting with myself. If you can not tell, this is my first year here and by my accent you can tell I am not from around here. I actually moved here from Oklahoma and this is my first year teaching actually. I grew up in a small town in Oklahoma with my mom and sister and brother, I’m 25 years old and I went to school at Oklahoma University on a full scholarship ride. I’ve been to almost every historical monument in the United States and have met several past presidents. I also am a very hands on teacher and I’ll try and start bringing some historical artifacts that I’ve collected over the years next week but it depends on if I can get them out of my moving boxes. Now does anyone want to share anything about themselves.” (Y/N) spoke. About 10 kids hands shot up. She called on the first kid she saw. He was sitting in the front row and looked like an athletic kid.

“My name is Thomas and I played football and baseball all summer and I made the All Regional Leauge in town. Also why history?” He asked.

“Well I was never good at math so I knew that would not be an option. I liked English but I didn’t want to grade a lot of essays. The only science I ever really got into was medical science and I’m terrified of blood and needles so I fell in love with history. Plus everything has history, your family, your town, even your pets have history. History is all around us and it shapes the world today.” She said and a few more kids shared their stories and soon there was only five minutes left of class. She grabbed the packet of information to send home to their parents about the class and passed them out.

“Please get these signed and returned between tomorrow and Friday. Have a fantastic rest of the day and I can’t wait to see you guys tomorrow.” She said as the bell rang. The next three classes went that way and now it was time for lunch. She sat down at her desk and rubbed her sore feet from standing. There was a knock on her door and then the door opened revealing Grayson.

“I brought lunch. I hope you don’t mind. I brought some chicken salads.” He said with a smile as he handed her a salad.

“Thank you so much.” She said with a smile on her face.

“So how’s your first day been so far?” He said as he pulled up a chair to your desk so that he can eat.

“It’s been wonderful. The students have been so respectful and amazing. This job means a lot to me and it’s perfect. I’ve had no problems at all today except the pain in my feet from standing but I can get over that soon.” She said with a laugh.

Grayson laughed as well with one of his gorgeous smiles, “Well that’s good. I’m glad you’re enjoying this. Sometimes the students are a little too much to handle when you get into the higher grades especially. Apparently I’m almost every 8th grade girls crush and it’s honestly kind of creepy some days. I’m 30 for Christ sakes.” He said with a laugh.

(Y/N) laughed remembering her awkward phase in 8th grade when she thought she was going to marry Tom Cruise. “It’s just something they go through during that awkward transition in life. I went through it, my sister went through it, I’m pretty sure my mother went through it. That’s why I picked fifth grade, they have no clue or really no interests in relationships.”

“That’s true. Well lunch is almost over and I would love to get to know you more other than helping you move in. I would like to take you out to dinner this Saturday. I’ll give you time to think about it and no hard feelings if you say no. I’ll text you the details later. Have a great rest of the day (Y/N).” He said as he put his chair back where he got it and left the room. Her heart and mind were spinning. He has just asked her on a dinner date. Her BOSS just asked her on a dinner date. The man who stole her heart with a smile asked her on a dinner date. She couldn’t even fully function. She quickly shook out of it as the bell rang signaling the end of lunch. She finished off the rest of her classes before 4:30 came and she was finally able to go home. She grabbed all of her belongings and made sure everything was off before heading home. She stopped and grabbed her something to eat before heading back to her house due to the fact that she has no groceries at home. When she got home she processed long and hard about her current situation. She went to bed that night replaying every possible outcome in her head whether she said yes or no. As she was laying down her phone buzzed: One New message from Grayson Dolan.

Hey (Y/N), it’s Grayson. I would love to take you to Juliane’s Seafood and Steakhouse this Saturday night at 7:30 to get to know you more. I really hope you come, I really enjoy hearing your stories and you intrigue me. Once again no harsh feelings if you don’t want to go. It’s only if you feel comfortable. I hope you enjoyed the rest of your night. Anyways have a good night and see you tomorrow 🙂

(Y/N) thought long and hard with her decision and finally responded....

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

That was part two! Sorry for the cliffhanger but hey it builds suspense ☺️ I’m really enjoying how this story is turning out and I hope you guys are too 😊 part three will be out in the next few days.

Tags: @pineappledols @frickin-bats @graysavant

[keyofjetwolf]

September, and also, a schedule

Can you believe we’re already nine months into September? What the actual shit. If you, like me, exist somewhere between confused sentience and befuddled reluctance, you could do with some motherfucking scheduling to help you know what’s coming next. WOULDN’T WE ALL LIKE SOME ASSURANCE OF WHAT’S COMING NEXT

I can’t help with the world at large, but I CAN help with my own particular brand of distraction! And we’ll get right to that, after a word from our sponsor.

OH SHIT OUR SPONSOR IS YOU.

It’s true! We’re all hostages in this capitalistic hellscape, so while I’d happily do all the things I do without a dime, sadly, the mortgage company does not agree, and I haven’t yet figured out how to break that pesky “eat to live” habit. But worry not! Thanks to this here Patreon, you can help keep me in Diet Pepsi and my cat’s bowl full, so he won’t have to gnaw my face off! And when you sponsor me at that aforementioned Patreon that I will conveniently link again right here, you also gain access to delectable exclusive bonus content! Adventures with Mina and Hot Pocket! Liveblogs, including nearly one hundred Steven Universe episodes! Livestreams and gamestreams and chats, and just, holy fuck, SO MUCH AWESOME SHIT. But if you’d rather something more direct and done, if I make you smile even once in September, how about buying me a Ko-Fi? THANKS AND LOVE AND HEY YOU LOOK GREAT IN THAT SHIRT

---

Enough of that. September’s schedule!

Week 2

Tuesday, 8th: Working on some stuff you’ll see soon!

Wednesday, 9th

MAH BIRFDAY, so probably fuck all, if we’re being honest.

Oh well except for the early release of @guidedbyanewpodcast​ [Patreon exclusive]

Thursday, 10th: Working on stuff you’ll see soooooooon

Friday, 11th

Orphan Black liveblog (sponsored by @skylineofspace!)

public release of @guidedbyanewpodcast Old Fuck Special

Saturday, 12th: (evening) part 4 of our Control gamestream  [Patreon exclusive]

Sunday, 13th

And Steven liveblog (sponsored by Jayden!)  [Patreon exclusive]

(evening) Private livestream

Week 3

Monday, 14th: ASKSHARKNADO Monday

Tuesday, 15th: PGSM loveblog

Wednesday, 16th

PGSM Loveblog

early release of @guidedbyanewpodcast​  [Patreon exclusive]

Thursday, 17th: And Steven liveblog  [Patreon exclusive]

Friday, 18th

Gravity Falls liveblog  [Patreon exclusive]

public release of @guidedbyanewpodcast​, Outtakes Special #2

Sunday, 20th: Princess Tutu liveblog (sponsored by Calantian!)

Week 4

Monday, 21st: ASKSHARKNADO Monday

Tuesday, 22nd: PGSM loveblog

Wednesday, 23rd

PGSM loveblog

(evening) Carmilla liveblog (sponsored by @cello-moon​!)

early release of @guidedbyanewpodcast​ [Patreon exclusive]

Thursday, 24th: And Steven liveblog  [Patreon exclusive]

Friday, 25th

BoJack Horseman liveblog/essays (sponsored by @docholligay​!)

public release of @guidedbyanewpodcast​ Episode 32

Saturday, 26th: Xena liveblog/essays (sponsored by @bardofsomerset​!)

Sunday, 27th: (evening) Livestream (content tbd)  [Patreon exclusive]

Week 5

Monday, 28th: ASKSHARKNADO Monday

Wednesday, 30th

Children’s Fair liveblog winner (to be drawn and announced today!)

(evening) Ask a Jet Wolf LIVE  [Patreon exclusive]

early release of @guidedbyanewpodcast​  [Patreon exclusive]

That’ll be of Ep 33, which will release that Friday as always, but we’re technically into October then, soooo.

All that, plus whatever other Asks, musings, knitting progress, UNV crossposting I manage to actually get queued up, and whatever other random ass live shit happens that bears commentary.

I HOPE YOU ARE LOOKING FORWARD

[quarantinedstudblr]

100 days of productivity

Day 39-43. May 22-26

Damn I’m bad at posting for this 😂

Okay soooo on Friday I made a to do list and I did homework I worked on some art I socail distances with a friend and I gave wybie a bath. On Saturday I went to work for 8 hours and I worked on my latest scholarship essay and then Sunday I exercised and worked on physics as well as my essay and I did some laundry and started editing another YouTube video. Monday I went to work and then I did some drawing outside and I worked on some homework. Today I had to go into town to get supplies for wybie so I did that and then I also tried to do homework but had a technical malfunction and was unable to. I. Also started cleaning my room up a bunch and I hung up my painting of jones mcbones.

It has not felt the most productive but I’ve been busy doing a lot of writing and physics.

I hope you all have been taking care of your selves and have been staying happy healthy and productive!!

I think he makes a nice addition to the wall 💀💀💀❤️❤️

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Tempo Rubato

An essay by an unnamed musician, as provided by Jonathan Danz Art by Errow Collens

Tonight, backstage is too hot, too dark, too much like some high-ceilinged mausoleum straight out of one of those old Friday night TV horror shows. The strap of my dinged-up Telecaster bites into my shoulder. Tonight, like most nights in recent memory, this guitar is like my very own stone of Sisyphus. Truth be told, I don’t know if I can roll it up the mountain one more fucking time. I don’t know if I can go out on stage yet again and pretend I’m me.

Vegas–swarm cams, drinkbots, holo-betting, omni-feeds, every last bit of it–can go to hell. The guy on stage now, the Buddy Holly impersonator, even with his bitglam in effect, comes off more like an impersonator of a Buddy Holly impersonator. He’s opening with “Peggy Sue.” Poor bastard. There’s nowhere to go from there but downhill.

Everyone’s an entertainer these days, what with voice plugins, appearance modifiers, movement enhancer neuro-mods, and every other trick. There’s no work at the art anymore, just show up and let the tech do the work.

Me and my new band, we’re the only completely analog performers in Vegas. Re-Invaded And It Feels So Good, that’s our act. Real clever stuff. The crowds eat it up. It’s fresh, in a manner of speaking, especially after seeing a hundred enhanced shows in a hundred casinos. After a while, it all blurs together.

I know, I know, that’s what they said when we were all flooding into the U.S. during the British Invasion. I’m a connoisseur of irony. But when something stands out from the pop-star one-offs and Rat Pack 3.0 crooners, people take notice. People don’t know they’re craving something different until they get it.

These Vegas performers could stand a lesson in “less is more,” but instead they’re all in on everything. All that tech must seem like magic to these fools, but tech ain’t magic. Believe me, I know from magic. Not like this Buddy Holly guy.

Look, I liked Buddy Holly back in the day–we all did–but that sound aged about as well as a bottle of piss. When you hear it, you know exactly when it came out. It never evolved. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if his plane hadn’t crashed.

Sometimes I wonder if Buddy wasn’t the lucky one.

~

It was the 1960s, and the Beatles exploded out of Liverpool with us right on their heels, and the British Invasion was on. The money began rolling in free and easy like juice through a Marshall stack. In a move that would become the hallmark of making it in rock and roll, I bought a posh estate in the English countryside.

That’s where we were between tours in ’70. One night, December 11–Christ, you’d think I’d forget after so long, but the memory is like tough old scar tissue that’ll never go away–anyway, we were in the studio, turning a three minute song into something epic. I dove into my solo, weaving amplified heat through drums and base and rhythm guitar, stitching it all together at first. Then I began teasing strands out into the dark corners of sound. My fingers slipped and slid high on the fretboard. My guitar wailed and moaned with an urgency I could feel. I raced out ahead of the rhythm, then eased back into the mix by turns. I scooped time from some measures and poured it into others. The world around me wobbled and shimmered.

By the time the cops barged in, I was fully lost in the solo. It was as if someone had accidentally stuck a needle in my artery and my life was spraying out everywhere. It wasn’t blood, though, dig? I swear it was life itself flowing from me, streaming into my mates. Everyone was higher than an old vicar’s waistband. The cops’ shouting tore it all down and the music collapsed. I was wasted, could barely stand.

The cops’ arrival probably saved me, but all they saw was some weed, some pills, and whatever, and that’s all they needed to know. They grabbed their headlines for busting some punk kids who’ve risen far too high, and I grabbed some jail time. Prison was no great shakes, but there was something about the monotony of the routine. It freed up time to think. And I had a lot to think about.

~

Vegas Buddy Holly slides smoothly into “Rollercoaster.” It’s a checklist for him: hit this note, do that hiccup thing, take three steps. Technically, it’s perfect, but there’s no love for the music, no heat. Choosing to impersonate Buddy Holly is purely mercenary. He’s found a niche and it pays. It’s calculated. And I’ve got to tell you, hearing exactly the same thing done exactly the same way night after night gets tiresome.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the music itself; I feel like I could play forever. It’s everything else. Some might say the world has passed me by, but I’d argue it’s the people who flock to this place on the regular who are being passed by. Was a time when people would spend hours parsing song lyrics or album cover art. Now everything wheels by like startled birds, gone in an instant, replaced by the latest streaming shows or VR episode or vending machine stimdrugs. We’re so fixated on what’s coming next, we can’t enjoy whatever it is we’re consuming right then and there.

The marketers’ll tell you their latest con expands the mind and taps into unexplored landscapes of the imagination. Rubbish. It’s about making money. It’s always about making money. Just ask ol’ Buddy Holly on stage there.

The guys in my band are no different. Sure, they tolerate the analog sets, occasionally even enjoy themselves when they’re not thinking about it. But they’re just gigging with me to pay the bills while they seek online stardom. That’s where the real money is, even if the odds are so long they stretch well beyond the horizon. They just need one video to virus out, and they’ll have it made.

I hear you, telling me to fuck right the hell off. I made my money, so why shouldn’t they make theirs, right? I say, have at it. There’s no magic there. You want magic? Strip it all down, get rid of the enhancements. Focus on the music, the guitar strings beneath your fingers, the vibrations of your vocal cords, the buzz of a packed venue. If you let yourself fall deep enough, you’ll find the space between it all.

You’d think songs almost a hundred years old would lose their luster, but that ain’t so. There’s that quote about not being the same person who crossed the river the first time or some shit. There’s truth there. Songs are like rivers, always changing, waiting to show you something new, if you’re willing to look. That’s why I hang around, every single day and twice on Saturdays.

~

After the bust, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at that rehearsal. I needed to know what that was. As a band, we were looking forward, working on new songs, planning new tours, finding new ways to spend our windfall. But as an individual, I’d decided to look backwards as well.

I searched for answers in the deep, slippery roots of music, looking for the faintest whiff of anything even remotely like what happened the night of the bust. Whenever we hit a new city, I scoured libraries and bookstores and pored over rare tomes, letters, and sheet music for something like magic.

Then I found tempo rubato.

Now, I know you’re thinking of that Styx song about the robot. That was Japanese. Tempo rubato is Italian, mate.

The definition of tempo rubato in music texts refers to, and I quote, “the slight speeding up and then slowing down of the tempo of a piece at the discretion of the soloist or the conductor to be more expressive.”

But here’s the thing, Tempo rubato isn’t just an Italian term on some sheet music like sotto voce or fortissimo or any of that lot. Now I had no idea if the concept originated in Italy or not, but the Italians nailed the naming of whatever this phenomenon is.

In Italian, tempo rubato means stolen time.

As a musical cue, that was all fine and well, but I was positive there was more to it than that. Slowing down, speeding up, everything I’d been doing that night, it was all there.

I began playing around on stage, messing around in subtle ways with what almost killed me the night of the bust, learning, refining. I did it carefully until I unpacked tempo rubato and put it to work for me. I pilfered small bits of time so as not to cause harm and, as much as we played, the stolen time accumulated like the juice on a mob loan.

~

We’re a long way from Vegas, now, aren’t we? What does this have fuckall to do with tech enhancements and swarm bots and flash androgynous technicians? Well, hang tight, bruv, I’m getting to that. Besides, Buddy Holly’s got one more song yet.

He launches into “That’ll Be the Day.” When he hits the chorus, like he does every night, I can’t help but think that maybe in some alternate universe I’m dead, and he’s here in Vegas in real life, the original watching some mercenary performer imitate me.

“That’ll be the day that I die,” Buddy sings. Well, the real Buddy Holly boarded a plane that flew him right into his grave at the tender age of 22. And, despite the booze, the drugs, and other depredations of the body, here I am still going strong well beyond my expiration date. Is it fair? That’s not for me to say, but I’m fully aware of the irony.

The ubiquitous “they” insist everything that’s old is new again and I’m inclined to agree. Maybe that’s true, but it’s a cycle, ain’t it, which bloody well means everything that’s new becomes old again as well.

I think about all those musicians who hung around too long. I’d need more fingers than I’ve got to count everyone who couldn’t let it go, guys who wished they headed out at the top of their game, leaving the fans wanting more.

But damn if every time I hit that first chord on stage, I’m not transported back to our first live gig in Coogan’s Pub in Dartford. Now there’s a magic all its own, you know? Throw in the fans and the applause, and small wonder musicians can’t let it go.

What I miss, though, what has me in this funk, is that I’ve got no one to share any of this with. Everyone’s gone. What’s the use of hanging around as long as I have if you can’t share the honest-to-god artistry?

There are days I’m aware the only person I’m really playing for is myself, searching the music for ghosts of the long-gone boys who crossed the Atlantic and got rich with me. There are days I wonder if stealing time during all those tours with them might have hastened their respective ends. Shit, we were all getting older. People just age differently, right?

I search through the music. Maybe some combination of sound will bring them back, but inevitably the ghosts are always just out of reach. I’ve seen musicians wind up searching elsewhere, the needle or the booze or something just as deadly even though we know whatever it is we need isn’t there at all. And sometimes you don’t even know you need anything at all until you’re shown otherwise.

~

Inside some nondescript sound studio in Memphis in the late ’20s, I was waiting to record an interview for some classic rock retrospective podcast. At least I think they were still calling what we did way back when “classic.” The host was explaining to an angsty lad on the sound crew what vibe he needed and who I was.

But damn if every time I hit that first chord on stage, I’m not transported back to our first live gig in Coogan’s Pub in Dartford.

“Seriously?” the angsty lad asked. “I thought that guy died years ago.” No embarrassment. No apology. Just a statement of fact with perhaps the smallest hint of a question or accusation in his tone. That’s when I realized I couldn’t keep on as myself forever. No matter how good I felt, no matter how I looked, someone would do the math and start asking questions I had no intention of answering.

And so I did the only thing that made sense: I disappeared to sort things out. For a few decades, I traveled to places where people had no idea who I was. For a while, it wasn’t so bad, the newness of it, you know. I tried out things I couldn’t do when we were touring, things like gardening and painting and woodworking, whatever struck my fancy.

Even as I did these things, in the need was always there, waiting. I told myself it was just the music I needed, just the feel of the guitar in my hands, the heat of the stage lights, the cheering crowds. I mean, the music was definitely part of it, but I missed what I was able to do with the music even more. I needed tempo rubato.

What better place to resurface than Vegas, the impersonator capital of the world? If I couldn’t be me, at least I could pretend to be me. I mean, I had me down pretty good.

~

Buddy Holly wraps up with a deep cut, one of his b-sides that has surprising layers. Something about this song appeals to Buddy. I can tell, because he loses himself in it. He’s so close to touching the music and doesn’t even know. The crowd applauds just enough to encourage Buddy Holly to do an encore.

Buddy Holly launches into a respectable version of “Not Fade Away.” Huh. Normally he trots out a tired medley of songs that roll into that other song that’s not by Buddy Holly but about Buddy Holly, when his plane crashed, and the music died, and all that. Tonight, Buddy Holly’s veering off script.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

One more song to figure out how I’m going to break it to the band. Since I returned to Vegas–what has it been, 30, 40 years?–I’ve asked myself why I keep going so many times it feels like a vocation unto itself. If there’s an answer to that question, I’ll be damned if I know what it is. Now’s as good a time as any to call it quits.

“Hey, Billy,” I say to my bassist.

He turns to me and raises his eyebrows in question.

Time to tell the crew tonight is the night I stop, but the words die in my throat just as Buddy Holly strums the last chord of his encore.

The applause for Buddy Holly packs more punch this time around, there’s real enthusiasm behind it. Buddy comes off stage. His bitglam distorts and winks off. Bruv looks tired, but he’s smiling.

We nod at each other.

That simple gesture is like a smack upside my head. It’s straight out of those days right before the British Invasion, back when we were just one of a hundred bands were trying to make it. Yeah, we hated each other, but there was some measure of respect for the fact we were all chasing the same thing. There’s a camaraderie that comes from mutual suffering.

Maybe I’ve been too hard on ol’ Buddy.

Then the host is announcing us to the crowd. Cheers and stomping feet shake the building. The crowd is as amped as I’ve ever heard it. That sound … that sweet, goddamned sound washes over us. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands at attention, expectant. My heart thrills and prances inside my chest. A smile spreads of its own accord across my face.

Billy smiles the same me. He’s feeling it too. “What were you going to say?”

My guitar feels lighter, and the only thing on my mind is strumming that first chord. “Forget it,” I say.

Billy’s no longer the fresh-faced kid I brought in to hold down the beat a few months ago, but that’s what the business does to a musician, isn’t it? The pull of the stage and the lights are like an old friend’s arm around my shoulder, warm and comforting.

A British Invasion musician learns the secret to rock on for evermore, but after outliving his mates and winding up as an impersonator of himself in Vegas, he wonders if it’s time to hang it up.

Jonathan Danz is a speculative fiction writer living in West Virginia with his wife, daughter, and cat, all of whom are artists in their own right. He attended Viable Paradise 21 and narrates for various science fiction, fantasy, and horror podcasts. He likes books, bikes, and beer.

Errow is a comic artist and illustrator with a predilection towards mashing the surreal with the familiar. They pay their time to developing worlds not quite like our own with their fiancee and pushing the queer agenda. They probably left a candle burning somewhere. More of their work can be found at errowcollins.wix.com/portfolio.

“Tempo Rubato” is © 2019 Jonathan Danz Art accompanying story is © 2019 Errow Collins

Fiction: Tempo Rubato was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[siriuslytiff]

Something In-between Ch. 2

Harry Potter Fic | Romance/Drama | Charlie/OC

She wouldn’t let him see her cry. He’d seen it plenty of times before – for multiple different reasons. He’d seen her cry tears of joy after winning the cup second year. He’d seen her cry angry tears when Snape had unfairly failed one of her essays. He’d seen her cry out of grief when she got a letter from home letting her know the passing of cousin she’d grown up with and was close to. He’d even let her cry on his shoulder that time while he rubbed her back, telling her everything was going to be fine. But she wasn’t going to let him see her cry because of him.

Read on FF.net or Ao3 or HPFF

Back at Hogwarts - 1990

Amelia stands in front of the school along with Andre Egwu being introduced by Headmaster Dumbledore to the students of Hogwarts. Amelia smiled over at her friend who returned it in kind. They both looked out onto the student body as a round of applause went up in congratulations. Amelia peeked behind her to Professor McGonagall clapping enthusiastically and smiling over to her. When Amelia looked back out to the Gryffindor table she was met with numerous smiling faces, save for one that she caught immediately.

Charlie sat looking pointedly at his half-finished pudding. His hands resolutely clenched into fists on the table. Amelia felt something twist in her chest but looked away from him shortly after. Professor Dumbledore shook both their hands and motioned for them to take their seats once again.

Amelia received multiple congratulations and smiled kindly at each one.

She waited to cry again until she was behind the curtains of her four poster later that night.

To say her last year at Hogwarts would be rough was an understatement. She had 9 courses to keep up with while still maintaining her Head Girl duties and researching information for positions at Gringotts. There were long nights and early mornings.

One night in late summer she and Andre were patrolling together as they often did on a Friday night, walking the corridors and complaining about anything that came to mind. Andre had had to console no less than 5 first years this week alone who were feeling homesick and trying to sneak out of Ravenclaw tower. Amelia had had to have Professor McGonagall add extra security to the boy’s dormitory for the first time to keep a certain 3rdyear out of the 5thyear boys’ dorms.

Amelia was just about to start a diatribe about the amount of work she had to do in the coming weekend when they heard a loud crash from two floors above. Being nearly midnight and well past curfew, the Head Girl and Boy took one look at each other and headed off towards the sound. They were both dismayed to find two Slytherin students in varying stages of undress trying feverishly to right a rolling chalkboard they’d somehow managed to knock over in their urgency to disrobe each other. The head students grabbed the two of them and marched them down to Professor Snape’s quarters.

It was almost 1:30 when she made it back to the Gryffindor common room. She looked longingly towards her dorm room but knew she’d need to settle down at one of the tables to finish some work she’d started earlier.

She moved her eyes from the dormitory door towards the long table but was surprised to see someone else awake and sitting in one of the chairs close to the fire.

The brilliant red hair could only belong to one person. Well, four technically. But she knew immediately that this wouldn’t be Percy, Fred or George awake at this hour.

Charlie sat hunched over in the chair, elbows resting on his knees and chin resting on his clasped hands. From this angle she could see his profile outlined by the fire, but he didn’t seem to notice she’d even entered the room. She took a moment to look over her… well, she didn’t know how to describe him. One-time friend? Ex-Best friend? Former Captain?

He looked… she couldn’t place the word. She’d noticed as of late she had a hard time thinking about anything regarding Charlie. It made it incredibly difficult in class. They’d always been the first to partner up for any assignment in class. Professor Flitwick had even raised a questioning eyebrow when Charlie had pointedly chosen Jae Kim over her as a partner during the first week’s course work.

Amelia felt the now familiar chest tightening sensation when she looked at him – not sure what that meant. She wondered momentarily if she could sneak past him toward her own dorm room door. She needed to study but that wasn’t worth a confrontation with him.

She made to move slowly towards her door – and as if on cue his eyes shot directly at her.

The two former friends stared at each other for a long moment.

“You’re back late,” Charlie said flatly.

“Patrol duty,” she said simply, not breaking eye contact.

“With Andre?”

“Well it is Friday night, so yeah,” she didn’t know why she was acting so defensive. This was Charlie.The same boy who had befriended her first on the platform at King’s Cross. The boy who had always stood next to her and encouraged her. The one person who convinced her to try out for quidditch and who cheered the loudest when she made the team. The boy who had socked Patrick Orwell in 5thyear for kissing her on a bet and telling her after there was “no way he’d be able to be with someone like her”. There was no reason for her to be treating him as if he was attacking her.

But there was acid in his words when he spoke again, “Oh, right. I forgot about your standing date night with Egwu.”

“It’s not a date night, Weasley,” since when had she called him Weasley? And since when did she care if Charlie thought she was on a date with a boy? “It’s Head Girl duties. It’s not like we’re just sitting up in the Great Hall having drinks. We’re working.”

“Working,” Charlie snorted, looking back into the fire. “Whatever you want to call it, Rutledge.”

She wanted to say something but felt that same lump in her throat she’d felt this summer. She turned on her heel and headed straight up to her dorm, not sparing him another look or caring if her slamming the dormitory door woke any of her fellow Gryffindors.

Amelia had one of the worst nights she could remember at Hogwarts. She lay unable to sleep in her bed. She turned from one side to the other unable to shake the look in Charlie’s eyes out of her mind or the way he seemed to spit out her name. She was thankful this time no tears seemed to accompany the restless night – she didn’t want to have to explain to her dorm mates why she had woken up again with puffy, red eyes again. Finally, when the sky started to lighten just the slightest on the new day, Amelia was able to drift off to a restless sleep.

It was late Saturday morning when Amelia woke. She wasn’t surprised to find her dorm empty, it had to be late morning at this point. Amelia sat bolt upright – she’d slept valuable time away! She rushed to make herself presentable before heading down to the Common Room.

She knew she’d missed breakfast, but she hoped she could still make it downstairs in time to grab a quick lunch and then seclude herself in the library.

She was not expecting to see almost all of Gryffindor house looking exceptionally sullen in the common room.

She looked around the room and saw painted faces, some enchanted banners leaned up against the wall, and people muttering to each other in collected clumps. When she screeched to a halt in the common room, nearly every eye flew to her.

She’d missed the first quidditch match.

And because whatever higher being or force ruled the universe had a cruel sense of humor, the portrait swung open to reveal an almost murderous looking Charlie Weasley followed closely by the rest of the forlorn looking Gryffindor quidditch team.

Amelia felt all color drain from her face and her stomach dropped to very nearly the center of the earth.

Charlie stalked over to where Amelia stood. She registered at that moment she’d stopped breathing but found herself unable to gulp down any fresh breath.

“So,” he said, just on the edge of too loud. Which was unnecessary. The entire common room had gone quiet, “So, not only are you going to abandon your house team you can’t even dignify us with your presenceat our first game?”

Amelia tried to stammer out a sentence but, having not taken a breath in at least a half minute, just took a large gulp of air.

“You know who did make it? Andre. And not just in the stands. Seems like some people are able to keep their commitments and juggle being Head Boy. Isn’t that interesting, Rutledge? You should have seen him, too. Ravenclaw was damn near unstoppable today. And we were a mess. Such a mess even our own Head Girlwouldn’t deign us with her attendance.”

“No,” Amelia said quietly, and then again louder, “No, it-it’s not that.” She was searching around the room, eyes frantic as more upset faces than friendly stared back at her. “Last night – you saw me last night, Charlie – Last night I had patrol. And I got in late and I- I just overslept. I’m sor-“

“You said you were patrolling with Andre, right?” Charlie said, eyebrow quirked as if challenging. She nodded. “And as I’ve already said, not only was he able to attend, he played on of the best games of quidditch I’ve ever seen him play.”

Amelia searched around the room. Suddenly something felt like it was constricting around her chest. Her limbs felt numb. It was all Too Much. Her head felt like it might be spinning and simultaneously splitting in two. Her eyes went slightly out of focus. She took a few ragged breaths and, feeling all eyes on her, she looked up to Charlie and whispered a quick, “I’m sorry.”

And bolted for the portrait door.

As much as she wanted to make Charlie just understand– she didn’t want her entire house to see her have a panic attack.

She didn’t stop moving until she had reached the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey had ushered into a bed away from some of the other students and with the wave of her wand, partitions appeared to separate her from prying eyes. It took a bit but Madam Pomfrey had been able to talk Amelia through it and had her calmed down. The matron conjured a glass of water and a few pieces of chocolate for the girl before leaving her to rest.

It was maybe five minutes before she heard a slightly timid Andre call out, “Amelia?”

“Yeah, Dre,” she said, eyes clasping shut. “Yeah, I’m over here.”

“Can I come in?”

Amelia breathed – in out, in out - for a moment before saying he was fine to enter.

Andre sat at the end of her bed, looking out towards the ground through the window behind her.

“Alright?” he asked, finally looking over at her.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, “I… slept through the match.”

“Can’t say I didn’t notice,” Andre said.

“I feel so stupid,” Amelia balled her hands into the crisp, clean sheets of the bed beneath her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, he placed a hand over her ankle in a friendly gesture.

Amelia thought on that for a moment, chewing the corner of her lip. She did want to talk about it. But not to Andre Egwu. She wanted to talk about how she was feeling with Charlie. However, seeing as he’d essentially called her a deserter in front of their entire house, the chances of that were unlikely.

She nodded and tried to put into words what she felt, “I – I overslept this morning. I neveroversleep. But I guess being out so late last night and then… I saw… I mean I talked… Well, I just had a hard time getting to sleep last night. And I guess I just didn’t hear anyone getting ready this morning. And when I did wake up – well, the entire house was in the common room. Charlie… Charlie came in and… Merlin, Andre he’s never looked at me like that before.”

“Like what?” Andre asked.

“Like… Like I was the reason they lost,” she said quietly.

“He shouldn’t put that on you,” Andre said defensively. Amelia just stared at her hands in her lap.

“What are you doing here?” Amelia attempted to change the subject.

“Took a bludger to the shoulder from one of those twins,” Andre moved his body to show his left arm in a cloth sling. “Even I have to say they’re some of the best beaters that have come through Gryffindor in a while.”

Amelia smiled faintly. She’d been playing quidditch with the twins for nearly as long as they had been flying. She knew better than anyone how great they’d become.

“I, uh, I really need to probably head out,” Andre said, glancing down at his watch. “You going to be okay?” Amelia just nodded, not entirely sure she wouldn’t ask him to stay with her if she opened her mouth. With one last tight-lipped smile and squeeze to her ankle, Andre stood to take his leave. Before departing from behind the curtains he looked back over at her, “Hey, next Hogsmeade weekend. Let’s meet at the Three Broomsticks. Butterbeer on me.” And then he was off.

It was about a half hour later when her friend Aubrey showed up, something wrapped in a napkin clutched in her hand. Aubrey sat down on the bed next to her, without saying much of anything, crowding into her space in just the way Amelia liked in these moments. Aubrey handed the napkin over to her friend and rested her head on Amelia’s shoulder. Amelia unwrapped the parcel to find two blueberry scones laying one on top of the other.

“Thanks, Aubs,” Amelia smiled, leaning her own head on top of Aubrey’s.

“I saw you weren’t at breakfast, so I’ve been carrying those in my bag all morning. Sorry if they’re a little squished,” Aubrey made a movement as if shrugging. Amelia began to pull apart the scones and eat them slowly, “So what happened? I heard just now from one of the third years that you didn’t show up to the match. People said you were protesting or some shite like that. But then the kid said you came downstairs right when the team showed up and you had it out with Charlie. They said you ran off after that.”

Amelia calmly told her friend of the events of the morning. Aubrey was a childhood friend who had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Amelia grew up in Manchester and she’d met Aubrey the summer she turned 8. Aubrey was visiting family but said she’d be going back to Scotland after the holidays. The two had hit it off – at the time, Amelia thought the girl weird or eccentric. How did someone not know what an electric kettle was? How had she never seen a hoover before? Amelia, who didn’t quite fit in with the kids at school herself, didn’t care about these little idiosyncrasies. The two became close friends and would always meet up.

When Amelia turned eleven and got her letter for Hogwarts, she thought about the idea of going away for school in Scotland. She thought absently about somehow finding a way to visit Aubrey while there. To her shock, she wouldn’t have to worry about that at all. Aubrey turned up on the Platform 9 ¾ just as Amelia had. Aubrey had asked why Amelia hadn’t told her she was a witch and Amelia had told her she didn’t know until the letter came.

When they made it to Hogwarts Amelia clapped loudly when her friend was sorted into Hufflepuff. She hoped the same would happen for her. When the hat rang out a sure “Gryffindor!” when it sat atop her head, she only felt a little upset. She didn’t hardly feel upset at all when that nice red-headed boy from the train was sorted after herself and came to join her at the Gryffindor table.

Aubrey huffed after Amelia concluded her story of the night before and what had transpired this morning. “He’s an absolute git, Ames,” Aubrey assured her friend.

“He’s not though,” Amelia tried to defend, “He’s just… upset still. That I’m not on the team. It’s just all… messed up. None of this year was supposed to be like this.”

“You can try and stick up for him all you want,” Aubrey said resolutely. “He’s a git. Always has been and always will be.”

Amelia smiled softly at the reassurances from her friend. In all honesty the three of them had gotten on quite well up until the summer past. Amelia had always seemed to be the go-between for the two of them – she always said their tempers were too alike for either of them to be able to communicate effectively. But Aubrey had admitted in fifth year that Charlie was a good friend to her. And that’s all that really mattered.

“I don’t want to talk about Charlie Weasley,” Amelia said finally. “I do have something to run by you though…”

“That is?”

“I… If someone were to say ‘Butterbeer on me for the next Hogmeade weekend’ – would that be a… a date then?” Amelia asked quietly.

“Who’s asked you out on a date?” suddenly Aubrey’s head snapped up.

“That’s what I’m asking, is it a date?” Amelia said apprehensively.

“Amelia Eliza Rutledge,” Aubrey was standing at this point. “For as brilliant as you are, you are bloodythick. Of courseit’s a date. Now, who?”

“Andre…” she answered quietly.

“Oh Merlin, I thought he’d neverask,” Aubrey visibly relaxed and sat back on the edge of the bed.

“Never?” Amelia spluttered.

“Oh, please, Ames,” Aubrey rolled her eyes, “that boy’s fancied you for the better part of two years. He just never made a move because…”

Amelia quirked an eyebrow, sure she knew what her friend was going to say but wanted to hear her say it all the same. “Because why?”  she challenged.

Aubrey shook her head and waved her hand dismissively, a standard Aubrey move, “Doesn’t matter. You’re saying yes, of course.”

“Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? Just told me to come round the Broomsticks and he’d buy me one,” Amelia said.

“You two are going to be so cute together,” Aubrey already had a faraway look in her eye. “I’m going to help with your outfit choice, don’t worry. Don’t give me that look, you’ll thank me later. Now come on, let’s get you some lunch.” She began pulling at her friend’s hands but Amelia resisted.

“I don’t know if I can go to the Great Hall,” Amelia admitted. “I’ll just wait til dinner. I’ll go late and try to let some of this blow over.”

“Nonsense,” Aubrey waved her hand dismissively again, “I’ll just take you down to the kitchen. The elves have been asking about you anyway.” Amelia let her self be pulled from the bed then, arm and arm with her friend. With one last once over from Madam Pomfrey, the two girls made their way out of the hospital wing.

After the incident of the first quidditch match, Amelia doubled down on Head Girl duties and studies. There were long nights and early mornings, a few more trips to Madam Pomfrey when it all became too much, and a few late-night excursions to the kitchens with Andre under pretense of Head duties just so they could get an extra piece of cake.

They had enjoyed their day in Hogsmeade and had made a point to see each other outside of Head duties but Amelia could tell right away there wouldn’t be anything coming from the relationship. She enjoyed Andre’s company more than most people’s but when it came down to it, there just wasn’t much the two had in common. They could only talk about quidditch for so long before Amelia started feeling the creeping guilty feeling that usually accompanied talking about the different house teams and she tried to change the subject.

She’d also made it almost a sport to avoid Charlie. She had his schedule memorized down to the minute. Charlie Weasley had always been a creature of habit – something that had frustrated her in the past. So it wasn’t hard to find out which classes he had, which corridors he took to go to his next class, when he usually headed down for dinner, when he would head to bed. She could almost set her watch to it. She knew after Care of Magical creatures – a N.E.W.T. level class he took almost by himself – he tended to linger to talk to Professor Kettleburn and help him set up for his next lesson with the third years. She knew he was a quick eater – so she just had to stretch her meals out and she could avoid any interaction when they both sat at the table.

During class was a bit more difficult. There was no escaping him in Charms or Transfiguration, they were two of the only Gryffindors in the class as their class size had shrunk by a couple with it being N.E.W.T. levels.  But she managed to always sit close to the front, knowing he’d prefer to hang back towards the back of the class. She’d had an unfortunate run in at the library one afternoon. She’d been trying to find a quiet place to work, but she remembered a particularly secluded alcove where a table sat towards the back of the library. When she located the table, it was to find a frustrated Charlie Weasley poring over a large text. She stopped short, surprised by his sudden appearance after weeks of avoiding him. He looked up at her and the look in his eye turned even darker.

She mumbled out a quick, “Sorry,” and turned to find somewhere far away to be.

It was an oddly warm, sunny Friday in November when Amelia found herself lounging under one of the trees close to the lake, studying for an upcoming exam by herself. She had view in the distance of the quidditch pitch, castle, and grounds so she could occasionally look up and survey her surroundings, making sure there wasn’t something that needed the attention of the Head Girl before returning to her notes.

It was on one of these glances up she saw a flash of red out of the corner of her eye from the quidditch pitch. She looked over and saw the familiar form of Charlie Weasley soaring above the pitch running drills with the quidditch team. They were trying to get in the last few drills before it became too dark, she instinctively knew. She let herself watch her former friend. He’d do a lap around the pitch, pointing to his teammates; she knew he had to be barking something at one of them. He would dive and zoom across the pitch and pull up suddenly. She saw him fly close to another redhead, smaller than him, it had to be Fred or George. He’d said something and the younger Weasley zoomed off.

It was hard to tell from here but Amelia was sure she could tell he’d pulled his shaggy hair back with some sort of headband. He’d started growing his hair last year after his mum had given him one of her trade mark shearings. It wasn’t nearly as long as Bill’s, she remembered, but unlike his brother, Charlie’s hair had a slight curl to it. He’d usually wear it down in his face but they soon realized that during quidditch that wouldn’t work. Amelia had found one of her cloth headbands she’d gifted him, it was slim and dark, nothing flashy. And ever since it was a part of his quidditch uniform. She wasn’t sure how long she watched the team practice but it couldn’t have been too long before her mind began to wonder.

She thought back to a little over a year ago, sitting under this same tree, on a sunny late summer afternoon.

Amelia sat much like she did now, a book propped in her lap and her back against the tree, while Charlie lay on his back perpendicular to her. They’d studied for a while, Charlie reciting the three main components of the Aguamenti charm. But they’d decided to take a break, Charlie listening to the sound of the gentle waves from the lake as Amelia read a book she’d started that summer.

She looked down at her friend. His hair hung back from his face, she noticed it had a little extra curl today. She also noticed he’d stopped humming as he had been earlier and a faint crease was showing between his furrowed brows. Without too much thought, Amelia reached down and ran a hand through his hair. They both froze.

“Is… is everything okay?” she asked, hoping he understood the double meaning of the question.

“Yeah,” he said and cleared his throat. The furrowed brows were gone but now they’d shot up halfway up his forehead as he looked up at her. “Yeah, just still a little worried about the Charms exam is all. That, uh, that felt good though.”

She noticed the faint blush that colored his cheeks but just summed that up to him being embarrassed he enjoyed a touch that, to her, seemed so motherly.

“I could… do it again?” she said. She’d crossed her legs at the ankle earlier but shifted so both legs were flat on the ground, giving him a spot to rest his head in her lap. He looked up again at her briefly before shimmying his body until his head lay on her. She smiled at him, reassuringly she thought, before placing her right hand on the top of his head, pressing gently and pushing his hair back again. He relaxed instantly and seemed to sag even more body weight against her. She took her fingers next and let it card through his hair, scraping just barely against his scalp, and she saw his mouth go slack. She smiled brighter and continued running her hand through his hair, eventually picking the small book back up with her left hand as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through her friend’s hair.

Amelia noticed not too long after that a faint snore rose up from her lap. She looked down again at Charlie to see he’d completely fallen into a slumber, mouth slightly parted and eyes closed in relaxation. She continued her ministrations for a while longer, letting her tired captain rest in her lap, talking herself through the situation.

‘He’s your best friend and captain. This is a perfectly normal thing for friends to do. He was tired and stressed. What person wouldn’t find a way to calm their friend down if they were upset or worried? Yes, that’s all that this is. You’ll wake him up in a minute, he’ll call you a git for letting him sleep so long, and you’ll go grab dinner. Nothing different than normal.’

And it had happened like that. Sort of. Amelia did wake Charlie up about a half hour later, telling him it was time to head to the Great Hall. The boy had grumbled and stretched. But when he opened his eyes, the soft look he gave Amelia made her look away and slide out from under him. He did call her a git – but only after her sudden movement caused his head to crash to the ground with a painful ‘thunk’.

Amelia shook her head to clear it now, looking back to her book in her lap and trying her best to ignore the team that flew not too far away.

In early April, Amelia received a letter she’d been anxiously awaiting. A tawny owl stopped dropped off the heavy envelope. She read the letter quickly and jumped up with a squeal.

Gringotts had accepted her!

She wanted to share the news immediately. Her eyes automatically flew to Charlie who sat at the other end of the table. He saw her jump and looked over at her. When he saw the letter clutched in her hand and the look of pure joy on her face, he knew immediately what it meant. And for the first time in a long time he had the urge to jump up with her and wrap her in a tight hug.

She saw the look of realization flash across his eyes – then a wide variety of emotions. He finally turned a stony gaze back to his plate, fists clutched on the table. Amelia felt a little crack in her armor but didn’t let it stop her from scooting away from the table and running to her friend seated with the rest of her Hufflepuff house.

“I did it!” Amelia said to Aubrey. “I’m in!” Aubrey hugged her and the two set about making plans for the short time they had left at school before they both headed off.

With it being the last few months of school it wasn’t uncommon to hear of one of her classmates accepting this job or that. Jae Kim had accepted a job at the Daily Prophet. Andre had been scouted by Pride of Portree and left for training camp after classes let out. Even Merula Snyde had managed a low-level position at the Ministry.

So it shouldn’t have been a shock to her when she started hearing rumblings about Charlie.

“Romania?!” she questioned again. “And you said he leaves when?”

“From what I heard,” Aubrey said under her breath. The two were studying one afternoon in the library and neither were keen on getting kicked out. “Supposed to be right after classes are let out.”

Amelia mulled this over – there once was time when she’d have known this before anyone else – maybe even before some of his family members. Now she was getting the news second hand from someone who got it second hand. She wondered if there was any way to repair the rift with her former friend, but she feared it may be too late and the chasm too wide.

He sat across the library now; she had seen him as soon as he walked in and kept glancing his way. He’d grown since the summer she noticed. He’d bulked up now – his shoulders broad and sturdy looking. She wasn’t close enough to tell now but remembered from one of their recent Care of Magical Creatures classes exactly what his forearms looked like with his sleeves rolled up. His face was set as he concentrated on the text in front of him. His hair, she noticed, had been pulled back into the low ponytail he favored. She wondered if he’d come from quidditch practice or was going – he had her headband pulling his bangs back.

“Well,” she said quietly, looking back at her own text book. “Good for him.”

Amelia made sure she didn’t miss a single quidditch match after the first. It didn’t help. Neither the team’s luck or her relationship with Charlie looked any brighter by the end of the school year.

They lost their last match of the season to Slytherin – 340 to 180. Charlie had caught the snitch but more to end the pain of having to endure losing by any more points.  

Amelia thought this might be her last chance to catch Charlie. They only had a few weeks left in the year and they were both going to be studying for their N.E.W.T.s full force. She waited for him outside of the changing rooms after the match. It took a few hours, but he finally emerged. The rest of the team had already gone – each one giving her a once over before heading to the castle without saying a word. Fred acted like he was going to speak with her but with a tug on his arm from his twin he moved on.

When Charlie came out the sun had set and Amelia was more than just a little chilly. She could feel her teeth chattering. They’d had a string of cool May days and even cooler nights. She heard the door open and looked up from where she leaned against the wall to see Charlie, hair wet and a murderous look settling on his face.

“Charlie –“ she started.

His head whipped so quickly in her direction she swore it made a sound. Then she noticed the slightly puffy, red tinged eyes glaring back at her.

“I – “ but he didn’t give her time to say anything. Looking forcefully at the ground he moved past her and up to the grounds without another word.

[addash]

2021666454 - UED102: STUDY SKILLS

Hi welcome,

Assalammualaikum . My nama is Nur Syuhadah Binti Ishak . I am from Kuala Lipis, Pahang . Currently, I have four siblings including me . I went to School Kebangsaan Benta when I was 7 years old until I 10 years old, then I went to School Kebangsaan Clifford from 11 years old until 12 years old and continued my hight school education at Sekolah Menengah Kebangsaan Benta . Then, I’m just being one of the pra diploma students in Business and Management(BA002) at UiTM Jengka Campus Students . I’m doing this blog is because I want to share with students what I learn from seminar programs . UED102 produces students with learning skills important for varsity life, which should be within each student . I hope you will understand and like’s it what I want to share .

TOPICS OF UED102

For the the knowledge of students, this ued102 program seminar has seven topics but I only choose four topics to share with all students .

1) GETTING READY TO LEARN: GETTING MOTIVATED

2) TIME MANAGEMENT

3) GOAL SETTINGS

4) TAKING NOTES

“GETTING READY TO LEARN:GETTING MOTIVATED”

On 15th October 2021, which is on Friday from 5 p.m to 6:30 p.m, I attended a seminar on the PPT program at Webex with Mrs. Normala Bt Ismail for an explanation on the topic “Getting ready to learn: Getting motivated”. Motivation can be described as something that motivated directs and bolster behaviour toward and particularly goal . Motivation has two types are intrinsic motivation and extrinsic motivation . Extrinsic motivation is clarified as a motivation to conjoint in an activity guided on meeting an external goal, garnering praise and approval, winning a competition or receiving an award or payment .

Factors that influence motivation have three: <3

1) goals

2) effort

3) self-efficacy

Did you know what is mastery goals? Okay I will explain what is mastery goals if you want to know . Mastery goals can be delineated as goals that focus on learning the material or the mastering new skills and help students persist even when they got a boring or difficult task . Then, about performance goals . Performance goals are goals that involve achieving good grades or gaining praise or recognition by outperforming others .

Next, is about self-efficacy that’s essentially the belief in your own ability to control your own behaviour, emotions and motivations .

The last is effort . An effort is defined as the use of physical or mental energy, the act of trying to do something . A sample of effort is when someone using their brain to make a perfect plan . An example of effort is when someone put so much work into his essay for his assignment .

“TIME MANAGEMENT “

The next day, on Saturday 16th October 2021 from 11 a.m to 12:30 p.m I listened to the second seminar entitled time management with Mrs. Normala Bt Ismail . Time management is the process of planning and exercising conscious control of time spent on specific activities, especially to increase effectiveness, efficiency, and productivity. It involves a juggling act of various demands upon a person relating to work, social life, family, hobbies, personal interests, and commitments with the finiteness of time. Using time effectively gives the person "choice" on spending or managing activities at their own time and expediency. Time management may be aided by a range of skills, tools, and techniques used to manage time when accomplishing specific tasks, projects, and goals complying with a due date. Initially, time management referred to just business or work activities, but eventually, the term broadened to include personal activities as well. A time management system is a designed combination of processes, tools, techniques, and methods. Time management is usually a necessity in any project management as it determines the project completion time and scope. It is also important to understand that both technical and structural differences in time management exist due to variations in cultural concepts of time .

“GOALS SETTING “

On friday, 22th October 2021, from 5 p.m to 6:30 p.m I listened to third seminar . First consider what you want to achieve, and then commit to it. Set SMART (specific, measureable, attainable, relevant and time-bound) goals that motivate you and write them down to make them feel tangible. Then plan the steps you must take to realize your goal, and cross off each one as you work through them.

Goal setting is a powerful process for thinking about your ideal future, and for motivating yourself to turn your vision of this future into reality.

The process of setting goals helps you choose where you want to go in life. By knowing precisely what you want to achieve, you know where you have to concentrate your efforts. You'll also quickly spot the distractions that can, so easily, lead you astray.

“TAKING NOTES”

On Saturday, 23th October 2021, from 11 a.m to 12:30 p.m, I listened seminar with Mrs. Normala bt Ismail for the last time in October. Mrs. Normala said that taking notes is important because promotes active listening provides an accurate record of information, helps you organize the information and provides additional repetition. Taking lecturer notes has three note taking systems, first informal outline, block method and the last one is modified block method . That’s it . Thank You !<3

[h-styles-babes]

Can you do 13 and 23?

#13 “i could kiss you right now!”

So, I’ve combined these requests to give you this. Sorry it took a little long. I’ve been pretty busy with school, but i finally got a bit of down time to write this out. Hope you like it, and thanks for the request :) xx

When Harry had called Y/N and asked her to meet him at a local cafe between their two flats just off campus, she figured it was just for a quick meet up like they usually did. So, she’d donned a jacket to protect against the biting cold of a late fall day in London and trekked her way the short walk from her flat to the warm shoppe.

Harry and Y/N had met their first year of uni during their very first class of the year, and they’d been pretty good mates ever since. It was the first time either of them had been in London for more than a day’s trip, both having been from other parts of England. Harry was from Holmes Chapel, a small village in Cheshire, and Y/N was from Malmesbury, a similarly small village in Wiltshire. They’d bonded over their humble upbringings and their similar tastes in music, as well as their love for baking. It also helped that they were both studying law and were in many of the same classes and made sure they were always together for any projects and study groups.

Three years in, they were thick as thieves, and they spent most of their free time together with the occasional added company of Niall, an Irishman whom Harry shared a flat with, and Y/N’s own flatmate, Penelope. Harry and Y/N remained the closest out of the bunch, though, and many mistook them for a couple, even though there’d never even been an inkling of anything other than platonic love in their friendship. They usually just laughed it off, and Y/N only really blushed when Penelope brought it up now. 

It was fair to say Y/N had a bit of a crush on Harry. She always had, really. His cheeky grin and his disarmingly green eyes were the first things she’d noticed about him the first time she saw him, and his charismatic personality and intense care for others were a close second, and that was only because he hadn’t spoken for at least ten minutes the first time they sat beside each other. The feelings she had for him got brushed aside within the first month of knowing him, though, opting for being a good friend as opposed to trying her hand at getting anything else. Looking back now, that had been the best decision she could have ever made, because Harry and her shared a bond that she didn’t even share with her mates that she’d had since she was a toothless little girl in primary. 

Y/N shook out her umbrella under the awning of the shoppe, already spying Harry through the large windows. He was at their normal table, two cups of tea already sat in front of him, and Y/N had to smile at the gesture. Harry grumbled every time Y/N stood at the counter to order, looking over the menu to find something to drink when he knew she’d just end up ordering the same thing she always did, so he took it upon himself to get it for her if he arrived first, avoiding the headache. Y/N really only did it to annoy him and see him flush a little when he got worked up over it, but she also enjoyed knowing that he knew her well enough to order what she liked. Harry had the patience of a saint when it came to anything else, but for some reason, Y/N’s ordering skills were his downfall. She found it hilarious. 

Harry ran a hand through his long curls, something Y/N had come to love. When her and Harry met, he’d had a pretty standard, shaggy haircut where the ends of his hair only really began to curl a bit, but Y/N was pretty sure he hadn’t cut it since. It was now just past his shoulders, forming full ringlets that always looked so lush and always smelled of the coconut shampoo he used in the mornings after his workouts. She’d teased him about its length when he first started growing it out, but she’d developed a soft part for his signature locks, and she quite enjoyed running her fingers through it when he’d lay his head on her lap while they were studying or watching some telly. 

“Hey, thanks for gettin’ this for me,” she said in greeting, dropping a kiss to the top of his head before she pulled out her chair. “Bloody cold out there.”

“Well, it’s December…” he reasoned, a smirk pulling at his lips. 

“Thank you, Harold. I had no idea.” Y/N rolled her eyes and blew a bit at the surface of the liquid in her mug. The scent of chai hit her in the face, and she hummed in contentment at her favourite winter-time tea. Technically, it was still only fall, but it was cold enough that she considered it to be winter. Honestly, she’d drink chai tea at any time of year, but the spicy scent from the cinnamon in it reminded her vividly of the winter months.

“How’s it going, love?” he asked, once they’d both settled. 

“Good, just finished up that essay we have due for Jameson’s class,” she shrugged. “Still gotta do the editing and resource page, but it’s done otherwise.”

“I’ve still gotta get my conclusion together,” he groaned, sitting back in his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face before pushing one back into his hair. “Only got a few days left.”

“You’ll be fine, H,” Y/N brushed off with a wave of her hand. She knew Harry enough to know that he always stressed about things like this, only to pull through with high marks once he turned it in. She’d watched him stress and ramble about how he was going to do shit on something, only for him to pull absolute gold out of his arse and turn in an immaculate piece of work that deserved to be bloody published. It was incredibly annoying, but she found his worrying beforehand a little endearing.

“I know,” he huffed, leaning his elbows back on the table. “I’m just anxious for holiday, I think.”

They only had a week left before the term ended for Christmas and New Years, and they could feel the antsy-ness creeping up on them. Both were excited for the time off and get back to their families and have a bit of a relaxation before they went on with their last term before graduation. They were so close, but the break was much needed and felt like it couldn’t come fast enough. 

“One more week of exams and papers,” Y/N nodded. “Then we get to go home and pig out on junk and watch as much telly as we want.”

“Got my best mate’s wedding to go to, too,” Harry added, his tone suddenly becoming tense, fingers darting up to pull at his bottom lip. 

Y/N squinted her eyes at the gesture. Harry’s oral fixation only really presented itself when he was nervous about a situation. The lip pulling, biting at his bottom one with his front teeth, licking them, dragging his fingers along the corners—they were all his tells. Y/N was curious as to why he was nervous, now, though. Last she’d heard, Harry was excited about his friend’s impending wedding. He’d been asked to be a groomsman and he’d been elated to get to wear a fancy tux and spend a day with his mates from back home. She was unsure of where the nerves were suddenly coming from and why.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked. “Yeh were so excited for the wedding just last week. Why are yeh nervous now?”

Harry cringed. He was about to have to spill his secret to his best mate at uni about the lie he’d been keeping up with his friends from back home. He’d also have to propose his ridiculous idea to her and hopefully plead his way into getting her to agree to it. He felt pretty shitty to have kept the story up for so long with his friends, but it had been innocent at first, and then just progressively gotten out of hand. He didn’t think it’d come this far, though, and he knew it was all his fault. He didn’t see a way out, really, and he was hoping Y/N would just agree so he wouldn’t be revealed as a liar at his best mate’s wedding.

“I’ve done something stupid.”

Y/N snorted. “What else is new?”

He scowled at her as she giggled over the rim of her mug. “I was only gonna tell yeh ‘cause I needed your help, but I’ll go elsewhere if you’re gonna be mean ‘bout it.”

She quelled her laughs, only a few slipping out as she apologized. “Sorry, sorry. What’s the problem, H? How can I help?”

“I may or may not have told my mates—on more than a few occasions—that I couldn’t hang out when I was back home because I was spending time with my girl.”

Y/N gave him a deadpan look. “Why on earth would yeh do that? Yeh haven’t got a girl. And can’t yeh just tell ‘em yeh broke up or summat?”

“I ran out of excuses to avoid goin’ to parties and pub crawls. My liver couldn’t handle it anymore,” he whined, a drama queen as always. “Tellin’ ‘em I had a girl was easier than just tellin’ ‘em ‘no.’”

“You’re an idiot. Still doesn’t explain why yeh can’t just tell ‘em yeh broke up. Happens in real life, H.”

“Problem is, I already told ‘em I couldn’t hang out the first night I got back because I had to pick my girl up from the train station then. Said she was visitin’ over the holidays.”

“You’re an actual idiot,” she repeated, shaking her head. Only Harry would get himself into this sort of situation with no way to back out.

“I know! I fucked up.”

“So how exactly am I supposed to help yeh?”

“Gonna need someone to go to the wedding with since I already fucked up and put down that I’d be bringing a plus one. Now I need a plus one. Just pretend to be my date.”

Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter in her chair. “You’re not asking me to pretend to be your date, Harry. I’d really be your date to the wedding. You’re asking me to pretend to be your girlfriend. The girlfriend that your dumb ass made up.”

“Yeah, alright,” he relented with a sigh. “I’m asking yeh to pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for a few days. I’m going home on a Tuesday, the wedding’s on a Friday. Yeh can be back home by Saturday evening.”

“I haven’t got anything to wear to a wedding, Harry!” she protested. She was a jeans and jumpers sort of girl. The only dress she owned was one that was appropriate for job interviews and formal presentations. It was very business-like, and was definitely not something that was wedding-worthy.

“I’m sure Gem’s got something yeh can borrow,” Harry assured, already knowing his sister and Y/N were around the same size. Y/N had a few more…assets than he’d ever cared to notice about his sister, but they’d made it work before. Y/N had visited him in Holmes Chapel enough times to become friends with Gemma and swap clothes with her when need be. 

“You’re really gonna make me do this?”

“I’m not makin’ yeh do anything,” he reasoned. “I’m askin’ nicely. And you’re agreein’, because you’re my best mate and yeh love me.” He shot her a cheeky grin, hoping it would get her to agree faster. He really did have to get back to his flat to finish his paper. And he had work later in the evening, so he was in a bit of a time crunch.

“You’re really lucky that I do love yeh, Styles,” she grumbled.

“So, is that a ‘yes?’” 

“Yeah, sure. Like weddings well ‘nough.”

So that’s how she ended up on a train to Holmes Chapel with Harry the Tuesday after the beginning of their winter holiday. Anne and Gemma knew Y/N was tagging along with Harry to his mate’s wedding, but they didn’t know that she was pretending to be his girlfriend, as well. Neither his mum nor his sister were to be in attendance of the wedding, so it hadn’t been necessary to tell them. They just brushed it off as Harry asking Y/N to be his plus one and her getting to spend a little time with the Styles-Twist family during their break from school. 

Gemma wouldn’t be showing up until the next day, with instructions from Harry to bring a few dress options for Y/N. Gemma was more than happy to comply, and she promised her brother she’d bring a few things she knew his mate would like.

Harry and Y/N agreed to act as couple-y as need be in front of his friends, not uncomfortable with showing physical affection toward one another anyways, even though she huffed and rolled her eyes through a lot of the discussion, still unable to fathom just how stupid he was to have gotten himself into this mess. She’d play nice when they were around his friends, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t take the piss out on him any chance she could get otherwise. 

Anne was all smiles and warm hugs when Harry and Y/N walked through her front door. Anne always loved Y/N, liking that her personality was a perfect compliment to Harry’s. She’d  once accidentally voiced her opinion that she thought Harry and Y/N would make a good couple to Harry, which he’d immediately shot down. Anne could understand that they were just good friends, but she really thought they’d be better in a romantic relationship. And she wasn’t entirely convinced that both of them weren’t attracted to the other. She saw the way Harry’s gaze would linger on Y/N whenever she was in the room, even if he was having a conversation with someone else. And she saw the way Y/N’s lips would perk up in a little grin any time Harry was around, even if he wasn’t talking to or near here at the time. Anne was pretty sure they were smitten with each other and just too blind to see it. 

Anne asked them about how school was going as she brewed up a pot of tea after they’d put their things away in Harry’s room. They took turns chatting about how studies were going and their anxiousness at finally being in their last part of school. Both Harry and Y/N would be carrying on to get their masters degrees, but it was nice to finally be done with their initial studies. They’d be qualified to get jobs in their fields, now, and actually utilize the skills they’d been learning for the last three years. They’d also be going to the same school again, still in London. They were glad to still have each other as support as they moved on to a different chapter in their lives. 

Y/N stayed in Gemma’s room that night since it was vacant, but the following day, after Gemma arrived, she stayed in Harry’s room. It wasn’t uncommon for them, sleeping in the same bed together, and no one else thought anything of it. At this point, everyone who knew Harry and Y/N were used to their comfortable dynamic. Gemma had initially teased them about sleeping in the same bed together the first time Y/N had come out to visit, but it was just that once. It was a little weird now if they didn’t share a bed.

Wednesday evening, Y/N and Harry got hooked into going to see his mates down at the local pub so they can all hang out in a relaxed environment before the wedding. Harry no longer has an excuse, since they’ve all got to meet his “girlfriend” at some point, and Y/N points out that it’ll be an easy way to get introductions out of the way. So, Harry and Y/N get dressed after supper and head down to the pub. When they’re about a block away, Y/N grabs onto Harry’s wrist, trying to get his hand out of his pocket.

“What’re yeh doing? It’s cold,” he whined. He put a jacket on before they left, but it hasn’t got any pockets, so he’d been forced to put his hands in his jeans for warmth, but it wasn’t enough. 

“Hold my hand, yeh knob,” she scoffed. “We look like we don’t even wanna be near each other.”

“That’s not true!” he protested. “We’re nearly bumping into each other, we’re walking so close together.”

“Harry, you’re super affectionate. It looks weird when someone like you isn’t touching the girlfriend they claim to care about.”

She’s got a point, Harry realized, so he easily slipped his fingers between Y/N’s dainty little ones, surprised to find them so warm. She smirked as she took their joined hands and shoved it into the large pocket of her jacket where it’s much toastier than the outside air. Harry flashes her a content grin before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

When they made it through the door of the pub, Harry immediately spotted his mates, all sat together in a large corner booth. Liam sat in the center, his arm draped around Cheryl’s shoulders, holding her close to his side. They were the ones getting married this weekend, and they looked completely content to Y/N. She knew Liam was a year older than Harry, and Cheryl was a few years older than her fiancé, but you couldn’t tell that just by looking at them, Louis was there too, sat on Liam’s other side, his girlfriend Eleanor sitting next to him, their hands intertwined on the table top. Y/N had never met them personally before, only ever seen their social media accounts via Harry and heard stories, so when the group spotted the entering the pub, all their eyes lit up with excitement to finally see Harry’s girl. 

Harry extracted his hand from Y/N’s, only to wind it around her waist and settle it on her opposite hip in a move he’d seen the other lads do with their girls numerous times. If Harry and Y/n were stood together, he’d usually just throw his arm around her shoulders, but that seemed a bit too platonic in the moment.

“Harry! Yeh made it, mate!” Louis shouted to be heard over the chatter in the pub and the music that was playing throughout the room. “Almost expected yeh to flake out on us again.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he helped Y/N slide into the booth next to Cheryl, who grinned happily at the extra female company. “Fuck off, Tommo. ‘M here, aren’t I?”

“And yeh brought your girl!” Liam shouted happily, leaning across his soon-to-be wife to get a better view of the woman Harry had walked in with. “I’m Liam, and this is me missus, Cheryl.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Y/N reciprocated with a smile as Harry slid in next to her. “I’m Y/N. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you, love,” Cheryl beamed, and Y/N was a little surprised by her Geordie accent. She knew enough about Liam and Louis, but she’d never really learned much about their partners.

The group settles into a comfortable conversation while sipping on pints. Y/N easily answers everyone’s questions, keeping everything truthful until they ask about how she and Harry got together. She honestly tells them that they met in class their first day of uni, but she knows Harry’s only been using the excuse that they’ve been dating for the last several months, so she explains that they’d been good mates for awhile until it just kind of blossomed into something more.  

Harry had been prepared to jump in and manipulate the story a little bit if need be, but Y/N was handling it well on her own, so he slung an arm across her shoulder and sat back, listening to her tell the story of their fake relationship and watching his friends fall in love with her. He wasn’t surprised, honestly. He’d fallen in love with her within a few days of knowing her. He wasn’t really sure what type of love it was, though. He found her attractive, obviously—she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met—and he hung on just about every word she said, but she’d never shown any interest in him, so he’d kept his feelings platonic. He’d take loving her as a best friend any day over muddying their relationship with feelings that might not be reciprocated. 

About two hours into their night, Liam suggested a game of darts since all the pool tables were occupied. The couples were put into teams, and Harry smirked, knowing Y/N and him were about to wipe the floor. He’d discovered in their first year that Y/N was extremely good at darts. She’d explained that her family had a dart board, and it had been a bit of an ongoing competition with her cousins over the years. Harry can’t recall a time when he’d seen her miss her target, even when she was right pissed. 

They set the game up in elimination style, so the other two couples played against each other first. Before they began, Louis called out a bet, saying that whoever won overall wouldn’t pay for their drinks for the rest of the night, the tab to be picked up by the two losing teams. It wasn’t much, but it was enough encouragement to make it an actual competitions as opposed to six people just dicking around in a bar. 

Harry and Y/N sat back as they watched the other teams due it out on the board. Y/N snickered when Cheryl tossed it and it stuck into the wall just above the board, a squeak emitting from her mouth.

“How do yeh think they’ll react when yeh go up there and throw ‘em perfectly?” Harry asked, leaning into her to mumble the words into her ear.

“Think they’ll be a little mad we hustled ‘em,” she chuckled.

Harry shrugged. “Their own damn faults for suggestin’ the game. 

“Yeah, but they didn’t know I’ve basically been trainin’ my whole life for this moment,” she joked, bumping her hip into Harry’s.

He laughed and pulled her into him, their chests flush together. Y/N sighed at the warmth his body radiated to hers. He was always so cuddly and smelled so good that it was hard for her to refrain from pressing her nose into his neck and living there. Although, since the people around them thought they were dating, she couldn’t see why she couldn’t do just that. So, she pushed up onto her toes and buried her face into the juncture between his shoulder and neck, nuzzling her nose against his skin.

His grip around her shoulders tightened and she felt more than heard the chuckle bubbling in his chest. “What are yeh doin’, pet?”

“You’re warm,” she explained, winding her own arms around his waist, under his jumper. She thought he had a t-shirt on underneath, so she was a bit surprised when she made contact with bare skin, though she didn’t pull away. He really was warm, and she was basking in it a little bit. “And yeh smell really good.” He always smelled really good, but it wasn’t often that she was able to sample it straight from the source like that.

“How much have yeh had, yeh weirdo?” he teased her, but he just pulled her body closer to his. “Usually only get this cuddly when yeh’ve had a few.”

“Only the one,” she promised. “Can’t I just enjoy your warmth? Yeh know I’m always fucking freezing.” It was true. Something about poor circulation and a normally low blood pressure meant her hands and feet were always cold, and Harry was a perfect way to warm them up.

“Oi! Love birds,” Louis called, drawing their attention. “Li and Cheryl are shit, so it’s you and us. Get your arses over here.”

Harry and Y/N parted from their embrace and walked to join their new opponents. Y/N let Harry go first to lull Eleanor and Louis into a false sense of security. Harry wasn’t bad by any means, but he was just pretty average, kind of like how El was when she went right before him. Both racked up a decent amount of points, but Louis looked cocky as he stepped up and threw the darts. He got one bullseye, which had Liam, Cheryl and Eleanor cheering. Louis smirked over his shoulder at Y/N, like he was happy to know she was watching him beat her. Harry pursed his lips together to keep from smirking and giving away his confidence that he and Y/N were definitely about to kick their asses. 

The rest of Louis’s darts were well-aimed, but none of them were as good as his first attempt. When he handed Y/N the darts after he’d retrieved them, he sent her a playfully competitive wink with a, “Good luck, love.”

Y/N rolled her eyes behind his back, and Harry chortled at her reaction. 

“Yeh’ve got this, love,” Harry called out, sending his support and encouragement, even though he knew she didn’t really need it.

Y/N smirked at him with a slight lift of one brow, her silent way of saying, “I know I do. We’re about to win free drinks for the rest of the night.”

“Yeh can move up closer if yeh want, love,” Louis called out. Y/N couldn’t tell if he was trying to be helpful or taunting with his words. She’d noticed both Eleanor and Cheryl had stood about a half a meter in front of the mark that was set into the ground for the dartboard, but she knew she’d probably do some damage if she stood that close. She threw hard enough to make he darts into the little holes the first time.

“I’m good,” she assured without looking back at him. She squared herself up and took a dart in her right hand. 

“Watch this,” Harry muttered to Liam, who had taken a place next to him when Y/N had vacated it. 

Liam furrowed his brow at Harry’s comment, but turned to look quickly when he hear the thwack of the dart hitting the board. His jaw dropped when he say it sticking out of the center red mark of the board.

“Lucky shot,” Louis called out, though he sounded a little unsure of that. Harry shook his head with a little smile. Louis had always been really competitive, since he was usually the best at whatever game they were playing. He didn’t like to be shown up, and Harry could tell Y/N’s first bullseye was getting to his friend a bit. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when the next ones she threw were just as perfect. 

“Can’t wait until you two have to buy the rest of me pints,” he continued, trying to sound more sure of himself. 

Y/N barked out a laugh, and quickly threw the remaining two, sinking them into the board right beside the first one, all well within the red mark in the center. Y/N turned to see Louis’s mouth dropped open in shock, eyes trained on the three perfectly thrown darts still wiggling a bit in the board.

“I’ll take that pint now,” she announced.

The other girls cheered while Liam laughed at Louis’s put out face. Harry hopped off his stool and gathered her in a hug, lifting her a few centimeters off the floor. He laughed joyfully as she giggled at his boisterous reaction. He knew she was going to kick their asses, but he was still giddy about watching it happen.

“I could kiss you right now!” he exclaimed, still laughing and spinning her slowly. He was so impressed by her and he really liked that she’d put Louis in his place so effortlessly. It was a beautiful thing, really, seeing her take him down a few pegs so easily.

Without thinking, he brought her down and pressed his lips to hers, capturing her bottom lip between both of his. He hummed as his eye dropped closed, feeling her soft mouth against his slightly chapped ones. 

Y/N’s eyes widened at first at the sudden kiss, taken aback by the ease with which he did it. They’d never kissed before, aside from quick pecks to the cheeks and forehead. She’d always wondered what his berry pink lips would feel like against hers, and she was pleased that they were so warm and plush. She dropped her eyes closed quickly, only now remembering that they were surrounded by people that thought they’d been dating for months, now. It would be weird if they saw anything amiss with this kiss.

Their lips parted and met again quickly, slotting them even closer together than the first time. Y/N whimpered slightly when the tip of Harry’s tongue drug lightly against her bottom lip. Harry knew that meant it was time to disengage, though, not wanting to get into anything in a crowded pub with his mates watching them. 

Harry pulled back, his hands cradling her head, and he hadn’t realized he’d moved them from her waist at any point. His breathing was stilted, grappling for breath but also at a loss for it at the same time. Y/N eyes bore into his as they looked at each other, her lips parted slightly as she seemed to try to regain her own breath. 

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, so only her and Harry would hear. What had they just done? That was no pretend kiss to appease any onlookers. That was genuine and real and had a lot of emotions she hadn’t really knew were there between them. She’d always had a crush of sorts on Harry, but she never thought it’d been reciprocated. 

“Don’t run away,” he urged, stooping to press their foreheads together. “We’ll talk about this, yeah? Just don’t run from me, pet.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Okay, Harry.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging in relief. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

[angeltriestoblog]

Unnecessary life update

i.

I have officially made it to the halfway point of this quarter. And I don’t mean to sound morbid but I didn’t expect to at all!

It’s just that I’ve recently learned that chronic sleep deprivation actually does lead to premature death and I’ve slept at three in the morning everyday since I started online schooling. (Though actual scientific evidence has always been available on the Internet, I found it easier to believe that this was a hoax.) But concerning as it may be, the past two weeks have been so demanding of my time and energy, resting didn’t seem like an option.

ii.

Much to the dismay of Freshman Angel, most organizations in Ateneo require an interview as part of the application process. I remember signing up for three departments in my home org back then: I sweated my way through one screening, completely flunked the other, and ghosted the last. I also applied to be part of our hosting pool and made a run for it at the last minute: despite having spent only two weeks on campus, I easily found a secret passageway leading to the nearest exit just so that I wouldn’t have to run into the officer in charge of my audition.

Given the unfortunate display of cowardice, it’s hard to believe that this year, I found myself on the other side. I conducted several ICs (rebranded to individual conversations) in an attempt to welcome freshmen, give them a picture of what awaits them in ACTM, and hopefully serve as one of their first friends, if I built enough rapport with them. 

The week after, I had to conduct interviews and screen all hopefuls who wanted to make it into my department. I only spoke with 13 of them through a screen but I had to go through three times more application forms, interview footage, and assessments to determine who would make it to our final line-up. One night, I binge-watched the recordings of all the interviews I conducted in chronological order and I didn’t know if I found my waning energy levels depressing or funny. Toward the last few, I refused to turn on my camera because I had gotten a sudden allergy attack.

iii.

And as if the load I bear as an associate vice president in ACTM wasn’t heavy enough, I joined five other orgs last recruitment week. I wouldn’t go and call the quarantine a blessing because I’m not an asshole but these past few months have made me realize that I want to do and be so many things in life and I missed the opportunity to start on them earlier, since I spent the first few years of college hanging around with no end goal in mind. So in a fit of impulsiveness, I signed up for:

The Development Society of the Ateneo, where I will be working either as an advocacy or consultancy trainee under the research and development department (depends on how my interview this Thursday fares);

Ateneo Education Geared Towards Empowerment, where I will be gathering data from our partner communities to help the organization provide quality education given the online setting;

Ateneo Association of Communication Majors, where I will be under the research and development department yet again of MIRLab, their documentary production house;

Ateneo PEERS, where I will be part of a peer support program intended to help in my self-improvement, and that of others as well;

Project Kabuhayan, where I will be participating in initiatives geared towards empowering micro, small, and medium enterprises

I had general assemblies for most of them: had to ditch two for a midterm, and will be watching the recordings tomorrow. I didn’t even have to talk in any of them; simply watch the officers speak about their projects for the year then head on over to my designated breakout room. But the mere idea of being perceived by hundreds of Zoom call participants was already enough to drain my social battery.

iv.

To top it all off, my major tasks for all three subjects I’m taking this quarter were due last Friday. I had a group podcast for Philosophy class which we had to shoot twice on the busiest day of my week. I wanted nothing more than to get it over with, so when we wrapped up our first attempt, we were ready to let it go through some rushed post-production and submit it without giving it a second look. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of submitting subpar work when the task is supposed to be easy, given enough discipline.

Another group I was a part of had a marketing plan (you’ll never guess which subject it was for) that proposed the rebranding of Adidas Originals to cater to an older target market, or “the active ageing”, as we liked to call it. We only found out a couple of hours before the deadline that our professor was not accepting anything over 10 pages just when we had hit the 40-page mark. All of our well-researched, comprehensive parts had to be cut down significantly, which was the equivalent of flushing many sleepless nights down the drain.

And of course, I had a case study and midterm to accomplish for Law. The minute I received the message confirming the submission of my answers, I plopped down on my bed and napped. Later on that night, I released all the pent-up tension in me by going on my first ever e-numan. I never got the logic behind drinking alcohol in front of my computer: I always thought it was a sad attempt to replicate the bustling nightlife of Katip or the intimate energy of barkada chillnumans in condominiums. But I guess all I needed was the right company, and some sweet-tasting Novellino.

Anyway, before this turns into a full-on advert for a brand that isn’t even sponsoring this post, let me move on.

Reading that probably exhausted you. As the one who had to live through all that, I can tell you: it was even more hectic than you think. Before this pandemic was a thing, my schedule was clear-cut. I could tell the days of the week apart, and appreciate the endless possibility brought by Friday evenings. I could wake up at eight on Saturday morning, smile to myself because of how early it is, and go back to sleep without any feelings of guilt.

Now, the line that separates work and home has been completely obliterated. The Internet promotes that I have to be at the top of my game all the time. Every moment spent in rest and recreation is a moment wasted when there’s so much to do, always somewhere to be even if I’m technically not allowed to leave the comfort of my own home. 

I would sometimes report to my friends that I threw my circadian rhythm out the window, which would be met with the same well-meaning outcries. “What the hell! Drop all your commitments! Pace yourself! Sleep early!”. I think they know by now that this often falls on deaf ears. Ironically, whenever I observe or hear of friends falling into the same patterns as me, I’m often one of the first to reprimand. I sentence them to early bedtime like a stressed suburban mother of two, and check in on them constantly to see if they’re doing alright. I tell them not to pressure themselves to perform at their very best, while working myself to the bone, writing this ~2,000 word essay at half past two in the morning.

But one conversation I had with one of my friends stood out. He told me how proud he was of me: that even if I’m so busy juggling so many things, it all pays off in the end because I’m genuinely happy and fulfilled. I get to see the fruits of my labor and share it with the world.

Which is so true. I honestly enjoy the success that comes from this hyperproductivity, and take pride in the output that I manage to churn out. I’m willing to give up hours of sleep if it means getting to do what will help me make my pipe dreams a reality, or create something that sets my soul on fire.I don’t mind going out of my comfort zone if it’s to talk to new people who have the potential of being some of my greatest friends in the future, or advocating for causes that I’m passionate about. 

In fact, I am so willing to prolong my period of working to welcome the new members of my department or create even more articles to talk about pressing cultural phenomena. It will be hard as hell while the sacrifice is still ongoing but I always know that it will lead to something greater and bigger than I am. 

Besides, when I feel like I can no longer take it, I don’t think I’ll have it in me to force myself. It might not look like it but I am afraid of the serious health risks and will try to slot in more time for sleep if need be. But I have no plans of backing out of anything right now since I’m still on top of everything. Guess I’m fueled by a genuine desire to give/be/do as much as I can, while I still can. 

v.

Where did this post even go, honestly… This was supposed to be a simple life update, complete with a pop culture recommendation to supplement my experiences. I did not expect it to spiral the way it did so now I have no idea how to transition from one part to the next in a way that isn’t entirely awkward. Oh well.

I managed to preserve my sanity these past two weeks by listening to only one artist. Anyone who follows me on Spotify must think that their Friend Activity tab is glitching but the rumors are indeed true: I have been listening to chosen songs from The Boyz’ discography on a constant loop, like an actual zombie. Count on me to get into a new K-Pop group during the busiest week of the quarter as a coping mechanism.

I was an anti of this group when they first debuted because they are home to a former Produce 101 contestant whom I hated. (Still do, up to now. Don’t know how to reconcile my conflicting feelings.) So you could say I was heavily biased from the start and refused to give them a chance. Thankfully, one of my best friends recently converted after watching them on Road to Kingdom and sent me some of their performances to reel me in. Since I am a girl with a working brain and pair of eyes, I was easily impressed. When they came back recently with The Stealer, I officially fell and made no active efforts to get up.

If there are any Deobis reading, (1) congrats, you are a person of taste; (2) please be my friend. My current favorite songs other than their latest title track are No Air, I’m Your Boy, and Break Your Rules. I’ve also started most mornings with their Danger live stage. Who needs caffeine when you have acrobatic stunts and good-looking men?

I also have a lot of exciting things coming up, which I just felt the need to share:

I’m going to be a panelist at a talk for Developh, an organization I’m a part of which leverages technology for social good. This Friday, October 16th, I’ll be joining three brilliant go-getters from different fields to talk about my internship at makesense Philippines (which warrants another blog post) as well as my experience as a freelance writer. 

I have a couple of published pieces in the pipeline right now that I absolutely cannot wait to share! I honestly think they’re some of my favorites. Over the past few weeks, I have written about Internet study communities, the Subtle Asian Dating Facebook group, and unpaid internships. I’ve also pitched a couple more to my bosses and they’ve given me the green light at the same time so yes, once again, I am running on tight deadlines.

I’ll be applying for internships once this quarter is over and I’m already considering a couple of start-ups as good prospects. I’m making my personalized CVs for each company and saving the contact details of the designated point people in a neat little Notion spread for easy access.

Feels weird to end this post with stay safe and healthy, and don’t forget to rest. Maybe I’ll just make that a note to self.

Love and light,

Angel

[acehotel]

Deep Look: The Stacks Art & Design Bookstore

New Orleans

In another life, we’d own a bookstore. Spend our waking hours knee-deep in dog-eared paperbacks, biceps toned from lugging heavy art books, black coffee on tap and a shop cat asleep on last week’s paper (this part we’ve daydreamed about the most). This dream has been on our mind forever, but it came into a sharper, technicolor focus last week, when we sat down with a friend and neighbor who happens to be living our alter ego life (minus the cat).

Emilie Lamy is founder and owner of The Stacks Art & Design Bookstore, located in the Contemporary Arts Center just a book’s throw from Ace New Orleans (PSA, don’t throw books). Wholly dedicated to contemporary art books, the shelves at The Stacks cover every corner from Bob Ross coloring books and optimistic stationary by People I've Loved to the A-B-Cs of graphic design and cookbooks for artists.

Emilie grew up in Burgundy, France, a few hours from Paris, born to a fashion photographer father and an American artist mother. After living and working in Paris and Marseilles for ten years as a publisher, curator and teacher, she met New Orleans for the first time during a trip around the states. After only one month in the city, she decided to stay.

Ace: What was it about New Orleans?

Emilie Lamy: One of the things I love about this city it that people are who they truly are and give you the space to do the same. It's a pretty vulnerable place too, we are located below sea level, in a ever growing threatened geographic location. I feel that this vulnerability sparks a lot of creativity and extravagance. As if the craziness of Mardi Gras was constantly flowing through the year!

Why make the move to America?

As a European, I’m pretty conflicted about living in the US, especially in this political climate..though living in New Orleans feels like you’re not quite in America. I feel very strongly connected to the local creative community; it keeps me going, as well as the beautiful friendships I’ve built here.

How was The Stacks born? Where did you start?

I opened a pop-up shop in Sterling Provisions in the Marigny during Prospect 3. There was a lot of excitement around it and it quickly outgrew the space. From there, I moved to the Zeitgeist in Central City above Church Alley Coffee.

Was opening a bookstore always in the cards?

No! Not at all. I opened the shop pretty impulsively, thinking it would only stay open for the duration of Prospect. There is a great network of Fiction and Nonfiction bookstores in the city, but none where you could find art, architecture, photography, design books and creative source material.

A win from a whim. Where did the CAC come in?

I approached them with the idea that they should have a bookstore or gift shop, but more with the thought that I could help them find someone to do it. I didn't intend on being that person, but of course, when they asked me to move in I was thrilled, obviously.

The partnership feels tailor-fit.

It really is. The shop works in harmony with The CAC, bouncing people, programming and ideas off of each other. They are supportive partners.

You're fighting the good fight by owning a bookstore in a digital age. What's that like?

Yes. Bookstores are not exactly booming businesses... I say that a lot! Sometimes it's a little solitary, but then a crowd of people will come in and love a book or there will be a perfect afternoon where there is music playing, people browsing and the light is just right. That's a nice reminder that things are as they should be.

Trust Me books. What's the story there?

Yes! The name is an homage to Mimi's in the Marigny. On their menu they have the "trust me" dish. It's whatever the cook decides it’s going to be. I really love that idea!  I really love Mimi's too. It's one of the first bars where I spent time when I moved here. It helped me fall in love with the city and the people that make it.

What was your first favorite book?

As a child? So many! The first one that comes to my mind are Charlotte's Web and Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. Very original I know!

What are you reading right now?

Funnily enough, right now I'm reading The Culture Industry and the Propaganda Factory, a spoof of Charlie! Everyone is hooked, not on chocolate, but on propaganda. It's hysterical.

We asked Emilie to share some of her favorites in the shop (they’re available now, too):

1. Dan Starling: The Culture Industry and the Propaganda Factory

This book is basically a bootleg of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It is a crazy fairytale where the 5 lucky children visit the Culture Industry’s (Willy Wonka) “Propaganda Factory.” The 5 children are: Modern Art, a gross boy who eats and appropriate anything he can get his hands and teeth on; Cynical Reason, a spoiled little rich girl; Teenage Schizophrenia, the world’s champion antidepressant eater; Barackula Ozombie, an undead politician addicted to TV; and Jeune Fille, the Hero.

2/ Men Explain Things To Me

I discovered Rebecca Solnit’s work through her book A Paradise Built in Hell, and have tried to keep up with reading all her books since, which isn’t easy, she is such a prolific writer! In this ferocious essay, Solnit dives deep into the awfulness of mansplaining, a term she coined. The many ways things can go very wrong in conversations between men and women… It’s an essential reading!

3/ Sophie Calle: Rachel Monique

This art book from French artist Sophie Calle narrates through diary excerpts and photographs the story of Monique Szyndler, Sophie Calle’s mother who died in 2007. This book is very emotional to me. I remember seeing the show at the Palais de Tokyo a while back and was extremely moved by it. It is also a beautifully designed and printed book, with the precious embroidery on the cover for example.

4/ Maria Kalman: The Principles of Uncertainty

I absolutely adore Maira Kalman’s work, it is so sweet, whimsical and witty! The Principles of Uncertainty is the result of a year-long compilation of her New York Times columns. What seems like randomness at first slowly turns into an interconnected worldview that takes you to very personal places, a mix of documentary, travelogue and chapbook.

5/ Carson Ellis: Home

This children’s book is a delicate meditation on the idea of a home, a wonderful tale about all the different places where people live, real or imaginary. From a house in the country, an apartment in the city, or even a shoe.

6/ The Last Interview Series, Melville House

This series is a great way to discover through collected interviews (as well as the very last interview given, hence the title) the creative process, the struggles, doubts and inspirations of writers, musicians, politicians, scientists, intellectuals… I always really like to read interviews and biographies, I feel that it’s a very intimate way to understand someone’s practice and train of thoughts, so I really enjoy this series.

7/ Picturing America’s National Parks, by Aperture

This photography book is interesting in so many ways! First, it relays through stunning photographs the beauties of America’s National Park. It also helps you understand how America slowly started carrying and creating systems to preserve the natural beauty of those lands. Then, the other aspect that I love about this book is that it shows all at once the technical evolution of photography, and the conceptual shifts photography has taken in the past century.

8/ Unpacking My Library series, Yale University Press

Inspired by Walter Benjamin’s 1931 essay “Unpacking My Library,” this series of 3 books spotlight the personal libraries of architects, novelists and artists (the latest one in the series) who share their collections with readers.

9/ Atak: Topsy Turvy World

I love the work on the German artist Atak, and I pretty much always carry the books published by Flying Eye Books, the children’s imprint of Nobrow Press. They have the most beautiful illustration and children's books! In Topsy Turvy World the world in turned upside down, and every general assumption is turned on its head: mice chase cats, firemen douse water with flames, a punk throws change to a business man sitting on the sidewalk…   

10/ The Moth: All These Wonders

I’m an avid listener of The Moth’s podcast so I was very excited about this book. It compiles 45 stories that people have shared on stage. It gives you a very different experience to slow down and read those stories. It brings you to so many difference places and waves of emotions, from tears to laughter. It’s a beautiful compilation, people sharing their very personal stories and allowing themselves to be vulnerable. It’s inspiring.   

The Stacks lives inside The Contemporary Arts Center at 900 Camp Street, just around the corner from Ace. Their doors are open Monday-Friday from 10am-6pm Saturday and Sunday 11am-5pm. Visit Emilie anytime and cash in on our fantasy black coffee thanks to the cafe (open in tandem with the shop), serving breads and bagels, coffee and a selection of wine and beer.

Buy a book and cozy up. Winter deals are happening now at Ace Hotel New Orleans, here.  

[cafesandlatenights]

Prologue [Beyond the Sunrise, LMMxReader]

Summary:  Mixed up orders leads to a new and unexpected person in your life.

Word Count: 2,159

Warnings: None (a slow burn, but are you guys really surprised?)

Authors notes:  We are SO excited to share this with you guys, this universe is something we had so much fun creating and we hope you enjoy it as much as us! ❤ 

askbox | masterlist | next chapter

The neon lights and upbeat sixties doo-wop songs were the furthest things Lin wanted in his presence that night. Still, the Salt and Pepper Diner was the only place with decent food open this late into the night.

There was the added benefit that it was always empty when he found himself in. No soul in their right mind purposefully wandered into this place at three in the morning on a school day.

Except for him, of course.

Which is why his brow furrowed when he waltzed in only to find his regular table occupied. It was the furthest from the jukebox on the other side of the room - a perfect distance to where the beat of the music became white noise he could work with.

You seemed to have discovered that too, oblivious to the world as you typed furiously on your laptop. It was plugged in to the only available outlet by the table symbolizing you would be there for awhile.

Lin begrudgingly found a seat a few booths down from yours, the only waitress in the deserted diner rolling up to his table.

You caught sight of him for the first time when the girl in a poodle skirt approached his booth. Looking just as sleep deprived as you felt, you watched him order without being able to hear the conversation but surprised with how the waitress’ rudeness didn’t scare away his soft smile. You noticed he was about to look at you, Out of instinct, you raised your hand, signaling the waitress, that went straight to your table.

“Hi, uh… Can you bring me a grilled cheese and another cup of coffee, please?” You asked, receiving a nod in response after she scribbled your order and left without a sign of joy in her face, making you wonder if all the stories about the food service business sucking away someone’s will to live were true.

Lin continued to steal glances in your direction as he unpacked for the night, a stack of high schoolers’ essays needing to be graded by the end of the week.

It wasn’t exactly what he pictured himself doing on a Friday- a glance at his watch confirmed it was technically Saturday - but bills didn’t just stop coming so he could chase his dreams.

You appeared to be somewhere in the same boat, practically ripping your hair from your scalp in frustration as you violently pressed backspace. Yeah, he had definitely been there before.

“Here’s your waffle, the syrup and the big cup of black coffee,” the waitress placed everything on your table before leaving, probably exhausted of having to deal with any customers that late at night and leaving you no space to tell her that wasn’t your order.

Abandoned with a plate that certainly didn’t belong to you, you found yourself staring at the only other patron in the entire diner. Your grilled cheese perched at the edge of his table.

Buried in his respective laptop, Lin didn’t notice his mixed up order until a few moments later, when he absently looked for his fork and knife, not finding any. You watched the whole scene: his eyes going from the laptop, to his - your - order, then to you. You raised your eyebrows, giving him a small smile before he got up, grabbed the plate and mug and walked to your booth.

You feebly attempted to tidy up your space, clearing one side of the table and stacking your loose papers in a makeshift pile.

“Hey, I- I think Sonya messed up our orders,” he placed your grilled cheese and mug on your table awkwardly, an expectant look on his face. He glanced over at his waffles and coffee, the only thing that was going to help him make it through this night.

“Oh! Right-” You shuffled in your seat for a moment, hands moving to delicately balance the dishes.

“I thought you stealing my booth was bad, then you go for a man’s waffles.” His comment made you hold back a giggle.

“I mean, I didn’t know it was your booth, it doesn’t have your name on it,” you said, closing your eyes once you stopped talking, visibly cringing. “Sorry, too much caffeine, not enough sleep.”

Wordlessly, he reached across the table. Shifting the salt and pepper shaker to the side, you tilted your head to see ‘Lin’ etched into the wood.

“So it does have your name on it.”

“The results of writer’s block late at night, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Well, Lin, I think we reached a problem here. You see, I got here first,” you started, the man looking at you in amusement. “But your name is the one on the table.”

“What are we going to do about that?”

“Since your waffles are already here...”

Lin glanced over his shoulder at his now vacant booth, the stack of papers still very much ungraded. He did still have one more week to finish them.

He slid into the seat opposite you, pulling him plate and mug close as you shifted away from your laptop, doing the same thing with your order. You watched as he added the syrup and got his knife and fork in hand before you both started eating.

You felt...comfortable. A complete stranger who hadn’t even asked for your name yet didn’t hesitate to sit in front of you and engage in a conversation at three in the morning. You settled into the feeling, peeling away at the crust of your sandwich.

“What are you doing?” He asked through a mouthful.

“The crust-”

“Is right where it belongs. Okay. First you steal my booth, then my waffles, and then you put this blasphemy on display in front of me!” He tsked - shaking his head in disapproval.

“Okay, but let’s see it from my point of view: First I almost get verbally slapped by Sonya over there, right before my order gets misplaced and then a stranger decides to tell me I stole his booth, in which I’ve been seated for over-” you glanced at the corner of your laptop for a second. “Three hours now.”

“I’d hardly call us strangers.” He countered.

“Alright, then what’s my name?”

He stalled, verbally wincing at himself. Leave it to three in the morning, starving, sleep deprived Lin to forget to ask for a name.

“I skipped past that part, didn’t I?”

You nodded, taking a bite of your grilled cheese, crust forgotten on your plate. He raised his brows once again, intrigued by you and how casual the whole night was becoming. You covered your lips for a second before being able to speak again. “[Y/N].”

“What are you working on, [Y/N]?”

“You don’t want to know.” You groaned, slamming the top of your laptop closed. You wouldn’t be getting much more work done anyways - not with Lin sitting across from you looking at you like that.

“Alright, no talk about work.” He hummed in thought, searching for an appropriate question, “What are your hopes and dreams?”

“I guess work is not that bad of a subject,” you joked, earning a laugh from him. “I’m almost pulling my hair off because of this thesis.”

“A college girl!”

“Senior year, old man.” He placed his hand on his chest, as if he had been physically injured by the comment.

“I was in your shoes one year ago. Thesis papers suck.”

“Tell me about it,” you took another bite of your food before continuing. “Five pages of notes after I turned in the first draft. Five. Pages.”

“Ouch. Is that why you were almost smashing your laptop earlier?”

“Yep.”

“So a distraction is in order?”

“Please.” With that, you pushed your plate away with nothing but scraps of crust left. He glared at this, but didn’t comment, “Tell me anything.”

He racked his brain for what anything could be. He could go on and on about his favorite students - you weren’t supposed to have favorite students but he liked to break rules - or the history of the diner.

He thought for a moment about sharing his own hopes and dreams, before quickly shaking it off. There was no need to scare you off this quickly.

“I write.” He blurted.

“What do you write?” He bit the inside of his cheek.

“Musicals.” He braced himself for the usual reaction. One that always came with the pursuit of a career in art: A pitiful look and a half-assed ‘I’m sure one day you’ll make it big!’.

“That’s awesome!” You commented, almost feeling the weight leaving his chest when a smile appeared on his face, “I’ve never met a real life writer before! Tell me everything.”

It had been awhile since he had spoken about his college production of In the Heights. He had run out of people that still cared long ago, let alone people that truly believed in him.

He basically put on a show, beating a catchy rhythm into the table and spitting a verse - one he promised he was still working on but didn’t really need improvement in your eyes.

“How long have you been working on it?” You asked.

“Since I was nineteen.”

“So, forever ago then,” you replied, Lin shooting you a look. “I’m joking!”

He started to tell you about the musical, his influences, how he wanted to portray the community he grew up in and the people around him beyond the stereotypical. You watched his hands move while he spoke with such passion about his roots and his family, a subject he wouldn’t get into if he wasn’t comfortable in your presence.

You absorbed everything he was willing to tell, finding appropriate times for an anecdote about your older sister, or an eerily similar high school experience the two of you shared (‘Aren’t the insides of lockers just so cozy?’). The night flew by and the first rays of the morning sun were almost finding their way through the diner’s window.

You knew you had to go home eventually, but you didn’t want to. Lin seemed just as rooted to his chair as you were, having discarded his jacket long ago.

The bell above the door chimed with the first of many early morning patrons irking for a greasy breakfast before a full work day, popping the bubble you two were in as quickly as it was created. Lin was reminded of his abandoned belongings a few tables down, quickly getting up to find his things piled and chuckling, that was definitely Sonya’s doing and he didn’t even notice.

Wordlessly, he handed off a few wadded up bills as Sonya rolled by, just enough to cover both of your meals and a thank-you tip for her. Your mouth opened in argument, but a quick look from Lin halted it.

He silently waited for you to pack your things, opening the door for you to exit and following right after. You wanted to ask for his number, invite him to walk with you to your place that was not too far from the diner, you wanted to ask when you were going to see him again. Something in the back of your mind stopped you.

“Thanks for the grilled cheese.” You settled on.

“Well, you wasted half of it.” His head swiveled in the opposite direction, squinting as the morning sun peeked over old brick buildings, “I’m this way.”

“See you around, then?” You asked.

“Another early morning diner rendezvous isn’t completely out of the question for me.”

You weren’t sure how to reply to that, and your phone buzzed right before you could come up with an answer just as clever as his.

The phone contact threw you back into real life, the memories of why you left your apartment to study in the first place rushing through your memory.

“I- I should get going.” A tense smile overtook your face as you began to back away. “Thanks again.”

Lin could hardly get a word out as you zoomed away, carefully dodging bodies in the opposite direction of his place. It only hit him that he didn’t get your number when you weren’t in his line of vision anymore, making him mentally go through all the cuss words he knew: there were plenty.

Once he got to his apartment, it was a matter of moments before Lin threw himself on the bed, exhaustion just now hitting his system. He tried to remember as much as possible from the night, carving the moments into his mind to never forget them.

He shifted to his side, recalling how your hands were always as occupied as his were; twirling the salt shaker or ripping at the edge of your paper napkin, how you smiled not only with your lips but with your eyes as well. All the quirks of yours he managed to pick up started to blend together, his thoughts of you becoming disorganized enough to release his mind to sleep.