#end of chapter 1 portuguese

[nayziiz]

No Way | LN4

Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)

Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse

Masterlist

CHAPTER 3

“Hey, we have some gorgeous Aussie girls.” The Australian podcast host teases as they end the episode featuring Lando.

The teasing remark hangs in the air, a lighthearted attempt to inject humour into the conversation. Natalie, ever vigilant about maintaining a professional image for Lando, takes note of such comments. The challenges of managing public perception and steering clear of potential controversies in the world of Formula 1 become evident once again. As the podcast episode concludes, Natalie prepares to address any potential fallout or inquiries that may arise from such remarks, emphasising the delicate balance between humour and the need to maintain a respectful and inclusive public image for Lando.

In the quiet moments of transitioning from the podcast studio to the track inspections, Natalie remains attentive to the surroundings, always mindful of the public image they present. As the car manoeuvres through Melbourne traffic, the dynamic between Lando and Natalie shifts into a silent atmosphere, something quite unusual for the pair.

“You’re quiet.” Lando comments as he focuses on the cars ahead of him. Natalie turns the music louder to muffle the silence. “No. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

The gentle persistence in Lando’s voice prompts Natalie to consider opening up. The hum of the engine and the music becomes a backdrop to the unspoken connection between them.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles as she looks out the window.

“For what? Did you take one of my hoodies again?” Lando responds as he turns to glance at her before reverting his eyes to the road ahead of him.

“No, nothing like that.” She quickly clarifies. “I’m sorry that you have to keep dealing with this silly stuff about being single and everyone trying to play matchmaker.”

“You don’t have to apologise for that. It’s not your fault.” He assures her.

After his phone call with Max, Lando found himself reflecting on the dynamics of his relationship with Natalie. The realisation dawned upon him that he cannot, and should not, expect her to continuously rearrange her life to accommodate the demands of the media or the public's curiosity. The weight of being under constant scrutiny and the pressure to conform to certain expectations has started to wear on him and he wanted to spare her that.

Lando understands that Natalie has her own life, aspirations, and personal journey, independent of their professional partnership, especially after the abrupt ending to her relationship. The awareness that she shouldn't be compelled to play the role of a pretend girlfriend, even for the sake of managing his public image, settles in. It becomes clear that expecting her to endure such a facade could strain their genuine friendship.

This realisation marks a maturation in Lando's perspective, emphasising the importance of respecting Natalie's autonomy and recognizing the boundaries between their personal and professional lives. While the external pressures persist, he understands that imposing additional burdens on Natalie for the sake of appearances is neither fair nor sustainable.

“But, there is a way I can help.” She continues causing him to turn back to her. “I could just pretend to be your girlfriend, after all.”

Natalie's unexpected proposal hangs in the air, creating a momentary pause in the car. Her suggestion, while delivered with a hint of jest, carries a weight of sincerity. Lando looks at her, registering the offer and contemplating the potential implications. The notion of Natalie stepping into the role of a fake girlfriend introduces a complex layer to their relationship, blurring the lines between the personal and the professional. Natalie's willingness to extend herself for Lando's benefit reveals a depth of trust and loyalty. Yet, the proposal also raises questions about the potential consequences for their dynamic, challenging the delicate balance they've maintained so far.

“Please don’t feel pressured to do that.” He quickly responds, shocked by her change of heart.

Lando's swift and sincere response reflects his concern for Natalie and an understanding of the potential challenges that could arise from such a proposal. The unexpected offer has caught him off guard, and he wants to ensure that Natalie doesn't feel compelled to take on a role that might compromise her comfort or well-being. The genuine care between them becomes palpable in this moment, emphasising the importance of preserving their authentic connection amidst the pressures and demands of their high-profile lives

“Let me help you, please.” She urges him. “I’ve given this enough thought and it does make the most sense for me to be your fake girlfriend.”

“Are you sure?” He queries.

“Yeah.” She agrees.

“I’d rather it be you than anyone else, honestly.” He breathes a sigh of relief, and deep down, Natalie is relieved to see him relax for the first time in weeks.

As they embark on this uncharted territory of a fake relationship, Natalie grapples with the myriad of potential complications that could arise. The boundaries between their professional and personal lives blur, introducing a layer of complexity that neither of them could have anticipated. Natalie's concern about the possible consequences of this arrangement lingers beneath the surface, overshadowed by the desire to alleviate the pressure on Lando.

The uncertainty looms large – what if genuine feelings begin to surface in the midst of this charade? The prospect of Lando or herself forming real connections outside of this orchestrated scenario adds another layer of intricacy. However, in the midst of these uncertainties, Lando and Natalie find a shared resolve to face the unknown together, hoping that their genuine connection will guide them through the complexities that lie ahead.

- LATER THAT DAY - “Alright, it’s happening.” Natalie announces as she hands Lando her phone open on Instagram with a picture of the two of them, his arm around her shoulders as he looks lovingly at her. The post is followed by a second photo, capturing a moment where Lando places a soft kiss on her temple.

The decision to go public with their faux relationship is made, and social media becomes their stage. The carefully crafted images convey a narrative of affection and closeness, tailored to fit the expectations of their audience. As Natalie hands Lando her phone, they take a collective breath, knowing that these carefully curated moments are now part of the public domain.

The comments and reactions begin to pour in, as fans and followers respond to this seemingly intimate portrayal of their relationship. The challenge lies in maintaining the delicate balance between authenticity and performance, ensuring that the staged moments are convincing enough to fulfil their purpose without becoming entangled in the complexities of their real emotions.

“That was quick.” Lando mumbles as he scrolls through the photos. “A fan took this?”

“Looks like someone who had a paddock pass. There’s a video from a different angle as well as we’re walking into the garage.” Natalie confirms. “A couple weeks like this then we can soft launch completely.”

The speed at which the images have circulated takes Lando by surprise, emphasising the intensity of the Formula 1 spotlight. As they assess the initial fan reactions and engagement, Natalie strategically plans the next steps. The decision to gradually transition into a more public display of their fake relationship reflects a careful approach to managing expectations and maintaining an air of authenticity.

The two sit on the couch in his hotel room, huddled close together, scrolling through Instagram. They read through all the comments on the posts, absorbing the range of reactions from fans and followers. The digital realm becomes a realm of both curiosity and scrutiny as they navigate the public's response to their newfound relationship status.

Some comments express excitement and support, while others scrutinise the authenticity of their connection. Lando and Natalie exchange glances, acknowledging the complexities of the game they've chosen to play.

User1: Now we know why she kept stopping him from talking about his relationship status, she was scared he would reveal she’s his girlfriend.

“God, they’re giving us all the prompts to make this the greatest fake relationship ever.” Natalie comments.

“And, you hesitated at first.” Lando teases her.

“The key thing now is to act like we’re keeping it a secret and address any questions.” Natalie continues.

The only people who knew about the arrangement were Zak, Charlotte, and Max. The more people who knew, the bigger the chances of the secret coming out. The trio of confidantes held the delicate balance of information, understanding the consequences of even a minor leak. With each additional person brought into the circle, the risk of the truth surfacing increased, adding an element of suspense to their carefully orchestrated narrative. The trio became the guardians of the fabricated reality, entrusted with preserving the illusion that Lando and Natalie were more than just colleagues in the public eye.

- THE NEXT DAY -

Natalie stands in front of the screens studying the statistics flashing in front of her, not really paying attention to anything specific. Lando joins her and they share a small smile as he presses his arm against her. The subtle yet intimate gestures between Lando and Natalie unfold in the midst of their professional environment. The shared smiles and physical closeness create an unspoken connection, hinting at the depths of their faux relationship. The mechanics, although observant, maintain their focus on the task at hand, acknowledging the unique dynamics between the two without letting it disrupt their work.Lando’s fingers tease Natalie’s before he interlocks his pinky with hers as they continue to watch the screens in front of them. He leans down next to her ear and pulls her headset off her head.

“We’ve got some eyes on us.” He whispers in her ear. A small smile grows on her face as she studies the area and finds a photographer close by snapping photos of the cars and of the crew around the car.

The realisation of being observed adds a layer of intrigue to their staged relationship. As they play their parts, the awareness of being scrutinised by a photographer fuels the need to maintain the illusion. The subtle chemistry between Lando and Natalie becomes a performance, a carefully crafted act that extends beyond their interactions into the public eye.

Natalie peers up at Lando who peers down at her. He plants a loving kiss on her cheek and throws in a cheeky wink before he heads to gear up for qualifying. After a few minutes, Natalie finds herself on Instagram. Her mentions are blowing up with tagged pictures of the two in the garage.

The staged affection between Lando and Natalie becomes fodder for social media as fans eagerly capture and share moments from the garage. The kiss on the cheek and the playful wink are amplified through the lens of social media, creating a buzz around their supposed relationship. Natalie, navigating through the influx of tagged pictures on Instagram, becomes acutely aware of the impact their carefully orchestrated gestures have on their online presence.

User1: Okay. The PDA in the garage is too sweet.

User2: They look so in love.

The newfound closeness between Lando and Natalie brings an unexpected comfort to the charade. Lando's genuine concern for Natalie's well-being, even within the confines of their fake relationship, adds a layer of authenticity to their interactions. As they navigate the complexities of this arrangement, the initial discomfort transforms into a shared understanding that extends beyond the public eye. The fading questions about Lando's relationship status indicate the effectiveness of their strategy in steering the media's attention away from his personal life.

“Hey, you good?” Lando asks as he reappears next to her in his race suit. Her head snaps in his direction.

“Yeah, just zoned out.” She responds.

“Must be your boyfriend getting you all distracted.” Lando jokes.

“Can only be him.” She jokingly adds as the two share a laugh.

The surprising ease with which Lando and Natalie slip into the physical aspects of their fake relationship leaves them both astounded. The seemingly natural fit of their bodies, the intertwining of fingers, and the subtle touches create a facade that, to the outside world, appears unquestionably genuine. Lando finds himself revelling in the comfort of her presence, savouring the moments when her fingers delicately trace his back or when she leans her head against his shoulder. Despite the charade, there's an unspoken connection that goes beyond the script they're following. It's a testament to the strength of their bond, even in the midst of a fabricated romance that, for now, feels remarkably real.

He grabs his phone lying on the desk in front of them and opens his Instagram and spots a picture of the two chatting in the garage.

“Isn’t this from Sakhir?” He asks Natalie and turns the phone to show her the photo.

“Yeah, it is.” She responds and takes the phone from him to study the picture. “They’re going back to find clues as to when our supposed relationship started.”

As Natalie hands Lando his phone, their fingers inadvertently graze each other, sending a subtle shiver down their spines. She purposely avoids making eye contact, choosing instead to focus on her tablet, where she diligently types notes and sends emails. Lando, captivated by the graceful movements of her fingers, remains by her side, stealing glances whenever he can. The softness of her hands and the gentle precision with which she works leave an impression on him.

His attention shifts from her hands to her tanned arms, appreciating the confidence with which she carries herself in the midst of a bustling crowd. Despite her poise, he recalls the endearing moments of her occasional clumsiness. Lando fondly remembers catching her when she tripped over her own feet, marvelling at the way she would blush and offer profuse apologies for her lack of coordination. These instances of vulnerability only deepen his admiration for her.

Feeling the weight of Lando's gaze, Natalie notices his unwavering attention on her hands. She finds it amusing and decides to playfully break his trance. Gently, she runs a finger over his cheek, eliciting a subtle smile as he snaps out of his daze.

“Where were you now?” Natalie, aware of Lando's tendency to dissociate, gently questions his momentary absence.

“Not here, that’s for sure.” He sighs as he gazes at her. Their eyes meet, and in the depths of her dark green eyes, he finds a connection, grounding him back to the reality they are navigating together.

Lando, grappling with unexpected thoughts and sensations, chooses not to disclose the peculiar image that flashed through his mind—a vivid imagination of Natalie's fingers running through his curly hair. Perplexed by this unanticipated mental image, he seeks refuge in the familiar presence of his best friend, hoping to redirect his focus and understand the sudden surge of emotions stirred by the charade they've embarked upon.

“I need to talk to you.” Lando breathes as he shuts the door behind him.

“What’s up? You look stressed.” Max wonders curiously.

“Does she look different to you? Like, has she changed her hair or done her make-up differently?” Lando quickly asks.

“Natalie?” Max queries. “No, mate. She looks like herself. Why?”

“I’m going mad.” Lando responds.

“What are you talking about?” Max counters.

“I was just with her, and then all of a sudden, I’m thinking of her grabbing my hair, man.” Lando admits. “And, like kissing me.”

“Do you want her to kiss you?” Max implores, fueling Lando’s hysterics.

“What?” Lando mutters. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“I think you fancy her.” Max concludes.

“I do not.” Lando argues.

“You always have and now that she’s single and pretending to be your fake girlfriend, it’s all adding up in your head.” Max explains. Lando remains silent for a moment, processing Max's words.

“Maybe there's a tiny part of me that finds her attractive. But that's not the point. We're just faking this relationship to get the media off my back. I can’t fancy her. That’s off the table, completely.” Lando he sighs and admits

“So, what are you going to do when you have to hold her hand on a fake date? Or when you actually have to kiss her for a photo?” Max adds. “You’ll still fancy her, regardless.”

Lando slumps into the chair in defeat. The realisation hits Lando that the fake relationship might bring unforeseen challenges, especially considering the growing feelings he's trying to suppress. As he contemplates the upcoming scenarios Max mentioned, he begins to understand the complexities of the situation and the potential for emotions to complicate the arrangement.

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

Taglist: @noneofyourfbusinessworld

[navstuffs]

Leon Kennedy

ONE-SHOTS:

SMUT:

two weeks (SMUT)

“give me two weeks, you won’t recognize her.”

5 stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (SMUT) (F!Reader)

Leon Kennedy is on his way to pick you up in 5 minutes.

Project L.S.K (SLIGHT DUBCON/SMUT)

After Spain, the U.S. government decides Leon Kennedy is too precious to be wasted, so they start a project with you as the leader. (aka the fanfic where you have to collect semen from Leon)

BratTamer!Leon with SpoiledRichGN!Reader

FLUFF:

Blind Date

Luis arranges a blind date for you.

Wonderful Surprise.

After a horrible day at work, you find a surprise at your job’s doorstep.

Leon protects gn!reader with his body

Secret Admirer

It is fall, and Leon Kennedy has a secret admirer.

DO IT FOR HIM

Leon catches a particular item on your stuff.

Sunbeams

Heart to-go

You hate coffee. Of course, with your luck, you end up falling in love with a cute blushing barista.

A convenient misunderstanding

Leon thinks you are in love with someone else.

GN!Reader takes Leon on (finally) a dinner date

"Who did this to you?" + Fluff

Leon's Guilty Pleasure

You shouldn’t have seen him like this, but now you and Leon have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

ANGST:

Emptiness (MAJOR ANGST, PLEASE READ MY WARNINGS CAREFULLY!), Russian translated version by @sonelik

You are dead, and Leon wonders why he is still alive.

Creep (MAJOR ANGST)

“You are so fucking special. I wish I was special”’; because sometimes love isn’t enough.

A moment forever ago

In an elevator, a moment forever ago, Leon might have found the love of his life. But it was over forever ago.

Anchor

It is 1 am when Leon Kennedy knocks on your door. He shouldn’t be there and you shouldn’t have opened it. 

HEADCANONS:

leon adopting a dog

threesome between leon kennedy x f!reader x ezio auditore (SMUT)

MISCELLANEOUS:

what would truly happen in emptiness (MAJOR ANGST)

How would Leon Kennedy and Carlos Oliveira react to a GN!Reader who gets lazy/tired while on top (SMUT)

You make Carlos go feral and speak brazilian portuguese/Carlos teaches you brazilian portuguese/ Leon speaks Italian while in bed (SMUT)

Leon + GN!Reader who doesn’t want to have sex (but can’t express it)

Fun times at the beach (SMUT)

A terrible encounter

An encounter with someone from your past brings your feelings over the edge.

Tiktok Prank

MULTI-CHAPTER:

RookieCop!Leon x BustyF!Reader (SMUT starts on 2nd part) - Traffic stop, Nude painting class

Your sports bra malfunctions during a traffic stop with a shy rookie cop. You continue meeting him in unusual circumstances.

sade trilogy (succubusf!reader/SMUT) - no ordinary love

Leon falls in love with you, a succubus. This series won't follow a chronological order.

babygirl series - calling leon babygirl, saving your babygirl, taking your babygirl to the barbie movie opening

[ghost-likes-drawing]

Just Wish I knew what caused it

(Fitpac exs to lovers)

Ch. 1 (to be named maybe)

Next Chapter

Translations done with assistance from: @caracolast (Portuguese) @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish)

Fit was driving along the interstate in silence…. okay mostly silence.

The Radio had given out about an hour beforehand and Ramon was sitting in the passengers seat fixing it; which wasn't all that quiet.

Fit was almost thankful for the lack of music, even if it did mean he couldn't stop thinking, because at least that meant he could wear his prosthetic arm and keep control of the wheel. With this distraction Ramon wasn't itching to take it apart again.

Fit’s mind was wandering, thinking about the circumstances he'd ended up in.

A single father traveling halfway across the country in the middle of summer to live on a ranch with strangers; one of which he had possibly fought in a war with.

The only reason he was even entertaining the idea was because Phil had suggested it.

And the only reason he was going is that he ran out of ways to avoid it.

He had no job, no extended family, and his savings were dwindling fast.

Phil had called Cellbit last week asking if he still needed more hands and if he had space for them.

A few days later, Fit and Ramon had as much of their life as they could fit in the back of their truck, that was almost twice Ramon's age, and were off to California. Everything else of value they managed to get in storage and Fit had a Trust to keep that paid for a while.

And as he thought about how he'd even get their stuff, he realized he didn't ask nearly enough questions. He knew he name of the guy who agreed to hire him; Cellbit. He knows he has kids near Ramon's age and that he is married but to who? Phil mentioned another hand who lived there but through the frenzy Fit didn't at all hear who it was and based on how Phil was talking about it, maybe he was supposed to know one or both of them? And if he didn't were they trustworthy? Were any of them? Fit had already been thinking of that anyway. He didn't care much if something happened to him but if something happened to Ramon, his beautiful baby boy, a gift from heaven, Fit could never-

There's a sudden loud static noise before some cheesy pop song that Fit doesn't know starts playing. The volume is turned down, “Finally! Fuck… look Fit I got it.” Ramon proudly lifted up the radio for Fit to see out of the corner of his eye before Ramon put the Radio back in its spot in the dash.

Fit smiled letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding “Hey good job kid… you're going to make a lot of money one day, just don't forget about me when you're a rich and famous mechanic.” He ruffled Ramon’s hair and Ramon laughed.

“I could never. I learned everything from fixing your shit” Ramon scoffed, smiling before flipping down the visor and opening the mirror.

Ramon gently traced his fingers over his upper lip examining it excitedly. Ramon had wanted a mustache since he was 5 and he finally had some dark lip hair develop after his 15th birthday.

Fit was excited for him. Even if it would come with the discussions of how the hell do you even maintain and clean facial hair. Fit had personal experience and it could be a hassle.

“How much farther do we have?” Fit asked after a bit getting worried they somehow missed the exit.

Ramon checked his phone which was navigating them; “5 miles to the exit, then another 10 till we're actually there. It'll be about 20 minutes”

Fit nodded appreciatively. “Alright then.” he mentally calculated which lanes he should get in and when based off the traffic level in each. “You excited? There's bound to be plenty of stuff that could use your touch.”

Ramon nodded but even only half looking Fit could tell something was off. “…Tallulah and Chayanne wouldn't lie to you about the kids you know”

“I know… it's just a lot of change… and… I still feel like it's my fault.” Ramon shrugged

“Ramon…” Fit cooed in his usual tone when he's trying to be assuring

“I know… I know. You're the one who wore the wrong arm and then lost the data but just-” Ramon faltered

“Ramon, this could have happened without you being around. And honestly my arm was a bad place to store the data I don't know why he insisted upon it.” Fit put his hand on Ramon's shoulder “This isn't a ‘you’ problem. I have it handled now, and if this doesn't work out I'll get us a cheap camping spot and I'll find something eventually.”

Ramon nodded “alright” he hummed and looked out the window “Thanks, dad”

Fit smiled feeling that maybe this time Ramon would internalize it.

Soon they were off the interstate and driving straight until they got to the Ranch. Waiting to meet them was a man Fit hoped was Cellbit, with a child who Fit thought couldn't be older than 6 and an older child that seemed to be around Ramon's age.

The older one was sitting on the fence, swinging his legs. He wore a yellow and green Jersey for a team Fit didn't recognize but seemed to have a Brazilian flag on it. His eyes were covered by his curly hair that he seemed perfectly content on leaving despite acting like a lookout. He was wearing shorts and one of his socks seemed to go up higher than the other. Fit thought this looked odd…

The younger kid, who was using the paved road just inside the fenced area of the ranch to skateboard, was wearing a red and white striped shirt that was definitely to big for him as you could only just see his shorts even though they went to his knees. His knees were covered by his pads, the kid was also wearing a helmet that covered most of his hair but it seemed to have a curl of its own.. He did note this kid probably had the largest pair of glasses he ever saw on someone under 18. The kid almost looked like Where’s Waldo.

The adult, who appeared to be taking a break from his own skateboard, wore a white tank top and brown pants with a green long sleeve tied around his hips. The back of his brown hair, that was graying in the front, was pulled back and he seemed to be enjoying the sun. He turned as he heard Fit’s truck pull up and stop before the gate. He smiled and climbed over and hopped down.

The older kid went to hop down as well but the man clearly recognizing it before it could happen stopped him “Richarlyson! Tua perna não aguenta isso! Não pula dessa altura.”

The kid, Richarlyson, frowned climbing down instead and walked over to stand next to the man. Fit put the car in park and got out. “Hello, my name is Fit. I got hired to work here, I'm looking for Cellbit?”

The man smiled and offered his hands “I'm him, It's nice to meet you, Fit” he looked him over, his eyes eventually landing on his prosthesis “Nice arm, who do you get them from?”

Fit looked at his arm “oh. Uh my son actually made this one, I had kept a bunch of my old arms in a box and he managed to put this together for my birthday one year.”

“Que massa! My Pai made my leg!” Richarlyson proudly proclaimed pulling up his shorts to show where flesh met the sleeve of a prosthetic. That “sock” was not a sock at all but metal painted fully black and honestly it looked very well made.

“Oh wow” Fit looked to Cellbit impressed but Cellbit shook his head.

“Ah! Não sou eu. that's someone else. I mean I am his Pai but not the one who made the leg.” Cellbit chuckled putting an arm on Richarlyson’s back.

Now that Fit was closer, the scars that littered Cellbit’s arm’s and face became more obvious. That was a war veteran if he ever saw one.

“So kid,… uh how old are you?” Fit asked, that was a question you were supposed to ask kids you don't know right?

“14” Richarlyson answers. “You?”

Fit pauses, that's not usually how these conversations go, but before he can answer

"¡Apa Cellbi! ¿Puedo ir y decir hola?" The younger child called

Cellbit waved him over.

The kid took his helmet off and crawled through the fence before running up and hugging Cellbit “Hello!”

“This is my youngest, Pepito” Cellbit introduced

“Aww, hello Pepito, my Name is Fit.”

Pepito pointed to the truck “Who’s he?”

Every one looked to see and Ramon waved through the window realizing he was being stared at.

“That's my son Ramon. He's a bit shy” Fit explained

“Oh okay…” Pepito nodded “I like his hair.”

“I’ll tell him you said so” Fit assured.

“Let me go open the gate and you can drive up to the house” Cellbit said “we’ll catch up”

Fit nodded “I mean, I can drive you. The only stuff in the back passenger area is a couple of suitcases and a cooler that can be put in the back since we're here now.”

Cellbit nodded “Alright, thanks, thank you.”

Cellbit had the kids move to the side and then hopped the gate before getting it open. Fit got back in his truck and after explaining to Ramon, he slowly drove through, the kids walked in and Cellbit closed the gate before Fit got out of truck to move the bags.

Ramon got out too. “Hey Fit” Ramon said grabbing his bag and keeping his voice low.

“Yes, my child?”

Ramon held back a huff “I can sit in the back with the kids” he offered

“You sure?” Fit asked, in Fit’s mind the truck was more Ramon’s then it was his own. Sure Fit bought it well before Ramon was something he even dreamed of having in his life but it only still ran because Ramon had got really into machines at age five. Ramon was his go-to mechanic since he turned eight. When Ramon was ten, Fit adapted his Will to specifically say the truck was not to be sold till Ramon decided. If felt wrong to sit Ramon in the back.

“I'm sure. It's a short drive. Makes you look better if your son has manners anyway.” Ramon nudged Fit with his shoulder

Fit nodded and patted Ramon’s shoulder before everyone filed into the truck.

Since Pepito was so young and Also small for his age, he sat upfront in Cellbit’s lap while Ramon and Richarlyson sat in the back. They were at the house in less than 2 minutes.

“So you're going to just pull up here. There's been a change of plan unfortunately.” Cellbit stated.

Fit stopped the truck and looked to Cellbit, worried.

“The guest house we'd usually have you stay in had a pipe burst and it flooded 2 days ago. It's still getting maintenance.” Cellbit explained “so for the time being you'll be in the guest room in the main house. It does lock” he said assuredly seeing Fit tense up.

Fit nodded. That was fine wasn't too bad, they'd manage. “Thanks for the heads up” he turned the truck off and got out.

As soon as Pepito was allowed to get out he ran into the house to go put the skateboarding things away. Cellbit chuckled and got out as well.

Ramon and Richarlyson waited a second but they didn't have much to stay in the car for, so they followed their dads.

“Mr. Cellbit?” Ramon piped up.

“Hm, yes?” Cellbit looked at him “what is it?”

“If you need help with the pipes situation I might be able to lend a hand” Ramon offered “I'm pretty handy”

Cellbit smiled “that's good to know but I think we got things under control"

“Yea my Pai is handiling it!” Richarlyson smiled “he's pretty good with that stuff.”

“It's true. I'm lucky to have him around” Cellbit shrugged “but hey, maybe he’ll want the help. We can always ask”

The door to the house opened “Cellbit, 'cê não me contou que o funcionário novo 'tava aqui” the door closed.

Fit thought the voice sounded familiar but… no that couldn't be. He looked up to see his new co-worker.

“Foi mal, Pac,” Cellbit states although whatever else he says was drowned out in Fit’s brain as he locks eyes with Pac for the first time in over a decade.

This couldn’t be happening… right? This was all a weird fucked up dream.

“Pai!” Richarlyson runs up to meet Pac pulling him into a hug that disrupts Pac’s eyes from looking into Fit’s as Pac hugs Richarlyson back “Olha pro braço do cara novo! Ele disse que o filho dele que fez, igual você fez minha perna!"”

And the nightmare gets worse as the realization dawns on him that not only has he disturbed his Ex’s peace half way across the country, but that Pac’s husband is his employer. “That’s just great”, Fit thinks.

Fit adjusts his shirt some and finally averts his gaze. Yep, he only feels the shirt in his right hand, he’s wide awake.

“Do you two know each other?” he hears Cellbit ask as the world goes back into focus.

“Oh uh, yea we did.. once..” Fit responds, not daring to lie

“Don't worry about it” Pac adds “it was a while ago.” But Pac’s face hides nothing in this moment. He's not happy. “I'm going back to fixing the guest house” And Pac kisses the top of Richarlyson’s head before walking off.

Without his permission, Fit’s eyes follow Pac .

If Cellbit knows what's happening he saves Fit the embarrassment of making it clear. “Come on. You're probably tired from all the driving. Let’s go get you two settled”

He pats Fit’s back hard enough to bring his attention back to the present and helps them get their bags before he leads him and Ramon inside. Pepito is coloring at the table and Ramon smiles and waves as they pass.

Cellbit leads them upstairs and to a room that's the most separated from the rest on that floor. “Com licença, I need to get the door unlocked”

He counts five bedroom doors and one labeled bathroom plus the one him and Ramon will be sharing for the time being and Fit starts trying to work out who they belong to. Just to keep his bearings. Only two of the doors actually seem to lock so one is probably Cellbit and Pac's while the other probably belongs to the other ranchhand he hasn’t met yet. One of the doors has a little pillow on the outside meant for teeth when parents don't want to risk waking their kids up by going under the pillow. That's probably Pepito’s. One of the blank door’s is probably Richarlyson’s but then who's the other belong to?

Cellbit finally managed to unlock the door, “Entendi!” He hands the key to Fit. Cellbit holds the door for Ramon and Fit as they shuffle in and put their bags to the side. It was a nice room, Decently decorated, there was a photo of an older gentleman labeled “Alfredo” on the bedside table that caused Cellbit to sigh "ai meu Deus...” he rolled his eyes and grabbed it “sorry I thought I cleared all the photos out, my husband must have snuck back in here and left this as a joke.”

Fit nodded not getting the joke himself “No worries. Thank you so much again for this. You have no clue what this means to me”

“Of course, of course, veterans have to look out for eachother.” Cellbit shrugged “and honestly you're saving my ass, we really need the help”

Fit nods and Cellbit leaves them to unpack

“That guy, Richarlyson’s other Pai.. you knew him, more then you let on.” Fit looked to Ramon “didn't you?”

Fit paused but before he could answer he was getting a call and used that as an excuse to avoid the question “one sec Ramon, Hello?”

“Hey Fit, haven't heard from you since you left just making sure you're safe.” It was Phil, he could have checked he just forgot.

“Oh yea… things are good… We got here safe, everyone's been nice…” Fit nodded

“Seeing Pac bothered you more then you thought it would huh?” Phil hummed sympathetically

“You knew?!” Fit demanded

“ I told you! How did you miss that!?” Phil demanded back

Fit paused and the more he thought about it the more of that conversation felt like a blur “You-!… you… probably did…” Fit sighed “yea it shocked me…”

Fit could hear Phil frown “I'm sorry Mate.., would you have not gone if you realized?”

Fit thought about it “no I would have… just would have been nice to be more prepared, it's my own fault I didn't pay attention” he chuckled. Ramon sat down on the bed testing its comfort.

Phil hummed “yea kinda is.” He said in his usual smug tone that at least caused Fit to laugh “but seriously, you going to be alright? It's a big change”

“Yea we’ll be alright don't you worry” Fit assured

“Alright, just remember if you need to talk-”

“I know I know” Fit interrupted “alright old man get back to your kids and let me get back to mine”

Phil scoffed to hide his laugh “yea whatever. Talk soon”

“Talk soon” and Fit hung up

Ramon looked up at him “didn't you” he repeated less a question and more of a reminder.

Fit frowned “well if you have to know, Drama Queen, yes I did. But it doesn't matter. Please drop it.”

Ramon seemed unsatisfied with the answer but shrugged “fine, that picture of the old guy was a really weird joke though right?”

Fit smiled “totally weird. Also ‘Alfredo’?”

Ramon chuckled and nodded “double weird”

Fit chuckled back.

Things just seemed to get complicated whereever Fit goes. But maybe this time… maybe this time things will just be okay.

Next>

Please point out any weird looking errors if you see them so I can fix them. I did get this beta's like twice and I found 3 different problems while making this post.

[yttd-silliness-showdown]

Round 1, Bracket 5:

Rio propaganda:

Pros: EXTREME silliness! As a doll he has no blood, but it wouldn’t be surprising if he had veins full of Mountain Dew. He makes a lot of jokes at the cast’s expense (and makes many meme references in the Portuguese version) calling them bastards at every opportunity. He looks like a walking lost & found box from stealing clothing items off the dead, as well as goofy placards to express the emotions he’s unable to. His head is kicked off by his ‘father’ Gashu, but he only dies after the epiphany that he’s cringefail.

Cons: He works for the villain organisation Asunaro, and has a deep jealousy for the human candidates, feeling joy in watching them die. He was refused any true positive emotions by Gashu to make him more ‘truly human’ and avoid the weakness his father saw in the compassionate nature of Kai and Sei, who was Ranger’s original basis and was killed in a battle royale by the organisation.

Safalin propaganda:

Pros: She possesses the attitude of an underpaid customer service worker and dresses like a dessert like most of the floormasters, and is often the butt of Ranger’s jokes. Safalin seems to dislike the position she’s in and helps the participants a lot, and overall she has several silly moments and is extremely girlfail.

Cons: She’s very… morally questionable. At the end of the day she has several unethical practices still works for Asunaro, and while regretful she’s still willing to murder a child. She brings back Rio with positive emotions just for him to suffer and die again anyway, to make herself feel better.

Dark therapist show me illegal coping mechanisms

[winryrockbellwannabe]

37/60 dop - [19/January]

(the notes i took yesterday and good omens)

📑 Yesterday was surprisingly productive, i ended up studying half of the topics of my next test (or 1/4 of it, depending on whether I'll want to retake the first test - but our professors haven't grade it yet🫠 - for context, we will be able to retake the test next tuesday. so yeah, i would appreciate to know my grade beforehand lol) 🧬 Btw, all I'm studying now is for Computational Methods for Physiological Processes (this is the best translation i could find, sorry if it sounds weird), hence why I haven't specified, bc the name of the subject is a bit of a mouthful lol. But the bit I'm studying for the second test is basically just Biophysics, so maybe I'll just call it that....

So today's to do:

✅ watch ep 2 s2 of good omens🪽

✅ revise the topics i studied yesterday📝

✅ study the complementary notes for those topics and the respective chapters in the Biophysics textbook (i would tell y'all which textbook it is, but it's a Portuguese one written by the previous professor of the subject)📚

⬜ study 2 Biophysics ppts [Double Electric Layer and Donnan Membrane]

✅ email my landlord?? landlady? idk if the word can be used in the feminine lol

aand that's it. I gotta go watch good omens now :))

Hope y'all have a wonderfull day <33

[mamadoc]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you to for tagging me, @thisnightissparkling089 !

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

I have only written 6 fics on AO3, but I tend to write long chapters and long stories.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

313,810

Pretty good for 7 months, right?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Only The Rookie. 😎

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Catch of a Lifetime

Snowed In

*Sense* You Know Me So Well

*Sense* You Know Me So Well, Too - The Sequel

The Heimlich

5. Do you respond to comments?

Every comment thread! I love interacting with people who read my stories. I think it's one of the things that makes writing fanfiction so much fun.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have a few rules in my writing. 1 - Chenford is endgame. 2 - Only happy endings. 3 - No Major Character Death!

My reading and writing affect my mood, and I read to find a little spot of joy and sunshine.

That said, my sequel series, After the Snow Melts, has a lot more angst than my other stories. Although the ending is happy, it's not a perfect resolution of the story.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The last (third) chapter of *Sense* You Know Me So Well is so amazingly sweet and fluffy that it would rot your teeth.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no. I've had a few rude requests for me to continue a story, but that's as close as I've gotten. I'm so grateful for the people that leave kind comments on my stories.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No. I'll write 'spicy' scenes, but nothing I would consider smut or going into M or E categories.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No. I've considered it, and I've read a few that are great. But I never have.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know, I have not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

No. But I have a few frequent commenters on Twitter/X that comment in other languages. I don't know if they read it in English or translate it, but they comment in Spanish, Portuguese, and German.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. When I first got some story ideas, I reached out to a few writers I admired to see if they would be interested in co-writing the stories with me. None of them were interested. That's when I had to break out my big girl panties and try it by myself. 😂😎 I'm glad I did. It's been such a rewarding hobby.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Chenford🥰

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have several ideas jotted down on my Notes app on my phone. I don't know how many of them will ever be fleshed out and see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmmm... I'm not sure. I feel like my writing is very descriptive and in character so that the reader can really feel like they're seeing it all play out. At least that's what I hear back from some readers. My stories are also longer, which allows the reader to disappear into that world for longer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I still feel very new at this and lack some confidence in my writing skills. I've tried my hand at a few action scenes, but I'm not sure they come together as well as the relationship/dialogue scenes. I'm also an older Millennial, so some of the social media aspect of fanfiction and this fandom are new to me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it once. I just used Google translate to get some easy Chinese for Lucy and her mother to have a quick conversation. But I speak French and Korean, so I could potentially add that in sometime in the future. I just don't know how well that would fit into a Chenford story.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

This one. I had never done creative writing in my adult life until 7 months ago, hence my lack of confidence.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I have really loved writing Catch of a Lifetime. I feel like it's different than a lot of the stories I've read on AO3, but it still has the characters we know and love.

*Sense* You Know Me So Well is my favorite of my shorter stories, particularly chapter 2. It feels very realistic and true to what could have happened in the snow.

And chapter 2 of *Sense* You Know Me So Well, Too - The Sequel is the one I feel like draws on the deepest feelings and most genuine heart of Chenford.

Thanks, ladies! Tagging @makeitastrength and @queseraone and @girlintotv and @chenfordspiral if they're interested in talking about their writing.

[emillyverse]

First experiences

Sooooo

I know that "Behind the Scenes" is usually released after the artistic products are released, but hey, why not do it before?

I like sharing processes and seeing works of art emerge, so I hope whoever is reading this (if anyone is actually reading this) will enjoy it too!

Well, let's go!

So far, it has been 3 days of hard work. I'm not ashamed to say that the KoW Project really got me excited and the fact that I had a period off from University (which is coming to an end, thank the stars as I really want to start studying) motivated me to do as much as my body could. and my mind could handle it without it feeling forced and toxic. Thanks to that, I managed to finish planning the first scene!

Lol, yes, all these papers with writings and drafts are the first scene!

I was surprised – I didn’t expect a scene to be so big! Literally my only reaction to this was "Wow-"

I talked to the comic book writer and she said that I was going through the same difficulty as her when writing this introductory scene: The difficulty of fitting a long and complex backstory into a short space of time in a clear and objective way.

In total, the narration scene that tells from the creation of Wish Magic to the (supposed) story of Florian, Magnus and Amaya is 17 pages long.

This is in Brazilian Portuguese, probably no one will understand, but basically it says the title of the work, chapter 1, "scene 1", the word pages ("página") and their corresponding numbers.

Here we come to an interesting point, if you read my post about the "Production stages of the Fan Comic of "The Wish Kingdom" !!!" you will see that I mentioned that I would do each step per chapter…

Well that has changed.

I discovered that working only on planning tires me, I get sick and exhausted, so I'll alternate between planning and drawing the scenes, little by little putting together the chapters in the best way possible for me and the readers.

It's my first time putting together a comic book, I'm discovering what should be done and how it should be done, as well as getting to know myself a little in the process.

The conclusions I draw from this first experience is that challenging yourself to do new things can make you understand more about yourself, surprise you and be fun and tiring at the same time!

(cliché I know, but I really wanted to close this post with this little reminder Lmao)

Anyway…

I hope you enjoyed what you read, I'll be back with more in a while!

Kisses full of light and stars!

Goodbye!!

~ Emilly

[anonymous-dentist]

Do you have any fics for qsmp you enjoy reading? Like your personal favs? Or ones you think have potential?

YES OKAY!

1. Along Came a Spider

If you aren't reading this one, you're wrong because it's super good? Basically, Roier gets bit by a radioactive spider, Quackity is I think Norman Osborn, and Cellbit is a Very Normal Person who definitely isn't a literal cat burglar. It's super well written, all the characters are fun, there's a lot of intrigue going on, and the fandom needs more superhero aus, and what better character to use than the literal Spider-Man?

2. Divided Soul

I think everyone's been keeping up with this one, but I still recommend it!! It's some cool high fantasy shit starring Vegetta as a prince being haunted by his ex boyfriend (/pos) and Foolish as the Literal Most Traumatized Man On Earth. If you like angst and hurt/comfort, this is the one for you.

3. eternally, forever.

Another Fooligetta fic, this one's another popular one, but for good reason! It's heartbreaking in the amount of love you can feel coming off of Foolish the entire time, and then? Yeah. Read it, it's definitely worth it.

4. The Reason (English version linked here, but definitely check out the Portuguese or Spanish ones if that language works better for you!!

Where do I even begin. F!Cell never escaped from prison, and he is making it everybody's problem, including the new guy on the (cell) block, Roier, who is definitely supposed to be there. Definitely. This one's darker so only check it out if you're into like. Dark shit. But also it's super good, so yeah!!

5. partners (in crime)

This one is an Ordem Paranormal au and it's only one chapter rn but I think there will be more? Unsure! But, as it is, it's cute! I don't know a ton about OP, but Cellbit gets teased, and everyone is cute, and I hope there's more because I'm already invested. It is in Portuguese, but translating it is so worth it.

6. Red Gunpowder

This one's a newer one, only one chapter so far, but I'm super into it already I think? Basically, Cellbit is a Traumatized Cop and Roier is... not in the fic yet, but he sounds fun just from the description. The first chapter was pretty cool, and I can't wait to see where it goes!

7. Icarus is Flying Too Close to the Sun & This is How It Feels to Take a Fall (series linked)

Two fics in one bullet point because they're both just that good! All three of Bobby's parents try and get Bobby back, and it's super heartfelt and I felt Emotions and it's sweet :( Definitely read it!

8. your palms; a home for my soul

This one is so SWEET!! Basically, Roier's heart is broken, and he goes to a heart fixer to... fix it. (It's magic, don't question it.) It's a twoshot, but it's sooooo cute, the metaphor is INSANE and I went AAAA

9. Breaking Dawn

So this one's pretty popular as well, but it's for good reason! Basically, Cellbit is a wannabe paranormal investigator and Roier is a werewolf. I think it was supposed to just be a romcom from the author's description, but there's so much more? There's this whole sideplot with Felps being kidnapped and Roier being real shady about everything and Cellbit being the densest man on the planet, and it's super worth a read if you've got a couple hours to spare!

10. The Red Means I Love You!!

Okay so you know me by now, you know I love fucked up little guys finding love, and this one sure does have a fucked up little guy! Basically, q!Cellbit accidentally summons c!Roier to possess his husband when he was trying to summon Romero Richas to interrogate it, and things sure do happen. The characterization is killer, and so is c!Roier, who is so desperate for love that he'd kill for it. (Unfortunately for him, he's kinda met his match in the form of someone who'd kill to get his love back.)

11. Bad Romance

This is the direct sequel to the last fic, and normally I'm not too into that? But this one's worth it imo. Picking up after the end of the last fic, c!Roier breaks f!Cell out of prison and f!Cell definitely doesn't manipulate Roier into agreeing to help him murder Pac e Mike over them leaving him behind in prison. I'm not too into toxic relationships, but I have hope for these two tbh, who else could love them but each other?

And that's my fic rec list! It's just off the top of my head tbh, so sorry about that!

[ju-vondy]

Headcanon Gwynriel Scene PART 1

Hey guys. I'm brazilian and this is the first time I'm translating my writing from portuguese to english so please take it easy on me 😅 I hope you all enjoy it! This scene is a part of my fanfiction (which I'm posting currently on Wattpad only in portuguese, but if any of you show interest I may post it in english as well) Good reading... ~*~ Some context before u start reading: The last chapter wass Nesta and Cassian's cerimony and she offered Gwyn to move to the House of Wind because when Cassian leaves for missions she feels way too lonly. ~*~ It was in that last conversation that Gwyn was thinking about when she woke up that weekend. It had been two weeks since Nesta had been away. Gwyn arrived earlier at the training ring each day and spent the afternoons working in the library. In her free time, she read Nesta's improper romances - which she was particularly enjoying.

But in that particular week, Merril was incredibly demanding with the research content, so much so that Gwyn took her manuscripts to her room. She rolled over in bed, thoughtful. What would a normal citizen of Velaris do at the end of the week?

Take a stroll around the city.

And that's what she should do too. But there she was, locked in her room. She had promised herself that she would give it a chance.

But the other part, the one that screamed that everything would go wrong... It was still stronger. Besides, there were the nights when she woke up screaming and crying from a bad nightmare. The fateful day in Sangravah haunted her constantly. The disfigured ghost of her sister, Catrin, used to make the nightmares much worse. She didn't want do bother Nestha with that.

Gwyn huffed at Merrill's research papers and decided she had had enough. She had spent the last twelve hours working on the translation of two ancient tomes and was not seeing any progress. Besides... Weekend meant resting. Gwyn sighed loudly and dropped the pen on the desk.

"By the Mother..." she stretched her arms before getting up from the chair. "I wonder what Merril's next obsession will be after she finally proves her theory of connection between the realms."

Gwyn took a deep breath again as she stopped in front of the window. She put her hands on her waist, thoughtful. The research could wait. And the romance was getting so interesting when she had to stop to focus on the new content for Merril...

The priestess sighed and picked up the book, lying down on her bed. But she couldn't read. Not there. Then she felt tempted to go up to Nesta's private library. The one they had had so much fun making silly requests to the House.

Gwyneth had a better idea: to read outdoors. The sky must be beautiful out there. She could lie down on the training ring that would be empty and...

Yes, that's what she would do.

Without thinking twice, she put on something that would protect her from any possible cold, grabbed what was necessary, and went to the House. The lights were on, but there was no one there. Gwyn vaguely remembered hearing Nesta telling Cassian that while they were away, Azriel would teach in the mornings on weekdays, but on weekends he would cross over to Vallahan to accompany Mor in whatever they were doing.

Gwyn hummed as she headed towards the large arch that led to the roof of the House, but then... He was there.

Gwyn halted her movements before crossing the arch and held her breath as she saw those muscular backs without a shirt to hide the tanned skin. Azriel stopped his blows on the makeshift punching bag and turned his body to look at who was present, even though he already knew to whom that voice and scent belonged.

Gwyn cleared her throat before starting to explain herself:

"Sorry, I... I thought there was no one in the House, and I had this desire to read outdoors, so I thought it wouldn't be a problem if I came up here, but..." she stopped abruptly to catch her breath and continue: "If this is a problem for you, I can go back and..."

"Gwyneth," Azriel interrupted her, holding back a laugh. "You can stay."

The priestess widened her eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Gwyn quietly celebrated.

"Thank you," she smiled, walking towards the covered area. "I'll remember this before cursing you in training tomorrow, Shadowsinger."

Azriel chuckled softly.

"Good reading," he said and, after a brief nod, turned to go to the nearest rock where his shirt was thrown. No Illyrian leather, just casual clothing. Azriel put it on and then focused on the punching bag again.

Gwyn sighed, grateful for the small gesture. She opened her mouth to say that he didn't need to put on the shirt, and that she felt comfortable in his presence — even without knowing the reason — and that furthermore she didn't need anyone's pity, but changed her mind at the last moment.

"I don't bite, you know," Azriel said over his shoulder, offering only a half-smile to the Valkyrie.

Gwyn wanted to smack herself. She was there, busy enough — standing, observing those dressed backs and concluding that she preferred the previous sight — to remember to move and choose a place to settle.

The priestess took a step forward, eyebrows raised.

"For your luck, Shadowsinger, I don't bite either," Gwyn replied, keeping her tone calm and serious. "Unless if it is absolutely necessary."

Azriel chuckled. Of course Gwyn would have a smart-ass reply ready. Since the day they didn't win an award for completing the qualifying circuit for the Rite, Gwyn was determined to wipe the smug and presumptuous smiles off his and Cassian's faces whenever she could.

And he kind of liked that.

The priestess started humming softly and cheerfully to herself as she prepared a comfortable place to sit on the icy surface. She had brought a cushion and a sheet to line the floor, not wanting to bother the House with it.

Before she could sit, however, a comfortable mat appeared on top of the sheet and more cushions joined the one Gwyn had strategically positioned against the wall. Additionally, there was a pile with a comfortable blanket, scarf, and gloves. Gwyn rolled her eyes.

Seriously? I can do this myself. I'm not a child, you know.

In response, a mug of hot chocolate appeared next to the blanket. Gwyn chuckled quietly and stuck her tongue out at the House. The mug disappeared.

Hey, I was joking. Sorry.

The mug reappeared, along with a plate full of warm cookies, how fragrant. Gwyn smiled. Thank you.

The redhead settled into a cozy position while humming some soft "humming" sounds. She felt a warm breeze caress her cheeks. Gwyn shrugged, stopped vocalizing, and opened the book while whispering to herself that the House was too dramatic.

On the other side, Azriel, who was absolutely tense and with clenched jaw, relaxed. The shadows were incredibly out of control that night. It was true that Gwyn's presence caused some movement among them. Not agitation, but a small... Commotion.

Even a simple breath exercise from the redhead seemed to stir the shadows. However, it was Gwyneth's voice, her laugh in particular, that seemed to be the real call.

And the shadows... They were happy with a mere murmured singing from Gwyn. That was undeniable. But how was that possible? At that very moment, they were spying on her from afar: crazy to dance with her. They only awaited the master's permission, who, to his discontent, kept a firm hand.

Azriel rolled his eyes. He would have to do something about it, and soon. Gwyn laughed, causing the shadows to threaten to approach again. Azriel gave a scathing look to the shadows over his shoulder, to reprimand them.

"Sorry," Gwyn widened her eyes at Azriel and raised the book. "Funny scene."

Azriel tilted his head, wanting to beat himself up. Obviously, Gwyn would think that the unfriendly look was directed at her.

"It wasn't..." Azriel clicked his tongue. How to explain that he wasn't angry with her without sounding like a lunatic? "No problem."

"Okay." Gwyn shrugged and returned her attention to reading. She tried to laugh quietly to herself, with little success. Azriel smiled. At least she was trying. The shadows whispered to him.

Listen. Closer. Approach.

The Illyrian rolled his eyes: No.

The shadows hissed stubbornly: You're such a brat. Listen to us.

Azriel exhaled in response: Leave her alone.

Azriel swallowed a grunt. Should he leave? No, that would seem too rude. Gwyn had already presumed that he wouldn't like her presence there. Leaving would leave her, at the very least, intrigued. And if there was one thing the master spy didn't feel like dealing with right now, it was Gwyneth Berdara's curious and dangerously sharp inquiries.

So he was left with only one thing: ignore.

Ignore. Ignore. And ignore.

[flordemurta]

4 portuguese monarchs who might had same-sex relationships:

1) Pedro I of of Portugal, certainly, one if the most renowned portuguese monarchs, largely due to the saga of “love and passion” with Inês de Castro. Yet, it was common knowledge that she wasn't the Pedro’s only love: he harboured a passion for his squire, Afonso Moreira, a relationship that ended as disastrously as his other romantic (or not) entanglements. On one fateful occasion, Afonso was caught in bed with Catarina Tosse, wife of Lourenço Gonçalves, who was an esteemed magistrate.

Throughout his reign, Pedro earned the epithet “the Cruel” for his ruthless administration of justice, whereby transgressions of any magnitude often resulted in swift execution. Pedro’s decision to order Afonso’s castration as punishment for his adultery starkly manifested his merciless ethos. Nevertheless, according to Fernão Lopes, a chronicler of portuguese court at the time, in chapter VIII of “Crônica de el-rei D. Pedro I”, his harshness stemmed from a surge of jealousy on the king’s part upon discovering his beloved squire’s relationship with a woman.

2) Prince Henry, revered as “the Navigator”, occupies a central role particularly during the epoch of maritime exploration.

He was hailed as “chaste prince”, having never entered into wedlock, with no historical accounts suggesting (with certainty) any relationships with women. In the annals of 1444, Henry experienced the loss of a “dear friend” in Ceuta, a tragedy that pluged him into 3 months of profound mourning. Both his father, King John I, and his brother, King Edward, counselled him to “rein in his emotions, lest he indulge men beyond what virtue dictates.”

3) King Sebastian contracted gonorrhoea at the age 10/11, a malady documented in medical records at the time that rendered him sexually impotent. Some historians posit that this affliction may have dissuaded Sebastian from pursuing matrimonial unions or romantic relationships with women.

Even though, the “Crônicas de el-rei D. Sebastião” by Friar Bernardo da Cruz recounts an incident during a hunt in the Alentejo, where the entourage of nobles accompanying King Sebastian were stirred by a commotion. Investigating the disturbance, they stumbled upon the monarch locked in an embrance with a fugitive slave amidst the woodland.

4) King Afonso VI, sibling to Queen Catarina of Braganza, earned a reputation for rebeliouness and unruliness from a tender age, yet he harboured no ambitions for kingship.

His reign , marred by a series of missteps, was etched in history for its futile ventures. Despite grappling with severe health afflictions — such as partial paralysis stemming from hemiplegic fever, and scourge of bulimia — Afonso found solace in nocturnal escapades with his inner circle of friends. Among them was António Conti, an intalian peddler of opulent attire and accoutrements to Europe’s nobility. Conti’s sway in Afonso’s court burgeoned as he assumed the role of sartorial advisor and facilitator of introductions to foreign luminaries. Also, both grew increasingly closer to each other, with Afonso avoiding royal gatherings to spend time with Conti, mostly in his chambers.

In 1666, Afonso took the hand of Maria Francisca Isabel of Savoy, yet their union was fleeting. Maria, citing non-consummation owing to Afonso’s hemiplegia, sought an annulment. In letters to his sister, he bemoaned Maria’s coercive measures, by which she compelled him into relationships with 14 courtesants in a bid to unearth the root of their marital discord.

Seeking to shield Afonso’s sovereignty and secure the portuguese lineage, Luisa de Gusmão, his mother, sanctioned the arrest and subsequent exile of Conti to the distant shores of Brazil.

[spicysix]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @missberrycake thank you lovely ♡

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

38!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

115,027!!! that's so many words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently, only Stranger Things. before, i've written for a bunch of RPF - McFly, The Maine, One Direction. don't think i had ever written for a show/movie before

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

crush crush crush - steddie X reader

fuck-marry-kill - steve X reader

it feels like i'm going home - eddie X reader

now i'm ready to start - eddie X reader

love sneaked in with the smell of you - eddie X reader

i find it very funny that my top 5 (actually, my top 9!!!) it's all reader inserts. didn't think they'd be popular at Ao3 hah

5. Do you respond to comments?

i do!!! currently i have a lot of comments to answer to, because i've been a little away from fandom and specifically from writing since last year, and haven't found it in myself to answer them. but i will!!!!! someday

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

me and you (we can't lose) [eddie X reader] definetely. canon compliant. that's all needed to understand lmao but some of the drabbles for my Forever Halloween Challenge are also very angsty and gory

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

basically all my other fics have happy endings, so that's a hard thing to answer lol i think it's relative

8. Do you get hate on fics?

never did, thankfully!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i've only ever wrote one smut scene for going home and nothing else in english. in portuguese, i've had a series of three short smut fics that i never finished lol. it's not my thing and it's hard for me to do it because of the language barrier in english, i feel insecure about it. i just prefer writing pure fluff in general

10. Do you write crossovers?

never did, no, cause it's usually not something i like to read as well

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

also not that i know of but that would be so nice if done with permission!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

also no. i think i'd have a bit of a hard time, but wouldn't be opposed to it

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

i'll say that nothing has ever got me as much as Steddie before. i've always been a reader insert girlie, besides the first fics that i've ever read (Jemi - joe jonas X demi lovato) fics, i'm pretty sure Steddie was the only characters ship that i've read and got completely obsessed over

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

your sweater (up over your head) [stonathan]. this fic is very special to me and a personal challenge in many ways, and i'd love to finish it someday but i'm not sure i'll get back to writing ST, so it's a hard chance

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'd say dialogue! it flows very naturally to me

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

description. haaaate describing things, scenarios, clothes, faces, animals, whatever. i think i'm really mediocre if not entirely bad at it

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

if it's through someone's specific POV, i'm in favor of writing as the character understands it - so if they understand the language, keep it translated and just describe that it was in another language; but if they don't understand, then don't translate either. then you can either put it on a note or make the character who said it translate it. but also, if it's too big of a text, i think it can be annoying. so, mostly short phrases it's good

19. First fandom you wrote for?

McFly rpf reader insert

20. Favourite fic you've written?

ahhh that is such a hard question, i love all my fics so dearly. but i'm gonna go with going home because it's my first and only finished long chaptered fic, and all the research i did for it and everything else involved in writing it that made it a bit more special

Tagging (no pressure): @marvel-ous-m @hbyrde36 @stellarspecter @starryeyedjanai and anyone else who sees it and wants to join in!

[dangakkisland]

Veiled Hope (Beta: H.O.P.E) Concept art below

‹long post be warned (If you don't feel well to touch on subjects like death, corpses even if with not much detail I recomend watching after yourself and maybe pass this post for another time!)

For starters Veiled Hope was supposed to be called "H.O.P.E" or "E.S.P.E.R.A.N.Ç.A" As in the portuguese script I wrote for it, the "Veiled" part came from another work called "Veiled Shadows" which fused with H.O.P.E; One more reason for the name was because it was fully focused on Izuru after the Hope cultivation program jumping the entire part of the DESPAIR arc

Izuru's uniform is the same as Hajime's right now the only difference was the symbols being green spades rather than light-red diamonds (Notes from the images above: Always keep the card theme between Nagito, Hajime, and Chiaki, possibly could work with Makoto/Mitarai in the end but not when they don't know both his identity yet)‹ this is not followed anymore

[He was still Ryota Mitarai/Ryota Nanami instead of Mitarai Nanami, the change was because it just sounded way better and it flowed like a feather.]

Yasuke alive and well even after Junko took his life for unknown reasons I put as "Later but related to Hope's peak academy and the Future Foundation"⟩ if I followed I would probably blame the Ultimate Pharmacist and her magic medicine or the same thing that Kyoko used to jump back from the dead.

He also has lobotomy marks, I put his state as "Depression, Delusion, Dependent all with extra steps"

His design would be only Yasuke in a Black and white suit probably something relating to Monokuma as a callout for Junko somewhat in the design, the only note in specific is make the sole of his shoes reflect the weird red eye on Monokuma/ half of the Hope's peak symbol under the sole of his shoes.

Mahiru! Her redesign as the Ultimate despair, all smiles. All the Ultimate despairs received redesigns but the starter ones were way more brutal like Mahiru's (She used to have way more teeth than she is supposed to, that was to reflect the smile dillema and fuse it with despair) and Servant's (After Another Episode he had to amputate one of his legs due an infection and the injury was way more gorey than it should {Removed})

There was one flashback scene of Izuru dancing with a students half alive half dead corpse {Removed}

Izuru's cave like hideout painted pink {Removed}

Izuru disguised as Junko for Makoto {Removed in this certain situation}

Kyoko and Izuru serious talk in private, Izuru disguised as Hajime {Removed but depends on certain situations}

Kyoko animated failed execution {Removed}

Ultimate despairs break Makoto's security system in the most silly way possible (Metal pipe) {Maybe just because its funny}

Shirokuma was supposed to be a big role, I didn't elaborate much myself only letting a note about how it wandered in vents EVERYWHERE in red marker

Makoto sick with despair after seeing the first chapter of Super Dangaronpa 2, He couldn't get a hold of reality as the security system was locked (Flooded by the Junko AI). Byakuya taking his duty of watching the Killing game instead when Kyoko tried to figure out how the Virus got there filling everyone involved in their Seniors with serious distrust.

I was thinking on making this longer bit actually this is everything giving no spoilers for the story at all, mostly just removed content and some character designs with unused descriptions. I'll probably do it again when I finish completely, I can't tell how long it will take probably years 1-2 however it could be probably so worth it and I'll fight as long as I can

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

How did FNAF and the surrounding community impact you when you were young? Were you with it from the very beginning?

Would you guys be surprised if I said it was FNaF and Minecraft that first got me into writing?

The year was 2015. FNaF 3 was still on its way, and I was a 11-12 year-old gremlin who loved reading. I remember searching for sites to post books and coming across a little place called Nyah! Fanfiction, a brazilian portuguese space for... Well. Fanfic. And I made my little account in there and started reading TONS of fanfiction, including, of course, FNaF.

That's when I came across a little story where we could send in our own OCs to be characters in there. It was being updated every day and I think it was sitting at chapter 3 when I first read it. Me, being super excited, immediately commented and told the author how much I LOVED that thing, and submitted my OCs. It wasnt long until me, the author and other readers formed an actual and genuine friend group! We were all tweens who loved writing, and I believe I would have never got too far into writing if it wasnt for our friendship!

We are still friends to this day, despite falling out with some of the og group members, and these beautiful weirdos I call friends all know about the things I have been doing in this Tumblr! FNaF made me meet some of my best friends for life, and hopefully one day we'll all be able to meet IRL and be silly together.

The fan theories, fanart and the community present during the FNaF 1-6 era forever shaped me, and I cannot thank the existence of this weird game with an infuriatingly confusing story enough. I may not be as close with the community as I once was but I'll forever cherish it.

Also for the love of God why the fuck did they bring William back after UCN. Why. It was the PERFECT ending and they BROUGHT HIM BACK–

[liz-allyn]

heat of the moment, pt 4 - it's a wonderful (horrible) life [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: the five stages of grief, times infinity. angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"

words: 7.6k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw gore, blood, burns, smut (but not really graphic), references to drug and alcohol abuse, references to sex, body horror, s*lf h*rm, su*c*de

a/n - I know I promised this would be done in 4 parts, but once I hit this word count I decided that we needed a break. whooops sorry.

STRONG CONTENT WARNING: SELF H*RM - SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR DETAILS.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

“You’re in what now?”

“A time loop.”

Peter sat slack-jawed across from you at a diner booth. The restaurant was humming with the hustle and bustle of the breakfast crowd, filled with chatter from diner patrons and the smell of freshly roasted coffee. You pitched your fork into a short stack of peanut butter and chocolate chip banana pancakes, topped with whipped cream. And birthday sprinkles, because why not. 

Scooping the sugary chunk into your mouth (which really resembled a cake at this point), you moaned a noise that would’ve normally gone to a primal part of Peter’s brain. Instead, he was distracted by the side dishes of strawberry and mascarpone French toast, a “breakfast burger” featuring Portuguese linguisa sausage and muenster cheese, and a “Tuesday special” skillet of bacon mac and cheese featuring two over-easy eggs and thick-cut pork belly slices marinated with paprika and brown sugar.

You reached over to take a sip of your caramel-drizzled, iced coconut latte, then waived your fork to signal your waitress. The plump, red-haired woman wearing a traditional diner dress and apron approached your table with a cheery smile.

“How’s everything, darlin’?” she grinned warmly. She had a “friendly aunt'' vibe about her that you adored. At least that’s what you told Peter when you insisted on coming here for breakfast. Or whatever this “feast” was called.

“Oh, it’s sublime, Doris,” you gushed with a charming flutter of your lashes. 

Peter considered for a moment that he hadn’t heard the waitress mention her name before. 

You add with a singsong voice, “But I think my boyfriend and I would like to try something refreshing. Something fizzy...” You pick up the menu and scan over it quickly, although you already knew it by heart. “How ‘bout a beer?” You glanced at Peter. “I could go for a beer, how about you? With orange juice, maybe? A beer-mosa?”

He lifted his brows in surprise, stumbling over his response. “Uh... it’s... like... nine in the morning?”

“Ah, of course,” you respond sheepishly, then flick your eyes back to Doris. “I’ll take a Bloody Mary, then.”

The waitress nodded, somewhat impressed with your bold, Tuesday morning audacity, but said nothing as she turned to leave.

“Wait!” you called after her. “Actually, make that a Bloody Maria. Jalapeño-infused tequila. Top shelf. Please.” You punctuated your sentence with an endearing wink, and Doris might’ve respected you even more as she headed for the bar.

Now left alone, Peter surveyed the table incredulously, masking his concern. He glanced down at his plate, thinking he was overindulging himself by ordering the $21 avocado toast. As if you could read his mind, you pushed the plate of pancakes towards him.

“Have a bite of this,” you insisted, before slamming back the iced latte and emptying the glass. “I’ve got another short stack of pineapple upside-down pancakes coming.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I thought you were allergic to pineapple?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, licking whipped creme off your fingers. “Not the worst way to go.”

“Wait a sec. Can we just— rewind it back... to the—”

“Time loop,” you supplied. You scooped a bite of the cheesy macaroni onto your fork and leaned across the table, directing the fork towards his mouth. “Open,” you said— an endearing order.

With a blush, Peter opened his mouth as you fed him the bite. “Soi’m jus’ confoosed...” he mumbled through the gooey food, “s’you’re sayn moo’ve w’ived ‘dis day mef’fore?”

“Yes, we’ve had this conversation before. Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you gently admonished. “It’s a dumb way to die.” You reached over and took a massive bite of your burger, chewing thoroughly.

“A time loop,” Peter repeated, thoughtfully. You could hear the sound of his signature skeptical smirk, usually right before he makes a reference to... 

“Like in—?”

“Groundhog Day,” you finished. You then added, pointedly, “Which—frustratingly, doesn’t even bother to explain why Bill Murray’s in a time loop in the first place! I mean, how stupid! How can you just not have an explanation like that? Is it a gypsy curse? Is it aliens? Is it the goddamn groundhog? Who knows! Complete bullshit.”

He batted his head from side to side, considering your perspective. “Um, well, I mean...  it’s... not a documentary?”

“Well, it did have some good pointers,” you replied, signaling to the buffet spread across the table. “Like—it doesn’t really matter what I eat,” you stated with a bit of pride. “I don’t need to exercise. Ever.” You picked up a slice of French toast and shoved it in your mouth, savoring the creamy mascarpone. “I don’t even need to brush my teeth. Or floss. It doesn’t matter how much sugar I eat. I’ll never get a cavity.” You took a strawberry in your fingers and sucked the delectable mascarpone from the fruit before popping it in your mouth. “I don’t even remember the last time I shaved.” You couldn’t help but sound giddy in your nonchalance. “The other day I even tattooed my face. It was awful. But then I woke up and it was like it never happened!”

“Wait, when?” Peter blinked at you, overwhelmed with confusion.

You rolled your eyes. He wasn’t getting it. He’s not getting it.

You turn to Doris as she brings a highball glass with a Tajin-seasoned rim, filled with red liquid and ice. “You’re an angel, Doris,” you fawned over the glass, raising it towards her in a toast. “We’re going to need some boxes. Like ten of them. Please?”

Doris nodded dutifully and was off again. You glanced at the tall glass, removing the straw (a choking hazard, at this point), and brought the rim to your lips, tilting your head back. Peter gawked as he watched you gulp down the tequila cocktail in mere seconds. You exhaled a spicy breath, your tongue burning, the acid surely searing the lining of your stomach. It would kill you, eventually. But not today. Probably.

“We gotta run,” you told Peter, who was still struggling.

“I agree,” he replied with a more serious tone. “I know I’m supposed to be paying attention right now, but honestly—”

You took your index finger, swiping it through the whipped cream on your plate, and dragged the digit through your lips. You locked your eyes on him, teasing him as he absorbed the lewd gesture with an open mouth. 

“You’re realizing that watching me shove stuff in my mouth gets you hard?” The finger slips out of your mouth with a loud pop. 

He blinked. His face turned pink. Brain shorts out. “Uh.. how did you—?”

“The same way I know that I can make you lose your mind beneath this table before she comes back with the boxes,” you wink at him fiendishly. 

He blinked again. Several times.

“But not today,” you cheekily wink. 

You moved briskly down the sidewalk as the sounds of the city rang out around you. Peter watched as he followed, hurriedly, with a stack of takeout boxes piled up to his chin. He noted that you were swift, but not rushed. You moved down the street like a dancer, every step choreographed. You seemed to know where you were going, although he didn’t have the slightest clue. When he asked, you’d only speak in riddles.

He noticed you slow down as you approached an alleyway, glancing the side of the buildings up and down. You carefully jump over a crack in the sidewalk, surveying the uneven surface, and avoid crossing beneath the ladder of a fire escape, before coming to a stop near a dumpster. 

Peter spotted an elderly woman, hair in disarray, wearing a tattered, stained overcoat several sizes too big. Her once-pink fuzzy slippers were caked with months of mud. She held the lid of a garbage dumpster open, peering down at the options inside.

“Morning, Gina,” you greeted her pleasantly as if you’d known her for years. The woman was startled as she turned towards you. You took one of the styrofoam takeaway boxes off of Peter’s hands and offered it to her. “Here you go, still nice and warm. I asked them to put clean utensils inside, and one of those little hand sanitizer wipeys. Bon appetit!” 

The woman took the box of hot food with a cautious expression but was quickly entranced by the delicious smell.

With a kind wave, you were off again. Perplexed, Peter glanced back and forth between you and the woman, leaving her with a kind smile and nod, then promptly returned to your side.

“Nice lady,” you remarked, continuing on your path down the sidewalk. Your eyes darted from corner to corner, thoroughly scanning the busy street. “You know she used to be a concert pianist?”

“Okay, slow down—you’re not giving me all the details here,” Peter anxiously pleaded, confused by your actions all morning. “Why does it seem like you know... everything?”

“I’ve been down this road before,” you sigh. “Figuratively and literally.”

Before Peter can respond, you place a protective hand on his shoulder, slowing him to a stop. Your eyes lifted towards the sky as you stopped near an active construction site. He glanced over at you, your eyes fixed warily on the scaffolding of the half-built tower. He heard you groan with frustration. In an instant, you took off in a different direction towards the front gate of the construction site. Peter followed you, watching carefully, as you march towards the foreman.

“Excuse me!” you harshly shouted as you approached. The foreman, who was in mid-phone conversation, glanced over at you, baffled and annoyed at your interruption. You reached up and took the phone right from his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you snapped, pulling his phone away. Eyes widening with alarm, Peter hurried towards your side immediately, placing himself between you and the foreman.

The foreman sized you up from head to toe indignantly. “What the hell—?”

“No phones on the lot when heavy machinery is in motion!” you admonished, pointing to the cherry picker parked nearby. 

The foreman glanced over at the hydraulic crane and its operators, then sneered at you with a side-eye. He shifted on his feet, planting his hands on his hips, fixing you with a ‘now-look-here-little-lady’ look. He sighed deeply, “Ma’am—”

“Don’t ma’am me,” you sneered, putting a finger in his face. “My name is OSHA and I’m your worst fucking nightmare, ‘kay? And where’s your hard hat, asshole? What is this? Amateur hour?” 

The man’s face began to flush, with either anger or embarrassment—Peter wasn’t sure. 

You pointed up towards the scaffolding, continuing your rant. “You got one guy up there not wearing his harness the right way, not to mention the toolbox next to the leading edge! You need a tape measure or something? Three feet is three feet!”

The foreman took a step backwards, glancing around with embarrassment as your tirade drew snickers from his crew and curious eyes from pedestrians. Peter held his tongue uncomfortably as you shoved the phone into the foreman’s chest.

“Here’s your phone back,” you spat. “You might wanna call somebody in who knows how to run a goddamn construction site. Maybe Bob the Builder.” You took Peter by the elbow and marched away, leaving your stunned, thoroughly-eviscerated victim behind. 

(You hadn’t an ounce of sympathy for him. You’d been eviscerated. Fuck his fragile masculinity.) 

Peter followed your lead, letting himself be pulled by you. And for the first time in his life, perhaps—experienced what it felt like to feel dumb. 

He stuttered incredulously, “What in the—?”

“Did you know a penny dropped from a high enough distance can lodge through your skull?”

“I... am... so confused right now.”

“It’s okay, it’s hard to understand, I know,” you explained. “You’ll get it.” Peter turned towards the bright yap of a corgi pulling on his leash towards you. “Don’t make eye contact,” you gravely warned. 

“What?”

“Eyes on me,” you ordered, alarmed dread in your voice. “Don’t engage. Don’t make eye contact. Gouda can’t see you if you don’t move.”

With a quirked brow, Peter followed your instructions, despite how baffling they were. The both of you stood motionless, staring at each other, and avoiding looking at the dog as it dragged his owner down the street. Once it was safe—whatever that meant—you moved towards the sidewalk curb, pausing for a five second count, then proceeded to walk across the street.

“Bug, you’re really starting to freak me out,” he called after you, trailing behind you in more ways than one. “Now if what you’re saying was even possible, which it isn’t, because it would break every law and notion of what we perceive as physical time that’s ever been theorized—”

Your eyes narrowed on a tall, stone-chinned, moderately-handsome young man with gelled-over hairplugs, wearing an expensive camel wool coat over a finely-tailored suit. He marched forward in the opposite direction, as he approached you and Peter on the sidewalk. 

“Uh huh....” you replied, only half-listening.

“I mean, science fiction aside, time loops don’t just happen, because that would suggest that time is a linear construct anyway, when it’s actually more of a fifth-dimensional, state of reality—”

Your wealthy target held the latest smartphone device outwards in his hand, while wearing a bluetooth earbud in his ear, while simultaneously shouting into the speakerphone for everyone to hear, “—swear to fuckin’ god, you can tell McKinsey to shove it up her cunt. Tell her I said that! Tell her she can shove the whole SEC up in her cunt and get fucked! She wants a hostile fuckin’ takeover, then we'll go to war—”

Idly, you sidestepped and slammed into his shoulder as he passed. Despite the bump and the overwhelming stench of cologne and sweat, you kept walking without making eye contact. From your periphery, you saw him spin on the heel of his leather soles and hiss in your direction. “Fuckin’ watch where you’re goin’, yeah?!” he bellowed, with an aggressive tone that was enough to make Peter puff up his chest. 

You saw your boyfriend begin to engage and you calmly intervened. “Don’t bother,” you shrugged.

“Tough guy, eh?” Peter called after the man. “He’s a prick!” His voice echoed and was loud enough to be heard by the offender. It didn’t matter, as the stranger was already marching along to concern himself with more important things.

When Peter turned back to you, you were holding a thick wad of hundred dollar bills. Proudly, you pocketed the cash. 

“Did you just steal that?” Peter exclaimed, scandalized.

“No...?” you replied, somewhat offended by the completely accurate description of events.

You thought he’d break his neck by how taken aback he was. “Really?”

“You gonna arrest me?” you snickered deviously. Peter stared at you, open mouthed. “Now’s your chance!” you added playfully. 

He watched as you sprinted ahead of him, bounding towards two uniformed, New York City police officers strolling out of a bakery. Lost in their own world, in the middle of a lively conversation, they were on their way towards their parked police cruiser when you called out to them.

“Oh, my god, Officers! Officers!” you breathlessly wailed as you rushed towards them. The hairs on Peter’s neck stood up as he witnessed your dramatic performance. You looked flushed, with tears coming to your eyes, chest heaving and breathless. The two cops—the rookie Officer Cage and the more senior Officer Conner, stopped mid conversation as you approached them.

You threw yourself at Officer Cage, pressing your full chest into him and fluttering your lashes above your distressed eyes. The younger officer looked down at you, flustered, and shot a nervous glance towards his partner.

Peter stood back with a brow raised as Officer Cage attempted to keep his hands visible as you threw yourself at him. “Please, you’ve got to do something!” you declared, sounding like you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Cage began to sweat.

“Alright, just calm down, ma’am,” his more senior partner ordered. “What’s the matter?”

You gripped Cage by the collar, so distraught you struggled to stand upright. Anxiously, the rookie cop fought the urge to grab you by the hips to steady you. 

Peter did not like it at all.

“You’ve got to do something!” you repeated, fanning your face with your fingers as tears threatened to break through. “There’s a-a man at the con-construction site back there!” Still holding Cage’s body towards yours, you turned and pointed down the street in the direction you and Peter had just come from. The officers followed the end of your finger, past a food delivery truck being unloaded into the bakery. They angled their heads around the truck to see your line of sight. “There's a worker who’s dangling from a rope! He’s going to fall!” 

Cage and Conner glanced at each other with growing alarm, and they both took off down the street towards the site of the impending trouble. You watched them go with a self-satisfied smirk. It technically wasn’t a lie if it hadn’t happened yet.

Peter watched the officers rush off, then turned towards you with a mix of confusion and annoyance. His eyes grew three times bigger as he saw that you had Cage’s pistol in your hand. 

You dutifully disabled the weapon like a seasoned pro—unloading the magazine, ejecting the first bullet from the chamber, and smashing the firing mechanism against the edge of a metal garbage can, before tossing the weapon down a storm drain. The bullets you took with you, pocketing them right next to the cash.

“Who the hell are you?” Peter exclaimed, barely able to speak coherently. “When did you get so terrifying? How did you learn how to use a gun?”

You responded with a careless shrug. “You should see the other way I unload it. It’s way more fun.”

Peter stood speechlessly as he looked down at you, with a disappointed tilt of his head that did the same.

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy,” you retorted, offended by his apparent judgment. “Trust me. That cop needs a few more hours of training time on the range— not to mention years of therapy— to address some deep-rooted childhood trauma.” 

Peter looked back over his shoulder past the delivery truck, sizing up the retreating officer. 

“And that Wall Street Douche?” you added. “The only reason he was carrying that cash for was to buy some cocaine party favors for a big ‘rager’ tonight. I mean, what better way to celebrate a successful insider trading payout, amirite?” You used haphazard air quotes to match your cruel tone. “Too bad he doesn’t know the coke’s laced with fentanyl. Guess you shouldn’t try to cheap out on your drug dealer.” Your boyfriend stared at you, his brow furrowed. “I just saved that guy’s life!” you spat pointedly, with a bravado tone, your voice bellowing throughout the busy street. “Him and the Blockchain Gang.”

You retrieved the roll of cash, holding it up for Peter to see. “Let’s just call this a ‘thank you’ for my service.”

“So that’s it? That’s what you think saving lives is about? That’s what it means?”

“Everybody dies, Peter,” you sneered coldly, shoving the cash back in the pocket of your coat. “Who cares what it means?”

He gazed at you with tight lips, jaw locked in place. “I do,” he softly replied, after several long moments. His face was elongated with a sour expression. “I care.”

A long beat passes as you stare at him—the poor, pitiful fool— and you remember that he hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. By contrast, you haven’t survived in the same way he has. You recalled the way death has been a constant presence in his life. Between the death of his parents, his surrogate father, and his high school sweetheart, grief was just a condition of his being.

You breathe a heavy sigh, and recognize that while you may not be the bad guy, you are an asshole. 

Dying was making you bitchy, and there were few things that could adjust your attitude when it soured. Your eyes land on the parked police cruiser, and they lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You wanna fuck on the hood of this cop car?” you grinned deviously, as if you were suggesting something as innocent as swiping an extra handful of Halloween candy.

He leveled a stone-faced, deadpan look at you.

Your devilish smile only faltered slightly. “No?” You tried to reel it in, sombering yourself. “Some other time, then.” Displeased, he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, still carrying the pile of takeout boxes in his long arms. You gritted your teeth and groaned. 

He doesn’t get it, you thought. “Peter, just wait up.” 

He paused.

“I’m sorry, okay?” You kick your toe into the sidewalk. “I just feel like... like maybe— We shouln’t take all of this too seriously, y’know?”

“All of what? Life?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, but agreeing with him doesn’t ease his growing frustration. “I just think that in the grand scheme of things, none of this matters.” The ‘this’ you were referring to was all around you. It was everything. Everyone. All the days had become the same, and every event in them—including your death—had bared the same dreadful monotony. Time was meaningless. Time is meaningless. 

He glared down at you, quirking an offended eyebrow. “How couldya say somethin’ like that?” His accent rears back to life again.

“Maybe you need to hear it,” you state matter-of-factly, with a shrug of your shoulders. “Your entire world is built on the foundation that you need to save everyone, and that’s somehow going to make the world a better place. But if any of us dies, Peter, it doesn’t matter. If I die, it doesn’t matter.”

“Shut up.” Even over the sound of traffic, you can hear the pain in his whispered reply. He jutted his finger out towards you, warningly. There’s a quiet intensity in his voice, and all the humor had drained from his demeanor. “I don’t wanna hear any more.”

“No, Peter. I’m gonna die.” You’re bold with your statement. Confident. It’s an edict. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I don’t know if God even exists, but regardless, you’re not him.”

“Stop it,” he seethes now, inching closer to you. He looks like he’d web your mouth shut—right there in front of everyone on the street. Maybe you want him to.

There’s venom in your voice, not certain who its reserved for. But you serve it to the love of your life anyway. “You. Cannot. Save. Me.”

And it’s right about that time when the delivery truck driver emerges from the back carrying a giant sack of flour. The wind picks up, and the fine, white powder is carried with it. The cloud wraps around the both of you.

The static electricity of Peter’s dry hands across the surface of the styrofoam food containers creates a spark. The dust cloud in the air ignites, a fireball erupting in midair. The grease-soaked food containers go up in flames, reduced to a burning pile in seconds. Peter is stunned, dropping the burning food containers on the sidewalk, and now you both are alarmed by the burning pile. Both of you start kicking at the fire, in order to put out the flames, but it just creates more of a flaming mess. 

The embers of bacon-soaked styrofoam fan up and catch on your coat. You’re quick to recognize it, and shed yourself of the garment just as it starts to burn. You slink it off your shoulders and drop the coat to the ground, just as Peter renders a stunned look of horror on his face.

He gazes up at you over the small bonfire, amazed beyond belief. “Time loops are real?” he squeaks out.

At about that time, the bullets in your pocket ignite in the flames. It sounds like popcorn— if it were made in a steel vat with the volume turned up about 100 times. 

Peter flinches at the sound. You jolt as your body becomes riddled with bullet holes, tearing through your flesh like swiss cheese. 

You were getting warmer. And colder. You followed his line of sight down and gaped at a whirlpool of crimson torn through your chest. You watched your life force drain out of you, spilling onto your feet and across the floor. 

By far, the most nightmarish of visions was the dread you saw in Peter’s eyes. 

You watch. His light extinguishes. Swallowed up. Drowned in anguish. Cue darkness. 

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

The ceiling. You stare. Still. Motionless.

Your eyes sting with tears that are fighting to be shed. Some days it’s harder than others to keep them back. 

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” 

He pokes out his head. His expression naive. Serene. Joyful. Alive.

You wonder how many times you have to die before you’ve evolved. 

Before you devolve. Into something less than human.

You glance over at Peter. Despite being half dead, your heart flutters at the sight of him. A glowing freckled face. Sparkling amber eyes. A beautifully-mischievous smile.

His smile.

“We need to talk,” you respond quietly. His expression falls, confused. “Take me somewhere with a nice view?”

It’s quiet on the roof of the high rise that overlooks Central Park. You appreciate the view, and how the sun hits the vertical, towering, puffy clouds just so, threading golden rays of sunlight into their indigo plumes.

It’s not Peter’s first choice, but there’s a rainbow out and you can see it better from here than from the Empire State Building. 

There was something poetic about rainbows, you’ve come to decide. Something about a pattern of refracting light, laid out into a pathway that could only be seen if you’re in the right place at the right moment. You chuckle quietly. Rainbows really are magical.

Peter paced anxiously beside you, muttering a monologue, mostly to himself. It didn’t bother you much. He would get this way, and you found that his nonsensical mumbling actually soothed your nerves. Almost like a white noise machine.

You sat on the rooftop listlessly with your back against a wall. Your eyes would follow him sometimes, lids heavy with apathy. 

By contrast, Peter was a livewire; synapses firing, his eyes alight as they tabulated variables and ran through formulas. He looked like one of those internet memes with greek letters and roman numerals circling his head, rummaging through the endless, note-scribbled index card catalogue of his mind on quantum mechanics and chaos theory. 

It was exhausting. 

You wished that he would just sit down next to you, so you could rest your head on his shoulder again. Maybe close your eyes and sleep. 

Dying was exhausting.

You continued to watch him dig a trench with his Spidey-clad boots. You considered not saying anything at all this time. Then, you opened your mouth, “Pe—”

“I’ve got it!” Peter said triumphantly, with a ‘eureka’ vibe. He turned to you, his amber eyes glittering with hope. “It all makes sense now. The temporal loop limited to less than 24 hours. The blatant disregard for the Novikov self-consistency principle—”

You rolled your eyes.

“This all sounds like that presentation from last winter at Horizon Labs!” Peter blurted out, half still talking to himself, mostly. “Who was that guy? He was theorizing the possibility of quantum computation with a negative delay—”

“You know I have no idea what you’re saying, right?” you deadpanned.

“Time travel!” Peter explained. “He was talking about time travel! I bet Horizon is tied up in this time loop thing somehow. That-that guy must be behind this—”

“What guy?”

“Agh,” he gripped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “what was his name? The chunky guy with the mullet? That guy!”

You nodded your head once. You knew exactly who he was referring to. “Grady.”

He pointed an index finger at you. “Yes!” Then, he paused, letting his arm drop. “Wait, how do you know—?”

“It’s not him,” you declared simply, picking at your nails. 

“What do you mean it’s not—”

“It’s not him.”

“How do you know—?”

“Because we asked him. Interrogated him. Ripped his research apart. Tore Horizon Labs down to the studs, and it wasn’t him. Same with Oscorp. Tricorp. Alchemax. They’re all busts.”

He locked his jaw, looking down at the ground, fingers digging into his hips. “You know, this smells like Quentin Beck—”

“Not Mysterio either.”

His shoulders dropped. “Okay. Then what about Fisk?”

“Nope.”

“Kraven, then.”

“Not Kraven,” you shook your head. 

Peter bit his lip, gritting his teeth, his frustration building. “How can you be so sure?” he argued. 

“Time loop, remember? Nothing changes, Peter. Ever.” You shrugged your shoulders and picked at your nail again, bored. Or did you shrug your shoulders and pick at your nail? Time was meaningless at this point. At every point. “This isn’t a problem you can solve by punching it.”

“You know what—you’re right! I can’t,” he spat, indignation hot. “I can’t solve any problem! Not with your attitude! Or would it actually kill you to try to be helpful?

You chuckle again, without lifting your eyes from your cuticle. “That was a good one. New.”

“Is there something funny about this to you, huh?” he raised his voice, shutting you up. You look at him, seeing a fury in his eyes he usually reserved for someone at the end of his interrogations. You stilled your movements under his steel gaze. 

Way to go. You pissed him off. Again.

“You’re telling me that you’re gonna die today,” he glowered darkly, voice thick with aggrevation. “Why are you acting like this is a fucking joke?”

“No,” you sigh regretfully. “No, I’m… I’m sorry. Look—please. Let’s not fight this time.”

“This time?” he snapped. “Stop saying that! Stop saying that you’ve had this conversation before!” He leaned in, pointing down at you in the way he does, veins bulging in his neck. ”Stop saying that you’ve lived this day before!” He lowered his voice, but lividness still punctuated his words. “I’m sorry,” he spat viciously “if this is getting repetitive for you, but for me this is a goddamn nightmare and you’re telling me I can’t do anything but—”

He stops. Chokes on the words. “No,” he declares, more calmly but with the same resolve. “Not gonna happen.” He wags his long finger, shaking his head furiously. “I won’t watch you die.”

It is an edict. You unpurse your lips. “Peter,” you softly, tenderly try to argue, “you can’t—”

“I’m trying to save you!” his voice erupted from his throat. He sounds so angry. So much anger in him. Angry and betrayed. “Why won’t you let me?” he pleaded.

“What’s your plan, huh?” you question. “Take on every bad guy in the city at once?” You take a beat, dropping your frustration back down to a manageable level. You add, bitterly, “I’m not gonna let you massacre everyone at Ryker’s Island in some futile attempt to save me!”

“Seriously?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. “What makes you think I would ever do something like that?”

You remain still, your brow furrowed. Eyes locked on his. 

“Because you have.”

A beat passes as he just stares at you, struggling to understand. Your voice was now quiet. Nothing louder than a whisper, and dark with a cold absolution. You take no satisfaction in being right. 

You swallow on a dry throat. “It’s not Grady, not Beck,” you explain with a little more sensitivity. “Not Fisk. Not Toomes. Not Kraven. Not Lin. Not any of your enemies.” He blinked at you, and you watch his heart sink. “I know that because you killed them. All of them. And it didn’t make any difference.”

Your words settled in like a snake slithering into his bedsheets. He watched you, as if he was waiting for the punchline. Dread filled him as he realized there wasn’t one. Your word choice echoed in his mind. Face paled. Eyes glazed. A shudder ghosted down his spine. 

Massacre.

Then you saw it. There was that look. He was terrified again, of what you’ve come to realize was perhaps his worst enemy: The monster he was capable of becoming. 

Massacre.

Your eyes said it all, and then you watched him shift to his next reaction. All of this a rerun of an episode you’d seen before. 

He looked sheepish. Exposed. Embarrassed. He didn’t know where to place his eyes. You could see he was running the math, scoping the variables. Calculating. Formulating the most likely outcome.

How far gone would he have been to do... ? 

How crazy, out-of-his-mind...? 

—Not only to be capable of that savagery— but to let you see it?

He would have to be mad, he decided. Absolutely unhinged. 

Forget having occasional commonality with his enemies. Forget being the un-Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Forget not “pulling his punches.”

His jaw locked in place, lips curving downwards. He looked like he swallowed glass. It would be a volatile mix. A fatal combination. Absolute power, meeting absolute desperation. Resulting in his absolute corruption.

Massacre. Everyone.

He looked over at you, just as you wiped away a stray glimmer of a tear. You cursed yourself for letting it slip this time, but it’s too late. He saw it, and now he knows. You’ve witnessed him do the horrific. Unforgivable. Unimaginable. 

Tears formed in his eyes too.

He could imagine it. If he was desperate enough. 

If it meant that he could save you.

You shook your head somberly, as if you could read his thoughts. Maybe you could, he wondered. To him, this day just kept getting weirder.

He pulled his gaze away from you, and that’s when the cable snapped. He’s overwhelmed by a deluge of cries. You watched him grab his hair and pull, the bridge of his sanity buckling and collapsing under grief. 

He turned his face towards the skyline, letting out an animalistic noise. A yowl. Something between a groan and a scream, erupting from his soul and threatening to break through his teeth. 

Now he’s getting it, you think. 

It never hurts you any less, no matter how many times you watch it.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice as gentle as a lullaby. You know if you try to touch him, he’ll wrench himself out of your hold, as if he can imagine blood already staining his gloved hands. “It doesn’t always end like that. With anger.”

He lifted his gaze but refused to look at you. He stared at the city, thinking. Deciding.

“No,” he replied, barely above his breath. “It doesn’t have to end like that.” His calm puts you on edge. When he finally turns towards you, a renewed energy puffs up his chest. Fire in his eyes. 

“But it’s gotta end some way, right? Some time?” 

He sounds lighter, with a callous laugh in his tone. 

You don’t like it at all. 

He leaned back, standing straighter. “So we just end it now.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Both of us,” Peter explains grimly, with a dangerous resolve. “You go, I go.”

You stare at him, taking measured breaths. It’s important not to overreact here, you try to remember. You purse your lips, then began your objection, “Peter—”

“If you’re right about this—” he cut you off curtly, “—if there’s nothing I can do to save you— then none of it matters!” 

His eyes were furious and razor-sharp, he pointed at you as if to silence your protests. As if his mind is already made up. Chest heaving. His eyes fall to his wrists, and without a second thought, he claws at them. 

You quietly observe. He ripped the small web shooter devices from his wrists, crushing the watch-dial-looking machines in his palms with a crunch. He carelessly tossed them aside.

“How ‘bout that?” he spat, glaring at you challengingly. As if you were somehow responsible. You’re hurting him again. You always do. 

You try to keep still, frowning as you watch him. Your stomach twists.

He glanced back at the edge of the roof, before stepping up on the ledge, peering anxiously down at the street below. Even for a superhuman, eighty stories is enough to crush him. You already were familiar with the sensation, but it’s not worth bringing up right then.

“It’d be over quick,” Peter called to back you with a tense shrug of his shoulders. “Straight shot down from the side. I’d be Jell-O in six seconds!” 

The callousness of his voice tears a new hole in you. He’s being more cruel than he intends to be—you know that. He can’t help it. But it still hurts to hear. 

You should be used to the pain by now.

His anger has given way to determination. He wants to provoke the gods. He wants the universe to open up and make this day never happen.

You’re motionless. Watching. Eyes glued to the crimson logo on his back. A symbol of everything opposed to what he’s saying now. That heavy fucking spider. It never left him. And never will leave. It clings to him, like a parasite. Like a Grim Reaper, trailing death behind.

He lowers his head, and the careless facade starts to crack. A quiet sob escapes his lips, betraying him. 

“There’s no saving me if there’s no saving you,” Peter declared, his voice buckling. Breaking.

You consider how this never gets any easier. Witnessing the undoing of a person. Their unmaking — a murder while their heart is still beating.

Tears form in your eyes as you mourn him. “That won’t help you, Peter.”

“What won’t help me?” 

You gazed at him, just shy of forever. Not nearly long enough. 

“Bargaining.” 

He glanced back at you, confused.

You swallow back your upset, finding your voice. “It doesn’t always end with anger,” you explain tenderly. “There’s the whole spectrum. Denial. Bargaining.” 

The corners of his mouth pitch down again, and he turns away from you, gazing sorrowfully at the street below. 

“You never go through with it, Peter,” you softly add. “Because that’s not who you are. Because you know it doesn’t change anything.” You speak up, loud, and clearly enough for the words to resonate with him. “It doesn’t make the world better. Having it go on without you.”

The tears return to his eyes, full force. Big, fat tears that threaten to drown him. 

It’s time for you to stand. Your arms ache to hold him again, and it’s just about time for him to let you. Like the pull of a magnet.

“The pain you feel—the grief,” you explain, taking soft steps towards him, “I can’t imagine how awful it is. There aren’t any words. There’s nothing I can say that’ll make things make sense. Or make it feel like it’s all a part of some plan.” 

You tread close enough to fall into his shadow, peering up at him as he gazes down at you like a statue of disdain, weeping furious tears. 

“All I can say is that I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish that agony on anyone.” You glance down at the busy avenue, cars and headlights moving about like ants. A fitting description of life outside of your timeless bubble. 

“I wish it was me instead of you,” you declare, and it is the first time you’d done so. “If that makes sense.” You feel that familiar throb in your chest as you gaze up at his towering form. “I wish I was the one that had to be left behind.”

“Don’t.” 

The gentle word slips from his lips, like a prayer. Like a crack in a dam. He shakes his head slowly, peering down at you. 

His eyes beg. “Please, don’t...” 

You reach your fingers out towards him, gathering his defeated hands into yours. Pulling him down from the ledge, he folds immediately, collapsing into your grip. He falls to his knees. Arms around your waist. He sobs into your belly, unleashing furious, wretched cries.

“Please, don’t leave,” he sputtered, shoulders shaking. “I won’t do this again. Please, I can’t...”

Again. It shatters your heart to know he’s not talking about last Tuesday. You bite your tongue, choking back a sob, your fingers carding through his hair. 

You don’t say it, but this is the last stage that you get to witness. Pure despair. Unrelenting and unkind. 

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve seen him like this so many times. Just yesterday you saw it — was it two Tuesdays, or two hundred Tuesdays, or twenty years of Tuesdays? 

You don’t know. 

Time is meaningless. 

Except that it always ends with despair. Just shy of the final, blessed stage of acceptance that you wish for once you could catch a glimpse of.

But that kind of thing only comes with time — time you don’t have. 

Except when it resets.

You let him cry into your flesh and you know that eventually, he’ll scoop you up in his arms and carry you gently back to the apartment. And when you get there, he’ll use a backup pair of web shooters to seal you inside of your home. 

When you protest, he’ll web you inside of your room. To the bed, maybe. 

He’ll say it’s the only way he can protect you, if you’re trapped in there, with every inch of space covered in the rapidly-dissolving, steellike cable he’s spun. 

He’ll apologize, but he’ll say it’s for your own good.

You don’t mind. It gives you a few more minutes together.

Before a fire starts in one of the outlets in your room. The web catches quickly. It’s like dryer lint.

Or it’s carbon monoxide, his web having cut off the flow from the furnace. That way hurts less.

Or maybe it’ll be quick. Like the time you realized your fire extinguisher was faulty, and ended up with a handle lodged in your chest. 

Time is meaningless. You have all the time in the world.

You close your eyes tightly, squeezing him to your body, just as the low rumble of thunder echoes in the low-hanging canopy of clouds above.

TUESDAY, 7:00 am

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT…”

“Bug, you’re really starting to freak me out,” Peter grinned with a light chuckle, moving in tandem with you in more ways than one. 

The two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The mid-morning crowds parted around you. In one hand, Peter held a paper bag at his side, stuffed full of takeaway boxes. In the other, he held tightly onto yours — devotedly, with a deep passion, and lightheartedness of a man enthralled in love. Filled with hope for the future. Blissfully unaware of how this day would inevitably end.

“Now if what you’re saying was even possible—which it isn’t, because it would break every law and notion of what we perceive as physical time, that’s ever been theorized—”

“Maybe it’s not a science thing,” you replied, even though you still were wildly unfamiliar with the physics of his discussion, you were sober enough to follow his logic. “Maybe it’s just fate.” 

“Babe, c’mon, everything is a science thing,” Peter countered. He spoke coolly and calmly, confident in his musing, comfortable in this element. “Science is everything. The real question is: what’s the inciting action? There’s not a single outcome in physics that’s attainable without some kind of initial source. I mean, that’s basic. That’s Newton.”

“But remember Nana Manners?”

“Right,” he nodded his head, recalling how you’d mentioned your great-grandmother earlier that day. He grinned, teasing, “Your crazy great-grandma told you she could see the future when you were a kid and now you think you’ve inherited some kind of clairvoyant superpower?” 

You shoved him playfully.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’! Who are you gonna believe?” he turned to you with a charming smirk. He sparkled like a diamond in the sunlight. “Me, or a fortune teller?”

You barked out a laugh. “I actually did go to a fortune teller first,” you remarked.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “No, you didn’t!” he giddily laughed. “What? Which one?”

“All of them. Well, all the ones in the boroughs that I could find, anyway.”

He took a moment to measure your words. “Geez,” he replied, taken aback. “How many Tuesdays have you had?”

“Who knows,” you laughed. “Enough to know that the fortune teller in the Village—the one from the commercials—has a fake accent and her husband’s cheating on her with someone who runs the crystal shop down the street.”

Peter snorted, amused. “Wow,” he remarked. “Wonder why she didn’t see that coming.”

You froze. Peter stopped walking when you did, turning towards you, unaware of why you stopped. He gazed at you, the adoration in his eyes cooling into concern.

You feel every goosebump on your body rise. Hair standing on end. Fingertips tingling. A sharp sting at the back of your neck. A shift, not just in your center of gravity, but in your soul. Your pulse quickens. Eyes wide. Chest tight.

“Bug?” he asked, wary of the way your face paled. 

Ten millenia of evolutionary instinct passed down through your DNA was buzzing. Whirring. Screaming at you, even.

If you could imagine feeling “the tingly sense” that Peter spoke about—his mysterious enhanced ability—this must be it. 

The question dawns on you:

Why hasn’t Peter’s ever worked?

Continue to Part 5

CW DISCLAIMER - Strong cw for su*c*dal ideation and discussion, as well as sensitive themes about death. The ideas expressed in this chapter are based on a science fiction scenario, by characters who are not of stable or sound mind. If you or someone you know is having difficult thoughts or experiencing a mental health crisis, please reach out to somebody because you're not alone. Dial 988 from any phone in the U.S., or go to 988lifeline.org

[vinelark]

do u have fun facts about bbts that you would be willing to share? xoxo

yeah! i have some bbts headcanons that might fit the bill. as for fun facts, here are a few off the top of my head:

not sure if this is a Fun Fact or just a fact that i think is fun, but damian shows up in the next chapter! his intro is different and marginally less stabby than in canon and also tim isn't adopted yet so i had fun with what that might mean for their dynamic.

my friend @90kon has a little cameo as a food truck vendor in chapter 4 and they also translated portuguese dialogue for the scene which made it an extra fun experience to write

my outtakes document for this fic is 8k words and counting 😔

on that note, an early version of the groupchat message at the end of chapter 1 included this exchange, which i still find funny:

parkour!: hey guys sorry for the radio silence. had a bit of a Gotham Situation

girlwonder: say no more

zoomies haver: nooo at least tell us the genre. sewers, sentient plants, or evil politicians?

parkour!: more of a family thing actually

zoomies haver: ohh okay

[luna-tori]

~ The Cave Nomad ~

~~~ 💠 ~~~

Adult life is complicated.

After season 3 of AvM ended, I had made an outline of what my own story would be involving the sticks, with my own characters alongside them.

However, many things happened, most of them personal.

This is the first chapter (what I managed to do for now). The rest is still in draft, it is practically complete, but some things still need to be added.

I really hope that you, dear reader, can enjoy this little project I'm doing. It's going to be time consuming, but I'm doing my best to make sure you enjoy this story I made.

And I'm sorry if there are any grammar mistakes...

(When I have time, I'll put it on AO3 too ^⁠_⁠^)

(I'm also thinking about putting out the Portuguese version...)

Anyway… I hope you like it. (⁠^⁠^⁠)

~ LunaTori

Notes:

The story takes place after AvM3.

It's a secondary story (filler arc).

About the sticks: Sec (TSC), Blue and Red are boys, while Yellow and Green are girls.

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

Chapter 1: Deep Cave

I'm stuck. How great!

Trapped in a cave.

How did this happen so quickly?

This project was fail-proof, this didn’t have to happen…

Now I'm here, lying on the floor.

Sigh

Closing my eyes, I remembered the conversation from this morning.

~ Flashy Flashy-Backy Backy

"Are you sure you don't want me to help you?"

"I'll be fine, Blue. Don't worry so much."

"But I'm still afraid that something wrong will happen..."

" *Laughs* You look like Sec, worried about everything. "

" I'm serious. "

" It's okay... Nothing will happen, I promise. "

" Right... "

~~

What I thought was Blue's paranoia turned out to be reality.

I was testing my TNT launching machine, when due to a miscalculation, it caused an accident that made a crater on the ground. I ended up falling into the crater and destroying the exit I knew. And now, I'm trapped in this cave.

Luckily, I didn't have a serious injury, just scratches and a headache from the fall.

"Stupid machine! Why did you say that, Blue?!" - I got up, grumbling.

Okay, enough blaming others.

Think, Yellow. How to get out of here now?

And I don't have any pickaxe with me. Damn it !

Why was I not prepared for that day?

The machine was on the other side, so there's no way. I have to look for some way out of this cave.

I left there, the only way I had left to go. It's a leap in the dark, without knowing where I'm going to end up.

At least I have a torch with me to light the way.

===

I don't know how many hours I walked here.

But I feel like I'm getting nowhere.

Feeling tired from walking so much, I sat on the floor of the cave, thinking of a way to get out of here.

" Maybe if I dig I can get rocks so… no… there's no wood around here… "

I continued rambling until minutes later, I heard a noise.

" Who's there ? "

The noises continue, and it seems like walking through the walls.

Looking more closely, I realized that something was different…

Pairs of very vibrant green eyes appear, shining in the darkness.

This is quite unusual…

The thing started to come out of the shadows.

A spider.

I ran from where I was, before it jumped on me.

And I was right. The spider looks at me, preparing to attack. And I have nothing I can defend myself with.

Apparently it will have to be done by hand.

I took a defensive stance, being careful so the spider didn't bite me.

" Hi, spider... look, I'm unarmed, and I don't want to bother you. So, if you'd let me pass, I'd be very grateful."

The spider approaches.

Obviously this wouldn't work. They are programmed for this.

" Maybe having Blue's help would be a good idea… "

So I tried attacking the spider with my torch.

"Come on, you weird-eyed spider!"

I go to the spider, but it was much faster, faster than normal. Launching your web, dodge the attack and...

"Agh!"

The spider bit me and I was poisoned. Besides throwing me against the wall.

I start to feel weak.

"How can this spider be so fast…?"

It's not common for these spiders to be this fast and agile...

But I still remained standing. I can't let this take advantage of me.

Even so, I staggered until I tripped and fell to the ground.

I feel his eyes shine even more on me, just watching cautiously, ready for the next blow.

The torch was now behind him, I couldn’t take it back…

It's over. It's the end of me.

Even if I save myself from the spider, I will die from the poison.

And my friends won't see my death.

I... didn't even say goodbye to them...

I know I can respawn, but still... I'm scared.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

Until...

In the distance, I heard the sound of a bugle.

I couldn't see anymore. I just saw a blur. A blur... Blue? Is that you, Blue?

No, it can't be him, the blur is a different color of blue...

A mix, actually.

Shades of blue and green.

I blinked my eyes repeatedly. When I opened my eyes, my vision was less blurry than before.

It was a turquoise stick. She wore a cape and her face was hidden behind a mask.

And she was fighting the spider. With a... pickaxe?

"Get out of here! Leave that stick alone!"

The spider grumbles in response and leaves.

Can this stick talk to spiders?

The headache came back and I saw everything blurred again.

When I saw my life bar, it was almost at one heart of life.

About to faint (and probably die) from the poison, I tried to thank her, but my speech was slurred.

" Ank u... Fo'elp... "

The blur chuckles and approaches me, taking something out of her pocket in the process. I think it's a bottle...

Suddenly I feel a hand holding my face and putting the bottle to my lips and I started to drink the liquid that went down my throat. I recognized the taste, it was milk.

When the contents of the bottle were finished, I felt that I was getting better and the blur made me lie down on the floor, so that I could regain my senses.

It took a while, but I could see better at least.

" Why is Brad always like that? And why does she look like me? " - I hear her murmur

" Ugh... Stupid spider... " - I started to mumble, cursing because the spider had almost killed me.

" You're feeling better now? "

I watch my life bar. It was getting back to normal.

" Here! Eat this. " - She hands me potatoes.

I get up, sitting on the floor and pick up the potatoes.

" Thanks again. "

" No problem! "

By eating potatoes, I fill my hunger bar. And hearts were filling again. I'm feeling better now. She watched me silently, looking me up and down, as if she wanted to remember something.

" Mmm... Hey, are you new here? But I feel like I know you from somewhere... " - The stick extends its hand.

[To be continued…]

I thought this chapter was too short... But as the chapters go by, the quantity increases.

Writing edits as soon as possible...

Art block sucks...