#falsettos daily posts

[cupofrain123]

This is it, the moment you've been waiting for...

MENDEL MHURSDAY

[frothingbeerbottles]

Begging on my knees for you all to realise how perfect and amazing Trina is, she’s the queen of her game and I will hear nothing other than praise for this wonderful woman for EXISTING!!!!! She’s a chubby middle aged divorced wife who has just enough spunk to knock you out of your seats and stomp on your head and just enough tragedy to hold you like you’re okay after WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?? DO YOU NOT WANT A CHUBBY MIDDLE AGED WOMAN YOU COWARDS??

[takemebacktowheniwassane]

i've been seeing a lot of falsettos posts recently deconstructing the fandoms beliefs and firstly

holy fuck thank you, i try to steer clear of fandom (and fandom-izing thereof) drama but this is getting a lot more visible recently so here's some little tidbits for you

whizzer brown is not an unflawed character!

okay so i haven't seen enough dissecting this but!!! in the chess game!

the whole point of marvin using that game to determine the ending of their relationship is because he suspects whizzer is constantly deceiving him and wants to prove it.

whizzer LITERALLY proves him right!

he asks marvin to help him along (yes i know he says he doesn't want help, hear me out, it's a little more complex than that) and takes advantage of the fact that marvin is- like- infatuated with him.

he draws him into a sense of false security then starts throwing accusations at him ("since you need a man!" "what?" "who's 'brainy'," "or witty, move.") until hes able to win, which he does with ease because he's been using marvin having this idea that he isn't smart against him.

of course, marvin's side of this isn't the best either but honestly, for once the fandom should focus on a different character when they think 'insane asshole'. typically we should also probably change our perspectives a little to be more unbiased cuz fr guys, this is getting really.. annoying.

i understand he's the most visibly flawed but that doesn't excuse constantly picking the worst parts of this musical (without other context, btw) to use against him.

and this post certainly isn't here to excuse anyone either i've just got a lot of opinions that i wanted to share while falsettos is.. trending? right?

2. marvin's (headcanoned but still somewhat researched) autism

this one isn't brought up as much but when i do see it around, it's kind of a skewed viewpoint.

while rewatching bits of the proshot i realized a lot of different neurodivergent traits that he shows-

he's helpless during I Never Wanted to Love You and is childish and regressive when he's upset (not every autistic person is like this either, i know this is a bit of a touchy subject so i just wanted to add that).

usually when people depict it i see it either toned down or joked about which is fine when all in good fun, and when its done respectfully.

not here to attack anyone, just here to point it out and say that yes :) he most likely is neurodivergent, but despite that his actions aren't condoned. he's still kinda a dick who needs to get his shit together

3. ..the lesbians also have shit going on?

just putting this out there- I DON'T SEE ENOUGH FOR THE LESBIANS! OR TRINA!

the girls in this musical are like thoroughly neglected and i think that's kind of shitty just assuming the fact that william finn put them in to demonstrate how gender roles put people in degrading positions (and he even makes it more prevalent by showing marvin as something like a misogynistic character who forces whizzer into more feminine roles to show the audience what woman have to/had to go through in society).

anyways, the lesbians aren't just there guys. they have a plotline too. in Something Bad is Happening, you derive a lot from charlotte singing about the outbreak of HIV/AIDS and realize how she operates on a daily basis (she's passionate about her work and takes every bad day as a hit to her life and career, explaining in a way that as a black, jewish, lesbian, FEMALE doctor in this time, everything that goes wrong is immediately brought down on her so much more than it would as any straight white male pharmacist-).

cordelia on the other hand has to handle the fact that her girlfriend is so adamant about her work ethic that she can't actually be super present in their relationship at times like that.

but either way she still sticks by her and is constantly trying to be supportive and endearing despite feeling like she's not amounting to her gf who's basically a hero in her eyes.

i kinda just wanted to bring that up because they mean a lot to me and they don't get enough love from the fanbase, thank you for listening to my TED talk <3

[dilatorywriting]

I'm sorry if any formatting is wrong, this is the first time I've done this. SPOILERS(?) for 2016's Falsettos

I absolutely LOVE your Reaper Rook. I was originally a bit iffy with him (the character), but your characterization of him made me fall in love!

After I found you a few days or so ago, I binge read all your posts (your Valentine's special, Teacher's Hero vs. Villain, and Monster Mayhem Malleus have all found special places in my heart) and everytime you update I'm over here in a flash. Anyway, your answer to "What if Baker!Yuu got a bounty placed over their head?" got me thinking. And I'm dangerous when I think. I also connect any brainrots in my head to a song; the song I thought of for this brainrot was 'You Gotta Die Sometime' by Andrew Rannells from the 2016 musical Falsettos.

In both of the pre-choruses, Death is personified. In the first, it's more platonic/slightly romantic.

'Death is not a friend/but I hope in the end/he takes me in his arms/and lets me hold his face/he holds me in his arms/and whispers someting funny/he lifts me in his/and tells me to embrace his attack/then the scene turns to black'

I feel like this is kind of how Baker!Yuu thinks of Rook. He's not their friend, but more of someone who is just there a lot of the time; a friendly acquaintance. If they were to have a bounty over their head and Rook had to kill them, they'd hope it was peaceful and that he'd be nice about because of their relationship (if it was this early on).

The second pre-chorus is more sexual/romantic.

'Death's a funny pal with a weird sort of talent/he puts his arms around me/and walks me to the bed/he pins me up against the wall/and kisses me like crazy/the many stupid things I thought about with dread/now delight/then the scene turns to white'

The first line is self-explanatory. Moving on from the very obvious first line, the next verses Baker!Yuu would only think if they were given the time to fall in love with Rook. Now, they probably wouldn't think this exactly as they're more dry than dramatic like Whizzer is (the man singing the sing), but they'd think something similar if they were attracted to the reaper.

Another few verses that strike me as relevant that are early in the song are 'Death's gonna come/when it does, screw the nurse/I'll be eating hors d'oeuvres.' It makes sense that when Rook comes over, Yuu isn't that freaked out as it's become part of their daily routine. Though, I don't think there would be any nurse involved.

I'm sorry for how long this is. I've had this stuck in my head and needed to get it out. Originally, there were two more paragraphs about the plot of Falsettos, but I didn't want to bore you. Hope you can make sense of my word vomit. Please take care of yourself and drink water!

I've never seen/listened to Falsettos, but that all does sound like it matches up CRAZY well. I am a massive sucker for personifications of death in media (I mean, obviously enough that I had to vomit up one of my own with the help of a very lovely anon lol) I always get super excited when songs and things manage to line up with something I'm brainrotting about.

And thank you!! I'm glad Reaper!Rook managed to drag you into his clutches too ;)

[notar1ana]

TW: homophobia, slurs

Okay so this is going to be more of a serious post.

I’m currently in high school which isn’t the best time for anybody, but the thing is, I’m full on considering going back in the closet. I’ve heard so many people say that schools are so liberal and they’re trying to indoctrinate our children to be gay. Which is not at all true or even correct. No matter how many times I get harassed nobody at the school will bat an eye at myself hurting. It’s gotten so bad to the point where I want to go into hiding again never to be seen until I graduate. I feel disgusted by the amount of people who harass me on the daily basis, I would rather just go into hiding then be harassed for “being myself”. I know that being out and proud is what people want queer people to do but I’m just not in a safe enough place to do that. I feel like theater and listening the musical falsettos on repeat is my only safe space at my school. I want to go back to being “normal” again even though being out and proud with past girlfriends may have been the happiest I’ve even been, I can’t do it. It’s like the world is caving in on me and I still hear people complain about “kids these days” and their “liberal agenda” even though I hear f-ggot and d-ke on the daily basis. I’m on the edge of going back to the person I was so many years ago, I don’t know how to find myself anymore because I’m repressing so much of myself down into my head. William Finn has made such an impact on my life that he didn’t even know he had, that musical is my only queer and safe place I can run to in the hallways packed with thousands of people like sardines in a can. I want to be out and proud to make other queer friends but now it’s starting to feel like the days of Judy Garland (if you know, you know). I feel like Marvin in In Trousers currently because I like the rain, I like the snow, but I don’t love, touch, drink, or screw men and I feel like I have to prove to others that I am socially acceptable in life even though I want to be “saved” by other queer people. I can’t wait until I’m able to make the choice of the people who I want to surround myself with instead of other people choosing for me, but at the same time I’m terrified of growing up. I’m sitting here writing this in my room next to my pride stitch plushie feeling like I’ve disappointed my people by giving into the societal norms of what love should look like. I’m counting down every single day until I can finally let myself be free in the summer time which is currently 95 days of school left which doesn’t sound like much but it sounds so disgusting to have to spend 95 days surrounding myself with people who bring me down. I know this is kind of a stupid question to ask on tumblr but should I go back into the closet?

[mywifeleftme]

162: Shamir // Ratchet

Ratchet Shamir 2015, XL

Shamir got his roses at age 20 when his debut Ratchet arrived in 2015 (nice Pitchfork review, some ad placements etc.), but it wouldn’t be long before he’d be dropped by glitzy British label XL Recordings (Basement Jaxx, M.I.A., Jai Paul etc.), probably because of his documented mental health issues and the fact that he wanted to go in a completely different direction from the sassy, Drag Race-ready electro-disco that had made Ratchet an indie hit. Shamir is like, 28, now, which makes it seem both premature and a little cruel to write about Ratchet in the style of an obituary, but his subsequent efforts suggest that the pop wunderkind who made this record isn’t walking back through that door. Shamir’s later work is both more political and more insular, built on bricky, harsh synth beats reminiscent of depressive early ‘10s glitch pop acts like Baths. In many ways, it is admirably uncompromising, but the music is also didactic, as though he doesn’t trust his audience to find their own spaces for interpretation.

Still, wherever he goes from here, Ratchet stands a good chance of being remembered as a minor touchstone of its era’s dance music. Its sound feels rooted in the UK Garage of SBTRKT or Disclosure, but even at 20 Shamir seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of ‘90s and early ‘00s gay club and ballroom music: I hear notes of early handbag house (think RuPaul’s “Supermodel”), Eurodance, bounce, and whatever tag you want to group today’s glut of drag queen music under. Shamir (who is nonbinary but uses he/him pronouns) has a countertenor voice that has been compared to Prince in its capacity to switch between masculine and feminine gender presentations, but the impression I get from Shamir’s voice is quite different. With Prince you are hearing the effort of his artifice: the way he strains to reach his falsetto, and is relatively limited within it, gives his feminine vocals an inherent emotional tension that he often resolves in a showstopping shriek. By contrast, Shamir’s natural range lies between what we would normally peg as a masculine or feminine voice. He is able to access the full palette of his remarkable abilities in this between-space without needing to affect a clearly gendered posture. Like Taylor Swift, a key songwriting influence, Shamir’s lyrics aim for the kind of pithy, affirming lines people caption their Instagram posts with (“falling from grace but falling oh so gracefully”; “if I’m a demon, baby you’re the beast that made me”; “Don’t try me I’m not a free sample”), but with music this broad and giddy, peanut butter phrases like these are the best chance of making anything stick.

In 2023, there aren’t a lot of people who think about Ratchet on a daily basis, but for an artist, an early taste of success that doesn’t bloom into lasting stardom can become a millstone. I hope that, despite his muse taking him elsewhere, Shamir’s able to look back on this record as the accomplishment it is. Most musicians never manage to make a record as poised, uplifting, and complete unto itself as this one. Ratchet’s something to be proud of.

162/365

[catboyrichardkarinsky]

I posted 13,602 times in 2022

That's 1,611 more posts than 2021!

2,423 posts created (18%)

11,179 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@classical-music-wh0re

@jewishdainix

@chipzienist-felixetto

@mister-finally-found-himself

@quillsink

I tagged 5,134 of my posts in 2022

#falsettos my beloved - 308 posts

#the owl house - 101 posts

#into the woods - 88 posts

#falsettos - 71 posts

#andrew rannells - 60 posts

#in trousers - 58 posts

#dead end: paranormal park - 56 posts

#goncharov (1973) - 45 posts

#so true - 39 posts

#prev - 39 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#aita for leaving my wife and kids for my gay lover? also i want him to cook for me cuz my fragile masculinity can't handle me being gay :'c

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

If we'd get canon aladarius, we'd have mlm, wlw, wlnb and aroace represenation in TOH

Dana please please please do it

403 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

#4

I love that we're all freaking out over the "I'm trans" line, but I think we should equally be freaking out about Norma's "i guess I'll just spend another 15 years hyperfixating on something else" and how generally she's portrayed to have Pauline Phoenix and her movies and theme park as a hyperfixation

I just don't think I heard the word hyperfixation used by anyone in a cartoon before and I'm very happy to see this aspect of autism represented

441 notes - Posted June 22, 2022

#3

Just your daily humble request to please stop forgetting about aplatonic people when talking about aspec issues

665 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

#2

One of my favorite things about Heartstopper has to be Tao, a heterosexual male teenager having a crush on a Elle, a trans girl. Because both in the show and the comics, it's treated in such a normalized way! Tao doesn't for a second question his sexuality, his mom is completely supportive and while Elle is nervous about being with him, it's not because she'd doubt a straight boy would love her, but because she just doesn't want to ruin their friendship. Elle being trans is not an issue in their relationship for a second.

678 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Reverse little mermaid. Aroace girl with comphet leaves her boyfriend to live in the ocean.

1,403 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[a--messy--blog]

Listening and singing along to sad musical theatre songs: much easier to cry, cry more than usual, 12/10 definitely recommend.

[elizabethvaughns]

FALSETTOS + IF/THEN LYRICS, PART 2

song: "hey, kid"

[unmotivatedintrovert]

June 5, 2020 - School & Distractions

Hey guys!

I did not have much homework today which was great! I had this assignment due on Saturday at 11:59 but I did it today. I didn’t procrastinate! That’s so unlike me. 

The boredoms already getting to me. Because of quarantine, I am not nearly as busy since I don’t have 7 hour school days. I have I think four or five zooms a day at most and each are 25 minutes so it wasn’t that bad. Then a lot of my classes did not give much work. Each assignment, for the most part, did not take up a lot of time. This is only going to get a lot worse with summer.

I found out I have no more writing assignments in English! Last week I asked my teacher if we had any more writing assignments and she said she was not sure because she was behind on grading. But, our last zoom is next Wednesday and she said she won’t be assigning anything. This is great because if she did give us a writing assignment it would’ve been on the play we’re “reading” in class and I have not been paying attention at all. Oops. She also has been grading A LOT easier on the writing assignments since school got cancelled and I’ve been doing really well because of that. So I’m happy about that too. 

I also found out I at least have some work in one class the week after next week. My teacher’s going to explain the project on Monday, so the project will take two weeks. Not excited. He didn’t say much but he said we would have to use flipgrid to record videos which is not fun. If you do not know what flipgrid is, its a website where a teacher can give you an assignment and you’ll have to record urself. I found out today you can record just your screen which is useful. But, you can also record using your camera. After you finish recording it makes you take a “selfie” and it’s so annoying. You can add stickers to the photo though so if you look bad you can cover it up. LOL. The assignment that was due tomorrow was a flipgrid. Although this is the first time I’ve used flipgrid in that class, I’ve used flipgrid before because my Spanish teacher has been requiring us to use it. I unfortunately had to actually record myself and take an actual selfie for that class. Everyone else in the class did so I felt like I had to. It’s kinda funny when people add a bunch of stickers to their selfie because it just looks silly. 

Because of the boredom, I feel really sad. I can’t be bored ever because I need distractions. If I’m not distracted, I get sad. What’s ironic is that when I’m sad I’m also unmotivated to do things. Things that could distract me. It’s a vicious cycle. I was very unmotivated to post but hey I’m doing it! I talked about this a few days ago but I need to work through my unmotivation. It’s difficult though. Still, I’m trying. 

I’ve been listening to a lot of Falsettos the musical (including right now) the past few days too. I’m glad. I haven’t really listened to the cast recording in a while. When I took a bus last year, I’d listen to it on the bus. I think I only did that for maybe 2 months at most though. I get bored of musicals quickly. I used to be OBSESSED with Hamilton. I also love Rent, Six, Heathers, Legally Blonde and In The Heights.

Anyways...

Goodnight!

[cupofrain123]

GUESS WHAT TIME IT IS ?!

WHIZZER WEDNESDAY!!!!!!!

[frothingbeerbottles]

I can see why Mendel acted like that around Trina. She’s a wet beast, a woman made purely of grime, hate and motherhood, nails digging into her own wrists and teeth on her own tongue. She’s the most tormentingly beautiful thing to come out of anything. Do you guys think she’d kill me if I asked nice enough

[werewolfspells]

I’m love Jason falsettos l gonna draw him...baby boy.......he’s like 13 actually...scary teen man...play fortnite instead of chess

[falsettos-and-bom-lyrics]

Whizzer, takes me by the neck—

What is this, wash and wear?

Whizzer has unlimited knowledge of,

Dreck.

[daily-christian-borle]

Day one hundred six

[geminimoonbeamx]

Rhinestone Eyes

A/N: I’ve wanted to post for P.P since I discovered my love for Tom Holland, but well, I could never find a storyline that felt right. After watching No Way Home, it suddenly clicked. A slutty neighbor story.

Warnings: Smut. Lots of it. Hard 18+

Pairings: Peter Parker x Plus Sized Reader. Set four years after NWH. 22 year old P.P 

Summary: Peter finds himself infatuated with the girl who lives at the end of the hall. 

And nobody knows what to do with the heat. 

Under sunshine pylons, we’ll meet 

While rain is falling like rhinestones from the sky- Gorillaz

The traitorous sun bleeds through twisted blinds, and Peter throws an arm over his eyes with a groan. It’s well past noon when he comes to, his ribs throbbing something fierce and achy as he shifts in his lumpy secondhand bed, trying to find a position comfortable enough to grant any kind of relief. 

No dice. 

No amount of counting sheep will keep them from evading him, and after he checks his phone for the time he decides fuck it. He’ll get an early jump on the day. Take a lukewarm shower, work on his web slinger that had gone wonky. Try to get some candids of Spidey-

He’s rinsing the coffee cup that he’d drank dark roast sludge out of when he he hears it. It drifts through the open window, the one above the sink that leads out onto his tiny fire escape. Maybe he’d miss it, if not for his enhanced hearing. If not for the fact that for the past six months or so, his ears stayed pinged, waiting for  that balance of falsetto and bass. 

You live at the end of the hall, in the corner apartment with all of the windows. He has to poke his head out, the only bonus of the missing screen, to catch a peek. 

Your fire escape is drastically different from his own barren metal box. As soon as the frigid winter had bled into a damp spring, and then a scorching summer it had filled up with overflowing greenery. Potted flowers and twisting vines. It stood out against the sea of concrete and brick. 

It’s watering day. His favorite day. You hunch over, a bright pink vase in your hands. Humming, extremely off-tune. You’re on your knees, side profile facing his direction. His eyes trace your face, hair knotted messily on the top of your head. Round shoulders…your tank top is tight, that slinky material that mimics slik. The white of it pops against your summertime tan- 

A shift in your body, he leans out even further on his tip toes, and he can almost see down your top. Not that that matters, no. In this light he can see straight through it. Your nipples pert and tenting, darker underneath the slip of material. 

“Oh, ouch baby.” you whisper, pruning away scorched leaves, addressing your plant soft and sweet. 

He wants you to talk that way to him.  And you probably would, if he asked. 

Fuck, 

He has to peel his eyes away, has to push himself back into his apartment with a huff. He’s buzzing, his boxers are tight. Guilt pooling with the arousal in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn't. Cant. Won’t. 

But you make it hard. Like really, really hard. 

It had started out friendly enough, new apartment. An upgrade from the roach infested shoebox gotten right after he’d dropped out. New neighbors, most people keep their heads down. And the ones that dont, well Peter grew up in Queens. He’s used to the prickly natives, to slammed doors and hollered insults. 

It’s all part of the charm, huh? 

What he hadn't anticipated, was you. The girl in apartment 305.

He’s accustomed to chainsmokers and hoarders but you and your full lipped smiles are foregin. He thought maybe it was because he was new, maybe you treated all of the tenets to bambi eyes and homemade muffins left on doorsteps. 

When he hears you call your downstairs neighbor a “dirty deadbeat bitch”, direct quotes, he thinks that maybe that's not the case. 

For once, he's happy for the workload that has become his life. Between the Daily Bugle and night shifts around the borough he’s barely home, and that's good. Can he call the four walls of his studio home? In all honesty he never really gives himself the time to think about it and he’s pretty sure it’s for the best. 

The more time he’s out, the less time he has to get distracted by cleavage and never ending curves.

 The universe throws you at him, and he suffers as he hands you back. As he ignores the shape of your ass in tight spandex- you’d chatted with him for the entirety of his wash cycle a couple months ago- the small dingy Laundry Room lit up brightly by your laughter. He’d thought about it, nearly obsessively, since. 

Made zero moves to act on it though. He knows better. 

Peter’s good at this, now. Trial and error had led to efficiency. Break some bones, sling some webs. Get some strategically shot content for the Bugles Social Media. Simple-

“Woah. Slow down, Peter” You grin at him, the two of you crossing paths on the stairwell as he hurries down, taking them two at a time. How one can be late for fighting crime, he’ll never know. You’ve changed out of that tank top, tragic, but for the best. “It’s not on my agenda to get knocked down the stairs tonight”

He apologizes, profusely, but you just look amused, tell him that it’s fine, chill out for a minute. What are you rushing for? Work? At this time? Word. 

“I should get going-” he doesn't really want to, would stay and ramble no matter how dumb it made him look. If he could. 

“Why haven't you come to mine for dinner yet?” You question, lip jutted out dramatically. 

-Nothing about you is simple. 

He’d helped haul up a new couch to your apartment a couple weeks ago, and since then you’d been pestering him about thanking him properly. 

Let me say thank you? Please? Pleaseeeee. 

“I’ve been really busy” the incredulous arch of your manicured eyebrow cuts right through him “No seriously, work. And then I uh, volunteer at night. Some nights? I took on this new gig with the Bugle, so that's been a lot. I would, really cause those muffins were insane, so I know you can cook, but I’m busy” He might as well have ‘Asshole’ written across his forehead.  He doesn't want to hurt your feelings, that’s not his intention, not at all. 

While he has a grand mal internal meltdown, you don't seem phased.

“It’s okay, you don't have to lie to kick it” you chuckle and he’s going to start rambling again, would’ve if you hadn't cut him off “I get it, work sucks. Look, I’m going to extend this invite one more time because there's only so much rejection that my fragile ego can take. I’m making dinner Wednesday  night. Be there- or don't. Whichever’s fine, okay?”

You do that thing, that all too friendly hand on his forearm, that comforting little squeeze. Just for a moment. It's paired with long lashed eyes- that literally gleam. Disney princess style. 

“Uh, yeah. Wednesday? I could do Wednesday dinner. Dinner on Wednesday” 

He shouldn't have said that, he knows it the moment it leaves his lips. But he can’t take it back, you're skipping down the steps before he recalibrates, rambling about hoping he doesn't have any crazy allergies. Triumphant.  “Night, Peter” you chime, nearly out of sight, 

He feels a little bit hoodwinked. 

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

 “So you’re going to fuck this kid? Thats what I’m hearing” 

Your phone is on speaker, propped, as you finish up dinner. It’s nothing fancy, hadn’t been strenuous, but it looks like it is. Herb coated chicken, colorful veggies stir-fried tossed in parmesan and olive oil. You’ll throw some greens onto the plates.

The way to a man’s heart wasn't an old wives tale. It was a spell, whispered, tried and true. 

“No- I don't know, maybe. Stop calling him a kid, it makes me feel gross” You frown, turning off burners, leaning against your counter “He’s only like, a few years younger then us. It’s no biggie. He probably won't even show” 

“But you want him to” 

Duh. Of course you want him to.

 Peter Parker had been an enigma since he’d moved in down the hall earlier this year. He’s hot, and decently nice. A rare combo, especially in this city. Kind of weird, in that twitchy way. You think his social anxiety might be even worse than yours, a feat not easily achieved. 

But you’ve told her all of this. Repeatedly. Given all the tea there was to spill. And still, there was one big glaring question; what was he going to do about it? 

It being the glaringly apparent crush that he had on you. 

That wasn't in question. He really wasn't all that slick. With those lingering glances and lip bites. He wanted to jump your bones, and the thing was- you weren't totally opposed to it.

 I mean yeah, you weren't huge into clothes on any given day but you’d been pulling out the big guns. Honestly, everyone in the building had to have seen your tits by now. 

And still. Nothing. What kind of twenty something year old wouldn't want an in house Booty Call just a few doors down? 

“It’s whatever” you vocally shrug, and really, who do you think you’re fooling. 

“Which is code for you want him to blow your back out. Like I said, three months ago, If he’s not going to make the first move, just do it yourself.” She signs, equal parts annoyed and invested in your constant babble about your hot neighbor that seemed to go nowhere. 

“Isn't that what I’m doing?-” There’s a succession of rapts on your front door “Shit, I think he’s here. Talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay, love you, bye! Have fun- use protection!” click. 

You scramble, if only just for a moment. Foods ready, you’d cleaned your place. Candles lit, the whole shebang. You were a homemaker by nature, you’d been teased. Even more so when you had a reason to be-

Cracking open the front door, you try to keep your face neutral, at bay. Peter stands there in the doorway, visibly nervous. Nearly sweating bullets. You would feel bad, if it wasnt so fucking endearing. 

“Hi- I didn't know what to bring so I stopped by Letty’s. I hope you like coffee cake”

You fold as he holds up the brown paper bag. 

Yeah, it was more than a maybe. You wanted to fuck this guy. The coffee cake was was just the cherry on top of the proverbial Sunday. 

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

Peter may be kind of awkward and a little bit shy, but he can keep up conversation. Actually, once you get a full plate in front of him, he kind of jabbers, non-stop. The two of you sit, criss crossed on the room in your living room. The coffee table cleared, as good a makeshift dinner setting

as any. 

“Your place looks great, really- It’s kind of crazy that we live in the same building” His eyes take in your home as he shovels potatoes and peppers into his mouth. 

You know. It’s homey, years of decorating and tweaking. Warm lighting and scented candles, plants everywhere, twining across your entertainment center and up your bookshelves. The couch, the very one that he had helped you move, was fluffy and lush- eating up nearly the entire living space, well worth the sacrificed wiggle room. 

“Thanks. I’m big on your space reflects your mental- lame but true” you giggle, taking a quick gul of green tea “Maybe if you ask me real nice I’ll help you decorate” 

He’s fair; his emotions shine clear through his complexion. The tips of his ears turn bright red, but he grins all the same. 

Peter’s just full of praise. 

Goes on about how delicious dinner was, after he puts away way more than you thought possible. You we’re going to send him home with leftovers but oh well.  

The candle smells nice. The couch is looking good. He lists it casually, honestly, and it makes you feel floaty, almost giddy. He likes the songs on that shuffle in your playlist, loves that band! You’ve got to wonder if he knows what he’s doing here, ticking off boxes that you didn't even like to admit existed. 

You put off dessert, just to keep him over for that much longer. You should wait for your stomachs to settle, you’d never cared about that shit, but you feed him that excuse anyway. 

“Uh, okay, yeah sure” He sounds unsure, but sinks into the couch cushions “Thanks for feeding me. I haven't had a home cooked meal in…awhile”

“Stop thanking me! I’ve owed you! I wouldn't have been able to get the couch in without you, which would've been a serious L on my end. This big bitch was expensive” You dump the dishes in the kitchen sink and try to ground the mental image of Peter lifting the couch, and maneuvering it though your door. All by himself- it had taken you and two friends to even get it up the first flight of stairs. 

How he did it, you still don't know. It was stupidly sexy, though. Which is all that really mattered. 

“So your family doesn't live in the city?”

“What?” Peter turns to you sharply, brows shot up high and shoulders beginning to tense. 

“Oh, you said you hadn't had a home cooked meal in a while and I just assumed that you didn’t have any family close by?” you’re trying to maneuver lightly through this situation, you’d already obviously hit a trigger. 

“No. I don't have family in the city” He fails at being cold, and instead just sounds melancholic. He can’t meet your eyes, his hands wring-

Mood unintentionally killed. Shit. 

“Hey, Peter?” you call for him softly, because there was only one thing that could salvage this, “Do you smoke?”

“Uh-”  He watches you disappear into one of the two doors, and then return, your hands full. You clamber over to the couch and pop down next to him, sitting in a way that your entire body faces his. He eyes the canister and the little box of papers “No, not really” 

“That’s okay” you chime, reassuringly “You don’t have to if you don't want to buttttt, if you do, I’m more than happy to share”

You’d started smoking weed in high school and never stopped, you tended to lean towards a low THC indica these days but still had to end most nights with a toke. You weren’t for peer pressuring, it felt very consent teetering, but you were going to light up and he had the choice to join you. It’s second nature, twisting up a joint, you don't think twice about torching the end evenly and taking a deep pull. 

How were you supposed to know that he’d never smoked before? 

He doesn't tell you, just watches, obviously fascinated. You explain the strain, the effects. All of it. You're cerebral, like to look at things through a certain lense. Obviously he does too-

“I’ll try it”  he decides after you’re about halfway through. Curiosity always kills the cat. 

“You sure?”

He nods, and is a grown man, so you hand it to him. 

He coughs a bit, but whatever. No shame, only good vibes, and rhythmic music. The two of you melt, relax into the couch and as time bleeds away; minutes into hours, the small blip is all but forgotten. 

He’s a funny little shit, a total nerd. Opinionated as hell, the two of you argue over just about everything. 

“Look me in my eyes and tell me that The Hobbit is better the original trilogy” 

“The books are!” Peter chuckles, arguing and you’ve never seen him like this. 

He’d shed the hoodie, comfortable in your space now. How does a photographer get those guns? His arms are built and T-Shirt does some really good things for him. You try, and fail, to not focus in on his defined forearms.

“We weren't talking about the books, though, cheater. Peter Jackson popped his pussy on Return of the King” 

His peel of laughter is ringing and loud and you can't help but join in, even though you insist that he knows you’re right. You feel good, leaning back into the cushions, closing your eyes and soaking it up. 

“You look really pretty tonight” 

Your stomach erupts into butterflies and you turn your head, still very much lounging back. You’d been waiting for him to comment on it, wondering if he’d add your appearance to his list of praises.  You’d primped and primed. Spent an hour doing your makeup in that way that was dubbed natural, yet the farthest thing from. Hair pressed flat and sleek. The yoga pants you don cling to every inch of your ass, and you don't wear a bra under the nude colored one shoulder top. 

You want him to look, want him not to avert his eyes everytime they take their fill. 

“Thank you, Peter” you whisper, giving him the look. The deadly one, from under your painted dark eyelashes “You look nice too. You have the best hair” 

When you reach up and run your hand lightly through his curls, his jaw goes crazy. Teeth clenching tight and hard. But he doesn't stop you, have free rein. Your long manicured nails scratch lightly over his scalp and he leans his entire head into your hand. It’s almost sad. 

“Peter?”

“Yeah? Hmm?” He nuzzles your palm, and wow. He really is a puppy dog. 

“Are we going to keep pretending that we’re not into each other?” 

He freezes, goes stark still as the atmosphere around the two of you. The music continues to play, but you don't hear it, not really. You push through it, not this time. Your nail catches just right and a groan escapes through. 

“I shouldn’t ” he’s trying to convince himself more than anything and if it wasn't so hot seeing him tortutre himself, it’d be annoying. 

“Why?” you whine, pulling away. Satisfied when he chases your touch. His hand comes up, cups yours, holds it to his face. His hickory eyes simmer in a way that's…dangerous. So much repressed coming to the surface all too fast. 

You think he’s going to give you some half assed excuse, that he’s going to walk away and leave you high and dry. Instead he presses his lips to yours, hard. You gasp, hard, and his tongue presses instantly into your mouth. What?-

“Wait, sorry” Peter pulls away and your head spins “I should've- consent, you know?” he can barely string together words, is staring at your lips when he speaks them. You snort, this fucking guy. 

“You have my consent, Jesus” what he doesn't have is a moment to process what you’d said, before you're pulling him back in. It’s a little fumbly, and a lot eager.  His hands are everywhere. Grabbing at you, up your thighs, at your waist, pressing into your neck to force your mouth harder to his. You pull back, needing to take a breath that wasn't into his mouth and he groans- 

“Peter!” you gasp sharply as you land in his lap. He’d wrenched you from your place on the couch beside you, and placed you on his lap. Exactly where he wanted you. Your thick thighs swallow him up and he looks very pleased with himself-

“Okay?” He questions, hands already wandering and you nod quick, yeah. Yeah it is. 

You usually tend to stray away from being on top, especially at first. It makes you feel exposed, even in your adult years that nagging voice in the back of your head throws out words like heavy or too much. He pushes you down, man handling you exactly where he wants you, and where the fuck does this guy work out?

His hands are aimless and greedy and your skin tingles all over from his not so gentle groping- you stop them with your own as they shake around your wide hips. Your fingers wrap around his wrists, drag his hands where you want them. You keen sharply as he holds your breasts, squeezing experimental and light. 

Peter’s hips buck violently, lifting both of you up in the air for a moment. His forehead clunks hard and heavy against yours,

“Ow’ you giggle, pulling away and rubbing at the stinging spot. 

“You alright?” He doesn't stop, mouth finding other occupations. Your neck, your chest. It feels so good, “Sorry, sorry” he peppers between kisses, when he nibbles the top of your breast through your top you shift on his lap, 

“Do you wanna go into the bedroom?” You offer, your hips moving in slow, deliberate circles over his groin. For a moment you think that he didn’t catch what you’d offered, he continues to kiss and squeeze. “It’ll be a lot more comfortable then trying to do this on the couch”

“Yeah” he nods “Yeah, let’s go” 

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

Your bed is large, covered in downy blankets and thick pillows- all of which have seemed to be knocked on to the floor as you and Peter roll around chaotically in the middle of the mattress. The same way you’d been doing for the better part of the last hour. 

You’ve never felt so…wanted, needed. Peter has to have everything, your chest covered in large, lip molded bruises as he tries his best to consume them whole. The throbbing between your legs is intense, from his mouth. His fingers. His surprisingly large cock- it almost hurts, being so full. Has you crying out as his hips piston  between your pillowy thighs, his arms wrapped around your back, crushing the two of you together. 

“Peter” You beg, your sharp nails digging into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. Whatever he kept bottled up every other day of his life, he was now pounding into you. It’s agonizingly good, and you coo in his ear for him to keep going. “It’s okay, Pete, it’s okay. Breathe” 

It's sweaty, the physicality of it intense. Muscle shaking, chests heaving, you hadn't had a work out like this in months. 

“I-I- Fuck” His hips snaps fierce and tight as he buries his face into your neck. He comes as erratically as he fucks, and you hold him through it. Stroking up and down his spine as he starts to calm down. Yeah, he’d gotten you off and it had been okay but there was something…more, about watching him lose it. 

You think you're part of a select few who gets to witness Peter Parker, bare and raw and selfish. 

When he can move, the blankets and pillows are dragged back onto the bed, and you assure him of course, when he questions if he can stay. He clings to you for the entire night. 

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

Twenty three days, 

It’s been nearly a month since that night, Peter recalls the way you moaned in his ear when he breaks the nose of a deserving burglar. Thinks about your thighs wrapped around him when he assists the police in a bomb threat. Replays the sound of your breathless laughter, over and over, when he wakes up in the morning. Before he falls asleep every night. 

He shouldn't have done it, he knows what happens when he gets too close. It killed people, he’d had to rewrite time to fix the damage his bonds had done. Thinking about MJ and Ned, states over at MIT hurts. Thinking about you three doors over hurts. He cant have either, 

“With great power comes great responsibility”

And isolation. And gnawing guilt.

Ignoring you makes him feel lower than shit. You probably hate him, for dodging you at every chance. For slipping out of your bed that morning without a word, it’s cool. He's not a fan of himself either. 

It takes twenty three days and a fight he doesn't win. A fatal one; innocents slain and dozens injured and while the perp didn't get away, Peter feels the loss weigh him down. 

He’s strong, he’ll heal. He reminds himself of the fact as he crawls through his bedroom window. He’s black and blue and bloody, crimson swirls down the drain in the porcelain of his tub as showers. 

He’s okay. He’ll heal. 

He sits at the foot of his bed, body going numb, mind going a mile a minute. 

-

It’s no surprise to either of you when he shows up on your doorstep. He’s pathetic and beat to shit, but you don't throw the fact in his face. Instead you open the heavy door wider, granting him entrance with a sigh. 

He needs this. He won't do it again. 

You wrap your arms carefully around him and he feels like he can breathe. 

He won't do this again-

Peter Parker has always been a terrible liar. 

Thinking about making this a mini-series! Let me know if you’d want to be tagged in future installments. Comments and reblogs are a writers best friend, so if you enjoyed this- tell me! I’d love to chat about our Short King Tom Holland.