#now if only i could care that much for my web coding class. but oh well im still keeping up even if its a reluctant shamble much of the time

[orcelito]

Oh yeah yesterday I went to my C programming professor's office hours to ask about what's being covered in class tomorrow. Since I can't go bc of my PT appointment overlapping with it & I'm apparently the kind of student that cares about attending every single class now.

While I was there, I ended up chatting with him about a few things, including my current standing in the class. He asked what I got on the midterm exam, & I answered it was an 87, and he told me I was one of the top 5 or 6 scores in the Whole Class (this being a like. Maybe 70 or so person class). Top score was a 92 or 93 (idr lol) & the class average was a 72. Apparently there were a few of us in the upper 80s/lower 90s, but most people got 70s or lower. And once he does the curve on the exam, he said I'd probably end up with a 97 or so on the exam. So yay!!!

And then he told me how he's noticed how I come to class every day and am really active with taking notes and answering questions. Bc I also sit up front all the time lmao. Hadn't even realized how much of a damned teacher's pet I've been being, but I've been Trying to be a good student this year. But he said I was the type of student that if I got an 88% or smth in the class, he'd likely bump me up to a 90% so I'd get an A lol. But he also said so long as I keep up with how I have been, I could possibly get a 100% in the class by the end (bc I've been there for all the extra credit questions in class and whatever).

And just. I went there bc I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything important in class on Wednesday, and I ended up having my ego stroked for Real. Felt good to have my efforts be recognized.

[a-is-for-abel]

"“I’m moving.” He froze, glancing up at his friend. The other boy’s eyes were gleaming with suppressed sobs, breath hitching and jaw clenched. “Mom got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

Inspired by this prompt by @givethispromptatry

Sand and shells crunched under the belly of the kayak as it ran aground. With a wobble and a curse he tumbled into the water, paddle floating away from him and kayak shooting off in the opposite direction.

"Fuck."

He scrambled to collect both, tossing the paddle up onto the beach and grabbing the handle at the bow of the kayak to tow it onto shore.

"You're late."

He rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see Warren in all his cut-offs and sandals glory. "And you're early."

Warren crossed his arms. "I'm literally the most on time, dude."

"Whatever, just-- Help me grab the stuff."

He popped open the watertight chamber in front of the seat and reached into the belly of the kayak, all while Warren struggled to pull the backpack out from under the cage of bungee cords at the front.

"Just unhook them, dude," he said, his cellphone and two unopened cream sodas finally in hand.

"Don't tell me how to do it."

"It's not going to--"

"Shit!" Warren yelped, recoiling and clutching his hand.

"Told you."

Warren flicked him off, but turned to do what he said anyway.

"Come on, suns gonna start setting soon." He grabbed his backpack from Warren and stuffed the drinks and his phone inside.

"What? Afraid of some gators?"

"No," he said. "Rather a gator than my dad."

Warren grimaced. "He still got you on that curfew?"

"Yup."

He picked his way through the mangrove thicket that cut the beach off from the rest of the spoil island. The roots of the black mangroves jutted up like fingers through the sand and the stilts of the red mangroves tried their best to snag his feet as he ducked under the sprawling web of an orb weaver hidden in their midst. Thankfully, it cleared out past the initial wall of foliage, becoming more barren with only the occasional thicket.

He remembered when his dad had led them through here the first time and explained that the mangroves kept the spoil islands standing. That when hurricanes and storms threatened to wash them away, their roots would act like a little army, keeping off any barrage and harboring whatever took up shelter under them.

He frowned. His dad and him hadn't come out here since--

"Fuck, fuck, fu--" Warren sputtered behind him, high-pitched.

"Web?" he asked, glancing back to see Warren flinching away from a tree.

"Yeah, fuck--" Warren brushed his arms off frantically and patted at his hair. "Fucking spiders all over the fucking place, man. They call it Mosquito Lagoon, but it really should be spider god damn la-- Fuck!"

"Nice one, ‘spider god damn la-fuck’ really has a special sort of ring to it."

Warren shot him a glare and dusted off his shoulders and the front of his shirt with quick flicks. "You owe me for psychological damages..."

"Come on, we used to come out here all the time."

"When I was like ten! And with your dad!" Warren cowered away from another web that sprawled from a lone tree. "And I didn't have as much free real estate for a spider to like, you know-- Crawl all over me or whatever."

"Free real estate?"

"Yeah, you know the whole--" Warren gestured vaguely. "The meme."

"God, please stop," he groaned. "That shits like, what, twenty-seventeen? That's like ancient history, man."

"It's a classic."

"Sure," he muttered. "A classic."

"Whatever, man, you're just not cultured."

He scoffed. "That's definitely it."

The other end of the island unfolded into a drop-off, all coquina and shells packed tightly together and built up into a mound that cut off abruptly into nothing. It was the highest point of the island-- of most of the spoils out here honestly-- even though it's small cliff had been eaten away and eroded over time, shrinking and shifting as the island shrank with the waves.

Dropping his backpack, he sat and dangled his legs over the edge, shoes knocking back against the coquina with a scratchy rasp. Warren plopped down beside him, keeping his legs folded and away from the plunge. Not that it was much of a sheer cliff. Only about eight feet down at the most, but enough that it felt like a lot. Compared to the average of three feet below sea level for the rest of the mainland; eight feet felt pretty fucking huge.

The tide lapped at the base of the island, the water hissing and coiling, writhing and alive where it squirmed through the holes bored through the coquina face and back out with a soft crackle. Crabs, tiny and mottled, darted in and around the rocks and he could see finger mullet, their scales flashing as they turned and twisted with the waves.

"You tied up your kayak, right?" Warren asked.

"Naw, but it should be fine. I pulled it up pretty far."

"I'm not sharing if you get stuck out here."

He frowned, shooting Warren his best puppy dog eyes. "You'd leave me out here?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "Fair."

Seagulls drifted in lazy circles far overhead, the occasional cry working its way down to them as the birds banked with the wind, following the gusts up to where they could catch a glimpse of a meal beneath the water. One wheeled down in a sudden arc, wings folded close to its side as it plummeted, beak first, into the water with a snap and then back out with a spray.

"Man, tough luck..." Warren said. "Hate whenever they miss. Makes me feel kinda bad."

"They're just gonna go do what the rest do and steal some fries at the jetty once they realize it's easier than doing this."

"Yeah, but it's like-- I don't know, man. Just wish he'd get a win."

"You don't even know him!"

"I feel like we have a connection." Warren pointed at where the seagull had gone back to patrolling the waters. "Me and seagull number one thousand and three, we're like this--" He crossed his fingers.

"Shut up," he snorted.

They watched the seagull try again and fail.

Warren started up a running commentary after the third attempt, cupping a hand over his mouth to imitate the slight grain of a sports announcer's microphone as he dramatized the whole thing. When the seagull finally managed to snag a fish Warren cheered, arms thrown up in a touchdown motion that he copied with a grin.

"Hell yeah, dude!" Warren high-fived him.

"Where's all that enthusiasm for when you're at my games?" he asked.

"Come on, dude, you know I always cheer the loudest. You're just too far out on the field to hear me."

"I'm sure that's what it is."

"Whatever, man-- What'd you bring anyway?" Warren grabbed his backpack and began rummaging through it. "Oh shit! Gummy bears, dude! And the good kind, hell yeah!"

"Yeah, grabbed them before I came here. That's why I was late, idiot."

Warren tore open the package. "Crimes forgiven, man. This is worth it."

"Give me that--" He pulled his backpack out of Warren's lap. "I also got some soda, but I guess all you care about is your precious little bears."

"Naw, naw-- Hand that over."

"Rude much?"

"What? You want me to kiss you on the lips for it first, bro?"

He laughed. "Now, that would be the polite thing to do."

Warren puckered his lips at him and then snatched the soda. "Fuck off."

"Not even a little kiss?" he teased.

"You dragged me out to spider-fuck-nowhere, while it's ass fucking hot out and where it smells like rotting fish taint-- Just to watch the fucking sunset, when we could have sat on my roof and done the exact same thing-- You expect a kiss for that?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Bro code."

Warren snorted. "Hand me a bottle opener, dip shit."

He popped open his own bottle and passed it over to Warren, who struggled for a moment before finally getting it with a triumphant 'whoop'. The mixture of saccharine flavored soda and the slight rotting stench of algae, and whatever else the lagoon had to offer, wasn't exactly pleasant, but it wasn't terrible. It was familiar.

It was homely in it's off kilter sort of way.

"So, why'd you bring me out here anyways?" Warren asked.

He sighed and kicked his heel back against the coquina. "I’m moving.”

Warren sucked in sharply and he glanced over at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the water below his feet. "Dad got a job in another state and we’re moving in a month.”

"Dude…"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I just--"

"Is that why you decided it'd be a good idea to sneak out and go to that dumb party with me?" Warren asked, frowning.

"I figured it would be one of the last chances I had to do something fun, you know. Here. Before I just-- Leave all this shit forever. I mean, we're moving to fucking Ohio, man. Where the fuck am I gonna find a party on an island out there?"

"Right…"

"And look, fuck my dad--"

"Jake--"

"No, fuck him-- He didn't even--" he huffed. "Things were looking up, man. Varsity lacrosse in sophomore year, that's huge, dude. And I wasn't just the fucking loser kid in the back of class anymore and he just--"

"Works rough here, dude..." Warren cut him off, sighing. "Space programs taking a shit. Whole island's taking a shit, really. Plenty of people left the first time NASA tanked, remember? It's just… it happens, man."

"So, you're just fine with it then?" he asked, brows furrowing. "We're never going-- I'm never going to see you again and you're just okay with that?"

"It's not forever!" Warren said, throwing out his hands. "There's planes, man! It's the twenty first fucking century. We got phones, dude. We'll stay in touch."

He grit his teeth and looked down.

"Jake, bro. C'mon-- Look at me."

He met Warren's eyes.

"It's gonna be okay, dude." Warren said, smile wide, and he could see the little falter at the edges, but he didn't call him on it. "Look--" Warren held up his bottle. "We'll cheers on it."

"Cheers on what?"

"To staying in touch, to meeting up in the future. To staying friends and all that, I don't know."

"To you finally getting a boyfriend?"

"Actually, you know what, I'm not going to miss you at all."

"Come on--" he grinned, nudging Warren with his shoulder. "You'll miss me."

"Yeah," Warren chuckled, looking down with a small smile. "I will..."

His fingers tightened around the glass bottle in his hand, bottom lip threatening to worry between his teeth. "Look, let's do your dumb cheers thing before it gets too sentimental or whatever."

Warren sighed, seeming to shake himself off before raising his soda bottle above his head and towards the slowly setting sun. "To us."

"To us?" He wrinkled his nose. "Isn't that kinda cheesy?"

"Just shut up and do it."

"Fine..." he grumbled with a grin, raising his bottle to clink against Warren's. "To us."

--

//photo credit// me and my phone c. 2020 //

[hale-13]

Caliber

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 12 - Death

Peter grew up like most American kids running active shooter drills thinking (hoping) it would never happen to him.

Words: 2338, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Tony Stark, Various Midtown Students and Faculty

TW: TW: Gun Violence, Blood, Major Character Injury, Possible MCD (if you choose to interpret it that way)

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Growing up, Peter spent his early childhood in lower level genetics labs with his parents. Part of this was simply because they worked some weird hours at OsCorp but the other part was definitely because they recognized his intelligence and talent early and would give him easy experiments to run while they worked. Safe? Eh, maybe not but Peter had fun.

Well, until they died that is.

After that Peter would spend his time in the hospital daycare or nurse’s break room or sitting at Ben’s desk in the bullpen at the precinct where he worked. Daycare and babysitters were expensive and Peter was having a little separation anxiety from becoming an orphan at six. Peter accredits this formative time in his life to why he has a healthy respect of first responders, why he goes out every night in spandex to help his neighborhood (even if the cops hate him).

After the funeral, after May and Ben went back to work and started taking Peter with them, Ben sat Peter down to go over basic gun safety with him. He can remember that initial conversation pretty vividly: Ben had sat Peter down on the couch and had pulled out his unloaded side arm and the small safe he stored it in. He told Peter just how dangerous weapons could be in untrained hands, how Peter could easily hurt himself or others if he ever touched it, how Ben would always have it locked up but, on the off chance it wasn’t, Peter was to never touch it.

Peter had readily agreed and had steered clear of Ben’s belt and the gun safe next to his side of the bed his whole childhood.

The officers that Ben worked with were, for the most part, super nice to Peter and always took time out of their days to talk to him, bring him snacks and (attempt) to help him with his homework and Peter grew to be the most comfortable in the loud bullpen or the adjacent break room. The summer before he started his freshman year at Midtown, Ben and some of the other officers had given Peter a crash course in gun safety – how to clean, care and shoot a weapon – and it only took one trip to dash Peter’s dreams of working in law enforcement; he never wanted to handle a gun again.

Holding his uncle’s body as he bled out a few months later from the massive hole left in his back by the .45 caliber handgun only solidified that decision.

Luckily, in his tenure as Spider-Man, Peter tended to run into more sub-Ultron and Chitauri fare than the classic handguns and rifles he was familiar with which suited him just fine. When he did come across a run of the mill mugger or rapist who was using a pistol or something similar, Peter took great pleasure in using his super strength to rip it into tiny pieces – destroyed beyond repair and off the streets for good.

This had resulted in some unfortunate bullet grazes and full-on holes in his body that had prompted his helicopter mentor (under the order of Aunt May of course) to force him through another gun safety lecture, complete with a practical portion where Colonel Rhodes assisted in teaching Peter how to properly disarm and disassemble a variety of different sidearms. It was definitely cool to spend time with Actual War Machine but Peter rushed through it as quickly and throughly as possible. He never wanted to have the easy comfort with weapons that Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes had – he preferred non-lethal disarmament when patrolling.

All this said – Peter probably had more experience and knowledge with various weapons (human and otherwise) than he had any right to.

All of this experience, all of his time as Spider-Man, everything he had been through did nothing to help keep him calm and collected when his principal came over the intercom while Peter was in gym class to announce a code red shelter in place order. Like most high schoolers in America, Peter had gone through numerous school safety drills so he, in theory, knew what to do in a emergency.

In practice? Not so much.

Coach Wilson had looked just as pale and stunned as the class but had recovered quickly enough to rush the doors. A few other students had also started moving to gather some of the wrestling mats to roll in front of the doors once Coach Wilson had gotten them closed and locked.

He, unfortunately, wasn’t quick enough.

Brian Anderson, a sophomore Peter recognized from the debate team, forced the door open, brandishing the small revolver in a shaky hand. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed with tears with such a desolate look it made Peter’s own heart clench in sympathy despite his rapid heart-rate.

“Back up,” he whispered, using the gun to gesture for the coach to step away and the man obliged; holding his hands up in surrender and slowly backing away from the door. Some of Peter’s classmates, including Ned who, for once, wasn’t right at Peter’s side in class but across the room from him, had started to cry. Michelle, looking stony faced but terrified underneath it all, was trying to shush Betty Brant who was in the middle of a full blown panic attack and trying not to draw attention to herself.

“Okay,” Coach Wilson said, motioning the class members closest to him to back up with one raised hand, his eyes never leaving the weapon. “You’re calling the shots here Brian.”

Brian sniffled, fresh tears spilling over his eyes and hand trembling as he surveyed the room, eventually moving the barrel to point at Mark Conley, one of Flash’s friends and a notorious online bully. Both boys had gone nearly ghost white and the class seemed to be holding its collective breath.

“Sorry Ben,” Peter thought. “Sorry Mr. Stark.”

“Brian,” he called out, voice sounding much more steady than he predicted it would since he was just Peter Parker right now and not Spider-Man. “You don’t want to do this man.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Brian spit out, anger over-ruling all of his other feelings and his eyes landing on Peter. “You don’t know what I want to do!”

“I promise you don’t want to do this,” Peter said calmly. “I know what they’re like. You think they treat me any better than you? You’ll regret this if you do it.”

Brian snorted out a dry laugh, not looking like he found anything remotely funny. “Then you should want me to do this.” He said, cherry picking Peter’s words.

“But I don’t,” Peter told him, edging closer to the other boy, making sure to put his body in front of Mark as he moved closer. “Do you know how my uncle died?” Brian, eyes locked with Peter’s, shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “He was shot by some guy robbing a bodega. He bled out in my arms before emergency services could arrive.” Peter said bluntly, doing the best to ignore how his heart clenched and his eyes burned.

The barrel of Brian’s gun dipped down to point more toward the floor and Peter took a few cautious steps forward, stopping when he was only about five feet away. “They won’t stop,” Brian whispered, the tears flowing heavier but his finger still in place over the trigger. “It just keeps getting worse and I can’t take it. I can’t do this anymore!”

“I know,” Peter said, voice soft, dropping his hands down to rest loosely at his sides. He really wishes he had his web-shooters, secret identity be damned. He was never taking them off again, no matter what May tried to tell him about work/life balance. “I know what its like and it sucks but they aren’t worth throwing your whole life away. It’s not worth hurting all the innocent people you’ll hurt. You don’t want to do that to your friends and family.”

“I don’t have any friends!” Brian said loudly, raising the gun back up to point at Peter but Peter didn’t move from his relaxed position even though he felt his heart speed up to a gallop. He faced possible injury and death at least once a week but that was always as Spider-Man… never as Peter Parker.

“I’m your friend,” Peter told him, a little desperate but honest. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Brian gasped and let the pistol drop to his side in a loose grip. “Just hand me the gun Brian okay? And then we can talk about it, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Brian sniffed and rubbed his free hand over his face to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Peter confirmed, holding out his hand. Brian nodded and lifted his hand to pass Peter the gun when everything went wrong. Betty, who had been hyperventilating through the entire exchange, finally passed out. MJ tried to catch her but the two of them hit the floor with a echoing bang that startled the whole class. Brian, gun lifted and finger still on the trigger, flinched and jerked to aim back at Mark, shooting.

Everything happened in slow motion for Peter and he grimaced at what he was about to do, saying mental apologies and throwing his body in the path of the bullet, jerking back at the feeling of it hitting him in the chest.

His breath knocked out and his consciousness already becoming more nebulous from the pain that was blooming in his lungs, Peter stumbled forward to yank the gun from Brian’s limp grasp, deftly unloading it with the last of his strength and with shaking hands before throwing the rounds to the opposite side of the gym; collapsing at the other boys feet.

“Oh god,” Brian whispered in horror. “Oh god Peter. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He tried to bend down next to Peter but was swiftly tackled by Abe and Jason where he was wrestled onto his front with them restraining his hands without a fight beyond his gulping sobs.

“You’re alright Parker,” Coach Wilson said soothingly as he rolled Peter onto his back and used his own hastily shed jacket to apply pressure to the steadily bleeding hole in Peter’s chest, causing him to grunt and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. “Thompson! Call 911 and tell them we have the shooter and we need emergency services in the gym. Conley run up to the office and tell Morita what happened!” Both boys jumped into action but Peter ignored it in favor of unsteadily pulling his own phone out of his pocket and sliding it to Ned who had joined the group along with a pale and teary Michelle.

“Call Tony,” Peter coughed out, blood staining his lips and leaked down the side of his face. “No hospital.”

Ned, shaking and crying worse than Peter had ever seen fumbled the phone with numb hands before giving up and pressing the panic button on the side of the phone. Feeling relieved that his mentor was on the way, Peter let his tired eyes close only to rip them open at the flick on his nose.

“It’s not nap time Tiger,” MJ told him, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t want to get detention again.”

“I think…” Peter gasped out, his lungs aching with the strain. “Think this… get me… a permanent… ‘get out of detention’… free card.”

Michelle ran soft fingers through his hair, helping him relax his clenching muscles. He could tell that Ned was on the phone and speaking in rapid, broken sentences. He could kind of hear the sirens approaching, the sound of the building evacuating, crying students. But nothing mattered as much as Michelle. “You just couldn’t help yourself huh?”

“You know… me,” Peter grunted, trying for a grin that didn’t show the tacky blood he was sure was staining his teeth. “No guts… no glory.”

“God you’re a disaster,” MJ said with a watery laugh, a single tear escaping to race down her cheek. Peter wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe it away but his arms were made of lead.

Before Peter could work up the energy to respond, the doors of the gym were blown off the hinges by repulsers as Tony rushed the room, suited up in his full armor and clearly panicked. “Peter!” He shouted as he stumbled out of the suit, falling to his knees next to Peter and hastily began applying his prototype nanotech bandage to the hole in Peter’s chest before rolling him on his side to repeat the process with his back.

Peter gagged at the change in position, his eyesight fading out to a pinprick of light and his hearing glitching out. The voices around him became ever more harried but Peter couldn’t make out what they were trying to say – all he knew was he was really tired. More tired than he had ever been maybe. Surely no one would mind if he took a little nap?

“Stay with me buddy,” he heard Mr. Stark say as cold, hard arms gripped under his back and knees, lifting him and causing him to nearly black out again. “Just a quick little flight to the Tower Petey,” Tony said, voice wavering and not its usual strong timbre. “Just hang with me for a few more minutes and then you can nap okay kiddo?”

“Tired,” Peter gasped out, chest seizing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Tony ordered, frantic and yelling over the wind buffeting them. When had they started flying? “Just stay awake.”

“Love May,” Peter whispered, his vision a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that were rapidly fading. “Love you.”

“Peter!” Tony sounded so far away, Peter thought as his eyes closed against the colors and shapes and lights that were making him feel dizzy and sick.

Just a little nap.

No one would notice.

[yellowocaballero]

Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this. 

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES. 

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf. 

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month. 

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing. 

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.” 

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening. 

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.” 

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her. 

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd. 

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar. 

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all. 

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk. 

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her. 

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time. 

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered. 

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks. 

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs. 

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too.  Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing. 

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.  

Annabelle was good with disgusting things. 

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope. 

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face? 

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine. 

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever. 

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work. 

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice. 

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement. 

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song. 

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that. 

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was. 

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t. 

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength. 

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes. 

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow. 

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better. 

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him. 

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death. 

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off. 

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did. 

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing. 

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food. 

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes. 

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better. 

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately. 

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims. 

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist. 

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time. 

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time. 

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power. 

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had. 

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head. 

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did. 

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped. 

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks. 

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met. 

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it. 

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [email@organization.gov]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had. 

And a week later, she took it. 

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read: 

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone. 

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story. 

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face. 

Sounds like fun. 

[allegra-writes]

"Lights Up" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: And there was only one bed!!

Peter must deal with the aftermath of what Mysterio did, but he's not alone: Nick Fury and Pepper Stark have a plan, one that includes you, Peter and the tropical desert island of Eroda.

Series Masterlist

His lungs were on fire, his legs burning with the strain, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on. The sharp pain piercing his side was disconcerting, he used to be familiar with it, he remembered as much, but he hadn't felt it in years, not since the spider bite. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten so much as winded just from running, but he had been at it for hours now, ever since he had ditched MJ and his suit in that dingy alley in hopes of Peter Parker being a little more inconspicuous than Spider-Man. 

But by then, everyone in the city knew his face, and in the age of the internet and smartphones all it took was one single snap, one tweet, one livestream, to find himself surrounded by an angry mob, screaming for his blood, like something out of an old horror movie. All they were missing were the pitchforks and torches. There was nowhere to hide. 

So he ran. 

And he kept on running, but even he couldn't run forever. At least not without eating anything, the calorie deficiency starting to take a toll on his super-metabolism, causing him to become dizzy, his reflexes slower. 

That was probably why he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late, until he reached the intersection and found himself surrounded: He had been ambushed, led like a lamb to the slaughter. He came to a halt, turning around, looking in vain for a way out, but the circle they had arranged around him was a tight formation, he was either going to have to fight his way out or shoot a web and swing away and he could kiss goodbye any chance left at keeping his identity secret after that…

"Looks like we caught ourselves a spider, guys!"

"Not so brave now, eh boy?"

Peter cursed internally. There was no other way, falling into stance, he braced himself for the fight. But before he could make a move, he saw it. A car, a rather distinctive one, heading straight their way, and it wasn't slowing down. If anything, it seemed to speed up the closer it got to the crowd, forcing people -including Peter- to jump out of the way to avoid being run over. 

"Get in!" 

He didn't need to be told twice, jumping into the passenger seat, the car speeding away before he even got to close the door completely. You stole a glance at him. He looked tired, maybe a little pale, but uninjured. You sighed in relief. He was there, you had gotten to him on time. He was safe.

Safe and openly gawking at you.

"Y- y/n?" 

You flinched,

"Yeah, not my real name" You took your eyes off the road to give him an apologetic look, "Sorry 'bout that"

"Then who are you?" His voice was steel. So much for being grateful for saving his ass, then…

"I'm agent 16 of S.H.I.E.L.D's Special Service. I was assigned to protect you" You threw him a side-glance, "and a little 'thank you' would be nice"

Well, that explained the uniform and you driving Item 20-25. God, he was so stupid! Of course you were a spy, why else would a girl like you even give him the time of day? The pretty girls at his school weren't nice, not to him at least. But now it all made sense, down to the very first time he saw you, beaming at him as Mr. Warren pointed at the empty seat beside him. All the times your hands brushed in class, fingers lingering on test tubes and books a couple of seconds longer than necessary. All those little touches, all the secret looks when you thought he wasn't watching, it was probably all part of your mission. Probably just to get close to him, to gain his trust. After all, you had demonstrated you weren't truly interested in him when you turned down his invitation to prom. 

He had cried afterwards. Not much, not like at Ben's funeral, or when Mister Stark… No, definitely not like that, but he had shed a couple of tears that night. 

He had lost sleep and appetite over you. Lost hours daydreaming about you, about the fruity smell of your hair, wondering what your strawberry lipstick would taste like. But the truth was, after all this time, after all that staring, all that pinning he didn't know anything about you, did he? Not even...

"Can you tell me your real name?"

"You don't have the clearance for that"

You replied, turning to face him. And maybe he ought to fasten that seat belt after all, or shut up and stop distracting you from the road, cause you were still going too damn fast and breaking all traffic laws known to mankind. Mr Dell's shocked, appalled face after your driving test flashed through his mind.

"Spider-Man has a level 6 clearance" he protested.

"You need a level 9. At least." 

"I thought 9 was the highest level" Gods, his frown was adorable.

You just smirked and made another turn, driving through an entrance and a ramp that hadn't been there a second ago. 

"We're here" You announced, killing the engine. Peter didn't move.

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's Manhattan headquarters"

You got out of the car, rounding to his side and pulling his door open, then closing it once he had gotten out. The gentleman in him protested it should be the other way around, he should be the one opening doors for you and helping you out of cars. It was absurd, of course. There, with you in that black catsuit, thigh holsters on both your legs, walking like you owned the place there was no mistaking it: You weren't y/n, his school crush; you were a highly trained special agent, escorting him through the premises.

… Pretty familiar premises, actually. 

"Avengers Tower? S.H.I.E.L.D bought Avengers Tower?"

"It was a donation, actually" you explained as the elevator's doors opened to the Stark Memorial Garden, an open garden as majestic as it was massive, located right in the heart of the building.

"A donation? But wh-"

"Peter! Oh thank god!" A relieved voice and the clicking of hills on the stone path interrupted him.

"Mrs. Stark?" Peter let himself be crushed into Pepper's chest, closing his eyes, the tears he hadn't known he was holding back starting to fall as soon as he felt safe in her embrace.  

If Tony Stark had been like a father to him, Pepper Potts-Stark was a mother trough and trough. She had tried to step into her husband's role of a mentor for Peter, knowing fully well she couldn't ever replace him or occupy his place; but she would be damned if she allowed that giant Tony shaped hole on that boy's life to go unattended, to bleed out or fester. The kid had already lost so much, almost every parent figure he had ever had. And she knew what that kind of loss could do to precocious boys with too big hearts, had seen it first hand with Tony. 

"Mrs. Stark I'm so- I'm so sorry"

"Shhh" She said soothingly, "It's not your fault. You're going to be ok, I promise. We'll figure it out" Pepper sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. 

"Pete! Six!" 

Peter broke the hug just in time to see a little dark haired meteor jump into your arms. He watched, stunned, as Morgan clung to you. He knew once upon a time she had been an outgoing, confident child but ever since her father's death she had grown timid. She didn't open up easily to strangers, Peter being a rare exception, and even that had been solely because of the stories Tony used to tell her about her 'super big brother' adventures. She had developed a sort of hero worship for Peter that only rivaled the one she felt for her father. For her to be so friendly towards you had to mean you had spent a considerable amount of time together, and Peter remembered the tales you used to tell in class about the adorable little girl you babysat sometimes. 

"You did it! You found him!"

You smiled at her.

"Told you I would, Morgs. And I always keep my word" He watched you squeeze her again in your arms, he could tell you cared about the kid, probably even missed her while you and him were in Europe. But the sweet reunion was short lived, as soon another voice, more stern, resonated through the garden.

"In our line of work, I'm not sure that can be considered a good thing"

You gasped in mock trepidation, making Morgan giggle and Peter smile despite himself.

"Uh-oh! We've been caught!" You passed the still laughing kid to Peter and stood straighter, trying to sober up. Peter could see the corners of your mouth twitch as you greeted, "Director" 

He gave you a nod,

"Agent. Parker, Mrs. Stark. Good, now that everybody's here, we can get a move on"

Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas Fury started walking again, leaving everyone to scramble to follow.

"I know this seems like the end of the world, Mr. Parker, and I'll admit the situation isn't ideal," the intimidating man punched a code into a hidden panel and another elevator opened. "but our main priority right now is your safety. We'll treat this like any other blown cover, following the same protocols we follow when any of our agent's identity is compromised: Immediate extraction and relocation of the agent into a safe house, with an armed escort for protection, of course" He explained as everybody climbed in.

"You're sending me away with a bodyguard?" Peter sounded less than pleased and you couldn't help the pang of sympathy. You didn't like to be pulled off the field either.

"I understand how that could be uncomfortable for you," it didn't sound like he particularly cared, though, "so perhaps it would be less unpleasant with an element you're already familiar with. Agent 16 here is going to be your companion"

"What does that means, Six?" Morgan turned to you, still perched onto Peter's torso, like a baby koala.

"It means I'm going to babysit your brother instead of you, for a while…" You threw the brunet boy a wink and his protests about not needing babysitting died on his lips. It didn't sound so bad, actually. Being cooped up with you in some secret location for an indeterminate amount of time.

"How long would we be gone?" 

"As long as it takes for the director and me to fix this" Pepper spoke with the authority only her seemed to possess, the one that could reing in crazy geniuses dash heroes and master spies alike. Fury could only nod in compliance.  

"What about May?"

"She's with Happy, already on her way to the lake house" 

Peter still looked unsure, but Pepper smiled, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint surprisingly similar to the one her husband used to have.

"Don't worry, Peter. You'll love the safe house. I know Tony and I did…"

…

Leaving Morgan at the launch bay had been the hardest part. Her tears soaking Peter's t-shirt as Pepper tried to pry the fabric out of her little hands, were enough to break his heart. She didn't want to let her big brother go, probably terrified he wouldn't come back, just like her father. Far too perceptive for a six year old kid, she understood Peter was in trouble, in danger, and she was scared.

Peter was scared too. 

How could he not? He might be naive but he wasn't stupid, he knew that no matter the outcome of whatever plan Mrs. Stark and Fury came out with, his life as he knew it was over. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry" Your earnest voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, "For lying to you, for what Beck did, for everything."

Peter stared at your profile, something he seemed to be doing a lot that day. Who was he trying to kid, he did a lot of that everyday. It actually seemed to be the only normal thing that remained, the one thing that seemed to stay constant as the world shifted and changed around him. He should be mad at you, he knew that. He should feel betrayed, hurt, and he did, a little but it was hard to stay angry at you. Even when you were partnered at school and you failed to do your part in the projects, he used to have trouble not forgiving you the second you flashed those doe eyes at him. 

He sighed,

"It's not your fault, any of it. About the lying, you were only doing your job" It wasn't your fault that he had been dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that didn't even exist. "And as for Quentin… that definitely wasn't your fault"

"My job was to protect you. If I had done it right, none of this would have happened" there was a slight catch in your voice "I should have realized he was a fraud, I should have told Nick as soon as I started having doubts about the guy, I should have stopped him before he stole E.D.I.T.H; I should have-" You turned away, pretending to get engrossed in the navigation controls of the Quinjet.

"I should have found that video and stopped it from reaching the news" You finished, voice finally under control, but still not meeting Peter's eyes.

"I was the one that literally handed E.D.I.T.H to him" You felt his hand cover yours over a lever, and looked at him in surprise. He found your eyes, a soft look in his that made your insides fill with butterflies, "He tricked me too. Do you blame me for that?"

"What? No, of course not!" 

Your indignation on his behalf warmed his chest.

"Then why blame yourself for the same thing?" 

He had a point. Luckily, you were saved from having to answer him by a blip in your instruments.

"Looks like we're here" You commented instead, initiating landing maneuvers. 

"Where is here, exactly?" He peered out of the windscreen, into the darkness of the night, trying to get a look. And who knew, with his super senses maybe he could. 

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. An island, apparently, a very isolated one..."

"So you've never been here before either?"

"No, this isn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D's safe houses. This one is Mrs. Stark's" 

"Oh" Peter smiled for the first time since leaving NYC, "It must be really cool then"

"Yeah, I imagine it is" You smiled back

The house was not how you imagined Tony Stark's safe house would be like. For starters, the wooden construction wasn't even a house, a bungalow would have been a more appropriate title. The one-room little shack stood semi hidden by palm trees on the beach, and you knew the island was probably beautiful, but you couldn't see much in the moonless night.

Inside there wasn't much to see either, just a queen sized bed, a cupboard with a chest of drawers and a recliner by one of the windows. Ever the gentleman, Peter had offered to take the recliner, but you had rolled your eyes and pointed out the bed was big enough for the both of you. 

"I don't know why we're so surprised" Peter's voice reached you through the bathroom door, where he was changing into his pjs, "I mean, we've seen the Lake House and, sure, it's very luxurious for a cabin but that's what it is: a cabin"

"Maybe" You replied, flopping on the bed. At least it was comfy "but they have FRIDAY over there. Here we barely even have electricity"

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he walked into the room, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your exposed legs, your tiny cotton sleeping shorts not covering much at all.

"It's just, I can't possibly believe Tony Stark didn't installed any defense system on his safe house. I mean, you knew the man better than I did, but doesn't it strike you as a little… odd?"

"Huh? Ye-yeah, I mean, I…" You could see his cheeks turn red. God, he was adorable.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

He choked on his own spit, and you had to suppress a giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did forgive you for lying to him. Maybe you still had a chance.

…

Peter couldn't sleep. He could feel the heat coming off your skin through the small distance separating your bodies, your perfume invading his nostrils with every breath. Being so close to you in the dark was torture and yet he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to the chair on the other side of the room. He was pinned to the bed, mesmerized by your sleeping profile, enthralled by the way your chest rose and fell with every deep, steady breath. Irrevocably and inescapably drawn to you like a moth to a flame, too scared to move, too afraid to disturb your dream.

Because it appeared to be a very good dream. He could see the blush spreading from your face to your neck, all the way down to where the neckline of your tank top obscured his view. He could hear your breathing starting to quicken, feel the temperature of your skin rise. He could smell you, sweet and enticing. Beckoning. 

Your lips parted, letting out the most captivating little sigh in the history of mankind, and his eyes zeroed in the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his own. 

Peter felt his blood rushing south and was disgusted by himself, he felt like a creep. What kind of psycho got off of watching a girl sleep? Yet he couldn't bring his eyes to avert their gaze. 

He needed to get out of there, give you some semblance of privacy, as your hips started to twitch minutely, seeking a friction they wouldn't find. You let out a soft whine and he screwed his eyes shut. 'Come on Parker, get a grip on yourself' he thought, trying to gather enough strength to pry himself from the bed, to pry himself from your side. He was about to, he truly was, when it happened. 

You rolled over, half trapping him under your body. And it wouldn't have been hard for him to escape if he wanted to. But he really really didn't want to. The voice inside his head telling him it was wrong was growing weaker and weaker with every pretty noise leaving your mouth. Your hot breath was searing against the skin of his chest and he both cursed and blessed the instant he decided to forego wearing a t-shirt to bed in the sultry island heat. 

"Peter" You murmured in your sleep and his heart stopped. You were dreaming about him. You were panting and burning up for him, and he knew it didn't necessarily mean anything and dreams were not real life, but your legs fell open, one knee on either side of one of his, and he could actually feel your warm wetness through the thin fabric of your sleeping shorts and his threadbare plaid pajama pants and fuck!

Whatever last trace of logic might remained in his brain flew out the window as you started rubbing yourself on his thigh, finally finding the friction you so desperately needed. His hand went to your waist to stop you, but it ended up aiding you instead, sliding to your lower back, pressing down and releasing rhythmically, rocking you against his leg harder. 

He glared at the traitorous appendage, but how could he reproach it it's betrayal, when you were moaning so sweetly? He wanted to commit those sounds to his memory, to tattoo them on his brain to play over every night when he'd found himself alone on his cold bed, one hand around his length and the other over his mouth to stop himself from yelling your name at the ceiling, as he had so many times before. 

You breathed out his name again, and his free hand went to his pelvis, of its own volition. He palmed himself over his pants, but that's as far as he would let himself go. He refused to be the guy who jerked himself off next to an unconscious girl. 

A new wave of moisture left your core, soaking his skin through the fabrics. 

"Fuck!" He cursed softly, head hitting the tall headboard as he threw it back.

"Peter?" 

He froze. No. Oh god, please no...

To be continued...

[cutie1365]

A Kid from Queens Part 14

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Info: CA: Civil War Era. Tony Stark enlists his daughter to find the web slinging spider in Queens.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Hopefully another chapter coming soon, let's keep the quarantine going strong before online classes start.

Masterlist linked in my bio. Taglist in the reblog.

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

To say you were keeping busy would be an understatement. If Linda wasn’t dragging you from photoshoot to photoshoot, you were in your lab in your apartment, dissecting the data you’d collected from Thomas’ servers.

The first thing you noticed was an incredible level of encryption. Seriously, the firewalls at their residence rivaled what you used at Stark Industries. That wasn’t a good sign, they were definitely hiding something.

It took you days to follow the money trail, finally finding their private account. They’d been careful, using bitcoin and other nearly untraceable cryptocurrency. Nearly untraceable, but you’d cracked the code. It looked like over the past few months the mayor has been funneling in larger and larger amounts, but you noticed a bimonthly withdrawal to the same anonymous source. It was the only movement of funds outside of the account, all other transactions had been moving money in. Your brain hurt from staring at your screen so long. You knew it would take a few more hours for Friday to track the transaction, and you were overdue for a break.

“F.R.I., trace these transactions, get me an IP address, see who it’s registered to and if we have files on them. I want to know what he’s buying.” You instructed, slipping your coat on, and heading out of your apartment.

“You got it boss.” The AI responded.

As you made your way into the park below to clear your head, you noticed a bodega at the entrance. Maybe coffee would be a good idea, you needed the energy, you could sense it was going to be a long night.

As you ordered, you glanced down to the magazines below, and came face to face with yourself. Your Vogue cover had come out, surely just as Linda wanted it. You knew it wasn’t worth it to waste mental energy on the fact that they’d edited the hell out of your face and body. You swore they had shrunk your waist two sizes.

“This you?” The owner asked in a thick Russian accent, pointing towards the magazine.

“Oh, yeah.” You smiled, humbly.

“You sign?” He asked, holding up a sharpie to you.

“Sure.” You took the pen from him, scribbling your name across the cover. This was odd. You were used to signing large checks for charity, sure, but never autographs.

“My daughter, she like you very much. She want to be engineer now.” He smiled proudly, handing you your coffee.

“That’s wonderful.” You smiled brightly, you never expected to be a role model, but if it was for anything you were happy to encourage young women into STEM fields. It was truly heartwarming. You thanked the man, and left him a large tip.

You strolled through the park, going through your mental checklist and schedule for the week. You were leaving in a few days to go to Boston, Linda had gotten you an invitation from MIT to judge their annual robotics competition.

As you journeyed back to your apartment and opened the door, you heard loud beeping coming from your lab.

Rushing around the corner, hundreds of pictures of black market weapons were flooding your desktop.

“What am I looking at here F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” You asked, pulling the display out into holograms to get a better look.

“Wire payments tracked to a man named Adrian Toomes. Uncertain what the payments were for, but several other black market transactions and evidence seems to point to these weapons being circulated.” She explained, enlarging the clearest photograph in front of me.

“Maybe the mayor was looking to dip into the business, wanted a chunk. Maybe he wanted the monopoly on the mafia accounts, expanding the business to the most powerful underground families in the city.” You guessed.

“Something’s not right,” You grabbed the rendered blueprint hologram of one of the weapons, enlarging it then spinning it, “Are these man made?”

You began to deconstruct the hologram, removing the outer metal layers, landing at its core power source, your eyes growing wide.

“Is that... a Chitauri energy core? How could they possibly have this much volume? Even if they hoarded some after the incident, it wouldn’t be enough to sustain the operation they seem to be running now. The only other stores this large are locked away in the Department of Damage Control, and I don’t know of any authorizations to remove them.” You thought out loud. They must have been stealing them, turning them into weapons and selling them on the black market. This is more than just a mafia turf war, this is terrorism. Shit.

You knew whatever the mayor had gotten wrapped up in was bad, but you never expected it to be this bad. You were way out of your depth here, you knew you couldn’t just sit on this information.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is dad upstate?” You asked.

“Yes, his plane landed an hour ago.”

“Good, tell him to stay put, I’m on my way.”

- - - - - 🕷 - - - - -

An hour into your drive you were thanking god for the decision to get coffee earlier. Although your car could technically self-drive, you liked to be in control.

As you pulled into the compound, you saw your father waiting for you at the door. You pulled open the door to your car, making your way towards him.

“You’re gonna give your old man a heart attack if you keep showing up like this.” He raised a brow, curious to what you were up to.

“We both need a vacation.” You scoffed lightheartedly, pushing past him, and into the compound.

You led him into his office, you knew you needed a secure location to safeguard the information you were about to present to him.

“You gonna tell me what all this is about?” Your father took a seat, wearily.

“You’re not going to like this.” You nervously held your hands behind your back, unsure of where to begin.

“Do I ever?” He crossed his arms over his chest, he assumed this would be about Peter again, he never could have expected why you were really here.

“At the gala, as we were going in, a man tried to warn me, he said there was something I should know about the mayor. Thomas pulled me away before he could finish.” You began, your father shaking his head at the mention of Thomas.

“He knew what was going to happen?” Your father asked, sitting up straight in his chair, leaning towards you.

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head. “But I never forgot what he said, I knew he knew more, and after what happened at the gala... I had to know. I knew it wasn’t a random attack. I tracked him down, he said the mayor’s in deep. Deeper than mafia, he thought maybe they were dealing some sort of weapons.”

“Why did he try and warn you?” He asked, you could tell his protective side was coming out.

“He thought they might try to target me to hurt them, hurt their image.” You tried to put as delicately as possible without outright saying they were using you, but your father understood, and it did nothing but fuel his anger.

“And you went back to this asshole because...?” He asked, patronizingly.

“Will you let me finish please.” You pleaded, and he sat back slightly, not understanding how this could get worse. “After the... article came out, I knew I could use him as an alibi, to shift the focus, discredit the story. We made an agreement. He needed to get back in his father’s good graces, and I was the key to that, and a boost in his polling numbers. It also gave me the opportunity I needed to look into the family, see if there was any credibility to the warning.”

“What did you find?” He raised a brow, it must have been bad enough to bring you here at this hour of night.

“Dad, It’s bad.” You shook your head, “F.R.I.D.A.Y.” You asked, and the AI displayed all the evidence you’d recently uncovered around the room for the two of you to examine. Tony stood and made his way around the room, taking it all in, in shock. And just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, once more, it wasn’t just illegal offshore accounts and weapons, you grabbed the hologram and deconstructed it just as you’d done in the lab.

“Is that...” Tony asked in shock, picking up the rendered core in his hands.

“Chitauri, I think they’re stealing them from Damage Control.” You nodded, Tony exhaled.

Part of him was relieved this meeting didn’t have to do with Peter, but this was much worse, and potentially extremely dangerous for you.

“What do I do?” You asked, shaking your head. This was new territory for you, you weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t the hero type.

“You take this to the FBI, this isn’t exactly Avenger territory. If they’re stealing from Damage Control, it’s federal property, their jurisdiction. They’ll know what to do.” Tony nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and placing a hand under his chin, still deep in thought.

“You did the right thing here kid. Next time, maybe give me some heads up if you decide to go hacking into people’s servers, criminal records, and the black market.” He smirked, he feigned an authoritative tone, but was really quite proud of what you’d done. He knew the potential you had, but was worried you’d be swayed and deceived by emotions, but he was wrong. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you weren’t doing it for revenge or personal gain, but for public safety and welfare.

“But where’s the fun in that?” You smirked, you really were your father’s daughter.

[just-mirko]

BINARY BNHA HACKER AU - CHAPTER 1

MASTERLIST

Mirko x F!Reader

Warnings: swearing. nothing much yet ;)

WC: 1.3k (short because its just the beginning)

—

You were just a simple hacker. Exposing buinsess leaders and gathering information for whoever offers the highest amount. But when you take a strange job and are suddenly invited to an underground school for the best hackers in all of japan, Life is suddenly far from simple.

—

Hey so I basically stole most of the school design and hierarchy from Kakegurui (the amazing gambling anime 10/10 would recommend) but twisted it to match a hacker style au. Idk I guess 707 is getting to me. Reader is female, but there isn’t any lemonade here so if need be I can change the pronouns if anyone wants. :) Other than that, I hope you like the first chapter! I hope to make this a series Maybe like 50k max. Anyways, lets get onto the story. This is my first dedicated fanfic so bear with me if I don’t update that much! 

—

The consistent waves of tapping sounding from the keyboard below me was the only sound present in the room, save for the occasional rubbing of my blinds up against my windowsill. The slightest breeze flew through the crack in my window, billowing and swirling around my fingers.

          It was something I knew I should not be doing. God knew it was all forms of illegal, but of course, that would not stop me. I mean why would it? I got a burner drive, 2 VPNs and at least a dozen forms of encryption on my ip address, but something felt off. This job was too easy.

          From the beginning I knew it would be simple, but that never meant a simple job could not take hours. It had only been 30 minutes sitting at my computer before I cracked the first firewall with ease.

          An “anonymous” (or so they thought, I could back-trace to their identity within a minute) client had requested for a high-risk job. My brain instantly told me to turn it down, as messing with companies was one thing, but the government was another. Lucky for them, the hefty offer of almost $3,000USD easily swayed me.

          I continued my assault on my keyboard before a small little black tab on my screen showed up and began spewing out information. To anyone who did not know what to look for, they would see it as mindless code, but there. Right there, nestled between two little brackets was a chain of numbers. Copying it by hand onto a scrap of paper then switching onto another computer monitor, I entered the digits onto a pre-determined code with one purpose. To track.

          Normally this phase could take up to 1 hour depending on how hard the person on the other side of the screen was trying to hide their dirty little secrets, so I sat back, and watched the progress bar begin to tick forward in slight increments.

          I had to stop taking money orders. One day I would be found, and with how often I accepted the jobs, and how little I cared these days to change up my encryption methods, it’s not going to be long before I got caught. Yet I still did it. Was it the headlines on the news? “Local millionaire exposed to embezzlement?” I found that out, the work had my name all over it. Was it the knowledge that I maybe, just maybe, might be helping the world just a little bit?

          No.

          I knew it was not. Deep down, I knew it was the thrill. God each time I feel the power. I can break down corporations. I can break down people! I can destroy careers and I can mess shit up. Ha!

          Maybe the pride was getting to me. My popularity was rapidly growing on the black market as more and more people demanded to have their enemies exposed. The thing is. Only rich people can afford to get rid of their enemies, which puts me in a very profitable place.

          Another factor was a few special rumors going around. Apparently, there were ‘hacker hunters’ trying to match people’s signature corrupt handiwork to a name. Online we all went by pseudonyms and pen names mine being Shad0w, but in the real world I guess we all were people too, none of us  aware of what we were capable of.

          At the amazing age of 17 I became the 12th most popular hacker-for-higher. And at the opportunist age of 18 I got my first jab to the neck. I guess got paid by a pretty sketchy person and faced his consequences. That day I had to physically destroy one of my old hard-drives just out of fear that someone was still coming for me. I did not get hurt physically of course, but the threats they shot left a deeper mark than a bullet could of. Since then I have been careful. Always covering my steps and hiding in the shadows of the web. No matter how hard I tried though I cou-

BRZZZ!

          A loud hum from my computer snapped me awake, and after further inspection, the loading bar was complete. The neon colors were taking their toll on my eyes. What a struggle it was to keep them open.

          The whole ordeal barley took an hour… and I was getting paid $3000? No. That could not be right. My cursor stood above the ‘next’ button that would retrieve all the data from my target, and hesitantly, I clicked it.

          The little loading circle of doom (kasdjfkdjkdfd) spun around my screen before disappearing leaving nothing but white.

          Nothing but a white screen.

Just a second. Did my computer crash? What is this.

          Nothing but a white screen.

          What is happening? This CAN’T be right. It was supposed to lead my to the retrieval page. I should be collecting my pay right now.

          “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuu” I whispered to nobody other than myself. As I clicked around the screen, even tried existing before sitting back and looking at it. It was dauntingly blank, and panic was slowly beginning to creep it. It must have been a trick. They have all my information now. Is it just a virus or something more what is going on?!

          As if the computer could read my mind, it began to release a distorted sounding audio from the speakers before a voice finally came through. Obviously having gone through software to make it unidentifiable, the voice was deep and smooth.

          “Dear (y/n) (l/n). Hello. We have been watching your progress for a while.”

          Oh no. They know my full name. At this point, they might know everything. This is bad… really bad.

          “Since you began at 17 years old, you have successfully destroyed a lot of people’s lives. Good for you.”

          As dull as the computer augmented voice was, it was dripping with sarcasm.

          “Despite this, you have led to the downfall of quite a few toxic corporations. No matter your good though, these actions are obviously quite illegal. If you have no intention of getting well hacked yourself then it would be in your best interest to accept.”

Accept what? The voice paused before all noise cut out completely. What screen dimmed slightly before text began showing up line by line in the blandest of fonts.

The text only read:

This is your request to attend UA, the prestigious underground academy for the architypes of modern genius.

We welcome you to our decryption and data collection course.

Below we have attached the address and date for when courses start.

Should you choose not to attend, pretend you never saw this.

Should you choose to hand the address over to authorities, We will know and stop you before you get the chance to.

We look forward to seeing you in class.

Principal Nezu.

UA High

222 Enshu St.

Musutafu Japan

First semester start date:

April 14th, 2276.

You may arrive at the school 1 day before to set up in dorms. Failure to arrive on time on the fist day will result in termination from the course.

Welcome to the class of 2280 (y/n)(l/n)

[hopetofantasy]

‘Wandering Romance’

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied. Created for @skamevents Summary: "A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six." In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past. So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good? Also available on AO3

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

CHAPTER 1: 'No one knows the pain'

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

“David! Your dad’s here!”

Loud thundering on the stairs, caused by tiny child’s feet, followed by a high pitched exhale directed towards the man in the door. The later one immediately wrapped his arms around his hyperactive boy. Sighing deeply. The emotion on his face revealed unconditional love, as well as a vague sadness. Hurt. Hurt for the other man standing on the opposite side.

“Papa, I missed you! OMG, did you color your hair again? I don’t see any brown anymore, I love the brown, papa, why did you change it? Oh and I -”

“David, let your father have some room to breathe, please. Go put on some shoes and bring your jacket, it’s cold out.”

The 9 year old turned towards the other part of the parental couple. The deep brown in his eyes filled with such an invigorating energy. The color was something he inherited from Robbe. The lack of stopping the chaos in his head? That was such a Sander move. David truly was a piece of both. Even though, he wasn’t truly born out of either of them, he simply belonged here.

“But, paps, I don’t want to wear my own jacket!”

“What are you going to wear then?”

“Papa’s leather jacket!” he exclaimed, like it just was as easy as one plus one. The long blonde curls bouncing off his head, while he pulled at the arm of Sander’s coat. The beach blonde couldn’t help, but laugh fondly at his son’s statement. He really loved the boy like nobody else. Well, there may be a time, where he loved someone just as much.

Gosh, Robbe, don’t think about that.

“It’s okay, Robbe,” Sander directed the flashy smile towards him, knowing all too well he couldn’t say no to the both of them if they banded together. “We’re just going to the movies anyways. The new cartoon movie is perfect for our tiny artist. Isn’t it?” A excited squeal filled the cold air between them. Apparently, he had touched David on a ticklish spot, trying to make him giggle.

Robbe couldn’t help, but feel the sting. The picture before his eyes made his heartache complete. Sander laughing along with their beautiful son, the beach blonde complementing the blond, energy matching tones, he even saw how David was starting to copy Sander’s mannerisms more and more. Reminding him, every day, of the mistake he once made.

The follow-up question made the atmosphere even more loaded. “How’s Wouter? I didn’t see his car in the driveway? I thought he wasn’t working today?”, was asked. Ah, there it was. Another cut in his heart. Exactly the question he was trying to avoid. Another crossed line through his life. Something he didn’t intended to share with his ex. Not completely, at least.

“He hasn’t been around much, lately.”, he simply stated. Knowing that Sander would probably connect the dots later, he’d rather not discuss this in front of their son. It was difficult enough to maintain relationships in these situations. Especially when you were still friends with the other dad. They needed to be. Their son didn’t ask for this, he deserved to have a strong, loving family.

Something they’d made clear from the day they signed the divorce documents.

It only took a half an hour to get David ready, which was a record in Robbe’s book. After searching the entire room for his son’s shoes and the kitchen cabinets for his backpack (don’t ask, it’ll be easier if you. just. didn’t. ask), he was finally able to hand over the week-bag, the dreaded jacket and wave them goodbye. A huge piercing smile on their little one’s face. And...

A loaded glance.

An electrified touch.

A last cheek kiss.

Before he slumped down against the back of the door.

-^-

It didn’t start out this way, you know. They were happy before. Before all the things that led up to this moment.

Wait, I’m jumping ahead.

Let me tell you a story. The story of a beautiful love shared between two boys. Boys who loved like they never loved before. They found each other, they lost each other and found each other again. Push and pull. To say that their love was a rollercoaster? That’s an understatement. It made them only stronger in the future.

Until, it didn’t.

In the week of Robbe’s 20th birthday, they decided to move into their own apartment. It was a tiny studio at the edge of the city centre. Just enough for the both of them. Their living room was filled by their bed, tossed clothes and a ratty couch, the kitchen was tiny enough to only fit a midget size refrigerator, a second-hand stove and one kitchen counter. That they didn’t use anyways. Except... for... stuff. You know.

But it was perfect.

The best time of their lives.

When Robbe came home every day after class - his last year of IT & Webdesign - he could wrap his arms around his lover, who smelled of paint, citrus and himself. Kissing Sander was like being born again. Giving him goosebumps each time. No other feeling was as fierce. This bliss, this happiness. Making love to him, was heaven on earth. Nothing could compare. Nothing ever did.

Sander was struggling to get by on an artist paycheck. He only sold one of his pieces to art collectors every other month. His talents weren’t always appreciated like they should’ve been. But he kept trying. Through his highs as well as his lows, he never gave up his two passions: his art and David Bowie. He once even made an entire collection of Bowie portraits.

Which would later caught the eye of a notorious gallery owner, asking him to join the alternative artist collective he was setting up. Filled with musicians, writers, painters. Sander’s people. But that would take at least a couple of more years of struggling. Of cheap dinners and scraping by on one paycheck. Until the year of David’s sixth birthday.

When Robbe made the mistake.

To say that their lives was perfect, was an huge overstatement though. Sander’s medication wasn’t always working like it needed to be, living together wasn’t quite the same as staying with their parents and Robbe’s studies took a lot out of him. And then came the day that Jens knocked on their door. With a statement that chilled their bones to the core.

“Noor’s dead.”

Shock.

Denial.

Sadness.

Such a beautiful soul that was lost. Never roaming the earth again. Never again her special artistic cooking, the scoffing if someone said something she considered dumb. Late night jamming sessions, wine spills on new couches, burning protests at parliaments, all saying ‘f-u society, I’m not your bitch’? All gone. The light that made all of their laughs a little brighter, was no more.

And their lives would never again be the same.

These emotions followed rapidly by anger. Because apparently, it was a drunk driver that had hit her car on the way home. On the way home to her family. A tight little group that’d only consisted of a proud surrogate uncle/roommate Jens and a small child, barely a year old. The latter one was a small detail that she’d left out of her stories of backpacking in the US of A. Something that Jens didn’t mention during the wild parties, set up by Moyo in his underground club.

The small child was already fatherless, but now he didn’t have a mom either. He had nobody to care for him. Jens had put every single cent into his new start-up in New York and was in the process of moving there. Trying to set up a different life. Possibly meeting up with Jana again. Before all of this had happened, of course. Because who could’ve know?

So the boys didn’t have any other choice.

From the moment both had seen the little, bubbly baby in his basket, crying out for his mom, they’d knew. The boy had nestled in their hearts. The sorrow was a little less harsh, when you could look into the eyes of someone so pure. Noor’s son needed them. It was what Robbe owed her. For her unconditional love. After all, she had been his voice of reason, his shoulder to cry on - even through international phone calls - when it all was too much. The harshness of life.

The Sobbe relationship rollercoaster.

So arrangements were made. A graduate job secured. A family-backed loan for a small house was asked. And the adoption process had started. It only took them a year, due to Aaron’s social work contacts, before they could call David theirs. David Ijzermans-Driesen. The only one that could call them ‘papa’ and ‘paps’. The most precious boy in the entire universe. And any other universe, for that matter. In every parallel one.

A perfect, tight little family. But happy.

Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.

-^-

“Schat, don’t be so nervous. It’s me who’s supposed to be nervous, right?”

Sander eyes twinkled with mischief. He was dragging Robbe along to the dress rehearsal for their ‘happening’. Yes, a happening. Like the ones in the times of hippie communes. Those kind of artsy fartsy things. The brown haired boy didn’t know what it had meant entirely, but whatever Sander was into, he couldn’t help but show it to his partner.

To be completely honest, their relationship was strained these last few months. Robbe was more tired than anything else. Their son had started his first year of primary school, so this meant that evenings were filled with encouraging to practice reading and writing, guiding through homework and all the while trying to understand the problems that had manifested into his web code. His plate was filled with more work than ever before.

He wouldn’t really blame Sander, though, since this was the first time he finally caught a break in the artistic world. Yet, unconsciously, he had counted the days that they didn’t touch each other. And they were a lot. At least, for a couple that’d got married only a year ago. They were supposed to be in their blissful period of marriage, filled with the constant desire to touch each other at any time at any place.

And that wasn’t the case.

So when he caught sight of a certain man, someone who wasn’t his husband, his heart had skipped a slight beat. His hands were starting to get clammy, his voice caught in his throat and he didn’t know how to breath anymore. Robbe didn’t remember the last time this had happened with Sander. So, his immediate next thought, was shame and disgust.

For what he felt right now.

Yet, he couldn’t seem to look away. All during the dress rehearsal, his eyes were following the beautiful man who played along with his guitar in the background. His eyes were stars of stark blue, covered by a mop of light curls. The combination of these, together with a timid, yet mysterious air around him, immediately reeled him in. Worst part? He seemed to know Robbe was staring at him. Before he exited the area, he even turned back to wink at him.

Sander, of course, didn’t caught his boy’s entire thought process that followed. He was still going on about the dynamics of the entire art installation. Even introducing his other half to a few new friends he’d made. A Spanish girl with colorful hair, a German boy with a too-cool-for-you gaze and pair of Italian guys with soft smiles. Their energy all flowed through one another, like single organism. Like they were all part of something better.

Robbe could understand why Sander was attracted to these kind of people. He however, still wanted the ask the question that lingered in the back of his mind. Who had been the beautiful model that gave him a wink? Was he still here? Did  he expect something of him? He couldn’t do anything to someone else than Sander. Right? Right. It was wrong, with the capital W. So he let it be.

At least, that what’s he thought.

All through the happenings, the same feelings manifested. His eyes pulled towards the mysterious guy, instead of what his own husband was doing. While he heard the gasps of the audience around him, he gasped at the intense stare. While the people were urging closer to see what was happening, he’d fill his mind with thoughts about what he would do with the man before him.

Laying him down on the floor.

Touching him.

Kissing him.

Making his way with him.

Sander seemed to know Robbe wasn’t really raving about the entire art thing, so he never asked why his eyes glanced over every time he brought up the performances. He seemed to wait patiently for his lover to talk about his thoughts. What seemed to bother him. But, that was the thing: he didn’t. Robbe didn’t say a word. He just... stared. Longingly.

At someone else.

On the fourth week of mutual silence, Sander spiraled. His words were reeling with pain, with agony. They still didn’t know what caused an bipolar episode. They both wished they did, though, this time even more. Because it was a really, really bad one. Never before had Sander called him names. Never before did he make Robbe cry with desperation. He didn’t even let him touch him. Sander had said about himself, that he was a waste of space, so why would Robbe even bother about loving him? Why would their son ever love him? He was broken.

And Robbe let his tears fall.

He blamed himself. Because of the thoughts he had about the unknown man. He deserved this. A loveless touch, a hollow kiss, a silenced dagger thrown at his heart. He had felt something for someone else, he deserved so much worse. This was just tip of the ice-berg. It’s what he manifested. What he cooked up in his own thoughts, that made Sander hate him. Robbe knew it was all his fault.

His rational mind knew that these feelings were ridiculous though. Sander wasn’t his MI. His lover always saw the best in him, it was just the chemicals in his brain that sometimes fought with each other. And that, was maybe even worse. Knowing that Sander would always love him, no matter what, even when his episode was at his lowest, while Robbe was looking at someone else?

It broke him.

His fault.

Toxic.

For feeling the wrong things towards the wrong guy.

Sander saw it happening. After the episode, when he climbed out of the canyon of hurt, he still tried to pull his lover out of his own spiral. He touched his cluttered mind, wanted to break through the newly built walls and screamed out in frustration to shock him. But Robbe slowly became more silent. He reverted back to his older self, his younger, less pronounced ‘me’. The one who was insecure about every step he took. About every thing he did. About their love.

And that’s when he broke them.

Fights were more the norm in their household than lovemaking. David kept running towards either of them asking if they were angry at each other. To stop crying. To stop shouting. To stop hurting each other. He wanted papa and paps to be happy again. He wanted to kiss all the boo-boos away, making their hearts hurt even more.

So, after a bunch of whispered discussions, a few stints at a crappy couples counselor - some smuck that didn’t even remember their names - and a few months of loaded silence, they knew. This wasn’t healthy anymore. Sander gave and gave and gave, while Robbe ran. He ran away from the love. They knew it had to stop. It was healthier this way. To catch a break. To breathe.

A breath that was stolen only one time more. Their lips connected, the tears flowed, their bodies felt the hurt between them, even though they were making love. For the last time. Pieces of heart exchanged, never truly whole again. Grasping at the air surrounding them. Emerald eyes lingering into brown. The touch of heaven. Never again. All over. Discarded. 

Making the biggest mistake in both their lives:

They split up.

-^-

“Don’t forget, Robbe”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious”

“I know.”

“David won’t stop babbling on about this.”

“Yes, Sander, he’s my son too. I know this already!”

“...”

“Sorry...”

“... It’s okay.”

Robbe sighed, fidgeting with the cellphone in his hand. A headache was starting to build up behind his eyes. Why did Sander call him again? Like he didn’t know about the biggest event of the school year approaching? The school’s annual show was on Saterday, open to every parent interested in sending their kids to the school as well as the parents of attending children.

“He just wants us to be there. Maybe we could invite the rest of the boys?”

“I’ll ask them. I don’t know if Jens will get a babysitter on such short notice, though. Jana is pretty busy with her job as a lawyer, you know that.”

“Come on, try to convince them to come. Maybe Amber can babysit the kids. It’s been a while since David has seen his uncles!”

Robbe thought long and hard about this statement. It had been a while since he saw his best friends. Nowadays, their lives were filled with juggling their family lives, responsibilities at work while maintaining a healthy lifestyle with their respective partners. Not that he didn’t know how difficult it could be sometimes.

Only recently, he’d acquired the new lecturing job at the IT departement, making way more pay and significantly better hours, so he could focus his time on David. Robbe really liked this job though. Educating other young people in the world of digits and numbers, something that always made sense even if your life was insecure. Exactly why he studied IT in the first place.

“Robbe, are you there?”, Sander voice whispered soothingly. Like only an ex-lover could feel, he somehow knew every thought that passed through Robbe’s brain. “You know, you don’t have to invite them if you don’t want to. I’m sure we’ll be fine just the three of us. David will be proud to show us his performance nonetheless. He’s been raving about his Bowie song, since they made the announcement.”

“The three of us?”

“Yeah, you, me and Wouter right?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“You know, your boyfriend?”, the voice chuckled.

Since a month ago, Robbe’s free weeks were filled with unhealthy habits again. Pigging out on junk food, vegetating on the couch, binging Netflix shows. Only, his friends or Sander didn’t need to know about this. David barely met his ex-boyfriend, thank god. They didn’t need to know about the nasty fights that happened between him and Wouter.

About the black eyes, cuts and bruises.

The disgusting words.

The break-up...

But yeah,

Robbe deserved all of it anyways.

“Robbe...”, he heard the other whisper.

“You do know I don’t have a problem with him, right? I mean, it’s been ages since the two of us were ever together. You deserve a healthy love-life. Someone to call yours. Someone who loves you. You deserve someone who gives you the world. I don’t like you being alone. I want to see you happy...”

He didn’t knew why Sander said stuff like that to him. He didn’t deserve it, because all he brought upon his lovers was worry and anger. Everything he touched, would slowly turn more and more toxic. During their teenage years, Sander had said something similar to him. Right after an episode. And he didn’t believe it. He never will. Since it was him that made everything worse.

Not Sander. Not Wouter. Not any of his other previous flings.

Him.

“You know what I think about that, Sander.”

“Robbe...”

“I’ll ask the boys, okay?”

“But Robbe, I-”

“Give David a kiss for me!”

He quickly disconnected the line.

Before Sander could say something back.

He simply didn’t want to know.

Focussing his thoughts on anything else, pulling out a vague sketch their son had made. Apparently the drawing class was paying off. He’d made the outline of a tree, standing lonely in a grove. The environment around it was completely bare. No grass. Yet, at the outlines you could still see the branches of other trees. Something felt off.

Robbe shook his head. He was probably projecting his own feelings onto the drawing. It was just a grove of trees, for god’s sake. An amazing technique. Some intense colors. That truly made the sketch vibrate. Their tiny boy was filled with lots of surprises. You see, both parents still didn’t know what song he’d picked to sing for them Saturday. “Something special”, David said with a glint in his eyes, before packing his bag for his stay at Sander’s.

The co-parenting system was a bitch as well as a blessing. He’d love to see his boy more than every other week, but some ‘me-time’ wasn’t bad either. Having this free time for himself was a privilege. Time to sort out stuff in the house, work ahead for the school year or take relaxing baths. Maybe go to a bar and hook up with someone, without having a hyperactive kid bursting in.

Not that he felt up for that right now.

But he truly was happy with the 9 year old. Every moment with him was an extra day of unconditional love. A love that was consistent. A gift that kept on giving. A reflection of a beautiful soul lost. But also a mirror for Sander and him.

He was happy.

Or at least, he thought he was.

(But he wasn’t)

[sylvain-writes]

Scarlet Letters (TMNT Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 6/8: Goodbye

It’s time for Raphael to head home.

(Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ao3)

Goodbye.  That word has caught your heart in a vice for as long as you can remember.  Today it’s charged anew as you watch Raphael stir in his sleep.  Your stomach twists at the thought of that word, of its history.  You figure you’ll say, “See ya,” when you and Raphael part ways.  But the meaning will be the same.  

Fear of goodbye is the reason you let Raphael hold you even after the power returned.  It’s why you stayed in his arms long after the baseboard heat had warmed the room.  It’s why, for hours, you remained in bed with him under the guise of sleep.

You’re dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants by the time Raph wakes up, but that doesn’t erase his memory of what lies beneath your shirt.  Even as he rubs sleep from his eyes, he stares at your shoulder like the scar is still on display.  

Gingerly, Raphael pushes himself up to sit and lets the blankets pool in his lap.  

You pay no mind to his focused attention, or so you tell yourself.  Instead, your thoughts drive you forward, urging you to fix the bandages that have started to peel off of Raphael’s side.  Certainly, his fresh injuries are more deserving of attention than a wound that’s well over a decade old.  

Raphael, however, isn’t fooled by your fussing.  “Your shoulder-” he stops your fidgeting with a hand on your wrist.  “How did that really happen?”

Though you two had spent more time in bed swapping life stories than sleeping, you’d made sure to sidestep any topic that would steer the conversation back toward the scar.

You glance down.  No matter how understanding Raphael had been, you knew more questions would come.  No one carries around this kind of mark their whole life without people asking questions. 

You raise your hand to your shoulder and are comforted by the way Raphael’s hand comes along with it.  “It was the Dragons,” you confess, thinking about the purple-tipped dagger the gang had passed around like your fear was a game.  “They cornered me and my dad.  The doctors said the poison never really left my body so...”  So, you got stuck with this reminder.  A jagged, puckered scar with lines dark as India ink branching out like a web.

Raphael’s thumb draws circles over your shoulder with precision; he remembers exactly where your scar lies hidden underneath your clothes.  It’s too much - his unhurried touch, his attentive gaze.  

You listened to Raphael talk about his family as you laid together before sleeping the rest of the day away and you learned the way he cares for those he holds dear.  He feels things - everything - intensely.  With his whole heart.  It’s how anger takes hold.  Everything fuels it - fear, love, sadness.  

Now, you see his worry.  And you wonder where that anger - that shield behind which he’s learned to hide his vulnerability - has gone.  

“Raph, I-”

Your phone trills, cutting you off with the alarm you’ve set for departure.  You think, maybe it’s for the best.  

The sun set a few hours ago.  It’s well past dark.  “We should get going,” you say and you hope he doesn’t notice the tightness in your voice or the way your hands shake before you stuff them into your pockets.

⁂

Raphael insists on walking ahead, which is fine by you.  It gives you a chance to admire your handiwork on his shell.  

"Are you sure?" You had asked, looking down at a picture of the characters he’d worn when you found him.  But you understood.  By then, you had gained understanding that this was part of his mask, part of his armor.  

"That's me.” Raphael rolled his shoulders back defensively, but the way he shifted on the stool had betrayed his fear of rejection. “And if you don't like it-"

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, or didn’t respect what it stood for.  But you had something else in mind.  

Your phone clunked against the table when you shoved it toward him.

He stared at the screen, frozen.  He swallowed hard but didn’t look away.  "Yuuki?  Naw.  That's not for me… that's-"

“It’s OK.”  You could see he was getting agitated and you didn’t know the story of the Kanji or much about the Bushido code, so you weren’t going to force the issue.  But you wanted him to know, “Since I’ve known you… and from all you’ve told me… This is who I see, Raphael.”

By way of answer, Raphael brought up an image of the characters Michelangelo had been spray painting on his shell since they were teenagers.  You looked up at him as he placed the phone in your hand.

“Please,” he said.

“Teach me,” you replied.

Anticipating the touch of your paintbrush to his shell, Raphael held his breath.  His arms flexed as they tightened around the back of the chair he was straddling.  The tick of his jaw matched the pat of his hands as he nervously drummed a beat against his elbows.  

You weren’t sure if it was the act of being marked or the suggestion you made to change his characters that had him anxious, but you stood behind him, ready to stop at a word.  This was for him.  And if he didn’t trust you with this, if he didn’t want it-

“...ya start yet?” Raphael asked.  The way he sat, with his face tucked into his forearms, made his question nearly inaudible.  But you didn’t think he was really looking for an answer.  He knew you hadn’t touched his shell.  Because the moment you placed your non-dominant hand upon it, you heard his sharp intake of breath.  You felt his body quiver with it.  

You paused, allowing him time to get used to your touch.  “Should I…”

Raphael nodded against his arms.  And when you brought the paintbrush down to the hard scales of his back, he released his breath in a rush.  

With slow strokes, you followed the diagram Raphael had drawn out.  There was an order to the characters; you would get it right.  

Each time you lifted the brush for more paint, Raphael rose into the palm of your other hand.  It was as if he missed the pressure, as if he needed the contact.  So, you slid your hand along the edge of his carapace in languid sweeps as you worked.  You let yourself get lost in it - in the brushstrokes, in the quiet, in the notches and grooves of his shell.  

And now Raphael walks with his kanji emblazoned on his back, but you don’t see the bright red characters as a marker of unprovoked violence.  Not after everything Raphael and his brothers have been through.  Not after the effort Raphael has put into his training and the growth he’s described in not as many words.  

You believe the characters are a testament to his strength and bravery and compassion.  When he’s in control of it, Raphael’s anger is his ammunition and his shield.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you and Raphael turn a corner.  He doesn’t lead you much further before he finds an alley that “looks familiar.”  Nonetheless, it still takes him a solid minute to find what he’s looking for under the snow.

Once the manhole cover is clear, Raphael lifts it and sets it aside with ease.  

“So, eh, ya comin’ down or what?”

You look at the giant mutant turtle standing in front of you and at the open sewer beneath your feet, and you smile knowing that life can’t possibly get any weirder than this.  You smile as you lean into it.  And you smile with the realization that you’re finally excited to see where life wants to take you.  It’s brought you to him.  And you want to see how far this will go. 

But your damn phone won’t stop buzzing with requests from work.  

“It’s Damian again.”  Your Nurse Manager has been trying to bribe people into work with promises of free pizza.  You had texted back, ’How about double-time?,’ nearly an hour ago.  

You frown at the response that just came through.  ‘I got you for time-and-a-half.’  You can’t turn down the money.  “I gotta go into work,” you say apologetically.

“Oh.  Right.  Well...” Raphael looks down at the ladder and his brow creases with dark thoughts.

Your hand rises and falls.  You’d like to touch him, to hold onto him, but to what end?  “You could come by sometime, y’know.  Talk to your brothers, clear the air.  Then, come and tell me all about it over take out or somethin’.”  

He probably figures you’ve invited him for greasy, MSG-loaded Chinese, but you know you’ll pull a bait and switch.  Recruit him as a sous chef.  All his boasting about being a ninja and you’ve yet to see his knife skills in action.  “Whaddaya say, Red?  Dinner at mine?”

Raphael shuffles in place, scratches the back of his head, and gives a half-hearted shrug.  

“Maybe bring your brothers around,” you say, so he knows you have no qualms about meeting them.  “I know I live in a pretty rough neighborhood,” you joke to cut the tension, “but I hear you turtle guys know a thing or two about fighting.  Maybe you can teach me…”

Raphael seems to perk up at that, but you can’t help but poke fun at him just a little.  “On second thought, maybe I should take another class at the Community Center.  You did get your ass handed to you yesterday.”  

“Hey, if I hadn’t been pushed-”

Was it really only yesterday?  Your eyes drift over his injuries, impressed with how quickly he’s healing.  “Just keep your feet on the ground, alright?”  

This time, when your stomach flips, you give into the urge to reach out to Raphael.  Laying a hand on his forearm, you draw in some of his courage.  “And if ya don’t wanna bring around your brothers.  If, maybe, you wanna visit - just you and me - that’d be fine, too.”  Your smile widens as you tighten your grip and bring yourself a step closer.  

Raphael’s cheeks flush.  You think all is going well until he steps out of your reach and you come to the conclusion that maybe you can’t read Raphael as well as you thought.

His hands are up and his eyes are on the ground as he backs away.  “I-I ain’t some cursed prince, y’know.  What ya see is what ya get.”

“I like what I see.”  He has to know that by now.  You need him to know that.  “Is this about me going into work?  Bring me down to your place when I’m done.  I’m not scared to see where you live.  I want to know you.”

“I gotta go,” he says.  And out of respect, you have to let him.

“Raphael.”  You call out his name as he turns toward the ladder.  Your heart pounds against your chest at the thought of never seeing him again.  “Here,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your parka.  “It’s not much.  Just an antibiotic.  Apply it twice a day, when you change your bandages.”

The tube of cream is dwarfed by his palm, but he accepts the ointment with a small word of thanks.

“A-and,” you stall as he starts to turn again, “I know you said your brother helps out with the med stuff.  You can tell Donatello the stitches shouldn’t be removed yet.”

“OK.”  

You take a deep breath as Raphael stands at the edge of the manhole, knowing these words are your goodbye.  “Give it about four or five days, OK?  But no longer than that.”

“OK.”

“A-and, Raph,” you hold up your hand as he prepares to jump, and he waits.

“Yeah, ___?” 

You bite your lips together to keep yourself from saying something stupid, something revealing, something you can’t take back, “Nevermind.”

Raphael nods.  

“Take care of yourself,” you say, finally, and when he looks up this time the turtle is holding his injured side and wearing a small smile.

“Ya killin’ me with all this red light green light, y’know.”

You wince.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“See ya in about four or five days,” he interjects.

Your eyebrows shoot up.  “Wha-?”

“To take out the stitches.  Ya think I’m gonna trust Donnie with dis pretty face?”

Your heart leaps and you’re smiling so hard that it hurts.  “OK.  Yeah.  OK.  Four or five days.”  

⁂

You walk home with a bounce in your step and your head in the clouds and your eyes on your phone.  You have to text Damian confirmation that you’ll be in as soon as you can.

There’s no foreboding change in the air.  No dark clouds rolling in.  No ominous music playing, when you’re jumped.  But there are figures dressed in black, a soaked cloth over your mouth, and the clatter of your phone as it hits the pavement.

[we-are-fam-ily]

Larger than Life, chapter one

Word count: 800+

Tags:  Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Oh my god they were roommates, Secret Identity, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Blood and Injury, No Unsympathetic Sides

[[MORE]]

Logan Crofter stared dumbly at the supervillain on his front steps. OctoKnight was standing there, clutching a gaping wound in his side.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he mumbled, before fainting straight into Logan’s arms.

Shit. How did he find out? No-one knew that Logan was really OctoKnight’s arch nemesis, the superhero Techno, least of all OctoKnight himself.

He pulled the bleeding villain into his apartment, hoping against hope that no-one had seen the interaction. At least it was late at night.

~~

OctoKnight looked bad. The wound in his side looked like something with large claws had ripped through him. Logan suspected it was the other resident supervillain, Woof Man. He wondered why the two were having a spat, normally they got along quite well, but. That information was irrelevant. What was important now was peeling off OctoKnight’s costume (barring the mask, Logan had class, thank you very much,) and taking care of his injury.

There was a tell-tale glint of a sequin from OctoKnight’s costume, embedded deep into the villain’s torn flesh. Fuck. That was going to make this entire endeavor quite a bit harder.

Logan finished cutting the costume away with careful snips, and gently peeled the entirety of it away from his enemy’s torso. What he saw on OctoKnight’s chest, glaring dark against tanned skin, made him pause.

OctoKnight’s soulmark. A soulmark that perfectly matched Logan’s soulmark.

They were soulmates.

God, they were soulmates.

Roman was never going to let him live this down.

~~~~~

Remus woke up slowly. He could tell his mask was still on his face, which was… Good? The upper part of his costume was missing, which was… Possibly good, because sex. Score!

But his pants were still on, so, maybe not. Boo.

He could not, however, tell where he was. The room he was in was impersonal, like a guest bedroom. The bed was softer than month old broccoli casserole, and the blanket was warm, but other than that, he didn’t have many clues as to where he was.

Oh, also his side hurt like hell, but he knew what that was from. Finding out his brother was dating his fellow villain, Woof Dude, had been gross and awful and painful in the end because he tried attacking with his morningstar but Woofer McPhee had been that much faster.

At least Roman’s screaming had been cool. Being chased, bleeding, by his brother’s evil boyfriend? Not so much. Remus wouldn’t mind if Roman had powers and could take care of himself, but he was just a civilian and what if Woofy Doo hurt him somehow?

Dammit. And now he was laid up, in some strange place, where he would probably be tortured for information and or unmasked and his- His soulmate! The mark was on full display and his soulmate would be in danger from Techno and Storm and probably the mafia boss Remus slept with sometimes because Dee was possessive like that and the superheroes would probably use his soulmate as leverage against him and maybe make him rip out his own heart or rip out his soulmate’s heart or-

“You are awake, I see.”

He hadn’t noticed the door opening. Remus looked up to see- holy shit. Logan! His roommate from college! Score!

Also his crush! Not So Score! Fuck.

“Please refrain from moving, OctoKnight, it would do no good for you to re-open your wounds.”

“But what if I just bled out?”

“Please do not. That would cause more problems for me than you have already caused. I already have to replace an entire mattress because of your injuries.”

“But. Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” Logan was using gentle fingers to change the bandages on Remus’ side and it felt so good.

“Who I am?”

“I have a code of ethics, and removing a super’s mask is against that code.”

“But I’m a villain. A bad one! I steal shit!”

“I am aware. You are also my soulmate.”

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.”

“I assure you, I had a similar reaction.”

HIS CRUSH WAS HIS SOULMATE. SCORE!

~~~~

Luckily for Logan, OctoKnight fell back asleep after Logan gave him more pain medications. The super villain had all but tried to get up out of the bed in order to do- something. Probably something dastardly.

He never mentioned how he had discovered Logan’s apartment, though, which was concerning. Another thing that concerned him was how… Familiar, almost, OctoKnight seemed. They had never exchanged more than a few lines of banter during their battles, but. The villain treated Logan like an old friend.

And he expected Logan to know who he was. Which meant that Logan did know who he was, and just hadn’t figured it out yet.

His phone rang and he answered it.

“Logan? Sorry to bother you, but Roman and I had a question.”

“Of course, Patton, continue.”

“Have you heard from Remus? Roman said he didn’t come home last night.”

Remus…

“Why no, I- Fuck.”

“Logan?”

Remus fucking Duke was in his guest bedroom.

Remus fucking Duke was OctoKnight.

Remus fucking Duke was his soulmate.

“Patton, I’m afraid I have not heard from him.” He was only bleeding out on his spare mattress. “I shall let you know immediately if the situation changes.”

“Okay, thanks, Logie!”

Patton hung up, and Logan stood staring at it for a long while.

What the ever loving fuck was he supposed to do now?

[remywrites5]

Hey I love your stories and kept reading older ones for the whole weekend. Could you by any means if you have time write a fluffy get together story with either Jegulus or Spideypool? Maybe something from the fake exes prompt list that I cant find anymore? Thank you so much for all the cuteness you're delivering with your stories! ❤

You’re very welcome! Glad you like them and thanks for prompting me!

           Peter groaned internally as he noticed MJ making a beeline for him across campus. If there were less people around he would have made a quick getaway, but since there were endless amounts of people milling about, Peter was stuck.

           He knew what this was about before MJ even opened her mouth. They’d broken up over a year ago, and while MJ was happily dating a girl named Gwen from her Women’s Studies class, Peter had yet to move on. It wasn’t like he was still pining after MJ because their split had been amicable, since Peter was a bit busy with his first year at NYU and being Spider-man. It was hard to find time to meet anyone new and besides there was the pain of keeping his secret from someone.

           “Peter,” she said, plopping down across from him. “When was the last time you went out on a date?”

           Peter couldn’t help smiling despite himself. It was something he’d always liked about MJ, her blunt honest approach to things. “Come on, MJ,” he said, rolling his eyes.

           “Peter,” she said sternly, not giving him an inch to wiggle out of this conversation.

           Peter sighed heavily. “I went out on a date last night actually but nothing came of it, so…” Peter shrugged and buried his face in his chemistry book.

           “With who?” MJ asked, raising an eyebrow at him, putting a hand on his book and forcing him to lower it. 

           Peter scrambled for a minute to think of a name, any name to get her off his back. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to come up with someone believable. Instead he grabbed at the only name he could think of sitting in the dark recess of his mind. “It was Wade Wilson.”

           “Deadpool?” MJ said, her nose crinkling. “Seriously?”

           “What?” Peter asked defensively. Fuck, he should have just made up someone. This was going to get him into so much trouble. In the past few years, Peter and Wade had struck up something almost like a friendship. And although he’d never told anyone this, he’d spent an alarming amount of time thinking about the Merc in ways he probably shouldn’t have. Like Peter, it wasn’t like Wade’s suit left much up to the imagination and damn all those muscles. His shoulder to hip ratio was nearly as impressive as Captain America’s. And sure, Peter had seen what was under the mask and it wasn’t exactly pretty but it was fascinating in a way Peter couldn’t really explain.

           “I’m sorry, Peter, it’s just a little difficult to picture,” MJ said, chuckling. “Why didn’t thinks work out?”

           Peter hated himself for lying to her. Now his lies were snowballing and there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was continue to tell fibs. “He, uh…he wanted to go a little faster than I did.”

           MJ frowned. “He didn’t take things too far, did he?”

           “What?” Peter asked, his jaw dropping when he realized what she was implying. “No, of course not!”

           “Okay, good,” MJ said, letting out a sigh of relief. “Why don’t we give him a call?”

           “No!” Peter said, shaking his head emphatically. “I don’t…I don’t want to embarrass myself any further than I probably already have.”

           MJ reached out and took Peter’s hand in hers. “Peter, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Now hand me your phone. I’m assuming you have his number?”

           “Yes,” Peter said dejectedly, handing over his phone to her, knowing better than to argue. She typed in the code from memory and Peter made a mental note to change his passcode. She scrolled through until she found Wade’s number.

           Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up, Peter silently prayed. The last thing he needed was Wade answering the phone and telling MJ he had no idea what she was talking about.

           “Baby boy!” Wade said, answering the phone after the third ring. Peter cringed as his stomach fell out his ass with dread. “This is a pleasant surprise!”

           MJ gave him a look at the pet name. Maybe she just didn’t know that was what Wade was like. “Actually this is his friend, MJ?”

           “Everything kosher?” Wade asked sounding slightly concerned. Peter was thankful for his super hearing so he could listen in on Wade’s side of the conversation.

           “Yeah,” MJ told him while grinning at Peter. “Peter’s fine. He told me you two went out on date last night.”

           Peter held his breath.

           “And what, you’d like all the details you saucy little minx?”

           Peter struggled to hide his complete and utter shock. Wade was actually playing along with this? Why? How?

           “Peter said it didn’t work out,” MJ informed him. “Because you were pushing him into a physical relationship.”

           “Oh, was that why he bolted?” Wade asked. Peter had to admire his performance. For a moment he actually believed they’d been on a date the night before too. “I would never have done anything my baby boy didn’t want.”

           “I’m glad to hear that,” MJ told him. “If you get a second chance please take good care of Peter, okay? I promise he’s worth the wait.”

           Peter felt himself blush furiously.

           “Oh, I’m well aware of that.”

           “Do you want to speak to Peter?”

           Peter waved his hands around signaling that no, he absolutely did not want to talk to Wade. Instead he had his phone pushed into his hands and with trepidation he brought it up to his ear. “Hi Wade.”

           “Petey, I’m not sure what just happened, but I’m pretty sure you owe me.”

           Peter rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I think so too.” He risked a glance over at MJ who was nodding encouragingly at him.

           “My place tonight,” Wade said, the grin evident in his voice. “Eight O’clock. Wear something sexy. Just kidding, you look sexy in anything.”

           “Wade, I – “

           Before Peter could protest, Wade had hung up the phone. Peter closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them again.

           “See!” MJ said, looking smug. “You get a second shot. No point in putting him in the exes pile after one lousy date. You have to give people a chance, Peter.”

           “Yeah,” Peter said, looking down at his phone and wondering how he’d ended up so utterly screwed.

                                                           ***

           Peter got to Wade’s apartment in the Bronx by 7:55. He figured he might as well be punctual since he couldn’t sit at home dreading this night for another single second. He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited.

           Deadpool opened the door and grinned. “Hi Petey,” he said, stepping back and letting Peter enter the apartment. The place was a fucking mess, bullets scattered around, empty pizza boxes, Taco Bell wrappers, used cups on the coffee table. Wade Wilson, it seemed, lived like a god damn Ninja Turtle. 

           “Couldn’t manage to clean up a little?” Peter teased, crossing his arms over his chest.

           Wade shrugged. “Wasn’t sure you’d actually show.”

           Peter actually felt a bit bad about that. He knew Wade had asked him to hang out before and Peter had bailed on him several times. In his defense though, it was usually either school or Spider-man related. You just never knew when a bad guy was going to rob a bank or kidnap your Aunt.

           “I want to thank you for playing along today,” Peter told him, scratching his cheek nervously. “MJ means well but she has a tendency to overstep. It’s probably how she found out I was Spider-man so quick.”

           “No need to thank me, Petey,” Wade told him as he went around the room and started to clean up. “You’d do the same for me if any of my exes were butting into my personal life. The next time Nathan shows his ugly mug in this timeline I’m expecting you to answer the call.”

           Peter laughed. “It’s a deal,” he promised.

           They fell into a companionable silence as they tidied up the room a little bit. Once all the trash was away and the bullets found their way back into the boxes they’d come out of, Peter and Wade made themselves comfortable on the couch. Wade put on some rom-com from the 90’s but Peter made him switch it because the main characters looked like Mr. Stark and his Aunt May and that was just too unsettling. Instead they put on The Breakfast Club with Wade doing the “No dad what about you” speech verbatim with the film.

           “You’re a dork,” Peter mocked, playfully kicking Wade with his foot.

           Wade grinned at him. “You’re just jealous.”

           Peter laughed. “Extremely.”

           It was a surprisingly fun evening and Peter enjoyed not having to study or fight crime, he could just sit with Wade and be. It was a rare thing these days to just be able to take a night off. Being around Wade was relaxing and fun, both of them talking a bunch of shit throughout the film since they’d each seen it plenty of times.

           It was a rare thing to see Wade outside the suit and Peter was enjoying all the different facial expressions he’d missed when Wade wore the mask. All the subtle little smiles and facial ticks that he normally wouldn’t have been privy too were almost intoxicating to behold. Peter found himself categorizing them all, which meant he spent more time than he probably should staring at Wade.

           By the time the movie was over, Peter had his feet nestled under Wade’s thigh with Wade’s hand on his leg, rubbing it absentmindedly. They both stretched and Wade did a comical yawn. “So, will there be more fake dates or are you going to come up with another reason why we shouldn’t be together?”

           Peter balked at him for a moment. “I-I…” Peter’s words fell flat, as he had no idea what to say in response.

           “Don’t worry about it, Petey,” Wade said, letting him off the hook. He stood up and started to walk away. Without thinking, Peter shot out a web and hauled Wade back until Wade landed unceremoniously in top of him. “Petey?” he said in surprise, his eyes searching Peter’s, his hands bracketing either side of Peter’s head.

           Peter swallowed thickly. “Maybe I don’t wanna play pretend,” he whispered quietly.

           “This doesn’t have to be anything, Peter,” Wade murmured, still giving Peter an out if he wanted it.

           Peter was more than a little shocked to find he didn’t.

           “Wade if you don’t fucking kiss me soon I’m going to have MJ call you again and give you a stern talking to,” Peter growled, wrapping his legs around Wade to lock him in place.

           “Oh god, anything but that!” Wade said, feigning terror as he tried not to smile.

           “Well?” Peter asked, looking up at Wade expectantly.

           “Baby boy, you don’t gotta tell me twice,” Wade said, lowering himself down and capturing Peter’s lips in a kiss that was downright Earth shattering. “Not going too fast for you, am I, Petey?” Wade asked him tauntingly. “Wouldn’t want to blow this again.”

           Peter couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed by the jibe. “M’good,” he said, feeling better than he had in a long time, having the comfortable weight of Wade on top of him. “Kiss me again.”

           “Bossy,” Wade chided but complied.

           Peter started a new list in his mind, categorizing all the different wonderful and devastating ways Wade W. Wilson could kiss him. He was looking forward to continuing the list on his next date.

[zebrabaker]

A Spider’s Web, A Ladybug’s Delight

Here it is!

Marinette turned to open the door with her shoulder, stepping into the bakery proper. She crouched down, setting the tray of sugar cookies into the lower display case. She heard the bell ring, and called.

“Be with you in just a minute!” Then, came a warm chuckle, and a reply in English.

“No rush, my little lady.” Marinette nearly dropped the tray. She slammed the tray into the case, and bolted up.

“Peter!” She ripped off her apron, and leapt the counter. She threw herself into the arms of a tall boy with honey brown hair and molten chocolate eyes. “When did you get here? Why are you here?” He ran a hand up and down her back, and kissed the top of her head, which she had tucked into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“Mister Stark pulled me out of school for the next two months. Said it’s for internship stuff, but really, we’re going on a tour of Europe, as mentor and student.” It dawned on her. That was their code for super-hero stuff. “We’ll be staying for a week, then heading for Germany, then Sokovia. So, I was wondering, as I’ve already gotten Mister Stark’s permission, if you’d like to join us? We’d need your parents per-mph!” Peter was cut off by Marinette kissing him. She pulled away, and he smiled dopily.

“Absolutely! Mama and Papa have been begging me to go traveling with Nona again for a long time. With everything happening at school, I’ve really considered taking them up on it! C’mon, let’s go ask them!” Marinette grabbed his hand, dragging him to the back room.

“Mari, slow down!” Peter chuckled, following obediently.

“Sorry, I’ve just missed you so much. Do you wanna eat something?” She blushed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“It’s fine, my little lady. Food sounds wonderful. Got any of those chocolate chip cookies?” He smiled. God, he’d missed her.

“Always, but you may have to fight Tiki for them.” She spun on her heel, heading more slowly for the kitchen after flipping the sign on the door to closed. “Papa, look who came to visit!” She said to the tall man, who was whisking egg whites.

“Who is-oh! Peter!” He set aside the bowl and whisk, before grabbing the boy in a hug that lifted him off the floor slightly.

“Good to see you, too, Monsieur Dupain. Err, could you put me down?” Tom chuckled, dropping Peter to his feet. “What are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m here on internship with Mister Stark, we’ll be traveling through Europe for the next two months. We,” He gestured between himself and Marinette. “have a question for you and Missus Cheng.”

“Of course! Marinette, did you flip the sign?” Marinette nodded, and Tom flipped off the ovens, and lead the way up to the apartment. “Honey, we have a guest!

“I hope they like dumpli- Peter! Oh, how good to see you! How have you been dear? It’s only been a few months, but it feels like it’s been years! Come in, come in!” She ushered him into the living room, beaming. She, like Tom, adored Peter, and thought he was perfect for Marinette. She had received endless teasing over when they would get married. “Marinette, help me with tea!” Sabine snagged her daughter’s arm, pulling her into the kitchen.

X0X0X0

After a large, sumptuous dinner, and several cups of tea, the four returned to the living room.

“So, Peter, you said the two of you had a question for us.” Sabine said, eyes gleaming as she sipped her tea.

“Yes, we do, Missus Cheng. You see, Mister Stark and I are touring through Europe for the next two months for my internship, so that I can learn more about the European branches of Stark Industries. We’ll be staying at Le Grand Paris for the next week, then going to Sokovia. After that, we go to Germany, then Russia, and then Italy. We’re rounding out the trip in Spain and the Netherlands. Mister Stark had already given the okay for this, so all we’d need is your permission. Marinette and I were wondering if, if it was all right with you, can Marinette come with us?” Peter reached over and wove their fingers together tightly. “Mister Stark is already providing tutors for me, so that I can keep up on my schooling, and has said that they can tutor Mari as well. All we need is for you to say yes, and file some paperwork so that she can leave the country with Mister Stark and I.” Mari bit her lip, nervous that they would say no. Tom and Sabine glanced at each other, communicating with their eyes in a way that only those who knew each other well could.

“Yes, Marinette can join you on your tour. We’ll fill out the papers tomorrow, and get them to you by lunch! For now, you better head back to your hotel, it’s getting late.” Tom spoke, standing to escort Peter to the door. Marinette knew the two would be having a talk, as well. Her Papa had always been rather protective.

“Marinette, would you like help packing?” Sabine asked, gathering the tea cups from the table.

“Sure, Maman. Are you sure you’re okay with taking care of Tiki while I’m out of town?” Tiki was a lovebird that her Nona had gotten for her a few years ago. She was a sweet little thing, who loved chocolate chip cookies, however bad they were for her.

“Of course, dear. It will be a good experience, what with all that’s going on at school. It will also let you network for your design career. Tiki will be fine, as will your Papa and I. Are you excited?” Sabine glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Absolutely! I can’t wait! I haven’t seen Peter in person since summer break, and I’m so happy to be able to finally meet Mister Stark. He matters so much to Peter, and I really hope he likes me.” Marinette sighed.

“Of course, he will. If not, I’ll smack him with my broom until he sees sense.” Sabine huffed from the sink where she had pushed up her sleeves to do dishes. The two often didn’t see eye to eye on Marinette’s self-worth. Sabine saw only the best in her daughter, while Marinette had certain self esteem issues.

“Maman! You can’t beat Tony Stark over the head with a broom!”

“Bah! I don’t care who he is, I’ll smack him all the same! My daughter is amazing, beautiful, brilliant, creative, compassionate, daring- “

“You’re just listing off traits in alphabetical order, Mama!” Marinette was as bright as a tomato.

“And they’re all true!” Sabine hmphed.

X0X0X0

It had been almost a week, and Marinette was leaving by train to Sokovia early the next day. She had woken up early, to make sure she had everything packed before school. She grabbed a black skirt and purple blouse she had made a few weeks back, and paired them with a pair of black flats with little silver tassels. She put on the silver and rose quartz bracelet and locket. The locket was heart-shaped, and had a picture of her and Peter over summer break tucked inside. She slid in her great-grandmother’s onyx earrings, and tossed her hair in a bun, feeding Tiki on her way out the door.

“Maman, I’m headed to school, see you at lunch!” Marinette called on her way through the bakery.

“Have a good day, dear! Tell Peter I said ‘hello’!” Sabine yelled back. See, today, Peter would be joining Marinette at school, to ‘learn more about foreign education’.” It was really an excuse for Peter to hang out with her at school. Tony had bribed Monsieur Damocles into letting Peter spend a day with his girlfriend, claiming it was ‘a contribution to the education of the future’.

“Morning, my little lady. How’ve you been?” Peter asked, flashing her a smile that made her own grow.

“Peter, it’s been two days since we last saw each other.” She slid her hand into his.

“I know.” He smiled down at her – why was he so tall, it was so unfair – and took her bookbag from her shoulder, sliding it onto his. “I still wanna know how you’ve been.”

“Pft. I’ve been good, you dork.” She mockingly nudged her shoulder with his.

“Hm. I’m your dork.” She nodded sagely.

“This is true. We’re here!” She dropped the façade of wisdom, tugging him along by the hand. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Madame Mendelieve! She’s a wonderful teacher, and really excited to meet the person who’s been helping me with my science grades!”

“Hey, Marinette!” Adrien called, walking over from where Chloe had been hanging off of his arm.

“Hm?” Marinette turned from where she had been babbling. “Oh. Hello, Adrien.” Her face went slack, losing all emotion.

“Mari? Who’s this?” Peter asked, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Peter, this is my classmate, Adrien Agreste. Adrien, meet Peter, my boyfriend.” She smiled, sharp and a little cruel. “Peter, let’s head to class.” She said in flawless English.

“Whatever you want, Mari.” The couple spun on their heels, heading in to the building, leaving a stunned blonde behind.

[prorevenge]

You okay the project for the whole team? Great turn it in to the professor tomorrow

Tl/dr; Kids in group project don’t take having a real life client seriously, 1 fails, 1 fails and doesn’t graduate, and 1 goes from A to C and screws up GPA.

  Enough of the Backstory, here are the characters, obviously no where near their real names:

Matt - Professor

Client - Store owner

Damien - Project Partner

Jeff - Project Partner

Kirk - Project Partner

Barry - Me

      The SPRING class in this story was a Implementing Business Computer Systems class. For the yearly project we had a real life client that our school volunteered the students for Pro Bono work of small business in the area. We were seniors, so we are trusted with the clients work as it is oversaw by our professor. This is a big step and I, for one, am excited. I had been doing nothing but working as a Bartender/Server in a fine dining restaurant and having my head in books learning how to code with barely any time to do much else - this was an opportunity to get a taste of the real world we were about to embark on.

      The project started out fine, we all drive thirty minutes away to meet our client. A wonderful woman that owned a small floral business and she was paying 1-800-flowers to sell her product for her, which came with a website itself and a HUGEEEE price. This lady was also in her 60s and by no means fluent in computer - this is important for later. We talk, find out she wants a new website, her contract with 1-800-assholes ends in the summer. No pressure, we will be able to finish the web site and give it to her by the end of the semester, if not earlier. This will give us time to teach her what is needed and what to do so that she can maintain and run the website by her self. Afterwards we delegate the tasks, and since I have the most extensive background in coding and computers, I volunteer to learn how to create this website for our client as long as Damien, Jeff and Kirk work on the other parts of the project - the user guide and the technical documentation. For our client, this needed to be extensive so that she would be able to post her product on the website with an easy transition.

      As we weigh our options over the next week, we come up with some proposals to the client and we set a meeting to go over these on a Tuesday - the day everybody is the most free in their schedule - the following week. Sunday - Jeff says he can't make it, Kirk quickly responds and says he can't make it either. I say its cool, Damien and I will be able to make it. Monday - Damien says we should reschedule because now he can't make it. I say no, I will go by myself we shouldn't cancel on the client - no biggie, I understand things come up. As the project went through the semester, I am killing the website. I have a working e-commerce store integrated with the stores paypal, i have a shop tab, and a featured page for in season flowers. I ask about the documentation and the user manual and I am told by the all three of them that they are working on it and will have a rough draft for me soon to check out. Cool, No problem. Time to show the client the product to see if she wants any changes or if we should just continue creating this website for her; we set a meeting with the client on a Tuesday a week or two in advance and everybody says that is okay.

      Same song, different story. Sunday - Jeff says he can't make it, Kirk quickly responds and says he can't make it either. I say its cool, Damien and I will be able to make it. Monday - Damien says we should reschedule because now he can't make it. "I say fuck no, this is a client. You don't do that to clients." So I hop my ass by myself to drive 30 minutes to meet our client. I show the Client the website and she client is happy with the product and asks us to continue and she is excited for the finished product.

      How our weeks are set up is in such a way which they start on a Wednesday and end on a Tuesday. So the last day of classes are on a Tuesday. The school then gives an extra free day that Wednesday for a "Study Day", then the exams schedule goes Thu-Fri-Sat || Mon-Tues-Wed. I am sure you can infer what students do on that Tuesday before study day. Fast forward to the end of the semester, I still haven't seen any documentation or user manual and it is due on the class' exam day, which is the first day of exam week. So a week before it is due I am told I will have the documentation and user manual in my hand before our meeting which is at 12PM that study day - Wednesday. I receive a email at 11PM on Tuesday as I am getting off work and I see that is the technical documentation and the user manual. i open it up, promptly get pissed, turn off my laptop, play some xbox and pass out before midnight. The reason being, technical documentation was 1 page and did not contain anything about the Database Schema used, the website language, the paypal information, the emails registered. Just the URL and some other information that wasn't important and was half a page long. Remember how our client was in her 60s? The user manual was 1 and a half pages long and, I shit you not, contained about 5 sentences and 3 pictures with an arrow. 0 explanation on how to use the website.

      Come to the meeting at 12pm, I show up and wait about 5 minutes. I then text everybody asking where they are at, no response. I start looking over how to fix the user manual since I obviously have to start over. While I am working on it, I haven't said anything and then Damien walks into the room.

  D: "Did you get the docs?"

Me: "Yeah. You guys really think this is finished?"

D: "Oh yeah, it should be good to turn in."

Me: "Idk, I think we should add a little more, this is for our client, she won't understand this. Where is Jeff and Kirk?"

D: " ahhahaha We all got fucked up last night after finishing up the documentation, they are probably still passed out. Also, I'm turning it in tomorrow, if you want to do anything else go ahead, but whatever I have I am turning it in. I think its ready to turn it so I won't be doing anything else, I have other classes to study for. I already have an A in this class so it doesn't matter to me and Kirk and Jeff have A's as well so they don't care at all."

      Perfect he said the magic words and then he left with a flash drive. I immediately went upstairs and told my professor, Matt, everything. I said I don't want to leave my client hanging, yes my client, not ours. Matt said that he completely understands and even commends me for wanting to stay on top of everything and not give our client a bad taste for our students. He then asks why. I simply stated, "What you are about to receive tomorrow for 'our' project is completely unacceptable. It is unfair for us and for our client to leave her hanging." I showed him the website, which he likes and then I showed him the user guide and technical documentation. I asked for an extra week to finish the documentation and user guide - as I had a plan for what it should be and needed time to create it all. Matt said absolutely, but forget about the documentation. You obviously know what is in it, just focus on the client. So I created user videos with dictation, drove to the client and showed her how to use it all, where to find the videos. I even created a program that had all the videos inside so she could have it on her desktop and the program pulled up the video of her choice for whatever she needed help with with some buttons so she wouldn't have to search folders for the videos. I gave her my contact info and said I'll be here over the summer if she ever needs help with the website or has any questions and I can swing by.

    After all of this happened and afterwards I gave an update to Matt who also had an update from me. Apparently he almost failed the rest of my group because they turned in their project by slipping an unmarked USB drive under his door. He only accepted it after they emailed him asking him if he received the USB. Matt also called our client to verify my story of the fact that they never showed for client meetings and the client told him I was the only person that has been showing up. Hearing this from other people, anybody in my group that had A's in the class leading up to the project got a C, anybody with a B in the class failed. Damien's GPA was screwed up from this class as it was a 4 hours class. Kirk and Jeff both failed and Jeff wasn't allowed to graduate and Kirk had to retake it the next semester even though he wasn't graduating. My grade which was an 84 before the project was bumped to an A. The next year Damien asked how I did in that class because he was confused about his final grade, and I simply said I did fine, received an A. He has no idea the reason why. Don't f*ck with me and my grade and I won't f*ck with you.

(source) story by (/u/sw1mm3r202)

[pandemicthestory]

6: hooked

Is Isabel in danger?

With her lying there like a drugged out rag doll, it’s hard to tell. Heartbeat, breathing, she’s definitely alive...but then, why can’t she hear Emma? Something’s telling Emma not to touch the headset--no matter what’s going on with Isabel’s body, her mind is in there somewhere. And according to every movie ever, you don’t fuck with the brain. 

Emma scrambles to check out the packaging--no return address. But obviously, she knows who had to have sent this. And he knows about Universe, so he better have answers. 

Emma makes a mad dash to her bedroom. Her dad calls from downstairs.

“Did you get the package?”

“YEAH IT WAS A T-SHIRT”

A t-shirt? What? Her bullshitting skills are slipping. It doesn’t matter, her dad doesn’t actually care anyway, it’s just part of his new “I’m invested” routine. Emma slams her bedroom door behind her, then runs over to her computer. 

EMMA: Mason are you there?? 

EMMA: Hello?

EMMA: I think my sister is in trouble 

EMMA: She stole the headset, she started playing the game, she’s not responding to me, I’m massively freaking out if you can’t tell

EMMA: I’m sorry to ask this but did you...do something?

Who knows what this ghost person is capable of. Whatever connection she and he may or may not have...she doesn’t actually know him at all. 

She waits.  

Oddly, there’s nothing. Hadn’t he just told her about the package fifteen minutes ago? Where could he have gone? Emma slumps down in her chair. 

Why is it that men always disappear when they are needed most?

* * *

24 HOURS EARLIER 

A teenage boy is taking a shower in a minimalistic stall. He bows his head toward the showerhead, the powerful stream sends his wavy black hair in all directions. The boy makes the water hotter. And hotter. The skin on his neck is turning a deep shade of red, but it’s unclear if he can even feel it.

“Night, hurry the hell up. I gotta shower too.” 

The complaining breaks the peace of the showering boy. He turns off the faucet, wraps himself in a pristine white bath towel, and makes way for his roommate to take over. 

“Why d’you shower so much, man? Shit’s creepy.” 

“That’s why I do it, Sugar, to creep you out. Keeps you on your toes.”

Sugar laughs to himself and turns on the shower. The boy called Night stares at himself in the square, chrome mirror. The bathroom looks like it belongs in a very luxurious prison. 

“We getting food before class?” Sugar calls from the shower. 

“Sure, whatever.” Night exits the bathroom into an expansive bedroom with two king-sized beds. The curtains are shut, so the only source of light is a single bulb radiating from the ceiling. Night grabs a pair of deep blue linen pants and a matching button-up shirt from one of the closets and gets dressed. 

This room is pretty clearly divided, one side being far more chaotic than the other. There are desks on either side: one desk is covered in clothes, dirty towels, food wrappers, and an empty fish tank. Oddly, it had never contained a fish. The other desk has only a desktop computer and tiny, struggling plant growing out of a mason jar. This is the desk Night sits down at. He powers on his computer. 

“Yo, you ready?” Sugar calls from inside the bathroom. 

Night groans, then shuts his computer off before it can boot up. “Yeah.” 

Night and Sugar head down a wide staircase that empties into an enormous hall, swimming with other young people wearing the same linen suits that they are. Not all are blue, some are red, a few are green (including Sugar’s), and only a couple of them are black. 

The hall is lined with various food vendors, there’s a range of cuisine--nearly any option imaginable. The counters are fast, so despite the crowd, there are no lines. Everyone pays by tapping their phones. 

“Kinda feeling like a sushi situation today, what d’you think?” Sugar asks, very obviously checking out two girls grabbing soy sauce from the counter. 

“Why are you looking at those girls?”

“Uh, why would I NOT be looking at them? The hell is wrong with you?”

Night says earnestly, “Oh, I get it now that you want to--”

“--ALRIGHT great.” Sugar shakes his head. “Dude, listen. I’m glad we’re roomin’ together. In fact I even like you a lil bit. Not in that way. You know what I mean. Anyway. I think you’re cool. But I also think you’re a damn freak.” 

Night tries not to laugh. “Is that all?”

“Yeah it is. Now let’s get some fuckin maki.” 

* * * 

Night is trying to stay awake in class, but he’s finding it impossible to care about this kid’s presentation on the code he wrote over the weekend. This class simply could not be more boring. Why can’t he be studying something useful? Another language? Or music? These computer skills are just not practical. No one needs them. 

But boredom is not the only reason Night can’t stay awake in class. It’s also because he doesn’t put forth much effort to sleep at night. Once the sun goes down, Night begins to read. Typically not books, but articles on the internet. Hours pass, he scours the web for information, and his pale eyes melt into the screen. 

“Night, wake up.” 

Night opens his eyes and takes a startled breath. He’s alone in the classroom with his teacher. An older woman, dressed in a smart but relaxed white linen suit. She looks disappointed, and slightly concerned.  

“What happened?” 

“You fell asleep. And then class ended. And you still didn’t move. So here we are.”

“I’m sorry. I was just so disinterested in what was going on. I couldn’t bring myself to pay attention, it was boredom that made me pass out.” Night says this very earnestly, unaware that it’s fairly insulting.

Teacher smiles and nods. She knows Night lives on another planet, and she expects things like this. He’s very bright, but also extremely strange. He seems to have a good heart, but it’s also hard to judge hearts since they’re invisible and not actually related to emotion. She keeps an eye on him.  

“I’m a bit worried about you, Night. I want you to graduate the year with enough knowledge to start building.” 

“Eh, well, you shouldn’t worry about me, Teacher. What we learned this week...I taught myself when I was ten.” 

Teacher laughs. He kinda laughs too. 

She asks, “Will you do something for me?”

“I don’t know.”

She takes a deep breath, thinking. 

“I want you to take your presentation very seriously. I want you to “wow” me. Show your classmates how brilliant you are. I know that you can.”

Night stares, thoughtfully. All his life, his actions have been motivated by an internal compass that he cannot understand or explain. He has always done what he wants, has always says what’s on his mind. Often he’s wrong, and sometimes controversial, but the people around him know him well enough to know that he doesn’t mean it. Most people, anyway. 

While people have allowed the tall, starry-eyed ghost boy to wander and act impulsively wherever he goes (because it’s easier not to question it), he still struggles with being abnormal. He wonders if the reason he can’t sleep at night is because nighttime is the only time that he can detach himself from the people around him. When he can be alone, and feel normal, and imagine different ways of living. 

What if he doesn’t want to build next year?

Maybe there’s a way for him to prove that he can contribute something else.

* * * 

It’s evening, the school day is over. 

Back at their room, Sugar tosses his backpack on top of the pile of junk on his desk. He flings himself onto his bed and immediately starts playing an obnoxiously loud game on his phone. Night is on his computer, writing. Sugar calls out, without moving. 

“Man, what are you doing? Homework? It’s Friday dude.” 

“I’m actually writing you a letter about how much I love you.”

Night’s signature deadpan is so dead that it’s undetectable to the naked eye. Sugar chortles and throws a pillow at Night’s head. He ducks. 

“Dear Sugar, I am deeply enchanted by what a crusty slob you are. Piles of garbage are hot. Call me.” 

“Yo you don’t even understand that I legit get that shit all the time. Those girls today were thinking it.” 

“Oh I don’t doubt it.” Night smirks, Sugar laughs. 

“You’re fuckin weird man.” 

Sugar flips over, texting. Night continues to scroll and type, endlessly. He checks the time again and again. Based on the pandemic...on everything that’s going on...he has calculated that it will happen tonight. He sends an email. He taps his fingers.

“Well I’ma go out. Diamond’s havin’ a party or somethin. You in?” 

Night doesn’t look away from the screen. “Nah, you go on ahead. Have fun.”

Sugar playfully caresses Night’s hair. “You want me to tell Diamond you said hello? I’m sure she...”

Night suddenly looks serious. “Please don’t.” Sugar laughs. 

“Chill dude. Peace.” He leaves.

And with perfect timing.

*ping*  

He receives a message. He takes a deep breath. 

So many late nights of reading, studying, preparing. This message is what he’s been waiting for. 

ADMIN_E: How am I supposed to find you if I don’t know who you are?

Night smiles to himself. Sometimes he can’t read people at all. Sometimes he can read them with incredible clarity. Right now, he can already tell that this girl won’t stop until she finds him.  

He chats with her, back and forth. ADMIN_E and GUEST55. 

*buzz* 

Night looks down at his phone, which doesn’t vibrate often... 

“Julian” 

Except when she gets “certain” texts. Shit. Not good timing.

GUEST55: don’t answer that. He can wait 

Emma ignores Julian. Good. Jesus, what does she see in that nightmare of a human? 

Oh no, wait, it seems like she’s getting scared. Night doesn’t want to scare her. That’s not part of the plan. 

ADMIN_E: ok now you’re starting to scare me. What the hell is going on? Are you watching me?

GUEST55: no, no...Emma, I promise i’ll explain everything. Just not yet 

Night truly doesn’t care what any single person thinks of him. He lives in his own world, where the judgments of others don’t exist. So why is it that suddenly, when it comes to a girl he’s never actually met, he’s starting to care? Is that what this is? Well, he just knows that he doesn’t want her to be afraid of him. 

But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself either... She has the map now. The rest will come. 

GUEST55: I’ll see you soon Emma.

 ADMIN_E: See you, um, well see you

Strangely, he wants her to know his name. Some piece of her. It’s not that he’s afraid of exposing himself…it’s that he won’t just have to explain his own name, but the names of so many others, and so much more...she’ll have to wait. 

He hesitates, looking around the dark room. His eyes land on the glass jar on his desk. Hm. The little plant does look so unnatural in this world.

GUEST55: my name is Mason. I want you to know that.

Mason. Well, it will have to work for now. 

Night signs out. He walks over to the window, completing his nightly ritual of dragging the tall curtains open.

And then the extraordinary moonlight floods the room like a searchlight beam.  

Outside his window, there is a city that looks nothing like any city we’ve ever seen in the natural world. Roads are raised, buildings are holographic, animated advertisements encircle all infrastructure. The moon is enormous, but there is not a single star. 

Night stares up at the dark sky, after which he was named. Maybe soon she’d be staring at the same one.

[yaboymercury]

Gassy Lessons - Fifth class: Computer Technology

Jay knew his farting was getting better and Mr Watts was agreeing, but through his gassy persuasion he convinced Jay he could still get better. So since Jay's last training session with him he had been tasked with going back to basics and researching other ways to make himself fart more.

The opportunity to get this research done was in Jay's Computer technology class. His class had been tasked to do a trial run with some coding program, but Jay wasn't so invested in the class and the room was big enough for him to get a place a few seats away from anyone else so he took the opportunity to get some gassy research done.

Jay only got a chance to look through a couple fart themed webpages giving him nothing but basic information, when a notification of an email from the teacher popped up at the bottom of the screen. Mr Anderson was the one holding the class today, Jay hadn't had too many classes from the man but he was pretty sure he had a strong impression of what he was like. He had quite a twinkish build not being very muscular, covered half his cute face with chunky framed glassed and had curly pale blonde hair. He was a relatively softly spoken man and was never too assertive at least it seemed so to Jay, and the young teacher never seemed to be able to command a classroom.

Jay never really spoke to the teacher so the email came as a shock. When he opened it though his shock deepened.

'Jay Carter. Can you please keep to the schedule of today's class and refrain from any childish web searches, as the teacher we have screen tracking technology on all the computers to keep issues like this from occuring. Please start your proper work for the lesson.'

The level of polite assertion in the email surprised the student and he couldn't help but be a little embarrassed at getting caught. He gave the teacher sitting at the other end of the classroom a glare, but the man at the desk didn't notice him, he seemed to be typing something else giving the screen his full attention.

Jay gave up any attempt to spite the teacher and letting out a sigh of premature boredom, he closed his tab and went to open the coding program. However before he could even move the mouse again another email notification popped up from the teacher.

'Jay Carter. I take back my further request if you can display the fruits of your research as soon as possible, especially if you could thin out the number of students in the class. Either that or start coding.'

This was of course an unexpected turn for Jay and when he went to look at the teacher over the classroom he could see him staring straight back at him with a challenging look and a slight smile. Jay looked around the class, there were no guys in here he particularly cared about, and Jay didn't particularly care about his reputation either, and since his past escapades in his sports class maybe leaning into the gassy aspect of his personality would catch him some respect.

After a full day of classes Jay had been holding in his gas for a while anyway and it was ready to burst, so he leaned back in his chair stretching and whole doing so spread his legs apart and let loose.

FRAAAAARPP

The first reaction he got was from two friends sitting a couple seats away who both immediately looked over at him, one chuckling and the other just staring blankly.

"Oh you want some?" Jay questioned jokingly wafting it in their direction. The rancid stink finally hit them and they both started coughing in unison. Jay laughing decided to put the final nail in their coffin and aimed his butt in there direction still sitting.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAPP

Jay's newly developed brand of eggy stink made it's way to them and their coughing grew stronger. The mumbled something to eachother and stood up and left the classroom giving Jay a dirty look as they said some incomprehensible excuse to the teacher as they left the room. Jay glanced at the teacher who was chuckling lightly, the student was happy to entertain.

Obviously his gaseous fun was not as well received by the rest of the class, mostly whispering and giving him strange looks, but one of the class reps obviously wanted to take justice into their own hands striding over too Jay. The Prep was obviously caught off guard gagging a little as he entered the stinking cloud surrounding Jay who played dumb and gave the glaring class rep and surprised look.

"Is there a problem officer?" Jay asked.

Through a pinched nose Jay could make out "Mr Carter as a class rep I'm going to have to ask you to stop your expulsions they are reprehensibley rude and a distraction to our learning."

Smirking back Jay grabbed the boy's hand off his nose and in doing so made him stumble closer in a quieter voice he said to him almost seductively "I would hardly call this a distraction?" And he leaned forward in his chair and let rip.

BRRRRRRRAPPPPPT

The other boy got a whiff of the toxic blast and his face went pale as he staggered out the room with a hand over his mouth trying to stop anything escaping. As the boy left Jay thought he heard him say something stupid along the lines of "This won't be the last you bear of this. As Jay watched him leave with a smile he noticed that others were leaving but from the other side of the class, from the side closer to Mr Anderson.

Jay looked over to the teacher who was obviously pretending to be distracted by something on his screen but still wore a cheeky grin. The student took a deep whiff of the air, he was happy to take in his personal brand of month old rancid eggs gas, but he sensed a foreign fart smell growing in the mix of rotten veggies and fragrant compost assault his nose. Looking back at the teacher it didn't take Jay long to work out who the culprit was for the rival gas.

The classroom had been emptied of most of it's students filled with a significant amount of gas. Other than Jay and Anderson there were just two friends looking quite scared and ready to leave sitting pretty much an equal distance from the gassy competitors. Realising what it had come down to before the boys could leave both Jay and the teacher gave eachother a nod and a smirk and walked up to the two.

"You need some help bud?" Jay asked ungenuinly putting has hand on the shoulder of the student on the left.

"You having any trouble with the work?" Anderson leaning on the desk asked trying to keep his usual reserved demeanor to the student on the right.

Before doing anything Jay got a good look at Anderson's perky ass which had been hidden up until this point, he was happily surprised. Both of the students stammered mainly worried about Jay since he was the only obvious farter, they were probably hoping that Anderson would help them. Before Jay could get anything out he picked up on a very subtle hissing coming from the backside of the still concerned looking teacher. Jay of course wanting to contribute to the stink out quickly turned around and sat on the desk almost hitting the keyboard of the boy on the left and pointing his ass towards both.

"Get a load of this action!" Jay strained knowing it wouldn't be a small one.

PRRRRRRAAAARPPPPP

The eggy explosion rocketed out of Jay's ass into the faces of the unfortunate soon to be casualties, and right at the same time Anderson's stinky gas leak got to the boy's nostrils. The combined stench was obviously too much for the two buddies as they knocked heads as they passed out.

Finally getting drop any facade Jay and Anderson smiled at eachother in stinking solidarity as they both took a deep sniff of their joint creation. Of course the two passed out students were currently the main source of the smell, the room as a whole was now filled with a flatulent fog starting to make even Jay's eyes water.

"Impressive work Jay, it seems that it was obviously not coding I should've been pushing you towards."

"I don't know why you spend all your time with computer shit, when your stinking butt obviously is obviously far more interesting." The disguised compliment was a risky move Jay thought but Anderson seemed to respond well. He gave his ass a little smack and adjusted his glasses as he stepped towards his gassy student.

"Well I guess you've got to have a day job."

Jay watched smiling excitedly as the seemingly transformed teacher ran his hand through his hair walking past him.

"Let's leave these two here, I'm sure you don't mind taking the blame for them, I think I'll be giving you some private tutoring if you just follow me." Giving Jay a wink from behind his glasses and strolled out the room.

Happy at the direction the class had gone Jay took one last sniff of his gassy handiwork and clambered off the desk to follow him, leaving the unlucky last two victims to marinate in the stink.

Leaving the room Jay caught up to the man on the quick walk to his office only a little ways down the corridor, all the while making sure to stay a little behind him as to enjoy the view.

In comparison to the quite airy and spacious computer room, the office was tiny. There was barely enough room for the desk and chair, and with both men standing in there, there was barely any room to move. Jay also noted the lack of be ventilation with only one small window which seemed to be locked shut.

"You'll have to excuse the heat." He closed the door behind Jay who leaned against the wall. "I only got moved to the office this year and I haven't been able to find the spare key for the window, I hope it won't be a problem." He gave Jay a knowing look.

"Don't worry I think I can cope" And in spite of the uniform policy Jay began to undo his tie, which prompted his teacher to follow suit. "So Mr Anderson what will this tutoring be about, I hardly think my computing skills need any improving, and I can't seem to think of anything else we have in common." Jay made sure to finish the question in cocking up one of his legs.

FRRRRAPPP

The fart despite not being the biggest managed to fill the room in seconds making both men smile at what it's stink implied.

"Now Jay no reason to misbehave." The teacher sat on a spot on the desk and unbuttoned a few of his shirt buttons as they had both began to sweat. "I merely wanted to give you proper punishment for your unprovoked biohazardous assault on your fellow students, it's highly unprofessional." The teacher concluded by leaning over on the desk displaying his butt again to the increasingly aroused student.

Frrrrrrrrrrsshhhhhh

What the flatulence lacked in volume it made up for in stench completely dominating the room with his rancid personal stench. Both men inhaled obviously neither really expecting how bad it stunk coughing in response to its bite.

After recovering Jay responded keeping up the erotic teasing act they had going by turning around and leaning against the wall and peeled down his now stuck on with sweat trousers just enough to let his boxer clad ass show with the gray colour accentuating his now sweaty crack.

"Well Mr Anderson I think I have quite a skill and I occasionally like to show it off to my classmates I don't see the problem with that?" He stuck out his ass further in the direction of the teacher and winced.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARPPPPP

He was impressed with himself, the gas shook the room and reintroduced his eggy gas to the room. The power of the fart seemed to shake the tiny room and make both men laugh at the sheer masculine stinky power it showed.

Again matching Jay, Anderson got up and began unzipping his trousers, the now erect student looked back at his teacher reveal his amazing smooth bouncy round ass cheeks. He made sure that Jay got a good look at them giving them a little shake.

"Now Jay I do see a problem with that, thinking your gas could even rival something like mine is worthy of punishment."

Psshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It sounded like a high pressure gas leak and it intensified the heat in the room exponentially, but by far the worst aspect was it wretched stench making Jay's eyes fully tear up and burn his nose.

Jay managed to recover from his coughing fit relatively quickly in spite of the rancid stench feeling like a cartoonist stinky brown fog in the room. His brain was going haywire at the horrible sensation but he decided to go for one last shot.

"Well then punish this..." He back closer up to Anderson until they were butt to butt. In a brave move Jay pulled down both their boxers until their bare sweaty asses were touching and let a rippling blast straight onto the man's ass.

BRRRRAPTTTTTTT

The rank stink vibrated against the cheeks of the two men making them both gasp. The room was becoming a deadly hot box and Anderson could tell it was his place to finish it.

The teacher after letting Jay's fart finish strolled around his student toying with him and leaned against the wall pushing his ass out until it was just touching Jay's erection. The two sweaty men could tell where it was going.

Rssssssssshhhhhhhh

The heat combined with the two men's combined evil stink, either that or the pleasure Jay got from the last gassy blast from his teacher but he was out, collapsing at the other man's feet.

[waystobuild-blog]

A Hero’s Fall

So this is way long overdue and honestly, I forgot that I even wrote this. So what I do is I write in between my college classes and yeah. This is something I wrote in 2018 as a request for one of my friends. He wanted to see Sonic succumb to darkness and I decided to write that. So, I hope you and everybody else reading this enjoys.

Sonic didn’t know when it started.

He didn’t understand what had changed.

And unfortunately… He didn’t know if he could stop it.

It was almost unnoticeable at first, he would get slightly rougher with the Badniks or a little testier with Amy than usual. It wasn’t like him at all.

But it just kept on getting worse and worse…

A few months prior, Tails had tried to speak to him about him about it.

“Sonic…” The fox tentatively approached him.

“Yeah, bro?” Sonic grinned.

“Are you…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Never better! Why?”

“Well….” He held the end of that at the tip of his tongue, still unsure of how exactly to put it. “You were a little more… rough on the Badniks than usual…”

He gestured to the land around him to show the busted robot parts scattered all over the place in odd directions, the indents in the ground from thee spindashes and homing attacks that had been done with a little too much fore and the trees that had been sawed in half by the aggressive nature of the supersonic hedgehog.

But Sonic brushed it off. “Eh… you know me. Always getting into trouble. Nothing out of the ordinary, buddy.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine.”

Tails looked tentatively at his older brother and slowly nodded.

“What the hell was that?!” Shadow snapped at him.

Sonic just shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, idiot. Breaking the sound barrier in the middle of a city!”

“I had to!”

“No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did!”

“You caused immeasurable destruction with that stupid stunt!”

“Eggman was getting away!”

“You’re not this irresponsible!”

“Who cares?!”

“People could’ve died!”

“Well more would’ve if I didn’t catch him when I did! For Chaos’ sake, I didn’t have another choice, Shadow!”

“You always say there’s another choice!”

“Well, this time there wasn’t!”

The Ultimate Life Form glared at the fastest thing alive for a long time, inspecting him, trying to see what was wrong with the fast footed hero. Sonic the Hedgehog was never like this, at least not in the years that Shadow had known him. Shadow knew him as a fool with an ego bigger than the amount of Chaos Energy he had packed into him. But he always respected him for his desire to help others and make sure everyone was safe even if it was in his own unorthodox way.

But what he saw before him today, he had zero respect for. The scowling hog with his back to him, brow furrowed, arms crossed and nose upturned in disgust was more like looking into a mirror than looking into the usually calm emerald eyes of the true blue hero and he hated it. Sonic was reckless but he wasn’t stupid. Not where he would risk the lives of thousands in favor of catching the mad doctor or any reason for that matter. And this whole argument was different than his usual brand of immaturity. He was usually met with snarky remarks, dumb jokes and the coolest smirk the hog could muster not this foolish defensiveness that he was facing today.

Just what was the matter with him?

And that’s when he felt it. Like a slap to the face or a bucket of ice cold water dumped on his head, he felt it.

“Y-your Chaos Energy-” Shadow stammered.

Sonic looked at him, raising an eyeridge.

“It’s negative.” Shadow stated.

Sonic brushed this off. “Please, you must be joking.”

Shadow didn’t stop glaring at him.

“Nothing’s wrong!” Sonic yelled. “You guys keep moaning and groaning about something being wrong with me. But I’m fine! And right now, the only thing I care about is stopping Eggman.”

With that, the hedgehog ran off, not uttering another word.

“I have to admit Sonic,” Eggman smiled. “I’m a little impressed.”

“What are you talking about?” Sonic snapped back.

“Exactly that.” Eggman laughed. “This new attitude you have lately.”

“I don’t have an attitude.”

“Oh, but you do.” Eggman insisted. “But even that’s not the part I care too much about. Not really.”

Sonic continued to glare at him.

“No, I am impressed that you’ve finally put all that power you’ve got to good use.”

He then gestured to Metal Sonic who was missing an arm and a leg, had fire spilling out of the thruster on his back and was spazzing uncontrollably on the floor. The glass that made up his eyes had a spider web of cracks that if one squinted they could see his eye flickering between his usual irises, line of code and just emptiness.

“You took down Metal Sonic as soon as I called him out. I had heard rumors that you had turned to rage but seeing it up close? This is beyond what I ever could’ve imagined.”

“I am not angry.”

The Doctor laughed. “In all the years we’ve known each other and you think you can lie to me? I can read you just as easily as you can read me, you know? And even so, that unbridled rage is written all over your face. It’s hilarious.”

Sonic growled. “Cut the chatter, Eggman. You know why I’m here.”

“Yes, but I’m going to keep talking. I just want to say that this is a good look for you, Sonic. We’ve always been two sides of the same coin, you and I. Playing this game of cat and mouse since you were a mere child. And now? Well, it seems we’re more alike than you’d care to admit.”

“I am nothing like you!”

“But you are. Using your rage and aggression to fuel you; using all the power at your fingertips to take the world and have it bow to your will. Who does that sound like to you?”

At that, he didn’t even get an answer. Instead, his eggmobile shook and he was surprised to see his nemesis had clung onto it. He was so fast that he hadn’t even seen him move. Just as quickly as he landed on it, he had grabbed Eggman by the collar of his shirt.

“Stop it!” The hedgehog snarled at him. “Stop all of it now!”

But the doctor simply laughed. “And this is exactly what I’m talking about. But stop? No. Not when I’m so close to attaining the ultimate power.”

Sonic growled at him, pulling him even closer.

But the doctor was prepared for this and quickly punched a large yellow button on his console.

Immediately, thousands of volts of electricity jumped off of the hull of the pod and into the hedgehog’s body. He could feel himself collapsing to the floor before everything went black.

And now he stood on the day of his enemy’s triumph watching as the world set ablaze and everything he knew and loved was destroyed. It was all his fault.

He looked on in his anger, in his rage, in his pure unbridled hatred at it all.

And he knew he had to be the one to stop it. And with that, he called upon the seven emeralds.

They appeared before him in a radiant flash of light. He dug deep, calling on the power within his heart and within the emeralds.

At that, his fur turned not to the comforting gold that those knew but to a spiteful obsidian; his eyes were not a righteous crimson but instead a soulless black void and his aura an ugly coal color instead of the powerful sun.

Darkness had taken the hero’s heart and as he took in his new form, he couldn’t help but be fueled by more hatred.

Dark Sonic had arrived and he wanted nothing more than revenge.