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translationandbetrayals · 2 years

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Yume Nikki and it's unique open-for-interpretation mechanic

Hello everybody! I am here again with a new post, and this time it's to speak about the unique kind of storytelling of an indie RPG videogame characterized not for a clear story, but rather for having a gameplay and a hidden plot full of secrets and elements left for fan interpretation, with nothing being quite confirmed yet not being denied either, leaving it to be an intriguing game and a suitable space for passionate fans who like to theorize and make interpretations of it without never really getting any confirmations to the mysteries surrounding the game.

And it's creator is just as mysterious as it's creation, since we know nothing about them other than they made this game and their "name" (which it's not even certain to be their actual name and it could be nothing but a simple nickname): Kikiyama. And said game, is Yume Nikki.

SPOILER WARNING.

For anyone who hasn't played Yume Nikki yet, I highly recommend that you go play it first and then come back to read this essay. If you haven't played but still wanna read, then that's your problem bud. Without anything else to say, we may procceed.

CONTENT WARNING. In this essay there will be mentions of heavy topics such as s*xu4l assault, 4b*rti*n, depression, car accidents, death, and others. If you are quite sensitive to these kind of things, I'd suggest not reading this text. If you decide to continue anyways, then read under your own risk. You have already been warned.

Yume Nikki's title screen.

What is Yume Nikki?

Yume Nikki is an indie RPG videogame made made back then in 2004 by the Japanese developer Kikiyama, using the game engine RPG Maker 2003. The game contains llittle to no elements of a traditional RPG videogame, and it has been described by some as an example of an early "walking-simulator" since the game it's mainly focused in the exploration of a dream world via the protagonist, Madotsuki (窓付き, lit. windowed).

Our protagonist is a young girl who is implied to be a hikikomori (someone who lives reclused, isolated from the outside world) given the fact that when you try to get her to walk out of her room, she will shake her head, showing us she doesn't want to go outside. Not much can be done while you're inside in her room, other than go to the balcony and play the minigame NASU in the Famicom device Madotsuki has in her room.

Madotsuki in her room.

We can also get her to go to her bed, to sleep, and here is where the fun begins: we wake up in the dream world, and our objective here is to collect all of the 24 effects which we can find across the realm. As we walk looking for the effects, we will explore this strange, bizarre world inside of Madotsuki's mind which will makes us ask ourselves more than once: What does all of this mean? We are in Madotsuki's subconscious, but what is her subconscious trying to tell us? What do these NPCs, these weird scenarios, flashy images, the effects and events, what do all of these are trying to tell us?

We don't really know what's going on inside and that's what has brought us to the point I'm about to cover:

Fan interpretation.

The story of the game isn't quite clear if you are trying to follow a lineal order in the game: that simply doesn't exist. As for a background story, while the game clearly doesn't show a background story or origins, if you pay attention to the dream world and begin connecting the dots you can guess a lot about how Madotsuki's past was and we can theorize on how she ended up being a hikikomori in the first place.

And here's where fan interpretation comes and does its work:

based on what the game gives us and the etymologies and references where every single thing comes from: the fans simply don't forget about the details that easily.

I will use the case of these 4 images as an example:

Kyuukyuukun in the Stairway, a strange event which occurs when you stab the zippertile in the Number World.

Madotsuki and Masada-sensei, in the spaceship, a special event in-game.

Madotsuki and Mars-san, triggered by the spaceship crash event.

Takofuusen in the White Desert, an event that only happens in one of 3600 chances. If you see it, then consider yourself extremely lucky (or unlucky).

Kyuukyuu-Kun and Madotsuki's abuse trauma.

The first image shows us an NPC known as Kyuukyuu-kun (キュッキュ君, キュッキュくん, Kyukkyu-kun, named after the Japanese onomatopoeia of the rubbing noise) which is characterized by its peculiar form and its creepy smile. Something characteristic from this figure is that when you enter the room where it is located, you will find him rubbing the railing of a stair. If you use the cat effect on Madotsuki, Kyuukyuu-kun will rub it slower, and if you use the knife effect, it will rub the railing faster.

The thing itself... if you take this to interpretation it turns out to be really disturbing.

These are what we can take as "canon facts" and honestly? There's not much we can really get if we just pick these facts and don't analyze it in depth.

Now, here is what we can get if we analyze these facts plus other implicit stuff in-game, via fan interpretation:

Kyuukyuu-kun possesses rather a phallic form, similar to the masculine genitalia, and to enter the Stairway zone you need to enter through an specific zippertile in the number world. This, added to the fact that he possesses a creepy smile and that he seems to rub the railing only when Madotsuki moves, is usually interpreted by fans as Madotsuki having some sort of trauma related to sexual abuse, with this figure being an oneiric representation of Madotsuki's abuser.

Masada-sensei, Mars-san and the symbolism of a repressed memory of a train accident of someone Madotsuki knew

In the second image, we can appreciate a character standing along with our protagonist, in front of a grand piano, along with a table with two chairs that can be found in the room, and a big window that allows you to see into space. This character, known as Sentimental Komuro Michael Sakamoto Dada-sensei (センチメンタル小室マイケル坂本ダダ先生, or simply Masada, or Seccom Masada)is found when you go down the staircase of hands, walk past the elevator and extinguish the fire at the end of the room, gaining access to the underground world and entering the spaceship where this NPC is located. In game, all we can know is that he makes a robotic noise when you interact with him. If the cat effect is used, he will approach Madotsuki, and when the knife effect is used, he will move away (and when he moves we can play the piano key that he is standing in front of).

Going to the right side, there is a room with a bed in his spaceship where Madotsuki can sleep, and this can trigger an even which is possible in 1 of 6 possibilities: the Mars crash. This happens if Madotsuki sleeps in his bed and after a while when she awakes, the spaceship will have an alarm, as it falls rapidly. When we go back to check on Masada, he will be panicking and the sound he emits is higher-pitched than usual.

Poor Masada...

The game plays a cutscene of the spaceship finally crashing in Mars and here when after exploring for a while, we get to interact with Mars-San: a blue figure with a crying eye.

Mars-san.

Aside from getting it to make a sound when interacted with him, Madotsuki can stab him, making him to change his eye color to green and blue. Stabbing him again will cause his eye color to go back to normal.

Mars-san when stabbed.

Again, basing ourselves on only what the canon gives us, there's not really much to say about, other than the already explained. Now, using the interpretation, there's a lot to talk about, and basing on what the canon gives us, the fans have come to theorize that Masada-sensei used to be Madotsuki's piano teacher, who had with her something more than just a teacher-student relationship (which could be hinted by the fact that there's a bed in Masada's spaceship and Madotsuki sleeps on it), and while it is unsure what kind of relationship they had (either a platonic, romantic or a sexual relationship), it is assured that Madotsuki cared about him.

Now, the spaceship crash event, Mars-san's form resembling to a leg and the fact that in order to reach him you have to fall asleep in three different beds (real life bed, one of the dream world's beds and the spaceship's bed)would mean Madotsuki would be dreaming inside of a dream which is also inside of another dream. This could mean that the character represents a repressed memory in Madotsuki's subconscious.

The machinery surrounding Mars-san seems very train-resembling like, and putting all the pieces together, one of the most popular interpretations is that Masada-san had a train accident and Madotsuki was a part of it (directly involved or not, she definitely saw it), and since she cared about Masada, this incident caused her a trauma that went repressed in the depths of her mind (in here, Mars-san is one of Masada's injured legs after the accident... this is a personal interpretation here lmao sorry), as it was an extremely painful experience for her.

Takofuusen, TRAP Syndrome, and abortion.

Finally for this post, we will go with the last image: Takofuusen (たこ風船, タコ風船, 凧風船, Octopus Balloon or Kite Balloon), a random event in Yume Nikki named after the character with the same name, which as I stated earlier, it's the event with the most rare probabilities of happening. If it happens, consider yourself extremely lucky (or unlucky, depends of your perception).

What do we canonically know about Takofuusen?

Well. Basically nothing.

We know it has a very weird shape, we know it appears randomly in one of 3600 chances, we know it makes some weird sound when it flies across the white desert and that's it.

Come on man... you can't say to me this doesn't look creepy. Or disturbing. Or at least weird.

And now, with the star of the show: interpretation.

Takofuusen has been called out for having a shape which has a disturbing resemblance to a case of Twin Reversed Arterial Perfusion syndrome, aka TRAP syndrome, a malformation of monochromic (identical) twins (and the white desert -including Takofuusen itself- is full of NPCs that are characterized for being all monochrome) which curiously only happens in 1 of every 36.000 pregnancies (and Takofuusen event happens in 1 of 3.600 chances, are you connecting the dots yet?) WARNING: DISTURBING IMAGE AHEAD.

Picture of monochromic twins with TRAP syndrome. The resemblance is... scarily insane in my opinion.

So what's the theory here? The fans speculate that Madotsuki could have been pregnant (which is implied by other elements in the game too) and Takofuusen could either be the representation of her fear of a malformation, or the fact that she was pregnant AND unfortunately the malformation was there, which led her to have an abortion.

It's also speculated that this could be Madotsuki's unborn brother/siblings, who due to the (implied) car accident of her parents, the baby developed the malformation and eventually died.

Alright. We have seen the examples. Now, what's my point here?

Look at how much we get only if we stay in canon. And now look how much lore and story we get if we begin doing interpretation of the game. I think it's very interesiting how Kikiyama left us to be the ones to do the research without ever getting clear answers from them, because we are the ones who need to get the answers on our own.

I could speak for hours about this topic with more examples, but for now I'll just leave it there, or it's gonna be wayyy too long. Plus, I will invite you to make your own interpretations of the game, share them with me even.

With nothing else to say, I conclude this essay.

Thank you for reading this far, I hope you have enjoyed it, and if I get motivated (and don't get disturbed while writing) I might even make a second part.

Hope you have a good day! See you next time.

- Beatriz Aqueveque Henríquez.

#Japan #essay #submission

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saltpepperbeard · 4 years

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Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?”

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I.

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.”

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

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hotdemonsummer · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! and Angelology and Demonology

alternatively titled Lets Get Into Lucifer

This is yet another long, long post about the lore of Obey Me! from the perspective of historical and theological angelology, and demonology or the study of angels and demons respectively, because I think it’s neat. I also talk way too much. I’m scared to check the word count on this.

Disclaimer: I am not an expert on anything, and certainly not on religion. I just like comparative theology. Also, spoilers for lesson 43/44.

What is an angel? And what, in turn, is a demon? It depends on who you ask. All religions that have angels have a general consensus that they are spiritual beings, intermediaries of some kind of higher power. Demons, on the other hand, are much more vague beyond general malevolence toward humanity. Any connection between the two is entirely dependent on the culture and religion in question. Some have angels but not demons, and many have vice versa.

There’s generally four kinds of spirits that are considered demons:

Dead people with extremely bad vibes (think mogwai, yuurei, and other revenants)

Neutral-to-malevolent energy, physical form optional (think djinni or yokai)

Cult subjects (including foreign gods and ancestor worship)

Corrupted angels (either fallen or Nephilim)

The word demon comes from the Greek δαίμων, or daimon, but the concept of a demon is much older than the Greeks. The original daimon had none of the malevolent, evil associations that we now think of. Instead, daimon just described a kind of powerful spiritual entity (for example, δαίμων is the term Euripides uses for the new god Dionysus in The Bacchae). What we think of as demons now didn’t exist in Greek culture, and the negative associations came when the Tanakh was translated from Hebrew to Greek, but even then shedim aren’t identical to the contemporary depiction of demons that we see in Obey Me!, which, like everything else in Western society, came about through the domination of Christianity.

Shedim, the precursor to the Christian demon, was more or less a term for false gods, a title for the various Levantine pagan gods (see: origin of Beelzebub, Belphegor, and pretty much every demon that starts with Bel- or Bal-).

Obey Me! pretty much canonizes Type 2 and Type 4 demons, with characters like Diavolo, Barbatos, and Satan as Type 2 and the other brothers as Type 4. Historically, Beelzebub and Belphegor are Type 3 (Beelzebub and Belphegor being Levantine gods), Mammon being Type 2 (a general personification of Wealth, although Milton did write him as a Type 4 in Paradise Lost) and Asmodeus being somewhere in between Type 2 and 3 (being heavily derived from a Zoroastrian daeva of wrath). Lucifer is, historically, the only consistently Type 4 demon.

I don’t think I have to explain what a fallen angel is to any OM! fan. But I will.

Let’s talk about these guys. We’re all familiar with Satan’s weird complex about Lucifer, and I’m sure we’re all equally familiar with how Satan and Lucifer are terms used interchangeably for whatever being is The Big Bad of Hell. However, they’re not synonymous.

Satan derives from the same Proto-Semitic root as shayatan, which... should be pretty obvious, but nonetheless has a pretty analogous role as a tempter of men in the Abrahamic religions. Beyond that “tempter of men” title, though, the actual details of what Satan is is incredibly varied, including whether or not “Satan” is a name or a title. In Christianity, the view of Satan as an extremely powerful and evil corrupter of man, wholly opposed to God, came around the Middle Ages, when witchcraft hysteria spread.

Lucifer, on the other hand, is simultaneously a figure originating in Christianity and much, much older than it. The term of course means “light-bringer”, and is heavily associated with the morning star, aka the planet Venus. To make a very long story short, many Mesopotamian, Levantine, and Mediterranean cultures saw the lowering of Venus toward the horizon at night and thought, “hey, thats a pretty neat image!” and created stories about heavenly beings falling toward the earth. Of course, they didn’t use the ‘term’ Lucifer, that’s Latin, and came from the Vulgate Bible.

The term Lucifer does not exclusively refer to The Evil Fallen Angel™ in Christian texts (some very sacred things like the Exsultet explicitly refer to Jesus as Lucifer), but it sure is the most popular interpretation. In works like Paradise Lost or the Divine Comedy, the general idea is that the angel Lucifer rebelled against God in some way and was cast out of Heaven, then becoming Satan, and thus the two are one and the same.

(inb4 some Quora-type chews me out for accuracy’s sake, the “lucifer” mentioned in Isaiah 14:12 refers not to any angel, but to a Babylonian king. The whole fallen angel thing, much like the beatitudes or Bethlehem or Christmas, is a fusion of pagan influences.)

In other words, Lucifer is always and has always been a fallen angel. Satan, on the other hand, doesn’t have those connections to angelhood, and the two figures have an undeniable connection despite their clear individual differences. Sound familiar?

The next question is then what kind of angel is Lucifer anyway? to which you might be thinking, wait, there are different kinds? Yes, holy shit, there are so many kinds of angels and very little consensus on what they are. In terms of Christian angelology (because again, Lucifer is a uniquely Christian/derivative Christian figure unless you exclude Leland’s Aradia which I don’t because lbr they were Italian anyways), most hierarchies are based on the work of this guy:

This man has the incredibly succinct name of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, and sometime in the 5th century he wrote a book called De Coelesti Hierarchia. It orders the *WTNV voice* hierarchy of angels into three levels called spheres, and each sphere has three sub-levels called choirs. Many, but not all, of the choirs are adopted from various Jewish angelic hierarchies. If you thought that it was just angels and then archangels were, like, the middle management version of angels then you are very wrong. I’m sorry that television lied.

You know who also lied? Tumblr dot com and any post that implies that the true form of angels is a big wheel with a bunch of eyes. That is, in fact, a descriptor for only one kind of angel: ophanim, or thrones. The depiction of angels runs the gamut from winged humanoids to multi-winged humanoids with multiple animal heads to burning snakes to vague heavenly mist.

Archangels and angels are the eighth and ninth lowest choirs of angels, respectively. Angels, or malakhim, are the default messengers of God and the choir from which guardian angels come from. Generally, if someone claims to have a message from God delivered to them, it will be an angel doing it. If it’s really important, it’ll be an archangel. Everyone else literally has more important things to do. No one’s getting visions from dominions.

Lucifer’s (the theological one) actual designation is kind of a mystery. Depending on the text, Lucifer has been described as a seraph (the highest), a cherub (the second highest), or an archangel (the eighth). According to Thomas Aquinas:

Lucifer, chief of the sinning angels, was probably the highest of all the angels. But there are some who think that Lucifer was highest only among the rebel angels.

Not very helpful, but hey. The question remains: what kind of angel is Lucifer, and this time I mean our Lucifer.

We know that Michael, just like his namesake, is an archangel. We also know that (SPOILERS) Simeon, unlike his namesake, is an archangel as well (Simeon is a saint, not an angel.) Lucifer likely was at their level, if not higher.

However, Lucifer was also a six-winged angel, a depiction generally reserved for seraphim (and cherubim, but far less frequently).

Moreover, in terms of role, an angellic Lucifer fits well with that of the powers, the sixth choir. Powers are in charge of moving the heavenly bodies, and are depicted as powerful warriors dressed in beautiful armor. It's fitting for a being so closely tied to the morning star to be a power, after all.

So, with all that considered, what is Lucifer?

Well, he’s a seraph (or saraph, technically). Why? Because Simeon is somehow a seraph and an archangel (I have already written too much to unpack that bullshit), and Mammon was a throne (remember those wheels with eyes?) and Beel was a cherub and therefore Lucifer had to be higher than both of them (interestingly big brother Mammon is in a lower choir than little brother Beel). This makes Michael kind of, well... weird, given the archangels’ low rank.

Some like to differentiate between archangel the eighth choir and Archangel, with a capital A, as a term for any high-ranking angel. While this is likely what Solmare is doing, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that this has zero basis in any religious text whatsoever and is solely done for the convenience of not remembering anything besides angel and archangel. Which is like, fine, but I’m a pedantic jerk who I found claims to the contrary while researching and I felt the need to correct that.

Anyways, the more you know.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me theories #obey me demonology #obey me angelology #obey me lucifer #my theories #YEEHAW that was a lot. my god #anyways besties dont let this flop

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “An Unknown Void.”

Hope you all enjoy your day today.

The deep blackness of space surrounded him, or it seemed t, with the lights on the bridge dimed and the blast shield lifted from the wind screen, he could see nothing, well, there was the occasional star in the sky, but according to star charts, this place was supposed to be the darkest in the known universe.

He reached down and tilted the ship slightly to the side to give a better view for the onboard telescopes. Scientists had a theory that this place wasn’t nearly as dark as it looked. A couple thousand years ago the Hubble telescope had been turned towards the darkest portion of the sky they could see, and returned with the Hubble deep space images depicting thousands if not trillions of unknown stars that had been invisible to the naked eye and inferior ground telescopes. He expected to see the same thing here.

Adam was not himself a scientist, though he tried his best to keep informed and educated on as many subjects as possible. Partially It Was due to his overwhelming desire for self improvement, while another part of him, a more subconscious part of him had someone he desperately wanted to impress.

He reached down to open the comm line to the science division, “See anything?”

There was only a momentary pause before, “Give us just another minute sir. We are having to recalibrate the telescopes.”

“Oh, is something wrong?”

“We tried taking a picture but didn’t see anything. It was probably just a younger scientist who forgot to remove the lens covers. We should be good to go.”

There was a pause.

“That’s weird.”

“What?”

There was quiet for a long moment, “Sir, we are still seeing nothing. I think there might be some sort of malfunction….”

Adam shifted in his seat, “turn the telescope back behind us and see if it works in that direction.”

“Sir, how would the direction-”

“Just do it.”

There was another long, two minute pause before, “Sir…. the images are coming in and they look…. Fine…”

Adam wasn’t sure what to think, “His first instinct was to assume a blak hole or something was eating up all the light in the area, but blackholes were visible due to their event horizon, and their machines would have noticed the anomaly in gravitation even this far out.”

Then a thought struck him.

Had they reached the end of the Universe.

No no obviously that wasn’t the case, There were plenty of known galaxies and stars all around them. It was just this narrow speck of the cosmos that didn’t seem to have anything. Somehow that thought made him feel slightly woozy. Adam had never been susceptible to Cosmic Schock, but even he didn't find the thought of an endless black void to be particularly comforting.

“I don’t like it.”

The voice in his head nearly startled him out of his sea, and he frowned in annoyance as Conn floated into view just outside the ship window.

Adam was about to say something scathing to the starborn bust stopped as he saw conn floated with his back to the window staring out at the vast blackness. He reached a hand back to absently touch the screen as if grounding himself against the void. Adam stirred uneasily as he felt Conn’s walls slip. Suddenly his own head was filled with a brimming uneasiness spilling over from Conn himself.

The sensation was strange and unsettling. Conn usually kept his emotions under close wraps, but to see him falter like that was more than strange.

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

The starborn had spent his entire life in the void of space, so to have him disquieted by something in space was enough to make Adam nervous as well.

He motioned to his navigation specialist, “Give me a rout back to the nearest star system. Conn, get inside.”

The starborn only hesitated for a few moments before doing as told and floating around the side of the ship..

***

The bright lights blinked on and then off.

They tended to agree, something strange was going on. Their one large eye blinked once as more lights ran up and down the sides of their body.

They stared through the analysis screen but the readout indicated absolutely nothing. There was no detectable UV light, or unknown radiation except for the constant radiation and background frequency that was to be expected in space.

They turned the analysis screen back towards the beginning of the star field to make sure their machine was not simply malfunctioning. It had never done so before, but there was always a statistical likelihood that it might again.When the star field came into view, the screen suddenly erupted with a bright array of blinking lights all with scientific analysis ready for use. That was obviously strange, but they were sure that their equipment was now working. They were about to turn their attention back towards the dark field when something on the analysis caught their eye. It was a bright blinking light, much smaller than the rest but indicating that it was far closer. They zoomed in on that particular indicator and was suddenly pleased at what they found. The signature was familiar, a known mixture of nitrogen and oxygen inside an enclosed container run by fusion energy.

They turned over and floated back through the door and down the tight tunneled hallway.

Bright orange and yellow eyes blinked at them as they passed by the others, flashing their lateral lights in question. They would have answered the questions if the others if they were not hurrying to inform their comandante of their new neighbors

They floated through a hole in the ceiling, or floor as it might have been in any orientation ad met the comandante on the bridge.

They turned, “Zheyar, have you found anything.” Bright lights blinked up and down their body to indicate the question dimming and expanding at moments.

“The dark field is….. Still dark. I can get no readings from it, however it seems that we are not alone.”

Bright lights flashed down their body in response to the news, “Oh, lovely, is it anyone that we know.”

“I believe they are a member of the species we met in the ice field, the ones that put us in contact with the GA.”

There was another bright exchange of lights before the comandante made their decision, “We will have to greet them certainly.”

***

Adam was just prepping his ship for a short warp to the nearest star when their comms specialist suddenly bolted upright in her seat. She leaned forward for a moment pressing her headset against her head, “Sir, sir I have a signal… we are being hailed.” He sat up in his seat, “Way the hell out here. Analyse the signal and send it through.”

There was only a momentary pause before, “Sir, I… its transmitting like a Mike ship.”

Adam perked up, “Mikes! I love those big guys. Hold on, patch the through, and get the translation team up here as soon as you can, I’m gonna need those LEDs .”

It was only minutes later that he had the translation team up and running standing next to him and carefully placing illumination stickers up and down the sides of his body. The little LEDs would brighten and dm in connection with his voice in order to translate to the mikes.

The screen before him lit up and he was excited to see one of them floating on screen before him.

He smiled, “It is a pleasure to see your kind again.” The little colorful dots brightened and dimmed up the sides of his body flashing in bright neons as he spoke. It was only slightly distracting, but he was pleased to speak to the mikes after so long of not seeing tem.

“It is you!” The creature exclaimed emphasizing its enthusiasm with even brighter light.

“I am happy to see you after such a long time. We had assumed you had returned to your home world.”

The mike flashed lights up and down its body. There was no translation so he assumed it was some sort of gesture like a shrug or a shake of the head would be for humans, “We are sorry that we coil not take your GA’s invitation for a visit, but we did have a deadline to consider. We do promise that our monarchs have taken the offer into consideration and will be sending a delegation soon. We are very pleased at the idea of joining your coalition, though we have had so many things to do as of late.”

Adam’s enthusiasm was picked up by the brightness of the LED stickers, “I am personally very excited to hear that. I had hoped that you would take us up on our offer.” he Tried to avoid using his hands too much knowing that the movement of his arms might obscure the lights, “It seems of an almost astronomical coincidence that we should run into each other. There must be a reason.”

“I assume that you are looking at the same piece of dead space as we are, tell me has your scientific equipment been abl to detect what ours have not.”

Adam shook his head, “I am afraid we are getting no readings from the space, though i daresay our equipment is far less superior in comparison to yours.”

The mike flashd a little, “Sometimes simplicity can outmaneuver complex machines, though I see that we are both lost on that particular subject.”

Adam nodded, “Then I propose that we work together for the time being, I supply manpower and technology?”

“It would be a pleasure to work with you, andI must say that you have found quite an ingenious way to speak our language. Yo wear them well.”

He laughed, “You flatter me. We should dock our ships together if you are willing.”

“The pleasure is ours.”

***

It wasn’t more than a few light minutes later when they had docked themselves with the human ship. The cargo doors opened and a waft of wind equalized the pressure between their two ships. The air on the human ship was just slightly heavier making them sink just a few inches towards the floor, though it was of no concern. The humans were waiting for them, standing against the ground, forced to hold up their entire skeletal structures against gravity. It must have been exhausting for them, and likely took a lot of energy.

Their original analysis of humans indicated that a human would have to eat multiple times a day in order to keep up the energy required to move, but these humans seemed bright and awake and likely well fed. Their leader was waiting for them wearing those bright LED dots in order to communicate as did everyone else who stood with him.

They were surprised to find other aliens with him, and were both eager and interested to examine the strange creatures. They floated forward and were met by the humans who bowed low. Another creature floated around the corner of the wall, and the mikes pulled back in surprise.

One of the Star children.

The human seemed to have noticed their surprise.

“You've met the starborn before?”

“On a few occasions,though we weren't aware they had friendly relations with…. anyone .”

The human twitched its upper body strangely before letting the gesture fall, “he i about as friendly as it gets and that’s not saying much.”

The entire group of them shivered lightly as a cold presence washed over them, “Don’t listen to him, he has a hard time admitting how much he loves me. We have a daughter together you know.”

The human’s head snapped to look over at the starborn two eyes narrowing, “Shut the hell up conn, that is not the first thing you need to bring up in front of the company.’

The LED lights on his body flashed bright green with his anger.

The Mikes watched in fascination.

One of the other strange creatures, taller than the human and with another set of limbs stepped forward to Examine the Mike. Its coloring was brightly colored and quite pleasant. It examined them while they examined her, and soon enough she was surrounded by a swarm of poking and prodding at her joints and limbs and strange carapace. They had never seen anything like it before.

The creature took it gracefully enough though their leader to apologize. They did enjoy learning about new things and new creatures. They were completely harmless of course.

The human waved a hand at the dogs on his sides and arms blinking, “Don’t worry, she’d be happy to assist your scientists. If you would please follow me, we can show you how ur ship works see if there is anything that you find useful.

In the end the two groups took tours of each other’s ships, shared as much scientific information as was possible and then began their conjectures about the dark space which they had come across. The Mikes could not penetrate it with any of their equipment and neither could the humans determine that there was really only one way to explore what lay beyond.

They were going to have to go there themselves.

It was suggested that they simply warp to the center of the darkfield, but that thought was quickly discarded as it involved far too much danger. The human offered to fly his ship slowly out into the abyss while the mikes tracked them to see if their signal was lost at any point which they decided was a good course of action if not very reckless.

They were soon to learn that humans tended to be reckless anyway, which both scared them and gave them no small measure of admiration.

They would soon learn quite a bit about humans.

Though both parties were unaware of a stirring in the darkness. A stirring that was well aware of their presence.

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hajime-isayama-official · 4 years

Note

One main arguments I’ve seen from non Jewish and poc snk Stan’s and that will have that one token Jewish person or friend who says they are not offended and snk isn’t anti Semitic or Nazi propaganda. Or say well isayama isn’t a anti Korean racist or Japanese imperialist that’s all been proven fake blah blah blah. Even if it’s fake the series is still problematic stop using that one Jewish person who isn’t offended they don’t speak for all Jewish people obviously-part 1

Part 2 he also named miksasa after a imperial Japanese battle ship and dot pixels is based off of a Nazi Japanese imperialist I think? Same for Erwin I might be wrong that’s what I looked up. I’m personally not comfortable supporting the series anymore for valid reasons but it’s honestly so hard to find blogs like you who criticize the series and author I’ve only found a small amount of blogs who acknowledge the problematic aspects in both manga and anime unfortunately :(

Oh Anon, you get me going here.

Yes, Mikasa is named after a very successful battleship (it’s supposedly certain success if your manga has a character named after a battleship).

Pixis was inspired by a Japanese imperial general. He died before WW2 tho. Anyway that sparked huge controversy with the Japanese fans, leading to hate messages towards Yams for years.

German SNK Wiki claims Erwin was inspired by Erwin Rommel, a general in WW1 and WW2 who later turned against Hitler (it’s fine cause he wasn’t REALLY a Nazi, right? no.). Erwin’s Birthday is the death day of Erwin Rommel. However, since I can’t find a source I’d take that one with a grain of salt. The main Inspiration for Erwin as a character is Ozymandias from Watchmen. So only fictional mass murder for Erwin here lol

These points are already kinda icky, but can be ignored I guess. Of course SNK searches inspiration in military. It’s a series about literal Child Soldiers (which somehow is never a critic point on any anime/manga?!). However it’s also full of dogwhistles and even more uncomfortable references.

My main points are the portrayal of grey-morality on the case of genocide and the way Isayama clearly draws inspiration from Nazi Germany when he portrays Marley. The latter is not per say problematic. Fullmetal Alchemist is also inspired by The Third Reich and carries a strong anti-imperalist and anti-nazi message. SNK however falls short on that till now. I am not Jewish myself, so I can obviously not determine what is antisemitic and only point out the obvious. Plus my knowledge of things is obviously limited so feel free to correct or join in.

Isayama pretty much paints the Eldians as the Jews of this “mirror world” World War we witness since the time skip. This is clear by the imagery of the Ghettos he shows, the armbands the Eldians have to wear and much more (Short images search should do the job here). The coding of the Eldians as Jewish equivalent is complete with the Marleyan myth of Eldians ruling the world if no one does anything to hold them in control (aka every antisemitic conspiracy ever). But it doesn’t end there. We know from the manga that Paradis island is basically Madagaskar.

The Nazis planned to deport about 4 million Polish Jews to Madagaskar in the 1940′s. That plan was shortlived and obviously never put into action for various reasons. So in SNK we have the scenario that the Eldians fled to Paradis in order to get an advantage over the Marleyans. The Eldians who are not on Paradis live in Ghettos on the mainland. That’s a weird coincidence, considering how many islands our big blue planet has.

What I think is pretty bizarre is that Isayama distorts this by pairing this imo pretty obvious real live inspiration with references to Norse mythology. This is fucked up in so far that Norse mythology is so heavily appropriated by the Nazis that many runes are outlawed in Germany till today and showing interest in Norse mythology is still often associated with white supremacy (have a look at Neo-Nazi signs and see the pattern). Like, this combination of Norse and early 20th century German imagery isn’t even a dogwhistle anymore, it’s yelling “I SUCK NAZI DICK AND I LIKE IT”. The references he uses are especially Ymir and the paths, that can then be seen as the world tree Yggdrasil:

The tree connects the Eldians and the nine titans which share their number with the nine realms that Yggdrasil holds. There’s some more, tiny stuff, like Erwin being easily interpreted as a reference to the God Tyr (God of battle, who loses his right arm in the mouth of a beast) and Hanji to the God Odin (Losing an eye in a well in the pursuit of gaining knowledge and wisdom). Both of these Gods are probably the most appropriated by white supremacists. When Ymir first turns into a titan it is at castle Utgard. In Norse mythology Utgard is a place in Jotunheim, the realm of the Jotun who the giant Ymir is the first ancestor of.

In general the pairing of clear WW2 imagery and references to Norse mythology is a mixture that is VERY sketchy and should always make you suspicious. Especially since these two are not going together (as in Marley using references to Norse mythology), but against each other. So we have both sides (Marley and Eldia) associated with white supremacy. Another thing that I will never be over is that Zeke and Eren are obviously named in reference to the German words Sieg und Ehre (Victory and Honor) referencing white supremacist buzzwords.

Then we have the issue that the main conflict is not with the Marley people, who are basically our mirrorworld Nazis. The conflict is AMONG the Eldians. Liberating the Eldians form the Marleyans is not even a thing, because we’re busy keeping two Eldians from practicing genocide/euthanasia on their own kind. So in this aspect Eldians are painted basically just as bad as Marleyans (and we have that “everyone is wrong in a war” Issue again).

I think in the end Eren’s will to kill everyone will lead to Eldians and Marley people accepting their differences or whatever and leading to unision in the shared enemy (kind of already happens in the manga) and while I think that’s a possibly interesting way to go it’s imo not when one of those parties has been subjected to centuries of genocide by the other. Assistant says a good closure to the Norse Mythology theme would be the manga going for Ragnarök, so everyone, Marleyan and Eldian, dies, except for two people who start the world anew. After all anisemitism or in this case anti-eldian sentiment doesn’t just stop after a world war. I don’t really fuck with this bullshit we got in one of the recent chapters where this one Marley general was like “Oh no, they were only people after all”. Bro, your whole society is built on them not being people and all of that is gone in one day of crisis? *doubt.png*

There’s obviously more to it than that and especially my understanding of the manga might be a bit off, since I don’t read it as attentively as I used to anymore. At this point I’m so fucking suspicious of this manga tbh. I doubt that we can come out of this with an anti-imperialist or anti-fascist message.

This does of course not mean no one should read or watch the manga or anime. I read/watch it too as you see. But it’s always good to be critical of the media you consume and take concerns from others serious, when it comes to stuff like this.

#oof #long post #ppl are not gonna like this lol #Anon #nazi mention

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birdwonder · 5 years

Note

I just saw your body swap HCs for the Bucciarati gang, so could I request one for the Crusaders? I also heard about your computer troubles, so if it’s too long and rage inducing I apologize. (Hope you can get your computer fixed) (also found out I could use emojis thanks to you!)🃏

|| sorry for the late response ! thanks for the concern, jester/joker ( whatever shall i call you? ) btw !

Original Post + TW : comedic, very light nsfw

Star Dust Crusaders | Bodyswap Headcanons

Jotaro Kujo

- The two of you were heading out to buy some cold beverages when you were hit with the stand attack that wasn’t even all that surprising seeing as Dio had sent non-stop, relentless attacks against you all ever since your journey had began. What was surprising was the stand’s effects however.

- When you staggered backwards, you had unfortunately hit your head against a stop street sign that hurt more than you wanted to admit. There was some shock though, as you hadn’t bashed against the pole of the sign but the actual image it displayed it’s self - something you were sure you were too short to reach. “How the hell?” You muttered to yourself while rubbing the back of your hair, pausing when you realised how freakishly different your hair felt. Not to mention, when you looked down, those were definitely not your clothes.

- “You tell me.” A voice- Your voice responded, your own eyes glaring at you yet from a much lower angle. Shit, you were tall. Or, was this body tall? If you had to guess by your fashion, height and the fact you could see yourself and not Jotaro; well the dots were easy to connect.

- “Fuck, I’m you!” “No shit.” “Why the hell are you so god damn tall?” “That’s your issue?”

- “Ugh, suck my dick.” You groaned at his tone, already hating the situation. A guy was in your body and though you knew Jotaro wasn’t the shifty type, it was still uncomfortable to think about.

- “Don’t you mean my dick?”

- Ah, he shouldn’t have said that. The two of you both stared at each other in awkward silence, Jotaro visibly regretting what he had let slip and you, slowly starting to laugh. Your laughter was a strange sound seeing as it sounded way deeper than your original one. This must be what Jotaro sounded like when he laughed … it was nice.

- Jokingly, you wagged your brows, “does this mean you want me to whip it out?” If it wasn’t your face, you’d die of laughter at the distraught Jotaro showed, followed with a hint of fluster.

Noriaki Kakyoin

- “Now, don’t freak out,” Kakyoin tried to soothe, hands holding out to stop you from doing anything rash which didn’t work too well when even he was panicking internally. After all, the one he had to comfort had his face.

- “There’s no way I can’t, I’m… I’m you! You’re me!” Of all the times to be in a stand user’s way, why did it have to be this one ? And w h y did this weird strand of hair keep getting into your mouth?! Seriously, how does Kakyoin manage to look so cool with this pest in his face all the time?

- That wasn’t the only problem though, no. You just had to swap bodies with someone you not only thought of as cool and amazing, but freakishly handsome too. Yet you were convinced you were anything but that. Bending down, you took hold of the jacket on your body, one that Kakyoin’s mind was currently in. “What are you doing?” He asked with a confused look, watching you zip up the jacket which was horribly confusing since he had to watch his own hands fix a jacket that wasn’t even his own.

- “Zipping your- my jacket! Just don’t pay too much attention to me, ok? I’m such a mess,” you mumbled, fumbling with the zipper. Gah, you weren’t used to having such long and thin fingers. Kakyoin in return narrowed his brows, his temporarily smaller hands going over your’s.

- “Don’t start with that [First Name], you’re perfect the way you are. How we look is not our biggest problem anyways, we need to find that stand user and quick.” As much as you didn’t want to say it, he was right. You couldn’t focus on this, not when you didn’t know how permanent this situation could be. Nodding, you agreed.

- Kakyoin then smiled, a hand placing it’s self on your shoulder. [He died a little inside when he realised he had to go on his tip toes to do this.] “Come on, after all this I’ll treat us to something nice.”

Joseph Joestar

- “OH MY GO-” Joseph tried to yell but stopped abruptly when he realised how horribly strange it sounded in your voice. Of all the days you both agreed to team up, this had to be the one.

- While he was panicking in your body, you were staring at yourself in a mirror’s reflection, flexing your arm with an interested look. The way his muscles tensed and relaxed was way too good not to admire, not when his short sleeves left little to the imagination. Even for his age, this man seriously looked good and you couldn’t even try to hide that thought from him; so you didn’t. With a low whistle, you found a new pose to show off the Joestar’s muscles in, “not bad, old man. Guess you don’t skip gym day even on a retirement plan.”

- Joseph had to double take at your comment. “I’m not that old, and I sure as hell am not retiring anytime soon!” He argued, huffing before storming up to you and shoving you away from the mirror. Admittedly, he was pleasantly surprised by your praise to his physique and it really did get to his head, “you can stare all you want at my body later when we’re not facing serious danger, just get a move on now!”

- Raising a brow at the comment, you smirked to yourself as you watched your own body try to push the one you were in currently. Wonder how it felt for him. The guy would probably get a kick out of it if he just let him relax like you were. “Is that a promise? ‘Cause you can have front row tickets to your own show if you really want, Mr Joestar.” You cooed, dropping a formal title as though you weren’t suggesting something incredibly personal at all. At least it got a good reaction out of him, seeing as he paused his efforts to get you moving to stare at you with surprise. This then made you laugh, a gloved finger then moving to gently press his nose to pull him out of his dazed state. “Just kidding, pervert.”

- After that, you started to walk off ahead of him as he tried to collect his thoughts, his final reaction leaving him grumbling over what a damn tease you are and that there was no way he’d settle for the treatment you had just given him.

Mohammed Avdol

- Neither of you were too panicked by the situation thankfully, but there was still an awkwardness between you. Luckily, neither of you were the type to get too handsy and experimental with your comrade’s body so there was a strong bond of trust.

- “Doesn’t all this clothing get uncomfortable in the heat?” You questioned while on your search for the stand user, making a gesture to his body which was your’s for the time being. It was insanely hot and though you were sure you had a little bit of his endurance, the heat was agonising. “Even your stand uses fire! Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

- Avdol chuckled in response to that, his laugh not being nearly as satisfying and fun to hear as it sounded more like you than the man himself. Shaking his head, he answered casually, “I don’t mind much at all. I was raised in the heat and when you are brought up like that, you grow accustomed to it. Magician’s Red’s ability doesn’t affect me at all either, seeing as he is my stand.” He enjoyed answering your many questions you always seemed to have for him, it made him feel wise and secretly savoured every second the two of you spent alone together. Not only were you good company, but you were deeply treasured in his heart. That was something for another day however.

- “Really?” You were surprised that he could stand this at all. It was already becoming bothersome for you. Instinctively, you took a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it forwards and backwards to make some air flow across your stomach and chest. While doing so, you looked down for a split second to really take in the fact that you were in a whole other person’s body and your breath hitched at the short glimpse you had of his chest. You knew this man was healthy but you had no idea he was that fit. Wasn’t he like a semi-pacifist sorta guy?!

- Your sudden silence had concerned Avdol, leading him to questioning you. “Are you alright, [First Name]?” He was too much of a sweetheart to be real. You forced a smile and nodded, humming a happy reply. The best you could do really when you were too ashamed and surprised that you had seen the body of a god.

- “Yeah I’m alright! Just checking out the hot body I mean weather! It’s like… really hot. So let’s find the stand user soon so I can feel cool again, haha!” Totally played it off well. Avdol seemed skeptical but he moved on, nodding in agreement with a determined look. You two really did have a goal to complete and fast.

- Even so, he knew what you had done and found it incredibly adorable how worked up it had got you.

Jean Pierre Polnareff

- The moment the shock of your minds switching bodies had subsided, Polanreff’s prioritises had gotten a little jumbled. His arms wrapped around his body, which really meant your’s, caressing each curve and swayed side to side with a dreamy expression. In fairness, he did feel like he was in a dream. He was in your body! It was so soft and perfect and whooo, did he mention soft? This chest was made for loving and supporting a head, and Polnareff was seriously looking for a pillow.

- “Ma cherie, you’re just so gorgeous! You’re so wicked to have kept this from me all this time,” he exaggeratedly complained while his hands still roamed his new, greatly admired body. You on the other hand, were a blushing mess who was trying to get him to stop.

- “Polnareff, please! We need to get going,” you insisted, trying to pull his arms away as you shut your eyes tight to avoid seeing his actions. One pro side of being in his body was adopting his incredible strength.

- “Ah, oui, we shall go! But please, I need to let you know there is no way I can pass up on admiring this.” Oh please someone stop him now. “I mean, have you seen this rump?” Almost screeching, you slapped a hand over his lips and shook your head quickly with a stressed look. You were going to die of shame before any of Dio’s henchmen or women would even get to your first.

- He stared up at you with confusion before finally letting it sink in just how crude he was being. It wasn’t like he whole heartedly meant to! He just really appreciated your appearance. “Sorry cherie, I suppose I went to far, hm? I just couldn’t help myself.”

- You, unable to stay mad at the french man for longer than even a day, sighed and waved it off, knowing he meant no real harm. “It’s alright but please, we really should try and find a way to revert to our original bodies.”

- “Of course!” He enthusiastically agreed, taking a hold of your hand before starting to march off to whatever direction he so needed to go to - meaning, a random one he picked and prayed for the best. “There’s no way I can truly engross myself with your perfections from a first person’s perspective! As soon as we’re in our bodies, you’ll be showing me everything, cherie!”

- Honestly, you were a little excited by that.

Iggy

- “AAAAAH.” “woof.” “AAAAH” “wOOF?!” “AAAAAA-” “WOOOOO-”

- mother fucker you are a dOG.

#jjba x reader #request #Jean Pierre Polnareff #polnareff x reader #Jotaro Kujo #jotaro x reader #Joseph Joestar #joseph joestar x reader #oldseph #muhammad avdol #avdol x reader #kakyoin x reader #noriaki kakyoin #iggy

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jaeminzie · 4 years

Text

opposites attract | l.jn

↳ lee jeno x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: soulmate!au where if your soulmate is listening to music then it’ll be stuck in your head until they stop listening to it. in this case, you and jeno have contrasting music tastes.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,503

warnings: slight mentions of vaping

a/n: also let’s pretend that jeno is at the age to be a freshman in college in this fic lmao

being a freshman in college, the workload was something jeno wasn’t used to so he chooses to deal with it in procrastination. well, tonight is the last day to turn in majority of his assignments that he’s been holding off on. so far, he’s gotten four papers turned in and he’s currently executing all his energy to finish his last paper of the night. though he’s too frustrated at the fact that his soulmate hasn’t stopped listening to music.

see, it started off alright. at the beginning of the night, the music was mellow and perfect for studying but, approximately two hours ago, the music changed to heavy emo music (which jeno loathed) and it’s been playing nonstop since then. now he’s left with one paper but he can’t seem to type as his fingers were too occupied on gripping his soft hair in frustration.

on the other hand, you were currently laying inside your dry bathtub peacefully listening to your tunes with your body relaxed and eyes closed, humming along to the music. apparently, this was the best way to past time that you could think of without interacting with anyone. your airpods were too loud to hear your sister banging on the door telling you to get out so she could shower. so you stayed there, bopping your head but abruptly jolted when louder music blared through your head interrupting your own little music sesh.

Shut up, just shut up, shut up

is that... is that black eyed peas? you paused your music to listen a bit clearer. but a couple seconds after you paused it, the music coming from your soulmate stopped as well. shrugging, you pressed play on your phone and continued listening to your own music in oblivion.

leaving jeno collapsing on his bed in defeat.

—

the following week, you were cruising around the town just so you can be out of the house. again, you were blasting your hardcore music which left jeno, who is currently on his nightly run to destress from his college student struggles, wondering if you never not listen to music. he’d think he’d be used to his soulmate’s music taste by now but he can’t help but worry over your differences in music. you’re also on the same boat. countless nights of you ranting about your soulmate’s hetero taste of music to your group chat whenever he’d listen to justin bieber and you’d be forced to listen to him as well. of course, your kind friends would clown you making you feel worse but they’ve been trying to convince you that music taste shouldn’t be a problem. but to you, it is. and apparently to jeno, it is as well.

jeno sighed in relief when he heard the music stop in his head. he halted his running to give himself a break and entered the nearest store to buy himself a bottle of water since he stupidly forgot to bring one with him.

the bells chimed when someone entered the store but you paid no attention to it as you were too focused on picking what flavor you wanted. though, you anxiously picked the first one you saw when you noticed you were taking too long and the person standing behind you was tapping their foot, running out of patience. you hurriedly paid for the item feeling bad for holding up the line. you kept your head lowered but you managed to get a glimpse of the person who was waiting behind you. you only saw his grey sweatpants and the imprint of his muscular arms behind his baggy white shirt. and damn, you froze in your footsteps and had to take a double look of his figure when you were fully behind him so he couldn’t see you shamelessly checking him out.

you stood there timidly as you clutched your puffbar in disbelief, not knowing how to act when you’re experiencing the presence of this beautiful stranger. you looked at him from top to bottom, trying to memorize the view of his back since you knew you’ll never see him again because you felt too coy to go up to him and make a move.

“goddamn,” you whispered under your breath and dragged yourself out of the 7/11 before the boy finishes paying. you were sulking during the quick walk to your car, and immediately opened your puffbar and took a hit once you were seated inside. resting your head on the steering wheel and letting the fruity flavored smoke seep out of your mouth, you reached your hand to the volume control and cranked it up in an attempt to distract yourself.

you looked up and tried to peep through the windows to get another glance of the pretty boy. he turned around almost immediately when you found his figure, but thankfully he didn’t see you slyly peeking at him with your phone in your hands. your fingers rapidly typed away, informing your group chat that you’re currently seeing the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. you examined his face with heart eyes from afar trying to engrave the image of his face with every single dot and line in your mind so you can remember it tomorrow and the day after, but you furrowed your eyebrows when you noticed the annoyed expression plastered onto his face that didn’t seem to leave, or even lessen slightly. sitting lowly in the driver’s seat and throwing your phone in the backseat, you still kept an eye on the boy but made sure you weren’t obvious at all. you watched him walk outside of the store, fascinated by the way he walked with so much confidence and grace.

but the second he stepped onto the cement and into the warm outdoor air, he abruptly stopped his movements.

did the music just get louder? jeno thought to himself, he skimmed through the gas station and the parking lot to find the source of the loud music. you immediately made yourself look busy as if you weren’t just watching every single movement of his body and admiring every crevice of his face a couple seconds ago.

you began to panic when he kept looking over to your direction but not directly at you. yet.

you lowered your music to make sure you don’t catch his attention since you weren’t mentally prepared to meet a pretty boy tonight, but you were unfortunate. you hastily tried to put your seatbelt on but your shaky hands couldn’t get the buckle inside to lock. “please please please plea-“

knocking on your car window interrupted your pleas. scrunching your nose out of habit, you slowly looked over to your left where the knocking was. and damn, you were not ready to see the man up close. all his features, the way his eyes glistened, the way some of his hair strands sticked to his sweaty forehead, how perfectly tinted his pink lips are, and how his small mole was splattered so close to his moon crescent shaped eye. so clear under the moonlight.

he stood timidly outside your car with his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants that you were previously drooling over. without thinking and processing what was happening, it’s like your finger has a mind of its own and pressed the button to lower the slightly tinted car window itself. “um were you listening to music?” his voice was hoarse due to the dryness caused by his run.

you didn’t trust yourself to speak knowing you’ll make the atmosphere even more awkward, so you simply just gulped and nodded with a small smile.

“can i... can i listen with you?” jeno didn’t know exactly what he was asking. he didn’t know if he was hearing correctly or it was just his imagination, but he could’ve sworn that he heard the same music that was booming in his head also in the car you were currently in.

you were perplexed. how weird but no complaints, you thought. “yeah.. why not..” your voice came out small which you mentally slapped herself for making your nervousness so evident. you cranked up the volume slightly, keeping your focus on your steering wheel so you weren’t able to see the change of expression on jeno’s face.

“can i come in?” his voice seemed more alive and less soft than before since he couldn’t contain his mixed feelings as he realized that he’s standing outside of his soulmate’s car.

without any hesitation, “yes.” you slapped your mouth with your hand immediately, not knowing why you just allowed a whole stranger inside your car. but if you were to die tonight because of this god-like man, it might be a better way to die than blandly dying in your sleep. and you always loved to have spice in your life. plus, you were not about to pass an opportunity to spend time with the boy, or you’d hate yourself forever for denying him.

jeno stood there baffled, not expecting you to agree rather quickly. nonetheless, he strutted his way towards the other side of the car and shyly sat beside you inside, not bothering to wear the seatbelt. you both wanted to groan due to the painful awkward silence surrounding your strained figures. you can’t help but notice how tensed jeno was sitting in your passenger seat, his hands fiddling on his bouncing knees and his back straight. jeno faced you, “can i play a song?”

you, in awe, nodded your head enchantedly while boring your eyes into him, admiring his appearance every millisecond that passed before he turns away from you and connects the aux cord to his phone. he increases the volume slightly and hovered his shaking thumb over his phone screen, slowly pressing play. you flinched when bieber’s voice boomed inside your head and in your car, replacing the melodies of your own favored music. you covered your ears and scrunched your face until the realization came to you, causing you to relax your facial expression and lower your hands down to your thighs. being in a state of shock, the first words to come out were “what the fuck?”

the still coy boy widened his eyes in panic, “am i not what you were expecting?”

you rapidly moved your head ‘no’ in eager disagreement as you took in the feeling of finally meeting your soulmate. and god, you couldn’t wait to assist him on his music choices. but at the moment, you didn’t mind hearing the pop singer’s voice stuck inside your head. in fact, you didn’t even focus on the horrid music that jeno was playing since all your attention was placed onto the beautiful man who would not stop staring at you so intensely sitting in your car at nearly ten p.m. “no, i’m very much satisfied.” the smallest smile appeared on your face which allowed jeno to relax slightly.

a wave of courage crashed into your body when you stopped the music shortly after, you made strong eye contact with him. jeno still sat in his seat stiffly as he watched your every move with soft eyes that contrasts with his harsh posture. you leaned in painfully slow, trying to see any discomfort in jeno’s face and body language but once you saw his body relax and his eyes longing for your lips, you couldn’t help but mold your lips together.

sucking in a bit of air, you were the first to move your lips taking small control. your lips kept moving and moving but it kept its slow pace, rubbing against each other so softly. you could taste his mint-flavored chapstick smeared on his lips which messily transferred onto yours as well, while jeno could taste your strawberry-flavored lips from the puffbar— feeling intoxicated by the kiss and wanting more.

the awkward atmosphere was long gone, and you two felt nothing but warmth and familiarity as you’ve finally found one another. you two have been connected by your minds before today, but now you’re finally able to connect with one another by the use of your lips tonight.

boldly, jeno easily lifted you up off of your seat and onto his lap like it was nothing. your heartbeat became unsteady when you gripped onto his arms and felt nothing but hard muscle, his hands placed safely on your waist caressing your side softly. everything about the kiss was so nourishing, it wasn’t aggressive whatsoever— both your lips were plump and the movements of your fingertips against each other’s goosebump-covered skins were delicate. you, being the first to pull away to catch a breath, were fascinated over how amazing jeno’s stamina was. you remained on his lap, as jeno rested his forehead onto your forehead and stared deeply into your dark but shining eyes, sighing contently not knowing what to say next.

thankfully, you said the first words. “you have really shitty taste in music.” earning a genuine laugh from jeno who was shaking his head slightly in disbelief with the most beautiful eye smile you’ve ever seen.

“me? i don’t know how you don’t get a headache everytime you listen to your music.”

you smiled big causing your eyes to crinkle up. your hand reached down for the seat’s lever and made the passenger seat recline all the way back resulting to you laying onto his chest. you gasped in a joking manner, “that isn’t nice.”

“hmm, you’re the one to talk. you just insulted my music taste.” his voice became softer, but you could still sense his smile through his voice. jeno’s hand began to comb through your soft hair while your fingertips traced the outlines of his veins popping out of his arms.

“i was just telling the truth, and being honest is the best thing a person can do, sooo..” continuing to nonchalantly draw random circles and lines on his arm, you looked up at him and you immediately made eye contact since his eyes were already set on you the entire time.

pulling your hair back slightly so he can get a better view of your slightly pink tinted face, he replied with, “then i’ll be honest.” his voice came out in almost a whisper, the corners of his bruised lips from all the kissing turned upwards. “you’re so beautiful.”

you scrunched your nose because although you tried so hard to cringe at his words, you couldn’t stop the butterflies swarming in your stomach and you couldn’t stop the idiot smile forming on your face. you looked away and rested your cheek back onto his chest, returning to trace his veins while his fingers went back to work combing your hair. there, the two of you laid in silence under the moonlight taking in your soulmate’s presence. thinking maybe you’d be able to tolerate each other’s music taste for a change, and find a common ground or two.

#nct #nct 2020 #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagine #nct dream scenario #nct fanfic #nct drabble #nct dream drabbles #lee jeno #jeno #jeno fanfic #jeno fluff #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno drabbles #soulmate jeno

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spiderling-space · 4 years

Note

Could I please request MC as that conspiracy guy with the hidden mickey’s? I saw it on your prompts list and I am still laughing at the possibilities!

Thank you Rell for asking this when the inbox was open and finally igniting green light for me <33<33

I decided that this idea is too crack to only apply to numbered characters so this is going to be a mini-series and crossposted on AO3. This mini-series is based on this prompt I have.

There will be 9 chapters in total including prologue and epilogue. I can’t promise any update schedule, I go with the flow. A meme to summarize the fic.

Special thanks to @serenitystarrie for allowing me to utilize their perfectly organized Hidden Mickey Mouse locations.

The Prologue's Locations #1 and #2. Spoiler yourselves on your own risk.

Italics indicate thoughts

Everywhere I Go, I See His Sign

Prologue

No one could blame (Y/N) for occupying themselves with something else to stay awake during Trein’s class. It wasn’t their fault at all, there was just something in Trein’s voice that made people want to sleep. So they just tried to focus on everything but Trein and to be the only one who managed to stay awake in their friend group. At first, (Y/N) just stared outside through the window get got bored and started to count the bricks on the wall but there weren’t much to begin with and their endeavor ended quickly. Their eyes flicked to the bookshelf, it was impossible to read the titles from where they were sitting, hence that didn’t hold their attention for long.

Maybe I should start listening to what Trein is saying, I might learn something.

Not a minute later, (Y/N) was yawning. So much for trying… They decided listening to the professor wasn’t going to work out, in order to stay awake, they continued where they left off. On the top of the bookshelf, there was a purple globe and golden signs on the surface, curved lines and a couple of dots. I bet there are more than 10 dots on it. 1…2…3…4… (Y/N) stopped counting when they noticed an abnormality on the globe. There was a shape that didn’t follow the pattern, two small circles were connected to a bigger one. That’s strange… Everything is in perfect condition in the NRC… Maybe they didn’t notice something as small as that. Either way, there was no point of thinking about something as trivial as that. Though, it was way more entertaining than the history class.

(Y/N) poked Ace, “Shhhht, how many minutes left until the class is over?”

Ace opened his one eye and glared at them for waking him up. He took a peek at his phone told them that 13 minutes left then he went back to sleep.

13 more minutes… It seemed like they started the class hours ago and it still had 13 more minutes. As (Y/N) waited the time to pass, they kept glancing at the globe above the shelf as if the abnormal mark on it was calling for them.

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

Finally, the class was over and it was lunchtime. The gang went to the cafeteria and was waiting in the line, chatting about the assignments Trein gave after he saw people sleeping. (Y/N) was having fun at their expense because they didn’t get an assignment for being awake during the class. Ace, Deuce and Grimm were complaining about the amount of pages they were going to write, which was making (Y/N) crack. They turned their head to the side to conceal their chuckle. While they were turning back, a shape on the wall caught their eyes. There on the wall between the torch and the column stood the 2 small circles being connected to the bigger circle, just like the one they saw during the class. This one was bigger since it could have been seen from distance.

Before (Y/N) could dwell on the shape anymore, the line moved and it was their turn to grab the food. They dismissed the thoughts about the shape, thinking that they saw wrong. It was food time and there was no need to think about anything else.

After getting their lunch, the gang went over to sit at their usual table. “I think you should have gotten an assignment too, (Y/N).” Ace talked before taking a bite out of his meal. “You weren’t sleeping but you weren’t paying attention either. Right, Deuce?”

Deuce was in the middle of chewing his meal when Ace tried to include him in the discussion. He answered after gulping, “They managed to stay awake. I think that deserves an award.”

Ace’s face cringed, “Traitor.” He then turned to Grimm tp get his support. “C’mon~ You must agree with me.” Unfortunately for him, Grimm was too busy chunking the food down his throat, completely ignoring Ace who finally shut up after getting no support.

“I’ll help you pick up the books since I’m a supportive friend.” (Y/N) said cheekily, chuckling afterward. They really needed to go the library too. Grimm needed the books to finish the assignment and he wasn’t capable of carrying them with his tiny paw-paws.

Their stomach grumbled, reminding them to eat sustenance. After (Y/N) finished eating, they pushed their tray further onto the table so they could have space to put their hands on while they waited others to be done with their food as well. There, on the table, was another symbol, the 3 circles one looking almost identical to the others they saw. They openly stared at the symbol, tracing the outline with their fingers. Am I imaging things? The one on the globe could be a stain and the one on the wall could be the deformation of the brick. And this one… Maybe a mistake of the carpenter. Though, it is strange to see mistakes such as this in the NRC.

They must have zoned out too much because Deuce was tapping them on the shoulder. “Our next class is about the start.”

“If you want, we can leave you alone with the table. Seems like you are falling in love with it.” Ace quipped as he took his tray from the table and started walking to the trash.

“Jerk…” (Y/N) mumbled under their breath.

“Hey, henchperson!” Grimm was pulling their sleeve. “Carry me!” It was annoying that Grimm was giving them comment but he was small and cute so they didn’t mind carrying him occasionally. They allowed Grimm to climb on their shoulder and took both his and their trays to throw away the trash and put them to where the dirty trays are collected.

After putting the trays, they exited the cafeteria, then changed into the sports uniform in the locker room. The moment the bell rang, Vargas told everyone to start doing warm-ups, followed by 10 laps around the field and 30 pushups. (Y/N) held themselves back from groaning, not wanting to increase the number of laps or pushups.

(Y/N) was only human and not the most athletic person in the world and they doubted even the most athletic person could run 10 laps without stopping for a moment to take a breath. They sat on the grass, trying to adjust their breathing as they were looking around. They had to admit the sports field had a perfectly splendid sight with all the shades of green.

They were about to get up and continue on the track when they spotted a sign on one of the bushes. 3 circles again? It was dark green colored, standing out on the bushes. Was it always there or is my brain playing tricks on me and making me see things? They decided to check the sign from a closer distance to make sure it is real.

“(Y/N)! 2 more laps for trying to sneak away!” (Y/N) startled as Vargas’ voice boomed on the field. Damn it! They just got punished because the sign distracted them. “You will have two more if you keep standing there!”

(Y/N) knew there was no point in arguing against Vargas unless they wanted to add more laps as punishment so they ignored the sign and went back on the track. I will take a closer look after the class.

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

Unfortunately for (Y/N), they were too exhausted to move a finger, let alone have the energy to examine the weird symbol after the class ended. They just wanted to get back to Ramshackle, take shower, eat junk food and never get up from the bed but they still had one more stop to make, the library. Because of Grimm’s actions, they needed to walk more. God damn it… I can’t feel my legs.

Finally, they reached the library and began browsing for the book. Grimm started looking at the book on the computer and find which aisle it was located, meanwhile (Y/N) sat on one of the seats as they waited for him. Yeet, I hope we don’t need to get one of those floating books. What is even their purpose? Students would spend extra effort to see the title of the book and waste time. Or are they here for aesthetics? They sighed, lowering their head. What an unnecessary way of using magic… They had to admit the library was impressive, having all those books while looking at the endless corridor of the library. As Grimm was still looking for the book, they turned their attention to the other objects of the library. None of the lamps were in the same shape and the columns had different designs. One of them had frequent dots while the other more scattered dots. Their attention turned to the other column between Aisle I and II which had larger dots than the others.

Wait for a second… Is that? (Y/N) got up from their seat and stepped towards that column, crouching to see the sign better. Are you kidding me? Here too? Nope! This is just some random symbol, there is no way, it is the same one I saw in other places. Besides, all other columns have dots. Coincidentally, this one had two circles connected to a bigger one. (Y/N) was determined to just forget about it since they knew it would be a ridiculous idea for these signs to have a pattern.

“Hey Henchperson, I found the name of the book now bring me it.” Grimm ordered them as usual. Normally, (Y/N) would teach him some manner but they were too tired to care so they asked which aisle the book was in so they can grab it and go back to Ramshackle.

As soon as Grimm told them the number of the aisle and the book and the color of the book as well, (Y/N) didn’t wait for Grimm and just went to grab it. They were looking at the shelf numbers in that disorganized aisle. Libraries are supposed to be tidy and organized. Why is everything in this school so chaotic? And who even color codes the books?! This should be a crime!

“Alright green color and number 4…” They whispered faintly, looking at all the shades of green and number 4 then checking the title. After checking a couple of books, their attention turned to 3rd shelf. “Ah there you are, The Developments in the Last 100 years. Finally, I can go to my bed.” Whilst they were reaching for the book, the red book with golden marks caught their attention. The book wasn’t titled, having only shapes on it, that 3 circles shape was one of them. Maybe the book is about the meaning of this symbol. I’ll check it out after resting. They grabbed both Grimm’s book and the red colored one and walked towards Grimm. Together, they checked out the books from the librarian and head over to Ramshackle.

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

(Y/N) couldn’t wait to get read the strange book so that they would know they aren’t seeing unordinary things. As soon as they entered their dorm, Grimm dashed to the kitchen saying that sports class and the library made him hungry. They were also hungry and would never say no to some snacks. They put the books on the coffee table in the lounge before joining Grimm.

Grimm and (Y/N) brought their snacks to the lounge and sat on the couch, chatting while eating their respective food though Grimm tried to take what’s on their plate 5 times at least. After finishing their food, (Y/N) leaned back on the couch and stretched themselves out. Then they just looked around the lounge. It looked way more different than the first night they stayed there. Now everything was tidy and organized. Dare they said, it was cozy and the fireplace just increased the coziness of Ramshackle.

Hold up… The clock on the fireplace caught their eye and they got up to see it better. This age-old clock has that symbol too. I can understand the others since they are fairly new but this dorm hasn’t been occupied for decades. They wondered if there are more signs in the lounge so they turned around, their eyes scanning the room quickly. There was another mark in the lounge, on the painting hanging above the door. Hmmm, that could be the painter’s signature or something.

“Why are you acting weird?” Grimm asked after burping. Ew!

“Nothing nothing… I’ll just go take shower then nap. You do Trein’s assignment. I’m not going to lower my score because of you.” (Y/N) wasn’t going to tell Grimm about the symbols before they were certain that there was a pattern with it. Now they were going to search upstairs if there were more signs while Grimm was busy downstairs then took shower because the smell of sweat was killing their nostrils. “And don’t even think about slacking off or you won’t sleep on the bed tonight.”

With that, (Y/N) took the red book and headed towards their bedroom, putting the book on the small table near the armchair. Then they took off their shoes to not make noise as they searched the rooms for that damned sign.

Here I go…

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst mc #twisted wonderland mc #twst grim #twisted wonderland grim #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #ficlet #gender neutral reader

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scoopsgf · 4 years

Text

can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it!

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I��m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it...

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps.

#marvel #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my writing #friendly neighborhood fic exchange #may parker #pepper potts #michelle jones #spideychelle #pepperony #nugget the dog #insomnia

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Text

I can be your lover

part 2

It’s stupid, Sander thinks, holding on to the hard bathroom counter, needing something to ground him, staring at the clippers right next to the sink. It’s just hair, this was never a problem for him but for a reason it is now. Robbe loves his bleached hair, and Sander knows in a weird way, this is the end of an era. He’s been bleaching his hair for almost two years, Robbe doesn’t know him any other way. And now they’re living hours away from each other, not even in a real relationship yet and here is Sander, about to throw away the only thing that he feels still connects him and the experience Robbe had with him.

It’s stupid, he repeats to himself as he grabs the machine, holding it firmly in his palm, turning it on and wrapping his fingers around it to not mess this up too badly, lifting it up, thinking it’ll be better to start from the sides where’s shorter. His hair is getting long, too long and it gives him enough room to not go completely bald. He looks at his phone on the counter and thinks about recording it, sending the video to Robbe as a joke but he knows Robbe will be a little upset so he decides against it, checking if he’s using the right one and he presses it gently against his scalp, feeling almost instantly his hair falling against his face, tingling his cheek.

He can’t really see it, but when he’s done with the right side, he puts the clippers down and touches the counter, feeling the fuzz instead of the slick texture from before, and he pushes everything to one spot until he can see a tiny pile forming, the bleached hair and some dark dots at the ends.

Sander goes back to the other side, the back and the top at last, trying to avoid actually looking at himself in the mirror unless it’s necessary to have a decent haircut. He takes his shirt off when he’s done and tries to clean his shoulder with it before looking forward.

It’s not that bad, but it’s still dark hair where it was white before. It’s a good length, not too short, definitely shorter on the sides. It feels weird even for him, he can’t imagine how Robbe will react. He’ll take care of the mess later. The tiny hair strands all over his shoulders, neck and back are quickly getting on his nerves, so he pushes his boxers down and jumps out of them, turning the shower on and getting inside the bathtub.

It feels a lot different washing his hair, Sander can’t remember the last time his hair was this short. He tries not to overthink it as he takes a quick shower. Hair grows back, and it’ll be back to normal in no time.

Milan’s picture is on his phone when he jumps off the shower so Sander puts his phone down and accepts the call as he grabs his towel, drying his chest before wrapping around his waist, putting his phone back up, pushing it against the mirror on the wall before taking his hand off the camera.

Milan opens his mouth wide and laughs, clapping his hands, clearly enjoying seeing Sander shirtless too.

“Oh my god! Sander!” He sounds surprised, but happy and Sander uses it to calm himself.

“Do you think Robbe will like it?” Sander asks anxiously and Milan tilts his head like he just heard something very dumb.

“And why are you worried about what he’ll think?”

Sander snorts, grabbing his phone to leave the bathroom. Nobody really knows what’s going on between him and Robbe. How would they know? It’s complicated even for Sander to understand, but he knows they’re not the best at hiding their feelings either, no matter how much they don’t kiss in front of anyone and try as best as they can to act like normal friends.

“He’ll love it, I’m sure. Now you and Senne look like actual twins! The same black and white, edgy aesthetics. Too bad you live away now so you’ll have to make your own closet without sharing it with Senne...or Robbe.”

Sander nods his head, biting the inside of his cheek. He misses Robbe more than he’s willing to admit, he misses his smell, seeing Robbe stealing some of his clothes, wearing it around the house when they were alone.

“How is he?”

Milan sighs loudly, leaning against his chair, “I mean...he’s good at pretending.”

Sander sighs, sitting on his bed, going back again to the reasons why he should just stay here. He’s tired of living with his parents, no company is willing to pay him as well as he’s been paid right now, he has his dream job. He’s just one short flight away from home, he has his own space with nobody to share it with.

There are so many good, solid reasons to be here, to make the choice of moving away. And still, thinking about Robbe makes all of those reasons seem unnecessary and futile. But Robbe has a lot to figure out too, and they needed space and so Sander created the space between them. Doesn’t make him miss Robbe any less. Being the reasonable one is not a thing Sander likes to be, it doesn’t come naturally to him so it’s like his nature is constantly fighting him, wanting to go back home and drop everything else.

Milan gets easily distracted talking about Senne and Zoe and Sander hums agreeing or disagreeing whenever he feels it’ll fit the conversation while he opens his conversation with Robbe.

to Robbe: Can you talk now?

Robbe is online and the bubbles appear instantly on his screen.

to Sander: am with the boys

kinda drank a little

not sure if it’s safe for us to talk now

Sander smiles at his phone, thinking about a shy and drunk Robbe trying to talk to him while having his friends watching. The thought of Robbe not being able to hide how soft he goes for Sander makes him find any excuse to end his call with Milan and instantly call Robbe.

He looks around while he waits and grabs a clean shirt that’s on his bed, putting it on quickly, just then remembering about his hair, very sure Robbe will not be able to hide his feelings about it either. Sander can’t make himself be mad if the boys find out they’re together. He keeps biting the corner of his bottom lip until a shaky image finally appears and he sees Robbe a second later, the boys talking loudly off camera.

“What did you do?!” Robbe almost screams, frowning and coming closer to the camera like that’ll make him see better.

“You like it?” Sander is overwhelmed by how loud and fast his heart is beating but he notices how insecure and afraid he sounds and he hopes the boys are busy with something else not to notice it too.

“Sander...why did you do that?” He whines and pouts a little and Sander wants to kiss him so badly.

The boys end their little moment, jumping around Robbe to see whatever he’s seeing and complaining about.

“Wow, bro! Looks so nice!” Moyo is the first one to say anything and Sander tries to smile and look at him, whispering a thank you back, too worried about Robbe’s thoughts still.

“So edgy.” Aaron says like it’s an afterthought and Jens and Moyo laugh.

“Yeah, Sander, looks sick! I’m sure the ladies are climbing all over you with the new look.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that and he doesn’t have to because Robbe finally walks away from them, seeming to close the living room door behind him, walking by himself down the hall between the bedrooms.

“I miss you.” Sander fills the awkward silence for both of them.

“I miss you too.” Robbe whispers like he’s ashamed to say it and Sander knows he’s just saying because of the beers he probably already drank.

“Why don’t you just tell them?”

“What is there to tell? Especially now that you’re somewhere else, fucking whoever you like.” Robbe sounds really annoyed, throwing himself against a wall and Sander sighs, knowing the boys are probably gossiping a lot about him and whatever he’s doing with his free time here, by himself, filling Robbe’s brain with bullshit.

“You can’t imagine the line outside my place.” He tries not to sound too hard, smiling when Robbe rolls his eyes.

“I have an idea. I gave you a note, remember? When you left and it’s not like I got anything back...”

“What?” Sander gets up from his bed to walk around aimlessly like Robbe is doing again.

“You don’t know that I like you? Is that it?” Robbe blushes but doesn’t say sorry or explain why he hasn’t come to visit yet, “You’re the one with the plane ticket just getting old inside your drawer or something.”

It takes a long minute but Robbe finally wets his lips, searching for what to say.

“You know I like things to be very clear, right?”

“What is Jens filling your head with?”

“He’s not doing anything.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you jealous?” Robbe smiles expectantly, walking slower now, thankfully, wanting to give Sander his full attention for what he says next.

“What is there to be jealous about? Especially now that you’re somewhere else, fucking whoever you like.” Sander snorts, unable to think of anything other than how beautiful Robbe looks on his screen right now. “Yeah, I’m fucking jealous.”

“I just want you. Nobody else.”

“So come see me already, Robin. Please.” Robbe smiles and Sander doesn’t feel so self aware for whining, needing to see his boy soon.

They stay in silence for a long time, looking at each other, noticing the big or small differences.

“I like how long your hair is getting.” Sander says with a comfortable smile of his lips, lying back down on his bed, adjusting his pillow underneath his head.

“I don’t like when you call me Robin…” Robbe whispers, looking at Sander to get his reaction.

“You don’t?” Sander lifts his eyebrows, surprised, absently running his fingers through his scalp, feeling how fuzzy it is, wishing he could make Robbe feel it too, make some comment about how he likes it or not.

“Not like this...when you’re being serious.”

Sander nods his head, his smile growing bigger, “So you like it when I use it to annoy you.”

Robbe shrugs, and rests his head against the wall, “Can I go in two weeks?”

“Really?!” Sander pushes himself to sit up.

“Yeah.”

“Of course you can. Tell me the time you get here and I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #robbe x sander #sobbe

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mrvdocks · 4 years

Text

Nightcall P.1

Request/Summary: Kurt is obsessive over a model and kidnaps her, taking her along for the ride of the night.

After

The flurry of phones ringing off the hook and background noise felt foreign to you, it was just a buzzing in your ear. You pulled the safety blanket around you closer, grabbing it in fistfuls. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, but it feels like hours. The fluorescent in the room probably only made you look even worse for wear than you were hours before, but it didn’t matter now. In a span of 24 hours, your life had changed.

The guarded door opened and an officer pulled up a chair in front of you, dropping photos of the gruesome scene you’d seen firsthand. She slides the photos closer, her thumb obscuring the killer’s face. You didn’t need to see it a second time.

“You were found in the residence of Mr. Kunkle, with one Jessie Adams and a John Doe, who seems to have been the victim of Mr. Kunkle’s spree amongst others.”

Even his name brings chills down your spine.

“I already told the police everything.” You say groggily, your throat still sore from the whole ordeal.

“Yes, but there seems to be some doubt on your partnership with Mr. Kunkle. Footage, eyewitness accounts,” she’s studying you no doubt. Any sort of tick or movement you made without thought that could somehow lead her to think you were lying about anything you had explained earlier.

“What was your relationship with Mr. Kunkle?” She pries, bringing multiple photos of Kurt to be splayed out in front of you. Some good, some bad, some….disturbing.

“I - none. He just knew me through the socials.”

“And you were also the target of his mania.” There’s something unsettling in how much she’s liking interrogating you. You ignore it.

“You think it’s my fault he did this.”

It was not your fault. None of this was. Kurt was just too power hungry. Maybe you were too trusting. You didn’t want to see Kurt for what he really was until it was too late.

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, but your compliance does seem suspicious.”

“I-I didn’t know him very well. He was just my Spree driver for a day. But he was always nice to me.”

“He was also your kidnapper.”

“Like I said, he was a nice guy.” Your voice breaks.

They’re all nice guys until they aren’t.

“And you didn’t think to call the authorities when you were alone? Were you helping him lure these people?”

You can feel her eyes burning into you.

“I’m not stupid,” you cry. “I know how this sounds. But I’m telling you, he gave me a ride and then he - all of this. Oh God.”

You bring your shaky hands to run through your worn and tired face, specks of dried blood still prominent even through many washes with soap. It’s another way Kurt managed to stay with you.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” she sits back with her arms folded. “And spare no detail.”

Before

He scrolls through your feed for the millionth time today.

Photos of you on your daily walks, exploring hidden LA gems, posting places you were shooting at, people you were hanging out with, all at the touch of a button for him. The bell notification alerts him, telling him that you’ve posted. He taps the screen in the blink of an eye, meeting your face as you giggle about falling while skating.

You pout as you show the damage, remarking that it was lucky you weren’t shooting that day otherwise you would’ve had to cover up on such a hot day.

In a vain industry, you try to keep yourself humble and that’s what he loves about you. Though he’s never met you, he thinks you could live up to the image he’s created of you. One that matches your optimistic and humorous one.

He re watches your story, pausing at random moments where he screenshots and saves to his photos. His home screen is a shot of you in black and white, seemingly topless from chest down and looking back with an enticing smile. He loves the way your hair frames your face, the way pieces of it were meticulously picked out to give it a sort of messy look.

You could make anything look good, he thinks.

Bobby gives him a hard time about you, bragging about how he knows you and that although you’re more well known than he is, you are the one who should be grateful for his exposure.

Kurt thinks it’s bullshit but he wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, maybe you’d come around to meet him one day.

The vibration of a text brings him out of his daze, seeing Bobby’s name in big bold letters.

He can’t believe his eyes when he opens the text. It’s an off guard video of you behind Bobby, giggling at something on your phone before noticing that he’s recording and flashing a cheeky smile and a peace sign.

“Found your girlfriend.” Bobby mocks before erupting into hysterical laughter.

Kurt replays it until his phone dies, Bobby’s words echoing in his head.

An idea pops into his head, it would be difficult if he didn’t know your exact routine but thanks to your fan accounts and the power of gossip blogs, it’s a definite success.

He calls Bobby immediately, hearing him and his entourage in the background as they talked about a video idea.

“What do you want, Kurt? I’m busy right now.” His annoyance is clear but Kurt is way too focused on you to notice.

“I need a favor.”

It’s amazing what the internet contains about a person. It’s also quite terrifying. Through just a few minutes of research, he’s found out your schedule along with where you went to school, where you live and your closest friends.

In a photo Bobby had taken, the location of the next shoot you had taking place somewhere was barely visible.

He connects the dots, thinking about how your involvement could help him get #TheLesson out and make him a household name.

And it’s exactly what he does the day of. He parks near your neighborhood, foot bouncing and anxiously looking at his phone. He declines the others in hopes of finding you according to the schedule. You almost never use your real name on anything when going out but he recognizes your fake name and location, he puts the car into drive and talks himself up.

He parks across the street, giving him a better view of you.

His heart skitters when he sees you look in his direction, your brows quirk up as you give him an easy smile and cross carefully.

You stop and bend to meet him at the passenger window, “Kurt, right?”

His name coming out of your mouth is something he’s dreamed of since he first saw you. He almost pinches himself to know if this is real.

He knows he’s grinning like an idiot because you laugh at his speechlessness.

“Sorry,” he motions to the backseat, “Hop in!”

“I take it you know who I am.”

You’re not oblivious to your recognition, but with some guys it was just always a hit or miss. They either wanted you to take your top off or asked for some weird things.

“Are you kidding? I’m like your biggest fan.” He beams, going back on the road.

You’re not good at accepting compliments, so all you can manage is a shy smile and a, “Thanks!”

You notice his set up of cameras and ask him about it, to which he says they’re just for protection. Throughout the ride you learn more about him, particularly that he was going something the next day called The Lesson. He had a very particular view about this digital world you both lived in, talking about these odd jobs he’d been doing along with trying to build up his following. In between talking about himself, he mentions Bobby and the events of last night from the video.

“Oh right, Bobby.” You roll your eyes at the mention of his name.

Bobby was a pain in your ass sometimes, acting all high and mighty all the time and just like he was the overall shit.

“Yeah he’s alright. He could just tone it down a little.”

“Oh yeah - definitely, he was the same when he was a kid. Just pure chaotic energy.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

In between other conversations, Kurt brought back the spotlight to you, asking you about different people you hung out with. It was pleasant conversation, you felt like you were talking to an old friend and letting off some steam. The red flags hadn’t gone off just yet.

To let loose and make you live a little, Kurt races past a red light and nearly misses being in a collision.

It startles you but he assures you there’s no danger.

“You trust me right?” He asks, glancing back to you.

“I mean, yeah.”

The confirmation is validation to him. It’s all he needed to begin.

He picks up another passenger, an older man who definitely did not hide the way he was staring at your body. You’re thankful for sitting a little father from him but when Kurt initiates conversation with him, everything goes downhill.

“I know you from somewhere.” The man points out, his obvious staring makes you cringe as you stay silent.

“You’re that model, I’ve seen your stuff around Westwood. Bangin’ body.”

You can feel the anger in your chest rise as Kurt finally notices.

“What’s going on?” He glances to the back, meeting your shifting eyes.

The man ignores him. “Sweetheart when someone compliments you, the nice thing to do is smile.”

That did it.

“Excuse me? I don’t owe you shit!” You grit.

“Whoa! Whoa! Sir you can’t be saying that anymore.” Kurt changes lanes, ready to stop if the situation gets worse.

“She should be proud she doesn’t look like her people. All of ‘em just fat and lazy.”

“Excuse me?! My people?” You’re sure you don’t look the least bit intimidating but it doesn’t matter. You were willing to kick this man’s ass if need be.

Kurt pulls off the the side of the road, “Alright, get out.”

“What? No, I paid for this ride fair and square. I’m not leaving for shit. I can say what I want.” He says adamantly.

“Sir if you make those comments again I’m going to have to cancel the Spree.”

Something clicks in Kurt’s head as he remembers the water bottles.

He motions for you to take the passenger seat which you do without much hesitation.

Kurt waits a minute before merging again, glancing at the man every so often and taking more desolate streets. You don’t notice the absence of cars and you definitely don’t notice when the man takes a bottle and practically chugs it.

Kurt smirks as he slows down. “Hey maybe you should let them know you’re not going to make it.”

Confused, you glance at Kurt and then at the man who’s now starting to grab at his throat and coughing violently.

Your eyes widen as you attempt to get Kurt to stop the car but he doesn’t move, instead he keeps his eyes trained on the road.

“Kurt, stop the car.”

The man’s coughs get worse by the second and he turns a very bright red.

“Kurt! Stop the car!”

You’re frozen, helpless to watch the man as he tries to grab at Kurt from behind but coughs up blood and passes out in the backseat. You slink back in your seat, utterly terrified of what just happened.

Adrenaline and fear course through you. You side eye Kurt who is not as affected by this as you are as he merely readjusts his camera.

You begin to hyperventilate and try the passenger door. When it doesn’t budge you shut your eyes and cry.

“I won’t say anything. I won’t I promise. I promise, Kurt. Please.”

Kurt sighs as he retrieves a piece of cloth from his pocket. Your eyes widen as he comes close and pins you in your seat and smothers you with the cloth. You struggle under him, pushing against his chest to no avail.

The smell of the chloroform inundates your senses and in a matter of seconds you feel your eyes roll back and everything go black.

Once you’re knocked out, Kurt takes both your phone and the other passengers to knock suspicion off of him. He has plans for the racist prick in the back, but for you, he has much bigger plans.

#kurt kunkle #kurt kunkle x reader #spree #haha i'm not dead just suffering from writers block

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