#this man is definitely allergic to the idea of vulnerability

[silly-bees]

i know we shit on miguel for beating up miles and how it was unnecessary and stuff, and that's totally true. he should not be beating the hell out of children. he definitely should spend time in spider-jail for that. but can we talk about how terrified this man must be?

the loss of his daughter is fresh- possibly within less than a year fresh, and it was all his fault (at least that is what is interpreted by him). an entire UNIVERSE got destroyed because of his actions and now some punk kid who he was been trying to hard to keep out of this operation suddenly appears and starts making the same mistakes miguel did.

miguel sees this kid preaching that he can fix it all and miguel 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴. he can remember thinking those same things. he can remember the naivety of being someone new to multi-dimensional travel; but understanding doesn't change the risks, and this kid threatens everything miguel has seeked to fix.

miles is thinking like miguel did and that terrifies him. it terrifies him that what happened to his world would happen to everyone else's and it would inevitably be 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭'𝘴 fault. not miles', not anyone else, miguel's (in his mind, anyway).

so, yes. yes he shouldn't have chased miles, but fear does things to the brain. fear leads to desperation and desperation leads to miles' determination and that leads to more fear and it continues in this vicious cycle of pain, danger and pure, guilty terror.

i'm not excusing his actions, but i understand them. i understand them and it hurts so bad in a good way.

[otomiyaa]

Sexy Back

Deadpool x Colossus

[Fic Reupload] - For @theanonemu, myself and everyone around who still loves this lovely duo! With thanks to the lovely for @wertzunge for retrieving it for me ^^ Fic was originally written in 2018.

Summary: Wade has a mission, personal and very important: To tickle Colossus, if he’s even ticklish anywhere. Ha, you should try that sometime, without dying. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.7K

“Ohhh man.” Wade came walking out of Colossus’ room, waving his Deadpool mask around that had gotten all damp with his own.. well yeah. You know, drool, sweat and such. Grossss. Getting tickled to real death just had its consequences, and uhh right, he kinda knew this would happen.

Negasonic just came out of the other room, and she raised one eyebrow, looking totally unimpressed at probably how messy he looked right now.

“Again?” she asked. Wade shrugged and continued to wave his mask in front of him for some fresh air. 

“What do you mean again? That is not nice,” he sighed as he strode towards the bathroom.

“Oh I don’t know. This morning. Yesterday maybe four, or five times. Six? And now again? Just give up Wade. I’m getting allergic to that laughter of yours, if I could even call it that.” Wade simply turned to face Ms. roasting warhead and smiled.

“That makes two of us. But nah, if you think that I’m gonna give up, you don’t know Deadpool dear. That guy,” he pointed at at Colossus’ room.

“…Has to have a weak spot and I will find it. And the moment I do, I will hear and see, and induuulge myself in Colossus’ beautiful laughter and you’ll just wish you could too. Pool out.” 

He rolled into the shower after climbing out of his partially drenched suit and sang a beautiful Colossus sucks ballad while purifying himself of any leftover sweat, and tingly sensations. 

He had truly believed today would succeed. He was suited up and ready to go. Colossus was on his bed, reading some boring book. Wade had done some real serious research on sensitivity of metal bodies (well yeah, the results were less serious but still), and he had drawn the entire plan out, from sneaking into the room to catching that metal foot under the blankets from his safe position at the end of the bed to tickle his sole. 

He had tried that before but failed, but now he succeeded, and it still failed since Colossus wasn’t tickled by this. Just provoked, and it resulted in the usual: Wade getting a payback that was unfair as hell.

Not today. I mean, well yeah today already happened but… not tonight. Because in that lovely shower, Wade got an idea. A very brilliant idea that made all those other failed attempts go to waste. Why didn’t he think of it sooner? Not in the morning to wake him up. Not during his desk work. Not during his nap-time, cleaning time (hell yes it was a very nice try though Wade had to give himself that) and also not during his relaxing reading-time.

Wade had to go for the middle of the night because why? #1. Same vulnerability as in the morning because he would be pulled out of his sleep (well yeah Wade’s try in the morning went just very very wrong for other reasons, let’s not mention those), but most definitely #2: because the others would be asleep.

Now why was that an important factor? Because Colossus had to be the sweetest most considerate metal man in the world, who would not wake everyone from their precious sleep (”Sleep, sleep is good. You should sleep,” is what he would always tell everyone), so Wade would at least be safe from one of those ridiculously nearly murderous revenges (coming from that same sweetest metal man of the planet, world? universe? Never mind). 

So yeah. Wade was clean again. Later that day, he ignored Negasonic’s taunts about his laughter and ticklishness, smiled at cute Yukio for calling him cute, and even bluffed at Colossus that he was not going to give another try. 

Colossus was always very casual about it all and usually didn’t say anything about it, his answer this time being nothing more than:

“Good.” Wade smiled. It was a long wait until nightfall. Until late late nightfall, it had to be the perfect time. No suit this time. Just him, his trash T-shirt so he was ready to go to bed after this satisfying success, and his boxer shorts. Heh, well to be honest Colossus had seen him in less than that, oops, so nothing to worry about. 

Wade, for the umpteenth time, tiptoed into Colossus’ room at the perfect time and carefully closed the door. Colossus was in bed, and his heavy breaths were heard throughout the entire room. Sleeping. Sleeping sleeping like a -

Wade blinked as he started into Colossus’ wide open eyes the moment he got to his bed-side. Sleeping like a faker.

“Fooled you.” Wade gasped when Colossus grabbed him and pulled him in bed. He squirmed as he was rolled under him, but soon stopped struggling when he realized Colossus had other intentions. Their lips met, and Wade relaxed under him.

There was nothing like kissing Colossus’ out-of-this-world lips. Like shit they were a pair of lips that belonged to a metal man. No one knew like Wade what that was like. What it was like to suckle on them, teasingly brush his tongue in between them, taste themー

Well, technically everyone he knew also knew since Wade told everyone in detail, but still, it was his and his experience alone.

“So, you came to…?” Colossus asked when he switched to placing gentle kisses down Wade’s jawline. He then pulled back and looked fondly at him. The moon outside took care of enough light in this room to see the twinkle in his eyes and his slightly parted sexy lips. 

Wade shook his head, deciding not to ask Colossus why he was awake at this time because he’d get the same question back in doubles.

“…Sleep with you. Duh.” Believable. Colossus simply shrugged and awarded him with his sexy lips again. Sexy lips yeaaah. Wade caressed the back of his head, his sexy heaaad. He fluttered his fingers down the back of his neck. A very sexy and unticklish neck. He scribbled his fingers down Colossus’ back. 

The sexy part between his shoulder blades, down his spine, towards his sexy lower back and..

“Ufh.” He felt Colossus’ breath against his lips. It was a soft sigh that came out of him. A slight hum was mixed with it. Wade didn’t dare to hope for it, not at this stage, but he had to try. 

His fingers that were ready to cup two cheeks of a very sexy ass, went back and remained at Colossus’ lower back. He trailed his fingers along the smooth metal skin there and an instant smile appeared on his face when he felt Colossus jump slightly.

“Hmmh.. Wade..” he muttered, pulling away from the kiss. Wade wasn’t sure if the moon provided them of enough light, but he probably had the most wicked grin plastered on his face and there was no way around that.

“Found. It.” He scribbled his fingers at some of the sweet spots he guessed at and watched how Colossus’ facade was quick crumble. The corners of his lips twitched and a low grumbly “Huhuhu” was the first sort of laughter to come out of him.

“What’s the matter, metalboy? T-i-c-k-l-i-s-h?” Wade whispered, and his fingers did their best at tickling him some more. 

“W-Wade no. Don’t..” It was a soft whisper, but there was defnitely more sound to what followed.

“H-haha, no. Do not make me…” Colossus’ hands already moved from where they cupped Wade's cheeks and he was almost ready to tickle him back when Wade raised and kissed him as a counter attack. He then smirked at him and said:

“Don’t think so. You know I’ll be loud, and the others will not appreciate it. So just be a big boy now and let me have my fun for once, for hell’s sake.” He kissed him again and went back to tickling that sexy back. 

Colossus immediately broke their kiss and Wade was laughing in delight when he chose to bury his face in his neck, laughing sweetly and even squirming slightly. Not too much squirming, no fighting back, just being the big boy Wade told him to be. 

“I told you I’d find it~ Your tickle spot, oh and maybe here too?” Wade dragged his finger up his spine and Colossus arched his back suddenly.

“AH- Not the-hehere.. Wade..” His low voice blurting out just those soft chuckles, soft laughs: Brilliant. Nothing like the noise and chaos Wade would’ve produced, but definitely worth everything.

Wade enjoyed the delight of tickling Colossus for as long as he could. And then Colossus stopped being a big boy, or well, he was still a big boy, but not a good boy.

“Done now?” he said, sounding a liiittle bit out of breath and Wade was proud of that. He began to sputter:

“Ready? O-oh well you mean, I think, no. I could go on for like -” He froze when Colossus suddenly covered his mouth with his hand, shutting him up.

“Because now it’s my turn.” Well about one thing Wade was right, that Colossus would not willingly wake up the entire house just to get his revenge. He did underestimate his methods to get that revenge anyway, even if that would mean a nearly soundless and thus even more exhausting and deadly one.

“MPHPH! COHMphphh!” It took the X-man two legs to pin down Wade’s entire body, one hand to shut him up and one hand to kill him with tickles. His hips, his stomach, sides and ribs under his shirt, even his ampit, and nothing more than a soft stray giggle here and a squeak there would slip out of this room. 

At one point they were kissing again, and Wade was still being tickled with two fucking hands. Colossus might as well kill him immediately because these methods were not okay. After what felt like ages, the heavy weight finally moved off him, and Colossus tiredly rolled onto his side to sleep. 

“Now I’m tired. Go to sleep.” Haha, so cute. Wade sleepily blinked his eyes and gazed at Colossus’ sexy back that was turned towards him. He reached out…

“Don’t… you dare.” Oh. Wade pulled his hand back and smiled. 

“Tomorrow then,” he whispered, and he proceeded to roll against him so he could form the big spoon. As best as he could. What a night. 

They should make this a routine, and Wade was going to make sure of that, no matter the tiny tiny ticklish price his drained body would have to pay. Anything, to play with that sexy, ticklish back again~ Oh yeaaaah.

[firespirited]

I've been sick with some sort of fluey thing that sets off migraines all week. Did manage to meet the therapist: she's fantastic, no nonsense, up to date science, specializes in autism in women and trauma from interpersonal abuse. Unfortunately I'm going to need that therapist more than ever.

Mum had no intention of doing group therapy, has no interest in fixing our relationship, she's got this idea that it would somehow be taking sides even though she regularly has long whispered conversations with me about how to deal with a situation with sis. I also really upset her by describing dad as having cluster B personality disorders that made him cruel, she read the first sentence of my psych homework and decided she was out.

Because in her mind cruelty requires intent and dad was just being pre-emptively nasty because he'd had a paranoia where he felt we'd been mean. She's retconned him as bpd??? He didn't get paranoias until I was nearly 20. He wasn't borderline, he was a bully. It was calculated and calm not often spontaneous. He had just as many calm collected bouts of psychological violence as he did rages. And oh odd thing right? he never damaged a relationship with a man or employer even if he resented them privately. He never ever once implied he was suicidal to anyone else when that was his go to move. He had depressions and manias, he was rapid cycling. He also managed to keep the damage to his immediate family (except for that school incident) and constantly quitting jobs. There are times when the cluster B was the real issue and other times when he was just selfish and enjoyed his power over others. I know that's an awful thing to say but I've known a lot of cluster B folks who are trying to not break everything and I knew dad well: he blurred the lines between deliberate long term choices and his pathology. His hostility towards my and mum's existence as ill people was obvious to my doctor and every carer we had. My sister's cptsd is mostly from the damage he did with gossip and how she made herself compliant at home.

I can't say this to mum she's in rose tinted glasses mode about dad. The psych definitely noticed when she said some really weird hurtful stuff to me. I did get very serious that she was not to talk about dad around sis. To not even think about it because it could reset her entire recovery.

I have spent the past 25 days neck deep in bpd type cptsd symptoms, learning every trigger point and rebuilding a relationship with sis where she has no idea that I'm just not sharing secrets and fears. I'm still her rock. She's just not my anchor anymore. We're actually doing pretty well now. I can trace the intense anxieties back to last may when she brought a stray dog home and began obsessing about adopting a cat (she's allergic). I can perform the correct emotions on cue instead of relying on just words. Every time she loses trust I reassure and rebuild. She's been able to open up about what she couldn't stand about 'us' (it's not us, she needs a fully quiet space not just a bedroom in a busy flat) etc.

It's sad because every worst fear I outlined in the psych homework came true over the past few days. I have to hope it's some kind of stress phase. Maybe she's got the same flu thing as me and it's making her feel vulnerable and cranky.

There are very good odds she was super spooked at the idea of therapy, goodness knows she doesn't like talking about feelings. The idea that she might one day have to explain her wild family to someone else terrifies her.

Now that I know she's not ok, I need to keep my distance for a while and build myself up so I can handle sis' next crisis alone.

[slightlyunconventional]

as a follow-up to my post where i mentioned a modern au/established relationship k/anej setting, i thought i'd make a list of snzcanons based around that 🤭 mostly k/az centric probably but we'll see if i get any i/nej ideas while im making this

ok here we. go

- caretaking between them when they live together is very different from the days in the slat; it's much more open and comfortable, and there's a level of vulnerability that both of them (mainly kaz, though) are able to show because they know there's much more safety and trust there than ever before

- continuing the kaz hayfever agenda purely to exploit it because inej loves to have plants all over their house and fill their garden with flowers. he's usually fine cause antihistamines exist but on the off chance that he forgets to take them, or they've run out cause he's so stupidly sensitive, then basically all hell breaks loose and he is totally unable to catch a break from sneezing his HEAD OFF. obviously from the outside this seems kinda dense of him because why doesn't he just,,, get rid of all the flowers?? but he doesn't want to because he knows how much inej loves them and loves gardening. plus he's fine once he takes his meds so realistically what's the problem

- look i know i keep giving kaz every allergy ever but just hear me out okay. if you hate me for it you can pretend each allergy he has is a separate universe. anyway what if the dreadful combination of dust allergy and detergent/air freshener/surface cleaner/etc allergy (select as applicable). just LISTEN RIGHT. he's sneezy because of the dust, so he and inej decide to CLEAN. but then he's SNEEZY AGAIN because of the cleaning supplies. boom who's a genius? me. (or an idiot. i haven't decided yet)

- maybe as a follow on for The One Above, i thought maybe kaz is only all sneezy and itchy during the cleaning process so once they're done and the scent of it all is out of the air then he's fine. that seems reasonable right

(also yeah ive decided that all these allergy headcanons are probably too much for just one person to deal with. so take them as individual things rather than A Collective. (unless you too hate it when a man isn't sneezing 24/7 in which case yeah let's bombard the poor guy with every allergy known to man ill pick you up at seven.))

- when kaz gets sick he still instinctively tries to shut himself away out of fear of getting inej sick too, and also cause he doesn't want her to "waste her time" taking care of him when he's "absolutely fine" and there's "nothing to worry about it's just cold in here". however every single time he's got a cold inej somehow manages to convince him to let her care for him.

- cats! kaz and inej are definitely both cat people and they definitely both wanted a cat immediately after deciding to live together. i like to think that kaz doesn't know he's allergic to cats (since he never really interacts with any kind of animal during his time with the dregs yk ??) so when they go to actually get a cat he discovers this about himself when he becomes an itchy sneezy allergic MESS. but he still insists that inej gets the cat because again antihistamines exist and he has a massive soft spot for cats so as if he's gonna say no. (thinking that they definitely get a fluffy black cat, maybe a younger one that's SMALL AND SO CUTE (i also have a massive soft spot for cats!! could you tell))

- more on the dust allergy a bit: inej and kaz go on little dates all the time and one time they pay a visit to an old library that inej has been interested in for a while, but obviously seeing as the library is so old, all the books are so so dusty and literally every single one that kaz picks up to flick through makes him sneeze like nobody's business. he'd probably be halfway through trying to quiet an itchy fit in the collar of his coat and inej would just take the book out of his hands and guide him by his shoulders away from the cloud of dust that he wafted into the air. cute

- even more on that kind of a sidenote he'd definitely not have the common sense to move from an allergen while he's in a fit, like he just gets too caught up sneezing to even think about maybe Stepping Away cause he just wants to get it out of his system and for whatever reason distancing himself from the thing IN his system doesn't actually cross his mind until inej just sort of guides him away

- inej's care is always very doting, gentle, and loving. she'll always ask before touching him, for example to feel his forehead and check for fever. often if kaz is especially tired (which happens often when he's sick, bless him) she'll offer to hold a bunch of tissues gently to his face as he sneezes or blows his nose into them. aw also definitely a reassuring hand on his back when he's wracked with fits of coughing during particularly bad colds

- she blesses every single sneeze. i KNOW she does. since kaz usually sneezes in doubles (ARGRGRHHHHH (sorry about that went fucking FERAL for a second)) he'll always get a cute little "bless you, bless you!" from her. she is so. i love you inej

- however if he ends up having fits that's a lot of sneezes to bless all of them so she usually settles for a "bless you!" at the end

- also i feel like she might do that thing where the way she says bless you mimics the sound/pitch of the sneeze do you get me. like for example "heHh'ehHSHHhiew!" from kaz gets a "ble-heh-shiew!" from inej. Do you understand the vision i hope i don't sound stupid. anyway kaz hates when she does this (but not like hate in a mean way he's just embarrassed like pls. i have a reputation)

- Omg and inej definitely loves to tease him and say how adorable his nose is especially when it's all red and he's just STOP PLEASE MY DIGNITY

- sorry im losing the plot

- inej tries not to gift him bouquets because 1. he's allergic and 2. there's probably already enough plants in the house. however. kaz buys HER bouquets because he's a gentleman duh. but obviously the whole time he's walking/driving/i don't know what bloody transport they have he's gonna be such an itchy sneezy mess and by the time he actually gives the flowers to inej his eyes and nose are practically streaming and it's all he can do to fight off sneezing again as inej kisses him on the cheek with a giggle to say thank you

- also i love the age old scenario of sneezing while shopping for scented candles!! inej getting excited about all the pretty floral and seasonal scents while kaz is just behind her sniffling so much and his eyes are watering and he is just praying he doesn't end up sneezing a load cause he doesn't want inej to be sad. when he DOES start sneezing though - starting with near silent stifles of course (but inej notices of Course) - he'll tell inej over and over that he'll be fine if there's just one in the house and he's only sneezing now because there's so many on the shelves in front of him

- a lot of this post is just different iterations of "kaz is very allergic but he wants inej to be happy so he keeps being very allergic"

- inej also buys & makes tea for kaz instead of coffee when he's sick. she also sometimes makes some suli tea recipes that she remembers from her childhood for him cause she is the best

- while a lot of her caretaking is tender and loving and doting inej also knows that kaz likes to have his space, so sometimes she shows her care in the form of a mug of steaming tea, two aspirin, and a sticky note saying "feel better soon" waiting for him at his desk

- kaz also hates getting sick in general just the feel of it is gross to him. it's partly because he doesn't feel in control of himself as much and partly because it just feels so sticky and heavy and generally unpleasant. on the bright side inej thinks his stuffy voice is so cute

- ill list off a few brief ideas for other dates they'd go on and kaz would find himself more than a little sneezy: picnic date!! or just a walk/hike in spring when his hayfever is thriving, a cafe date when he's got a cold! so cute, obviously dusty library date like i said before and probably a lot more but i ran out of ideas

- right i know this is definitely a lot of sneezing for one single person to be doing in their life so honestly take all of these headcanons as separate entities because i do not believe it is RIGHT or FAIR to subject someone to as many allergies as i already have and will continue to do. anyway photic kaz. for some reason i like to think that he always without fail sneezes three times when it's suddenly bright (like when he steps outside from a dimmer room or if something shines in his face) and always without fail also will gear up for a fourth sneeze that never comes. three sneezes, then a gasp, then a sigh. Omg

- his photic sneezes are also softer than usual too idk thought id just add that

- right this is the last allergy ill talk about for him REMEMBER HE DOESNT HAVE ALL THESE ALLERGIES AT THE SAME TIME CAUSE THAT'S MEAN OF ME. (unless you want him to 🤭) but perfume allergies are SO. HOT. he loves the smell of inej's perfume, it's sweet and floral and so distinctly *her* but each time she spritzes it on herself he's sneezing. usually not too much though, upwards of like, five, and then he's okay

- inej also massively chastises kaz for stifling. literally every time he does it it's basically a lecture of why stifling is bad and why it's fine just let it out its only me and kaz is like. ok sorry

- thinking about INEJ. i think that her sneezes are quiet just cause she's sort of taught herself to be stealthy and silent and that's rubbed off on her sneezes. they're cute

- also she sneezes into cupped hands!! idk i just think that's so cute for her AH

- usually only sneezes once at a time (she's not nearly as sensitive to stuff as kaz is) however i do like to think that kaz had a cologne at one point that he used to wear primarily cause he didn't have another one and couldn't be bothered to Get another one and it made her sneeze a lot!! and for a while she had no idea what it was because she just seemed to be sneezing nonstop whenever she was close to him. it wasn't until they were getting ready together one morning that she realised it was his cologne making her sneeze - when he sprayed it as she was stood near him and she just!! did not stop!! kaz probably felt so bad he definitely immediately showered and threw the cologne away and kept apologizing to her even though she repeatedly told him it was fine and how was he supposed to know

- kaz isn't quite as teasy as inej is so he'll only bless her sneezes once (loser) and he doesn't like to make an ordeal out of it so he'll just mirror her sneeze's quietness with a soft mumbled "bless," and possibly a hand squeeze if they're holding hands. JUST thought that maybe if she sneezes a little louder or harsher than normal he'll extend to a "bless you," (you know what i mean right with the emphasis on the you part you get it right)

okay this is all i have for now. i will add more/reblog with more if i think of anything but THANKS FOR READING YAY and thanks for making it the way to the end of the incoherent drivel that i call headcanons i hope you didn't lose too many braincells

[chlerc]

because it matters ; charles leclerc

— summary; he was your brother's best friend before he was your boyfriend, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less than before. in fact, he definitely loves you more.

pairing — brothers-best-friend-charles leclerc x f. reader! ( third person story )

word count — 5777.

content — all 5 love languages, his “just because” actions, some more than the other with or without reasons but that's because he adores and loves you. 5 years age gap, she’s still studying in university!!

NAVIGATION + author’s note: based off none other than my fav duan jiaxu from hidden love!! i think i died a little when i finished this drama, age gap literally always hits right when it needs to hit lol. longest fic i've ever written on here, show some love to it lolol jk, lmk how this goes i might based them off chinese actors/dramas if it's okay

— ACTS OF SERVICE.

CHARLES HAD ALWAYS BEEN A man of quiet gestures, his love language more a series of thoughtful actions than grand declarations. As her brother’s best friend and now her boyfriend, it was no surprise that his care for her manifested in the smallest, most deliberate ways. So when her birthday approached, Charles set himself the task of creating something special — something that would reflect his deep understanding of her, and his desire to make her feel cherished.

She had been allergic to milk for as long as anyone could remember, a detail most people might forget amidst the usual birthday celebrations of cake and sweets. But not Charles. He had spent weeks researching recipes, carefully altering ingredients, and practicing the art of baking. For a man who had never shown much interest in the kitchen, it was a laborious process, filled with mishaps and frustration. Yet, he persisted, determined to present her with a homemade cake crafted specifically with her needs in mind.

On the day of her birthday, she had no idea what to expect. Charles had been oddly secretive in the days leading up to it, disappearing at odd hours, and she had assumed it was part of some elaborate plan he and her brother had cooked up. But when he appeared at the door with two cakes in hand, her curiosity deepened. 

One cake was pristine — clearly store-bought, wrapped in elegant packaging, the kind of cake anyone would be thrilled to receive. Yet, it was the other cake that caught her eye. Slightly imperfect, its frosting uneven in places, but the look in Charles’ eyes when he presented it to her spoke volumes.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he said, a slight hint of embarrassment in his voice as he gestured toward the homemade cake, “but I made it myself. No milk, just how you need it.” There was a vulnerability in his words, a rare moment where his usual calm confidence gave way to the desire for her approval.

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest as she reached out to take the cake from his hands. His efforts — his quiet, stubborn determination to create something just for her — meant more than he could ever know. She could see the backup cake sitting beside it, a safeguard in case his own attempt had gone terribly wrong. But to her, it was the one he had baked that mattered. The imperfections made it perfect, a testament to the care he had put into making her birthday special.

Carefully, she cut into the homemade cake, offering him a reassuring smile as she took the first bite. The flavor was unexpectedly good — better, even, than she had anticipated. A soft laugh escaped her as she met his gaze. “Charles, this is wonderful,” she said, her tone filled with genuine admiration. “I love it.”

His shoulders, which had been tense with anticipation, relaxed as relief washed over him. He offered her a modest smile, though she could see the flicker of pride in his eyes. “I wasn’t sure how it would turn out,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar way he did when he felt uncertain. “I bought the other one just in case this was a disaster.” She shook her head, leaning in to kiss him softly on the cheek. “You didn’t need the backup. This is perfect. It’s perfect because you made it.” 

And in that moment, as they sat together with the imperfect cake between them, she realized just how deeply Charles understood her. It wasn’t the grandeur of the gesture that made it special, but the simple act of putting in the effort — for her, and for what mattered to her. It was his way of loving her, his love language spoken through flour and sugar, through careful attention to detail, and through the quiet humility that came with wanting to make her happy.

— II. ACTS OF SERVICE.

CHARLES HAD ALWAYS BEEN METICULOUS in the ways he cared for her, a kind of attention that was never loud or overbearing but woven into the fabric of his every action. It was in the way he would always walk ahead just slightly, reaching the car first to open the door for her before she had even thought to do so herself. His hand would rest lightly on the doorframe, waiting as she slipped into the seat with a small, appreciative smile. He never made a fuss about it, never expected a word of thanks, but it was a habit as constant as the turning of the seasons. He understood that these small courtesies were his way of communicating, a language that didn’t need words.

Her bag, too, was something he would instinctively take from her as soon as they met, draping the strap over his shoulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Whether it was a long day of errands or a brief walk through the park, the weight of it never seemed to bother him. “You don’t have to,” she would say sometimes, though it was more out of habit than expectation. And he would shrug, flashing her that easy smile of his. “I know, but I want to, and it’s no trouble.”

Even on cold mornings, when the wind would bite at their skin and they found themselves huddling into coats, Charles was ever-attentive. As they wandered the streets with takeaway cups of steaming tea or coffee, he would take hers from her hands without a second thought, holding it between his own gloved palms to shield her from the chill. She had protested once, perhaps out of a sense of independence or stubbornness, but he had only smiled and shook his head. “It’s cold,” he’d said simply, as if the matter were already decided.

The thing about Charles was that he never made these acts feel obligatory or performative. They were woven into the quiet fabric of his love, embedded in the little moments they shared — a door held open, a bag carried, a cup kept warm. And she knew, deep down, that this was how he loved her, not with grand declarations or sweeping gestures, but with an unwavering constancy that wrapped around her like a second skin.

Each small act of care, unnoticed by others but never by her, made her feel seen in a way that words couldn’t. It was in the quiet things, the things he did without being asked, that she saw the depth of his affection. And it was in these moments, as they moved through the world together, that she knew she was cherished — not with extravagant displays, but with a love as steady and sure as the man who walked beside her.

— PHYSICAL TOUCH.

HIS LOVE SPOKE THROUGH TOUCH, in the way his hands found her almost instinctively the moment she stepped out of the lecture hall. After a long day of classes, she would find him waiting just outside, leaning casually against his car, his eyes lighting up the moment he caught sight of her. He never needed to say much. His presence alone seemed to ease the weight of her day.

As soon as she was within arm’s reach, his hands would naturally gravitate toward her. A gentle, almost unconscious brush of his fingers against hers before he intertwined them, as if to anchor her to him after hours of separation. There was something so grounding in the way he held her hand, a quiet reassurance in the warmth of his skin against hers.

It never ended there. He always seemed to need more — his arms wrapping around her in an embrace that lingered just a little longer than necessary, his hands slipping to the small of her back as he pulled her close. He would nuzzle his head against her shoulder, a gesture that spoke of yearning, of needing to be near her, to feel her, as if her presence was the only thing that could soothe his restless energy.

Even in the car, as they drove away from the university, his touch remained constant. One hand on the wheel, the other would inevitably find its way back to hers, or rest comfortably on her thigh, a quiet reminder of his desire to stay connected. At stoplights, he would lean over, pressing a kiss to her temple or her cheek, his arm slipping around her shoulders, drawing her nearer.

There was something so earnest, so unabashed about his need for physical closeness. It wasn’t just affection, it was as if touch was his way of grounding himself, of communicating the depth of his feelings without words. He didn’t need grand gestures to show how much he cared; it was in the small, intimate moments — when his head rested on her shoulder, when his fingers traced absentminded patterns on her skin, or when he pulled her into a hug so tight she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It was through these simple acts that she understood just how much he needed her, how much he cherished the feeling of her in his arms, beside him, within reach. His touch was his way of speaking, of saying what words could not — that in her presence, in the soft warmth of her embrace, he had found his peace.

— GIFT GIVING.

EVERY TIME HER UNIVERSITY EXAMS ended, without fail, there would be a gift waiting for her. It became a ritual, a quiet tradition he had started from the very first year of her studies. His love language was expressed through thoughtfulness, in the way he would hand her something small, but always meaningful, with a smile that reached his eyes.

He never made a grand display of it. The gifts were never extravagant, but they were deeply personal, chosen with care. A hardcover edition of her favorite novel, a delicate silk scarf in her favorite shade of blue, a handwritten note tucked between the folds of a soft leather journal. And on that particular day, after one of the most grueling exam weeks she had endured, he had something different in store.

As she stepped out of the exam hall, exhausted yet relieved, there he was, standing quietly off to the side with that familiar warmth in his gaze. He walked toward her, his hands slipping into his jacket pocket before revealing a small velvet box. She could tell, by the tenderness in his expression, that this was no ordinary gift.

“I know you've had a rough week,” he began softly, “but I wanted to give you something special.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened the box, revealing a delicate bracelet inside. It was simple, yet beautiful — a fine silver chain with a single angel charm hanging from it. The charm was intricately detailed, with outstretched wings and a serene expression, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost ethereal.

“An angel?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, though a smile already tugged at the corners of her lips. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “That’s what I see when I look at you — my angel. Always looking out for me, always guiding me. I thought it was fitting.”

Her heart swelled at his words, a soft warmth blooming in her chest. The bracelet was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a reflection of how he saw her, of the way he cherished her presence in his life. She knew then that every gift he had ever given her carried a meaning far deeper than the object itself.

Gently, he took the bracelet from the box and fastened it around her wrist. His touch lingered, his thumb brushing over the charm as if sealing the significance of the gesture. “I wanted you to have something to remind you how much you mean to me, especially when I’m not around.”

She looked at the bracelet, the charm glinting against her skin, and then up at him, her chest tightening with affection. “You don’t need to give me anything to remind me of that,” she said, her voice soft. “I know.” But he smiled, shaking his head. “I like spoiling you. It’s my way of showing you how much I care. And I’ll always have something waiting for you, after every exam, after every challenge. You deserve it.”

As they walked away from the university that day, her hand resting in his, she couldn’t help but glance down at the bracelet again. It wasn’t just a gift — it was a constant reminder of his love, of the quiet, steadfast way he always showed up for her, even in the smallest gestures. And to her, that meant everything.

— WORDS OF AFFIRMATION.

HE HAD ALWAYS BEEN GENEROUS with his words, the kind that lingered in the air long after they were spoken. Every time he saw her, no matter the occasion or the day, the first thing he would say was how beautiful she looked. It wasn’t a passing compliment, nor a routine gesture, but something genuine, as though he was reminding her of the beauty he saw in her, even when she couldn’t see it herself.

“Hey, pretty,” he would greet her with that soft smile of his, the kind that made his words feel like a caress, as though in that moment she was the only thing that mattered. But today, she didn’t feel beautiful. The weight of a bad day clung to her, pulling her shoulders down, her heart heavy with frustration and sadness. She hadn’t said much when they met, her smile strained, eyes distant. She thought she could hold it together, that if she just kept moving through the day, the weight would somehow lift.

He noticed, of course. He always noticed. As they walked side by side, his arm brushed against hers, a quiet gesture of reassurance. He hadn’t yet said anything, letting the silence linger between them like a fragile thread. But as they reached her apartment, she could feel the emotions swelling up, tightening her throat. She clenched her jaw, trying to push it down. 

“Rough day?” His voice was gentle, his eyes searching hers. She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, not trusting herself to speak. She didn’t want to cry — crying was for kids, she thought. She was too old for that kind of release, too old to give into it. But the tension kept building, her emotions pressing against the surface like a dam about to burst.

He seemed to sense her struggle, and without waiting for her to speak, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know,” he began, his tone softer than ever, “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m not a kid,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Kids can cry. Not me.” A warm smile spread across his face, one that carried no judgment, only understanding. “You can always be a kid with me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “You can cry, you can fall apart if you need to. I’ll be here to take care of you, no matter what.” 

His words broke through her defenses, unraveling the tight knot she had been holding inside. The tears that she had been fighting so hard to contain began to spill over, silently at first, then in waves that she couldn’t stop. She felt herself trembling, embarrassed, but before she could apologise, he pulled her into his arms.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” he whispered into her hair. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. I’m here for you, always.” She clung to him, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe her. His hands rubbed slow circles on her back, his presence steady, calming. And as the sobs slowly faded, replaced by quiet breaths, she felt a strange sense of relief. 

“I don’t know why I always try to hold it all in,” she mumbled, her face still pressed against his chest. He tilted her chin up gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Because you’re strong,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time. Especially not with me.”

She smiled weakly, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over her. He always knew what to say, always knew how to make her feel seen, understood. His words were more than just a comfort — they were an affirmation of her, of everything she was, even in the moments when she doubted herself. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, as if reminding her of a truth she often forgot. “Even when you don’t feel like it. Especially then.” And in that moment, she believed him. Because with him, she could be vulnerable, she could be flawed, and still, she was enough. His words didn’t just lift her — they wrapped around her, a blanket of warmth that made the world feel a little lighter, a little less daunting.

— II. WORDS OF AFFIRMATION.

THE MISUNDERSTANDING HAD TAKEN ROOT between them like a silent storm, creeping in with its unseen force, clouding the air they shared. She had heard something — words passed along by careless mouths — words that struck at the fragile chords of trust between them. He had sensed the shift in her, the way her warmth had slowly receded, leaving a subtle distance where once there was only ease. It wasn't like her to withdraw, and it wasn't like him to leave things unsaid.

He had always been a man of conviction, firm and clear in his affections. Yet now, as the weight of unspoken tension hung between them, he could feel the unfamiliar ache of uncertainty. She was guarded, her once open gaze now veiled by doubt. It pained him, more than he would ever admit aloud, to see the subtle wariness in her eyes. He knew there was something she was holding back, and he could guess what it was. 

The rumors. The murmured half-truths. She hadn’t asked him about them directly, but he could feel the weight of those unspoken questions in her every glance. It was the evening, and they sat across from each other in her small living room, the silence almost stifling. She stirred her tea absently, eyes fixed on the rippling surface as if it held the answers to her uncertainty. He watched her, studying the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly, the faint tightness in her lips as she held back what needed to be said.

Finally, he could bear it no longer. His voice broke the silence, low and steady. “I know you’ve heard things. About me. About us.” Her hand froze mid-stir, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There was no accusation in her gaze, only a guarded curiosity. “What things?” she asked, though they both knew she already had the answers.

He exhaled, leaning forward, the intensity of his gaze locking onto hers. “You heard wrong. Whatever it was that’s made you doubt me, it’s not true. And I’m going to prove it.” She blinked, momentarily taken aback by the firmness in his voice. She hadn’t expected him to address it so directly, nor to meet the issue with such unwavering determination. “You don’t have to prove anything,” she said softly, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her. “Yes, I do,” he replied, standing up suddenly, as if the very weight of the misunderstanding had propelled him into action. His jaw was set, determination etched into every line of his face. “Because if there’s even a shred of doubt in your mind, I’m not going to let it sit there. Not with us. Not with you.”

Before she could protest, he was already reaching for his phone. She watched, bewildered, as he started dialing numbers, calling the very people who had unknowingly planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. He didn’t care how late it was, didn’t care if it seemed excessive. He would go above and beyond if it meant clearing the air between them.

The first call was to one of his friends, the one who had supposedly been at the center of the rumors. He put the call on speakerphone, his voice calm yet firm. “Tell her what really happened.” There was confusion on the other end at first, but as his friend began to speak, it became clear. The situation had been misinterpreted, a harmless encounter blown out of proportion by careless gossip. His friend explained it all in painstaking detail, clarifying every point, until the truth stood there, clear and undeniable.

Still, he wasn’t done. One by one, he reached out to anyone who could possibly shed light on the misunderstanding. She sat there, silent, watching in awe as he unraveled the web of confusion with a methodical precision that left no room for doubt. He wasn’t doing it out of desperation, but out of a deep-seated need to ensure that she never had reason to question his integrity again.

When the last call ended, he turned to her, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to believe me,” he said softly. “You can believe them. I just need you to know that I would never hurt you. Not like that.” Her chest tightened as his words sank in. The intensity of his actions, the way he had gone above and beyond to prove himself — she hadn’t expected it. But more than that, she hadn’t realised how much she had wanted him to fight for her, for them. In that moment, the walls she had built around herself crumbled, and she was left standing in the ruins of her own doubts.

“I didn’t think…” she started, but her voice trailed off, emotion thickening her throat. She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” He smiled then, a soft, knowing smile. “I did,” he said, his voice quiet yet resolute. “Because you matter to me. And I’ll go to any lengths to make sure you never forget that.”

She felt the tension leave her body, a soft exhale of relief escaping her lips. It wasn’t just the words — it was the actions. The way he had fought for her trust, the way he had refused to let the misunderstanding linger like a poison between them. He had proven, in the most undeniable way, that his love for her was stronger than any fleeting doubt.

And as he stepped closer, taking her hand in his, she knew without a doubt that he would always be there to clear the air, to fight for their connection. Because in his eyes, she was worth every effort, every moment of reassurance, every word of affirmation spoken into the quiet space between them.

— QUALITY TIME.

HE HAD GROWN USED TO the rhythm of their lives weaving in and out of each other’s. There was a silent understanding between them, a kind of unspoken dance where their schedules often clashed but their hearts always remained in step. Yet, lately, the weight of missed moments had begun to settle between them. His job, relentless and demanding, had pulled him away from her more times than he cared to admit. Meetings that stretched late into the evening, deadlines that loomed too large to ignore, and the endless stream of work that always seemed to multiply at the worst times. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but the dates they had planned — those precious hours set aside for just the two of them — had been quietly cancelled, one after another.

She had never complained, not once. Even when he’d called her, apologetic yet again for another missed evening, she’d only sighed softly and reassured him, “I understand, really.” And he knew she did. But it didn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at him, the sense that he was failing in some essential way, that he was slowly losing the very time they once shared so effortlessly.

That’s why, when she had mentioned the seminar — her voice bright with enthusiasm, as she explained how important it was for her course — he had listened intently, feeling the sting of another missed opportunity. She couldn’t meet him that evening because of it, and for once, it wasn’t his work keeping them apart. There was an irony in it that didn’t escape him.

He sat at his desk, staring at the calendar on his phone, his mind drifting from the endless emails piling up in his inbox to her, seated in that seminar hall, surrounded by classmates, absorbed in some lecture about a subject she cared about. And then, as if something clicked into place, an idea began to take root in his mind. If he couldn’t steal her away for the evening, he could at least be near her. Quality time wasn’t just about elaborate dates or grand gestures — it was about presence. It was about showing up, even in the quiet, unnoticed ways.

Without giving himself time to second-guess it, he stood from his desk, grabbed his coat, and made his way to her university. When he arrived at the building where her seminar was being held, the halls were hushed, the muted sound of voices from behind closed doors filtering through the air. He found her classroom easily enough, his steps slowing as he approached. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see her through the narrow gap, seated at one of the desks, her head tilted attentively toward the speaker at the front of the room.

He stood there for a moment, simply watching her. The sight of her — focused, engaged, oblivious to his presence — filled him with a warmth he hadn’t realised he needed. She looked so at ease, so in her element, and in that instant, the frustration of missed dates and hectic schedules faded into the background.

He didn’t want to interrupt her or make his presence known just yet. Instead, he found a seat on a bench just outside the door, settling in quietly. It wasn’t about being seen — it was about being there, about sharing even this small, seemingly insignificant moment with her.

The minutes passed slowly, the muffled sound of the lecture a quiet backdrop to his thoughts. He imagined the conversations they would have after, the way she would recount everything she had learned with that eager spark in her eyes. He smiled to himself, content to wait for her, knowing that this — just being near her — was enough for now.

When the seminar finally ended, students began to trickle out of the room, chatting amongst themselves as they passed him by. And then, there she was, stepping out into the hallway, her attention still half-occupied by something on her phone. She didn’t see him at first, but when she looked up and caught sight of him sitting there, her eyes widened in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a soft laugh escaping her as she approached him. He shrugged, his expression easy. “I figured if I couldn’t take you out, I could at least be here with you.” She shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she looked at him with a mix of amusement and affection. “You didn’t have to come all the way here for that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, standing to meet her. His voice softened as he continued, “I miss spending time with you. Even if it’s just this.” Her gaze softened, her fingers brushing against his hand as she looked at him with that familiar warmth, the kind that melted away all the missed moments and cancellations. “I miss you too.”

They stood there for a moment, the hallway slowly emptying around them, leaving just the two of them in the quiet aftermath of the evening. There was no grand gesture, no elaborate plan — just the simple act of being there, of showing up for each other even in the smallest of ways. And in that moment, it was more than enough.

— II. QUALITY TIME.

SHE HAD BEEN TALKING ABOUT the camping trip for weeks, her excitement bubbling over with every little detail she planned. From carefully picking out the perfect spot by the lake to gathering everything they would need — the tent, sleeping bags, and even a little portable stove. She had painted a picture in her mind of them under the stars, a crackling fire in front of them, and the serenity of nature surrounding them. It was supposed to be the perfect weekend escape, a break from the world that felt just for the two of them. 

But as fate would have it, the skies had other plans. The steady patter of rain against the window seemed to mock her efforts, each droplet erasing the dream she had so carefully built. She stood at the window, watching as the downpour turned the streets into rivulets, her heart sinking with each gust of wind that rattled the glass. The bags were packed, the snacks ready, but the weather was relentless, offering no sign of clearing up. 

He watched her from the doorway, noticing the way her shoulders had slumped just a little, the way her fingers idly tapped against the windowsill in quiet resignation. She wasn’t one to show disappointment easily, but he knew her well enough to see it in the subtle tilt of her head, the way her usual spark dimmed just slightly. It wasn’t about the camping itself, really — it was about the time, the experience she had looked forward to sharing with him. 

He crossed the room quietly, slipping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You know,” he began, his voice warm and gentle, “we don’t need the perfect weather to have a perfect time.” She leaned into his embrace, though the sigh she released was soft and defeated. “I know, but I was just… looking forward to it. I had everything ready.”

He kissed the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. “We can still do it,” he said, his voice taking on a playful edge. She turned slightly, curiosity flashing in her eyes. “What do you mean? It’s pouring outside.”

A grin spread across his face, mischievous yet sincere. “Who said anything about camping outside?” He stepped back, hands already gesturing to the living room behind them. “We can camp right here. It’s the same as long as we’re together, right?”

She blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of the idea. But as he rushed past her, grabbing the tent from the neatly packed bags, she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, light and surprised. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” he called over his shoulder, already clearing a space in the middle of the room. “We’ve got everything we need. A tent, snacks, and each other. What more could we ask for?” It wasn’t long before the tent was pitched right there in the center of their living room, the furniture pushed aside to make space for their little indoor campsite. He worked quickly, his enthusiasm contagious, and soon the room was transformed into a makeshift wilderness — albeit with the comforts of home just a few steps away. The tent flaps were open, revealing the soft glow of string lights he had hung around the room, casting a warm, golden hue over everything.

She stood in the doorway, watching as he finished setting up the sleeping bags inside the tent, her heart swelling with affection for this man who never failed to find a way to make her smile, even when things didn’t go as planned. “There,” he said, standing back to admire his work with a satisfied nod. “Our own little campsite.” She walked over, her eyes shining with gratitude and amusement as she looked at the scene he had created. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He pulled her into his arms, grinning down at her. “Maybe. But you’re smiling, so it worked.” She shook her head, still laughing softly as she leaned into him. “I can’t believe you set up a tent in our living room.” He kissed her forehead, his voice softening as he held her close. “As long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we are. This can be our adventure tonight.”

They spent the evening curled up in the tent, wrapped in blankets and each other’s warmth, the sound of the rain outside becoming a distant murmur. He made hot chocolate on the stove, and they laughed as they toasted marshmallows over the kitchen burner, pretending it was a real campfire. It wasn’t the trip she had planned, but it was perfect in its own way — intimate, cozy, and filled with the kind of memories that mattered most.

As the night deepened, they lay side by side in the tent, the glow of the lights above them softening the room into a golden haze. She turned to him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as she whispered, “Thank you… for always making the best of everything.”

He smiled, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I’d camp anywhere as long as it’s with you.” In that moment, the rain outside faded into the background, and all that mattered was the time they shared, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence.

IN THE INTRICATE DANCE OF their evolving relationship, the myriad expressions of love became an eloquent testament to their deep bond. As her brother's best friend before becoming her boyfriend, he seamlessly navigated the nuances of affection, his gestures echoing the depth of his feelings.

The love language of acts of service shone brightly through his thoughtful actions, from baking a milk-free cake for her birthday to setting up an indoor campsite when their camping plans were thwarted by rain.

His gestures of gift-giving, like presenting her with a bracelet adorned with an angel charm, revealed the tenderness with which he viewed her, seeing her as an ethereal presence in his life.

Words of affirmation were his balm for her insecurities, soothing her with reassurances and steadfastly clearing any misunderstandings with diligence.

Quality time was his cherished currency, manifesting in his presence at her classes and his persistent effort to share moments despite demanding schedules.

Physical touch, too, was a silent language he spoke fluently, his hands ever eager for contact and his embrace a sanctuary of comfort.

Even with a five-year age gap between them, these expressions of love transcended mere routine, weaving a narrative of devotion that was both profound and enduring, underscoring the seamless transition from brother’s best friend to cherished partners.

[theartofimagining13]

WRITTEN BY: A.Wölf.

BASED ON: Imagine: After a big discussion with your fiancé Tom...

CHAPTER 3 (FINAL): THE WEDDING GUEST

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: 1 DISENGAGEMENT | 2 THE TALE OF THE OFFENSE

TEASER  |  POSTER

As Pedro had assured, Tom did in fact forgive my little indiscretion. Not without giving me a hard time and making me swear one million times that I would never do it again, of course. It was like a very long trial and I was waiting to be sentenced by my fiancé. But there are always tiny holes in the law that defense attorneys creep into in order to save the guilty from the death penalty. That’s how I was absolved from my sins; my closing argument went something like this:

“It was a one-time thing. I was blinded by anger. And, technically, it wasn’t cheating. I had left my engagement ring on the bedside table.”

Hey, all is fair in love and war; even cynicism.

“And where did you spend the night anyway, Thomas?”

Touché.

Where had he spent the night indeed and why would I believe him? Implying that he could’ve been with someone else as well while I was at home, alone all night, was what finally made him reconsider everything. I obviously snapped when I woke up in the morning and he wasn’t there and… the rest is history. What about Pedro? Well, men understand men. However, Tom never wanted to see him again and they hadn’t spoken since that day. Pedro was found guilty and that friendship was sentenced to death. Case closed. Jury, pound the gavel.

I kept my promise and behaved. I didn’t see nor talked to Pedro the weeks leading up to the wedding, and Tom was obviously a bit paranoid and constantly checking on me. The more I behaved, the more he believed in me again.

The sound of a mug being placed on the coffee table in front of me suddenly brought me back to my living room and the book in my hands. I glanced up to see Tom sitting across from me with a mug of his own.

“Thanks.” I said with a smile as I reached for the hot chocolate he had been kind enough to make.

“Sure.”

I could see that he was nervous. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, just staring at the hot beverage in his hands. His lips parted and closed a couple times until he cleared his throat.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“D-do… do you still want to do this?”

I felt a pinch of guilt in the pit of my stomach at the vulnerability in his tone. It resembled a kid’s after they’ve been scolded and traumatized.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” I calmly inquired.

He sighed and placed the mug on the coffee table and hesitated for a while but finally looked me in the eye.

“More than ever.” He said.

I swallowed hard.

“I just-” He carried on. “I just need to know that I’m not pressuring you because… maybe… I proposed too soon and that had something… or a lot to do with what-”

“Tom,” I had to stop him. “You cannot blame yourself for that.” I closed and left the book on the couch to get closer to him and hold his hand. “I made a mistake, and I am here because I want to be. That’s… if you’ll still take me, of course.”

I felt him holding my hand tighter before he leaned in and kissed me tenderly, almost thankful.

“You’re not going to run away on our wedding day, are you?” He half-teased.

I giggled, bit my bottom lip and shook my head as I leaned in for a second kiss. Maybe the Pedro situation still needed closure. Maybe this was it.

Maybe it was wedding jitters.

Someone from the catering service came to my table and whispered something in my ear that sent a chill up my spine.

I gave a discreet nod and then looked at my brand new husband and smiled for him. I waited a couple minutes and excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I walked in a different direction; towards the parking lot of our wedding venue where a black pickup truck flashed its headlights at me.

“You have got to be kidding me.” I mumbled to myself as I ventured into the woods surrounding the parking lot and up a small hill where the truck was semi-hidden.

I was in a wedding dress and heels, for fuck’s sake. Of course I was mad.

I opened the passenger door and cocked my head at the sight of Pedro in a dark suit, white shirt, undone bowtie, behind the wheel and with beer number who knows in hand, since there were several empty glass bottles scattered on the backseat.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I said while folding my arms across my chest.

“Get in. Close the door.” He demanded.

Once I did, and looked ahead, I realized why he had chosen to park on the small hill. You could see the whole venue from there.

“Are you seriously watching my wedding from the parking lot with a portable beer cooler like a fucking redneck who didn’t get tickets to a concert?”

He ignored my insult and smiled. Mischievously like only he could.

“I couldn’t miss it.”

“If Tom sees you here, the only thing I’ll be getting on my wedding night is a divorce.”

“You look beautiful.”

Pedro was definitely tipsy. I had just had my first dance with my new husband, and here I was, ten minutes later, in my imprudent lover’s car.

“Pedro, what do you want?” I calmly asked.

“I guess I came here to say… congratulations.” He added with laziness on the last word and while leaning against the car seat headrest. “I sent you guys a gift with the waiter. The one with the gold polka dots. It doesn’t have a note.”

I frowned. Was he crazy?

“Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “I have to go back. You should leave, Pedro. This won’t end well if anyone sees us.”

I reached for the door handle but before I could get out, he took my left hand in his. When I looked at him, he was staring at my engagement and wedding ring set while deep in thought.

“Would you have said yes if I had given you one of these?”

I gave him a don’t-even-go-there kind of look. I hadn’t seen this man since our last encounter that had ended in tragedy and drama over not only Tom finding out about the affair but also Pedro’s strong aversion to any type of commitment. Some people were allergic to shellfish; my lover was allergic to love.

“I thought you didn’t do rings…” I said.  

“You do know why I said that the other day, right?” He asked.

I sighed with frustration and moved my hand away.

“I don’t know… because you hate the idea of marriage?”

“No, mi amor.” He chuckled. “Because I am not the man for you.”

I was starting to get mad.

“You’re too good for me.” He added.

I was mad. He “wasn’t the man for me” and apparently not good enough for me but he sure could fuck me, the shameless son of a bitch, who also added,

“I know what you’re thinking but… things aren’t black or white.”

Something finally clicked and the things Pedro had said in the past filled my mind. “Women like you”, “I feel like Beauty and the Beast.”, “Tom is the man you marry”, “I’m not the man for you.”, and the sight of him now; absolute resignation making peace with the fate he knew we could only share. Or he was settling for.

This man truthfully couldn’t see his own beauty but seemed overwhelmed by mine, which perhaps, I wasn’t seeing either. 

“So, the shades of gray are your many insecurities, is that what you’re trying to say?” I asked.

“I constantly ask myself how you ended up in bed with me.” He took a big swig of beer.

“Well, maybe you won’t have to anymore.” I said with a sarcastic tone.

Pedro got closer to me. He stared at my lips and swallowed hard. I knew he wanted to kiss me but he was restraining himself to somehow “respect” my wedding at little bit. The thought of me in this ethereal white dress, wildly kissing this currently scruffy-looking-fellow, was inexplicably appealing. But I, for once, kept still.

Let him suffer now.

“I will be here until you no longer want me.” He murmured. “Until you tell me you’re sick of me.”

I was furious. I stared straight ahead and saw Tom on the dance floor with a big smile on his face and realized many, many things. Were it not for these deep-rooted insecurities Pedro lived his life with, perhaps, we could’ve had it all. This is all I could ever be to him, a lover, a trophy of some sort because he thought he was unworthy of me. Ironically enough, he was so used to that belief that he would never risk taking a bigger step with me.

If I was such an “accomplishment” for him, then why wasn’t he willing to do something greater to keep me in his life? Truth is, I would’ve loved to be Pedro’s girlfriend at least. I loved the sound of that, even the aesthetic. But that was never even a possibility because he would always self-sabotage. And there Tom was, dancing, celebrating and showing the world he loved me and had me in his life, and all Pedro wanted was a smidgen of that.

I was only an ego boost, and a woman Pedro could not handle in the long run.

I forced a smile for him and got out of the car.

People accept the love they think they deserve, and Pedro, Tom, and I were playing by this rule that formed a triangle of tough love. I wasn’t so different to Pedro. I had sabotaged my healthy relationship. Did I feel like I didn’t deserve it then? Did Tom feel like he deserved my betrayal?

In this moment of clarity, I was sure now that I’d either have to break the chain or force therapy on each of us. I closed the door and started to walk away but Pedro called out my name as he rolled down the window to speak one more time.

“Give me a call when you come back from your honeymoon.”

I half-smiled and walked away.

Had I finally learned?

[shortyisweird9]

'Lonely ghost serie'

Building bridges- part IV

Tw⚠️: swearing

Corpse was panicking, his heart beating in his chest as his legs moved him one part of his secret room to the other.

The reason for his panick? You.

He wanted to speak with you more, he enjoyed the slightly pessimistic but still loveable personality you have, the voice changer being something he was curious about.

Why did you wear it? Do you really hate your voice? Or did something happened and now you are ashamed of it or were you more concerned about keeping the anonymity of your presence? The possibilities were endless and so the kind of message he wants to send you.

Should he say just hi? Should he introduce himself in a longer paragraph? Should he just...send you a meme? His mind inclined towards that more: I mean if she doesn't like memes, she isn't the one.

————————————————————

You woke up with a startle when your phone decided to go off. You swore beneath your breath, your joints popping as you reach for your phone placed on the desk in front of you. Didi wasn't with you and right now you were too tired to care for it.

You moved your hair out of your face hissing when part of it tugged on your piercings. Your eyes leaking from the pain.

-Pentru numele Lui Dumnezeu.("For the love of God.")

You puffed your cheeks and closed your eyes when your head made the unfortunate contact with your bed frame, it seemed today was not your day.

You were send this:

"What the fuck?"

You giggled as you tried to come up with a response on your own.

You hoped this was the real Corpse not some fan account who tried to masquerade as him, last thing you need was some stranger to invade your private accounts.

You didn't made an account just for ghost since you didn't want to start a channel anyway. You have a lot on your plate between organising the festival and your numerous assignments, you didn't have the mental capacity and energy to entertain a mass of people even thought the idea interested you.

But leaving Corpse unanswered was a crime so you started to dig up through memes that will be matching his response.

Corpse in the meantime was freaking out, cursing at himself for thinking you wanted to chat with him. You already were a reserved person how dare he disturb your peace, how dare he comes in your DMs to only message you a lame ass-

Oh, you send him something back.

'You liked avocados, right? :))'

His heart melted for a bit but wait...he never said anything about avocados in that stream, he barely talked actually preferring to hear you tease and blame others. Does that...DOES THAT MEAN YOU WATCH HIS VIDEOS?

His hands shook in excitement, the smile in his face growing that means you probably liked him enough to continue to chat with him and he couldn't be more eager to.

'Yeah. I like pineapples too.'

'Pineapples? Even on pizza?'

'Especially on pizza!'

":)))). Okay, pineapple boy. I mean I don't personally like pineapples, I think I might be allergic to them actually but still...my mom likes pineapple on pizza tho."

'Sorry to hear that ,what fruits do you like ?'

Really, ' what fruits do you like'? Oh my fucking God , I swear to-

He facepalmed himself before paying attention to your conversation once again.

'Well,um I like peaches,bananas and mango and green grapes. Man, now I crave a bowl of peaches.'

'Mother I crave PeAcHeS.'

'Lol, yeah. Violence too.'

'Oh?'

'My neighbours been having a fucking sex orgy from how loud they were. Motherfuckers planning a milk farm.'

'Oh my god-ahahaha'

You sighed as you imagine him laughing, your knees melting everytime you heard him chuckle incoherently when he fails to swipe the card. Someone so precious,damn you need to be illegal.

'Up to play today?' He asked you.

You bit your thumb's nail,did you? I mean sure but your nerves were already extended to the max. Yesterday you went through an anxiety attack, but...

"Fuck it."

'Sure, I will love to.'

':) I'll send you the invitation soon.'

You sighed loudly as you held the phone as if it was the anchor that kept you from floating away. Smiling like an idiot.

Definitely, no one is allowed to make me feel this way.

————————————————————

You remained silent as you held in the pain from hitting your right knee on the chair's holders.

"Hello! Ghost?"

It was Corpse and he sounded excited,was it because of you? Nah, he is just in a better mood.

You couldn't except the idea of someone loving you truthfully as more than a friend, you couldn't let yourself believe you are worthy of such love ,not from an angel like him.

"Y-Yeah, hold on. Auch, fir-ai tu de scaun!" You cursed forgetting that your mic was on and that Corpse couldn't understand you.

"Ah, what?"

Aw,shit. Here we go again...

"H-Hi ah I mean ,hello. Yeah, hello...Corpse."

"Hello to you too goofball. What was that you said?"

"Umm..."

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

"So you were basically cursing out a chair?"

"He hit me first."

"Honey, baby, a chair cannot hit you. It's just an object, a piece of furniture. "

"Easy for you to say, your chair didn't send you flying on numerous times."

You both laughed at the stupidity of the situation, you certainly didn't think that Corpse will be the one who will finally notice your ongoing drama with the chair.

"I am just saying , if I am found murdered, you know who to blame."

He rolled his eyes at you. Such a drama queen.

"Why did I thought you were American tho? Rae never mention anything about this and you even have an accent. "

"Is it Russian?"

"No, but it's there."

"Some people thought I have a lisp. I mean they are not wrong ,I have a gap in my teeth but still..."

"Probably, anyway ready to hang out with the rest?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Hey,hey. Calm down, I am nervous just like you."

"Even when you know them?"

You hated how vulnerable you sounded but he loved it every second because it meant you trust him to show your nervousness with him. To show a version some bitches may find pathetic, but not him. Never him.

"Well, it's not exactly easy to play when a beautiful woman is by your side."

Ah! You sneaky little-

"Well, that goes both ways you know? Now lead the way, gorgeous. I want to see just how flustered I can make you."

The Adam's apple in his neck trembled as he swallowed his shock, the voice changer did nothing to hide the flirtation and mischief in your tone. It only accentuated them.

"Y-Yes ,ma'am. "

——————————————————

"BOOYAH! That's how you do it! Man ,Corpse I wish I could high five you."

You jumped back into your chair, basking in his sounds of happiness and the sounds of disappointment of the others.

"Oh,man!"

"Sucks to suck, Sykkuno."

Another wave of 'huh' send you laughing head back.

"Aw,man. Not you too, Corpse."

"YOU CORRUPTED HIM!" Pooki accused you.

"No comment. Anyway ,guys, I seriously need to sleep tomorrow I have a huge lesson to attend to."

"That's sucks."

"Tell me about it." You giggled, your hands clasped into each other." Goodnight, guys."

"But it's--"

Oops , sorry Grease.

You stretched, your legs and lower back hurting from sitting in the same crossed position for 2 and a half hours.

A bing brought you from the realm of thoughts. It was from Corpse.

'I hope you had fun playing with us. :)'

'I did! Thanks for inviting me.'

'Of course! Hey, umm... can I ask you something?'

You titled your head, what could he want at 3 in the morning?

'Can we talk more tomorrow?'

Oh.

'Of course. Got me worried there for a second, I thought I did something wrong. '

'What no! You are fine.'

'Okay :)). Night.💗'

He sent you a voice message.

"Good night, baby."

————————————————————

Hey guys!💖

Hope you liked the fourth part of the serie. If you have any questions, ask away. Memes are obviously not mine, I don't have the talent.

Btw. What's your zodiac sign? Answer if you'll like.

Stay safe!💗

Tagged 💖: @moolujk @magenta-skyline @yoyoanaria @cherry-piee @simonsbluee @gaysludge @yikesyikesyikes95

[forasecondtherewedwon]

WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 23: Jake* Part One

Jake* and I had a romance that in the beginning felt very much like Romeo & Juliet, similar to the tragic Shakespeare play, it had a tragic ending. However, a lot less death in my version.

Ethan* and I actually reconnected for a short bit, about two weeks, strictly as FWB before downgrading it to regular friends without the benefits. We decided to help each other on our quests for finding relationships, and working together to improve our dating profiles. Although I had said to myself and my friends I wouldn’t return to the apps until after attending a friends’ wedding, I caved upon helping Ethan* with his love life, and behold, the apps were back on my phone a few days before I left for the wedding, though I wasn’t taking it seriously or being a “try-hard;” I left my accounts on pause or “don’t show me” most of the time.

It all started on Hinge with Jake*. I would not say Jake* was my type, but something spoke to me about him. The conversation started with a “Hey” from him, not super creative, and I usually make fun of people that on apps do this, I will literally call them out and be like “WOW YOU GOT ME” but this time I felt nice and decided to be a normal human being. Luckily, he was not a brick wall for conversation. He was out of town with family in North Carolina. That is one thing I like about Hinge, no matter where you are you can still search particularly at your home base, without having to buy the premium version of whatever of the app like the other ones do. He seemed spontaneous, as he described his trip as his mom coming by and saying hey we’re leaving you wanna come? What a life, I couldn’t imagine having that kind of freedom. 

I told him how I was about to leave for a wedding and would also be out of town. We got deep, quickly, and were very vulnerable with each other almost immediately. I apologized for being a bummer, but he said he was happy we were actually talking about things instead of superficial things. We continued to talk through the app almost constantly while I was still at the wedding. We decided upon meeting the next Wednesday since he was getting back from his trip Tuesday; I return on Monday. Along the way, I found out he was allergic to cheese. Like not lactose intolerant, fully allergic. I told some of my best friend and Ethan* about this, and jokingly they said it was a red flag and to abort. I went with the logic of “more cheese for me.” 

I got home from the wedding and Tuesday I found I was coughing a little bit. I got home from work and had a mild fever. I told him tomorrow we should do a virtual date. He asked how we would do that and I said Facetime if he had an iPhone. So I gave him my number and we had a silly text conversation before bed.

Classic. How could I not want to be with someone like this?

The next morning I woke up with an even higher fever and called off work. I check Instagram and find that the maid of honor from the wedding is also sick. I inquire and it leads to a whole investigation, excel document, and so on as we discover that 16 people (at least) are now sick. One person was rapid tested and it is COVID-19. I get myself tested at a local CVS that day. I tell Jake* about the story’s progression. We still have our Facetime date later and he says he would be happy to bring me anything if I need it. 

When I get my results a few days later, I officially have COVID-19. I’m told by the health department to quarantine 10 days after my symptoms started. My work requires that I be retested and receive a negative test before I go to work, so I plan to get tested on that day; Jake* and I also decided we will have a first date that day as well. 

I learn a lot about Jake* during my quarantine. We text almost constantly, that is when we aren’t Facetiming, which is also very frequent. We often would Facetime for literal hours. I learn a lot about him that scares me in a way, but more so that he has had a very complicated and violent childhood which led to not being a super upstanding citizen when he was a teenager. I was upfront and told him I was intimidated by this and we both said that misery is relative. 

As it does, after talking constantly for almost 10 days at this point, we did start to be sexual from afar, granted we still haven’t seen each other in person. He would say that he had a “shrimp” and talked about it so much that I started to take him seriously. I told him about my IUD, to which he responded with a very excited GIF. Again, slightly impressed that a man knows what it is, from my experience of men not knowing about female reproductive system, more on that later.

One day, we segued from sexual things to my tub backing up and that I needed Drano. Immediately he said he had some and would bring it over. I gave him my address and in less than ten minutes he appeared at my door. I knew I was a mess but it was the best day for me. We talked briefly through the window and I could see he was tall and skinnier than I thought, but still very handsome. His skin was so tan he looked like he could pass for being black. When it was time for him to go, we placed our hands together through the glass, the most contact we could have right now. He left and I was able to retrieve the Drano. It didn’t end up helping, but it was worth a go and definitely worth seeing him in person.

He told me that he was happy I wasn’t a catfish and that I still looked beautiful. Even with my sickness. After a full week of being sick, I started to feel better and almost normal. My cough decreased, my headaches were better, my fever had been gone since the first couple of days, and although I tired easily, I wasn’t constantly fatigued. I had chest pain and my heart just felt weird, I planned to see a cardiologist as soon as I was cleared. When it came time to be retested, I had high hopes and was so excited to be able to finally spend time with him. However, the world had other plans. I was able to get rapid tested, and unfortunately, I was still coming up positive and the doctor extended my quarantine another week. When I got to my car I called him (not Facetime) and told him what was happening and I cried. He comforted me and said that it would be okay.

In a way, it is lucky my quarantine was extended and that I needed to be retested, as the sickness came back again and a day later I was sicker. I gave him an out one day, I told him that when we matched we never expected I would be getting sick, let alone my quarantine lasting this long. I told him he didn’t need to wait for me, that I would understand if he wanted to see other people. 

He continued to say that he is the kind of person that doesn’t give up easily and wanted to stick it out. I was truly not trying to test him, I wanted him to be free if that was what he wanted, but he truly wanted to stay with me.

One night, my chest pain worsened and I was laying in bed, feeling truly like the brink of death was close, struggling to breathe. At midnight, I text him and say I’m scared. I’m afraid to fall asleep because I feel like if I go to sleep I won’t wake up. Always calm, he suggests I get some fresh air and go outside. I follow his idea and after five minutes of fresh air return inside. He continues to comfort me and say he is there for me.

I say I feel better and am finally able to go to sleep. 

We are still talking a lot, Facetime multiple times daily. I still don’t have feelings, but he tells me he likes me and is truly very sweet and cares about me a lot. There is one day where we just didn’t talk to each other yet that day, and he texts me, while I call him out for being “needy”:

One day during a Facetime he says “I feel like we’re never going to meet and you’re going to keep finding reasons to blow me off.” I legitimately got mad at the insecurity, he claims he is kidding. I tell him that that kind of attitude actually does piss me off. Although I am not head over heels with him, I definitely want to give it a chance once I can so I can see where it goes. He brought me things another time during my extended quarantine, a clove of garlic because I needed it for some food I was making and had none on hand. Unlike last time, he was on his way somewhere and was running late, therefore didn’t have time to linger around. I didn’t see him and had left my dog out in the yard for him to see, though at the time he showed up, she was hiding and he didn’t get to give her pats.

Days go by, and again I start to feel almost normal, for the second time in my illness. The day comes for my third test. I am terrified. I ask him what if I’m still positive and need to quarantine still. At this point, I’m completely out of PTO at work, in the negative actually, and honestly, my mental health is failing from the isolation. He tells me that I’m going to get a negative test today and to trust. Lo and behold, the negative test finally is here! I’m excited to return to my life, and to a greater extent excited to finally spend time with this man. 

We had tentatively planned a date that night, but now we could. I call him immediately after I get back to my car and we plan our first date. He asks if I’m going to be weird or awkward when we're finally in person. He claims that he is different in person; I tell him I hope he isn’t much different because I like the vibes I’ve been getting so far. Our first day occurred finally when we have been talking for 3 weeks. He says he’s on the way. I’m waiting and waiting. He’s in traffic. Jokingly, I repeat the line he said to me about us never going to meet. After all this time, the outs I gave him, it would be funny if after all this he stands me up. 

[swanface]

Feather mist for 002

002 | give me a character and i will tell you...

how i feel about this character: feather mist has an undeniable charm to her that’s just hard to shake no matter who you are. seeing her presence in the tribe always brings a smile to my face, and i think she’s a really well rounded character who always brings something special to the table. she seems to develop at a pace that’s realistic, revealing things slowly rather than all in one go, and i am really fond of how she takes on the caretaker role in her relationships almost as a way of avoiding opening up about her own deeper feelings. can’t be bothered by your own problems if you’re busy tending to someone else’s, after all! it’s certainly sad to watch her take that path, but it’s a very realistic way of coping, and man, does feather mist have some baggage. on top of all of her family related trauma, she almost seems to be constantly searching for approval, because she no longer has the reliability of a sister she knows will always love her. she’s a social butterfly in ways, but also that leads to her putting herself a little too far out there in ways that could potentially end in not so great situations for her...like sneaking prey to creekclan, for example. all in all, i think feather mist is definitely a really lovable character, and though i haven’t quite had the chance to delve deep into interactions with her (tiger breeze and feather mist really have the “not wanting to talk about their problems��� trait in common, after all), i’ve loved getting to see her through the lens of other interactions and roleplays. 

all the characters i ship romantically with them: plum whisker mostly, because of their sort of opposites attract dynamic, though feather mist and fading echo is something that i kind of like the idea of...if only because it’s a little wild. seeing her go from basically wanting to skin him for his pelt to being maybe the one cat who realizes there’s more to him than what meets the eye was really touching.

my non-romantic OTP for this character: i adooore the way feather mist looks after butterfly and firefly...for all the selfish adults those two have in their lives, feather mist is not one of them. she’s something they both really need, and even if she doesn’t quite have the theoretical importance of a “real” mother or father, i think her bond with the two sisters is more vital than either of them really realize yet. 

my unpopular opinion about this character: she would look sexy hot with green eyes. just saying. :)

one thing i wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: i don’t think it will ever happen because...well. she’d get her pelt shredded. but. it’d be nice to have feather mist tell tiger breeze off some day. tiger breeze is a haughty cat who really does not value the input of...basically anyone else, buuut i think feather mist is maybe one of the few cats she might listen to even a little if she was allowed to be mildly vulnerable...i don’t know. it would just be interesting to see an angry feather mist versus a more subdued tiger breeze.

my cross-clan ship: feather mist and coppertail but only because if i don’t say this sketch will kill me -- oh god she’s coming SEND HELP

a headcanon: feather mist is...mildly allergic to feathers. and bird fluff. they just always find their way to her nose, and then ACHOO, she breaks out into a sneezing fit that lasts forever. she used to get taunted about it as a younger cat, but no one really pesters her over it anymore.

[tillidontneedfantasy]

Post Malone Willingly Bleeds for Hollywood: ‘Hollywood’s Bleeding’ Review

As mere mortals, we can never truly understand the life of a celebrity. Sure, they’re just like you and me, but they’re not, really. They live in a separate plane of existence, where many laws don’t apply and money is the stem of their problems rather than the solution. When you are a working-class citizen in financial debt struggling to obtain a decent job with health insurance, it is very easy to listen to the woes of a famous person and scoff at them; but the reality is that such a lifestyle can cause a level of psychological pain we cannot fathom, and wounds that are constantly hashed back open by the public’s claws, never able to fully heal.

These wounds are what Post Malone’s Hollywood’s Bleeding centers on, or attempts to, at least. It is most effectively conveyed in the opening titular track, “Hollywood’s Bleeding,” portraying consumers and fellow Hollywood populace alike as vampires feeding off the lives of artists, turning them forever, gone from who they once were, the shells of their old selves wandering intoxicated and lost around a graveyard for the immortal. “It seems like dying young is an honor,” he observes, wondering who will attend his own funeral. Although it sounds like he is lamenting the way drugs consume so many of the greats, in almost every track that follows, it seems as if Post Malone has decided to willingly bleed for Hollywood, and that an early funeral and being sucked dry might be sad but ultimately worth the cost.

Probably because he knows he will never have to worry about the cost of anything else ever again as a result, as he celebrates his financial success in “Saint-Tropez,” “I’m Gonna Be,” and “Wow.” He swears in “On The Road” featuring Meek Mill and Lil Baby that he will never sell his soul, and then reasserts this claim in “Take What You Want,” featuring Ozzy Osbourne and Travis Scott, but admits to giving his heart away, which is not much different. The idea that he hasn’t sold his soul, or heart, or whatever manifestation of the human spirit and morale you choose, sounds especially contradictory in the song  “A Thousand Bad Times,” where he sings, “You make my life so hard / but that’s what gets me off.” Despite enjoying the difficulty, he also grieves the loss of real friends in “Enemies” and the inability to truly take in the luxuries of this lifestyle in “Myself.” Beneath all the talk of riches and bitches and drinking, there is still a piece of Post’s heart in the music, not completely lost.

BEST TRACK: “Circles”

On this refreshingly gentle and soothing track, Post is at his most vulnerable. You can feel the emotion in his voice, the exhaustion of being trapped in a destructive cycle you don’t necessarily want to break though you know it’s what’s best. It sounds like something John Mayer could have a credit on, both musically and lyrically, and the style suits Post well. Co-produced by Post himself, the music’s production is one of the most pleasant and satisfying of the album, with a clever play on the word “echo.” It is the only track on the album where he has a producer credit, but it proves on the next record he should have many more.

WEAKEST TRACK: “Goodbyes” featuring Young Thug

Though the sentiment is there, it doesn’t stick the landing the way it should. Young Thug doesn’t add much, other than the pointless line “Can you not turn off the TV? I’m watchin’ the fight.” Other tracks on the album tackle the subject matter of not being good at goodbyes much more effectively and eloquently (see: “Circles”), but I guess this song makes it easy for us to take his word for it.

THE IN-BETWEENS

“Sunflower,” featuring Swae Lee, released for the fantastic Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, is a sweet song that has proven thus far to have the biggest impact and will most likely continue to prove its longevity. The most beautiful instrumentals are simply wasted on the short and ineffective “Internet” about Instagram and deciding to abstain from social media participation (though his very active Instagram account would suggest otherwise). “Die for Me” featuring Future and Halsey falls flat, the highlight being Halsey’s quip to her cheater ex, “caught the girls in your DMs and took all them home.” One particularly high point of the album is the track “Allergic,” which showcases Post’s vocal abilities and is melodically intriguing throughout, almost reminiscent of early 2000’s alternative pop-rock, yet oddly fitting in 2019.

BEST PROSPECTIVE SINGLE: “Staring at the Sun” featuring SZA

“Staring at the Sun” provides a possible answer as to why Post Malone and the subject of these songs keep going in circles: because they are staring at the sun rather than addressing the problem itself. Love is blinding, so it doesn’t matter how many warning signs you see. SZA delivers gorgeous vocals, and their voices blend surprisingly well, and with harmonies like that, how could they not get the airplay?

                                                             ***

It feels as if Post Malone has been occupying the celebrity sphere for quite some time, as his accumulated success displayed in these tracks would prove. But as he reminds us in “On the Road,” he is only 24. Hollywood’s Bleeding is Post’s 3rd studio album effort, and though it has only elevated his public acclaim, he still has a ways to go. This album shows glimmers of untapped potential in the young artist, of which he has plenty of time to channel, as long as he doesn’t completely bleed himself out first. Grade: 2.5/5

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: In the past, I never had any interest in listening to Post Malone’s music. I heard his radio singles over the last few years and never felt inclined to hear more. I enjoyed “Sunflower” when I saw Spider-Verse but not enough to investigate further. Since this album’s release, it’s been virtually impossible for me to ignore Post’s popularity. He is so young and so commercially successful. Ever since I walked through Penn Station not realizing it was the night of his sold-out MSG show, I have been curious as to what all the fuss is about and finally decided to give him a shot. I still don’t get all the hype, but some songs on the album made it easier to understand. Overall, I think he’s just fine. But he definitely has potential, and I think understanding the success of “Sunflower” could be a good starting point for him going forward.

[bazwillendinflames]

Norkus November - Day Nineteen - AU

Tattoo shop, florist au 

AO3

One 

“I’m definitely going to do it today.” 

“That’s great,” Josh said, “but I think I'll believe you more if you actually open the door first.” 

“I’m working my way up to that part.” 

“Right.” Josh turned the page in his book, seeming bored of Markus’ indecisiveness. “So, by today do you mean now or in the next twenty-four hours.” 

“This is dumb.” 

“You’re telling me.” Josh made a big show out of turning his next page. “But, by all means, keep trying to open the door with your mind. It’s very amusing from where I’m sitting.” 

Markus actually stood up. (The first step was well, any steps.) Then he shuffled towards the door, opened it and stepped out into the street. 

This was a bad idea. But was it any weirder to stare at a pretty girl from across the street then to actually talk to her? 

Josh gave him an encouraging thumbs up from inside his job. It was mostly sincere. 

“Hi Markus!” Kara called, waving at him from the half-open backroom. “Everything alright over there?” 

“Yeah, of course. We, well I did mostly, um saw you had a new employee? With the motorbike…”

“That isn’t causing any problems is it? I told North we’d get noise complaints. I wasn’t imaging from you guys but-”

“No, no, the bike is super cool. I just wanted to say hi.” 

“Oh.” Kara put down the flowers she was holding and smiled. “Oh. I can call North for you. She’s just in the back here.” 

North was an incredibly cool name, Markus decided, very suitable for the kind of cool girl who rode a motorbike to work and wore grunge band t-shirt to a job at a flower shop. 

“Will claiming to be allergic to flowers get me out of early morning shifts?” A voice called, followed by the cool girl Markus may have been admiring. (Not that he’d ever admit that to Josh or Simon. He missed the days when he could tease them for their hopeless crushes.) 

“Oh hi.” She eyed Markus’ jacket. “You don’t work here, do you? No forced upon you pastel apron.” 

“Speaking of,” Kara said, “please put your apron on before we open.” 

“Yes boss.” North rolled her eyes unsubtly at Markus. “Sorry, you are?”

“Manners!”

“I mean, hello strange man, what’s your name?” 

“I’m Markus. I work at the tattoo shop across the street.” 

“Awesome. I wanted to work somewhere cool like that. Instead I’m stuck in flower city.” 

“I’m only an apprentice.” Markus figured he should try to be somewhat normal. “I just wanted to say hi, new neighbours and all. So hi. Yeah.” (Not very cool, but half-way normal.) 

“Hi.” North made a show of smiling and then turned to Kara. “See, I can be polite.” 

“I see.” 

Markus took the hint. “I’ll see you around.” 

“Sure, whatever.” North pulled on her apron, a pastel blue shade that didn’t quite match her ‘Knights of the Black Death’ t-shirt. 

It was only when Markus stepped out he realised he forgot to compliment her bike. 

Josh would have a field day with his awkwardness. 

   Two 

“I should never be allowed to talk to girls.” 

“Well, we could have told you that.” 

“It was your idea to talk to her in the first place,” Markus pointed out, with a huff. “Why would a girl with a name as interesting as North ever pay me any attention? I bet she doesn’t even remember my name.” 

“You’re being dramatic,” Josh said. “We can teach you how to talk to girls.”

Simon sniggered. “Yeah, we’re the girls experts. Why not just say, ‘hey need a hand there?’.” 

“With what?” 

“The door?” Simon answered casually.

Very uncasually, Markus whipped his head around to see North struggling with a heavy box and a loaded set of keys in her hands. 

“Simon, you are a genius!” he exclaimed. 

“Oh great,” Josh said dryly. “Oh… Markus you’re getting up.” 

“She needs my help!” 

“I think she’ll cope.” 

But he was too late, Markus was already gone. 

“Need a hand?” He asked, glad North didn’t see his uncoordinated sprint from his shop to hers. “The doors round here are tricky. I have a few tricks.” 

“Oh,” North said, “thanks.” 

He took the keys from her and did his best to make opening an old lock seem effortless and cool. 

“You’re a life-saver. I would have kicked the door in otherwise.” 

“That’s a little extreme.” 

“I will go to great lengths to lose this job. It’s a community service thing but I’d rather pick up trash by a high-way that help my sister sell flower crowns and roses to forgetful boyfriends.” 

“Kara’s your sister?” 

“More or less. We grew up in the same care home. I wish she wouldn’t be so protective. She was all like ‘the highway is a dangerous place for a young woman’. I think she worries I’ll join a gang or something.” 

“Oh.” Markus tried to take it all in. “Sounds like a rough deal.” 

“Sorry,” North glanced his way shyly. “It’s just nice to talk to someone who isn’t buying flowers. I don’t know any flower meanings and it’s Kara’s USP. Awkward.” 

“We do flower meanings,” Markus said eagerly. “People get sentimental with tattoos. If you want to borrow a book, I mean.” 

“Thanks. I need ‘flower meanings for dummies’.”

“You’re not a dummy.” 

“You’re just saying that because I might be in a trash picking gang.” 

Markus laughed, still surprised a girl like North would want to talk to him.

“I guess you should get back.” North glanced over his shoulder to look at the tattoo shop behind him. “You guys look busy. Guess more people want to get flowers inked on them than to buy them.” 

“Maybe.” Markus sighed as his phone buzzed, probably Josh needing back up. “It was nice talking to you North.” 

“No problem Markus.” 

He left smiling, glad she remembered his name at all. (Until ten minutes later when Josh pointed out he had a name badge on. In his opinion, it half-counted. And he was finally starting to understand North.) 

  Three

“Only you,” Josh said, “could find a silver lining out of the fact that we forgot to pay out water bill.” 

“How much water do you think I can drink in one day?” 

Simon sighed. “Yeah, you could do that. Or, you could not make it seem like you have a problem in front of the girl we already decided was too cool for you anyway.” 

“I’m going to ask her,” Markus said, cheerfully, “and then I’m buying a lot of water.” 

“Markus, hi,” North greeted, already back to slouching over the counter. “You look a little red.” 

“We have a problem. We may have forgotten to pay our water bill and now can’t use our plumbing for the next four and a half days.” (It sounded worse outloud.) 

“Oh damn. So, you want to use ours?” 

“If that’s okay?” 

“Sure, go ahead.” 

Markus smiled. “We’d be lost without you.” 

“A little dramatic.” North tilted her head. “I’ve never seen you without your coat.” 

Markus felt a little vulnerable as she stared at his arms. “No, we don’t really have heating either…” 

“I bet you get this all the time, but do you have any tattoos?” 

“No.” Markus scratched the back of his head. “Don’t laugh-”

“No promises.” 

“I’m scared of needles.” 

“But-” 

“I work at a tattoo parlour. Yeah, I know. My boss found it equally amusing.” He crossed his arms. “I prefer to design them anyway. And I can do other people.” 

“So, a tattoo artists who’s scared of needles and a shop with no heat or water. Why did you pick that job again?” 

“I like tattoos. And art. And making money off art.” Markus didn’t mention the two separate occasions he had fainted on the job. “What about you, what would you do, if you didn’t work here?” 

“I don’t know. I’m just kind of drifting.” North frowned. “Anyway, our water is yours but you owe me a coffee.” 

“Like, we get coffee together?” 

North looked a little surprised. “I guess that works too.” 

“I can just bring it…”

“No, it works.” North brushed a little of her hair back. “Good luck with the whole cowardly tattoo artist thing.” 

“Thanks.” 

Markus stepped out of the shop, listening to the little tink of the bell as the door fell shut behind him. 

Did he actually have a chance with North?

  Four

“Not you again.” 

Markus shrugged. “I know, I know. But I’m not just here to loiter. I’m getting flowers.” 

To his surprise, the smile disappeared from North’s face. (Did she really hate her job that much?)

“Right. And I was starting to think they didn’t pay you over there.” 

“I brought you coffee last week.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she snapped. “What kind?” 

“You had a latte and-” 

“Not the coffee. What kind of flowers? I’m sure you’re aware of what kind we have, since you’re here every five minutes.” 

“Goldenrod.” 

“Not roses?” 

“A little basic. And I like what goldenrods symbolise. Good fortune.” Markus admired the yellow flowers that she put in front of him. “I hope they cheer up my Dad.” 

North froze. “Your Dad?” 

“Yeah. He’s not well but I thought some flowers might cheer him up. He likes to paint them, if he’s feeling better.” 

“Oh. I’m… I thought that…” 

Markus hit his hand against his forehead. “No. Not for another girl. Just my Dad.” 

“No, it’s okay. I don’t know why I thought we had… anyway the flowers are twenty dollars but I can run you a discount and-” 

“North? What did you think we had?” 

“Nothing. One coffee… outing and I think you like me. You’re just too nice.” 

Markus shook his head. “No. I am nice but… okay maybe I make up excuses to come by and visit because I like you. I’m just bad at expressing that and you’re way cooler than me.” 

“I’m not cool. I’m a delinquent with a summer job here. For God’s sake, I’m wearing a pink apron half the time we talk. You’re the one with the swishy coat and a decent chance at a future, fear of needles or not.” 

“You have a motorbike.” 

North laughed, covering her face with her hand. “Maybe we’re both bad at this.” 

“Yeah. But, maybe we can bad at this together.” 

“Yeah.” North smiled again. “The flowers are on the house. Tell your Dad I hope he gets better soon.” 

“I will.” 

Markus picked up the yellow bouquet, glad he would have some good news for Carl at last. 

  + One 

“So, this is your shop.” North felt more at home in the rundown tattoo shop than she ever had at Kara’s own. 

“Not mine. Lucy’s actually.” Markus was rummaging around in the back somewhere. “I’m just locking up.” 

“I like it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Markus emerged a moment later, dramatic coat on. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” North dusted off her leather jacket. “This is weird right?”

“The date part, or the you in my territory part?” 

She snorted. “Both. But, it’s a date?” 

“Definitely.” 

North resisted the urge to blush. 

“Okay. I hope you’re not scared of motorbikes.” 

“I make no promises.” 

“You can hold on to me. If- if you want to of course.” 

“Sounds perfect.” Markus brushed her cheek and for a moment North thought that maybe he might... “cute accessory.” 

He held up a flower that must have been tangled in her hair. 

North reached for it. “Thanks.” 

“A red camellia. The flame of the heart.” 

“I’m not trying to flirt with you through flowers.” 

Markus tucked it behind her ear. “Beautiful.” 

North reached for his hand and tangled it with her own. They were both a little flustered from the excitement of a first date - a first love, for her at least - but with her hand anchored in his, it felt like the easiest thing in the world. 

“If you do this next time I try to get a tattoo, I might actually manage without fainting.” 

North laughed. “Now, that’s a story I’ve got to hear.” 

Hands intertwined, they stepped out of the shop together. To whatever their first date might hold. 

North just hoped the flower caught in her hair was a good sign for things to come.

[franklyshipping]

Marvin the Mischievous ~ A Septic Ego Series ~ Part 4

We're well underway with this series now, Marvin really is on a roll isn't he? Now it's time for victim number four, specifically a certain Chase Brody. LET'S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @heros-helplee @marvin-lee-magician and @chase-brody-thelee

Y'know sometimes when you get in a sort of slump-like mood? Things aren't going your way, it's one anxiety ridden event after another and so you're forced into this mind-set of just pure blankness, when you're traipsing about but not really actually DOING things? This is how Chase Brody had felt of late. Slumping, slouching, shuffling, he was making his way to the meeting room the septic egos sometimes made use of. It was mostly him though, and he was glad of that because right now he figured he wouldn't be the best, vibrant company for his friends. He entered the room, kicked off his shoes and socks, tossed his jacket to the floor, and from the box of teabags in his hand he started tossing them about. There wasn't much effort, nor much aim, and it was clearly a mundane activity right now, but it was all Chase could bring himself to do. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was a mix of misses and hits on target.

Chase's mind was encased in itself. Soon enough he even stopped throwing, he was just holding the teabags, rubbing them between his fingers as his eyes glazed over in thought. Thoughts of his children, his past family....it was a collage of nastiness to be quite honest. He couldn't make himself focus on one thought, one thing to deal with, everything was just swirling and swirling.....thank god for the make-shift stress balls that were his teabags. However this mental stress, as you can tell, was affecting Chase to excess, which meant his grips were tightening. His fingers pinched faster as he let out a sigh, he was in a real daze; thankfully however, he was about to be jerked out of it. Chase wasn't looking at the teabags in his hands, he couldn't see how his blunt nails were testing the integrity of the bag material, so he couldn't do anything to stop the leaking of tea powder onto his palms when he caused both bags to split simultaneously.

'What the-oh for the love of-Chase you fuckwit....'

He sighed and grumbled to himself as he watched the powder start to fall and settle into his palms and fingers, and he grimaced with the knowledge that it would be a bastard to wash off.....but then he furrowed his eyebrows confusedly; why were his palms itching? Endeavouring not to spill any more of the....''tea'', he tried to brush the substance from his palms gently, but all he ended up doing was rubbing it more into his skin. His palms and fingertips prickled, itching more and more by the second; he was so preoccupied with getting it off that he didn't notice how it seemed to....sparkle, in certain lights.

'Don't tell me I'm allergic to tea, that would be the dumbest irony....'

He sighed with pursed lips, letting out an annoyed whine. Although, rethinking his statement, he'd drunk tea before so it couldn't be an allergy. Then he wondered if it was coincidental pins and needles and his over active mind was blowing this put of proportion. He kept brushing and brushing with increased vigour, but nothing worked; the only difference being that Chase's lips had unwittingly quirked into a small smile. He had to admit, the prickliness at his palms was starting to feel rather tickly, how strange....was it tickly? Was it just his brain? Oh no, oh it was definitely tickly....it was getting worse.

'Ohokay y-you gottaha be kidding mehe.'

Chase stuttered, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed that he was being so affected by something as dumb as powdered tea! It was probably a certain ingredient that was giving him a reaction, that's all; but Chase's mind was at war, he was certain it was getting worse every second. He kept letting out the occasional giggle as his hands started to twitch and fumble about, and a flustered mind-set started to overcome the man.

'Gehet off ohmygod gehet off get ohoff!'

He stretched his arms and brushed his palms together whilst holding the split bags between his fingers, giggling more with reddening cheeks; thank god no-one could see him like this. To his joyous surprise, some of the powder seemed to fall away....but when it cascaded down his forearms into the crooks of his elbows he let out a few high-pitched squeaks. He brought his arms close as they too began to tingle, he let out a whine as a little embarrassed pout appeared on his lips.

'F-Fohor gohod's s-sahake why aham Ihi waitihing, Ihi neheed a sihink....'

Yes he knew that talking to himself was silly, but it was something he could do try and refocus his flustered mind; he didn't really have any other option. He turned and prepared to leave the meeting room.....and that's when it all went wrong; for Chase Brody at least. As he swivelled to face the door, a sudden, stronger tickly sensation rippled through the palms of his hands. He let out a loud squeak as he flinched; the poor man had already been fumbling with the bags, but this made him lose his grip entirely. They fell to the floor, but not before showering their contents-

'Oh shitshitshitSHIT!'

All over Chase's bare feet. Chase was right to be frantic, with what he knew the powder felt like on his palms....he dreaded to think of how it would feel at his feet. His extremely ticklish, vulnerable feet. He started breathing faster and faster, eyes widening as the tops of his feet tingled and prickled; he felt frozen in place as he watched the powder cascade like it had a life of its own. It trickled in-between his toes, and soon Chase snapped out of his shocked daze and leant down to hurriedly wipe his feet as giggles consumed him.

'Fuhuhuck oho gahad c'mohohon whyyyy?!?!'

Chase soon found himself on his butt on the floor, frantically rubbing and brushing as feet as his ability to keep his composure just diminished. He was so confused, and annoyed, and flustered. Since when did powdered tea do this to skin? Why the hell did he have to be so clumsy? Why the hell did he have to be cursed with supreme ticklishness?! It felt like the skitterings of millions of miniscule insects all over the tops of his feet, creeping and crawling and tickling his skin relentlessly; it was skittering that was also working its way in-between his toes. Chase let out a loud whine as he rubbed and rubbed, getting supremely desperate.

'Stohohop ohoho fuhuhuck stohohoHOP!'

Chase almost cringed at how he was literally begging at an inanimate substance. Unfortunately for Chase, his efforts at getting rid of the tickly, prickly dust seemed once again to only end up rubbing it into his skin instead of it being rubbed off. Chase's cheeks were flushed as he felt the tickly tingles spreading over his feet, the powder seemed to trickle onto the pads of his toes and even underneath them now; it was like Chase's weakest spots were purposefully being targeted. His feet were twitching and kicking and scrunching in vain.....Chase had no idea what else to do. Simply because, there was nothing he COULD do.

'WHY MEHEHE OHGODFUHUCK WHY MEHEHEEE!'

Chase squealed as he kicked frantically, not only has the powder somehow found it way to fall down his soft, sensitive soles now, but the sensations had gotten even more intense! Chase's eyes were watery as he clenched his fists with a broad smile in place; the poor man was still in utter disbelief that this was happening to him. He hit and kicked the floor as his giggling grew into louder, bubbly laughter; he didn't think he could handle it all. You could argue though, that he could perhaps handle it, try to stay still and simply endure; it was only his hands and feet that had been targeted after all....but you'd be wrong. In his frenzy, Chase's clenched hands had also been wiping themselves on his clothes along with his arms in another vain attempt to gauge relief from the strange tickling; but Chase had merely succeeded in spreading it further. To his tummy no less.

'FUCKFUCK CHAHASE YOHOHOU IHIHIDIOT!'

Chase didn't even try to rub it away at this point, he knew it would only worsen the ordeal. Chase was twitching, back sharply arched, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenched with feet and toes scrunched. It was a truly unique tickle torment. It prickled like pins and needles, but spread like skittering insects, before it seemed to scratch deeper like claws eager and hungry to reach every nerve and play them like a rabid violinist in a string shop. Chase was slowly but surely reaching what would be deemed as hysteria, but it was gradual; it was a measured descent rather than an uncomfortable thrust into the overly mirthful state. Almost as if it had been calculated. Chase let out a wail of laughter as he felt prickles at his sides, his waist, his bellybutton, his brain couldn't cope. Was the powder moving? Had he just spread it about himself? Would it wear off? Would it end?

'PLEHEHEASE IHIT TIHIHICKLES!! WHY DOHOHO YOHOU TIHIHICKLE?!?!'

Chase's vocals were getting more desperate as the man squealed and squeaked and laughed into the air.....but, I think we all know that this was a good thing. Chase wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking about the things that had been making him disassociate and feel like shit. He wasn't thinking about his problems or troubles. Chase was just thinking about the relentless, spontaneous, confusing tickly betrayal that his teabags had bestowed upon him. It was a unique scenario. There was no visible tormentor. No one to beg to. No one to reason with. But that didn't stop Chase from trying.

'MEHEHEHERCY OHOGAHAD HEHEHELP HEHELP!! SOHOHOMEOHONE HEHEHELP MEHE!!'

Chase had tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he writhed and curled up into a tight ball of wild laughter, which was getting raspier and raspier. He didn't think he could take much more. Now....this is where ''coincidence'' comes into play. As the begs and screams for help flew from Chase's lips, the mystically devious sensations seemed to decrease in intensity. Chase thought at first that it was his imagination, his wishful thinking for mercy, but he soon realised that relief was in fact incoming. His laughter died down to an eventual silence as he shakily caught his breath, looking up at the ceiling as if in a daze from what he'd been though. He blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. It was over.

'......a-ahare y-yohou done now?'

He whispered croakily as he took a risk and sat up slowly, arms wrapping round his own torso as he wiggled his feet a little. He gulped and ran a hand through his hair before deciding to inspect his bare tummy-huh. That was odd. There was no trace of the powder left. Chase hummed with furrowed eyebrows as checked his hands, arms and feet, but it was the same story. It was like magic. When he looked to the floor he could see specks of the powder somewhat sparkling amidst the dull carpet, but any that had been on his skin had....absorbed into him? Like how a massage oil does after a bit of time. Chase decided to stand, and he couldn't help but smile when he murmured to himself.

'Talk about an alternate Peter Pan story....'

Ahhh culture references. Chase was about to leave....when he paused. He looked to the floor where the half-full box of teabags sat. He picked it up and looked in curiously, and became more intrigued by how the powder in the rest of the bags also seemed to have that....iridescent shine. Chase didn't even debate it in his head. He smiled to himself before leaving the room, box in hand, and went about his day with a lot fewer insecurities on his mind than before this little event. Unbeknownst to him though, there was a witness to his departure. Behind a screen in one of the neighbouring, open-plan rooms, hid Marvin. He was surprised to see Chase taking the rest of the teabags with him though since the magician had intended to retrieve them for future use....but then the magician grinned. In Chase's hands he had no doubt they would be used.

'Have fun Chasey....'

Marvin whispered softly, happy that he'd been able to provide something else nice for one of the people he was close to. Once Chase was safely out of range, Marvin crept into the meeting room and cast his gaze over the sparkling, shimmering floor. He whispered with a smirk.

'Four down, four to go.....'

HOLY MOLY HOPE YA LIKE THIS FIC, LET ME KNOW IF YA DOOO, LUV YOOOUSSS XX

[bentzennoel1-blog]

Leading FIFTY Hacienda Weblogs With Embellishing Tips For Farmhouse Owners

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[purplesurveys]

966

by skiassurveys

1. How has covid affected you? It robbed me of few months’ worth of memories in my last year in college, my graduation, travel plans, employment prospects, a 22nd birthday with friends. Fortunately, other than a mutual friend, I personally don’t know anyone who has gotten the virus.

2. What is a comfort show of yours? Friends, without a doubt. If I need a pick me up I just look up a scene on YouTube and I’m bound to feel better in seconds.

3. Are you open about your past or do you not let anyone in? I’m pretty open about my past as long as people ask the right questions that would make me want to open up that can of worms lol. But I’m very secretive about the present and if I’m currently going through something, I tend to be selfish when it comes to opening up. I don’t like being completely vulnerable, and I leave those last few bits of vulnerability to only myself. I can’t even open up on Tumblr in certain instances; it’s just how I am.

4. Favourite fast food joint? Yellow Cab.

5. Do you think we were put on this earth for a reason? I don’t. I don’t put a lot of thought into this, either. It’s just not something I particularly care about. 

6. What is something you have done this year you’re proud of? Finish my thesis. I used to think it was some colossal, nearly-impossible requirement and I never thought I was capable of creating my own. But I got through it and it was such an amazing feeling to see myself and Andrew wrap it up and write our acknowledgments at the very end.

7. Do u ever feel like surveys are usually the same questions? There are definitely questions that come up more often than others, but I’m never super bothered by them. I just try to answer them differently then move on.

8. What were you doing 10 years ago? I was 12, in sixth grade, friendless, suicidal, and was in the biggest mental health slump of my life thus far; so, not doing well.

9. Do you call out Karens when they’re harassing a cashier? I don’t call them out but when it’s my turn to be served, I make it a point to greet them and smile and give them the change, like I do with any cashier – except amplified this time around so they can feel better and not think that every customer is an asshole.

10. Animal crossing, yay or nay? Yay. I don’t play it but I’m certainly not gonna dampen people’s enjoyment by thumbing it down lol. It looks so cute and the challenges look wholesome; that game just can’t hurt anybody haha. But I guess it helps that my favorite characters to play on Mario Kart are Animal Crossing characters, so there’s that.

11. Why do you like to do surveys? It’s a safe space. And I’m very talkative in my head but not in real life, so surveys always serve as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings.

12. Did you ever have a MySpace? I did but I caught they very tail end of its popularity. By the time I joined people were already starting to flock to Facebook, so it wasn’t like I was ever able to do anything fun or worthwhile on Myspace. It was also never as popular in the Philippines too; we were into Friendster a lot more.

13. Do you think breaks are toxic in a relationship? I don’t think things like that work in absolutes. I’m sure breaks work for some, but for others they could also just create more distance and cause a couple to grow apart over time.

14. Do you have a YouTube channel? If no, would you create one? If yes what’s your content? I have one but it’s only so that I can support my favorite channels and subscribe to them, and so that YouTube can tailor my homepage to my interests. If I had to start posting videos, I’d prefer to take it easy and just post chill daily vlogs, nothing that tries too hard; and maybe take part in a taste test every once in a while because I enjoy watching those.

15. Are you a math person? Only up until advanced algebra or geometry. I’ll have to bow out if we have to get into trigonometry or calculus.

16. What’s the worse thing someone has said to you? I’ve been told I was a headache to deal with, heartless, unlovable, ungrateful, lacking a brain. All courtesy of my mom.

17. Have you ever befriended someone because you felt bad? Just once. In Grade 7 there was a new girl who was a bit of a loner, so Gab and I started talking to her so that she wouldn’t be alone during lunch. She didn’t really mix well with us and our dynamic though, so we slowly stopped hanging out with her. I felt bad, but I also didn’t want us to keep faking it with her because it would’ve been unfair to her – at least we tried. I was glad when she finally found her group, which didn’t take long.

18. Would you ever date someone online? I’m not open to it.

19. Have you been ghosted before? Would you ghost someone? I’m pretty sure what I did with Mike is the equivalent of ghosting...oops. I haven’t been ghosted.

20. When do you think things will be normal again? For a second this sounded really accurate about my life and I almost started crying :’’’’)))))) but now I realize you meant to ask about Covid lol. UHHH idk man. I remember back in March thinking this was gonna be over by April, and I had never been more wrong lmao. It’s so hard to tell.

21. Do you watch anime? No.

22. Biggest goal you wanna reach before 2020 is over? Be happy.

23. How old did/do you turn this year? 22.

24. Do you like tiktok? I don’t have the app downloaded but I’ll watch TikTok compilations on Facebook sometimes, and I’ve never had anything bad to say about them. I loooove the ones where people show what they do in their workplace like cleaning laptops, making ice cream cakes, doing pottery, etc., or showing projects that they’ve been working on like cleaning their swimming pool or renovating their bedroom. Those are the most satisfying to watch.

25. Do you ever miss vine? OMG yes. TikTok is entertaining, but the sense of humor that Vine birthed is on another fucking level. Only Vine could’ve made hurricane tortilla, a child, two bros chilling in a hot tub, and no head funny.

26. How are you doing, seriously? Today was one of the easier days. But I’m still hurting. It was just more manageable to breathe today.

27. Is there someone you want to talk to but you know you can’t? Yes.

28. Do you make jokes to cope with your problems? Sometimes, if I’ve already accepted the problem. It’s harder to make light of a situation that I’m still grappling with.

29. Have you ever had someone call you their best friend but you didn’t even consider them a close friend? I don’t think so.

30. Have you ever dealt with a pathological liar? Sure.

31. Long or short surveys? Medium-length to long.

32. If ur in school, are you doing it on zoom or in class? I’m not in school but I can definitely tell you that there aren’t any physical classes happening any time soon, at least in this country. It’s just not safe enough yet.

33. Would you ever have a pet rat? Nope.

34. Favourite memory with your best friend? I like laughing fits with Angela and spending hours at her house doing nothing. With Gabie, I always enjoy eating out with her.

35. Favourite type of content to watch on YouTube? I’ve mentioned them a lot on surveys recently, but it’s definitely Good Mythical Morning. I always turn to them when I’m going through depression so I’m really grateful that they have 1500+ episodes on their main channel and have a bunch of secondary channels with hundreds of videos in each as well. They have no idea how many lives they’ve saved. Other than that, I also like watching Korean reality shows, mukbangs that double as ASMR videos, soothing baking videos, and vlogs from local celebrities heheh.

36. Are you allergic to anything serious? No allergies for me.

37. Dream job? I don’t really have a dream title for now; I just want to eventually end up at the top of the ladder in my chosen career path which is PR.

38. Do you think dreams mean anything? No.

39. Fave clothing brand? Mango or Zara.

40. Do you miss anyone? Painfully.

[toukenra]

@lithiel Oh my gosh thank you so much for sending this in I just got reminded of all the reasons why I love Tsurumaru he’s so precious I just want to suck up all the sadness he’s been hiding like a sponge and wrap my arms around him like he did for this Saniwa (yes I’m low-key jealous rn) thank you thank you thank you I really enjoyed worked on this one! (灬♥ω♥灬) (although this took me more than 6 hours of racking my brains but i’m very thankful for this request) And for the edgy dragon/wolf… Kuri-chan, just resign to your fate because as long as I live you will be loved by me there’s no running away from my love. 

I’m just gonna assume there isn’t any established relationship between them YET (ehehe) so that’s why they weren’t allowed anywhere near her room although the swords more or less have a crush on their Saniwa and vice versa if that’s okay with you! And yessss~ gimme all the cheesy and cutesy fluff in the world~, I’m highly allergic against any kind of angst anyway so I hope you’re going to like this one!! (♡ >ω< ♡) sorry if Kuri-chans scenario turned out so much longer than the rest i wanted to write something longer for him and just ran out of ideas after writing this ._. *gets tomatoes thrown at me*

This could get quite lengthy so under the cut just to be safe

Ookurikara/ Kuri-chan

Why did he have to share a room with Mitsutada and Kuninaga who in the world could sleep besides these nosy swords? he openly grumbles as he walks to the bathroom to escape their loud snoring

suddenly his foot makes contact with something soft

an irritated look makes its way onto his face when he realizes it’s his current master sleeping right in his way

hasn’t she heard of a bedroom before??

woah slow down there Grinch

ponders whether he should just let her sleep over there or if he should call for Mitsutada to fetch her away when he hears stifled sobs coming from her

crouches down and is ready to wake her so he can go back to sleep

‘O-okurikara..please..’

shoots right up at hearing his name and bangs his head on the wooden beam with a loud thump startling the both of you

your face flushes a deep shade of red once she realizes that the man you’ve  been longing for in your dream is standing right in front of you although he was angrily rubbing his temple by now

shoots you the death glare but upon seeing the fresh tears on your face his expression softens just the slightest

‘What? Don’t you even know what a bedroom is anymore or why were you sleeping out here in the cold? And what about crying like that you sure are bothersome.’

‘I-I’m sorry.. I guess I was sleepwalking and just landed out here. I-it’s fine you can leave me now.’

he really thinks about just going back to his room but in the end he just can’t find it in himself to leave you laying there like that

curses himself and the whole world and grabs you by your arms, basically dragging you back to you room

after laying you down you expect him to leave when he suddenly drapes himself right next to you, his arms pulling you flush against his hard chest so you couldn’t turn around and look at him

you were surely getting a heart attack by now

‘Ookurikara??!’

‘Tsk you sure are annoying, stop moving around so much.’

you knew all too well that he didn’t like physical contact at all so being held in his arms like this touched your soul deeply and you were about to start crying again

‘Y-you don’t have to stay here with me..’ you mumble apologetically but he only pulls you tighter against his chest

‘Tsk, just be quiet already. I’m only here because Kuninaga is snoring so loud’ he grumbles, making you smile a little at realizing how kind he really is

‘Thank you then, I will not forget your kindness’

‘I’m not doing this for you. Now just close your eyes’ he grumbles against your hair, making you giggle in delight

‘You know how people say that animals and children can sense the true nature of a person. I knew you were kind the moment Gokotai’s tiger cubs started climbing on you. Good night, Ookurikara.’

stay silent but is secretly blushing heavily into your hair

he hates it. 

he hates it all: the warm feeling spreading inside his chest at listening to the soothing sound of your even breathing, the wavering scent of your shampoo that is tickling his nose and the sensation of holding a warm and lively woman like you ins arms, god he hates it why does the world have to punish him like that

(translation: he loves it so much and doesn’t want to let you go ever but Jesus he’d rather get skinned alive than admit to it)

both of you fall asleep just like that, legs tangled and intertwined both of you basically melt into one

would probably want you to sign a confidentality agreement next morning lol

if you ever tell anyone about this you’re dead

Tsurumaru

‘Oya oya what kind of surprise is this?’

his eyebrows start wiggling when he finds you sleeping in front of your room

ponders whether he should jump out on you or draw on your face but you were always so firm with keeping him and the others away from your room at night

which only made him more curious on what you were trying to hide from him

on a closer look he suddenly remarks that your body is shaking and tears are spilling from your closed eyes

that was definitely another surprise, but surely not the kind he wished for

he didn’t even know that humans could cry during sleep and it honestly breaks his heart a little at seeing you in this pitiful state

‘..rumaru..’

??? was that his name coming from your sleeping form ???

‘Tsurumaru.. please..don’t let me go’

yep, ok that was definitely his name spilling from your heavenly lips

and you’re wanting to be held by him? sure both of you had been playfully flirting for some time now but never would he have thought that there was any deeper meaning to it

at least not from your side

he tries to keep his cool, he really does, but his heart rate just skyrockets to unhealthy altitudes

carefully sweeps you up in his arms without waking you and carries you back to your room

lays down next to you and peppers your face with little butterfly kisses, even licking up the salty tears off your cheeks until you scrunch up and open your eyes, only to be greeted with the sight of Tsurumaru licking your nose

your first instinct is to yell bloody murder but a quick peck to your forehead silences you immediately

‘Geez, surprising me like that wasn’t funny, Master. If you wanted me to hold you that badly you could have told me from the start.’ he graces you with a kind smile before he presses a soft kiss against your nose

silly crane why u so cute ilysm :’))

not being able to form any coherent sentence you just bury your head in his neck and mumble a teary-eyed ‘thank you’ against his heated skin but he understands it anyway

holds you tightly and strokes your hair until you fall asleep 

probably teases you next morning because you were drooling on him

makes it his life mission to never let you sleep alone again

good luck with trying to escape his nightly cuddles  (not that you mind i know it)

great excuse to be close to you hehe

can you feel my love for him?? because my heart sure is overflowing with love for this precious crane

Ichigo

he loved his little brothers, he really did but sometimes at night he just wished to have some moments just for himself so he carefully removed Hirano’s arm from his chest and slipped out of the stuffy bedroom

admiring the full moon and fresh night air he just wanders around the Citadel until he suddenly finds himself in front of your door

somehow he always landed here, partly because of how connected he felt towards you whenever you flashed him that kind smile of yours and mostly because of his heartfelt desire to be closer to you

as if his prayers had been heard a soft whimper made its way to his ears

startled, his eyes darted to the origin of the sound only to be met by your sleeping frame draped on the porch

his heart breaks in two at seeing your closed eyes filled with tears and how vulnerable you looked in the dim moonlight

were your nightmares the reason you never let anyone near your room during nighttime?

heavily torn between wanting to kiss your tears away and being afraid of your reaction when he hears his name being whispered in between your little whimpers

404 ERROR ERROR Ichigo.exe has stopped working

after calming his racing heart  it only took him 7 minutes  he realizes that you were crying because you must have felt lonely and his heart just breaks again

musters all his courage and carefully nudges you until you sleepily open your eyes and pulls you into a tender embrace

‘I’m sorry for not realizing my desire to hold you like this any sooner but please allow me to embrace you like this for tonight.’

pure angel is bright red and dying inside but keeps his promise and doesn’t let you go for the rest of the night or ever again

he’s the epitome of cuteness 527457% would kiss him

Izuminokami

absolutely flabbergasted when he finds you sleeping in the cold 

how did you even land there?

doesn’t give it a second thought and carries you back to your room bridal style because he’s sure he looks very cool doing so when he realizes there are tears streaming down your beautiful sleeping face

and you’re even mumbling his name with that cute angelic voice of yours?

oh lord please give him strength because he has to gather all his strength to not wake and devour you right on the spot

why does my sinful mind want to make this naughty bad girl Anni

decides its better to let you sleep and ask for an explanation next morning

gently wipes your tears away and presses feathery kisses against your temple

tries to be very cool and composed about holding you like this but when you sigh against his neck cool sword warrior just melts into a big puddle

let’s be honest: you’ve never slept any better than in his arms because damn that guy probably smells so good

probably teases you a little next morning for clinging to him during your sleep

shut up Kane-san, you were enjoying this as well

Kashuu

poor bab is lost when he finds you weeping in your sleep right in front of your room

he just wanted to use the rest room and now this

wonders if he should call for Yasusada because he has no idea what to do right now when he overhears you whispering his name 

excuse me what?

you’re calling out for him right?

or were you crying because of him?

13637 questions and no one to answer them for him

it takes him about 20 attempts but in the end he wakes you and worriedly asks you why you were sleeping outside and dear god were you upset with him or why did you cry during sleep?

after you shyly admit that you just wanted to be hugged by him and ask him to stay the night with you poor angel just faints

reluctantly agrees to stay with you although he is screaming and dying inside

very stiff at first but eases into it fairly quickly and falls asleep with you since he realizes this is the ultimate proof of still being loved by you

- Mod Pancake 🥞