#wink wonk honk honk

[eyesofshan-if]

Pengu do you simp for mr. woowha? Or you’re not into those types of ppl at all

pengu is merely a flightless bird who knows no such thing

[divineprank]

I have a few more of those asks to answer, but truthfully I'm very worn out after my niece's birthday party today so I hope you guys won't mind if I finish them, and some drafts, tomorrow when I don't feel like I'm about to collapse! I'll be around Discord until I zonk out. ♥

[dead-twink-detectives]

Can someone tell me to stop writing because I already have three things I need to post and I'm working on a dean Winchester x teenage oc HELP ME

[ichorai]

broken machine ; miles morales.

track four of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; miles morales x mutant!gn!reader

synopsis ; stuck in a time loop, miles had to witness the one thing that he dreaded the most in life over and over again: your death.

words ; 5.1k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff, mutant au, time loop au, established relationship au

warnings / includes ; repeated major character death, descriptions of injury/blood, cursing, two brief mentions of sex, wolverine & omega red & doctor strange cameos, mentions of x-men & daredevil & wong, set in an alternature universe from the mcu, miles throws up at one point, one (1) reference to spider-man: nwh wink wonk, miles' parents are adorable and i love them

main masterlist.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE ONE.

Three knocks to his door, in rapid succession. 

“Miles,” barked his dad. “Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Miles groaned into his pillow, propping himself up with his elbow and glaring at the closed door. 

Outside, a car honked. A plump pigeon hooted by his windowsill. The sun beamed directly into his narrowed eyes. 

With a muffled yawn, Miles swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He could smell his mom making breakfast quesadillas from the kitchen. 

The day droned on like any other. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, shrugged on the same black hoodie he wore yesterday, snatched a quesadilla from the plate—nearly burning his fingers in doing so, much to his mom’s dismay, and kissed her cheek apologetically when she scolded him for not taking out the trash like she’d asked the day before. His dad was scarfing down the steaming quesadillas by the small kitchen table, eyes scanning over the day’s newspaper. 

“All these so-called ‘heroes’… and yet crime rates are as high as ever. What a joke.” Jefferson pulled a scowl, reading on about the newest debacle with X-Men and mutants in court. 

Miles could feel his stomach twist at his dad’s words, but he pushed it down.

“Miles, come sit down and eat,” said his mom, urging him to the table.

With an apologetic grimace, Miles replied, “Sorry, ma, I gotta meet Y/N at the diner—I promised breakfast with them today. I’ll be back before dinner, okay?” 

“Alright, mijo. I want you back before the sun sets—I don’t want you out and about during the night now,” she huffed, straightening the lopsided collar of his hoodie. “Tell Y/N I said hi. Remember what I told you, Miles—use protection. And don’t forget to take out the trash!”

“Okay, okay, Jeez, mom!” blurted Miles, clearly flustered at the prospect of his mom giving him yet another sex talk. He was already pulling on his shoes and waving goodbye to his dad, who muffled out something unintelligible around a mouthful of his breakfast. Just before he was about to stride out, he remembered to grab the bags of trash and toss them into the bins outside, before hurrying down the street to the diner. 

Knowing you, you were probably already waiting at the diner, halfway done with your milkshake.

Correction, you were well into your second milkshake by the time Miles jogged in.

“You’re late,” you told him, a fond smile on your face. “I ordered for you.”

“Bacon cheeseburger with a side of curly fries? Lemonade with extra ice?” Miles asked, sliding into the seat across from you, the sticky red leather of the booth making him grimace.

You cocked your head at him. “Yup. Extra ketchup on the side, too.”

“See, that’s just telling me we spend too much time together,” said Miles, affectionately kicking at your feet beneath the table. 

Scoffing, you popped a curly fry into your mouth. “You wouldn’t last two seconds without me.”

Before Miles could fit in a scathing remark, a loud crashing resounded from far outside the diner, followed by distant screams. Both you and Miles exchanged worried glances, peering out of the window to see civilians frantically running down the street. 

“Got your suit?” you asked quietly. You had yours on underneath your sweater already, since you had planned to go training with Daredevil after breakfast.

Miles bobbed his head, the light-hearted atmosphere disappearing in an instant. “In my bag. I’ll meet you there?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know what it could be this time—whatever it is, it doesn’t look pretty. Stay safe, Miles.” 

With that, you slid out of your booth, planting a quick kiss to his cheek, before dashing out of the restaurant, running against the current of the panicked crowd. Squaring his jaw, Miles darted into the diner’s bathroom, hurriedly changing into the suit May Parker had gifted him, and hopped right out the small, rectangular window. 

The fight was about two blocks from the diner. He swung down onto a streetlamp, eyes widening when he caught sight of a bloodied Wolverine pinned against the asphalt—Omega Red not too far from him, his carbonadium coils wrapped around Logan’s biceps and neck. 

Wolverine let out a growl, his adamantium claws slashing out, but not long enough to reach his attacker. 

Miles shot a web out to get closer. Though he wasn’t all that close to the infamous Wolverine, Miles knew he was a halfway decent guy, and deserved a bit of help. 

Mid-air, he blasted web fluid straight into Omega Red’s eyes, blinding him momentarily. Furious, the large man roared out an expletive, letting go of Wolverine in shock and scratching the sticky webs away from his face with one fluid motion, before rounding his angry crimson gaze at Miles. One of the metal tentacles shot out in his direction, but before it could reach him, you came barreling forward out of nowhere, a purple blade of energy stemming from your clenched fist. 

“No, kid, wait—!” gruffed Wolverine, a warning about Omega’s death spores just on the tip of his tongue.

It was too late.

Omega Red chuckled darkly as your blade of energy sunk into his abdomen with a sickly squelch. To Miles’ horror, he seemed practically unfazed by this. You snarled up at him when he wrapped one of his burly hands around your neck, the other coming up to lay over your skull. Miles scrambled forward, shouting your name, but Wolverine held him away, frantically telling him to stay back—something about deadly pheromones.

But Miles wasn’t listening. All he could see was you, and the final second of your expression shifting from determined rage, to raw fear.

A misty fog began surrounding Omega Red—his death spores. Your eyelids fluttered and you fell limp in his grasp. He was feeding off of your life energy. 

A sick crack of bone as he effortlessly crushed your head in his palm.

A raw, blood-curdling scream tore from Miles’ lungs.

Wolverine wouldn't let him go.

And then, it all went black.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE TWO.

Three knocks to his door, in rapid succession. 

“Miles,” the muffled voice of his dad drifted from beneath the doorway. “Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Outside, a car honked. A plump pigeon hooted by his windowsill. The sun beamed directly into his narrowed eyes. 

He immediately sat up on his bed, breathing heavy and labored. A tear fell down his cheek and Miles hurriedly wiped it away with the back of his palm.

“What the…?” he muttered beneath his breath, glancing at his phone to see that it was November seventh. 

Huh. So it must’ve all been a dream. Wolverine, that weird metal-tentacle dude, you dying…

It was all a dream.

Huffing out a sigh of relief, Miles swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He could smell his mom making breakfast quesadillas from the kitchen. Funny, his dream-mom had made quesadillas as well.

The day droned on like any other. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, shrugged on the same black hoodie he wore yesterday, snatched a quesadilla from the plate—nearly burning his fingers in doing so, much to his mom’s dismay.

“Miles, I told you to take out the trash!” she scolded, crossing her arms expectantly.

For a second, Miles froze. This was… eerily similar to his dream.

Realizing that he had yet to reply, Miles hastily choked out, “Sorry, ma. I’ll take it out when I leave.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Diner. Meeting Y/N there for breakfast,” Miles responded. “I’ll be back before dinner, okay?”

From the small kitchen table, his dad glanced away from the day’s newspaper. “All these so-called ‘heroes’… and yet crime rates are as high as ever. What a joke.” Jefferson pulled a scowl, before reading on about the newest debacle with X-Men and mutants in court.

Huh. Miles could swear his dad said the exact same thing in his dream…

“Alright, mijo. I want you back before the sun sets—I don’t want you out and about during the night now,” she huffed, coming forward to straighten the lopsided collar of his hoodie. “Tell Y/N I said hi. Remember what I told you, Miles—use protection. And don’t forget to take out the trash!”

“Alright, alright, Jeez, mom!” blurted Miles, flustered at the prospect of his mom giving him yet another sex talk. He was already pulling on his shoes and waving goodbye to his dad, who muffled out something unintelligible around a mouthful of his breakfast. Just before he was about to stride out, he remembered to grab the bags of trash and toss them into the bins outside, before hurrying down the street to the diner.

“You’re late,” you told him, a fond smile on your face. Cupped in your hands was your second milkshake, already half-empty. “I ordered for you.”

“Thanks,” said Miles as he slid into the seat across from you, the sticky red leather of the booth making him grimace. “Hey, something really weird happened this morning. It’s like—deja vu, but in my dream? Like everything I saw in my dream felt weirdly real and then when I woke up, the exact same things started to happen—”

Before he could continue explaining, a loud crashing resounded from far outside the diner, followed by distant screams. Both you and Miles exchanged worried glances, peering out of the window to see civilians frantically running.

This happened in my dream! thought Miles. Unless… unless it wasn’t a dream…

“Got your suit?” you asked quietly. You had yours on underneath your sweater already, since you had planned to go training with Daredevil after breakfast.

Miles opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

You blinked at him, miffed. “Miles? We gotta go help them.”

Head feeling stuffed full with cotton, Miles bobbed his head hesitantly. “It’s, uh, it’s in my bag. I’ll meet you there?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know what it could be this time—whatever it is, it doesn’t look pretty. Stay safe, Miles.” 

With that, you slid out of your booth, planting a quick kiss to his cheek, before dashing out of the restaurant before he could even begin to think to stop you, running against the current of the panicked crowd. Squaring his jaw, Miles blew out a deep exhale and ran into the diner’s bathroom, hurriedly changing into the suit May Parker had gifted him, and hopped right out the small, rectangular window. 

As soon as Miles saw Wolverine and Omega Red a couple blocks down the diner, he knew whatever he had seen in his quote-unquote ‘dream’ hadn’t actually been a dream. Maybe he was in an alternate dimension? Or could it have been time travel of some sorts?

Whatever it was, Miles had to find you.

He swung down onto the road, ready to stop you from getting too close to Omega Red. Swiftly, he shot out web fluid straight into Omega Red’s eyes, blinding him momentarily. Furious, the large man roared out an expletive, letting go of Wolverine in shock and scratching the sticky webs away from his face with one fluid motion, before rounding his angry crimson gaze at Miles.

One of the metal tentacles shot out in his direction, but before it could reach him, you came barreling forward out of nowhere, a purple blade of energy stemming from your clenched fist. 

“No, kid, wait—!” gruffed Wolverine, a warning about Omega’s death spores just on the tip of his tongue.

Prepared, Miles pushed you out of the way, frantically yelling out, “Stay back, he’s got killer pheromones!”

But it was too late.

The long, spindly carbonadium cords darted forward and snaked around both of your ankles, sweeping you off your feet and dangling you upside down in a matter of seconds. Desperately, you tried to hack away at the metal with your energy blades. The determined snarl on your face began to wane into one of fear when it proved to be fruitless.

Omega Red grinned manically, eyeing you like a wolf would a hare. 

A misty fog began surrounding Omega Red—his death spores. Your eyelids fluttered and you fell limp in his grasp. He was feeding off of your life energy.

Miles yelled out your name, but Wolverine held him back, telling him it was for his own safety. 

“They’re long gone, kid,” the X-Man gruffed, grip unrelenting. “I’m sorry.”

A raw, blood-curdling scream tore from Miles’ lungs.

“Let me go!” he cried. It wasn’t a dream. None of this was a dream—it couldn’t be.

Wolverine wouldn't let him go, no matter how much Miles struggled.

And then, it all went black.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE THREE.

Three knocks to his door, in rapid succession. 

“Miles,” said his dad from the other side of the closed door. “Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

He shot up from the bed, breathing ragged. 

Miles swiped at his watery eyes, burying his face into his palms. If that hadn’t been a dream… what was it?

Car honk. Pigeon hoot. The sun beamed directly into his tired eyes. Right. This was the third time he’d lived through today. He must’ve been stuck in a time loop of some sorts. 

But how was he supposed to get out?

Swallowing heavily, Miles slipped out of bed, changing out of his pajamas, and got ready for the day. He had to get to the diner.

The mouth-watering aroma of his mom’s quesadillas wafted from the kitchen. 

“Miles, come have breakfast!” she called out just as she noticed Miles pulling on his shoes, tilting her head. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“Out. Diner. Y/N,” said Miles, rushing. “Sorry, ma. I’ll be back soon!”

“Wait—!” she exclaimed, but he was already dashing out the door and sprinting down the block.

You were just starting on your second milkshake, brows raising when Miles stumbled into the diner, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in his haste.

“Hey, you’re not late for once!” you proclaimed, clearly amused at his haggard state. But your humored expression melted away when you saw that Miles was in no smiling mood. “What’s going on? God, Miles, you need to sit down.”

Blowing out a breath, Miles slid into the booth and began to explain. It was a terrible explanation, one that made no sense at all—but Miles was desperate and clearly not thinking straight.

“Right, so, I’ve been living today for the past two days. And I’ve seen you die before—twice! I wake up every time you die. It must be like, uh, like—”

“Miles,” you said, brows furrowed. “I’m so confused right now. You’ve seen me die? Like… like a vision or something?”

“No! Uhm, yes? Wait, no, I don’t think so, at least. I—”

Before he could finish, the loud crashing resounded from far outside the diner, followed by distant screams. Your concern skyrocketed, and you glanced out the window to see what was going on. Miles pulled at the skin of his face, frustrated. 

Civilians were screaming and running every which way like headless chickens. A woman with a baby stroller tripped over the curb and you sprang up to your feet, immediately breaking out of the diner to help her.

“Y/N, wait, you can’t go—!” exclaimed Miles, rushing out after you.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled under your breath as the both of you caught sight of Omega Red and Wolverine barreling down the street in their altercation.

With no time to change into your suit, you clenched your fist, purple energy blade crackling to life around your skin, mildly burning at the cuffs of your hoodie sleeves.

“No, Y/N, listen to me, you can’t go, you’ll die!” Miles exclaimed, grabbing your forearm to stop you.

Rounding on him with a heated gaze, you shook your head. “Miles, hundreds of people are going to die! That’s Omega Red. He can kill anyone in a close vicinity. I can’t just stand back and let him do it. I need to go help Logan.”

With that, you shoved away from him, leaving Miles to stumble after you. He cursed under his breath, shooting out his webs to swing after you.

Omega Red caught sight of the both of you from afar, the red of his eyes gleaming hungrily.

The carbonadium tentacles curled around Miles first, crushing his lungs until he struggled to breath and black dots danced about his vision. He could only helplessly watch as you dived down and slashed at his legs, but were dragged out by the other coil, lifting you up by your head as if you were a ragdoll. 

To his horror, Omega Red flung you hard across the street. So hard that you crashed clean through the windows of the opposite building, and straight into three consecutive plaster walls after that.

And then everything went dark.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE FOUR.

“Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Car. Pigeon. Sun.

Diner.

This time, Omega Red threw a car at you.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE FIVE.

Quesadilla. Newspaper. Trash.

Diner.

Miles was helplessly pinned to the street as Omega Red used Wolverine’s adamantium claws to slice you to pieces.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE SIX.

Running down the street. Your milkshake spilled all over the diner table. Miles frantically trying to tell you not to go out. He was so tired.

You went out anyway.

Omega Red picked you up and ripped you clean in half with his bare hands.

Bending at the stomach, Miles threw up all over the sidewalk.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE SEVEN.

Miles didn’t go to the diner this time. He stayed in bed, eyes unblinking and wide, his stomach roiling nauseously. 

“Miles!” came the muffled shriek of his mom. “Miles, it’s Y/N!”

Legs trembling, Miles stepped out of his room and slowly shuffled down the hall to see his mom and dad standing in front of the television. Rio’s eyes were quick to water, tears dripping down her cheek at the sight. His dad bowed his head and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

The news was on. 

It was you, being recorded on a shaky camera—barely visible behind Omega Red, with his burly hands wrapped around your throat as he squeezed, squeezed, squeezed—

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE EIGHT.

Three quick knocks to his door.

“Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Miles threw himself out of bed just as the car honked. He was so very tired, eyes bloodshot and limbs weary. But he couldn’t give up. 

Hastily, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas, he ran out of his room after grabbing his web shooters, barely acknowledging his baffled parents. He bolted out the door at lightning speed, using his shooters to hurl himself down the street, to the diner.

People gawked and stared at him with wide eyes. They all gawked and pointed fingers, exclaiming, “Hey, it’s knock-off Spider-Man!” 

Miles couldn’t bring himself to care.

Not wasting any time, he barged into the diner, making his way to your booth. Before you could fit in any comments about how he was late, or how he looked like he’d just gotten run over by a bulldozer, he grabbed you by the shoulders, looking you straight in the eye.

“Listen to me. I’ve been stuck in a time loop, watching you die over and over and over again. You cannot leave this diner, Y/N. I’m being serious. Omega Red is going to come rolling down the street any second now—but you can’t help in any way, no matter how much you want to, or you’ll die and it just resets the loop for me. I need to keep you alive. Do you understand?”

With wide, unblinking eyes, you stared at your boyfriend as if he’d gone mad. A part of you thought this was just some elaborate joke—but the longer you looked into his eyes—his tired, weary eyes, the more you could see how sincere he was being. He was telling the truth.

“Time loop… like groundhog day?” 

Miles nodded.

“Do you know how to fix it?”

Crestfallen, Miles blew out a shaky breath. “No. Every time you die, the day just resets and I wake up back in my room—your death is basically… inevitable.”

A sick feeling twisted in your gut. Not really at the fact that you were fated to die in this loop, but at the idea of Miles having to watch and relive that over and over again.

“Oh, Miles, I’m so sorry…” you began, unsure of what else to say. Eyes softening, Miles released your shoulders, sliding his hands down your arms to thread his fingers with yours. 

A tentative idea sprung forth when your friend and vigilante mentor, Daredevil, once mentioned in passing a certain sorcerer living in New York that specialized in all things time-related.

“I think I might know someone that can help,” you said, squeezing his hands with a hopeful grin.

The Sanctum Sanctorum was a large, spacious building that remained suspiciously clean despite having only two ‘cleaners’ that looked far younger than you—Wong liked to call them apprentices, though. You’d passed by the building before twice—but never actually had any reason to come inside.

For such an important place, you were surprised there weren’t any guards by the door. You and Miles exchanged nervous glances, before stepping in. 

Stephen Strange was by the fireplace to the right, nursing a mug of a thick purple liquid. Draped over his shoulders was the infamous red Cloak of Levitation, which seemed to perk upwards in the presence of guests.

“Y/N L/N,” he greeted, narrowing his eyes at you, as if he’d known you were going to come. “Miles Morales—what brings the two of you to the Sanctum Sanctorum?”

How the peculiar sorcerer knew your names, neither of you had a clue.

“Hello, uh… doctor, er, sir—uhm, I’m—I think I might be stuck in a time loop?” Heat flushed over Miles’ face as he stumbled over his words, clearly overwhelmed that he was standing in front of an Avenger.

One of Strange’s eyebrows arched closer to his hairline. “You think?”

Clearing his throat, Miles winced as he replied, “I know I’m in a time loop. I’ve been living the same day over and over again more than half a dozen times.”

The sorcerer tilted his head, free hand coming up to stroke his well-groomed goatee. “Yep… that’s a time loop, alright. I’ve been stuck in one before—nasty thing it is.” The unpleasant memory of Dormammu made a grimace pull his lips thin. With that, he began striding away, leaving the two of you awkwardly standing by the Sanctum's entrance. 

After a second, Strange glanced back, rolling his eyes. “Come on, what are you two standing there dilly-dallying for?”

The two of you scampered along behind him, making your way further into the large building. Down a winding staircase you went, one that seemed to go on for ages. You peered over the railings, blanching upon seeing nothing but darkness for as far as the eye could see. Nervous, you reached out for Miles’ hand, which he gladly took.

Once the three of you had arrived by the floor, torches by the walls magically burst aflame, bathing the room in a warm clementine glow.

“Something incredibly wrong must have messed up your stream of reality’s timeline for it to fall back upon itself. Something that isn’t supposed to happen. Usually time loops occur when alternate realities collide into one another, thereby permanently damaging both realities’ time continuum—but it can sometimes happen on its own to prevent incursions from occurring in the first place. Like a safety net of sorts. It’s the universe’s way of giving you a second chance. Or… seven, in your case,” explained Strange, waving his hand in front of the Eye of Agamotto that rested just above his chest. The golden platelets pulled back to reveal a glowing emerald gem—the infamous time stone. Most of what he said had flown right over your head, but you nodded as if you understood anyway. “What is it that resets the loop each time, kid?”

Miles shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling queasy. “Y/N dies,” he mumbled.

The sorcerer’s eyebrows twitched up in surprise. 

“Ah,” he said, his usually stoic demeanor melting into one of stiff, uncomfortable sympathy. “My condolences.”

“Thanks—uh, condolences… taken? Received? Yeah,” Miles awkwardly choked out. If it weren’t the dire situation at hand, you would’ve laughed at your boyfriend’s inability to just keep his mouth shut.

A glimmer of amusement danced behind Strange’s irises, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. 

“Alright, kid, I can fix it for you—just promise not to talk during the spell. You’re not the only person who’s come to me asking to make life-altering changes to the time continuum.”

Neither of you really knew what he was talking about, but you stiffly bobbed your heads up and down nonetheless. 

With that, Stephen clapped his hands together, chanting lowly underneath his breath. The time stone began to emit a bright, lime-hued light—one that nearly hurt if you stared directly at it. 

And then… it all stopped.

Strange stopped murmuring in his foreign tongue, the stone stopped glowing, and everything felt eerily still.

Confused, Miles asked, “That’s it?”

A ghost of a smile traced the corner of Doctor Strange’s lips. “Yeah, kid. That’s it. It should all be over now—you’ll wake up in the real tomorrow, tomorrow. Now get outta here—before Wong mistakes you guys for his apprentices.”

“Thank you, Doctor Strange. This means the world to us,” you said, genuine gratitude shining through your expression as you squeezed Miles’ hand.

“Yeah, thanks Mr—Doctor—Sir… uh…” Miles began stumbling over his own tongue again, and this time, you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. Strange cracked an actual smile as well, jerking his head towards the staircase.

The two of you began walking back up the steps, a weight settled off both of your chests. Miles more so than you—having to watch you die over and over again had taken a serious toll on him.

In a blink of an eye, the stairs disappeared beneath your feet, and the two of you found yourself right outside the Sanctum. Bewildered, the two of you glanced back, only to see a golden-ringed portal just behind you. Strange saluted with two fingers, raising his mug to slurp at the mysterious mauve sludge within his mug. 

The portal closed a second later. 

You and Miles stood in a fragile silence for a long moment.

“Miles… what you had to go through… I’m so sorry, it must’ve been a living nightmare. I can’t possibly imagine what that’s like. Are you sure you’re okay? Because I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it,” you whispered, glancing his way. Your expression had softened with raw concern, practically bleeding with affection for the young man beside you.

Instead of answering your question, Miles just shook his head, tightly winding his arms around you and squeezing. His nose rested against the crown of your head as he inhaled the homely scent of your shampoo. After recovering from your initial shock, you returned the embrace, the fabric of his shirt crumpling beneath your grip. His shoulders began to tremble.

“Are you crying?” you asked when he sniffled quietly.

“No,” he replied, voice thick. “Doctor Strange just has… dusty magical carpets, is all.”

A peal of laughter fell from your lips, and you fondly knocked your forehead against his. “Careful now, wouldn’t want Wong to fire his ‘apprentices’ now, would you?”

Miles gave you a watery smile, before pulling away, holding you at arm’s length. “Can you stay with me tonight? I just… I don’t wanna lose you again. I wanna make sure I wake up in the real tomorrow—where you’d still be alive.”

Leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, you gave him a gentle grin. “Sure, Miles. Oh, we can watch the new season of Yellowjackets together!”

“Okay,” Miles said, watching you with a lovesick gaze as the two of you began walking down the street, one that made his dark irises all molten and doe-like. “Anything you want.”

NOVEMBER EIGHT.

Miles’ eyes cracked open blearily. A ray of sun was glaring through his window, shining directly into his face. From outside, he could hear cars honking and the flutter of a pigeons’ wings as it flew away from his windowsill.

Memories of yesterday—or rather—several yesterdays, came rushing to the front of his mind. Immediately, Miles sat up in bed, his foot accidentally knocking against the laptop sitting on top of his blanket.

Initial panic beginning to wane away, Miles looked to his side, relief flooding his veins upon seeing you splayed out on the other end of his bed, cheek smushed into his pillow as you slept. You groggily mumbled something unintelligible at his sudden movement, but slipped back into a peaceful sleep not two seconds later.

You startled back awake when Miles let out a sudden whoop of unrestrained joy, loud enough to alert his parents in the kitchen.

“Ugh, Miles,” you groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow. “Shut up.”

Wincing, Miles eased back into bed, patting your shoulder while whispering, “Sorry, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He tugged you close into his side, finding solace in your warmth—a physical reminder that you were real. 

This was real.

Miles grinned into your hairline, and clutched you all the closer.

By the time his mom and dad peeked their heads into his room to check that you two were alright, they were not at all surprised to see the kids fast asleep, limbs tangled and softly snoring away, with Miles taking up most of the space while you were squished against the wall.

The door softly shut once more, and Rio casted an amused glance at her husband, who also had the habit of taking up too much space in bed. “Like father, like son.”

Affronted, Jefferson followed after his wife as she strode away, thinking she was talking about his loud unconscious mannerisms (snoring, and, on occasion, talking in his sleep). “What? What do you mean by that? I told you, I don’t snore! Not anymore, at least…”

[cheezekeyn]

The Inventor and The Gravekeeper's Time and Relevant Dimension in Space.

Sometimes fate makes them crash at each other's ships and it would take hours to days (wink wonk) to repair the exterior of their ships and go on in their separate journey.

The Inventor's ship would make loud honking sounds from Mr. Dickens. The Gravekeeper would complain as to why it makes that sound because it "shouldn't", The Inventor would whine "because it's boring if it doesn't"

The Gravekeeper's ship would leave trails of iris flowers to wherever he lands it.

[faffreux]

places fawful on a comedically large piece of toast only for fawful to laugh and take a honking bite out of it, Beans and toast

HEHEHE

now THAT’S a breakfast I’d like to have wink wonk

[catboyfurina]

oh ! are u a parking ticket bc you have fine written all over you wink wonk wink wink honk honk honk

=^._.^= ∫

Jhdhjjshihsjb and also because I am bad at parking 😏

[astralibrary]

smoochin’ & scootin’

[convxction]

Chrom from Fire Emblem: Awakening          &       Multimuses FEAT Zack Fair from Crisis                                                                                              Core: Final Fantasy XII

Personals do NOT reblog.

[zoofyabumpkins]

I... Do us all a favor and click once on the drawing to see it 😂

[sweet-beezus]

Ah yes, the supposed subtle time of Secret Santa except nobody cares and you know for a fact that somebody got a rubber chicken.

[smokedanced]

i am writing on @dochaes again uwu (thirteenth doctor single muse blog)

[jojotichakorn]

Heyo!

I just had the biggest thought...

What if the bad buddy all along is Wai? I mean, it's in the title!! /jk

Okidokie, I have calmed a slight bit, and I have some thoughts.

Firstly, we are in the beginning of the six episode cycle again. Cause if you think about it, the very first episode had to set up a whole bunch of subtle things that seemed very here there and a little everywhere, and then went through the pacings of the next 5 eps until we reached the cognitive conclusion of Pat and Pran at the same level. Kinda like weaving the first row on a loom, gotta pickup all the strands until we have a complete picture. Hence why also, the credits of ep 6 ended on the bet, then we had the extra scene. So now, we have the same two characters pushing forward, without it feeling too much like a separate storyline.

Second. Inkpa. Yes. All the yes.

I have seen two different complaints about this episode, and I think I can at least explain them. Number one, that the two friend groups are no longer clawing at each other's throats. Considering that they are now sophmore/second years at university, and that they managed to complete the bus stop together, I am honestly glad that they have at least put the grudge on the back burner. I mean, it's most likely going to come back swinging, but for them all to display at least the maturity of growing and understanding that solving problems with fists very rarely wok out unless you are star-crossed destined rivals.

Number two. There was four, I repeat, FOUR product placements in this episode. Which by Thai standards is a lot in one. Granted , each one was at least intergrated into the storyline (Or placed upon a body wink wonk) rather well, but still. I reckon they are trying to at least get them done so that we don't have many in the episodes that are oncoming. We didn't have one really in the 5th ep (unless you count the pancake cafe or the condensed milk tube) and we know why. I don't think the further episodes which will deal with some stuff will have them in as much. I personally know that I don't exactly want to be sold a printer or the oishi drink while sobbing up a storm. (Maybe the nivea...maybe) The only one I could think that would fit would be the car, or Yamaha bike....which got me thinking...

What if they actually do a runner near the end of the show? They got to the beach or like an area with large rocks, then there is the scene where Pran's mum is all huffy in the Pat household lounge room, and the scene where they are both outside each other's houses, smiling at each other. Picture this if you will, something has happened to let the family's know they are together, and Pran just begs Pat to take him away. They drive, maybe out to the eco village or to somewhere else and spend the day with each other, fully believing that this is their last peace before facing what they have to, and then they decide to go home and face it, together? my heART!

Also also, people are saying that Pran's parents are gonna come to the play and see them acting opposite each other too. 1) Play's probably gonna be over in like one or two episodes cause P'Aof ain't stretching out any shit over here, I don't think it's endgame material and 2) Neither family came to the Freshy contest, so I don't know if parents are gonna come to the play.

But out of every theory and prediction I thrown out there, like 2 were true. So *puts on red nose* what the heck do I know.

And to sum up characters: Pat is Thai Troy Bolton (best one), Pran may have a breakdown, Paa is a useless lesbian (affectionate), Ink is my lord and saviour, I rescend any theory on Wai right now he is but cardboard, I am still the student turning the tiny lazy-susan.

....*clown car honk*

Reliable Anon

heyyy, my loveliest reliable anon!! this is actually so fucking funny, because i was recently telling my friend that the series i'm obsessed with is called "bad buddy" and he was like "let me guess - it's about a bad buddy?" and i was like "you know what, actually no - neither of them are bad or bad buddies", but now i'm going to have to go back and tell him he was right (ugh) lkjglkdfjglkfdg

you are absolutely correct about the six-episode reset, we are definitely on a different plane of bb's existence now.

i do think that it makes sense for the friend groups not to fight as much, especially because i am pretty sure pat and pran would have had quite a few conversations with them during these months we've skipped, now that they have even more reasons to make sure their friends aren't constantly at each other's throats.

i agree that there has been just SO much product placement this episode - i think you're right though, the contracts are likely for a specific number of appearances throughout the drama's run, and they are trying to get them over with now, so we wouldn't be distracted by them during the more serious and angsty arc.

i really like the idea of them running away to be together one last time or something like that, but then deciding to fight for their love and just stick to each other no matter what. as usual - your words to p'aof's ears, dear.

i think your point about the play is good, but i was actually thinking of it being more along the lines of a parallel to the high school event. pran's parents weren't supposed to be there either - they just found out he was with pat, and showed up furious about it. that's what i think might happen here as well - they find out pran is working on a play pat is starring in, and it's high school all over again. i also think that the parents arc might start earlier than we think, so those two things go hand in hand. that's just a possibility though, of course - you could totally be right.

i also completely agree with and adore your summing up of the characters - as usual, you are correct.

[yam1bunny]

Marvus pfp doing a ;o) (AKA a wink wonk honk)

[confetti-the-clown]

Wink wonk! Give me a honk! 

[clownstolemyjokesarchive]

WINK WONK WINK HONK HONK HONK!