#'won't be writing much here' she says

[urlocalwhumper]

my girl and @sowhumpshaped's boy interacting bc yippee yahoo yay (yes that anon was me. again. i should really sign my anons lmfao)

also this is like a weird mix of my pet verse and theirs, tried to keep things consistent but i have adhd memory so do not count on it!! 🫡

anyways,

rayan couldn't believe it. not only had he finally, after years of attempts, been approved for his pet owner's license, but he was also heading to the shelter - not as a volunteer this time, but to finally, finally pick out a pet of his very own.

to say he was excited was an understatement, truly, but he also felt a little bad as he approached the building. he'd been so busy recently, he hadn't been in for volunteer work for a solid two weeks. he supposed it was all worth it now, though.

he only felt more and more excited, almost giddy, as he was brought back towards the kennels. no more pining and yearning, when he left this building, it'd be with his very own pet right by his side.

he already recognized most of the faces he passed, but he still bothered to go kennel-by-kennel anyways. this was possibly the most important decision he'd ever make, and he was going to take it very seriously.

there was one he didn't recognize, though. all the way in the back, curled up as small as possible on its bed, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, was a pet he'd never seen before. he couldn't even really make out any distinctive features, with the way it was hiding its face in its arms. it was blonde, he could at least say that, with floppy little dog ears of a matching color, but he couldn't pick out much else.

"when did this one get in?" he asked, frowning in sympathy. one of the other volunteers - who he admittedly didn't know very well - glanced at the pet in question and sighed.

"last week, i think." they said. "real nasty case. she was confiscated from her last owner after heavy suspicions of abuse, the pet hospital sent her here once she didn't need constant medical attention anymore."

they clicked their tongue derisively. "i don't know how someone could do that to their pet." they sighed again. "either way, she's very skittish. doesn't bite, though. not even if you corner her."

so it's a girl. rayan thought distantly, blinking silently as he processed that load of information.

"that's- that's horrible!" he spluttered, once his brain finally caught up with him. he glanced back at the kennel. the pet inside had raised her head a little bit, and he could make out one shining green eye looking warily at him. "what- what happened?"

the volunteer spun their ring of keys around their finger, before selecting one and unlocking the gate to the kennel. "see for yourself."

electing not to comment on that weirdly ominous answer, he obliged and stepped inside the kennel. almost immediately, the pet inside shrunk back, like she could somehow manage to retreat even further into the far corner of the space.

rayan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in worry. he didn't want to scare her anymore - the poor thing had probably already been scared enough for several lifetimes. so, with a soft grunt, he got down and sat on the kennel floor, a good six feet away from her.

"hi." he said, giving his best encouraging smile. "i'm rayan. i'm not going to hurt you." he kept his tone as soft and soothing as he possibly could. he eyed the tag on her collar, too far away to actually read it. "could i know your name too?"

she just stared at him for a few moments, sizing him up with her one visible eye, before slowly, cautiously rising to her hands and knees and taking a single step out of her bed.

and the moment she turned to fully face him, he immediately understood what the other volunteer meant by see for yourself.

only one of her eyes had been visible because the other was completely missing. almost the entire left side of her face, only ending less than an inch above her mouth, was made up of the rough scar tissue left by severe burns. where her left eye would have been, there was simply a shallow divot.

it took everything in him not to visibly recoil, because he knew it'd be interpreted the wrong way. the poor thing would probably think he was disgusted by her, when in reality, he was nearly floored by the depths of the cruelty she'd had to endure. even her tail, which was tucked firmly between her legs at the moment, had an odd bend to it, like it had been broken and healed crooked.

as she got closer to him, he could see just how terribly she was trembling, the way her ribs were clearly visible against her flesh. her single eye held so much fear, and her ears were pinned back against her skull, yet she continued to approach anyways.

until finally, she sat down in front of him, hunched and small and afraid. he wanted so badly to just reach out and comfort her, but he knew that escalating that quickly would likely scare her more.

slowly, so she could still keep a close eye on his movements and back away if she felt threatened, he reached for her collar. black leather - heavy duty, but impersonal. "NANA" was engraved on the front of the tag in bold, capital letters. The back was bare.

"nana." he repeated. her gaze immediately snapped from his hand back to his face. "is that your name?"

after a few hesitant seconds, she gave a single nod.

he smiled. "it's nice to meet you, nana." he said. "would it be okay if i pet you?"

she looked almost incredulous that he was asking, but nodded again anyways.

the moment his hand started to card through her hair, it was like her demeanor did a complete 180. she all but melted into the touch, leaning heavily into his hand as he scratched behind her ears. he could even see her tail starting to wag out of the corner of his eye.

poor thing. he thought sadly. is this really all it takes?

"you were just scared, weren't you?" he said. "scared i was gonna hurt you..." he couldn't even entertain the thought. "well, everything's okay. i'm not gonna hurt you, see?"

to his shock, she stepped closer again, and curled up in his lap, looking up at him with and eye full of pleas for more pets. he couldn't help but laugh to himself as he obliged.

"so," the volunteer from earlier said, nearly sending rayan jumping out of his skin - he'd forgotten they were there! "think you've found a keeper?" they gave him a knowing smile.

he looked down at the pet curled up in his lap, feeling the joy of finally achieving his dream once again.

he beamed as brightly as he could. "i- yeah! i think i did!"

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 6!!!

[theflyingfeeling]

was supposed to write the advent calendar fics, ended up writing an extra scene for let me down slowly. woops. anyway! I hope you like it, it's Olli's POV, titled let go of my tears and you can read it on AO3 🖤

[musical-chick-13]

I'm the LAST person to suggest that you have to preface every single comment you make about a character/fictional relationship/etc. you like with a reminder that you Know™ it's pRoBLeMaTiC, but I DO question what the point of acting genuinely for real like there were no problems is.

[remyfire]

In old roleplaying circles, I used to have people get really angry at me because they found a lot of catharsis in taking their characters those agonizing angst without necessarily giving them an end point of healing whereas my characters would always try to prompt that moment of healing—would be an end point they could come to whenever they were ready, would love them through the pain instead of drive it higher—and I don't think I've really changed at all in that regard, and I hope that ends up being all right.

[fragmentedblade]

They did the narrative threading thing again with going from the Artisanship Commission to the Alchemy Commission. They talk about new lives under new names in old flesh in the Artisanship Commission, and she mentions immediately later the Alchemy Commission, where Bailu is. What a nice lapse

[firendgold]

Since I saw that you're doing the violence ask game can you answer 22, 25 and 7??

I sure can.~

This one got long af though, so another readmore.

(still choosing violence)

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

This is another one I've answered already, but tbf... it was yesterday. So I can pull my second favorite part of canon instead so you don't have to re-read an older answer.

There's two moments that tie: one in year 5 and one in year 6. Year 5's moment is a nice warm-and-fuzzy "the trio are such good friends" scene, in the midst of Umbridge torturing Harry with her quill:

It was nearly midnight when Harry left Umbridge’s office that night, his hand now bleeding so severely that it was staining the scarf he had wrapped around it. He expected the common room to be empty when he returned, but Ron and Hermione had sat up waiting for him. He was pleased to see them, especially as Hermione was disposed to be sympathetic rather than critical. “Here,” she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, “soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help.” Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. Crookshanks curled around his legs, purring loudly, and then leapt into his lap and settled down. “Thanks,” he said gratefully, scratching behind Crookshanks’s ears with his left hand. “I still reckon you should complain about this,” said Ron in a low voice. “No,” said Harry flatly. “McGonagall would go nuts if she knew—” “Yeah, she probably would,” said Harry. “And how long d’you reckon it’d take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?” Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and after a moment he closed it again in a defeated sort of way. “She’s an awful woman,” said Hermione in a small voice. “Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in . . . we’ve got to do something about her.” “I suggested poison,” said Ron grimly.

Just seeing the trio bounce off each other is soothing (especially after reading days or weeks worth of fanfics where they all suddenly hate each other or were never really that good of friends or whatever). Harry's gratitude and stubbornness, Hermione's caretaking and forethought and plotting, Ron's voice of reason and necessary dash of humor... all perfect. Also, just... Harry is so used to going things alone, toughing things out by himself. It's heartwarming and sad that he still doesn't expect Ron and Hermione to do something as simple as waiting up for him to get back from hellish detention. Also also: Crookshanks curling up with him. ^^

Year 6's moment is just between Harry and Hermione:

Hermione stopped dead; Harry had heard it too. Somebody had moved close behind them among the dark bookshelves. They waited and a moment later the vulture-like countenance of Madam Pince appeared round the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying. ‘The library is now closed,’ she said. ‘Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct – what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?’ ‘It isn’t the library’s, it’s mine!’ said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand. ‘Despoiled!’ she hissed. ‘Desecrated! Befouled!’ ‘It’s just a book that’s been written in!’ said Harry, tugging it out of her grip. She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who had hastily packed her things, grabbed Harry by the arm and frogmarched him away. ‘She’ll ban you from the library if you’re not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?’ ‘It’s not my fault she’s barking mad, Hermione. Or d’you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I’ve always thought there might be something going on between them …’ ‘Oh, ha, ha …’ Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted, lamplit corridors back to the common room, arguing about whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

Very, very cute scene showing Harry and Hermione getting along casually, something we're not often treated to even in canon. A frankly disturbing amount of fans (particularly fans of A Specific Ship I Will Not Mention Here) have bought into the propaganda that Harry and Hermione aren't really that good of friends just because during GOF, when he'd just experienced his first ever schism with a close friend, Harry privately confessed to missing Ron and enjoying the things he did with his male best friend more. The trio is not "Harry and Ron, then Ron and Hermione". It's "Harry, Ron, and Hermione"; all three of them are necessary pieces of the whole. Harry and Hermione's friendship is different than Harry's with Ron, but it's no less valuable, and not any weaker, or else Hermione wouldn't have stayed in that damned tent.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Every bit of discourse about Sirius not getting a trial. We know. The injustice is the point. The cruelty is the point. The POINT is to show that wizarding Britain is glitz and glamor and not all that fair to its marginalized peoples and underclass, you nimrods. Frankly, the fanfics that purport to 'fix' it by giving Sirius his "restored Lordship" or a bunch of seats on the Wizengamot or immediate "wizarding guardianship" over Harry or some unnamed hot babes for him to fuck on or off-screen are very... shallow and unsatisfying. Either that or they give him a bunch of money, though this would at least be on brand for the Ministry. But like... yeah. I'm tired of this complaint always going in the same direction and not being a gateway to Greater Commentary On The Series and the World. Because it's not like Sirius and/or Harry become the type of people who rebel against this ideology. If anything, they embrace the pureblood nonsense in a lot of these fics and are just mad that Sirius was the target that one time. Gaaaah.

And, and. Every bit of discourse about Dumbledore leaving Harry at the Dursleys and/or the sacrificial lamb throwaway line by Snape, especially because 99.9% of people discussing it either haven't read the books, haven't read them since the first time and desperately need a re-read, have only seen the movies, are parroting opinions from some other wrong person on the internet, are all read-up but blatantly ignoring what Dumbledore and Harry say (and don't say) over what they THINK they mean, or some other lovely form of ignorance that leads to the same long-debunked takes being re-introduced as GASP-DID-YOU-EVER-CONSIDER soundbites over and over and over and OVER again. I'm so sick of it.

I get it, JKR's a TERF, you don't want to re-engage with her work, and you don't have to. You don't have to give her any more money. Hell, you shouldn't, ever again. But please, fucking make sure your knowledge is correct and not fandom telephone when it comes to Harry's childhood and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I'm not-even-lowkey sick of some of y'all at this point.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because of how the fandom acts about them?

I... don't have an immediate answer for this, so I'm going to have to think about it. To you it's only going to take me one line, but for me it'll actually be like... an evening or something.

...

Okay.

This is difficult because (to use the exact terminology) I can't think of a character I've come to hate because of how the fandom acts about them. I definitely have characters whose most popular fanon versions are so irritating or repulsive that it has caused me to look more critically on the real versions of them, though. I guess maybe I'll list those here.

Fleur came to mind first. She seems (and can be) very shallow and haughty in canon at first, but shows compassion and hidden depths in all three of her appearances. She has some veela hair in her wand from her grandmother, and a deep devotion for her younger sister. However... many fanfics (especially harem fanfics or flowerpot fanfics) paint her as either this femme fatale who uses her "veela allure" at will and Cannot Fathom the idea of a man who can resist her (and is thus more vulnerable to falling in love with such a man) or as a super-powerful witch whose family is basically running Magical France (since of course, she is the only French character we know, so why wouldn't she be the most influential person there? /s). Basically, the "foreign" version of what people do to fanon Daphne Greengrass. Ironically, the best fanfic portrayals of Fleur I've seen are the ones that keep her shipped with Bill (with a few flowerpot exceptions, see A Beautiful Lie by MaybeMayba as the prime example), or ship her with Hermione or Ginny... which is sad because I love me some ship variety. (And I still think Bill/Tonks would've been rad as hell.) So I don't dislike canon Fleur, but fanon's "over-attention" to that possible veela heritage and the weird implication that Harry was just "forced" not to notice this perfect woman in his life, rather than just noticing her beauty and not being interested, rubs me the wrong way and disinclines me from including her in many of my own works.

The Bones family is next. Yes, both Amelia and Susan. Susan isn't as bad (I think she has... two lines in Order of the Phoenix? maybe?), but as with most "mostly undefined" HP girls, the personality the fandom has given her (the super sweet politically-savvy Hufflepuff girlfriend of "just do independent!Harry with Lordships and pro-Ministry propaganda and plenty of Wizengamot meetings between Hogwarts classes") is one I've seen so many times it has come to negatively affect my view of the real girl, even though I think the way she calls Amelia "auntie" in canon is adorable. As for Amelia, fanon likes to make her either the Only Sane Man in the Ministry or the leader of the sane faction, who magically is able to fix or ignore all the corruption in said Ministry and can railroad through whatever decisions Harry needs done once he needs to Do Political or Pureblood Stuff Outside of Hogwarts--provided, of course, he's been nice enough to Susan recently.

The closest actual answer to this question I have is Tom Riddle. I didn't like him in canon by any means--I'd probably say I was neutral toward him, just seeing him as "the young Voldemort before he did his magical girl transformation". But fanon kind of acts like he and Voldemort are... two different people? There's these pervasive ideas that either Tom could've been "saved" if Certain People Just Did More (to stop him sneaking around and bullying and murdering???), or that Tom wasn't really so bad when he was gathering up supporters, murdering his family members and the few people who trusted him, and generally going around Becoming the Dark Lord--it was just when he made the switch that he became bad. And like... no. I can't buy that. Even in fanfic, I can't get fully behind the idea of a sane Tom Riddle who was Doing Good until he got sidetracked Oh Nooo. He wasn't. I believe Voldemort was saner before he tried to kill a baby and it backfired, but I don't think there was ever a point where he could have been saved. At every fork he made the wrong decision--to soothe his ego, to feel powerful, to feel special, to feel better than others and make them feel that way too. Tom Riddle's a prick. If anything, we should've seen him squirm a little more before he died.

The last one stings, because it's a character I adore: Hermione. Hermione is a very polarizing figure in canon and always has been, I get it. But what particularly hurts me about her fanon portrayals is that they are VERY SELDOM accurate, or even balanced. Either the author sees her as Their Wife and so she is perfect and never does any wrong and basically becomes the main character of the fic (even if she is not actually the main character), or they overinflate her flaws and use it as a reason to hate on her and bash her to oblivion. There's rarely an in-between. I'm not sure which one is worse. If you held my feet to the fire, I might say the former because a character without any flaws or one who takes over the entire narrative and doesn't let other characters breathe is not fucking interesting to me in the slightest.

This especially hurts because I am a huge Harmony fan and like 60% of bad Harmony fanfics are always the same fucking tropes/plotlines. Hermione is unironically referred to as The Brightest Witch of THE Age (incorrect, not what Remus said. he said "the brightest witch of your age I've ever met", basically meaning she's unusually smart for a fourteen year-old girl). She's treated like the next female Dumbledore who has all the answers (even about stuff she wouldn't know) and often guides Harry's every move.

And speaking of Dumbledore--the same girl who is supportive of him in canon and (after Harry) is MOST likely to recognize Dumbledore as a human who can make mistakes is ALWAYS turned into a Dumbledore Skeptic Who Has Been Suspicious of His Motives All Along, and who will do whatever it takes to get her boyfriend away from his manipulations... by taking manipulative!Dumbledore's place. That's right. This version of fanon Hermione ALWAYS becomes the same thing the author is supposedly railing against, because Harry becomes her mouthpiece, spends all his time with her to the exclusion of anyone else, and can't have a single meeting or meaningful scene with any other character unless she is also present.

Haphne fics do this too, but I swear they got it from bad Harmony fics and it makes me so mad. For once, I would love to read a Harmony fic where Dumbledore is portrayed accurately and both Harry AND Hermione are equal, independent partners who don't have panic attacks if separated for more than five minutes. Especially because as a child Hermione never struck me as the kind of person who even would get married or have a serious relationship distracting her from her Great Work!

But yeah. That last one hurts the most because I love Hermione as an individual, as the very important third of the trio, as a potential partner for Harry (though this isn't the right blog for that!), and just as an iconic character.

I... think that's all? Yep. Thanks~!

[kingspuppet]

I miss writing and you guys so much. ;3; I hope you've all been doing well. 💙

[p3ta]

Anyway Naoto Shirogane is a trans man he told me himself

[weareuniqueandimportant]

WHEN THEY SAY GET HELP THEY MEAN I DON'T CARE I GIVE UP I NEVER GAVE A SHIT ANYWAYS.

[nethereasypeasy]

Some fluffy head canons I have about the Baldurs Babes

mainly at camp :)

Gale stops tav to lace their boots, sarcastically tutting as he does it.

Karlach holds her hands round someones bowl and cups to warm them if they cool down too much. (Mama K microwave™)

Jaheira and Halsin share nightcaps and chat about the tadpole team. Mainly laughing at their comparative lack of experience - always ends on a 'they're good eggs tho' vibe.

Astarion and Shadowheart rate people's hair to eachother as an injoke, tav hears them mumbling numbers behind them whenever they speak to someone.

Lae'zel asks Gale to explain and pronounce things when no one is around because the 'annoying wizard' won't make fun, he's too eager to teach.

Jaheira has the best bedtime stories but they get Karlach hyped up and she asks a lot of questions till Astarion begs her to be quiet. Wyll takes mental notes for his own storytelling.

Karlach will force a game of 'I Spy' any time there is silence on the road.

Wyll is very good at little random gifts, he just remembers anything someone mentions to him. He's also low-key emotional if you return that kindness, 'you remembered?! 😭'

Halsin stops, kneels and whispers as he points and shows tav interesting plants or animals he spots when walking. 'look there's the mother and her babies' type shit. (He is camp dad(dy) ok)

Wyll teaches Lae'zel fencing. She's too keen though and tries to pin him down. She is not as graceful... But she has fun... chk!

Gale keeps a tiny portrait of Tara on him, you can't tell me modern au Gale's phone wouldn't be full of cat pics.

Astarion watches over the camp at night, he acts like he 'might as well/ I'm the only one lurking in the dark around HERE darlings' but sometimes he secretly gets a little teary looking at his first real friends all together.

Shadowheart writes moody poetry. She would tell Gale but she doesn't care for his taste... Or his possible critiques. If he ever did find her journal though he would be VERY enthused.

Astarion and tav will play with people's wardrobes when looting. Tav loves a funny hat and Astarion will do impressions of who he thinks would wear such god's awful attire.

Gale and Wyll play chess together after dinner some nights. They both say progressively cheesy lines when they take pieces, which is its own game itself at this point.

Halsin would quietly sing or hum to owlbear baby and scratch at night. Little lullabies and he'd probably tuck them in too. OR he'd be big daddy bear and snuggle up, especially when owlbear is scared and misses his mum.

The gang have played 'never have I ever' ONE time and ONE time only. It was a messy night.

... Jaheira was 100% last man standing.

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

[yamujiburo]

Here's an arc I thought about doing but won't do because, it'd be a bit too sad and also it's too similar to the Turing Point Arc I already did and also it would be long. But I'll write it here for you angst enjoyers. This ended up being longer than I thought.

Despite getting the "okay" from Ash to date Jessie, Delia still worries that she's not doing the right thing or being a bad mom. Up until now she'd convinced herself that she had the right to be selfish for once after knowing only sacrifice and putting herself last.

Jessie and Ash, while not as antagonistic towards each other, still go at it. A Pikachu zap here, an angry "twerp" being uttered there. The guilt settles in for Delia and figures that it's best to just cut things off before things potentially get worse or before she gets too attached to Jessie. Her son comes first after all. That's what she signed up for when becoming a parent.

She sits Jessie down, eyes watery (it's the first time Jessie's ever seen Delia come close to crying). Delia says she thinks they should end things. Jessie is stunned but accepts it quickly. She sucks it up in the moment, puts a resigned smile on her face and tells Delia she'll leave immediately and not to worry about her. Delia's also broken up about it but promised herself she'd never cry over a goodbye and she wasn't gonna start now.

Jessie goes to James and Meowth's place greeted similarly to this, lightly teasing her about blowing it with Delia, and she breaks down sobbing. Oops it's real this time. James and Meowth do everything in their power to make her feel better. They let her know that things like this happen and they're ready to go wherever she wants to go (knowing that it'd likely be to painful for her to stay in Pallet). As much as she wants to leave, she doesn't want James and Meowth to lose the good thing they have going. She's not in the right headspace to make any decisions so she'll get to it later.

Ash returns home after doing a little training at Oak's lab. He notices Jessie's not around and asks his mom where she is. Delia is about to tell him but can't quite bring herself to say the truth out loud yet. She simply says "I don't know". Ash looks disappointed. "Aw man, I wanted to see if she wanted to battle. She makes a good battle buddy for all of my newer, baby Pokémon." Delia perks up that this. As quickly as he came, he leaves again to go train his Pokémon.

Later, Delia approaches Ash, asking him if he really meant that what he said about Jessie being a good battle partner. He gives her an enthusiastic "yeah!" and tells her that it's been nice having another battle ready trainer around since there's not many in Pallet. Delia starts to pry a little more. "I thought you and Jessie didn't get along?" Ash is confused, and tells Delia they get along great! "Jessie doesn't steal anymore! And she's getting better at battling which is cool." Delia brings up that she's head them argue before. "Oh... well I guess that's just how we are. I'd be weirded out if she was suddenly too nice to me all the time. Jessie's actually a lot like Misty. But taller!" This gives Delia a lot to think about but what's done is done and it's no use pressing on. It's easier this way.

The next morning Delia's getting ready for work. She must not have noticed that she was acting weird but Ash picks up on it. "What's wrong mom?" Delia's shocked he noticed (he's not usually this perceptive). She tells him it's nothing and that she just slept bad. "Hm. But Jessie says that when you're upset you get really quiet and intense." Delia notices that she was pretty intensely mixing the pancake batter. "Jessie told you that?" Ash nods. "Hey speaking of, where is Jessie? Haven't seen her since yesterday." Delia stops mixing and tells Ash that she and Jessie aren't together anymore. Ash is confused and upset at the idea of Jessie doing something that would hurt his mom enough for them to break up. Delia lets him know that Jessie didn't do anything like that and that them breaking up was just for the best. But Ash questions this, pointing out that he's never seen Delia as happy as she was when Jessie was there and also how Delia looks really sad now. Delia can't argue with that but then tells him that it's complicated. Ash, to Delia's surprise, looks a bit disappointed. He's bummed he wasn't able to say goodbye first and asks if she thinks Jessie would still be willing to come by and train with him sometimes. Delia asks him once more if he was really okay with her and Jessie dating. "Yeah I thought I said that already? Jessie's pretty cool when she's not being evil. And she really likes Pokémon which is a plus!" Such simple criteria. Delia's now worried that she might've made a mistake. She finishes making breakfast and heads to work.

At the restaurant she's met by James. She can feel an awkwardness hanging in the air. She knows that James knows. Before she can say anything James tells Delia thank you for employing him and helping him, Meowth and Jessie get back on their feet but that he's going to quit working at the restaurant and that they'll likely be leaving Pallet soon. Delia's heart sinks. There's now a ticking clock and she has to decide what she wants to do SOON. She asks James where Jessie is. James hesitantly tells her that she's at his and Meowth's place. Delia pleads with James to work the restaurant for one more day at least and to cover this shift. She has to go talk to Jessie. He agrees, hoping that this is a good thing.

Delia runs to James and Meowth's place. She knocks on the door upon arrival and waits. It takes a moment but she hears the door unlock. Jessie opens the door, disheveled, tears and snot all over her face, draped in a blanket. Jessie notices it's Delia and, frightened, slams the door. Delia's stunned for a moment and goes to knock on the door again but before she can the door opens. This time Jessie's tears are gone, her hair's fixed and she ditched the blanket. "Oh hey, Delia! What brings you here?" Delia can't help but be charmed. But this is serious. She shakes it off and asks if they could talk. Jessie invites her in. They get to the couch and Jessie starts frantically cleaning up all the crumpled tissues and dirty dishes off the ground. "Heh I caught a cold yesterday. A one day cold. I'm fine now." Delia doesn't call out the obvious lie and gets straight to the point.

She tells Jessie that she's worried she made a mistake. She made a panicked decision that she was hoping would protect Ash and her future self. But now realizes that she was afraid of the idea that she'd made a selfish decision by dating her. It was a selfish decision but that didn't mean it was a bad one. She was the happiest she'd been, Jessie and Ash were learning to get along and were getting along much better than she'd though. She acknowledges that Jessie has been there for Ash in a way that she can't quite be and is also grateful to her for managing to keep Ash home a little longer. She asks if Jessie would be willing to take her back (despite the distress she caused). Jessie starts sobbing with happy tears. She tearfully says she'll try even harder to get along with Ash and be a better person. Delia reassures her that she's doing just fine.

They kiss passionately but then realize it's weird that they're making out in James in Meowth's place and say they'll continue later. Delia tells Jessie to head back home and that Ash is looking forward to battling with her (and she also needs to let James and Meowth not to quit their jobs).

The end~

[flowersforbucky]

it's nice to have a friend

summary: you're having the worst period you've had in a long time. bucky is determined to help you feel better.

author's note: this is a silly and smutty piece that i felt compelled to write when i got my period a few days ago!

warnings/tags: smutty, reader has a period, langauge, use of a vibrator, nipple stimulation, no use of y/n, use of a cbd gummy lol

word count: 3.2k

Approximately every twenty-eight days, you curse the fact that you were born with a uterus and vagina. 

This month, however, you were cursing that fact a bit earlier than expected. Cycle day twenty three, to be exact. 

Your periods never start this early, but as soon as you opened your eyes at six o'clock this morning, you knew what had occured while you were asleep. You could feel the moisture that soaked through your underwear and pajama pants before you could turn on the light to see that your white sheets had been dyed bright crimson beneath where you'd been laying. 

One load of laundry with extra stain remover and as much Pamprin max strength as one can safely take later, you are curled up on the couch of the compound's living room with a cup of coffee and a heating pad turned up so high that you risk first degree burns. 

“Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you today? We can go to Coney Island another time,” Natasha tries to reason with you once again. 

“I promise I'll be okay here,” you assure her. “These cramps are killing me, I won't be any fun to hang out with today. Go, enjoy yourself. When is the next time that you'll all have a free day and weather this perfect?” You gesture towards the sunshine streaming through the living room windows. 

“If you're sure,” she caves after a few moments of hesitation. “Promise I’ll win you that stuffed panda that you wanted so badly last time.” 

“I am going to hold you to that,” you tell her in a faux-serious tone. 

After Natasha and the rest of your friends have left for their day of riding rollercoasters and eating hotdogs on the boardwalk, you turn on your comfort show and settle in for an unexciting and uncomfortable day by yourself. 

A few hours later, you decide you've sat in the same position for long enough - you can practically feel your body morphing to the sofa. You're walking to the kitchen to refill your water bottle and find something to snack on when you collide with what feels like a brick wall. 

A brick wall that happens to smell really, really fucking good. 

You step back, finding that the brick wall is staring at you with a confused look on his face. 

"What are you doing here?” Bucky asks as he glances you over from head to toe, taking in your choice of apparel - baggy sweats that are about two sizes too big for you, a cropped tank, and fuzzy slippers. You resist the urge to cross your arms over your stomach - you didn't think anyone else would be here today and the tank top you're wearing doesn't exactly conceal the period bloat you're currently experiencing. 

"I live here,” you snap, a bit harsher than necessary. “What are you doing here?” 

“I also live here,” he says, returning your attitude. You roll your eyes, maneuvering your way around where he blocks the doorway. 

“What I mean,” he continues as he turns around, following you into the kitchen. “Is why aren't you with everyone at Coney Island?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” you challenge, pouring some more ice into your cup. “Steve never shuts up about the glory days, all the time the two of you spent at Coney Island. I'm surprised you're not there with him right now.” 

He huffs a laugh, pulling out one of the barstools at the kitchen's giant island and taking a seat. “We did spend a ridiculous amount of time at Coney Island,” he admits, his voice almost wistful. He hesitates before continuing, staring down at his hands as he traces a metal crevice on his left palm.

"But I haven't been to Coney Island since the forties. Guess I'm kinda scared it won't live up to my memories of it. Plus, I had a lot of laundry to catch up on, so..” he shrugs, trailing off. 

You're taken aback by the honesty of his explanation. “Yeah, well,” you start awkwardly, turning away from him to search through a cabinet for something to eat. “I can't say that I know what it was like in the forties, but it's one of my favorite places, present day.” 

“Then why are you hanging out by yourself while all of your friends are at one of your favorite places?” 

Damn it, you curse internally. He's really not going to drop this. What should I say, that my uterine lining is falling out in clumps? 

You grab a bag of freeze-dried fruit from the cabinet before turning back to face him, trying to come up with an excuse. 

“I just didn't sleep great–” you come to an abrupt stop in the middle of your sentence as a blinding pain shoots through your lower abdomen. The bag of fruit falls to the floor as you steady yourself on the ledge of the counter with one hand, clutching your stomach with the other. 

Bucky rises from his seat in an instant, closing the several feet of distance between the two of you in one big step. 

"Are you okay? What’s going on?” His hands are both extended to you in an offer of help. 

“I'm fine,” you say through a sharp intake of breath. “It’s.. it’s just cramps. Bad cramps,” you force the words out, propping your elbows up on the countertop to relax your body weight. 

“Oh,” he says as realization dawns on him. He bends down to grab the bag of fruit that lays next to your feet, and then places it on the table in front of you. “I guess that answers my question, then,” he adds, referring to why you didn't go to Coney Island. 

“Ya think?” You stand back upright, grabbing your snack and water bottle off of the counter. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day of bed-rotting ahead of me.” 

“Some exercise would help,” he calls when you're about to exit the kitchen. “Laying in bed won't do much for you. A little bit of light exercise to release some beta-endorphins, maybe an abdominal massage–” 

“Are you really man-splaining menstrual cycle pain management to me right now?” You ask, slowly turning to face him with an incredulous look on your face. “I wasn't aware that you had a medical license or that I asked for your opinion.” 

“Just trying to help, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a mischievous grin. 

“If you want to help, you can go get the Italian food that I'm craving and give me an abdominal massage yourself,” you practically spit at him. “Otherwise, keep the unsolicited advice to yourself and fuck off.” 

You turn back around and all but run out of the room before you can process the shocked, albeit pleased look on his face.  

After you've closed your bedroom door behind you (with perhaps a bit more force than necessary), you sink into the fresh sheets on your bed and shove several pieces of apricot into your mouth. 

Rationally, you knew that Bucky's advice was solid, and that he was just trying to get a reaction out of you. That's just the kind of friendship that the two of you have. Sarcastic, teasing and occasionally… tension-filled. 

You definitely didn't help the matter by telling him to massage your abdomen, but what does he expect when he suggests something as horrible as exercising during a time that you simply want nothing more than to melt into your mattress? 

Your cell phone chimes from the pocket of your sweatpants. You dig it out and look at the text displayed across your lock screen. 

Bucky Barnes: What kind of Italian food, specifically? 

You would never admit it to him, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards into a smirk as you read his message. 

You type: Don't you have a lot of laundry to catch up on? and press send. The message is marked as “read” right away. 

He types. And types. And types some more – until those three dots indicating a message in progress disappear. 

Whatever. You click your phone off and toss it somewhere in the covers around you. 

The next couple hours are spent sitting under the near scalding stream of your shower, and then reading on your Kindle in the dark. As jealous as you are that your friends are undoubtedly having a blast today, you honestly don't mind your current situation - aside from feeling like your organs are being pulled out of your vagina, you hardly ever have days with zero obligations other than to just relax in whatever way you see fit. 

A strong knock on your door causes you to lose your place on the page. 

"You didn't give me a legitimate answer so I hope you like gnocchi, or eggplant parmesan, or traditional lasagna, or extra breadsticks..” 

“You know, it's not funny to joke about carbs to someone when they are–” 

You come to a stop in the middle of your sentence when you swing your door open to see him holding several plastic bags. An aroma of garlic and herbs hits you in the face. 

Oh. Not a joke, then. 

He extends one of the bags to you with his big, blue puppy dog eyes. You take it from him, opening the door further as an invitation to enter your bedroom. 

"Consider this a peace offering,” he says, placing the other bags of food on your bed and perching awkwardly on the edge of your mattress. You close the door behind you, walking back to where you had previously been lounging on the bed. 

“I'm sorry for being a smartass,” he adds more genuinely. “I just.. didn't like seeing you in pain. That's all.” 

“This is far from my first period,” you shrug, not meeting his stare. “You get used to it after a while. But consider yourself forgiven.” 

He gives you a small smile when you finally look up at him. He grabs a smaller bag that you hadn't noticed him carrying, one that is visibly less full than the others. He reaches inside, pulling out a small jar that he hands over to you. 

Your brows furrow as you inspect it closely. “CBD gummies?” You ask, your brows now raising quizzically. You open the jar, popping one of the pink, cube-shaped gummies into your mouth. “Watermelon flavored CBD gummies?” 

You notice the faintest trace of blush bloom across his cheeks. “I take them sometimes to help me sleep,” he starts, fiddling with some of the beading on your comforter. “But they can help with all different kinds of pain too, so I just thought you might like some.” 

You close the jar, placing it on your bedside table before reaching over and grabbing his flesh hand in yours. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze and then releasing it. “Really. I appreciate all of this.” You try to ignore the jolt of electricity that buzzes through you when your skin comes in contact with his. His hand is both softer and warmer than you would have imagined. It brings you back to the last words that you spewed at him in the kitchen earlier. 

"A shit ton of pasta and CBD gummies,” you snort a laugh. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked for that abdominal massage too?” You say it in a way that sounds halfway serious, halfway joking. 

“If that's what you want,” he says lowly, turning to angle his body towards you on the bed. “Then just say the word.” 

The air in your room suddenly feels suffocating. 

It is what you want - but you're at a loss for words. So instead of a verbal response, you scoot over to the middle of the bed, closer to where he sits on the opposite side. You lay down so that your back is flat against the mattress, your head propped up by a single pillow. 

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly wipes the look of astonishment from his features. He moves so that he's sitting directly next to your legs, giving him a proper angle to put his hands on your lower stomach. 

You're wearing the same sweatpants and tank top from earlier, having thrown the outfit back on after your shower. The loose sweatpants hang low enough to expose your hip bones and the edge of your underwear. 

The intimacy of the entire situation hits you the second that his hands make contact with your skin. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing your nerves. “Or if I do anything that doesn't feel good.” 

Your eyes shut instinctively at the polar opposite sensations of his flesh and vibranium hands. Skin and metal, fire and ice.

“I will,” you assure him. Your words come out breathier than intended. 

There's an immediate relief in your lower stomach as he rubs languid circles across your midriff. It's a feeling beyond pleasure as the cramps fade the more he touches you. 

His vibranium pinky dances along the waistband of your underwear, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You try to focus on the relief he's bringing you - not the fact that you're wearing a thin tank top that leaves so much of your skin on display, giving him a clear view of the goosebumps that he's caused. 

He continues with the precise motions until the pain in your abdomen has faded nearly entirely - you feel so good that you can't stop yourself from letting out the smallest moan when his flesh hand applies just the right amount of pressure near your pelvis. 

You know he heard it - there's no way he didn't. Just as you know there's no way that he doesn't notice your fully hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. 

You keep your eyes closed, terrified to meet his gaze in this state. You dread the moment that you feel his hands pull away from your skin. 

"You know,” he starts, his voice possessing a strained edge. “I don't think this is good enough for you.” 

Your eyes shoot open, looking at him in a nervous confusion. There's a glimmer in his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint - his stare trailing to your bedside table on the opposite side of you. “But I think I do know what could make you feel much better.” 

“What are you talking about?” Your voice quivers as you follow his stare. You're not sure what he's looking at - all that sits on your nightstand is the CBD gummies he had just given you, your Kindle, a few books, a bottle of lotion, and the Himalayan salt lamp that paints you both in an orange glow. 

He smirks before leaning across you - keeping his vibranium hand pressed firmly on your belly as he uses his flesh hand to pull open the drawer of the small table. 

“Hey! What are you–” but he retrieves the object he’s looking for before you can finish questioning him. You freeze at what he's holding in his hand. 

Your vibrator. Your glittery, lavender colored vibrator. 

“How the fuck did you–” 

“Do you think I can't hear you using this from across the hallway late at night?” He grins smugly. “That I can't hear your little whimpers when you think everyone's asleep?” 

Your face heats up a hundred degrees. You don't know whether to be infuriated or massively turned on. 

Both. You're definitely feeling a mix of both. 

He clicks the power button, turning on the device to its lowest setting. He watches you for a moment, giving you ample time to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, you once again relax against the pillow, your body going limp for him. You spread your legs the slightest bit. 

He takes this as his signal to proceed. Not taking his eyes off of your face, he trails the head of the wand from your lower stomach and over the fabric of your sweatpants until he reaches the apex of your thighs. Your nipples pucker once again, your thighs clenching around the tip of the vibrator. 

Bucky moves the device in a circular motion, making your back arch off the bed and your head tip back. 

How is it that it feels better when he massages you with it through your fucking pants than it does when you use it on your bare pussy? 

You hear the clicking of a button again, and the force of the vibration over your clothed cunt increases. You grind down on the device, desperate for friction. 

Bucky watches you with something akin to pride on his face. 

“You know how I told you to tell me if I do something you don't like?” He asks as he pushes the head of the wand directly down on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure. 

“Yeah,” you answer - it comes out like a moan that you'd hear in a porno.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Remember that.” 

Before you can clear your head enough to wonder what he means, he's tugging up the cotton fabric of your tank top and exposing your breasts. 

You gasp at the sensation of the cool air blowing from the AC coming in contact with your already hard nipples. Bucky leans forward, keeping the vibrator on your core, and captures one of your nipples in his mouth. 

Your hand immediately goes to his hair, tugging the soft brown locks in your fingers to keep him in place. His free hand grasps your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 

The combination of pleasure radiating from your pussy and his hand and mouth on you is fucking perfect. Fucking perfect, and all too much. 

You clench your thighs together, riding against the vibrator until you feel warmth spreading through your lower belly. 

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you moan - he groans when you say his name, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge. You come hard, possibly harder than any other orgasm you've had in your life, thoroughly soaking your panties. 

When you've finished writhing beneath him, Bucky pulls back, removing both his mouth and the vibrator. He clicks the device off, tossing it towards the foot of your bed. 

You're panting, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process what the fuck just happened when you hear Bucky let out a low chuckle. 

Your eyes snap to him, finding that he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. 

"Can't say that's how I expected the day to go when I decided to sit this Coney Island trip out,” he sighs. 

“You can say that again.” You sit upright, bending your legs and crossing them at the ankles. You lean forward, tugging your shirt back into place before pulling one of the bags of food to you. 

"We should go sometime soon. Together,” you add, somewhat nervously. You aren't sure why - the guy just gave you the best orgasm of your life (and barely even touched you). 

“Are you asking me on a date?” that sly smile reappears. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” 

"Then my answer is yes. But only if you share some of this food with me.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks so much for reading!!! can anyone tell that i really fucking love food by how often i incorporate it into my writing? 😅

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

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[havanillas]

RE: Aventurine's sister. I mean, I won't lie, her actually being alive is a twist I've rolled around in my brain alot. Especially with that whole "3k or so Avgins missing" detail. But also worth considering how tragic it would be on her end: she's been missing her little brother, he might be dead (and he was blessed, wasn't he? What does it mean if he's gone too?), who she basically had to be a parent for after their mom died and he was nowhere to be found after that fight with the Katicans. Only, years later, well, this might be more spitballing on my part, but it's seems alot like the Stonehearts are varying degrees of public figures. So, say she spots a very unmistakable face on some news program. As if it wasn't enough that the men in black betrayed them that day, they took their blessed child, made him one of theirs (heartbreaking, that he's been separated and cut off from them, Kakavasha dresses and talks more like they do these days)...

you're so right, i think she'd be against the ipc too

there's so much drama potential here i need someone to write a fic about it