#Bloo Crane

[gthmangl]

the uniform

trigger warnings: noncon,violence,jonathan,roleplay?,mentions of murder,power imbalance,professor/student,misogyny,established relationship,mentions of blood,not mentioned but age gap

prof!jonathan crane x fem!student!reader

author’s note: this is absolutely NOT lore accurate,so don’t come for me if i got anything wrong,i was just playing around with the idea of jonathan’s crush on sherry. also english is not my first language so sorry for grammatical mistakes and errors.

the minutes passing by felt like hours as you waited for professor crane to finish grading the other students’ papers. the silence made it even worse,interrupted in intervals by the old clock in his office. he called on you in class,told you to meet him in his office. as per usual. even if your peculiar relationship prevailed in the last few months you still felt uneasy sitting on the run down leather couch.

he seemed unusually tense this day. you noticed it even when he was teaching. he was jittery,getting easily annoyed by the students. you didn’t know what was up and you didn’t dare to ask. his huffing and sighing as he aggressively wrote something and tossed the papers to the side made your heart drop to your stomach. the anxiety in your chest making you fear what he had in store for you today. most days it was just you bent over his desk,your stockings torn as he pounded into you from behind. he was always aggressive with you. always pulling on your hair or giving you a few slaps to shut you up.

but on these days,when he was on the edge,he had the tendency to do much worse than tear your stockings and strike you across your face.

the sun had already set making the atmosphere even more agonizing. you just wanted to go home. “professor” your voice soft as you called out to him,afraid of disrupting the uncomfortable silence spread across the room. he didn’t budge,his head still in the papers. you sighed,deciding to not push it any further. you didn’t want to anger him even more. the coldness of the room gave you goosebumps,as a storm made its presence known outside. a harsh roar of thunder and heavy rain already littering the streets. and finally,professor crane stacked the papers and put them to the side.

but the anxiety in you swirled. his eyes met your for a second before he reached into his drawer pulling out a clear bag. “put this on” he threw it at you,the bag hitting your chest before falling on the couch next to you. examining the contents of the bag,inside was a neatly folded cheerleader uniform. it didn’t look brand new. in fact,it looked old. the fabric looked run down by time,though what caught your eye was the brown spots on the uniform. your brows furrowed,”is that bloo-“,your sentence was interrupted by professor crane sighing heavily.

“put it on.”

you looked up at him,still questioning the blood on the rusty uniform. “i don’t have all day” he said looking at his watch and leaning back on his chair. shutting your mouth,you pulled the uniform out from the bag. slowly,you started taking off your shirt,then stood up to unzip your skirt. you could feel his predatory gaze as you stripped in front of him. his eyes admiring the bruises on your body from the last time you two were together.

it was no secret that professor crane was a sadistic pervert. especially when it came to you. his eyes never leaving your body as you pulled over the top,then bent down to put on the skirt. getting a good view of your ass in your sheer stockings,he groaned quietly as he moved in his chair.

you turned to face him after you were done,feeling queasy about wearing an old bloody cheerleader outfit. he sat there for a few seconds before he ordered,”sit down”. you sat back down on the couch. watching him as he got off his chair and made his way to you. he sat down on the coffee table in front of you,sighing as he played with his watch. when he finally looked up,his eyes looked softer behind his glasses. his hand came up to caress your face,his fingers rough against your soft skin.

“sherry” he mumbled to himself.

your name is not sherry. who is sherry? was she the girl this uniform belonged to? was that her blood? you furrowed your brows at the name,opening your mouth to protest,but he just shushed you. his hand squeezing your chin as he spoke,”i will address you as sherry,and you’ll call me jonathan,got it?”. you were still confused,a million questions running through your head but you nodded. you were going to find out who this sherry was either way. you set your mind on that. “use your words,doll” his grip on your chin tightened.

“yes-“ you wanted to say professor,”jonathan”. he smiled,a soulless smile,”good girl”. his hand left your chin,his fingers ghosting your neck before stopping at the neckline. he took a deep breath. “i missed you” he mumbled,you could barely hear it. but you heard it. your expression remained stoic,you weren’t sure how to react to that statement. but by the looks of it,he wasn’t expecting a reaction. his fingers traced your collarbones before he spoke again,”did you miss me?”.

the lump in your throat got bigger as you nodded. again,not sure what response he was expecting. if he wanted to play a game with you,then he should’ve explained the rules first. he looked off to the side,and you weren’t sure if he was disappointed with your response. “no you didn’t” he sighed. “um…” you tried to fill in the awkward silence. what the hell was going on? why was he making you play this sherry character? who even was she? anger started to build in your stomach as those questions resurfaced again.

“did you kill her?”.

his icy blue eyes now gazed upon yours. if looks could kill,you were sure you’d be dead by now. you gulped,”sherry..i- mean”.

smack

his hand met your cheek in a harsh manner. so harsh,you fell to the floor. your cheek burned red,your vision getting blurry from the tears. “brat” he spat,”i did not give you permission to go out of character!”. oh he was insane. you already knew that,but this solidified it. his sick version of role playing made your chest tighten,as you began to sob on the floor. he stood up,yanking you by your hair. he brought you face to face to face with him,his hand now going to your neck.

pupils blown wide,he had this crazy look in his eyes. “you wanna know so bad” jonathan started rambling,an evil smile forming on his face. “yeah…i did kill her” your eyes widened,you weren’t really expecting this from your professor. even if he was crazy,you were expecting some sob story about how she was his first love and how she died tragically and he could never get over her or something like that. “why?” your voice was barely a whisper,fear rising in your chest as you were sure you crossed another boundary. “because she didn’t listen to me” he inhaled “just like you”. his grip on your neck tightening,you squirmed as you felt constricted.

“maybe i should kill you as well” removing his hand from your neck,jonathan shoved you to the floor. with the sole of his shoe he kicked you on the side of your face. you screamed from the impact,not expecting it. and then he did it again. and again. sometimes going lower and kicking you in the stomach. “are you going to listen to me now?” he stopped his assault as he crouched down to your level and gripped your face in his hand,giving you a light smack. your face was wet with tears as you nodded. clumped eyelashes looking up at him,his own blue eyes devoid of any emotion.

he threw you on the couch,getting on top of you. giving you another round of slaps on your face.

he started to rip your stockings,his hands shaking with anger. “professor-“ you whined at his aggression,but he interrupted you yelling,”i am not your professor!”. you shut your mouth,watching him take off his glasses with the same shaky hands and throwing them somewhere on the floor. after your stockings,he tore your panties with ease,as if he was possessed by some superhuman strength. “dumb bitches like you have no right to talk” he mumbled to himself,hands going to unbuckle his belt. “do you understand?” he said,taking out his hardened cock from his pants.

“yes,jonathan” you nodded,your tears staining your neck and the couch below. you didn’t dare to call him professor this time,in fear of him actually going through with his promise of killing you.

his bulbous head rubbed against your slit. humming with satisfaction at how wet you were becoming,he chuckled to himself. tapping his head on your clit a few times,he breached the barrier of your entrance. that was followed by a whine from you,still not used to his size. he didn’t give you time to adjust before he pushed his cock in your cunt completely.

“-ahh- always so tight for me” he groaned at the feeling of your warm walls around his girth,pulling him in,pulsating around him. it didn’t take long before he started pumping into you. “slow down,please pro-“ you were whining below him when his hand met the side of your face yet again. the sting from his assault earlier still present.

“you never listen to me,do you?” he started rambling,”girls like you never listen,always in their own world,always getting what they want”. he clicked his teeth as he continued,”airheads, that’s why you get thrown around later,that’s why you get abused,and then you cry about it” he said,his thrusts slowing down but still harsh enough to send you forward. “you and sherry,both useless” his hand rest on your neck now,lightly squeezing.

“are you going to kill me too,professor?”

his hand around your neck tightened at your words,veins protruding on his forehead from anger. “i could if i want to” he could feel your walls clench around him at his words. jonathan chuckled at your reaction,”dirty girl”. tears still spilled down your cheek,wetting his fingers. his blue eyes barely visible from his pupils,he stared down at your figure. face stained with tears,in sherry’s old uniform,your tights torn as his cock was splitting you open. he loved it. “i’m not going to kill you,darling” jonathan bent down to kiss you after he said that. a rare moment where he could be sweet. “but i’m going to hurt you,beyond repair” his thrusts became faster,sloppier.

you knew he was close,because after he said that he went quiet. just some huffs and groans falling from his lips. he always went quiet when he was close to cumming. your hand tried to pry off his hand on your neck,but his grip just tightened in response. closing his eyes,his breathing faltered as his hips flushed against yours. a loud groan spilled from his lips as he filled you up. ropes of white painting your walls. then he pulled out.

standing up,he watched his cum drip out of your cunt and down on the leather couch as he fastened his belt. it took you a few moments to pull yourself together,pushing yourself up on your elbows,wincing as the pain from his assault earlier shot through your body,you grabbed a few tissue from the coffee table to clean yourself. professor crane found his discarded glasses and put them on. running a hand through his hair as he straightened his suit.

he cleared his throat,”cmon,i’ll take you home”.

[clownycum]

blood makes noise

terrifier / art the clown❤️you nsfw, rated e / 2.1k

please give me some love on ao3, too!

Art’s hand slides across your cheek, his thumb wet with a slick mixture of spit and dried blood.

Art’s hand slides across your cheek, his thumb wet with a slick mixture of spit and dried blood. As you wake, slowly and groggily, you think that it must be his odd, tender sort of way of cleaning you—pampered, you feel, as you open your eyes if only to see him hovered near: his face is void of any and all of his usual extravagantly elaborate expressions, but Art still looks the same as he did before you had passed out an hour prior… except for the fact he’s cleaned of the grime and dirt and gore the two of you had created several hours prior.

“…you got all clean without me,” you observe sleepily, stifling a yawn and squinting through the dim light of the lampposts outside; their soft, faded yellow glows filter in through the tattered, moth-eaten curtains Art had shaken out and hung up weeks ago. Art nods enthusiastically, his smile just as wide as his eyes as he hunches up his shoulders to his ears and gives a little shiver—it had been a nice, warm shower, you gather.

Still. Still.

Art leans in some more, rubbing at another spot on your cheek with the wet pad of his index finger. He continues his slow methodical cleaning even as you tell him, “next time, wake me up, okay?” to which he gives you a sly, cheeky grin—to which, really, you can’t help but scowl at; and you aren’t really mad, no, but Art is just sometimes so… strange that you can’t help but feel a bit exasperated with him at times. “I mean it, Art. We could’ve, you know…” you trail off, your own sly, cheeky grin in place as you watch him wait for the words, “…showered together, or… something.”

He gapes down at you, hilariously scandalized—his eyes are wide as saucers, and his mouth is hung open in a perfect, circular O. You watch as he raises a gloved hand, placing it palm-to-cheek as if he’s overcome by a fierce tide of bashfulness. You can’t help but laugh, carefree and loud as he gives you a look as if to say oh, you! and then Art’s leaning in, crowding closer and closer until he’s nearly apart of you: huddled close enough to smell, to feel burnt by the heat of his skin, to—

Art kisses you, open-mouthed and sloppy. Like silk, his tongue slips into your mouth, warm and wet and laving greedily into you as if the taste of you were all he ever needed and never less. Art is oddly eager tonight, trembling against you in his dizzying, buzzing excitement—and you’re nearly swept away, half-way pulled from the innermost corner of your mind until Art quickly tears away from you, his breath hot and heavy against the reddened, wet flesh of your bitten lower lip: and then he’s licking the same cheek he had tried to clean with his spit and fingers, his tongue slick and warm as he licks you from jaw to temple.

“Art,” you gasp, the slow rasp of your voice muddled over the beat of your heart and the quick, slick sound of his tongue against your skin—he licks at your face again, jaw to temple as if to clean that spot completely, and then he’s wiggling against you, craning his neck to lick a stripe across your forehead, again and again until that part is clean of dried grime and gore, too. You squirm beneath him, the feel of it damn near ticklish as he breathes and licks and laps against your ear like an overly zealous puppy. Lifting a hand in hopes of warding him off, you find it futile as Art quickly grabs your wrist, his grin grown eerily wider as he laves his tongue against your face again, licking you from chin to mouth and up towards the tip of your nose. “D-Don’t eat me—”

Art leans away and tilts his head, his laughter silent and merry with that usual playful glint in his eye; and you can’t help but stare up at him, wide-eyed and flushed to the tips of your ears, waiting with your heart lodged in your throat: will he eat you—would he eat you? You’ve known Art since that bloody, vengeful day three years ago, and since then, you’ve witnessed him eating the flesh of his kills, seen and heard him greedily swallow the blood of the ones who’d been foolish enough to stumble into his path—and a few times, after heated moments where he had kissed you with a bloody, electrifying sort of vigor, you had licked your lips and felt full with the warmth of life on your tongue from his, and…

…and you’re so caught up in the thought of Art teething at your skin, at the sensitive bit of flesh where neck and shoulder meet; so caught up and too busy with what it might be like if he were to eat you—if he were to bite and bite and bite at the warm veil of your flesh and devour you whole, in one big swallow, that you don’t quite catch the feel of his tongue until it is slipping between your fingers, until he’s guiding two of them into the wet heat of his mouth.

“A—Art?”

He stares down at you, his eyes deep-set and dark—gone wide and almost terrifyingly bright in the dim, filtered glow of the lampposts outside.  He looks (is) otherworldly. You watch, dry-mouthed and transfixed as his tongue curls around your middle finger, cleaning it of the blood that had begun to fall in tiny flakes off your skin. You watch, wide-eyed, with your breath now short and shallow, almost ragged, as Art guides your last two fingers into his mouth; ragged, your breath is, as Art cleans your fingers with his tongue—and there’s something else there, something molten and warm and just shy of desperate that claws with a white-hot need in the pit of your belly and lower, lower, until you’re sure he can smell your arousal in the air, until you’re sure he—

—you moan, the sound completely unbidden, seemingly pulled from the want that rides low beneath the dip of your navel.

Art grins down at you, feral and triumphant with his mouth stuffed full of your fingers, of spit and old, dried blood gone wet by saliva. He shakes against you, trembling with elation, almost reverential in his excitement—and something about this man, this monster, this being carved from frozen hell-fire and spite and everything meticulously, hand-wrought evil, has you positively dizzy; spent, already, in the heat of his tireless frenzy. You go where he bids you, barely able to breath as you shift beneath the tug-and-pull of his weight as if connected to him by invisible wire, each limb of yours lulled opposite by choice of his own—your arms, your legs, the bend of your knees to his hips and even the flutter of your eyes as you look up at him.

Art is snug against you, his teeth sharp against the skin of your fingers, and all you find yourself capable of doing is watching, waiting, staring. He leans in. You hold your breath, unable to completely help the spike of arousal that warms you inside and out, from the wet, barren space between your legs and up, up, toward your fast-beating heart, your quick-heated face. Art’s smile is still wide, almost sinister, yet he holds your fingers in his mouth quite willingly, easily—and you think of moving them, of slipping your pinkie finger off and to the side if only to feel the sharp edges of his decayed molars, but then he’s sucking them in, cleaning them thoroughly with the flat and curl of his tongue before he’s letting them fall from his mouth to rest at your chest; and suddenly, it’s cold, cold, too cold to think straight, too cold to keep a grip on yourself, and—

“Oh,” you gasp, the noise sharp and gutted as Art shifts between your legs; he presses himself against you fully, the thick, hard line of his cock shockingly hot through the cloth that separates the two of you—he is eager, damn near distraught with the temptation of you and your flesh and all the good and gore you have to offer him as he ruts against you slowly, more curious of your implications than anything else: do you like it, do you enjoy it—could he coax you, if not? You tremble against him, wide-eyed and yet not at all un-wanting as the man—monster, being, forged from hell-fire and rot and ancient bone—on top of you moves, purposeful and slow and so, so intent on riling you up and eating you whole, all in one big gulp; and you’re already there, so quick, so easily, so hopelessly pliant beneath the pitch-black of his gaze.

Art thrusts lazily, his jaw hung open as he watches you, his mouth wide and wet and his tongue a darkened, slick pink with the dried blood that had been on your face, your fingers. You feel his cock rub against you, the fat head of it grinding up and against your clit between your folds—and it is so hard not to gasp, to want, to plead for more, but it is exactly what you do as you stare up at him, your eyes wide and your flesh flushed, your heart hammering and your skin tingling.

“A—Art,” you gasp, your voice high-pitched and strung thin as he fucks you without really fuckingyou, and you think it unfair, you think it damn near wasteful to not have his cock in you, to not have him bare and pale and lithely powerful against you—but this is almost as good, almost, almost, almost. Art grinds against your vagina, rutting and humping and pressing against you as if to split you open, all through the clothing you both wear, and you want, want, want. “Art. Art. Art,” you pant, over and over, a desperate, broken mantra of want and need and greed and desire. “F-Fuck. C’mon. Please, Art, please,” you ramble, your belly turned bottomless and your pussy soaked and throbbing as he ruts against you quick, quick, quicker, “Art, I-I’m so—”

And Art reaches out with one hand, fast as a serpent if only to grab at you—your hip, your waist, the plump, warm give of your thigh as it trembles against him; up, up toward your chest where your breasts bounce with the force of his faux-fucking, and it must be good, must be something he enjoys, because he squeezes your left breast with a firm, knowing grip, kneading the flesh and pinching at your nipple where it has long since been peaked and hard beneath your ruined, bloody shirt—and oh, oh, you moan with the feel of it, the power of him and his touch and the hard, continuous press of his cock against where you need his undisturbed touch the most.

“Art,” you moan, loud and wanton as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes; but all he does is stare right back at you, his eyes wide, his jaw still slack and his mouth hung open—and you watch as Art nods his head, again and again, not quite eager but not at all foreboding with his hand still gripping and grabbing and clawing at your breast. “Y-Yes? Yes?” you ask, the thought coming to you slowly, like dawn through the trails upon trails of blood the two of you have long since left since the night he had stumbled across you, bloody and reeling and shaking with the rush of revenge; and you watch, yes, as Art’s head continues to bob in a steady nod, and you whine and you keen and you moan as he thrusts against you, the line of his cock hot and hard and just right as it slides between your folds through fabric, and—

—you cum with a stuttered slur of his name, trembling beneath him as he bares his teeth and fucks against you with abandon, forgoing all else but his own high as you become oversensitive and stilted, moored with the rise and rise and rise of your undoing until you feel him, too, cum with a shudder and a newfound hot, wet heat between your legs; and before you can even take a breath, before you can swallow against the dryness of your throat and reach out for him with a lazy hand, Art descends upon you, his chest heaving and his breath moist and quick as he widens the gape of his mouth only to bite into the heat of your skin, tucked close in the crook where neck and shoulder meet.

[scoutandvioletfan]

Say Tennessee Tuxedo and Chumley If You're An Aries.

Say Lucas The Spider If You're A Taurus.

Say Huckle and Lowly If You're A Gemini.

Say Scooter and Mr.Chips If You're A Cancer.

Say Tenderheart Bear If You're A Leo.

Say Cool McCool If You're A Virgo.

Say Lofty The Crane and Mr.String If You're A Libra.

Say Twilight If You're A Scorpio.

Say Dan Backslide If You're A Sagittarius.

Say Mac and Bloo If You're A Capricorn.

Say Hoppity Hooper, Professor Waldo P Wigglesworth and Fillmore If You're A Aquarius.

Say Linus The Lionhearted If You're A Pisces.

For Me: Scooter and Mr.Chips!

[abbinurmel]

Bizarrely, I totally remember this event and am glad someone else does!... but my memory of it is a bit very highly different!- and who's to say whether I'm/op is just being inaccurate about details, or Mandela bs'ing or whatnot....But MY RECOLLECTION was; while yes this alien event totally happened, I have zero idea where this Kraft macaroni n' cheese business came from that OP talks about. (Though it's entirely plausible Kraft did a sponsorship deal somehow, and forced things like this to happen, it's totally specific and batshit enough to sound exactly like a legit thing a kid's TV network would be forced reluctantly into doing back then, so I am not saying it was too silly for it to occur, because it by its own very definition is not.)

But. If *I* am recollecting it right... this wasn't on the surface level anything to do with Mac and cheese, but a seasonal October/Halloween special event. And NONE OF the episodes I recall used cheese in them as a plot point, except for Foster's who had already an established character named Cheese by that point? (Given the fact the main character is named Mac and his pal is Bloo aka like a Kraft Box and I def recall at least one joke being made about this specific fact on the show, it's probably no coincidence and maybe it is possible Cheese was created in the first place for that idea?....)

-But I thought the alien week episode for Billy and Mandy was the famous 'Lil Rock of of Horrors' musical episode, the one where Aurelio Voltaire voices a meteorite slime alien who sang "BRAINS!!!" and Mandy eventually destroys them.

-The Ed Edd n Eddy one I just very recently ago revisited and it DID NOTHING with cheese. It's an incredible episode actually, where Jimmy gets an apocalyptic, uncharacteristically morbid and cinematically horrible nightmare about aliens tearing up the ground with giant buzz saws coming out of flying saucers. It was animated with some legit disturbing trippy visuals and great moments of tense atmosphere, as Jimmy's alien prediction starts seemingly coming true in reality. And that all comes together for one of those classic typical: 'no no, it was a farce, just wacky neighbor antics was all that was going on, status quo resumed...the aliens were never really here....OR WERE THEY??' type show endings.

Actually I am surprised no EEE fans bring out any fanfiction or crazy theories regarding the strange cool mess of implications this episode leaves. The aliens according to that episode are not just real, they use a spaceship to steal the entirety of PeachCreek's neighborhood, specifically just the cul-de-sac area, Invader Zim 'Planet Jacker' or toy crane machine style, without anybody noticing, and now Peach Creek is just a satellite entity drifting blissfully unawares thru space, to some unknown destination for God knows what. Never addressed again in show canon. For obvious reasons.

-'Kids Next Door' did have an episode involving cheese but to my recall this wasn't one of them and I *think* it was actually the infamous 'Animatrix parody' episode? The one where the framing device is Numbuh One is telling during class the origin story of the great war between Kids vs. Adults, who happen to be an alien species altogether. And it devolves into an off-putting montage of hysterical ramblings about mind control conspiracies, set to bits of mixed media footage, until he reaches his peak hysteria and gets told basically to calm down and shut up by his teacher, or that he gets an F for show and tell, something like that...

'My Gym Partner's a Monkey' I barely ever watched. I couldn't tell you nothing there.

-'Camp Lazlo' is beloved by me but this one's plot I don't recall probably the most, however, I def recall loving the show to heck and back, and, while blurrily I do remember some gags and episodes with tropes about aliens, there def wasn't I recall any episode particularly fixated around CHEESE.

-And finally, I am unsure if this is any more correct or not as anything else stated above by me and op, but, my recollection is that Courage the Cowardly Dig had a stake in this themed week as well, and it too aired an episode about aliens, a theme it was never a stranger to since it's very beginnings, but yet again, still had no cheese. I know Courage like the back of my palm so I know there's definitely not any episode plot fixated around THAT. (Though there is an episode centered around consumption of *flan*, of all things!)

ANYWAY....Unless there happens to be an episode from any of/ all of these listed franchises where I just missed it, and never once saw the showing of it; and, I quite distinctly remember at least all of the bumpers and hype built up for this event and being glued to my TV during the original airing of it, in sum, I don't feel really like this entirely happened as OP either describes, or, the strange macaroni subliminal theming was SO unwillingly shoehorned that it barely makes a presence at all among these episodes to a point of non existence...and maybe that is why I never made that connection.

Or I'm just a dumbass who performs barely any research and isn't able to remember the layout of things aired on TV over three decades ago.

Sorry guys. It's 5am and I take cartoons too pointlessly seriously. What else is new.

I was today years old when I realized that weird alien invasion event that happened on Cartoon Network was all a part of a Kraft's Mac N Cheese sponsorship...For those who don't know...

Back in 2007, Cartoon Network marketed this big event where aliens invaded in five of their popular shows at the time: Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends, Ed, Edd, n Eddy, My Gym Partner's A Monkey, Camp Lazlo, and The Grim Adventures of Billy Mandy. Each episode had two things in common: An alien species that looked the same in each show and cheese...Just...Just cheese. Lots of cheese. Characters eating cheese and protecting cheese and even chasing after a character named Cheese.

This was stretched out for a month, and it was all sponsored by Kraft, hence the weird obsession with cheese in each episode. This was an idea that NONE of the showrunners wanted to do, but the network forced them to do it anyway. Still, some tried to make this forced idea work because...it was all for the money, I guess.

Unfortunately, Kraft would BACK OUT of this deal, and it was all thanks to the episode that Billy and Mandy had to make. Because I guess they didn't like an episode where a kid's head blew up for the sake of saving cheese or something (I barely remember that episode). But, yeah, that's the main reason why Cartoon Network did this weird event, and it was all for NOTHING. And I'm going to be honest...I wish more studios did weird shit like this.

I mean, I don't WANT showrunners to be forced into making an episode they had no desire to make, but let it be known it left an impact. Like that time Disney Channel sitcoms had characters wish upon a shooting star that caused them all to temporarily live out these weird what-if scenarios. It's frickin' weird, but it's the best kind of weird.

[wartoposluchac]

Best Of 2020 - Albumy - Polska

Best Of 2020 – Albumy – Polska

Chciałbym i marzę o tym aby za rok przy kolejnym rocznym podsumowaniu móc napisać – “wróciliśmy do normalności, nie ma koronawirusa”. Brak koncertów, zamknięte Teatry, Kina, Domy Kultury całe życie kulturalne niemal legło w gruzach. Korzystanie z dobrodziejstw technologicznych, transmisje internetowe tzw. “online” nie oddają tego klimatu obcowania z artystą. Przeżywania z nimi każdego d��więku,…

[bimobuddy]

Stuck

I've been binge watching "Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends" for the past week, so I'm like really hyperfixated on it, and I'm also tk trash, so I need to write a fic about it since I'm not artistic enough to draw stuff. I also just want to write fics for underrated fandoms that get no attention. I apologize in advance.

Another sleepless night for Wilt. Ever since Bloo moved in, Wilt had given up his bed and slept on the floor directly underneath the bed. It wasn't comfortable at all, but he didn't complain, not wanting to make Bloo feel bad. Not that he would anyway. 'It could be worse,' he thought to himself, staring up at the underside of the mattress, 'at least I get to sleep on the floor at Foster's instead of the ground outside.'

Wilt groaned and went to slide himself out from under the bed to start the day, but found that he had gotten stuck. He reached his arm up to the wall to push himself out, but it wouldn't work. Bending his knees didn't help, and he couldn't roll to the side. He was stuck. He couldn't turn very well to see anyone so he called out, "Uh, hello? Is someone else in here? Hello-" "Ugh what do you want?" Came a familiar whiny voice.

Wilt perked up, hope filling him. "Bloo, I'm stuck under the bed. Could you help me out? Is that okay?" He asked. He couldn't see Bloo, but the silence that filled the air already told him that the gremlin was up to something. A silent Bloo wasn't a good thing. "Bloo?" He asked, getting nervous. He tried pushing himself out again, to no avail.

"Oh suuure, Wilt, I can help you out~"

Oh he did not like that tone at all. "Uh, that's okay Bloo, maybe you should go find Ed, if that's okay." He heard Bloo move closer, and craned his neck to see if he could see where Bloo was or what he was doing.

Wilt was expecting to feel the mattress above him to dip down under Bloo's weight, to hear the door shut, to hear Bloo yell for Frankie, anything. What he was not expecting was to feel him poke his foot. His eye widened with realization. "B-Bloo, wait, maybe you should just go get Ed, he is stronger than both us, he could lift the bed or pull me out with no issue, you don't need to- waitwait Bloo stohop-" he slapped his hand over his mouth to prevent any chuckles from slipping out, a silly grin spreading over his face.

Bloo had started to poke up and down his socked foot, completely ignoring his friend's pleas and kicking. "Blohohoo, c-cuhut it ohout! I'm sohorry buhut- WAIT!" The smaller friend had sat himself on Wilt's leg, grabbing at his knee and tickling underneath it, driving the basketball player crazy. "Gee, Wilt, it's a shame you're so tall~ Anyone could grab at your knees, they're perfectly within reach!" He teased.

Wilt kicked and squirmed, desperately trying to kick Bloo off, to pull his legs under the bed, to do SOMETHING. "Bloo! Stohohop plehehehease! Hahahaha j-juhuhust goho genehet Ehehehed-" he let out an embarrassing squeal and twisted himself out from under the bed, pulling his legs in with him.

Bloo stood up and grinned like an idiot. "You're welcome~" "Bloo?" "Yes, Wilt?" "You have three seconds to run."

[maurooochanthejellomjlimefan2022]

FX (1997-2008?) And Fox, Buck and Lucky (Married with children), Ladybird (King Of The Hill), Little Helper (The Simpsons)

PBS Kids (2005), Cassie (Dragon Tales), Thomas (Thomas and Friends), Clifford The Big red dog, Cookie Monster (Sesame Street), Pal (Arthur), Caillou, Paco (Maya and Migel), Trumpet (Teletubbies), Leona Lion (Between The Lions)

VHS, Squidward (Spongebob Squarepants), Babe The Pig, Scrappy Doo (Scooby Doo and Scrappy Doo), Petrie (The Land Before Time) and Squirrel (O' Christmas Tree 1999)

2007 Dish Network (Boomerang From Cartoon Network), Magilla Gorilla, Bandit (Jonny Quest), Dino (The Flintstones), Astro (The Jetsons), Huckleberry Hound, Yogi Bear, Yakky Doodle (The Yogi Bear Show), Jerry Mouse (Tom and Jerry), Tweety (Looney Tunes), Top Cat, Flying Squirrel (Beast Boy) From Teen Titans, Crazylegs Crane (The Pink Panther Show), Bloo (Fosters Home For Imaginary Friends), Jabberjaw, Pikachu (Pokemon), Secret Squirrel, Torchic (Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire/Pokemon Advanced), Quick Draw McGraw, Muttley (Wacky Races), Precious Pupp (The Atom Ant Show), Popeye, Casper (Harveytoons), Scooby Doo

Cbeebies

[intistone]

ALDHKHDDS AMBER IM HONORED HHHHHHH (feral gremlin noises because I absolutely adore your art)

Songs UH-

Pitchfork Kids

Control by Halsey

Curses by The Crane Wives

Carousel by Melanie Martinez

Empires by The Electric Swing Circus

Now for the tagging I LOVE YALL SO MUCH

@calcium-cat @crow-with-a-pencil @antagonistickool-aid @zipitmythicalsunset @pillowspace @chlorenw @basyacriptid @bloo-the-dragon

🎶✨when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. then, send this ask/tag 10 of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) 🎶✨

Thanks so much for the tag @willowcassette !

Shinunoga E-Wa - Fujii Kaze

Be Sweet - Japanese Breakfast

Why Can’t We Be Friends? - The Academic

Ikkyu-San - Wednesday Campanella

Trip - Ella Mai

Tagging: @arijensineink @toribookworm22 @words-after-midnight @ishipgenfics @little-mouse-gardens @imdefnotvanessa @jamieanovels @writingpotato07 @i-dont-write-as-often-as-id-like @elijahrichardwrites

[preciouspeterbparker]

the box

i reached 100 followers on saturday! WOW!! thank yall so much for listening to me whine about my love for these stupid boys and reading all my trash <3 

have this little ficlet that i wrote today inspired by my own coping mechanisms :)

- bloo 

word count: 1.3k

warnings: implied/referenced depression, A/B/O, babies & pregnancy mention, hurt & comfort (i think?), happy ending, fluff (maybe?), birth control mention, young!tony

****

“What’s taking so long? I thought you were just grabbing some sweatpants?” Peter walks into the bedroom and stops short at the sight of his boyfriend sitting on the bed with a medium-sized box placed next to him. The box itself is non-descript, simple cardboard with a generic logo on one side. Nothing special, nothing alarming. It’s what’s inside that makes Peter’s stomach fall out of his ass. His mouth goes dry and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. This was not supposed to happen. 

“Tony… I…” Though his brain is going a mile-a-minute, the words are coming out like molasses. The omega is sure his scent has gone rancid, the scent of stress and anxiety permeating through the room. “H-how did you… Where did y- Where did you find that?” Peter knows the answer, of course. The box lives in the back corner of his closet, hidden behind a rack of sweatshirts and sweaters. He had been so careful to never open the box in Tony’s presence, so sure that his alpha would never find it. He never intended for Tony to even know about it. He never intended for anyone to know about it.

Peter knows that it’s...weird. He knew the first time he brought home a little board book from the bookstore and felt the urge to hide it away under his bed where it wouldn’t be seen by anyone other than him. He really had no business buying any of the items in the box. The matching mommy & me sweatsuits, the small brightly colored hooded towel. The milestone blocks, the bear & blanket set… 

He’s a 22 year old unmated omega, Peter shouldn’t be buying baby items. He and Tony haven’t even been dating a year. What’s even worse, he bought some of the stuff before they even got together, when he was still single. 

The thing is… Peter has never wanted anything as badly as he wants to be a mother. He daydreams about the way his belly will swell with life, about the pitter patter of soft feet and bright peals of laughter. He pictures babies with his nose and smile, tiny fingers and toes, humming lullabies as he holds them in his arms. 

Tony’s hand clenches the soft fabric of a sunshine-yellow blanket in his fist, index finger rubbing back and forth against the material. “What- What is all this, Peter? Do you have something to… To, um, tell me?” His dark chocolate eyes are wide as they flicker down to glance pointedly at the younger’s belly. “Are you…?” Tony’s voice trails off, and he looks back up at Peter and he- Fuck, Tony looks scared or something and that’s exactly what Peter was afraid of. He’s scared Tony off, the one guy who’s somehow taken the rest of Peter’s idiosyncrasies in stride. 

The deer in the headlights expression on Peter’s face crumples and he wraps his arms around himself. He presses his mouth into a thin line in an attempt to keep inside the whines of distress that are attempting to escape him. His cheeks go a ruddy pink. Refusing to make eye contact with the alpha who is still staring at him imploringly, Peter softly shakes his head in response to the question. He wishes he was pregnant, that would make this a lot less embarrassing to explain. Breathing through his nose, the brunette can smell how Tony’s apprehension has morphed into concern and that just makes it worse. His alpha is so sweet, so good to him. He’d make such a good father, Peter already knows it and he wants it so badly. He’s always wanted to have a family, but a family with the smart, generous, kind-hearted man in front of him would be the epitome of Peter’s dreams. “I’m not pregnant,” the omega whispers, cutting his eyes to look at his boyfriend. Of course he’s not, he thinks, fingers moving reflexively to grab at the implant under the skin on the inside of his upper arm. 

“Then why-,” Tony starts, reaching into the box and gently pulling out a small white 0-3 months onesie with yellow bees scattered on the fabric, “do you have all of this?” He glances back up at Peter and his eyes immediately soften at the tears and wobbly lips that he sees. “Pete, c’mere baby, what’s wrong?” He places the blanket and the onesie back in the cardboard and stands, taking a few steps before pulling the shorter man into his arms. “Shhh,” he soothes when he hears Peter sniffling by his ear. “It’s okay, ‘mega.”

Peter whines, pressing his nose up against Tony’s gland at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I know it’s...I know it’s weird.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I know it’s too early to even think about kids, much less talk about them. Or fucking...fucking start buying things,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Fingers begin to comb through his hair soothingly and he whimpers a bit in surprise when he feels Tony’s chest rumble gently against his own before it begins to have the intended effect. His heart rate begins to slow, his scent starts to mellow out. “I’m not upset, Peter,” Tony says softly. “I just want to understand. Help me understand.” He cranes his head back a little to press a kiss to Peter’s auburn curls. 

The omega takes another shaky breath. “I just- I’ve always wanted a baby so bad,” he whispers into Tony’s neck. Peter opens and closes his left hand repeatedly and Tony sees the silent request for what it is, reaching to take it in his own larger hand. Their fingers intertwine. “You know that I struggle with, um, with depression.” He feels the way Tony’s chin moves as he nods. “I’ve been alone for so long, up until now and I… I just… It helps- To have a reminder that it’s all worth it. To see the light at the end of the tunnel, the reason I work so hard to get better, to be better. To remind myself that I can have that one day, that one day it won’t be just a dream,” Peter finishes with a wet gasp. 

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, ‘mega,” Tony says, and Peter can’t help but obey. He pulls away, taking a small step backwards so he can meet the alpha’s gaze. “You’re going to make an amazing mother.” His voice is soft yet passionate, like he has no doubt in the world that what he’s saying is true. “You are beautiful, and wonderful and so loving. Your heart's too big for your body so you’re always giving pieces of it to those you care about. Our babies will be lucky to have such a great mama,” he says, soulful eyes looking directly into his omega’s. “One who cares about them so much that he’s been planning for them long before they were ever born.”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat at the use of the pronoun. Did he hear that right? “Our babies,” he smiles shakily, hands coming up to cup Tony’s face. “O-our babies? You want- You want to have babies with me?” 

A bashful grin takes over Tony’s face. He bites his lip, pausing for a moment before the words leave his lips, ones that they haven’t said before. “Of course I do. I love you.” 

Peter chokes again at the soft confession, smile widening as more tears build up in his eyes. “I love you too, I do. I know it hasn’t been that long but I love you so much, Tony.” 

The alpha leans down and captures the younger man’s lips with his own. “I love you,” he whispers again when he pulls away. Leaning over a bit, he reaches back into the box and pulls the blanket out again and holds it in his hands. “And whenever...whenever we’re ready, once we’ve figured out what we’re doing and where we want to live… Once we’re mated?” He stops to press his forehead to Peter’s, both going a bit cross eyed as they gaze at one another. “I’m gonna make you a mama and you won’t have to dream about it any more.” 

Little did Tony know that he was already Peter’s dream come true.

[lemonpeter]

STARKER: by Peter B. Parker

Chapter 10: Doppelgänger

A/N: hello and welcome back to this clusterfuck of a fic! i, bloo, sincerely apologize for the delay in the posting of this chapter. real life took over for a bit, i started coming out of my winter depression session and feeling better led to me doing more things irl, and thus fandom took a seat on the back burner for a couple of hot secs.

bri has been SO patient with me and she is the best and the sweetest for dealing with my ADD ass. <3 we love bri.

ANYWHO-

we also love y’all, and appreciate you so much! hopefully updates will become more regular again.

thanks for sticking with us, bloo and bri <3

(Bri here: real life has been wild for both of us lol bloo is wonderful 💕 also it feels like I’m gushing about myself since I’m the one posting but I promise that note was copied from what bloo wrote on the doc-)

Warnings: Peter is Not Okay, angst, whump, g*n mention, wound mention, guilt, victim blaming, g*slighting (lemme know if I need to add)

Masterlist ao3

***

“Did Tony just get- shot?” Ned asked incredulously, eyes wide with disbelief. “Peter shot him?”

“I mean...yes? I think? But wait, look- Peter’s acting like he doesn’t know what’s going on. Did he not do that?” Paige rushed the words out, gazing intently at the screen for a moment. Then she turned and looked first at Ned, then at the other agents in the room. “We didn’t do that, did we?” When everyone hurriedly shook their heads with wide eyes, the teen included, she sighed and took off her glasses to run her hands down her face. “So he’s shooting people now?”

Another heavy sigh sounded from a few feet away. Fury closed his eye, taking a deep breath before cutting his gaze to an agent who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he stared at the monitor. “Grayson.” The man stood up straight, blinking with a sheepish expression on his face and he looked over at the director. “Contact May Parker. Now.”

The agent frowned and hesitated before ultimately deciding to speak up. “But… Sir, didn’t she ask that we not-”

Fury was quick to interrupt, his tone biting. “I’m sure she would like to be notified that her nephew has turned homicidal,” the bald man spat, rolling his eye in irritation. “Now like I said- contact May Parker and let her know that there have been some…developments.”

Even if it wasn’t intentional, the violence was still Peter’s doing. Which didn’t seem like a good sign.

He let out a heavy breath. “Tell her that a car will be outside her apartment waiting for her within the next two hours.”

The already tense atmosphere of the room only grew as Fury never looked away from the man, keeping their gazes locked as he dared the agent to question his authority for a second time.

“Of course, Director Fury.” Eyes on the ground, Grayson quickly turned and walked through the doorway, the other occupants turning back to their tasks.

Everyone’s eyes were trained on the screens as they watched Peter all but drag Tony into the penthouse from the elevator. The older man didn’t look good in any sense of the word, not even close. He was pale, sweaty, with rattled breathing and an ever-growing bloodstain covering his chest. And Peter’s panic was clearly visible on his face.

After a few moments, Ned spoke up, discomfort lacing his tone. “I- Someone please tell me he’s not about to do what I think he is…”

“Holy shit,” Paige breathed. Her hand placed itself over her mouth that was dropped open.

Noises of shock echoed throughout the space, and Ned averted his eyes, swallowing with difficulty.

Agent Hill spoke up for the first time since the scene had unravelled. “I don’t think Peter’s controlling this thing, not anymore.”

Fury turned to look at her, gaze narrowed. “What do you mean? The illusion is obviously running, and I’m assuming that means the glasses are receiving input from him. Right Leeds?”

Ned, still unable to keep his eyes on the monitors, nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. Th-That’s correct.”

It was Hill’s turn to nod, then. “Yes, that’s true, but not what I meant. I don’t think he is consciously influencing the illusions anymore. Or at least not completely.”

Paige hummed softly, head hanging as she leaned down over one of the desks. The dark ringlets of her hair fell around her like a curtain, obscuring her face. “I agree. He seems to still be in control of some aspects, like location. And he was able to, uh, place the sutures. Successfully stopping Mr. Stark from bleeding out. But he wasn’t able to heal him indirectly, even though he obviously tried.”

“What...but then how? Why are things happening if Peter isn’t the one doing the um, influencing?” Ned turned back to the screens, specifically the one full of lines and lines of green characters. He wasn’t ready to look at the others yet. “I’m constantly checking the logs and the security, there have been no breaches. Um. Other than us, that is.” He looked back up, waiting for a response from one of the others, eyes searching Paige’s hopefully, but none came.

No one had an answer to that question.

***

Tony may have been the one who got shot, but there was a hole in the middle of Peter’s chest, too. Raw, tender, cavernous...aching with every single breath that he took.

And he couldn’t close it up, like he had done Tony’s, because the piece of him that was meant to be there was just...gone.

Missing.

And he had no idea how to get it back.

Something was glaringly and obviously wrong, but Peter didn’t know what exactly it was, or what he was supposed to do. Despite having tried his hardest to fix things, nothing was getting better. It was all just...getting worse. (He was getting worse-)

He knew that something was missing. It felt like a huge part of him had been ripped from his life, leaving a gaping void that couldn’t be filled.

And things were only getting worse, still.

Especially between him and Tony.

Peter had thought that things were okay as Tony recovered from his...injury. Not perfect, but okay. Good. Improving. Sure, his husband had been quiet and subdued for the past few days. But he thought that was reasonable and to be expected, the man was in pain. (He was in pain, too, though. Tony didn’t seem to notice. Or care.)

But even now that the older man was mostly healed, there was still a strange tension between them. Distance.

And Peter had no fucking idea what to do about it. Because Tony refused to tell him what was wrong.

Deep down, Peter knew. He knew that everything was wrong, that the whole situation was wrong, that there was no part of their world that was even remotely okay. But if he acknowledged that fact, what was the point? Of any of it? What did he have then, without this, without Tony? Absolutely nothing. So he just wouldn’t acknowledge it.

He’d tried everything he could think of. He’d been attentive to Tony’s every need during his recovery, keeping him supplied with food and water, providing entertainment in the form of working together on various projects and watching TV or reading together, never letting the man out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

He’d even tried to initiate sex, once it seemed Tony was feeling better, so that they could be close to each other in such an intimate way in hopes that it woud fix things. Nothing too strenuous on his husband’s part, of course. Peter had simply wanted to make the older man feel good, bring him some pleasure and show him just how much he meant to his lover.

And Tony had turned him down each time, always pushing him away softly with that clouded, far away look in his eyes. The one that had been there ever since he’d brought up his feelings about what had happened with May.

Now that the older man was better, now that he was healed and had more energy and things could possibly go better, Peter was still too scared to try. He didn’t want to be rejected again. He didn’t know if he could handle it.

He didn’t understand Tony’s refusal in the first place. This world was supposed to be whatever he wanted. And what he wanted was for his husband to want him again, for his husband to love him, touch him, smile at him the way that he used to. And that obviously was not what was happening.

Why did it feel like Tony had more control over things than he did? Sure, the teen intended for his partner to have some semblance of autonomy, in that he could take care of himself and his basic needs, but Peter consciously gave him that autonomy. But now…

Now it seemed like Tony was able to actually think for himself on some level, which would explain why he was able to remember the incident with May despite Peter’s best attempts, and why he seemed hesitant to bring it up to Peter.

And he could see it in Tony’s eyes, the way he didn’t quite know what to make of what little information he did have.

Peter didn’t want to add to the confusion, or cause any more frustration. He didn’t want to stress Tony out.

But he couldn’t tell him the truth, either.

There was nothing he could do.

***

Peter gazed into the bathroom, hands gripping the door frame as he watched Tony.

The older man was standing under the spray of the shower. His hand gingerly rubbed at his chest with a washcloth, head back and eyes closed so as to not look at the mottled knot of scar tissue there.

Peter wanted so badly to join him, his husband, to stand there wrapped in his arms and surrounded by the warmth of the water.

But Tony didn’t want him.

Not anymore.

The two of them were merely coexisting at this point. It was like they weren’t married anymore, not really, like they had slipped back into that painful distance from before, when Tony was still Mr. Stark and Peter was just that fucking kid.

Tony hadn’t touched him since the accident.

“That’s a pretty nasty scar he’s got there, huh? I know you tried to stitch him up but damn. No awards for your suture technique, that’s for sure.”

Peter turned around so fast that he was sure he nearly snapped his neck. That was- That was his voice.

But he knew he hadn’t said anything.

Craning his neck and peering around the large bedroom with wide eyes, Peter held his breath as he listened intently. The sounds of Tony showering could be heard from the open bathroom door. He couldn’t hear anything else, but he could have sworn... “H-hello?” The teen kept turning his head, eyes wide as he looked for any sign of someone else in the room with him.

“Up here.”

And up there he was. Crouched on the ceiling, a position Peter frequently found himself in, was... well, Peter. Another Peter.

He was smirking, something sinister and unsettling glinting in his dark eyes as he gazed down upon his counterpart. “For someone with a sixth sense, it’s really sad that I had to give myself away for you to notice me. So much for that Peter-tingle. You really are losing it, Spider-Boy. Pathetic.” His grin only grew as the words left his mouth.

Peter gaped up at him, heart pounding. What the fuck was going on? He blinked a few times as he tried to take control of the illusion, alter whatever was happening. It wasn’t working. Just like when Tony had been shot. “Who are-“

The other Peter was quick to cut off his questioning. His eyes flashed. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You know exactly who I am.” The double dropped from the ceiling, standing right across from Peter.

It was like looking into a mirror. The doppelgänger was a spitting image of Peter, save for the dark look in his eyes and the cocky smirk pulling at his lips.

“I-I don’t know.” Peter shook his head, soft yet frantic. He was still desperately trying to influence the situation, hands shaking as he clenched them at his sides.”

Not-Peter shook his head in return, laughing as he copied the action. But the sound was cold and harsh, no joy in it at all. “I’m you, you fucking coward. It’s as simple as that. All of this is you! Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on.”

Peter didn’t want to believe it. This…fake him was cruel. He could never be like that. He never wanted to be anything like that.

The doppelganger scoffed. “You’re no fucking saint, Peter, no matter how much you’d like to convince Tony that you are. He’s catching on, isn’t he? Starting to realize that things aren’t as perfect as you’ve been making them out to be?”

“That’s n-not true,” Peter stuttered as he tried to control his breathing. “You don’t know anything about Tony. Don’t bring him into this-”

“How are things with Tony, by the way?” The doppelganger’s lip curled up at the pained expression that took over Peter’s face. “Ohhh, that bad huh? I can’t say I’m surprised…” He let himself trail off. “It really is sad, you know, Peter? Call me redundant but I feel it needs to be said again, so bare with me. You’re pathetic.”

“Stop,” Peter ground out, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes were clenched shut, but when he heard the other move, his lids flew open instinctively. “You aren’t- You aren’t real.”

A harsh bark of a laugh seemed to echo throughout the room. “I’m as real as anyone you’ve been interacting with these days.”

“That’s not true,” Peter said softly, denying what he knew deep down was, in fact, the truth.

Not-Peter scoffed, taking a step towards his double. He shook his head softly in admonishment. “You really are pathetic.” He’d made it more than obvious how much joy the word brought him, with the way it all but oozed from his lips. “Like I was saying, this whole thing is tragic, it really is, Peter. You know that there is no way that Tony Stark could have ever wanted you, in any sense of the word. Definitely not like this, this weird relationship you’ve conjured up as a byproduct of your unaddressed daddy issues. That’s why you ran away, like the little fucking coward that you are. You ran, so that you could hide out and construct this sick little fantasy world of yours.

“And how’s that working out for you…kid? It’ll tell you: you shot your husband because he was starting to question you, and of course you couldn’t have that. How dare Tony be anything other than the obedient little puppet you want him to be.”

“That’s not true,” Peter choked out, chest constricting. “I- I didn’t do that, it wasn’t me! I tried- I tried to stop it, I tried to undo it but it wouldn’t work so I had to- I had to f-fix him-”

The double cut him off again, as if he had never spoken at all. “I guess you’re right in that sense, so I’ll give you that. I know it wasn’t you. Because it was me.” He paused, hand moving up to his chin as he pretended to think, waxing philosophical. “But then again, I am you, so-”

“You aren’t me,” Peter argued one last time, knowing it wasn’t true. His voice was weak because he knew the truth. Even if he didn’t want to believe it, refused to believe it. “And I would never hurt Tony.”

“No? Not even after he abandoned you?” The fake Peter was taunting him, voice dripping with condescension. “Because you were having some pretty contradictory thoughts that are leading me to believe otherwise. Remember how angry you were?”

Of course he remembered. The teen had been so hurt and betrayed and he knew it was irrational. But Peter was certain that he wouldn’t- he would never actually hurt Tony. He couldn’t.

But how else did he get shot, if Peter was the one in control?

“Stop it,” Peter snapped, voice full of vitriol. Then he instantly recoiled, stomach sinking. That wasn’t him. The angry, frustrated feelings that he kept having weren’t him. They couldn’t be. He couldn’t act like that, that’s how he got here in the first place, it was everything he was trying to fix.

It was how Tony had gotten hurt.

Maybe he hadn’t been holding the gun, but he’d been the one that caused it to happen.

Peter became aware that the sounds of the shower had stopped when he finally shifted his focus away from the double and back to his husband. Partner. Whoever they were now. He heard footsteps approaching and didn’t have enough time to try and make the doppelgänger disappear.

“Pete?” Tony asked softly, rubbing his hair dry with the towel in his hands. Another was wrapped around his waist, leaving his chest bare. (Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to the scar.) “Were you just...waiting out here for me?”

His eyes were on the double, unaware that it wasn’t actually Peter, not catching on to the fact that there were two of them yet.

“Of course I was,” not-Peter said, eyes blown wide as he attempted to look innocent, to look like Peter. “It’s not like there’s anything else I could be doing.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” When he had first emerged from the bathroom, his tone had been light, more so than it had been since his injury. It had sparked something hopeful inside Peter, and now his heart ached to hear the rough, distrustful edge come back.

“Oh, I mean,” the doppelganger continued with his act, though Peter could see the mirth shining in his eyes. “I just meant that, y’know, there’s nothing else I would rather be doing. Otherwise I would be doing it, since I am control-”

Peter was across the room before he was conscious of the movement, backing the interloper up against the wall and pressing his forearm up to his throat. “Shut the fuck up,” the teen growled desperately, voice breaking. “You ruined everything-”

The double struggled in Peter’s hold, face turning slightly red. His voice was raspy and choked off when he spoke. His nails dug into the skin of Peter’s arm. “Which means you ruined it yourself, you fucking coward! Go ahead, tell him. Tell Tony-”

“Peter? Tell me what? Who is- Peter, what the hell is going on?”

“Shut up!” Peter’s fist jerked back before it flew forward, connecting with the nose of the body in front of him. He heard Tony gasp and call out his name, but he ignored the man in favor of swinging his arm forward again. “I hate you! Why won’t you go away? I hate you!”

Despite the blood pouring out of his nose and rolling in crimson rivulets down his face, not-Peter grinned, the red smearing in sharp contrast on the white of his teeth. “We all knew you hated yourself, Peter, that’s not news.”

When Peter moved like he was going to strike again, Tony decided to actually intervene, even though he still had no idea what was going on. “Hey, Peter- Peter, baby, come here, let him go. This isn’t you baby-”

The teen let out a panicked gasp, melting into the other man’s embrace. “But it is,” he cried, brokenly. “It is me Tony, I-”

Tony hushed him, holding Peter close. He still didn’t know what was going on, but he needed to try and keep Peter calm. And from fighting the other one. “I know this isn’t you. You wouldn’t hurt anyone,” he said softly. Although he wasn’t sure he believed himself. He was so lost with everything going on, he didn’t know what to believe.

The other Peter just stayed leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You don’t even know, Tony.” The name was said like an insult. “You don’t get any of this, do you?”

“Shut up,” Peter whispered, all the fight leaving his body as he was held. “Just stop. You need to go away.” Why couldn’t he just make the imposter disappear? He was in control.

At least, he was supposed to be.

A grotesquely sinister expression took over the doppelganger’s face. His eyes were bright, burning, as his gaze locked with Peter’s.

The expression set the teen’s already frayed nerves on edge. He froze in Tony’s arms, heart pounding. Why was he looking at him like that? And why was that look so familiar? Where had he seen-

“It’s pretty easy to fool people when they’re already fooling themselves, Peter.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous.

“No, no, no, no,” Peter muttered to himself, voice shaking. His hands moved to his head, pulling at his hair, and when he opened his eyes for a moment, it wasn’t his own face staring back at him.

It was Beck.

“You’re not real,” he whispered, choking on his breath. “Y-you’re not-”

“Peter, baby, you’ve gotta calm-”

“N-not real-”

***

“Peter, sweetie, could you take the rolls out of the oven?”

“Sure thing, mama.” He opened his eyes, glancing back before going to do as she said. That was better.

“And where’s that husband of yours, he’s joining us for dinner, right?”

Peter bit his lip. He hadn’t even noticed that Tony wasn’t there. “He should be back soon, just had to step out for work.” There, that sounded convincing enough.

“Such a hard worker, that Tony,” May chirped, a grin pulling at her lips as she sliced tomatoes for the salad. “You really lucked out, Petey.”

It was a sweet thing to say. It was exactly what he thought about Tony. But it sure as hell wasn’t anything that May would say. However, Peter just let the genuine affection in her tone relax him, letting out a soft sigh. “I really did, Aunt May. I really did.” He smiled at her and then to himself as he got the rolls from the oven and set the pan on the counter.

Ben snorted, taking a sip of his beer. “Stark’s the lucky one, May-Flower. Pete’s quite the catch. Takes after ‘is uncle.” At Richard’s eye roll, he laughed again. The sound filled Peter’s chest with a fuzzy warmth. “Fine. And his father. Parker men ain’t nothing to mess with.”

“Uh huh, right.” May laughed. “I agree with you on one thing, though. Parker men are definitely something else, that’s for sure,” she teased.

Peter laughed along with them, but it was all beginning to feel uncomfortable on some level. He felt just as empty as he knew the rest of his guests were.

His doppelgänger’s words kept racing through his mind. Beck’s words. (“If you were good enough, maybe Tony would-“)

But he pushed them away, steeling himself and blinking blearily for a few seconds. His gaze locked on the food spread out over the counter. None of that mattered.

He was at dinner with his family. They were all there, happy and healthy. Together, the way it should be. There was nothing that he needed to be worried about.

[dcstinythief]

eight people i’d like to get to know better!

1. ( ALIAS / NAME ) ——   Stat

2.  ( BIRTHDAY ) ——  November 17

3.  ( ZODIAC SIGN ) ——   Scorpio

4.  ( HEIGHT ) ——    5′4″

5.  ( HOBBIES ) ——   writing, riding, gaming? idk man i work and sleep

6.  ( FAVORITE COLOR ) ——    bloo

7.  ( FAVORITE BOOKS ) ——   Pet Sematary

8.  ( LAST SONG LISTENED TO ) ——  Never Love an Anchor--The Crane Wives

9.  ( LAST FILM OR SHOW WATCHED ) ——  Skin Wars

10.  ( INSPIRATION FOR MUSE ) ——   RT is really going to give me this beautiful concept and not flesh her out? Nah. Raven Branwen is mine. My inspiration is that she’s got a boss ass design, compelling story, and potential in her characterization. I want to play with her themes of loyalty and dedication to causes she deems worthy while exploring the mistakes she undoubtedly knows she’s made.

11.  ( STORY BEHIND URL ) ——  Maddie helped me brainstorm back when this was a multimuse. Cinder used to live here too, and between Cin and Rae, it felt fitting.

tagged by: @infortunii

tagging: have you done this? do it.

[blackestnight]

💋 cheek kiss! >:3c

(crafters of light GO)

The light that streamed through the domes of the Crystarium was the golden, watered-down sunlight of early winter–jarring after her morning in Ishgard’s mid-spring slush, and Hanami’s eyes teared up every time she glanced up at the gleaming stones of the Exedra. The stairs of the Dossal Gate were too cold for comfort, but it was the best place to wait for her quarry and the sharp marble of the step at her back pressed its chill into a tight knot at the base of her spine. She would live.

She would have preferred a coat, though. She would have to remember to make a watch and ask Feo Ul to throw pixie magic at it until it could tell her what day it was on each shard; she was growing more and more sick of needing to worry about things like seasons. She bent back over the pad of paper in her lap to write a note–the lines of her hasty circle sketch warped when they hit the divot from an earlier pen line, remnants of her copying sentences out of an old Ishgardian schoolbook for practice–

She heard the shuffle of a small footstep and the clink of jewelry before the voice, but not by much. “You know,” said the woman, “When Raha asked me to chase off the gargoyle skulking on his front step, I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

Hanami set her pen back down, abandoning her sketch, and craned her neck to look up at Lunya. Her hair was near-blinding in the afternoon light, brighter than the flagstones, though mercifully her coat was a deep purple that hurt less to look at. Her boots had a fur trim that matched the white stitching, though, and the gloves shimmered with silver embroidery at the wrists–impractical, all of it, in Hanami’s mind, but today she needed that fanciful eye for clothing.

“I need your help,” she said, and flipped her notepad shut. “With a dress.”

“Hello to you too,” Lunya said, and Hanami might have felt worse were it not for the way her eyes lit up. “A dress, you say? You realize I’m quite in demand.”

Hanami crossed her arms, tucking her knees up closer to her chest, now that she did not need to worry about her book. Of course she realized; Lunya was a popular seamstress on the Source, even under a false name, and her popularity was growing here as well, all for good reason. She was the best at what she did. “That is why I am asking you now, yes,” she said. “Aymeric already asked me to come with him to a big fancy Starlight party–it is supposed to be a celebration of the end of the war, too, and all the Alliance leaders will be there.” She wrinkled her nose; parties with the Alliance meant crowds, and hushed whispers wherever she went, and she would undoubtedly be too keyed up to even drink. “I know there are dressmakers in Ishgard, but they make me feel…” She sighed and stuck out her tongue, the words escaping her.

Lunya gave a slow, sage nod. “Like a stuffed Dodo wrapped in baking twine? That’s just sloppy corsetry.” She spared a despairing shake of her head for whatever slights against tailoring she was envisioning–Hanami wouldn’t even know where to start–and straightened her shoulders. “Well! I suppose I’ll be able to put something together, though I’ll need to know what precise level of big fancy I’ll be aiming for. There’s a code to these things, Hanami. There is etiquette.”

Hanami shrugged; it wasn’t as though she had asked, and besides, from what she understood Ishgardian dress had less to do with the status of your own family and more to do with stepping on the toes of others. She would not have called it etiquette. “I do not know. It is not as if I go to parties if I can help it.”

Lunya let out a groan, slanted almost toward a whine with her disgust, her bangs fluffing out with her breath. “I would swear Redolent Rose said you were enrolled in the Weavers’ Guild. How do you know so little about clothing?”

“Is that all Master Rose said?” Hanami could not help her snort. “He should have told you I sew things like I punch people. It works, but it is messy, and I get blood on everything.”

Lunya’s brightness finally bubbled over into a laugh, deep and trembling, one that nearly brought a smile to Hanami’s face in satisfaction–before Lunya leaned over and pressed her laugh into Hanami’s cheekbone, the contact shooting down her own spine like a cold shock. “You’re a disaster,” Lunya said, sounding quite pleased, and Hanami fought down the urge to jump to her feet as Lunya’s voice reverberated right next to her horn. “Alright, I’ll take on the job, but only on the condition that I get to dress you in a real color. None of this ‘so dark it’s almost black’ bullshite.”

“No pink,” Hanami said, mostly on reflex–but then she’d seen Lunya’s wardrobe, of course, she knew how she loved pastels, and Hanami had no desire to look like a cake. She did get to her feet, too, slowly, unlocking her muscles that had stiffened in the cold.

“Yes pink, it’s your color,” Lunya insisted. “You had it in your hair for so long, gods know you should be used to it. Go on over to the Mean; I need to run an errand and then I’ll meet you there to take measurements.”

Hanami bent over to scoop up her bag, and caught sight of the stone sculptures lining the staircase–which reminded her. “Tell G’raha Tia I am going to do violent things to him when I see him,” she said, tucking her book into her rucksack. Gargoyle. He had it coming, really.

“What, are you going to darn a sock at him?” Lunya said, and her laughter followed Hanami as she rolled her eyes and descended the stairs. 

[irishtowriteabook]

🌸Jealous -David+Natalie

A longwinded starter of a multitude (or should I say multiDUDE cause I’m cool) of fanfics.

-English isn’t my first language-

Summary: After the whole Ilya confessing his feelings to Natalie thing David struggles to withhold his “pshhh” attitude. And in turn develops an attitude. David Dobrick essentially turns into a David Doprick for tidbit.

—

Jason was making some semi self deprecating jokes but despite their hilarity and golden vlog material David couldn’t focus. His gaze constantly flitted over towards the view finder in his worse for wear camera that was in a precarious position atop the dashboard. His viewers on Tuesday or Wednesday or whatever-day he uploaded this would probably think he was checking himself out or lost in thought. He wasn’t. Hah! He was looking at them, Natalie and Ilya, laughing up a storm in the backseat. Storm Katrina who?

Their laughter was so loud it probably broke the sound barrier. Ilya was still somewhat erratic due to the drugs in his system and either Natalie found his hijinks cute or she had entered protective friend mode, David couldn’t tell anymore, he just couldn’t read her lately. And that frustrated him more than the time where his video editing programme crashing and his early morning work had vanished. Just like that.

“And Jeff goes up to the girl at the counter playing the whole good son act: Ah yes ahem my dads getting old and it’s hard seeing him that way but someone has to take care of him you know? And I suppose he thinks I don’t hear him, that I’ve actually got deaf like he said I had and-“ David tuned Jason out and fiddled with his camera now, craning it around the car towards the backseats so as to capture the twos reactions. They however were much too caught up in some whispered joke.

A slightly audible gulp left David’s throat as he watched Natalie through the view finder. Her head tilted back, showcasing her smooth neck and chest, as she giggled wholeheartedly. Pangs formed in David’s already weighty chest. ‘Why can’t I ever make her laugh like that?’ She looked like she was glowing today! And that wasn’t because of that highlighter shit, she was just- she was just stunning.

All of a sudden Natalie’s deep brown eyes met his over the rim of the camera and she shot a small smile at David as Ilya flopped down against her shoulder, grumbling. David’s heart ached as her smile visibly faltered as he didn’t return one. A snap sounded in the car due to the forceful shutting of the camcorder, David now fully turned around.

This abruptness caused even a dazed Ilya to quieten down. Jason kept his eyes mostly on the road but glanced towards David’s general direction, shifting his hands on the drivers wheel. “Uh you okay Dave? I wasn’t finished my bit. Your subscribers will be left on the edge of their seats!” He said with his signature wheezy laugh. David tucked himself into the innermost corner of the car seat and just fumbled with the holding string piece off his camera. “I have enough footage. It’s cool.” He muttered with a half arsed grin. Jason looked through the parking mirror to Natalie.

Her brows were furrowed as she watched David, not paying attention to Ilya who was pressing his entire tongue against the back window at oncoming traffic. Jason hitched his eyebrows once before returning his focus to the road. The rest of the ride was mostly silent except from the whispers of Natalie and Ilya and Ilya’s nonsensical mumblings.

—

The very moment the car came to a standstill David was rushing out the door, so fast the door hinges very nearly gave way. “Gotta edit. Help yourselves to some drinks.”

Jason turned around almost immediately to face Natalie despite the constraints of the belt digging into his chest.

Even in the cover of the night he could clearly see she already seemed deep in thought. “What’s uh- what’s going on with David tonight eh? Stress?” Jason questioned and allowed Ilya to play with his hair. “I don’t know.” She drummed her fingers and pouted her lips a bit. “He seemed fine up until after Ilya’s wisdom tooth removal.” Natalie leans forward, her eyebrows still creased in genuine worry. “I’m going to go after hi-“ She was cut off by a drawn out “Natalieeee” from a drowsy Ilya. Nat paused in her movement and looked to Jason for a little help. He nodded towards her with an understanding smile. “You go, I’ve got this- Come on sleepyhead”

-

“Hey Dave!” Natalie paused as she swung around the ledge of the door into David’s room where he lay splayed out on the bed. He didn’t respond, instead just moving his toned arms to cover his eyes and forehead area. “..Want a drink? I’m getting Ilya some water to flush out the bloo-“ “Nah but thanks.” Natalie was taken aback by his not necessarily rude but unusually blunt response.

She leant her head tiredly against the wood and watched him carefully. Down the hall there was an uproar of laughter as Ilya entertained the other squad members arriving on the scene. Just as David thought she had left she spoke again. “Listen David I know it’s been a long day but I feel like something else is bothering you. I’m your friend too, not just your assistant.” A pained scoff left David’s throat, now he’s been downgraded the friend? “I’m fine, Natalie. Just tired is all. I just want some space..can you do that?” And for the first time in a long time Natalie was at a loss for words.

Her frown pierced his skin through his hoodie and she pursed her lips, something she always did when she was annoyed. It just didn’t make sense. He always wanted people around him, talking or not. “Sure. I’ll be in the kitchen with the others.” She quipped shortly after a few seconds of silence and took a sharp turn on her heel towards the kitchen.

Eventually the chatter and laughter faded as the gaggle of vloggers moved over into the living room. It was then, and only then, that David removed his arms from over upper face. His eyes were shiny and glistened in the dark of the room with unshed tears. He muttered a curse and stared at the spot where Natalie once stood.

David sniffled and harshly rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand before opening his laptop up, connecting the camera cords and transferring the files. His eyes stung as her pushed himself through the editing process. And then he stopped. A clip lay there, one he couldn’t look at till now. The bit about Ilya confessing his fucking feelings. David couldn’t- David couldn’t help but notice the way Natalie was looking at Ilya as he slowed it down, in awe almost. “Shit.” David whispered as a singular tear trailed down his cheek.

—

Natalie tried to focus on Zane’s video ideas, she really did, but her eyes kept drifting off down the hallway where David still residing. “I can’t wait for David to hear these man!” Zane chuckled and the various heads nodded. Here it comes. “Hey speaking of, where is David? Haven’t seen him all night. You didn’t leave him in Chicago did you?” Heath wondered and draped an arm around his girlfriend as all eyes turned to Natalie. “Oh uhm he’s a bit tired, you know how it is. All the..travelling.” She smiled.

“We’ll leave him rest up then. Can’t get that coin without the creator!” Heath suggested with a laugh. “Who wants more drinks?!” Zane exclaimed and danced over animatedly to the countertop. Whoops and hollers left the mouth of most people in the room, the rest too hungover, passed out or worried about David.

—

Did they even notice he was gone? Did they even want him around? As a friend, not a medium of income. Did Natalie even want to be here? All these thoughts buzzed through David’s head despite his attempts to just..silence them. His computer was now strewn away to the side as sat on the edge of his bed, palms digging into his eyes with his elbows on his knees.

With a hefty sigh he dragged himself out of bed and crept out the door towards the kitchen. His heart tugged in his chest as he noticed Natalie pressed up against Ilya on the couch. Everyone’s attention was on Ilya, grasping on his comedic tales. No one noticed David. Or so he thought.

Natalie got a sinking feeling as she took heed of a forlorn looking David, watching as he sneaked into the kitchen.

“Are you going to talk to me then hm?” David almost jumped out of his skin as Natalie’s voice piped up from behind him. He pretended to continue looking in the presses just so he didn’t have to face her. “What do you mean?” He faked a laugh, his nervousness seeping through. He stuffed a biscuit into his mouth, one that he doesn’t like she realised, before turning around. Natalie stood there looking far too cute in her pajama shorts and black top with her crossed arms and tapping impatiently foot.

Natalie stormed up to him and plucked the biscuit packet away from him. “You don’t even like these!” She spluttered out and slammed them onto the counter. ‘How do you even know what I like and don’t like? You’ve been so busy with Ilya lately it’s like I wasn’t there too.’

“Great. Now my biscuits are going to be all crumbly.” David pouted. Natalie in the meantime looked like she either wanted to rip her hair or his hair out in utter frustration. She stepped forward to him and stared him down. “What. Is going. On?” Natalie questioned stonily, her brunette hair sticking out from her earlier anxious ruffling.

David froze as he could almost feel her breaths and angry huffs on the skin of his chest. “I-I dont know what you want me to say Nat- is it still okay if I call you that?” Natalie was outright confused at his words. “Of course it’s okay? Stop diverting the subject!”

“You’re worrying too much. I’m fine, exhausted but fine!” He laughed flatly and bravely placed his hands on her shoulders. A burst of pain shot through his veins as she shrugged off his hands. It brought back memories as to how she’d always be so affectionate with Ilya and Zane and yet shied away from his hugs on video. Usually that wouldn’t upset him but shit. “David!” The pair were interrupted by a grinning Carly as she bounced on in. “Good to see you! Just grabbing a drink!” She said brightly. Natalie didn’t face her, instead she kept her gaze locked on David who smiled at Carly. The moment Carly went however David’s smile dropped. And Natalie seen that.

“Dave..” She sighed out as he shuffled past her, blank faced. “Go have fun Na-“ David’s words got caught in his throat as she latched onto his hand and tugged him back to look at her. “Have I done something wrong? Why won’t you look at me? Did I mess up when I was recording you and Ily?” Ily? Nickname stage. Great. David stole a look at Natalie and studied her worried face, feeling all shades of bad over being the cause of her discomfort. She should be out there with her- their friends.

He gently pulled back from her vice like grip and she let her hand fall slowly to her side. “I’m going to bed okay? I’ll see you in the morning or something like that, I’ve got a lot of editing to do so I might be in my room all day. Go out with the gang though. Enjoy yourself! Go wild!” He plastered on a smile. Natalie hitched an eyebrow at him and recrossed her arms, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet.

“You’ve done your editing though? We just watched your video inside there?” Natalie said and saw David’s arm go back to scratch at his neck. “Second channel stuff. You know? It takes ti-“ “No I don’t know David! I’m not a vlogger. I usually just help you choose which bits are the best bits. Usually! Tonight you can’t seem to get away from us fast enough, from me.” David opened his mouth to respond as he finally gained the courage to meet her eyes.

Hurt and confusion and despair swum in them and he had never felt so much guilt. Not even when Jonah felt into the pool off the motorcycle. “Nat I-“ “No, forget it. You call me when you need me, boss.” Natalie replied sarcastically and saluted him, sauntering off, doing her best to maintain her composure. She hated when David was mad at her. She missed him and his smile and his jokes and his laugh and it had only been a few hours. Felt like an eternity though.

—

David sniffed as he tapped through the Instagram stories of his friends; laughing, joking, dancing, food tasting reviews. A knock on the door shook him out of his- I don’t even know what.

Natalie crept in, avoiding looking at his vest (barely) covered torso or him as he sat up in his bed. She edged the door to a close with her foot before setting the tray of breakfast foods down on his seemingly constantly clouded nightstand. “You didn’t need to Natalie. I was going to make my own in a little while.” David said, subdued. “No you weren’t, I know when you’re lying to me Dobrik. We have been friends since kindergarten after all.” She shrugged and straightened back up, his eyes following her every shuffle. Natalie seemed so down this morning and although David felt his distancing wouldn’t affect her enough to cause it, it was. He thought she wouldn’t notice.

“I’ve cleared your schedule for today. Told everyone you were sick so we’ll be staying at home.” She murmured and looked everywhere but at him. “We?” David unknowingly voiced his thoughts aloud and she looked at him as if shocked he was even asking that. “Yes Dave! We! You and me!” She snapped. Her eyes grew sad as she noticed his posture once again deflate and his eyes sink downwards. Natalie tugged the covers off of him and flung open his wardrobe doors seeing an array of black clothing. “Come on. Get up and get dressed. You might feel a bit better and get out of this funk you’re in. Are you frustrated about videos? Is that it?” She pondered and riffled through the hangers as David stood beside her. “You go relax, I can take care of myself” David spoke gently, his husky morning voice sending shivers down her spine. “No.” Natalie spoke vehemently and sifted through the hangers with more force than before, eventually yanking some band shirt and baggy sports pants out and laying them on his bed.

“This isn’t a vlog David. You don’t have to condense all your feelings down in 4 minutes and 20 seconds. Not with me. I’m here to listen to whatever is bothering you-“ David opened his mouth “-Ah ah ah! And I know something’s bothering you. I’m here as long as you need me. I want to be here. So I really really don’t get why you’re acting like I’m some stranger.” Natalie said as she shut his wardrobe door closed.

“Nat-“ David tried to intercede. “No David!” “Nat!” He tried again but she shook her head as she pushed past him softly to grab his duvet, doing her best to ignore the stinging feeling of tears in her eyes.

This time round however it was her breath that caught in her throat as David’s strengthy arms slipped around her core, tugging her against him. And just like that her stoic posture just melted like butter against him. David was cautious that she’d pull away but as she quietly wrapped her arms around his neck he took that as the go ahead to tighten the hug. Natalie was so warm and soft against him, her faded perfume filling his senses.

Natalie let her nails scrape against the nape of David’s neck and a smile snuck on her face as a small hum escaped his mouth. She loved the feelings of his arms around her, so secure and safe. His five o clock shadow was scratchy against her cheeks but she didn’t care. What she did care about however was how this feeling was barely familiar to her. ‘How long has it been since I’ve hugged him?’ Thinking back she could clearly remember the awkward embraces shared with Zane and Ray and Ilya but..David? Nope.

Natalie pressed herself flush against him and ensured that there was no space between them. She wanted to get closer and closer and- “God I’ve missed you Nat.” David groaned out, his lips tickling the skin of her neck that his face was now pressed into. Her eyes fluttered to a close as his thumb gently scraped and rubbed a slip of showing skin from her short sleeved black top. “Have I not been here Dave? Hm?” Natalie murmured and leant back just slightly to meet his eyes. “I-“ He adverted his eyes but she grasped the left side of his face firmly and stroked his cheek with her thumb. The other arm stayed locked around his neck.

“You have been here yeah. But so has everyone else. I guess I’m just used to having us time. Do you get me? Do I sound selfish? I’m sorry, I’m not good at this whole sharing feelings thing.” He whispered. “Yeah I can tell!” She breathed jokingly hoping to get a real smile out of him. He managed a tiny one in her direction. Her heart fell.

“Oh David-“ Natalie pressed a kiss to his cheek before moving to his ear to whisper, smiling as she felt him freeze. “You’re my best friend. Okay? Only you! Not Casandra, not Erin, not Ilya, you.”

David leant back, a grin steadily forming on his lips, of which she struggled not to stare at. “You mean that?” He stuttered out, vastly happier. An affectionate smile took over Natalie’s face as his eyes lit up more and more. Natalie took a second to just admire the man, sliding her thumb across his jawline as her eyes flitted from one of his eyes to another. “Of course I do, David” She smiled and reluctantly pulled back as he pulled back.

“It doesn’t make it okay that instead of talking to me you just blanked me and everyone though.” David looked even more guilty at her words but nodded along as they needed to be said. “I’m sorry Nat. I really I- I am. I wasn’t thinking and even that’s not an excuse.” He fumbled with his pants pockets. Natalie softened as the sincerity shone in his eyes.

“Cmere dork. It’s okay, I forgive you! I still love you even though you can be a major dick.” Natalie giggled and pulled David against her once more.

‘I’ll show you.’

—

Until next time! Comments or likes are appreciated if you’re able to spare the time! -Ella x

[toxic-potions-productions]

Lots of amazing faces & costumes (Halloween special!)

Left to right: Grell Sutcliff (Zoey), Loid Forger, Anya Forger & Yor Forger (39, Plushie & Chi)

Left to right: Officer Vanessa (Bloo), Devil (Dave) & Nightmare Freddy (75)

Left to right: Nezuko Kamado (Esmeralda) & Alice angel (Lilith)

Left to right: Leone (4-3-6) & Akame (Sabrina)

Left to right: Ursula (Inka), Ichabod Crane (7-2-5), & Jeff the killer (5-7-1)

Left to right: Little red riding hood & the wolf (Reagan & Jade), & Jack & Sally (Tiana & Accurate)

Stay safe out there!

Which costume was your favorite?

@dorkygurl-89​

[wartoposluchac]

Wrzesień 2020 - wywiady dla POP Radio, Radia Płońsk i Wasze Radio FM

Wrzesień 2020 – wywiady dla POP Radio, Radia Płońsk i Wasze Radio FM

Tuż przed wywiadem…jednym..drugim… etc. fot.AK

A poniżej zapraszam do krótkich, ale treściwych informacji, recenzji na temat moich wrześniowych rozmów z artystami, których gościłem w programie “Warto Posłuchać”.

Z Małgorzata Wawrukporozmawiałem o najstarszym chórze lekarzy i dentystów w Polsce Medici Pro Musica. Chór istnieje od 1991 i funkcjonuje tak naprawdę dzięki…

[survivaldespair2-blog1]

Stuffing In Your Ears, Kiddo | Tarou | Trial 3.2 | RE: Kimiko, Arthur, Gernot

Kimiko gets angry, gets all up in Tarou's face, and Tarou gets angry back. It's simple enough, but leagues away from his reaction during their encounter in the drug store. He yanked his jacket out of Kimiko's grip and stared her right in the eyes.

"Were you even listening? Your "Solaris", whatever the fuck kind of pet name that is, was going to kill me."

While he stood there seething, he also called out to Arthur. Only two people capable? I think not.

"That's not true, Mr. Crane. There's also a witch here, with a goddamn book of spells written in blood. I got that book from that machine before she took it from me. If she doesn't have anything about tearing out hearts in there, color me surprised."

Tarou's own voice started rising as his fear gave way to frustration. Gernot's thinly-veiled accusation wasn't fooling him, and so he pulled out a pen and scrawled out something on his hand. Tarou then pushed off from his podium and, with his fist balled tight, stormed over to Gernot. He held out his palm, not quite shoving it in Gernot's face but making it clear that there's writing there.

"I'm not the accomplice. I didn't write that note."