#I tried to write slow but I just dont have pretty handwriting so...

[syaolaurant]

Ominis Gaunt is Violette's rock 😤😤 (and I love him!!)

[styxbugg]

Please Tell me about your Spider-Man au (two of my favorite things) ((I am begging))

OOHH BOY OK

instead of trying to invest a time machine, doc instead tries to invent a way to give people the ability to time travel. his first test subjects in this experiment are spiders, of course >:)

now, marty knows not to touch those spiders. does he know what they're for? definitely not. but he does know that they're completely off limits. thats why when he accidentally breaks their enclosure and gets bitten by one, while doc is out, he doesn't say anything.

during this time, doc had also been inventing a device to help him with productivity in the lab, four controllable robot arms

the rest of what goes on follows pretty closely with the plot of the second spider man movie, i actually took notes on that whole movie once for this. doc doesnt actually learn that martys spider man until the end of the movie, after doc had been trying to kill him for however long. but once he breaks out of the arm's control (and DOESNT DIE!!), doc helps him out in his superheroing.

anyway, because of the extra special time spider juice, marty also has the ability to slightly control time (ie. stop it, slow it, speed it up). he only first figures this out during one of his fights with doc, only because he's right about to be killed. by the end of the movie he can still barely control it. doc helps him figure it out, though.

marty is very much Not Having A Good Time. the super powers part is cool and all, sure, but its also not. hes got no clue whats going on, he cant control his powers, his best friend/father figure/the only one who could fucking help him is trying to Kill him, his relationship is going all poopy because of all the lies he has to tell. its just not a good time. and of course when doc breaks free he feel INCREDIBLY guilty, and no matter what he does to help marty and keep him safe and apologize for almost killing him MULTIPLE time, doc has a very very hard time forgiving himself.

on the bright side though, after jenn learns marty is a freaking superhero and thats why he was lying, their relationship gets better. of course it still has the problems all superhero relationships have, but its still better.

i dont have much to say about the plot because its pretty much just spider man 2 so have a couple other fun facts:

needles would probably be harry osborn, though I did just make that up so it can change

george is dead. hes the uncle ben. rip

marty is definitely able to time travel but wouldnt be able to unless under like. SUPER stressful situations. basically, bttf can still happen in this universe, just with some extra spider garnish

if i were to write a fic about this id probably call it "See the Future Through the Haze" which is a lyric from the spider man turn off the dark musical

originally, marty could only stop time for as long as he was holding his breath

the movie notes i made: (i hope my handwriting is readable lol)

the janaury drawing:

other various doodles:

[candyredappledragon]

sadly i dont have any with me so i will just deal with my sickness... well its good to know they are nasty? never tried it myself.. or i have i? dont know.

they wouldnt?... arent they busy with league club things? i wouldnt want to make them just go out of their way to help me. i barely go to the club anyway yet im still there on the list. surprisingly. guess the academy really wants me to be in it despite my very poor attendance. but yeah boring stuff is just mind numbing to say the least.

im stuck with writing since you know.. im not familiar with technology myself haha. im more used to handwriting my work. its not a big deal for me. dont think you want to see me use a computer since im pretty slow on it, so writing is quicker for me i suppose. one of florians friends was flabbergasted on how i survived without the internet haha it was pretty funny.

You good, kiddo?

ack- d-drayton??? ..no not really. but thanks for asking. uhm . . .what about you?

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn’t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.

[pinesconessecrets]

Ice to Meet You

Merry Christmas @ladynightmare12 ! I hope you enjoy the fic!! <: I had a lot of fun with the soulmate AU, since it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. I combined it with the first meetings AU too. Have a great Christmas! <3

****

Wirt had given up on trying to find his soulmate when he was thirteen. He still remembered the conversation that came after he mentioned it to his mom. She had choked on her tea, wheezing until she’d managed to regain control of herself again. Then began the spiel about, “Oh, sweetie. You’ll meet her at some point in your life, don’t give up now!” and Wirt just sighed. Internally, of course. He didn’t want to upset his mom any further. A good bit of everyone in his grade had found their soulmate, leaving Wirt feeling terribly alone. Sara tried to comfort him, except she ran into her soulmate a few months later; it was some guy named Brian. That was a fun day.

He was a little more than relieved to graduate high school, which meant moving away to a college in a different state. A college in Oregon had caught his eye and he applied, half expecting to get denied. But lo and behold, the college actually accepted him and even had a full ride scholarship too.

Greg was against Wirt moving across the country when he broke the news. Wirt reassured him that he would call every day and keep in touch. He wouldn’t be left out just because Wirt didn’t live in the same house anymore.

Wirt enjoyed the trip to Oregon. His parents rented a small u-Haul for the stuff Wirt could take to put in his dorm. He was lucky enough to score a single person room, complete with his own bathroom. He didn’t think he could have managed if he had to share a dorm and a bathroom, much less having to suffer from public bathrooms.

They made the drive out to be like a mini vacation, taking their time since they left a few days early. Wirt’s nerves almost got the best of him a few times, the realization of him living somewhere that wasn’t with his mom and stepdad. Thankfully Greg managed to quickly distract him before he grew too anxious, eerily able to quickly figure out when his nerves were beginning to act up.

With the help of everyone, it didn’t take long before Wirt’s room was set up. He still had a few things to tweak here and there, like moving his desk closer to the window and hanging up his poems on the walls. He didn’t have much time to be particularly picky about how his room was set up with his parents and brother around.

They stayed in town for a few days, exploring the place with Wirt in tow. It definitely was a college town considering the absurd amount of fast food restaurants around. Like seriously, who needed this many fast food places? At least there were a few cafes for Wirt to hang out in. Cafes were pretty sweet places to chill at and they had a great effect on Wirt when it came to writing poetry. He was excited about that.

Tears were shed by his mom and Greg on the day they had to leave. Greg made Wirt promise to call him every day, and that was a rock fact. Wirt lingered in the parking lot for a bit longer than he intended, staring off into space before letting out a long sigh. He hoped he would be able to survive the semester before Christmas break. His next adventure in life had begun, only to bring challenges he had no way to prepare for.

Wirt got to studying diligently when the semester began. The majority of his classes were the core classes every freshman were required to take, including math. Thank god that he only needed to take two semesters of it due to his major in English. Math was one of his most detested classes; it was the worst. Maybe he was being overly dramatic, but Wirt would rather prefer to listen to someone scrape their nails on a chalkboard repeatedly for hours than be stuck in math class for even an hour. The entire point was above him, and the fact that other kids were majoring in math just blew his mind. They were to be feared.

The semester started out slow but picked up steam as the weeks went on. Midterms came and went, letting Wirt breathe a sigh of relief when his passing grades were posted.

He video called Greg before he went out trick or treating on Halloween, both happy and mortified that Greg decided to go as a garden gnome. Their trip to the Unknown was still very present in their minds years after it happened. At least now it was easier to deal with, and they didn’t have to worry about being sent into a fit of panic when winter rolled around anymore. Wirt admitted that Greg wore the outfit far better than he did, earning a protest of “No, you wore it better!” from Greg. They bickered back and forth until their mom told them to knock it out or else Greg wouldn’t be getting any candy that year. That shut Greg up and he hastily told Wirt goodbye and that he’d show him how much candy he got before going to bed.

Wirt found himself growing progressively more stressed as the end of the semester rolled around. His professors shoved study guides down their student’s throats and made it very clear that passing their finals would make or break their grades. Wirt found himself spending more and more time at his favorite cafe. He would have been surprised that he hadn’t drunk all of their tea if he wasn’t so stressed about passing his finals.

A week before finals, the unthinkable happened.

Wirt was on his way to the Jasmine Brew Cafe, lost in thought about his upcoming math final. It was the one he dreaded the most, and rightfully so. Other students in his class struggled as much as he did. The professor didn’t know how to break down the lesson so other kids could understand what he was trying to teach. Wirt barely managed to understand what the heck he was talking about most the time, and he hoped it would be enough.

Of course, the dork was so lost in thought that he wasn’t watching where he was walking. His foot made contact with frozen ice on the sidewalk, causing him to slip and fall down to the pavement. Wirt miraculously held onto his notebooks, laying on his back, winded from his fall.

Someone with unruly brown hair peered down at him with a look of mild concern. Wirt wished he could turn invisible because he knew that everyone around him saw what just happened.

“Hi there. It’s ice to meet you finally.” The other boy paused, before continuing. “I hope that’s not weird? I’ve seen you around campus before and I noticed you were always alone and I was going to say hi but I always got distracted and oh my god I’m sorry I’m kinda rambling. I tend to do that a lot and my sister always punches me and yep I’m gonna shut up now.”

Wirt’s wrist burned. That was what his stupid soulmate mark said. ‘Hi there, it’s ice to meet you finally.’

He wanted to say something witty back, but all that could come out of his mouth was, “Was that a motherfucking pun?” He rarely cussed, but dangit he was sleep deprived and angry that he was stupid enough to fall and slip on ice.

The other boy blanched, his extended hand frozen in shock. Wirt shuffled to his feet, clutching his notebooks to his chest. An awkward silence enveloped the two, only to be broken by the other boy.

“Do you want to go somewhere warm? Get some coffee or something?”

Wirt broke free of his surprise. “Uh, um, sure. I was heading to the Jasmine Brew Cafe to get some studying done. It’s right up the street here.”

“Cool. I’ve only been there once or twice, so lead the way.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Wirt expectantly.

“Right.” Wirt turned on his heels and began walking to the cafe, fidgeting with the spiral of a notebook. He knew that he was probably acting slightly like a jerk. Okay, a lot like a jerk. He had spent the majority of his teenage years resenting the idea of soulmates, knowing he’d never find his and that he’d live the rest of his life alone. But look what happened. He ran into his soulmate.

The rush of warm air made Wirt feel grateful for heating, heading to his usual spot by the wall. He sat with his back to the wall, and a large window to his left. Being able to look out into the street helped declutter his mind.

He almost relaxed, until the other boy - his soulmate - slid into the chair across from him. He looked as nervous as Wirt was.

“I’m Dipper, by the way. I don’t think I introduced myself yet.”

“Wirt. It’s um, nice to meet you, I guess,” he mumbled, his awkwardness hitting him like a fricking train. Now that the fact that yep, him finding his soulmate was a thing, was starting to sink in, a feeling of panic also begun to set in too.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re freaking out there a little. I mean, I’m kinda freaking out too, but that’s because I’m super pumped to have finally run into my soulmate.” Dipper looked giddy almost.

Wirt chewed on a nail. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I gave up on finding my soulmate years ago, so I never thought I would actually run into them. I hope you don’t think I’m a jerk or anything because oh my god I feel so bad for being cold to you.”

When Dipper was silent, Wirt looked up to find him holding back a snicker. With the biggest shit eating grin, Dipper replied, “Was that a motherfucking pun?”

“Oh my god.” Wirt groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Do not use my own words against me.”

“Kinda hard to considering they’re right here.” Dipper rolled his sleeve back, revealing the words scrawled across his arm. God, they were even in Wirt’s own handwriting. How crazy was that?

Wirt reached out to touch the words on Dipper’s arm, stopping short once he realized what he was about to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot to take in. But I don’t mind if you wanna take a closer look at them.” His voice was quiet.

Figuring that he may as well roll with the punches, Wirt pulled his own sleeve back, exposing Dipper’s godawful pun written on the inside of his forearm. Dipper didn’t hesitate before running his fingers over Wirt’s pale skin, tracing the scratchy letters of his own handwriting. It looked different from his own, his letters rushed and hurried versus the flowing loops of Wirt’s.

Wirt finally caved and traced the words on Dipper’s arm. The two dorks sat in silence, no words needing to be exchanged as they let the importance of the day truly sink in.

The corners of Dipper’s mouth quirked up in a grin after a while. “So, did you wanna get a coffee and chat? And maybe tell me how you’ve bean all these years.”

Wirt had a feeling the puns weren’t ever going to stop.

[tomhollandarling]

Star What?

Summary: You and Peter soon become friends after you help him out a bit in English. (part 1 of an unfinished series) 

Masterlist

Part Two  Part Three

Word Count: 2332

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

A/N: Hey! So this is my first time ever writing Peter Parker and my first time publishing a part of a fic so I hope you all like it! (I hope it’s at least somewhat decent) I don’t know where this story is going but I’m just kinda writing with the flow. 

It was that time again. That dreadful, highly anticipated time again when the leaves started to change, routines began to fall in place and the streets and sidewalks that paralleled them grew thicker with rushed people. It wasn’t the weather that brought a downer, it was what was already beginning again. Halfway through September marked the second week of school for Peter Parker, a sophomore at Midtown High in Queens. He wasn’t the most popular teen, being in the robotics club and on the academic decathlon team, and Flash Thompson, the school bully, tried to pick on him as much as possible.

Aunt May opened the door to Peter’s room to find him still nestled under the blankets, a bare foot sticking out with a ray of sunshine pooling over his back. “You can’t solve your problems by hiding in bed all day.” She chided, dropping off a basket of laundry next to his cluttered desk, homework and notes from the day before scattered on top. She’d come in five minutes earlier to see if he was awake; he wasn’t. “Come on, you. School” Aunt May shook his shoulder, placing her hands on her narrow hips afterwards.

“Mmpfh,” was Peter’s response, turning away from her.

“Na-uh. Not today! Get up lazy bug. You have school and to school you are going!!” She stated. She waited a moment before adding, “I’ll let you pick dinner tonight.” She bribed in a sing-song voice.

He rubbed sleep out of his eyes, adjusting to the light, and stretched his arms upwards. “Thai?” He asked.

“If you get up right now, then yes, we can have Thai for dinner.” May responded, walking out of his room.

“From the place on 54th?” He half-yelled, sitting up, confirming his request before he made any drastic movement towards starting the day.

“You got it!” Peter started to untangle himself from the blankets nearly tripping over the basket of laundry.

-

The chime of a bell signaled the beginning of his day as Peter weaved through the hall of students to get to his English class. English wasn’t really his thing, but Peter did alright, managing a high B at the moment. He’d already missed a few points off an annotation assignment which brought him down to an 88. Peter sat towards the back of the classroom, trying to stay inside his own bubble and avoid social interaction: another subject he wasn’t too particularly fond of. He didn’t have that many friends, maybe two or three. Ned, being his closest. Sure Peter was friendly when you got to know him, but only a select few had chosen to do that. With Peter being as quiet as he was, most just left him to his thoughts, or as of right now, left him to stare out the window to his left.

The window framed one of the many bodegas of Queens: Miller’s Subs. A few weeks prior to the date, Spider-man, had stopped a poorly planned robbery. It wasn’t that hard, but it was an attempted robbery nonetheless. Two teens in masks tried to pass water guns as real ones. To their surprise, black spray paint was pretty obvious, but to the customers and store owner, the threat seemed real for a minute or two. They weren’t so worried about detail when lives could potentially be at stake. They just wanted to get out of trouble’s way.

“Woah? Was there a pool party? How come I wasn’t invited?” Spider-man had quipped, swinging in and knocking over one of the robbers and falsely admired the squirt gun, picking it up and spraying the teen in the face. “Shoot, I forgot to bring my swim trunks, mind if I borrow yours?” That earned him an angry groan from the tousled robber.

One of the masked teenagers tried to run towards the entrance to escape. Spider-man was much too quick though, webbing his ankle, causing him to trip and fall onto the tiled surface. “Hey, no running! You might slip!”

Peter smiled, reliving his heroic moment. If only he could be that confident without the mask.

“Mr. Parker? May I remind you that summer is over?” Mr. Scott lightly scolded. He was a small and stout man, donning some square glasses.

Hearing his name, Peter snapped his head towards the front of the class and tried to look somewhat engaged. “S-sorry, sir.” He apologized, flipping quickly through his textbook to find the right page.

“23.” You whispered from the desk just to his right. Peter, head down, gave a quick glance and embarrassed smile. “Thanks, uh..”

“Y/n.” You replied, tapping your pencil over a photocopied painting of Shakespeare from the textbook. You internally rolled your eyes. What was with every English teacher fawning over this guy? “Don’t worry about it.” You smiled. “I wasn’t really into the lesson either.”

Peter sighed in relief at your comment. “Glad I’m not the only one. I’m more into science really.”

“Don’t we have Chem together? 6th right?” You asked, jotting down what Mr. Scott was messily scrawling on the board. Wow for an English teacher, shouldn’t he have better handwriting? You let out a quiet breathy laugh.

He paused for a moment, mentally going over his schedule. “Y-yeah I think so. Wh-what’s so funny?” Peter asked nervously. Hopefully he didn’t say anything wrong?

Finishing copying down the quote, you registered what he’d asked, “Hm?” Your eyes slowly pulling away from your notebook. “Oh-I was just noticing how bad his handwriting is. I mean, he teaches English right?”

Peter glanced at the whiteboard, smiling, “Look there at the ‘afraid’. ” You prompted with your pencil towards the quote. The “r” was so slanted it looked like an “n” and the whole word drooped downwards. The both of you giggled as silently as you could, trying to keep up with what Mr. Eberle was taking an eternity to write.

“Man, he should teach History instead with how slow he’s going.” Peter mocked. Both of you giggled again at that, continuing to jot down the lecture.

—

Soon enough it was time for Chem: the sixth class of the day. Plopping down in your seat, you still had an earbud in. Blocking out hallway noises and nonsense with music was an essential way to get through the day. Spinning around on the high swivel chair to the beat, you repeated the action you had already done five times prior to 6th period: taken out your supplies, placed them on the table, and waited the time out until the end of the class.

Mr. Marlow casually strolled into the class and started the lesson with the daily warm up.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice, “can I-can I um, sit with you?” It was Peter.

You took out an earbud and noticed his presence, “Oh hey!” You greeted him again. “What did you just say? Sorry, I had my music playing.”

For some reason this made Peter flustered and red in the face. “I um, I asked, sit with, c-can I sit with um y-you?” He played with the hem of his blue sweater, tracing the stitch pattern and avoiding eye contact.

Letting out a light laugh, you patted the table top next to your left. The smooth, thick, black tables were meant to have two students each. “Sure! That’d be great. I think Marlow is giving us our first partner project today too. Michelle told me. She has Chem 3rd.”  

His cheeky face brightened up as he set his notebook on the desk, taking a seat next to you. “You know Michelle?”

“Yeah! She’s super nice. I’ve known her since middle school. She’s really quiet but as soon as you get to know her she cracks open.” Putting your hand up to the side of your mouth you added in a half-whisper, “I also have detention with her. Except she doesn’t have detention..like ever…she just goes there to draw and keep me company sometimes. You know her too?”

“Mmhm she sits with Ned and I at lunch”

Glimpsing to your left, you saw the cover of his spiral notebook. “Star Wars?” You observed.

“Star what?” He said, confused. Peter looked down at the cover of his notebook: the Star Wars logo. His cheeks flashed pink. “Oh! Yeah it’s my favorite series ever!” He was so enthusiastic at your simple comments that a few heads turned to see what the excitement was about.

Just then, one of your classmates came around and passed two papers out to each student: a rubric and the project rules with some questions to answer. “Thanks.” You smiled up at him.

“So, do you like Star Wars?” He fidgeted nervously with the metal spiral as Mr. Marlow started to explain the experiment.

Taking in a timid breath you said, “I’ve…well.”

Peter’s brows furrowed together as he scanned your face for an answer, his pencil eraser resting on his bottom lip, squishing it a bit. “You’ve what?” He pressed. Just now noticing the papers, he took both and skimmed them over, peeking back up at you for a response.

“Um, I’ve never seen it.” A short exhale followed with a nervous laugh. Ugh seriously, (Y/n), why would you compliment his notebook when you’ve never seen Star Wars?!

Shock took ahold of his soft face, his eyebrows raised “What?” He said flatly in a neutral voice, causing a few heads to turn.

“Yeah. I really want to though! Don’t get me wrong, I think it looks so cool! I just..I dont know. Never had the time I guess.”

“Okay, well that obviously has to change. How have you never? It’s seriously the best series to ever exist in the history of the universe. You’ve never? Wow, okay, I’m determined to make you watch it.” He rambled on.

“Woah woah! Don’t kidnap me Parker. I’ll find a way to watch it.” You snipped back and circled a few directions on the lab paper, grinning up at him. Your peers had started to make their way towards the materials cabinet, grabbing the required equipment along with a few chemical mixtures. “Oh! We better start.”

Laughing he replied, “Okay, but there is no getting out of watching it now. Partners?” He settled, skimming the list over, making a mental note of what to get.

“Sure, but don’t blame me when you mysteriously get whatever this is in your eyes.” you smirked, pointing at one of the materials with a toxic warning symbol.

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically and hopped off his seat to grab pipettes filled with different chemicals, two pairs of safety goggles, and a plastic sheet cover as you read the directions. He laid them all out on the table. The purpose of the lab was to combine different chemicals and note the reactions if there were any.

“Seems fairly simple.” You commented as you equipped the safety goggles and tied your hair up into a messy bun. Damn lab rules. “We’re supposed to put two drops of…” As you read the name of the chemical compound you swore your brain shut off. Okay what the actual fuck is this. “Um? 4HC2H3O2 + 5 NaOCl? Is that right?” You questioned, needing confirmation from Peter who was flipping through his notebook.

“Yeah yeah. That’s it. Just ignore the names for now; they can be a bit confusing. We just need to focus on what happens when we combine them.” Peter set his notebook aside and rummaged through the pile, finding both solutions. He handed you one. “Alright, so you have the first chemical so that needs to go down first.” He motioned you to start dropping the liquid on the plastic and you did so, making sure to carefully squeeze to not let too much out……success!

“Whew, okay I thought for a second there I was gonna mess it up.” You chuckled.

“You’re fine.” He emphasized, flashing you his teeth. Peter shoved up the sleeves of his blue knit sweater and concentrated on dropping the second chemical onto the drops you had placed just seconds before. Almost immediately after the two were combined, the silvery solution transformed to a darkened brownish red.

Admiring the chemical change, both of you wrote down your observations in the packet.

After about 15 minutes, the two of you had successfully completed the rest of the required solutions. Some had no change while others formed bubbles, one reaction turned a cloudy purple color, and another you had to expose to direct sunlight which turned it a dark brown. Overall, it was a pretty lucrative lab considering it was your first time taking Chem and Peter naturally excelled at the subject.

“Okay, so has everyone put away all the chemicals?” Mr. Marlow scanned the room for loose containers or pipettes. “Yes? Alright, good job on your first lab everyone! If you haven’t already, have one partner turn in their question sheet with both of your names on it. If your group didn’t finish on time, that’s fine. Just give it to me before the bell tomorrow. Also! Before you go, please please make sure you’ve wiped down the tables.”

“Shoot we forgot the questions.” You mentally kicked yourself, looking over the questions sheet that stared blankly back at you.

“Hey, it’s no big deal. Do you wanna come over after school and we could finish them? M-maybe? I-I don’t wanna pressure you or-or anything. I could always just do them on my own.” Peter blurted, messing with his sandy hair.

“Nonsense! We’ll finish it together. That wouldn’t be fair to have you do all the work. Here.” You gave him your phone so he could put his number in. “What time should I come over and where do you live?”

“Um, well I have this internship after school so I’m pretty busy for a bit but how about around 5? Would that work?” He gathered his supplies and shoved them in his backpack. You mirrored his actions. “I’ll text you my address.”

“Yeah, I think so. Okay, well cool! See you soon, Parker.”

A/N: So, yep! That’s the first part! Hopefully Ill figure out some plot for the next part. I really shouldn’t be blindly writing but I was in the zone haha. Hope you guys like it! ((also idk if the chemical combination or equation/reaction was correct at all I just googled some stuff because I needed at least something chemistry related)) 

Part Two  Part Three

Masterlist 

[d3lighl4]

Got TAGGED by @magcretia IM LUV U

1) How many works in progress do you have?

So...so many. The Yeehau is pretty much done, its all editing now. There’s Another Way that’ll be updated SOMEDAY. Then there’s WMMT (Y’all got a big ass shitstorm a coming dont even sweat it), An American Wedding, I think thats it? Then theres the original project I got going on but mainly right now im just scrapping more than I am writing.

2) Do you/would you write fanfiction?

;) of course not

3) Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

PAPER BOOKS. I tried ebooks when I was younger but I just, ca nt fucking do i t. Mainly because I scribble all over my books and highlight and also I just like the feel of a book in between my grubby ass fingers.

4) When did you start writing?

UuUuUuuuhhh I think maybe 5th grade also? I wrote a whole story basically based off anime photos I found on photobucket but it was basically self insert lmao.

5) Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?

LITERALLY ID LET @buscemies AND @kingtownley PEER INTO EVEN THE STUFF I WROTE BEFORE THIS YEAR I LOVE THEM CAITLIN BETA READS ALMOST ALL OF MY WORK AND ANYTIME I WORK ON SOMETHING W/O BUSCEMIES I ASK HER TO BETA READ FOR ME ALSO I LUV THOSE GIRLS

6) Where is your favorite place to write?

I like home best on my laptop! But I also do a lot of my writing on my phone.

7) Favorite childhood book?

GoD alright so ANOTHER SHOUT OUT to @buscemies bc literally every fucking book she’s recced me? Is now my favorite they know me so well. But, No Country for Old Men, Giovannis Room, City of Thieves, Inferno, and The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane are my top 5’s <3

8) Writing for fun or publication?

Mmm I dont think I’d ever be published since most of my original work just gets locked in a vault or lost somehow but I do also need constant validation which is also why my ao3 page is my most visited page on my phone bc i need fUCKING VALIDATION in the form of kudos and comments i am a simple woman

9) Pen and paper or computer?

C O M P U T E R I hate writing things out because its too slow and also my handwriting just slowly gets more and more illegible the longer i write and so? I hate it thanks bye.

10) Have you ever taken any writing classes?

A side from stuff in school nah man

i AM TAGGING @buscemies, @sherlockwatson, @kingtownley AND ANYBODY ELSE 

[smallblanketfort]

the sprout club guide to journals, by yours truly, for the online zine, wanderer.

i've always loved journals. i've kept them since i was 9 (im 21 now), i keep the stash of them under my bed, in an old typewriter box. there's little i love more than a new notebook. i've developed an obsession, and i dont use the word lightly, with watching youtube videos about journaling. honestly, i can't put my finger on why i adore it so much. i think it gives me a physical headspace to sort and track my thinking, to find some release, to find some clarity. it makes me feel safe and like I have something to say. it offers me a place to experiment. to get to know myself and what i'm thinking. to track my growth through the years. to capture what it's like to be a certain age in a certain place. it's very hard for me to label my feelings and work through things, so doing it physically is very helpful... and more healthy than some Other things i could do instead. so get a notebook. whatever appeals to you. i love graph paper. i love the rhodia, fabriano, nanuk, and leuchtturm1917 notebooks. get a pen. i've been using colored le pens, tho the felt tip thing doesn't work for me and they fade slightly, and black microns. let go of the need to be "pretty" or super neat, like all the bullet journaling photos and videos. if that's in your easy capacity, then do it!! but frankly, my writing is too messy. so instead, i've taken to keeping a very small selection of washi tape at hand, and using it to tape in tea bag tags with fortunes that speak to me, postcards, and other paper things that i love. i taped a tiny paper bag into the back of journals that don't have pockets, where i feel the small selection of paper things i would like to tape in. this way, it's all convenient, but not overwhelming. and i can easily make it look aesthetically pleasing, without stressing about my handwriting. you don't have to write about your day to day. you can. and, dare i say, you should, from time to time. later, you'll be glad you captured a glimpse of what life is like for you. so what do you write about? whatever you're thinking or mulling over. whatever youre struggling with or worried about or stoked about. whatever you're experiencing. i like to... +make notes on books i'm reading. this includes bits i underline, thoughts i have, etc. i do this for poetry, fiction, nonfiction, the bible, and devotionals. doing so helps me remember things, and helps me understand what i personally think and like. +explore myself. i just spent all yesterday going through my personality type (16personalities.com) and my strength finder results, taking notes and mapping connections. it's so interesting. now nadine has gotten me into tritypes, and i'm planning on adding my starsign as well :) connections are just very intriguing to me, and they help me understand why i am the way i am. +copy out lyrics to songs and poems that speak to or for me in the moment +rough drafts and last drafts of poems and essays. writing it by hand slows you down and helps you reevaluate word choices. +album and book reviews and responses +sometimes i copy out my tumblr responses to asks or tweets, if i feel like it stood for a moment or meant something to me. +yoga flows and workouts +responses to tea bag sayings +responses to youtube videos, articles, and podcasts +responses to current events. you are living history, so document it. +assessing my daily routines and how i can improve them in order to improve my mental health and awareness +polaroids and film photos. i can never decide whether to keep them in my journal or in my film book, so i only use washi tape to keep them in my journal, so that i can unstick them and put them in my film book when i'm ready. +i take them everywhere. consequently, i have a lot of pages of weird repetitive patterns and weird notes from classes, about gender or icarus or why i love words. more personal class notes and patterns in the margins, since doing so helps me focused and calm. i love it though. i also use a lot of prompts. i'm the kind of person who wants to write all the time, but i don't always know what to say. soooo i have used.. +start where you are is such a beautiful little watercolor book of quotes and prompts. i adore it. +steal like an artist & the accompanying journal. +the positivity kit by lisa crowe or something uh my eyesight sucks. all of these so far have been journal-books, but i hate using the actual book, so i flip open to a page and use it in my journal. +the messy heads put together a nice list of prompts. i printed this out and i always keep it folded and tucked into the back of my journal. (for some reason i can't find the adorable print outs they made, instead i can only find the blog posts oh no) +my tumblr tags for prompts, on my main blog and mental health blog +some of my favorite prompts include stefan's 2017 check in, to accompany the 2016 lookback/2017 look forward +monthly journal challenge +the divya victor x audre lorde questions i like looking at photos of journals, and watching youtube flip through's. i tag them here watch! youtube! my favorite favorite favorite journaling youtuber is overall adventures. she is just so sweet, relaxed, thoughtful, gentle, and encouraging. seriously, if you want to journal or enjoy journaling, please do check out her videos. she's such a light. more journaling youtube videos i like are in my playlist. i've watched probably 80, so you're welcome for sorting out the crappy from the lovely.  i'm also always adding to this. i have a lot of different themed journals. i've kept quote notebooks, workout journals, book notebooks, gratitude journals... if it works for you, great, but i tend to forget about them. i like just using one, and i like how the leuchtturm1917 makes it easy to keep a table of contents. finally, if you're interested in mood tracking, whether just because it'll be helpful or because of a mental illness, i have tried so so many different apps, and what i have settled on is perspective. it is simple, cute, and helpful. phew! long post! so i hope this helps kick start some ideas. let me know if you have any favorite prompts or resources! :) this post is written for @wanderer-zine // knowing yourself