#THIS BOY WROTE TOO MUCH

[evelynpr]

Might be a hot take as a bkdk and tgck truther here, but I find izuocha endlessly fascinating, beautiful, but also tearfully tragic.

I see their love for each other as something representative of their innocence and naivety when they only knew so little about who they were, and what was to come.

I think the main barrier of their relationship is that its rooted in how they see each other very idealistically, specifically that they're attached to the image of their Best Heroic Selves, and not the deeply selfish, destructive, freaky, and egotistical parts of them. To each other, they need to keep fulfilling that image or else that same person they looked up to would almost die in front of them, and that would be too cruel. Although that hero is still there, that same person they looked up to is not the same now because of...well...everything.

Izuku had barely even talked to girls when he first met her. She was Izuku's first ever real friend (Sorry Kats, everyone and him knows he was terrible), so he saved her in that entrance exam even if it was so dangerous. She gave a new meaning to his derogatory nickname just by being a friend that believed in him. After that, she saved him several more times (Blackwhip and Megaphone are the biggest samples iirc). It makes perfect sense that she is Deku's hero.

Ochako hardly knew what it meant to be a hero when she first got into UA. Just by reaching out to some kid tripping, she made a new friend who would then save her in that exam, then save him again in return. This boy then became someone who was always working so hard to save everyone in trouble, and she realized she wanted to be just like him too. "I want to save people"

But...Deku changes. The weight of One for All is on his shoulders and he needs someone to carry this burden with him. He continues to want to save other people at the expense of himself, still not letting his true selfishness and ego ever show- and it only grows more and more unbearable.

Then...Ochako fell in love with Himiko. Truly, relentlessly, selfishly and devotedly in love with a girl who then dies giving her blood to her- the greatest expression of love Himiko could ever give.

Not that they can't love each other because of this happening (and...so many other things oh god), I'm honestly not sure how to explain it- But them ending up together after losing that innocence and naivety? After Ochako will forever grieve the girl who showed her love in its most beautiful and ugly form? After Izuku changed so fundamentally as a person that the butterflies of a nice girl talking to you doesn't exist anymore? After that simple image of being a hero and being in love has completely changed for them both?

Even so, I believe they still love each other. There is no label I know of that can properly describe them though. They are each other's image of being a hero when it comes to saving people. Aside from Shoto, no one else can grasp the grief of the person you tried to save dying in your hands. They would no doubt try to cope with these losses together, and just try to get better together...but so much has changed. They've changed. The world changed. What are they now? Who are they now?

"What happened...to us?"

[williamvapespeare]

The facts, as Edwin understands them, are thus: 1. Edwin Payne spent 7 decades in hell 2. Edwin Payne spent the majority of those years being ripped apart by a spider demon meade of doll heads 3. On Tuesday 12 March, 2024, the Dead Boy Detectives investigated an old railway station on the outskirts of York which was home to a nest of unnaturally fast and magical spiders being bred by a local mage for unknown purposes. 4. Approximately 5 minutes after entering the nest, Edwin Payne began to experience the following symptoms: shortness of breath, blurred vision, shaking hands, a curious sensation as if something very large was trying to crack ribs he does not have by squeezing him in its fist. In which Edwin's trauma catches up with him and he finds the whole thing quite tedious. For @dbdpromptober days 7-9: blood, hell, and past. This is a collaboration with my lovely friend Tash! She did an AMAZING drawing to go along with this and you should all go give it some love!

[royaltea000]

I’ve never felt so conflicted about a franchise in my life but at least this dude was hot

[idontknowwhatimdoing-13]

The saddest thing is that when Charles finally figures it all out and tell Edwin he loves him its going to absolutely break Edwins heart, more than him saying he wasn't in love with him ever did.

Here’s the thing, its Edwin, he's logical. He likes Charles that way, he told Charles, Charles said he didn't like him that way, he's glad it didn't seem to hurt their friendship, end of story. Its not like he can stop loving Charles like that, or that he will ever stop feeling that way, but he can begin to move on now that he has some closure to his feelings. He would never consider that Charles would believe he didn't feel that way about him even though he did, or expect those feelings to change in the future. Its just not how things worked out and he is working to be okay with that.

He also would never pick up on any indicators that Charles might like him at all that way. Again it's Edwin, he spent 30 years not communicating well with his best friend because whenever Charles would say he was happy or okay Edwin would just believe him with no question. Why would Charles actually mean they have to figure out what things mean when he already said he didn't love him that way? Why would him shutting down Edwins question about confusion and immediately change the subject mean anything beside exactly what Charles said? Edwin himself is just relieved that their friendship seems to be intact. And why would Charles ever be flirting with him in any way when it could just be friendly teasing when Charles has already established that they're only friends? He has always trusted what was said, especially when it came to him and Charles. Charles is happy all the time because “that's just how Charles is”, because Edwin has never had reason to doubt that that's how Charles is. So Charles would never love Edwin as more than a friend, because Charles said he didn't love Edwin as more than a friend.

But imagine if he did. If one day, like Edwin, he realized and just couldn't hold it in anymore. Edwin is moving on, he won’t try and wait for Charles to be anything but a friend, but he won't stop loving him either. If Charles suddenly felt the same way, suddenly that time of trying to move on feels foolish, suddenly he's back in hell trying to find where he remembered wrong. And of course he'd understand the denial and repression, but while part of him would be wanting to immediately be with Charles, another would be scared of starting thins over after moving on, and another would be convinced Charles didn't mean it, that he was just trying to help him. It would hurt, and all that reflects back on Charles too.

In the end I think it would tear the boys’ hearts apart. At least they'd have each other to help out them back together.

[better-with-a-pen]

Friendship bracelets and @falloutboy time 🖤✨

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 4

after so many months of waiting, the wait... is finally over.

here is the fourth and final part of this little au idea i had brewing in my head for some time now. i hope you guys enjoy?

and thanks so much to everyone leaving encouraging and kind comments on the previous parts as well! really appreciate y'all :)

hope this ending is a satisfying one :)

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 3 here<

MJ: We’re going to hang tomorrow after my shoot, right?

It was a text that Miles looked at and looked at and looked at all day ever since it arrived into his messages that very morning. It literally came out of nowhere.

But how long ago was it that he and Hobie Jones ran into each other at Central Park? It had to have been like a week ago, he was pretty sure...

He thinks.

“Maybe the guy’s pushy or somethin’, he just really likes you for some reason,” Ganke had offered by way of explanation as they sat together at lunch for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Miles wasn’t entirely sure when he and Ganke ever got to chill like this together in the cafeteria area... but as luck would have had it, Ganke’s mom forgot to send over some money for the week, forcing him to buy from the cheaper menu that the school had to offer rather than ordering off of the many food delivery apps he had on lock in his phone.

They sat a ways away from the hustle and bustle of the main area, near a big window that looked outwards into the typical scene of the congested New York City streets, and Miles would have been perfectly content with this arrangement had it not been for The Text.

He jiggled his leg and rubbed at his jaw in between bites of his own cheap meal-- something he got even though he didn’t really want it, but what was he gonna do, let Ganke wait in line by himself?-- gazing at his cell phone sitting right by his elbow. The text message was gazing right back at him.

“I… dunno. I-- man, I wish I told you more about my patrols so you can remind me how long ago Central Park was. I swear it was only like… last week? Right?”

Ganke chomped on his own slice of pepperoni pizza and shrugged. “I think that was a while ago. Either way, he wants to go on this date with you. So you might as well.”`

Miles groaned. “It’s not a date, Ganks. We’re just… chillin’, hangin’ out a little,” he gestured with his hands, which was not convincing Ganke at all. “Y’know?”

Ganke leaned forward a little bit, glasses slipping down his nose as he grinned mischievously. “Did he figure out it was you, Mi? Is that why you’re so nervous about it?”

“Whaaat are you talking about? No… no, he didn’t! I just. Uh, I saved him from those scary gang members and then I swung him home and that was that. No one else knows but you and my parents, Ganke, promise.” Miles’ smile was even less convincing.

“Miles,” Ganke deadpanned, “have you ever thought about what would happen if some Flickstagram-famous model learns about your thing you got goin’ on? He could be pushing this because he knows already, dude. Or at least he thinks he does. You’re a weird kid after all, and it wouldn't take too long to put two and two together... no offense.”

Miles shoved a fist under his chin and chewed a french fry pensively, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't give him away.

The thing is, Hobie did know.

Miles still couldn’t shake off the memories of his warm fingertips hooking under his mask and slowly lifting it off of his face, the way his entire visage seemed so positively radiant with that dazzling smile once they met eyes. He remembered Hobie’s wiry arms clutching onto him for dear life as they flew across the stadium towards the exit, the easy banter they had going back and forth after the action finally died down and they were safely heading back to the outer gates of the park.

So Hobie definitely knew. That wasn’t really the problem... although, Ganke might be right. It could be in the future, if Miles didn’t play his cards right.

Hobie is a solid guy no matter what dimension Miles found him in. Even as the Prowler on earth-616, that Hobie Brown was as an upstanding citizen as any crook could be. But flashes of earth-42 kept sparking up right behind his eyes every time doubt popped up about a new player in his life here on earth-1610, and one can never just assume anyways.

And now Miles is sitting at his lunch table with his best friend— who, until now was the only living person on this planet who knew about his secret identity— ruminating on whether or not Ganke might end up being a damn seer after all. Ganke doesn’t know that Hobie knows, but he really just might be right anyhow. That would really be Miles' luck.

Goddamnit.

Is Hobie planning on blackmailing him somehow? His involvement with those thugs stealing a prominent museum’s precious security info seemed a bit off to him, the more he thought about it.

They joked about it many a time over text, but Miles would be lying if he said he hadn’t turned a couple of facts over and over on more than one sleepless night. Hobie mentioned having connections, a camera, and seemed almost too recklessly opportunistic when it came to the chance at nabbing that flash drive...

Doubt was sinking back in. Miles drummed his fingers on the table and shot Ganke a look. “... Whaddya think I should do if he does, then?”

“What, if he finds out?”

“Yeah.”

Ganke shrugs again, popping a pepperoni slice into his mouth and thinking while he chewed. “Web him up to a lamppost,” he said after a bit.

Miles snorted with laughter. “Ganke, be for real right now. You’ve got great coding and social media knowledge, dude. Could you hack his tech if asked you to? Like, just in case?”

Ganke waggled his head, making a show of really, really thinking it through. “Mmmmn, yeah maybe.”

Miles sighs. “What do I have to do?” He asks because he knows his best friend by now.

“Fifty bucks and you also have to do my laundry for a week. What?” Ganke exclaims upon suddenly being on the receiving end of Miles’ glare, “If I get caught, it could mean like federal level charges on my head, dude. Take it up with the law, not me!”

Miles sighs and returns back to his plate of cold fries. “Yeah, yeah. You got a point,”

“But you gotta meet up with him first, figure out what we're dealing with. Just stop putting it off, bro. Avoiding him'll make you look more suspicious. Might as well get it done and over with,”

Miles swallows his fries along with his anxiety, picks up his phone, and starts drafting his answer to Hobie’s sudden proposal.

He doesn't know why there's a pit of dread in his stomach, but he opts to ignore it this time.

He hopes Ganke is wrong.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

The next day, MJ's cell phone vibrates on the portable vanity set up at the studio where his current shoot is taking place.

He’s busy, trying not to get too lost in the flurry of hands prepping him, the flashing of the cameras, the shouts of directions from the camera guy as he hits pose after pose with the props on set.

It’s when he’s changing into his last outfit for the shoot that he finally has some time to sip his water bottle and mindlessly scroll through dozens of notifications, finally coming across the one notif he waited to get the entire day: Miles. His name appeared at the very bottom.

... Meaning he received the message hours ago. Shit.

With his shoot almost over, MJ punched in a quick message and hit send, excitedly returning back to the set and finishing his work day up as quickly as humanly possible.

MJ's absentmindedly agreeing that every picture the director shows him is truly amazing, yes, amazing indeed, all while trying not to vibrate out of his mind-numbingly expensive designer outfit he’s been forced into. The only person he can think about as he dumbly nods along to whatever the crew is saying to him is Miles. Miles, Miles, Miles.

Miles has agreed to finally-- finally, after all of these weeks-- meet up with him and make good on his promise. Of course, MJ's slightly miffed that it had to be him to initiate the lunch date in the end, but whatever.

Closed mouths don’t get fed, after all. And Miles was technically not breaking his promise.

So now MJ is floating back down the hallway to the makeup room, gently pushing past all of the other models and swatting away at his mother’s hands while he makes his way over to his duffle bag.

“MJ, darling. Look at me,” his mother says as she hooks a finger under his chin and examines his makeup. “Do you wanna be wearing this when you go hang out with your little friend today?”

Your little friend, MJ almost scoffs out loud, but manages to school his expression into one of pure professionalism. “Yes, mom. Nothin' wrong with it,” he answers breezily.

She hovers. "I mean, it might make your friend think that... uhm, well. You know, it might give the wrong impression. He'll think you two are on a date! You're not allowed to date."

"Sure, mom. Except he knows I'm a model. The whole city does at this point." His tone drips with teenage attitude.

She lets him go.

Then, he’s unbuttoning his shirt and untying a sparkly scarf doubling as a belt to hold up the comically baggy jeans he was assigned to wear today, impatient to shrug himself out of those clothes and jump into his own so he can finally, finally, finally run down to the little cafe he told Miles to meet him at.

His mother was busy on a tablet typing away at something, chatting with MJ's agent once he found his way over to them, and even when neither of them noticed much about MJ on any other day, it seemed they were paying special attention to the way he was throwing his clothes back on with obvious glee now.

MJ had never smiled this much around them, and they sure took note of it now.

“Heard you’re getting ready to meet with a friend, MJ,” his agent told him once he turned his attention back to his client.

“Yyyep,” MJ answered noncommittally. He threw on a coat and started to reach for his messenger bag, stopping when a hand grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

“We’re gonna keep in touch with the team, and keep updating you on the status of the shoot, but we gotta make sure you’ve got your phone on, right?” His agent looked him directly in the eye. “It’s great that you’re making friends again, Em, but you have to keep your head in the game.”

Yeah, of course. “Don’t let anything distract you from helping me make money” is what you mean, MJ thought ruefully, blinking back innocently.

He nodded and offered his agent a casual smile. “I mean yeah. He’s just a friend, I’m not gonna let that get in the way of my job. Don’t worry,” he adds, “I got my phone on. Hit me up when something cool happens.”

His agent and his mother exchange glances, but agree to release him anyways.

“I mean, he’s still a kid,” he hears his mother say as he quickly exits the room and finds his way towards the elevators. “I let him have a little fun every once in a while! The real work doesn’t start until he’s older right? Might as well let him have this for now..."

MJ rubs his thumb up and down along the edge of his phone case, feeling the bumps of the volume keys over and over.

He steps into the elevator when the doors slide open. He punches the button for the main lobby and stares down at his messages with Miles.

Yes, he thinks a bit vindictively, the real work doesn’t start until he’s older.

She definitely isn’t wrong about that.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

"You ever think about running away at all?" Hobie asked Miles rather suddenly after they got their usual greetings done and over with.

The cafe Hobie picked was cute, quaint, and very small. A nice little reprieve from the noisy halls of their school and the bustling city streets, since the business didn't seem to have any other patrons at this hour aside from the two boys.

They picked their seats right next to the window and opted to people-watch for a bit as they scrolled through the cafe's stylized menu on their phones. The lighting of the late-afternoon day illuminated Hobie in such gorgeous warm light that Miles was almost suspicious; did he pick this place specifically because the late sun's rays would bounce off of nearby skyscrapers and cast them both in the best mood lighting New York City had to offer? It sure seemed like it.

Hobie leaned back in his seat and gave Miles the most charming smile he's seen on a guy yet, erasing his suspicions from his brain entirely. And... well, anything else as well.

"Uhhh," Miles offered intelligently.

Hobie huffed a laugh in response. "It's okay, I know it's a weird question. Forget I said it."

Miles shook his head. "Wait, no. Sorry, what'd you say again? I'm, uhm. Sorry, I think I'm just a little tired. Kind of out of it,"

Hobie nodded sagely, setting his phone aside for the time being. "Hmm, late night homework, right? Essays maybe?"

They chuckled and grinned at each other cheesily, the knowledge that they shared a big secret between them settling comfortably and cozily like a fat cat curling up near a fireplace. It was nice, kinda. To be in on something that not many other people were, like an inside joke or a long-running bit between old friends.

But then Miles' earlier conversation with Ganke at the school cafeteria floated back up in his mind again and he had to bite his lip to keep from frowning suddenly. He looked down, a bit ashamed.

"Hobie--" he started.

"MJ," Hobie interrupted, chin in his hand now.

Miles looked up. "MJ. Oh, yeah. Right, sorry."

"I don't really like my given name, so no one calls me that. Just call me MJ. Or Em, even. That's what my agent calls me."

"Agent. Geez. So you didn't really answer my question earlier, back when we first met," here, Miles folded his arms on the table in front of him. "How famous are you, really?"

MJ grinned like a mischievous cat, chin still in one hand. "You've been on my Flicksta page this entire time since you found it. How famous do you think I am? Not that hard to do research nowadays, right?"

Miles felt his face heating up. "H-how'd you know about that?"

"You liked a post of mine that I made like... last year, dude. I saw."

Miles silently cursed himself out as he shut his eyes in embarrassment and winced. "Yikes. Alright, I guess you caught me. That was my bad for sure!"

MJ's grin was crooked. "Yeah, I'm... pretty well-known. Not supermodel status yet obviously, but I've been on a couple billboards. Posters, some ads. I'm training to walk some shows. Whatever." He leaned back in his seat again and messed with his sweater's sleeves a little as he spoke. Distantly, Miles noticed how expensive MJ's clothing really looked, how plush the knit of his sweater was, and the tailoring of his coat.

"Whatever," Miles echoed inquisitively. "Do you hate it? Is that why you wanna run away?"

They met eyes.

"I thought I told you to forget that question, Morales," MJ replies coolly. "It was a weird one. I dunno why I even said it,"

Miles, sensing something in the air between them, wondered if he should have changed the subject. Too bad his mouth had a less-than-stellar track record of listening to his brain.

Instead, he opened it and quietly said: "If we're gonna be friends, and if you want me to not web you up to a pole somewhere in Manhattan, I gotta know your deal."

"Mn, my deal," MJ repeated warily.

"Yeah," Miles sighed, already resigning himself to just getting this over and done with already. No time like the present, right? "You mentioned... you mentioned having a camera and connections. And you're just... weird, man. Like, no offense but you being in Central Park when you were that one time? Running away from those gang members who looked like they were gonna strangle you for takin' their flash drive away from 'em? That was super risky. Something's up."

MJ nodded, still looking apprehensive but also like he wanted to give in. "Right, I've got your big secret. Now you wanna have one of mine. Fair, I guess."

Miles shrugged helplessly. "If we're gonna be friends... I mean, it is fair, right?"

MJ glanced around at the empty seats around them, grateful that even the cashier seems to have gone to the back so that they were both totally alone together. Good spot to pick after all, he thought to himself. He kept his voice down just in case anyways.

He licked his lips and leaned his elbows on the table. "Yeah. I get it. It's a big thing you're doing for the city, y'know... doin' what you do. So here it is: I hate being a model."

Miles blinked at him, waiting for more. MJ didn't immediately being speaking again so he made a go on kind of motion with a hand.

MJ laughed a bit, shaking his head. "This is gonna be stupid. It's gonna sound so stupid! God," he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a knuckle and looked outside at a small stream of people walking past, all in a hurry to get on with whatever it was that occupied their lives.

"... About as stupid as some kid from Brooklyn putting on a costume to go out and fight crime?" Miles smiled patiently.

"Well, kinda. It was because of some punk kid from Brooklyn putting on that costume to go fight crime that I finally had the courage to like, go out there and get into my little hobby of breaking and entering, snooping around places I shouldn't, trying to help people..." MJ stopped when he saw the look on his friend's face.

"You...?" Miles started, his lips forming the shape of the words he wanted to say but not quite letting them out into the open just yet.

Did he hear that right?

As if reading his thoughts, MJ nodded. "When you took up the mantle of Spiderman after our first guy died, I took it as a sign. To like... finally just do it, right? I guess all that was left was just taking the leap, y'know what I mean?"

Miles suppressed a shudder as he nodded along, pushing Peter B's lectures out of his mind for the moment.

"I hate being a model," MJ continued, a single loc falling into his determined face, "because I wanna be a journalist. Like... an investigative journalist. But I also like science stuff as well. I guess I dunno what I really wanna be when I'm older. All I know is... I have got to get away from my overbearing mom."

"Or else," Miles finishes for him, tilting his head as if to say remember our conversation at the park?

MJ grimly confirmed it. "Or else," he replied.

Miles blew out a breath and leaned all the way back in his own seat, folding his arms over his chest. "Wow."

"Yeah, heavy stuff. I know," MJ tossed his locs back over his shoulders and glanced up at the posted menu hanging high above the register. The cashier returned from the back, placing several different pastries from a baking tray into the cafe's clean little glass display at the counter.

"Wanna...?" MJ pointed his chin at them, already pushing his chair out to get up.

"Oh, yeah. Food! Duh," Miles answered and got up to follow suit. How could he possibly forget?

The rest of their hangout goes over wonderfully after the grim conversation, all things considered. They opt to chat amicably about surface-level stuff mostly; family dynamics, friends, schoolwork and more about MJ's day job as a model.

"My mom acts like she's my agent most days, too." MJ is recounting this in between sips of his black coffee, long fingers nursing the ceramic cup he was given. "She's the one who got me into these modeling gigs in the first place. She said I had 'the look'... whatever that means. I like bein' behind the camera, though. Not in front of it," he lamented.

Miles spears some lettuce that fell out of his sandwich with the toothpick his side of pickle came with, waving it around as he talks. "Your mom sounds like the type of parent that pushes their kids around a lot. I guess I would know what that's like,"

Sensing a chance to commiserate in their shared dilemma, MJ leans forward a bit and smiles. "Your folks sounded nice when you described them. What's up?"

"I love them, and they sure do love me, but," Miles shakes his head and picks the lettuce off of his toothpick. "I dunno. They want the best for me and... sometimes it feels like nothing else matters but that."

MJ has the lower half of his face carefully hidden behind his mug when he asks: "Have you told them?"

Miles sighed, long and loud. "Yep. Yeah. They know. They do. That was... a very long story but. Anyways, yeah, after all the stuff that went down this spring, I finally had to fess up. No one else knows but you guys, though, I swear."

Miles silently patted himself on the back for managing to completely omit Ganke from the conversation. Can't give up his ace up his sleeve so soon, now can he?

MJ nods sympathetically. "I wasn't kidding, you know. Back when I told you that your secret was safe with me. You've got one of mine, so. No one else but us,"

Miles raises a pinkie over their plates and makes eye contact with him. "Pinkie promise?"

MJ's eyes flash at him.

"Duh. I never break promises," he replies, hooking pinkies together and smiling. "I'm not really in the business of ruining the life of a pretty great hero right now."

"Until it benefits you, you mean," Miles says, really only half-joking.

MJ doesn't take the bait. Instead, he deflects the best way he knows how. "Oh yeah, absolutely. If someone's out there putting a billion-dollar bounty on your head someday, you already know I'm goin' for it. What? It's a billion dollars, dude!"

They laugh together as Miles throws a piece of tomato in his direction and MJ threatens to pour the rest of his coffee onto his lap.

It felt good, felt natural. Their banter was smooth and seamless which Miles thought was a relief because very few people he encountered in life wanted to keep up with his constant sarcasm and nerdy jokes. No one else seemed to share his sense of humor except for MJ, and it made him feel a bit of warmth in his chest.

Even if they only stayed friends, he seemed to be a great companion to have nonetheless. And Miles had Ganke as backup in case anything went wrong between them. It was a daunting thing to come to terms with, the fact that such a cool guy like Hobie M. Jones had the ability to stab him behind his back at any moment's notice, or accidentally let Miles' secret double life as the crime-fighting webslinger out at the most inopportune time.

But... it wouldn't be the first time a friend has double-crossed him.

Miles wasn't stupid. He knew that letting more and more people in on his secret identity was a huge gamble, especially when it came to keeping a secret as big as this was. The risk was too high, the rewards might not even be worth it.

Worst of all, his friends could be legit and then get hurt if they ever found themselves somehow caught in the crosshairs of his other life.

... But Miles didn't want to think about that right now. That was a problem for future him. Right now, they were both too busy being what neither of their own families seemed to want them to be: a pair of carefree kids.

In this moment, MJ didn't have to worry about stifling and busy schedules arranged for him without his consent. He didn't have to worry about itchy fabrics or ill-fitting designer clothes or loud and bright cameras capturing his every move. With Miles, he could finally let loose.

And in this moment, Miles didn't have to worry about crime-fighting (for now), juggling mountains of schoolwork to please his parents, or keeping up appearances so he didn't arouse suspicions as to where he always was when he managed to slip away. With MJ, he could relax a little and enjoy the small things that always escaped his notice as he rushed this way and that, desperately trying to keep up with the chaos of his everyday life. Time seemed to slow down and speed up simultaneously when they were together.

They finished up their meal and exited the cafe, thanking the cashier and pulling on their coats to hopefully battle the frigid winter air of the city. They made their way up and down blocks, past shops and restaurants, weaving in and out of passing crowds on the sidewalk.

As they wandered aimlessly, unable to escape each other's gravitational pull for even one second, they talked some more.

They talked about Miles' art, MJ's secret science experiments in his room and how he fought his mom to get into Visions in the first place, about Miles' parents and his daily workload he usually juggles. They tried talking about Miles' start as Spiderman, but they didn't get too far along that topic before realizing there were only so many code words they could use to say what they wanted to say out loud before devolving into a fit of giggles.

They chatted about their plans after they graduate, how Miles still wants to go to Princeton and how MJ is planning on funding his own college education once he saves up enough money to leave his station in life and go wherever the wind takes him.

Miles seemed a bit sad at the thought that their friendship looked to have an eventual expiration date in the future, but there didn't seem to be anything changing MJ's mind anytime soon. After all, he didn't even know if he was going to keep in touch with Ganke once they stopped being roommates. And they ended up being pretty tight, against all odds.

So as they kept their casual pace through the city, Miles made a mental note to remember and cherish days like these as much as he could. He checked his phone for the time... this blissful moment of normalcy would have to end soon.

"So," Miles said once their long conversation eventually wound down. Their feet had taken them to a nearby subway station, the gum-covered concrete steps already beckoning them both to bid each other adieu.

"So..." MJ glanced at him, stopping them both by the railing and smiling down at his friend.

The day was drawing to a close, the sun had fully set about half an hour ago and they both needed to get out of the streets and back to their regular everyday lives. For Miles, this meant he had to get at least an hour of patrolling in before swinging back to his dorm room and getting started on his studies for their chem test on Monday.

For MJ, it meant returning back to Manhattan and steeling himself in preparation for the eventual lecture he knew he was going to get, about not staying out so late without supervision and how he didn't respond in time to his agent's texts. The usual.

"I hate to say it, but it's lookin' like we might have to say goodbye for now," Miles shrugged, hanging his head for comical effect.

MJ laughed brightly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound like you don't even wanna leave."

"You might be right about that. Wish me luck tonight, I gotta... y'know," Miles leaned casually as he could manage against the railing, shrugging a shoulder.

"Right. Do your extracurriculars,"

Miles groaned. "Yuck. Let's not call it that, please! You sound like my dad. Let's just call it my weird hobby instead."

"Okay, so I guess I gotta let you go to do your weird hobby instead, then."

"Which just so happens to be graffiti, by the way," Miles' lips quirk up mischievously, giving MJ a look as he slowly slides against the railing and places a foot on the first step. "I like to spray paint around the city every now and then... in case anyone wants to know. In case they ask."

MJ bobs his head in response, following Miles' movements. "Ah, right. Spray painting! Super cool. Anyone asks where you are, I got your back, man."

Miles' smile is as dazzling as it is endearing as he places a hand on the metal railing and lowers himself some more, unable to bring himself to cut the invisible rope anchoring him and MJ together, holding them there in that one space as a constant stream of New Yorkers climb up and down the steps beside them.

Thank you New York City, Miles finds himself thinking.

No one glanced in their direction, they were completely surrounded by people, but still alone. The lights of nearby shop signs and street lamps gave MJ a bit of a halo around his hair, and from the angle he was standing at, Miles looked up at it and believed that it made him just glow.

They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, the usual noise of the city falling easily into the background. It was just the two of them.

"... Yeah." Miles says a bit awkwardly, unable to pull away. "Yeah, that sounds... good. Great. Thanks man! You're a real one,"

MJ smiles knowingly above him. "So you might wanna head on down now. Don't wanna keep you from catching your train."

Miles grins back. "Right. My train."

"Go get 'em, Tiger." MJ responds, offering him a little salute with his fingers and finally turning away to disappear into the thick crowds that flowed up and down the city sidewalks like water.

After a little bit, Miles felt like he could breathe normally again.

He descended down.

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

Miles' life went right back to normal, with a new element added in.

He still rushed through his days of back-breaking homework and tests, still tried to keep up with the crime-fighting and his family back home who kept pestering him with exclamations about how he was always late to events and get-togethers, especially as the holidays rolled around.

(His mother pulled him aside for a quick little chat on how he needs to get better at communicating where he was so that she and Jeff could make up excuses for him ahead of time)

He still gamed mindlessly with Ganke on most weekends after their school break ended and the students all traveled back to their dorms, he still texted his extra-dimensional friends whenever he was free and had a minute to spare.

But now he made some space for another special person in his life: Hobie M. Jones.

They passed notes back and forth in the classes they shared like a pair of friends back in elementary school (to avoid leaving a trail of evidence on their phones, Miles argued when he brought it up to MJ, who just laughed) and walked each other to their classes whenever they could.

But it was risky business keeping someone like MJ so close, especially if it could arouse suspicion when Spiderman happened to swoop in and save him out of the blue. Both Miles and Spiderman hovering around MJ's vicinity day in and day out could be a possible liability to contend with indeed, so Miles still tried keeping his distance whenever possible.

For what it was worth, MJ seemed to understand. He was also occasionally followed by cameras from online fans in the real world or opportunistic reporters looking to try and pry precious info of a new marketing campaign MJ happened to be a part of, so this kind of life wasn't new to him either.

Thankfully, he agreed it was best to only get together in private.

As the months flew by, exams and assignments came and went, but their friendship only flourished.

Miles found himself admitting some surprising things to MJ on late-night text conversations when he couldn't sleep and needed to hop out of his dorm window to burn some energy. He found himself doodling his friend in his sketchbook often, unable to scrub the images of his flawless modeling photos from his brain.

He found himself... doodling their names together on hastily discarded sticky notes and coming up with illegible graffiti so he can mash their names together on stickers and shamelessly slap them up onto signs, onto walls, onto bathroom stalls and stairwells and notebooks and poles and bus stops and--

Miles startled out of a reverie as he was balancing himself on a random window ledge somewhere in the city, fully suited up, sketchbook in hand as he doodled little hearts around a profile study of MJ. Tucked under the page he was working on was an embarrassing amount of stickers with his and MJ's last names on them.

God. The humiliation he would face if MJ ever got his hands on this book. His mind flashes back to the sheer embarrassment he felt back when Gwen suddenly dropped down into his room from a portal and began to leaf through his old sketchbook, finding one too many drawings of her own face in the pages.

The memories snapped him out of his weird love-induced haze and forced him to shamefully fold over the corner of the page and hide those little hearts.

First, you ran away from him after you figured out he was an MJ, now you're obsessed with him. ¿Quién te puedes entender?

The sound of Miles' conscience was taking the harsh shape of his mother's voice. Not good.

He sighed and shut his sketchbook, shoving it into his backpack that was webbed onto the wall right next to him. Crime never slept, but it did have its ebbs and flows that Miles found himself in tune with as the months went by. This hour on a Thursday evening happened to be one of the slower hours for crime fighting, it seemed.

Regardless, he yanked his bag from its sticky confines and brushed the webs off, straightening himself up from his position and mindlessly checking his phone for any pressing updates.

Finding none, and with nothing much else to do... he sent MJ a quick text.

Miles: Busy rn?

He knocked himself on the forehead for it, knowing he might regret what he was about to propose but... he couldn't get the guy out of his head. He was dreaming about MJ on the regular now, which was never a good sign. Might as well see if he was up to doing any crazy last-minute stunts since the heart seemed to want what it wanted.

The reply came almost immediately after.

MJ: Nope, just surrounded by a pile of annoying hw, why do you ask?

Miles grinned as he typed a quick reply, hit send, and shot a web up to climb to the roof of the building.

Miles: I'm thinking I'm like... about a 15 mins walk away from your place. Wanna hang? I can swing by

He can almost taste the eye roll in MJ's replies, which made him smile beneath his mask.

MJ: You're corny as hell and that's exactly why you're my friend

MJ: Just give me a few to get ready

Miles sends back an affirmative, and tucks his phone right into his bag's side pocket which he then throws over a shoulder. He turns towards the general direction that MJ's penthouse apartment is located, right over the Brooklyn Bridge.

On his way there, he rehearses all of the coolest lines he could think of, not quite hoping to impress his friend or anything, but hoping that maybe MJ won't see him for the weird dork everyone else treats him as. And... to also keep him from suspecting anything or whatever.

They've hung out together countless times before, after their initial meetup. And not once did flawless-fashionable-cool-model MJ make him feel like he was ever uncool or off-putting. Maybe that was why Miles was so infatuated with him, when it came down to it. Still a good idea to play it safe, just in case.

It would have served Miles much better if he gave this friendship an even wider berth, retained his mysterious reputation... but there was something so arresting about MJ's eyes, his mannerisms and gentleness that contrasted so sharply with his quick wit, surprising bravery and intelligence.

Miles can shoot off the wittiest lines on the planet, but at the end of the day, he was still a boy with a crush. Alas.

In the time that he vaulted around NYC as Earth-1610's Spiderman, Miles developed a knack for snappy one-liners that MJ seemed to find endearing. Whenever they were together, they often fell into good-natured jabs and quips at each other, and he was so enamoured by it.

And it seemed like they just... naturally fell into the gravity of each other's orbit often anyways. Miles would look up into a crowd anywhere at Visions and immediately be able to find MJ. Like he developed an MJ-sense alongside his own spidery ones.

Two twin stars locked in orbit, a binary system forever hurtling through space together.

God, he really needed to get it together. That was super cheesy even for him, and he watched Titanic on his laptop damn near a hundred times at this point.

The thought had him yanking on his webs much harder and flying through the late evening air just to burn off the heat that built up in his gut.

He had to quickly remind himself that regardless of whatever happened between them, he promised that he would forever cherish it all. Miles wasn't an idiot, he knew that being Spiderman put a dampener on a lot of his relationships in life. It was a constant tug-of-war between him and his parents, and Ganke often reminds him of how absent he is at school, even when he's present.

Whatever happens between him and MJ in the future is whatever happens. Miles has already made peace with the inevitability of reality, like he so often needed to in this life. No need to get his hopes up.

Sobering up, Spiderman does several somersaults in the air before attaching a web onto the corner of MJ's swanky high-rise located not too far from the bridge. He sticks to the reflective glass and lets gravity do all the work for him as he drops down a few stories, hoping he was just a quick black blur that could be chalked up to just being a bird of some kind in case anyone happened to glance out their windows.

He hasn't been over to MJ's apartment at all, but knows the building from the outside very well thanks to the two friends' prior escapades. MJ's mom was strict according to him, and after sneaking them both out of the window to go to a mall or hang out at a park, swing around the city a bit and then drop MJ off back home, Spiderman was well acquainted with his bedroom window as a result.

He finds it again effortlessly and hangs upside down by a web, slowly lowering himself into view.

MJ's eyes light up immediately upon seeing him. He perks up, gets up from his computer chair to carefully lock the bedroom door and moves right back to his window.

"Well hello there, Spiderman! Glad you could make it." MJ smiles warmly, keeping his voice down. "Sorry, mom and the team are in the living room and I just told her I'm lockin' myself in here to study as hard as I can. Finals coming up and all... but we don't have too much time."

"Which is why you're only stepping out for a bit of air, right? Real quick, I promise." Spiderman replies good-naturedly. "It'll help clear your head."

MJ huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Where would I be without you?"

"It's Spiderman's job to help all of the citizens of New York... and you look like you could use it, so,"

MJ slides his window open even wider, already throwing a leg over the sill. "My hero."

Together, they drop down a few stories, just free-falling and enjoying the chill of the late evening for a few seconds, shrouded by the dusk's descent that was already darkening the vast sky above them.

MJ gasps breathlessly when Spiderman shoots out a web and sends them sailing over congested streets filled to the brim with cars and trucks, over tall street lamps and past bright digital billboards advertising all kinds of products.

They zoom past more buildings, arcing gracefully around corners. At one point, MJ dares to loosen a grip on Spiderman's shoulders and splay his fingers out against the wind.

They fly together like birds for a minute more, soaring through the air and then rounding right back on the path they carved into it so Spiderman could deposit his friend right back home.

MJ said they didn't have much time, right? And Miles was satisfied with their short little hangout anyhow. He got his hands on his crush, had him clinging onto his arms and his neck the entire time they were airborne. It was getting late and he had to head back to Visions himself as well.

"Take me up to the roof real quick," MJ pants into his ear. Miles tries very hard not to think too much about that as he wordlessly follows orders and makes a beeline for the roof access.

Together, they land near the edge, overlooking the concrete jungle that was Manhattan, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings that seemed to reach up to heavens, still much taller than MJ's own building.

It was a miracle they weren't seen together, but that might've been because of the glitter and glitz of the city night all around them. New Yorkers never really looked up anyways.

Below them, the traffic and the bustle of the city continued at its usual pace; a constant thrum of vibrations, sounds and lights as they flowed up and down the streets like blood cells traveling through veins.

Both boys leaned their elbows onto the roof's raised edge and peered all around them, enjoying their temporary peace, catching their breath.

"I'm real glad I met you, you know?" MJ says, uncharacteristically sincere. His face was an open door now, but he was still unable to meet Spiderman's eyes.

Miles thought it might be appropriate to keep his mask on for now.

"Man, I only swung us around for like a few minutes. You don't need to confess your love for me, I'll take a thanks as payment. That's all." He joked but still tried to keep the sarcasm light. Didn't want to ruin the moment, after all.

MJ offered a crooked smirk at that, but then sobered up again. "Nah, really, man. I mean it. I'm not sure where I'd be right now if I hadn't transferred over to Visions and literally bumped into you. Crazy how life works like that, huh?"

"Right, especially since you were my biggest fan before that," Miles reminds him. "Serendipity or whatever."

MJ nods slowly. "Serendipity. Yeah... exactly. Sorry. What did you just say?"

Caught off guard, Miles hesitates for a bit. Play dumb, Morales!

"Uhh, what did I just say?"

MJ laughs, punching Miles on the arm before folding his own arms over his chest. "I was a fan of the old Spiderman before you came along. When he died..." he averts his eyes, studying his shoes. "Yeah, that sucked. But then you came along out of the blue... anyways. I just took it as a sign, that's all."

Miles dramatically wilts against the side of the roof. "Daaamnn, bro. I just swung you around the city for a bit! I gave you a free ride, and I don't even get to be your favorite? I see how it is."

MJ bursts out laughing. "Don't worry, Spiderman," he says, holding up his hands placatingly. "You're on your way to replacing him soon enough! Keep giving me those free rides. And uh... thanks," he finishes lamely, raising his hand to shoot his friend a salute. "Yeah. Thanks. For this."

They smile sheepishly at each other for a few seconds and Miles swears he's going to start roasting alive in his suit pretty soon from the way the warmth in his chest was radiating outward towards every limb.

Butterflies were swirling inside of his gut and he swears he can hear the sappy music from a romance movie Miles watched recently playing somewhere near them. Maybe now was the time to... stop avoiding his feelings? Take that leap of faith, right?

He's done it many times before. This time was probably no different than any other time where he's been thrown way out of his comfort zone only to be kinda glad it happened, in retrospect.

He opened his mouth and started to speak at the same time MJ did.

"So, Em--"

"Uh, so--"

They jumped in unison, wide eyes meeting wide lenses. MJ dipped his head.

"Oh, sorry I was--" Miles chuckled, bopping his forehead with a hand. "S-sorry, what were you gonna say?"

He winced at the jarring awkwardness of it all. The sappy music went silent, the mood thoroughly ruined.

"Oh, well, uh--" MJ looked just as flustered as Miles felt. "N-nah, sorry, I was just gonna say that... that it's been a little while now. So I should probably be heading back," he gestured awkwardly over his shoulder towards the side of the building, trailing off.

"Riiiight, right. Yeah, duh. Of course. Just, uh," Miles turns so his back is facing his friend, gesturing at it as if to say hop on. "Lost track of time, I guess. My bad,"

"What were you gonna say?" MJ asks, right next to Miles' ear as always.

Silently, Miles tucks that part of himself away again for later.

He was really 100% willing to risk it all and go for it, just fully display all of that for a measly chance at getting to date the most popular kid at school right now, and one of the coolest people that he's ever met. He would kick himself if he weren't carrying him right there on his back.

What a stupid idea, Miles. Real dumb, even for you.

In a fraction of a second, he stuffs his emotions right back down in him. Time and place. Not the time, not the place, he reasons. They'd just met a few months ago, and they got off on a pretty rocky start. It just wasn't the time to be making such rash decisions. Yeah, that was it.

"Nah, forget it. I think I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come with me and Ganke to our favorite comic shop this weekend, but that's a dumb question--"

MJ suddenly squeezed his hands tighter around Miles' shoulders. "Duh! It's a dumb question because the answer is obviously yes, of course."

"You like comic books!? Since when?" Miles exclaimed in shock.

"I'm beating you as the top student in chem class right now. You are not nerdier than me. Stop playin' with me." MJ grumbles grumpily. He digs his chin vindictively into Miles' shoulder.

Miles' loud bark of laughter echoed off the rooftop as he takes a running leap towards the ledge, hops on it and promptly sends them plummeting several stories down.

MJ's cry echoed around them even louder.

After about a minute or so, MJ's back inside of his room and they're both trying very hard to suppress laughter so hard that their cheeks hurt and they're crying tears.

Thankfully, outside of the bedroom door, MJ's family never heard a thing.

[waterfallofspace]

Actually Adorable

The one in which Jon and Martin both discover something new about each other.

feat. martin with kitten allergies, and snzs~ not actually one of my main t/ma snz bois, but he's absolutely precious to me, and i got a request, so I hope this is enjoyable!

(warning: there is talk of wheezing in this, it's pretty light and nothing super heavy, but just be aware of that incase you don't like that sort of thing)

Characters: Martin, Jon, Tim Word Count: 4k (so much for 'small drabbles')

He’d normally avoid the alley, but being as late as he is, Martin finds himself with no choice. It’s not as if it’s a particularly bad part of town. In fact, while the institute doesn’t get much respect, everything around it always seemed to be well kept. At least, everything outside of the archive, that is. Still, ducking through the alleys of London isn’t exactly Martin’s idea of a safe commute. 

The city’s background ambience dulls in the quiet street, Martin finding himself humming slightly just to fill the gap. It’s a fast walk, cutting nearly ten minutes off his commute. Again, normally that wouldn’t be worth much, but being already nearly twenty minutes late, he’ll take what he can get. 

“Jon’s going to kill me…” he hums to himself. It’s not as if anyone’s around to hear him singing about his death in an alley behind the institute. It’s okay to lighten the mood a bit before his imminent demise. 

A sudden, yet oddly soft noise knocks him from this spiral of thought. He barely manages to catch the scream that starts, smothering it into a strangled noise of pure panic. Martin scans the alley, heart beating into his throat. It takes him a minute to locate the source of the sound, and the sight that greets him is enough to leave him speechless. 

There, in the corner of the alley, crouching beside a few abandoned boxes, is Jon. As in Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, his boss. In an alley. Crouching. 

“J- Jon..?” Martin whispers, almost hoping he isn’t heard. The wish is, albeit self-fullingly, granted. Jon doesn’t look up, still entirely focused on whatever task has brought him here. His hand is reaching out behind the boxes, and Martin can’t seem to make out what he’s doing. 

Martin finds himself standing there for almost too long, debating what to do. Okay, there’s a few ways this could go. Option one; he can go back the way he came and take the extra nearly twenty minutes it’ll take to get all the way back, and just hope Jon’s too busy to notice. No, Jon will definitely be back inside by then and he’ll be screwed. 

Okay so option two; shuffle past Jon as fast as humanly possible, and hope Jon doesn’t see him. Except what if he does, and Martin didn’t announce himself, and then Jon thinks he’s a creepy stalker, prowling the back alleys and looking for- no, that won’t do. 

So option three it is; announce himself and make sure Jon knows he’s there, and try to explain that he was running late (and that he’s so sorry for that) and hope that whatever Jon’s doing isn’t any form of criminal activity that would lead to getting fired-

Another soft noise cuts through these thoughts, Martin realizing it’s the same one as earlier. He manages to focus his gaze on Jon, watching as Jon kneels down closer to the floor, reaching out his hand again. This time a small form crawls out from behind the box, and rubs up against the hand. Oh. 

Martin finds himself nearly fainting with relief, the million ways this situation could end badly starting to fade as he watches the scene unfold. Jon has sunk fully to a sitting position by now, coaxing the kitten closer with a mixture of soft cooing and gentle tongue clicks. The kitten seems enraptured, beginning to let out a purr as it sinks into Jon’s lap. 

They stay like this for a few minutes, Martin unable to draw his eyes away as Jon strokes the kitten behind the ears, continuing to speak softly to it. The kitten, for its part, purrs loudly enough that even standing a few paces away, Martin can hear it clearly. Jon has a look on his face Martin’s never seen him have. It’s mesmerizing, and Martin has to fight to keep the warmth from flooding to his cheeks. He’d never known Jon was such a cat person, but he seems a natural at it. 

There’s something so… open about Jon’s posture. It’s an unfamiliar sight on the normally politely restrained boss. His voice, which would usually carry a tight air about it, is soft. Warm. He’s… almost adorable like this. It’s a tone Martin didn’t even know Jon could produce, though he feels a bit bad thinking that. Of course Jon can be soft, he’s just always at work when they see each other. Not the place for such things. 

There’s a slight pang in his chest as Martin starts to drift into imagining Jon speaking to him with the same- No. Don’t be creepy, that’s a completely unreasonable train of thought. This is your boss, and you are watching him in an alley. Okay, line definitely crossed. 

“Jon?” Martin speaks up, clearing his throat first, hoping that’ll be a touch less startling. 

Jon nearly jumps out of his skin, eyes snapping to face Martin. The kitten, however, barely stirs. It seems far too content in Jon’s lap to worry about anything else. It purrs deeply, melting into Jon’s chest, dozing lightly. 

“Martin? What the hell are you doing here?” Jon asks, all softness drained from his tone. Martin feels another pang, but pushes it down. He’s just surprised Jon in a back alley, of course his tone is tense. 

“S- sorry! I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, I promise, I was just running late- which I know I should have been more prepared for, but it was that kind of morning- which isn’t an excuse! But the point is I was trying to save some time, and-” Martin feels the words start pouring out before he can really stop them. It always seems to happen when he’s nervous, and around Jon? That’s almost always. 

The look on Jon’s face is hard to read, and Martin manages to cut himself off abruptly as Jon holds up a hand.

“S-sorry,” He stammers out again, meeting Jon’s eyes carefully. 

“It’s of no matter,” Jon sighs, glancing down at the kitten before tracing back up to Martin.

“He’s cute!” Martin says, hoping desperately to break the tension. He reaches down and gives the kitten a light pet, smiling as it leans against his touch. “I didn’t know you were a cat person! What’s his name?” 

“Doesn’t have one,” Jon replies, looking almost tenderly at the mass of fur. “Found her out here. At least I think it’s a girl. Not exactly an expert.” 

“Oh, r- right! She’s cute then!”

Jon clears his throat, “Indeed.” There’s a pause, then he continues with, “I was just…” 

Martin waits for the end, but it doesn’t come. Jon’s mouth sort of just… closes. He won’t meet Martin’s eye, and for a second it seems like… embarrassment? But for what? Finding a kitten? Petting it? 

Martin doesn’t have the time to linger on these thoughts, however, as a new one presents itself with urgency. He has to sneeze. And badly. 

He pulls away from Jon, taking a few steps back and managing to get an arm over his face before the first breaks through; a tiny stifle that’s barely audible over the kitten’s still pronounced purring. “hh’nxt!” 

Jon doesn’t reply, simply watching Martin with… another unreadable expression. Martin stutters out a few apologies, before turning on his heel and ducking back into his arm for another tight, “ih’nxt! hh’ngt!” 

This time Jon does reply, or at least… Martin thinks he does? Whatever it is comes out hushed, barely a whisper, the only trace it was even there is Jon’s lips seeming to form some sort of words. He does, however, stand up. The kitten gives a disgruntled mew as it’s jostled from its position, sluggishly crawling back onto the ground.  

“Well,” Jon says, lightly brushing off his legs. “Shall we go inside then?” 

Martin blinks a few times from behind his arm. He was expecting some form of lecture about being late, but… gift horses and all. He decides to just take this mercy. He drops his arm and nods silently, falling into step behind Jon as they walk, not quite together, but both in the same direction. 

“What about the kitten?” Martin finds himself asking, regretting it instantly as Jon’s entire back goes tense. “Or, I- well, I was just… I don’t want to leave it to die out there… N- not that I’m saying you’d- I didn’t mean you-” 

“I’m sure that Sasha or Tim can find it a nice place to stay,” Jon replies, voice tight and contained. “Tim’s always looking for an excuse to dip out of work. As for right now, we are late, and I know I have a lot of work to be doing. I’m sure you do too.” 

Martin curses himself internally, that was of course a stupid thing to ask. Jon’s obviously a bit on edge about being seen like that, and it’s not really like he can blame him! He’d certainly not want anyone at the archives to catch him unawares. If someone walked in on him recording his poetry… Martin feels a shudder at the thought. And then another one, as his nose begins to burn again. 

He manages to stifle these too, a quick triple that he’s almost certain Jon doesn’t hear. It’s a short walk to the institute, of which Martin is deeply grateful. The itch in his nose is rapidly growing, and it’s beginning to spread to his eyes. He’d really thought just a single small pet would be alright. They were outside, it wasn’t like he was holding the kitten to his face or anything like that. 

Yet it was becoming rapidly apparent that it was not alright. Thankfully, Jon still seemed oblivious. Or perhaps was just giving him the courtesy of pretending he didn’t notice the increasing amount of sniffling. 

“hk’gt! eh’nxt! nxgt!” 

Or the small bouts of sneezing that kept breaking free. Martin had always been quite allergic to cats, but could never quite find it in himself to dislike them. They’re such intelligent animals, and so cute, and fluffy, and… well, they always seemed to like him back. He’d been told more than once by their owners that cats can always spot the allergic one, and seem to gravitate towards them. In his experience at least, this had been true. 

“Martin!” Jon called, snapping him back into focus. Turns out he was so focused on his own thoughts he’d nearly walked right past the institute entirely. “Planning on coming into work?” 

It was heavily sarcastic, and Martin felt the blush sink deeper into his ears as he gave a light nod and muttered apology. He hurried through the door Jon was holding open, ducking his head a bit to avoid Jon’s glare. 

Just walking past him, Martin could see the fur coating Jon’s entire lap, and spreading up over his vest. The sight of it reflexively brought his hand to his nose, pinching it shut as his eyes crashed close against another round of- “h’kngt! nngt! hk’ngxt!” 

This time Jon did offer a blessing, to which Martin replied with thanks, apologizing again. Jon’s face is unreadable, and Martin chokes back the urge to apologize. Again.  It seems it’s the only thing he’s capable of doing anymore. Though, with Jon… that was starting to feel like the norm. With him, it always felt like no matter what Martin did, it was always wrong. 

Before he can get too lost in that trainwreck of thoughts, Martin pulls himself together, and gives Jon a polite excuse, attempting to move to the kitchen. 

“Martin, wait-” Jon starts, before awkwardly pausing. There’s a beat of silence, both of them staring at each other. Martin blinks slowly, feeling a bit worried as the seconds seem to tick on forever. The more time passes, the harder Martin finds it to ignore the tingling spreading throughout his sinuses. Finally, Jon manages to offer a weak, “I’ll forgive the lateness this once, but don’t let it happen again.” 

“Th- thank you…” Martin stutters out in reply. They drift into another awkward pause, before Martin ends it with a rapid “hh’ngxt–nngt–k’nngdt! ngt’shiiew!” 

The last one breaks free, and Martin blushes hard, more apologies tumbling out over each other. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I was trying to catch it but they were a bit fast and it just slipped out-” 

Jon interrupts by clearing his throat again, and looking distinctly not at Martin as he offers, “Nothing to apologize for.” 

Tense silence settles over them again, and Martin’s starting to think maybe being berated isn’t actually all that bad. It certainly beats the hell out of whatever this new dynamic is. 

“So,” Jon starts, Martin nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden noise. “Back to work then.” 

“Yes, of course,” Martin begins to turn around, before pausing as Jon speaks up again.

“Unless you… need anything?” 

It sounds oddly sincere, and Martin feels confusion spreading across his face. “S- sorry? I don’t… I don’t think so, I’ve got a fair number of cases already to investigate, and I’m sure Tim and Sasha will have some things for me to do too.” 

Jon looks a bit taken aback at this, and Martin feels the panic swell again. Was that the wrong answer? What else could he possibly have meant- 

Before he can spiral too far, Jon seems to collect himself, that unreadable expression settling back over his features. “Indeed, yes. Back to work then, lot to get done, and we’re already behind. Lord knows everyone’s overworked as it is, and Tim will surely complain about our absence.” 

Martin nods cautiously, biting back the urge to apologize again. He’s not even sure what for, there’s just… that sinking feeling that he’s said something wrong. He absentmindedly rubs at his eye, but nearly lets out a groan at the sensation. It’s equal parts relieving and unsatisfying, the itch far too deep to actually scratch. What it does do is spread the tickle back through his nose. 

“Oh-” Martin lets out involuntarily. He barely catches a glimpse of Jon turning back from where he’d begun to walk away through his rapidly watering eyes. Seems they both keep getting pulled back into this interaction, and Martin curses internally. If he’d just kept quiet and rushed away before the fit broke loose- Well, too late now, and he attempts to stutter out, “Sorry I think… thinkI’mgonna– hh’nxt! eh’gnxt! nngt–ed’gnxt–ngt’iew! hihhiieshh’iew!” 

“Good lord, Martin,” Jon says, and Martin suddenly wishes he could sink through the floor. 

He tries to stutter out more apologies, but his breath is stolen by the ever-increasing fit. Rapid, yet tiny, sneezes continue to pile over each other, though the stifling is long forgotten for lieu of being able to get a breath. 

“hh’ieshhiew! ishhhiew! ishhiew! tshhh’iew! ishhh–eshhh–eshhh–eshh’iiew!” 

Jon’s standing in stunned silence, seeming unable to pull his eyes away. Martin can only stand, arm against his face, gasping into his sleeve, waiting for the end of this humiliating display. It, mercifully, comes fairly quickly, a final “heh’iSHHHiew!” seeming to clear out the remainder of the burn. 

The absent tickle still lingers, his eyes watering as the itch still buzzes through them too. At least the fit seems to be over. Jon’s still staring, mouth pulled tight as he surveys the scene. Martin wishes, again, that he could sink through the floor. There’s another silence, Jon seeming to just… watch. 

“I’b so-” Martin starts, before hearing his own congested voice and blushing deeper. Jon seems to notice it too, wincing slightly as Martin attempts to sniff, the noise coming out strained and heavy. There’s another pause before Jon suddenly turns on his heel and hurries away. 

Martin feels the shame begin to sink into him, and he curses again, this time a little more externally. Of course Jon would leave, that was a humiliating display, he can only imagine how disgusted Jon must be with him. It’s so unprofessional, to have a fit like that in front of your boss, Jon would never succumb like that in front of Elias. 

His self loathing is interrupted by a clearing of the throat, Jon standing in front of him almost- nervously? But that doesn’t make any sense, why would he be nervous? Surely it’s gotta be something else, maybe it’s- 

“Here,” Jon says, cutting through the silence. As Martin glances down, he realizes Jon is holding out a box of tissues. He accepts them, a bit hesitantly, utterly speechless. 

Jon seems to notice this, and gives him a slight nod, an attempt at being reassuring. “You seemed to need them. Bless you, by the way.” 

The words seem to be a bit foreign to him, he doesn’t stutter over them or anything of the sort, but they seem to be a conscious effort. Come to think of it, Martin can’t recall ever hearing Jon bless someone. Unlike himself, where it’s a habit so deeply engrained it’s more of a reflex than anything else. 

It does make sense, Jon’s always seemed more the polite yet tightly wound sort. Whenever Martin’s heard him sneeze, which has been quite rare, it’s been obvious he wants no attention drawn to it. Perhaps he assumes others feel the same..? 

Either way it hardly seems to matter, and with a start, Martin realizes he’s been standing here silently for almost a full minute. He gives Jon an appreciative look, pulling out a tissue, folding it, and turning around to lightly blow his nose. For his part, Jon turns away, most likely to give him a bit of privacy. 

After cleaning himself up, Martin throws the tissues in the wastebasket nearby before turning back to Jon. “Thank you, for the uh- tissues and all.” 

Jon stares a bit, before clearing his throat. “Right. Well, again you, uh, seemed to need them.” 

“Yeah,” Martin gives a sheepish smile, “Sorry about that. Just a bit of allergies.” 

“Seems an understatement,” Jon replies, seemingly without thinking. Martin chuckles a bit at the candor.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says with a laugh. That was apparently a bad idea, the vibrations from the laughter leaving him gasping. Jon looks on in what appears to be sympathy as Martin grabs a few more tissues. He just manages to bring them up in time. 

“hh’ishhh! ishhhiew! t’shhhew! tshhh–tshhh–tshhh’ieeww!” 

“Bless you,” Jon says, this time without much hesitation. Martin nods his thanks, grabbing another tissue, and folding it nicely before attending to his nose with it. These he also deposits in the wastebin. 

“Thank you, sorry again,” Martin starts, breaking off with a light cough. It’s not chesty, but it does come with a slight wheeze to his breath. Jon definitely takes notice of this, his face going a bit pale. 

“Are you- are you wheezing?” Jon asks, almost a touch accusatory in his tone. 

Martin blushes slightly, but draws in a deep breath to test it. There’s an audible wheeze, and he finds himself getting caught in another cough. 

“S- sorry,” He sputters out between light coughs, glancing down at the cat hair covering Jon. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry, it happens quite often, I’m just uh… a bit allergic to…” 

Jon follows his gaze, looking over his clothes. A moment passes, then realization dawns across his face and Jon pales a bit further. He gives Martin a look that’s quite clearly concern, before it’s quickly replaced by a glare. 

“Good lord Martin, why didn’t you say something?!” Jon snaps, taking several steps back. 

Martin feels a shiver run through him at the harsh tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“No, you didn’t,” Jon interrupts, his tone still firm, but with something that still sounds a lot like concern flowing through it. And maybe… guilt? “If I’d known, I’d not have made you stand here, suffocating yourself with an allergen.” 

“It’s really not that bad,” Martin tries, his body betraying him with another “ishhh’iew! ishhh–ishhh–t’shhheeww!” 

Jon gives another blessing, his displeasure palpable. Feeling another twinge of guilt, Martin attempts to apologize again, but finds his words stolen by another set of sneezes. “ieshew! tshhiew! hihheshhiew!” 

“Bless you,” Jon says yet again, taking a few more steps back. Even through his slight wheeze, Martin thinks he hears Jon mutter something. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was something about ‘actually being quite adorable’. A smile begins to slip over Martin’s face before he even has time to process the words. 

It’s quickly countered by Jon calling out for Tim. Martin nearly jumps at the volume, coughing again as the jostle brings another light wheeze. 

Turning back to Martin, Jon begins to give instructions. “I’m going to go to my office, I have a change of clothes in there, I’ll switch over to them. Tim will help you, he always has some meds around for his own struggles, I’m sure he can lend you some. You are to sit down, and under no circumstances are you to go back near the kitten. Sasha can find it somewhere nice to stay.”  

Before Martin has a chance to respond, Jon’s rushing down the hall, taking a turn towards Sasha’s desk. Tim comes around the corner at the same time, just barely managing to avoid crashing into Jon. He utters an expletive, but Jon pays it no mind whatsoever, just pointing towards Martin, and saying something Martin can’t make out. 

“Jeez,” Tim calls out as he gets closer. “What’s his deal?” 

“There was a ki-” Martin starts, before stopping himself. Jon hadn’t exactly been advertising that he was in the alley with the kitten, and… much as Tim was a nice guy, he’s not entirely above taunting. Especially if he knows this isn’t something Jon wants people to know about. 

Thankfully he doesn’t have to come up with a new excuse, as the tickle returns with a passion. He simply ducks into another handful of tissues for another set of “hhshhhiew! ishhhieww! t’shhh! kshhhiew!” 

“Woah, bless you,” Tim says, giving Martin a quick once over. “What happened to you?” 

“Nothing,” Martin sighs, with a bit of a wheeze. He attempts to give Tim a reassuring smile. “I’m alright.” 

“Clearly not,” Tim replies. “You’re wheezing and sneezing all over the place. Plus the boss sent me to help, figure that’s not for nothin’.” 

“Just… a bit of a run in with an allergen,” Martin says, coughing against his sleeve. Tim looks sympathetic, they both know he’s had a few of those himself. Even in the time he’d been here, Martin had witnessed a couple of situations when someone brought a bouquet into the archives. 

“Sounds bad,” Tim says, a bit more gently. 

Martin nods, bringing another group of tissues up to his nose. “ishhh! eshhh! kshhh! hhieESHhiew!” 

“Bless you!” 

“Thagk you,” Martin replies, giving Tim a soft smile. He’s interrupted by another fit, this one breaking out rapidly, piling over each other until he feels Tim’s hand on his arm steadying him. 

Tim lets out a low whistle as Martin blows his nose again. “That’s quite the attack. You’re nearly on my level! Right-o, let’s get you medicated, shall we?” 

Martin nods, putting up no resistance as Tim begins to guide (drag) him back to his desk. 

“You know, you have quite the kitten sneeze going on there,” Tim says, looking a bit confused as Martin begins to laugh. “Something funny?” 

“No, no,” Martin replies. “It’s nothing. Thank you for the help.” 

Tim nods at this, giving a wide grin, and going on some tangent about his own allergies, and the last time he had an attack like this. Martin nods along, but finds his thoughts drifting back to Jon, and the words he could almost swear he heard. ‘That was actually adorable’. 

Sasha will surely be told about the kitten by now, but… the details of how Jon found it… well, Martin has a good feeling that’s something only he gets to know. He feels oddly warm at this thought. Even if it wasn’t exactly Jon’s choice to tell him, it’s something they get to share. 

A memory just for them.

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I think we should talk more about how no teenager should have the amount of power that Dazai had at 16.

I think it’s worth mentioning that being given that much power over others that young might’ve fucked him up a little.

[hplonesomeart]

You know I had to do my own rendition of this eventually. It’s just too good to pass up :))

Attached is just the still image version (not gif) and then some behind-the-scenes initial sketch without puzzle pattern. Also the car had a nose for some reason…glad that I went back to the actual reference material to change it because the Puzzlemobile ain’t got one <<

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2024 | Day 1 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

AI-less Whumptober: public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

Whumptober: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK | Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.”

CW: kidnapping, torture, camping gone wrong, little shit whumpee

* * * * * * * * Whumpee screeched as they were dragged through the trees, a sound that instantly silenced due to a clammy hand clamping over their mouth and pinning them violently to someone’s chest. Someone taller than them, someone stronger than them. They kicked and cried out, heart racing in their chest so fast it could’ve burst out entirely.

“Jesus Christ, help me out here!” the voice pinning them yelled out. A flurry of movement. Whumpee couldn’t focus. More people?? “Shut up, you’re just making things worse for yourself!”

Whumpee threw their elbow back, slamming into the soft flesh of the assailant's stomach, and the assailant cried out, their grip faltering just enough for Whumpee to stomp on their knee, causing a worrying crinkly-crunch and a drawn out screech of pain not dissimilar to their own first cry.

Then the deathgrip faltered, and they stumbled out of their hold, and they RAN–

The force of another immovable body slammed into them and tackled them to the itchy pine straw and brush-covered ground. All the air violently expelled from their lungs, and for just a moment, they couldn’t breathe. They forgot how, something was blocking it, the bodies and the heat and the movement and the pain they were trapped in on all sides they were lost THEY WERE TRAPPED THEY COULDN’T MOVE THEIR LIMBS HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP–!!

Glorious fresh air suddenly filled their lungs! They were alive! They were okay! Only then did they realize that the glorious life-saving air wasn’t glorious fresh air at all, but hot and sticky and hard to breath because it was filtered through the thick pine straw underbrush that their face was smashed into–

AUGH THEIR ARM–!!

Stabbing needles of pain shot up and down their shoulder and it was wrenched violently behind their back and pinned in between their shoulder blades, half a breath away from fully dislocating and much too hopelessly pinned and tangled to even dream of struggling to get it loose.

They cried out, a whining sort of cry that matched the staccato tempo of their racing heart. “OW OW OW OWOWOWowowowowow STOP STOP STOP PLEASE, you’re hurting me let go please–!”

Tears instictually and wholly nocensunsuall filled their eyes and they kicked their feet wildly, more out of primal instinct than any hope to escape. The struggling hurt so much, yet they struggled and screamed and fought nonetheless.

Suddenly the grip on their arm loosened, just slightly, just so, just enough to that it didn’t hurt as much but it was still hopelessly trapped in the iron grip forcing it there.

They stopped screaming, took in a large breath they hadn’t realized they so desperately needed, and then suddenly everything felt just a little bit clearer.

But it still fucking hurt!

“Let me go!” they demanded, tearful whine forcing its way through their voice. When had they started crying?

The presence that weighted down their body– was someone sitting on them?? No wonder they couldn’t move. Or breath…– shifted slightly, and whumpee saw a face barely enter their periphery.

“Let me GO! Get off!! Let me–!” Their arm tweaked back and whumpee screamed again.

“Shut up.” The attacker sitting on them finally spoke. “Last chance, or I’ll make you scream until your voice box explodes, got it??”

Their arm was released once more, and they felt their whole body untense as the pain fell away. Mostly. They clutched at the ground with their free arm and pressed their face into the pine straw. Trying and failing to hold back the sobbing whimpers that escaped their throat.

“Fi-i-i-ine.” They growled, voice sharp and fragile as broken glass.

A hand from behind them roughly grabbed the neck under their chin and wrenched their head up to look forward, eliciting another groaning squeal from the victim.

They found themselves staring right into the cold dead eyes of the other person who attacked them.

Their eyes widened, breath running ragged through their constricted windpipe.

Shit.

Ohhhhhh shit shit shit fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit no no no please FUCK. Whumpee recognised them.

“This the right one?” The voice on top of them panted.

The face in front of them smiled. No, they smirked. And nodded. “Yup. This is the little fucker,” they chuckled, disgusting breath misting whumpee’s face. “We’ll show you to steal from other’s campsites, won’t we, li’l buddy?”

“My family will come looking for me!” The words tumbled out of Whumpee’s dirt-smeared lips before they had a chance to think. “They probably already are, they’re getting suspicious right now because I’ve been gone too long and they’ll ask all the campsites around and they’ll make a search party and–!”

Another arm tweak, another scream, another face shove into the ground, another exhausting tensing of muscle under the weight of the person holding them down.

“Well.” They felt the iron-cold grip of the first assailant on their arm, crooking their arm back in ways an arm should never bend, just like the first. They screamed even louder, a hand slapped over their mouth, tears over the hand, barely enough presence of mind to even struggle as the combined force on their arms lifted them off the ground and they struggled and screamed and kicked and cried against the hold gagging them like a wild animal caught in a trap and fighting for it’s life. They barely felt their feet touch the ground, barely noticed as they were marched forward through the trees, further and further from their family, their friends, anyone who might’ve actually been able to hear their screams.

“Guess we should get busy. Race against time Will they find us? Or will they find you broken on the forest floor?”

* * * * * * * *

Father jumped at the sound that pierced high above the trees. Distant, barely audible, yet it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“What was that?” he commented. His voice rang with equal parts disgust and concern.

Mother looked equally as frightened. “A… A wolf howl maybe?”

“It sounded like a scream,” Sister said nonchalantly as she poked at the raging fire protecting them from the inky blackness of the freezing night.

Wind whistled through the trees.

“Or. Y’know. The wind.”

“Have any of you seen Whumpee lately?” Father asked. “I don’t see them.”

“They uh…" Sister voice dropped low, suddenly sensing an new urgency. They went to the bathroom last I saw.”

“That was hours ago!” Mother cried.

“Well I haven’t seen them since then!”

“Neither have I!”

"Or me!"

Father’s chest heaved, eyes wide, shaking nearly as much as the trees above them shook in the icy wind. “So… So… Where..?!”

The family’s gaze went from one another, ghost white to ghost white to ghost white.

Not a single breath among them.

Another distant scream.

Or wolf howl. 

Or maybe just a whistling of the trees.

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @whumperofworlds

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist just let me know!)

[beanghostprincess]

Sanji has helped me in so many ways. I will forever be grateful for the creation of this character. He quite literally means the world to me right now.

(TW: ED/Depression/Suicide attempt mention)

I've always struggled with food. Well, not always. But at the end of middle school (more or less. Give or take. Age 12/13) I became obsessed with what I ate. I still don't know exactly how it started, but I think it has always been a mix of my need to control my life when it's crumbling down and the necessity to look skinny (both things are my mother's fault, mostly. And also lots of things going on at the moment). So I started skipping meals constantly and throwing away food and throwing up. Not gonna get into details, but it ruined my life without anybody knowing until a huge depressive episode came and then I tried to off myself, yadda yadda yadda. Then I just stopped eating food and my meals every day were basically a monster and gum and maybe a piece of fruit. I couldn't even drink milk without crying. Then it got a bit better. Then a bit worse. It wasn't very consistent. And then I started doing exercise but that only made me even more obsessed with calorie intake and healthy food and I still can't drink milk or bread without at least feeling awful about it.

And then I watched One Piece.

I know it sounds extremely silly and dumb, but it has helped me in so many ways. I'm not gonna get into all the things it has done for me, because then I'd have to talk about Robin, Nami, Luffy, Pudding and Buggy which are, like, the characters that have helped me the most next to Sanji, and I would not finish this post.

But Sanji is just so, so important to me.

He speaks about food with such passion. His whole thing about not wasting food literally comes from an experience of starvation and because of the sacrifice his father made for him. He keeps saying he refuses to let people go hungry, no matter what. That we all deserve to eat. He relates food to love and cooking is his whole life. It kind of started as a joke when my brother said "nooo, now you can't waste food because Sanji would be sad" and I- That day I literally ate wayyy more than usual with that thought in mind. And I didn't feel bad afterward for once. And he's just- He just makes me feel so comfortable around food. Which is the normal amount of comfort somebody should have and sometimes it's not even that, but it helps. It helps so much.

Then his whole thing with Germa and the Vinsmokes. It killed me. My relationship with my mother is, uh, you can call it complicated but I fucking hate her so. Yeah. And Sanji's story about rejecting his blood relatives and finding better people who will love him hit so close to home. Him being different. Weak. More emotional. A good person. Sanji refusing to use the name Vinsmoke. It's my whole life. Sanji self-sabotaging himself all the time and constantly sacrificing himself, too? I just can't do it, man, he means the world to me. And then Wano happens and he turns out to have the same body as his siblings but he's still himself. He's still Sanji no matter how much in common he has with the Vinsmokes. And as somebody who's constantly dealing with people telling them that they look like their mom? I fucking love it. I know I look like her and I even act like her sometimes but that doesn't mean I am her. And it doesn't mean she deserves to be part of my family, because she isn't and I can't wait to get rid of her in my life.

It's not only food and family, though. Sanji has helped me accept myself in so many ways too. In the way I perceive others and in the way I act. He has helped me eat. He has helped me realize you don't have to consider your blood relatives family if you don't love them. He has helped me see that my kindness is a strength and not a weak spot.

Not to mention that his whole thing with gender and sexuality, how the fandom portrays him, and how I personally write him has been of so much help in understanding myself. I recently discovered I was a lesbian, and also being genderfluid I just- I just love Sanji so much I be projecting my gender issues and internalized stuff with comphet on him. And let me tell you, it helps.

This whole thing is just something short and sweet I wanted to say because media affects people. In the best of ways. One Piece in general has saved my life in many ways, but Sanji in particular is still helping me every day.

[otomes-and-tears]

i love your shya fanfic. So, i will be requesting one with Pran!! What if it was all cute, Pran becomes a bit more social with JB because he's slowly internally getting comfortable with Her, JB points it out and he gets flustered/embarassed over it and continues to ignore her for 2 days. (Do with this what you will. You're allowed to change up some things for the sake of making it in-character)

♦ Unavoidable Orbit ♦

► tags/warnings: -

► summary: Pran doesn't understand why Jb wants him.

► words: 866

► a/n: GLAD TO FEED PRAN NATION!!

► Masterlist

Pran’s world was supposed to be quiet. Predictable.

The kind of place where he could walk through the halls without catching a single glance, where no one bothered him unless absolutely necessary.

His version of peace was a delicate balance of avoidance and detachment, where he could never disappoint anyone because no one ever expected anything from him in the first place. He didn’t even offer the bare minimum.

And he’d had it.

He’d mastered it.

Then JB happened.

Jb was… Insistent, for lack of a better word.

She was utterly averse to any kind of rejection. Pran knew, from experience, that she’d much rather insist, insist and insist, push all buttons she could find, and win someone over through sheer exhaustion than simply accept a world in which someone wouldn’t want her. No matter how much he insisted on his lack of interest, how boring he made himself out to be, or how he’d perfected the art of the dead-eyed stare.

JB simply didn’t care.

It was exhausting. She was exhausting. 

And Pran wasn’t built for people like her—for JB’s sheer energy, her endless search for praise and validation, the way she preened under the spotlight. 

She was meant for people like Everett: shallow, willing to indulge her in banter and join her in making fun of other people. Or someone like Shiloh, who’d blindly follow her wherever she led, feeding her endless, meaningless praise, doing whatever he must for her amusement.

(he tries to forget about how she insisted, in a tone more serious than Pran had ever heard from her, that no matter how many books Shiloh carried for her, she was happy with Pran and wouldn’t trade him for anyone)

Pran ran from the type of attention she so eagerly sought out, but somehow, he’d ended up in her grasp anyway. Held tightly in her claws, blinded by the spotlight that followed her. Nothing seemed to be a deterrent, no matter how hard he tried to escape or how much he pushed her away.

No indifference seemed indifferent enough. His words just made her laugh. His silence didn’t faze her. Her presence became an ever-present part of his routine, as sure as Jeremy’s apathy.

So why couldn’t he hate her?

He hated everything about this. He hated that above all else he had begun to look forward to their dates, that he grew to enjoy her company, even when she was annoying and too loud. He hated how he didn’t even notice when he started answering her questions with full phrases instead of regarding them with annoyed silence.

He hated that he knew her favourite animals were bears, that he knew exactly what songs she’d pick at karaoke, and how he’d caught himself humming along to them later. He hated how he noticed that, even if she made fun of his preferences, she cared enough to respect them.

Pran gave her the bare minimum. Why was that enough?

“You’re talking to me more lately,” JB noted one day, her grin sharp and teasing as she poked his cheek. She sits close, too close, content under the cool shade of a large tree he likes to sit under. “Does this mean you’re finally realizing how charming I am?”

He’d snatched her hand away, careful not to hurt her, begging his face to remain impassive.

 “No.” 

He’d snapped, voice even, but a little too defensive. The answer is almost automatic in its frequency.

She’s unfettered, however. 

“Sure, sure…” JB said, that grin growing somehow more insufferable. “It’s okay to like your girlfriend, you know. I’m extremely likeable.”

“Go away.” 

He’d muttered, and she only laughed in response. When had she ever listened to him?

“Aww, look at you, all embarrassed!” She’d leaned in, and he’d known, he’d known, she’d read him like an open book “I’m winning, Pran.”

He’d ignored her. Completely. For two whole days.

At first, he felt relief. His world had returned to quiet predictability. 

No interruptions. No poking at his patience.

It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

By the second day, that quiet began to feel too loud. He’d catch himself glancing down the hall, expecting her voice to cut through the noise of students passing by. She’d been there so often, it felt unnatural for her to be gone. He’d check his phone more than usual, not that he’d admit why, but the silence stretched on.

And on the third day, he’d opened his phone to find a single text from her.

> are you done being dramatic yet? i’m bored.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He stared at the screen for far too long. She didn’t send anything else. No follow-ups, no obnoxious selfies, no string of emojis. Just the single message, waiting for him to find it.

He hated how that made his chest feel tight.

He hated it even more when he found himself typing back.

> I’m still ignoring you.

Her reply came in seconds as if she was sitting by her phone, just waiting for his inevitable response.

> lol sure. meet me after class, panda

His head hit the desk. He didn’t delete the message.

He’d never tell her, but he’d already planned to.

[the-unidentified-author]

Unsanctioned | Deputy Hank | The Silo

There are no fanfics about this man that I can find anywhere on the internet so I went ahead and made one. Idk if there is anyone in love with this man as much as me to read it but I just had to write a little something for him. IDk if its good I just needed SOMETHING.

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, a little rough, consensual!, hes a big man.

Words: 3,306

You hooked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack and exited the stairs. Working as a mechanic always consisted of long, strange hours that often had you walking alone along the streets of the silo. You didn’t mind it, walking empty streets at almost five in the morning, no one running past you, just you alone with your thoughts, was a welcome rest bite from the hustle and bustle of the day. You knew that in little more than an hour the streets of the silo would be filled with people either coming home from work or heading to it.

Hank would still be in his office, the officers under him patrolling the streets to ensure that everyone who should be inside was. He was likely still filling in paperwork, there seemed to be a never-ending amount of it recently. More than likely exacerbated by the fact that Juliette made it over the hill. Something that had never been done before.

As you neared the door to the police station, you slowed your stroll and pulled the hair-tie from the end of your braid. Running your fingers through your hair to separate the strands.

Slowly you made your way towards the door, twisting the handle and pushing the old heavy door in. Just as you had expected, the precinct was quiet and empty. The main light was off, with the two desk lamps and the screen at the back showing the dark outside world the only sources of light. You walked around the table in the middle where the officers sat and circled toward the door to the left. It was open a crack, warm light spilling out.

“Hank?” You questioned, placing your palm on the door and pushing it open.

Hank was sitting at his desk, crouched over some paperwork. He looked up through the hair that had fallen into his face as you entered. His tired expression replaced with a smile as he sat up.

“This is a surprise.” He said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands into his lap.

“Well, I just finished a double, and the showers were empty so, so I washed up at work.” You turned and pushed the door gently to a close before dropping your backpack on the chair opposite his desk.

He pushed his chair back from his desk and opened his arms, allowing you to sit down in his lap. His arms encircled you and pulled you back against his chest, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“What time is it?” He asked, pressing a delicate kiss to the soft skin of your neck.

“Almost 5am, how long have you been working?” You replied, leaning forwards away from him and towards the desk. “Are these reports on the riots?” You asked, lifting one of the papers and peaking under it.

“Since almost this time yesterday. And yeah, they are just non-stop at the moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Mayor calls for more curfews just to stop people from being out on the street.” He mumbled, kissing the back of your shoulder and gently pulling you back into his lap, so your back was to his chest.

He carefully pulled the fabric of your shirt from where it was tucked in your trousers, and then he snaked his hands under the fabric. Hands moving to cup your bra, giving your breast a gentle squeeze.

“All the workers in the mechanic shop are riled up. I don’t think a curfew is going to work.” You whispered clasping your hand over his as you continued to glance over the paperwork in front of you.

“Ah, it can wait until tomorrow.” He said, moving your hair from your neck and placing kisses along up towards your ear.

“It is tomorrow, my love.” You replied, standing up.

His hands gripped your hips, trying to pull you back towards him. You turned and ran your fingers through his hair. He pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around your hips and pressing his forehead to your stomach.

“Fuck, I should get some sleep before the mayhem begins again.” He mumbled against you, the words muffled.

“Would you like me to go?” You asked, running your fingers through his messy shoulder-length curls. “You could pull out the sofa bed in your office and get an hour or two of sleep.”

He tilted his head back, looking up at you, and you moved your hands to cup his face. His big brown eyes never failed to make you melt when he looked at you. Hank moved his hands to the curve of your hips. His fingers absentmindedly fiddling with your belt loops.

“No, I…” He let out a long sigh and sat back in his chair. You leaned back against his desk in front of him and folded your arms.

His legs were splayed out, you between them as he propped his elbow up on the armrest of his chair and rubbed his hand across his lower jaw, letting out a sigh. Looking off to your left instead of at you. Even though he hadn't slept for the past day, he still looked as handsome as ever. His thick, dark curly hair always seeming to fall perfectly around his face, regardless of what he was doing. His moustache always sitting perfectly, no matter how many times he rubbed his hand over his face. He was slouching in the chair slightly, but it did little to diminish his large frame and broad shoulders. Hank was always complaining of back pain, as the doors of the silo were not built for men as tall as him.

“What is it Hank, you’re not breaking up with me, are you?” you joked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, I just think that with everything going on. Well, I just shouldn't be in an unsanctioned relationship. The sheriff is coming down today, and I just think it would be better if we had everything squared away.” He lowered his hand and began picking at the frayed edge of the padding on his armrest, not meeting your eye.

You let out a slow, long sigh, tilting your head to either side to crack your neck. It was a conversation, the two of you had been having on and off for months now. He had been ready to sanction the relationship the first week, you, however, were a little more hesitant. Most people in the down deep didn’t really both to get relationships sanctioned, at least not in the early days. Many waited years, only caring to get the officially sanctioned when they wanted to move in with one another or to have a baby.

“Well then,” you started, and he met your eye, those big brown puppy dog eyes silently begging. “Send in the paperwork, I know you’ve had it filled in for months now.” You whispered, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto your lips.

“Really?” he asked, leaning forwards in his seat, an exited smile on his face.

“Yep.” you replied, moving slightly to the side as he wheeled his chair forwards towards the computer to your left.

He clicked the mouse a few times and then grabbed your hand, looking up at you, the smile gone, a nervous expression in it place.

“What if they don’t approve it?” he asked, cupping your hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

He kissed it softly and sat back in his chair, dropping your hand and staring at the computer screen.

“Well,” you started, stepping towards him. You placed your hands on the armrests and climbed into his lap. His hands grabbed your waist, guiding you to make sure that you were balanced. You moved your forearms to rest on his shoulders. “We will just have to make use of the time that we have left. One last hurrah.”

You kissed him, tangling your hands into his hair. Moaning into the kiss as his hands squeezed your arse. He pulled away.

“Or the first of many legal activities.” he mumbled, peppering kisses on your lips between each word.

“I don’t think fucking the Sheriff's Deputy in his office is legal, my love.” you giggled brushing his hair out of his face.

“Yeah, I think I might have to arrest you.” He couldn't hide the grin on his face as his hands moved to the buttons of your shirt. “Might have to do a strip search to make sure that you aren't carrying any illegal contraband on your person.”

He undid the top button of your blouse, leaning forwards to place a kiss on the skin it exposed, then the next one popped open, and he placed another kiss on the skin revealed by that button. His hands fumbled with the last few buttons, hastily pulling the fabric from your frame and discarding it to the side. Hank the leaned forwards and kissed the top of your breast, just above the cup of your bra.

Your hands move to his jacket, pushing it back off his shoulders, his hands leaving your body just long enough to pull his hands from the sleeves and drop it to the side.

“Why are you wearing so many layers.” you mumbled, fumbling the buttons of his shirt, realising he was wearing a white t-shirt under it.

“Hey, you said I look hot in my uniform.” he mumbled against your breast.

“You look hotter out of it.” you replied, struggling with his buttons.

He let out a deep sigh and sat back in his chair, undoing the buttons you had been struggling with and taking his shirt off. He then pulled off the white shirt he was wearing, exposing his tanned, muscular chest. Dark sparse chest hair decorated his pecks, thicker darker hair trailed from below his belly button down under the waistline of his trousers. You pulled your bra from your body, and he smiled, leaning forwards and trailing kisses from your neck down until he took one of your nipples in his mouth. The sensation drew a moan from your lips as you tilted your head back, your hands tangling in his hair. He gently rolled your other nipple between his thumb and fingers, drawing more moans from you.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He mumbled against you, the vibrations seeming to travel straight down to your pussy that was already aching for him.

Then his hands were on the buckle of your belt, he fumbled for a moment, and then you felt it release. He pulled it from your trousers in one swift movement, kissing back up your neck before he popped the button of your trousers open. His hand moved down to palm you through your trousers, his other hand moving to your waist to help you roll your hips against him.

“Get on the fucking desk.” he commanded between kisses.

You reluctantly pushed yourself off him, he stood with you. Seemingly believing you were taking too long to obey his command. His hands moved down your body, scooping you up onto the desk in one swift movement. Hank pushed the files to the side and then kissed you once more before dropping to his knees, his hands grabbing at the waistband of your trousers at your hips and pulling them down. He was impatient, taking the underwear with the trousers and discarding them off to your left before he pushed your thighs apart, moving between your legs. He trailed kisses quickly down your thighs as one of his hands pushed against your stomach, prompting you to lie back on the desk.

You leant back, propping yourself up on your forearms, he smiled up at you running his hand though his hair to get it out of his face. He propped one of your feet on the chair and made sure the other leg was supported by his shoulder. Then he, in one swift, firm motion, licked from your entrance to your clit. One of your hands balled the paper resting under it into a fist as the other flew to grab his hair. He barely allowed you a second to process the pleasure from the first taste he had before he was tasting you again. Repeating the same motion, this time circling your clit with his tongue. Your head lulled back, and you moaned at the ceiling as he began to devour you. His tongue moved across your pussy, determined to draw as many moans from you as he could. He explored you with his tongue, just the way you liked it. Sometimes careful and slow, and then he would speed up chasing you to the edge before slowing down teasing you away from it, spurred on by your frustrated moans and the way you pulled at his hair.

“Please, Hank.” you muttered between moans as he pulled you back from your release once again.

You looked down at him, and he pulled away from your clit, making you whine a little as he looked up at you. Those big brown eyes filled with a cocktail of lust and love. His moustache slightly slick with your arousal.

“But baby, I like to hear you beg.” he whispered, his hot breath torturing your swollen clit as he pressed a rough kiss to it.

“Please, Hank.” you replied, your voice sounding pathetic.

He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye, and then began to devour your pussy with renewed effort. Chasing you once again to the edge. But this time he didn’t slow down or stop. No, he chased you all the way to the edge, his hands gripping your thighs to keep his face between your legs as you bucked your hips to ride out your orgasm.

Your heart rate began to lower as you regained your senses, you opened your eyes and looked down at him. He placed another kiss to your sensitive clit, making you flinch a little, before he stood. The low light of the room outlining his muscular frame and broad shoulders. The sight of him made your pussy ache with anticipation.

Hank unbuckled his belt, then undid the button of his trousers, pushing them down with his underwear. You couldn't help but gasp at the sight of him. Every time he went down on you, he always seemed to be thicker, harder, as though the act of eating you out turned him on more than you. He took himself in his hand and pumped his large fist along the length of himself before he stepped towards and pushed himself between your folds. The sensation of him rubbing against your clit made you clench. Teasing was his favourite thing, and even after the long shift he just pulled, he wasn’t about to skip it. He rocked his hips back and then forwards, slowly letting his dick rub across the outside of your pussy. The head falling to tease your entrance before sliding back up your pussy to your clit. You wiggled your hips in a vain attempt to prompt him to hurry and fuck you, but all it earned you was a thumb at your clit as he continued to rub his dick over the length of you. You tilted your head back towards the ceiling in frustration before looking back at him. He smirked at you as he rocked his hips back again, moving his hand to guide his dick into you as he gently thrust forwards.

His mouth opened slightly, allowing a moan to escape from it as he slowly moved into you. Both his hands grabbing at the flesh of your hips as he leaned towards you, fully seating him inside of you with a low grunt. You grabbed at his wrist as he barely gave you a second to acclimatise to the size of him before he withdrew him, self. Then in one quick thrust of his hips, he was back deep inside of you, drawing a moan from your lips and a grunt from his with the action.

Then Hank began to fuck you, slow at first, then he began to build speed as the thrusts started to become less controlled and more needy. He held your hand with one of his, interlocking your fingers together. His other pressed just below your bellybutton as he rubbed circles around your clit, ensuring your were racing towards the finish line with him.

Hanks thrusts grew sloppier and his breathing heavier. He dropped your hand and grabbed the flesh of your hip, fingers digging into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough for him to keep you in place as his thrusts became more needy and desperate. His other hand maintaining the stimulation of your clit. You could feel the heat building in your lower stomach, and you could see he wasn’t far behind.

“Cum with me baby.” he whispered, the thrusts becoming harsher.

Your climax came seconds before his, your back arching as pleasure ripped through you throwing your head back and causing you to scream at the ceiling. He came, too, with a guttural grunt and a harsh thrust followed by a few lazy ones before he pulled himself from you. His hands moving to your face, pulling you up to kiss him. He pressed his forehead to yours, the two of your still breathing hard.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to your lips as you sat up on the edge of the desk.

The sound of a notification came from the computer next to you. Hank pulled away from the kiss and turns to his computer, you catch his face and gently guide it back into your direction.

“Hey now, baby, I thought you needed a break from work.” You whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone.

He was smiling at you, a glint of something in his eyes.

“We got sanctioned.” He said, the smile turning into a grin as he moved his hands to the armrests of his chair.

You turned to look at the computer screen. Sure enough, there was the response from IT, green letters that read RELATIONSHIP: SANCTIONED.

Before you even had time to turn and kiss him in celebration. He stepped to the right and stooped, pulling his trousers back up his legs. He then stooped again, picking his shirt up from the floor and pulling it over his head.

“So where the hell are you going then baby, surely we should celebrate.” you replied, turning your attention from the computer screen to Hank.

“That’s precisely what we're going to do, Darlin’.” He moved back towards you, pulling his buttons down onto his arms and quickly doing up the buttons.

“So why the hell are you putting your clothes back on then, Hank?”

He smiled at you as he tucked his shirt into his trousers, buckling up his belt.

“We are going to celebrate.” He stepped forwards, putting his hand on your chin and tilting your head up towards him. “I’m going to make sure that everyone knows you’re mine.”

He placed a delicate kiss on your lips before pulling away and continuing to dress.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to leave?” You asked, stepping down from his desk and picking your trousers up from the floor and pulling them on.

“I'm putting my clothes on,” he started pulling on his jacket. “Because, you and I are going to walk hand in hand all the way back to my apartment where we are going to have round two.”

He met your eyes as he spoke the last words, a smile playing on his lips as he stooped to pick your shirt from the floor, handing it to you, your bra in the bundle of fabric.

“Well, make sure you bring your cuffs.” You replied, hurrying to get dressed.

[apostle-therock-peter]

"welcome to america" by lecrae is the closest a mainstream christian musician can get to anarchist christian/socialist christian/communist christian without people noticing because they're just grooving to lecrae's masterful flows and the epic beats and "this couldn't happen to me" etc etc etc

[queenerdloser]

so thinking back i haven't reread the captive prince trilogy since kings rising came out. which is wild bc it's one of my favorite series in the universe BUT also tracks bc when it exists in a subsect of my books where i know if i read it my entire personality will be subsumed. but i'm rereading them now now and my GOD what a delight. i devoured the first two in a day and remembered exactly why they were so so so so good. and i've saving kings rising bc that one changed my brain chemistry when it came out, i've never read such a tightly done, masterfully paced final book in a series to match it.

[nightfal1n]

Reno's ride-or-die policy toward Kafka is outstanding but there's something about Kafka letting the boy 14 years younger than him scolds, drop kicks, handchops etc. on him without getting angry even once. Even when Reno's "don't transform senpai" reached its stupidity peak during the raid on Tachikawa base you'd think Kafka will yell back at him at least once but instead, he just keep his reason in his mind and go ahead. Especially when compared side-by-side with how Iharu reacts to Reno being Reno most of the times.

The same goes to his attitude toward Kikoru when she's in need of help. He don't even smirk or telling her to act better around him. He just help her, encourage her, and telling her she shouldn't be too reckless. Yes he allow himself to goof around, stealthy transforming to get the car back up just to look cool. But when it's really matter, he'll stand to protect her and demand nothing.

It's easy to feel offended, to want to getting back at someone for talking down on you. But Kafka with his life experience understand very well that Reno (being a kid) is just worried, and Kikoru (also being a kid) just want some kind of approval. Kafka might not meet all categories of what social expect from a grown adult (not many does), sometimes he just flat out a manchild but he's definitely not a teenager in adult body by any means.