#This chapter is so fluffy

[xylveon700]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60967681/chapters/159226942

Chapter 8 of my Vampire Okarun fic!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60967681/chapters/155748553

Ch 1 for any new readers 🫶

[three-drink-amy]

Thank you to @carlos-tk @carlos-in-glasses @orchidscript @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @heybuddy-drabbles @walkinginland @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut for the tag!

The day follows an expected pattern of Jonah losing his shit at each big thing he sees. It starts with the castle, followed by Mickey Mouse —finally— and Minnie Mouse, the character parade, and Buzz Lightyear. Each time they’re in a line, Jonah makes a big deal of debating who he wants to sit with him for that ride. TK starts a tally and is more than a bit offended when Carlos takes a commanding lead.

“Jerk,” he whispers when they line up for the Little Mermaid ride and Carlos has already been chosen. Carlos shrugs, poorly hiding a grin.

It eventually works in TK’s favor when Jonah’s energy lags and he asks Carlos to carry him. A quick silent conversation is held between TK and Carlos, weighing the merits of just pushing Jonah to keep walking. Surely Carlos reaches the same conclusion as TK, realizing they’ll get a lot less whining about being tired if they just give in and carry him. With a sigh, Carlos reaches down and picks him up, resuming their grueling pace from earlier, trying to make it to their next scheduled ride time. By the third time Jonah begs to be carried, it’s closer to a fireman’s carry, TK lagging behind them, laughing as he takes a picture of that too.

No pressure tagging: @clottedcreamfudge @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @bonheur-cafe @liminalmemories21 @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @celaestis1 @celeritas2997

[aster-draws]

I can finally post my first piece for this year's dpxdc big bang!!!! This one is from @perch-of-cerul's fic Chance Medley

I loved working on this so much, it was such a fun fic to make art for!! Please go and check it out!

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[fluffytheocelot]

I’ve made a gif. Enjoy wolfy Carmen.

POV: Jules looked at her

[mauswyx]

old ties, new beginnings [ch.2]

Thomas Hewitt x f!reader: ch1 // ch3

TLDR: By chance, Thomas encounters someone from his past and gets to be treated like a normal guy for an afternoon–except he doesn't want the treatment to stop. [pt.2]

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

CW: mention of past trauma/abuse, slight nudity

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I’m really glad you remember me...”

She was sitting with her legs sprawled out in front of her while she leaned back onto her hands, staring out over the lake-top as the warm breeze gently weaved through her hair. The lake was practically still, save for a few ducks that had flown down; she watched as they preened their feathers and dove for fish.

Thomas gave a low hum to let her know he had heard her; he was sitting cross-legged a meter or so behind her, pulling at the grass around him. The ever looming thought of what he’d have to do made him nervous. A part of him hoped you’d excuse yourself right now and leave; Hoyt would find you—take you back to the house and you’d just be cattle again. It would be easier that way. He could put on his face and you’d never know it was him…your dying thoughts wouldn’t be hate for him. The image of you dying caused a pain in his chest; the pain only worsened when the thought of you calling out for him, begging him to save you flooded his mind. Would your final words be his name on your tongue? To his horror, the idea excited him. You had been nothing but compassionate towards him–a beacon of warmth when all anyone else had done was treat him like an animal, a beast. And here he was, daydreaming about slaughtering you.

With a slight groan you pulled your stiff legs to your chest, snuggly wrapping your arms around them with a satisfied purr. His shirt rode up your thighs and rested around your hips, slightly exposing your bottom; with a grunt he darted his eyes away from your flesh. He didn’t deserve to look at you in such a way–not when he was going to be the one to wipe you from this earth. His fists clenched at the dead grass as the situation weighed on him; he didn’t want to do it. He really didn’t. He wanted to stay in this moment forever–wanted to live in a time where you wanted his company, content to sit in his presence without fear or judgment. In this moment you were alive. Alive with him. 

He looked to the sky, to whatever god Mama had long since given up on getting him to pray to, for an answer. No one else had ever done the things you had done and it had to mean something. It had to.

It had been him to stumble upon you, no one else, like you were a gift left by the heavens waiting just for him. His. Straightening his back and releasing his grip on the grass, the thought dawned on him. You could be his. Everyone else seemed to have their own company–be it sisters, pets, or working girls–so why couldn’t he? He could be good to you: he would treat you much better than a pet and substantially better than the way Hoyt treated his guests. 

He’d take care of all your needs–you’d be his responsibility, he was the one inaugurating you after all. You’d be well fed, he wouldn’t rest until you had a full stomach every night; you’d never get bored, sitting in with Mama and his aunt on their lunchins or more realistically tending to your own chores around the homestead; and though he, himself, didn’t really care for bathing, he figured a respectable woman such as yourself would, so he’d make sure you had every opportunity to stay clean; the house had many rooms but most of them were filled with clutter so you’d have to wait a bit before getting your own room. He pondered for a moment, thinking about what room would suit you best; he liked the idea of you having one of the rooms with the fancy windows that Mama once cherished. In the meantime, you’d have to stay in his room…have to share a bed with him too. His fingers twitched at the thought of sleeping next to you. He had to physically shake his head, when the thought of you waiting-up for him at night after a hard day's work–unable to sleep without him crept into his head; he couldn’t get distracted by such thoughts, there was still so much left to work-out.

You had sealed your fate upon entering the town’s border; in his heart-of-hearts, Thomas knew this was the only way to keep you alive and that’s all he wanted; that’s all that mattered. You’d definitely need some adjusting to their way of life–you were a saint but he knew not even you could understand right away why they needed to do the things they did, but you could learn. He’d keep you alive–even if it killed you.

The sound of a sniffle pulled him from his plotting.

You had hidden your face in the crook of your arms that now rested atop your knees, while he had thought out his plan. Oh no. What had he done? Did you finally realize how disgusting he was and were mortified to be with him? Had you said something personal and he had ignored you–too caught up in his own world? How could he be so selfish! He let out a whine as his thoughts ran wild with possibilities of what he could’ve done to upset you. It felt as though his very world was crumbling around him–keeping you needed the foundation of you not despising him.

“I’m sorry…” you huffed out, raising your head to wipe at your eyes, “I’m just…I’m sorry!” The tears began flowing freely despite your efforts to contain them. You felt pathetic for crying, you had nothing to cry about when it was Thomas who had been the victim.

“They were so c-cruel to you-ou,” you hiccuped through sobs, “and I did noth-hing!”

For years you had watched as they had treated him less-than the dirt beneath their feet and you had been too much of a coward to even defend him. To even console him. Having only been a child did little to console you: even at such a young age, you knew what they were doing was wrong and you still chose to turn a blind eye. You were no better than any of the other children who had run away from him or the townspeople who had mistreated him; you knew you deserved whatever punishment they had coming. Had he not only been just a child, as well? How was it fair for him to be treated like a walking-disease, merely for being different, while other children got to live normal lives at no cost at all. It was maddening and the guilt for not having done anything to prevent his abuse or ease it was tearing you apart. 

“Oh Thomas, I’m so sorry! You didn’t deserve-”

The words died in your throat as the sound of settling grass alerted you of his presence. He was kneeling next to you now, holding out an uncertain hand mere centimeters away from your face. His hand was formed as though he was intending to cup your face but wanted permission. His stormy eyes couldn’t keep yours as he shifted his gaze around nervously. How could he be so considerate towards you? He should hate your very being. You wanted to turn your head away from him, you didn't deserve his comfort. He should just leave you to rot! But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away; choking back a sob, you leaned into his touch–allowing him to bring you solace. He wasted no time in sweeping your guilty tears away with the pad of his thumb and gently massaging at your temple. His tender care only made you want to cry more.

Thomas couldn’t help but admire how bewitching you looked while you cried softly against his hand: wet eyelashes pressed against puffy-flushed cheeks and cherry-red lips turned into a soft pout. And when your eyes opened, to peer into his own–he hated to think it but you truly did look pitiful. Looking up at him like he was the only thing that could soothe your pain. The tight feeling in his chest returned. He didn’t care about the past, or rather he didn’t care about what you didn’t do in the past. He knew what you did do and that was enough for him. Everyone else’s actions had nothing to do with you so how could he fault you, the only person to ever treat him like he was worthy of some human decency? He had grown accustomed to the insults and the physical tormenting stopped when he hit his growth spurt; those that continued to pester him after which were no more significant than gnats buzzing in his ear. Even now when unruly cattle would hurl insults at him, he knew it was all meaningless. At the end of the day they were still just that–cattle. To Thomas, you had done nothing wrong and there was no need for you to apologize–it only crushed him to see you so distraught over something you had no control over.

Overcome with emotion, he leaned closer to you and let out a whine into your hair. 

The unexpected proximity was startling, Thomas had all but engulfed you into himself. Though you didn’t mind. He was warm and smelled of musk and something else you couldn’t quite place–it was almost metallic. The smell was comforting nonetheless. You leaned into him–absent mindlessly closing the small gap in between you–grazing your nose just under where his mask met his skin, trying to figure out what that smell was. The sudden contact must have startled Thomas as you felt him tense around you, but he made no move to remove himself from you.

“Is this ok?” you breathed out, not wanting to take advantage of his goodwill. You could feel the rumble in his throat and his hair tickle your face as he gave a singular-short nod.

With your new allowance, you leaned fully into him: tucking your arms in between you as you grasped at his stained-shirt, burrowing your face against his neck to ride out the remainder of your tears.

“I really am sorry…” you muttered against his skin, you could feel him shiver but you couldn’t bring yourself to move away. He was warm and the skin-contact was soothing. His breathing was heavy and you could feel another rumble pass through his throat as he just barely grazed against the now-dry shirt on your back–giving you time to push him away–before settling against you. You could feel as he moved to lean his own head against yours, his warm breath showered against your ear. You stifled another sob against him with a whine, this awkward side hug was far more than you deserved.

A fire burned in Thomas’s chest as he clutched you closer to himself. In this moment, with this small act, you had proven to him that he was correct: you were different and there was no doubt about it–you being brought back to him was so that he could make you his. And he would be damned if anyone tried to take you away from him. 

The sun felt warm against your skin and the heat that Thomas expelled only heightened it, your earlier swimming and recent crying fit had finally worn you out. Your eyes fought against the pull of sleep, but ultimately the rise and fall of Thomas's chest against you lulled you into the unconscious abyss.

[fluffydice]

Guy with Generalized Anxiety Disorder be like

[endwersed]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged in a little while ago by the amazing @patolemus & @hellameyers 🤗

I'm currently working on editing chapter 5 of the poets are right, which I'll be posting in a couple of days - so here's a snippet from that!

-

“Did you think I was hot when we first met?” Stiles asks.

The huff of laughter that pushes out from between Derek’s smiling mouth is entirely ball-busted, and the tips of his ears quickly colour a soft red in the low, warm light of the room. Stiles’ lips pull into an instant grin back at him.

“Yeah,” Derek says.

“Really?” Stiles presses, finding way too much joy in this. “You thought I was a hot little piece of omega ass, right off the bat?”

“Really,” Derek echoes easily, one arm folding behind his head while the other skims light fingers up and down Stiles’ side. “It wasn’t so much a fight or flight instinct as it was a fight or... fuck.”

Barking out a loud laugh, Stiles gleefully peers up at him, at the easy confession of immediate attraction falling from Derek’s lips. His heartrate picks up excitedly as he wriggles closer into the solid heat of Derek’s body.

“Too bad the fight won out that time,” Stiles laments.

Derek hums, lifting a hand to cup gently at the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Too bad,” he agrees, before lifting both eyebrows. “Did you think I was hot when we first met?”

“Obviously,” Stiles scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I thought you were hot before we met, dude. You know that already.”

And he does. As embarrassing it was at the time to admit out loud, to the object of his one-sided affection for so many anonymous years, he did tell Derek. That particular secret was shared not too long into this thing between them, spilling all about this crush he has had ever since he first discovered photographs of the ultimate alpha heart-throb Derek Hale in some teen magazine or other.

Derek took it like a champ. Actually, he took it like an incredibly smug bastard – but that was only to be expected. Learning that the person you like just as much as they like you, has actually liked you a hell of a lot longer than you have even known that person existed, well... Stiles can see how something like that might go straight to your head.

Tamping down on the urge to swat that self-satisfied smirk right off of Derek’s face, Stiles settles on leaning up to kiss it into something more dazed and breathless, instead. When he pulls back, he feels a thrill of satisfaction at the utterly glazed over look in Derek’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Stiles lets himself continue, head tipping to one side. “If only you hadn’t gone and ruined it the first time you opened your mouth by being a fucking asshole.”

Derek breathes out yet another ball-busted laugh. His fingers slide through the short hairs at the back of Stiles’ head, nails scratching lightly into Stiles’ scalp, as he takes the – entirely true, and entirely deserved – insult on the chin. He quickly lists forwards to kiss Stiles yet again, softly and soundly.

“I like to think I’ve made up for it since then,” he says quietly.

-

Low pressure tags ❤️ @dear-massacre @eevylynn @evanesdust @hedwig221b @lucky-bishop

@raisesomehale @renmackree @thotpuppy @violetfairydust @quackquackcey

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 7 - Imprinted

(CW- Nightmares, trauma, vomiting, flashbacks)

Lotus woke with a thrashing gasp, the air in her lungs stolen by another nightmare. Her hand shakily rose to her plastron as she tried to calm her pounding heart. The echoes of the monster’s threats slowly faded from her mind, but the adrenaline and fear still loomed over her like an inescapable smaug. The dream still had its hold on her, morphing reality as it saw fit. Shadows seemed to come alive as their claws shot out from the darkness. Every wall sprouted eyes and began to close in on her. Her stomach twisted in discomfort as she fought to forget her dream, closing her eyes and reminding herself again and again that it was over. 

“I’m fine… It’s… It’s done..” She choked, still trying to regain her purloined breath.

Once the ghostly chorus of the phantom completely faded, she wearily opened her eyes. Everything had returned to normal, the shadows creeping back into their crevices awaiting the next time she would try to sleep. All the eyes had vanished from the walls. The room had stopped shrinking.

Before she could slump in relief her gut twisted again, making her wince as the discomfort only grew.

That’s weird… 

Lotus was fully aware of the repercussions of nightmares on her body. There were times she would wake drenched in sweat or shaking. Other nights she woke up so tense that her body physically ached, forcing her to stretch out her tight limbs and loosen up before attempting to sleep again. But this was different. Normally the discomfort would soften as she calmed herself down, the turbulence of her racing heart slowly returning to a steady beat. But this… this wasn’t normal.

The throb of discomfort only continued to grow, forcing Lotus to clutch her arms around her torso. Her stomach grew more and more tight, as the sharp pangs squeezed whimpers out of her lips. Nausea crept closer.

This isn’t good… This ISN’T GOOD.

She scrambled to think back to the last thing she ate, but came up empty. The last few days were a complete blur, smeared together in a mishmash of memories that left her with no decipherable answers. 

Seems this is becoming a recurring theme in my life.

Her bitter thoughts took a screeching halt as her stomach lurched.

Panic came flooding back into her heart in an instant as she shot her hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to contain what she knew was coming.

No no nonononono!!!

With as much strength as she could muster, she frantically pulled herself upright. She could feel the acid quickly clawing its way up her throat, cutting off her gasping pleas for this new nightmare to cease. 

And as per usual, she quickly found that she had no control.

In a split second attempt to spare Leo’s mattress, Lotus jerked her entire body off the bed, landing hard onto the grainy tiles below. The impact of her fall sparked a terrible ache to ignite in her still healing leg, but the pain was quickly thrown to the back burner as the vile taste of acrid fumes filled Lotus’ mouth. Her head swayed as dizziness overtook her.

She closed her eyes in a tight wince as she shakily braced her hands onto the ground. Not a second later, her stomach’s contents disguised as stinging lava splattered over the floor, sealing her fate.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!

The imprinted instinct to run and hide from her shame grew with each embarrassing second, but her limbs refused to carry her weight. In order to keep from landing face first into the mess, she used her swaying form to roll her body to the side. Once again, her head rang with the impact of hitting the floor, and her leg screamed at the rough treatment. Even with the remnants of acid burning her throat and nose, she couldn’t hold back crying out from the pain.

Her hands clutched onto her thigh, squeezing hard to hopefully stint the agony quickly spreading throughout the incision site. Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she pictured how pathetic she must have looked lying on the floor next to her own puke. The fact that she couldn’t listen to her instincts and hide made things so much worse. 

She was trapped, pinned down, and at the mercy of the first person through the doorway.

Her fears were made real as she heard the rush of footsteps come racing towards her. 

They can’t see this!! I… I can’t let them see this!!!

It’s just another mess for them to clean up! I’m being such a PAIN- They’ve been so nice and THIS is how I’m repaying that kindness?!? 

By becoming a hindrance?? A pest? 

What a way to say “thank you”, you charity case. 

Her bitter tears burned alongside her stinging throat as she hid her face into her shoulder.

Pathetic.

The racing footsteps finally made their way into the bedroom, and Lotus’ stomach squeezed as they raced towards her. 

Her mind was overtaken by the cold voices of her past.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??”

“UGH, DISGUSTING.”

“SEND IT TO DR O’NEIL, IT’S SICK AGAIN.”

More tears streamed down her cheeks as she braced for the same reprimands for what she had done. She tensed her body awaiting whatever punishment her captors saw fit.

“LOTUS! What happened?!?” Leo’s voice cried out as gentle hands were placed onto Lotus’ trembling shoulders. At the physical contact, her body let out an unavoidable flinch, bringing out a startled gasp from the oldest brother.

“Lotus.. What’s wrong?” He whispered as he drew back his hand.

“Are ya blind? She’s sick!” Raph yelled exasperatedly, but Lotus could sense little glints of concern hidden behind the fiery brother’s tone.

When she finally turned her face towards the brothers, she caught sight of Don frantically leaving the room. From what she could see of his expression, his face looked as though he was… afraid. Her sight was quickly brought back to Leo and Mikey leaning over her, asking her a multitude of questions that blurred into a cacophony of frantic voices. Once Leo caught on that she couldn’t understand what they were saying, the eldest slapped a hand over Mikey’s mouth. With the racket of panic silenced, Leo sighed and started over.

“What is going on? Are you in any pain?” He spoke as calmly as he could, though the facade wasn’t as effective thanks to the worry etched over his face and tense posture.

Lotus wanted to shrivel up and die. 

Before she could attempt to cover up the fact that she was indeed ill, her body once again reminded her of who was in charge. Another searing zing shot up her leg, and she had no choice but to cry out as she squeezed tighter to the offending limb. 

“Well, there’s your answer.” Raph flicked his hand gesturing to Lotus, “Come here, we’re gettin’ you off the floor.”

“Careful with her leg!” Leo warned, as Raph moved to pick Lotus up. “Hopefully she didn’t pull any of her stitches…”

Lotus’ stomach flipped at that horrifying thought. 

If she had pulled some of them, Leo would be forced to re-stitch her wound. That horrible experience was one she never wanted to relive. Her mind briskly reminded her of the pain she had felt at that moment in time, the prick and pull of the needle, and the fear that had forced her body to be sick.

Please, NOT AGAIN.

Another whimper squeaked out from her as Raph lifted her up, resulting in the fiery brother looking down at her in concern. He made sure to move extra slow so as to not reignite the pain in her leg. It somewhat worked. 

“Careful- Careful!” Leo hurriedly spoke as he ran to check on Lotus’ incision. “Alright Lotus, you need to hold still, okay? Don’t move- I just need to check something real quick.”

Swallowing down the urge to shudder at the familiar words, Lotus cried a silent prayer pleading for there to be no damage to her stitches.

Agonizingly slow seconds crept past as she waited for Leo to speak. To distract herself she tried looking around the room again, identifying the vast diversity of colors and textures strewn about the room; The dark crimson wall of Raph’s nook, the bright splotches of blues, yellows, and oranges on the wall underneath Mikey’s bunk bed, and the patterns adorning many articles of clothing haphazardly dropped and thrown across the room. 

The distraction helped a little. Her heart cautiously returned to a normal beat, and her mind began to empty out all the panic that had plagued it. She took a slow inhale and then let it out, allowing her head to carefully lean onto Raph’s plastron. She could hear his heart beating from under the hard, natural armor, and she leaned further as she let its steady rhythm overtake her anxieties. 

“Okay,” Leo began, making Lotus jolt out of her dazed stupor in an instant, “your stitches seem fine.”

If she could, Lotus would have jumped out of Raph’s arms and danced. But seeing how she was still weak and pathetic at the moment, she settled for just letting out a sigh of relief, dropping her head back down onto Raph’s chest.

“Now.. can you explain why you were sick?” Leo spoke as he gestured to the spot where Lotus had thrown up. Mikey was already finished cleaning the area on the floor with a slight grimace on his face. He gathered the used paper towels and threw them in the trash bin Don was holding.

Lotus’ brows creased as she noticed how pale Donatello looked. He held the trash bin an arms length away from himself, and his face twisted with way too many emotions all at the same time. His eyes remained strictly focused on the furthest wall as he was led by Mikey out of the room.

“Lotus? LOTUS!”

She twitched as her attention was yanked back to Leo, the eldest’s eyes drawn into tight, interrogative slits.

“Why. Were. You. Sick? Are you okay???” Leo asked with a hint of annoyance camouflaged under his calm tone.

Lotus shook her head to knock out all the interrupting thoughts clouding her mind, as Raph gently placed her onto Leo’s bed.

“S-sorry, Leo… I’m… I’m not sure why I’m sick.” Lotus’ voice was quiet and strained, trying to be careful of her still burning throat. It also didn’t help that her leg continued to pulse with deep aches, causing some words to cut off in sharp grunts or gasps. “My… NGH! My stomach h-hurts…”

“Alright- That’s okay!” Leo gently spoke, the annoyance quickly being forgotten as his question was finally somewhat answered. He held out his hands in a steadying gesture. “Do you think you were allergic to the crackers Mikey gave you earlier?”

Huh??

Lotus’ pained expression twisted again, not in discomfort but in confusion.

“W-What are you talking about? I didn’t eat any crackers.” She spoke in mild, whispered bewilderment, “At least… Not that I can remember…”

She turned her head to peer at the side table next to Leo’s bed. There was no plate or crumbs anywhere, so most likely she was never given a snack, right? Unless the dishes were taken away?.. But wouldn’t she have remembered that?

Am I missing something here????

She turned to face Leo again, but froze when she noticed his expression. His irises had shrunk to half their usual size, and his breathing caught in his throat. He joined his hands as if he were about to start praying, but his eyes remained wide open.

“...Are you telling me…You haven’t eaten anything all day?”

Lotus didn’t mean to shrink under Leo’s accidental scrutiny, but the eldest’s gaze was becoming more and more sharp by the second, and she could only withstand his “Mom glare”™ for so long.

“...Um…” Lotus squeaked under the growing pressure of Leo’s glare. She turned her gaze to Raphael in a desperate plea for support. The fiery brother refused to be helpful in the slightest, simply shrugging and holding his hands in mock surrender at Lotus’ pleading expression.

 She tried to gulp down the pebble stuck in her windpipe.

“...No?...”

Leo’s head instantly dropped onto the tips of his praying fingers with an exasperated sigh.

“Mikey…~” He groaned under his breath.

“Aw, come on, bro.” Raph mumbled to himself.

Confusion still twisting her features, Lotus was grateful to finally have Leo’s glacier glare off her, but she still had no idea what he was talking about. 

Her stomach twisted again, and all the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

“... I was supposed to eat before I took the pills, wasn’t I?”

Leo kept his face down as he groaned, “Yes.”

Lotus grit her teeth as she fought to keep her composure, her face scrunching into a barely contained snarl. Anger began to burn inside her, draping the shadows of doubt and bitterness over her heart once again. 

Here she was in the same situation as before; A victim of careless caretakers.

Nothing has changed.

I am such an IDIOT.

“That’s why I don’t feel right? It’s because of you? Again?!” Lotus’ voice grew in volume and venom with each accusation spat. “What is wrong with you?!?! WHAT WAS IN THOSE PILLS??” She yelled, as her hands whipped to point at the side table.

Leo’s head shot up as his hands separated, rising in placating surrender.

“N-no! It… it was an accident! Mikey was supposed to bring you something to eat so you could take the painkillers, but… he got… distracted. Something kinda…” Leo began to taper off as his shoulders rose stiffly. 

“...Came up.” Raph finished in a grumbling tone.

Lotus flung her arms in the air as an empty laugh erupted out of her snarling teeth. “Oh yes! A lot of something definitely came up.” She pointed to her aching stomach to prove her point.

Before Lotus could react, Raph had already stepped in between her and Leo, his arms tightly crossed, and his eyes in a piercing glare.

“HEY. You don’t know what happened back there.” Raph intervened, his low voice imitating a growl of warning, “Like Leo said, it was an accident. He’s not perfect, no matter how hard he tries to be.”

Leo’s whole body tensed after Raph’s words, the eldest’s expression flashing from fear to surprise to hurt.

Lotus unconsciously cowered at the sudden presence of Raphael’s towering form. His shadow looming over her brought back many unspeakable memories to light. She fought hard not to whimper or hide, but the fear lashing at her core stung and bled. The memories of a monster distorted her view of Raphael, smearing her reality with the darkness of her past. 

“Hold still, creature.” 

The searing anger burning her lungs and clouding her mind vanished as the ghost of Lotus’ past hissed all too familiar words.

“No. Get away!” Lotus cried out as she shielded her head with her arms. 

She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere that was safe.

There was no haven that could protect her from the memories.

She was trapped all over again.

“I’m sorry! I’m s-s-sorry!” She whimpered into the crooks of her arms.

A beat passed as she waited for her punishment.

“Lotus… Is it alright if I touch you?” A kind voice asked, shining dim rays through the smaug of memories.

The voice was unlike any she had heard in the labs: Kind, soothing, gentle… But it wasn’t female like the good doctor. Its tones were lower, smooth like the facets of a diamond, and radiating with warmth.

Her instinct told her she could trust it.

Another beat passed as Lotus shakily nodded her head. Soon after, she felt the cool scales of a three-fingered hand land on her forearm. She winced, expecting the hand’s grip to tighten and yank her away. 

Instead, it delicately pulled down her arms.

 Her glistening eyes widened as the ghost before her vanished in the warm rays of the bedroom. As her last tears fell, the blurs of green, red, and blue morphed back into Raphael and Leonardo.

They looked so worried.

Leo’s face had fallen into a horrified frown, and Raph looked as though he had just accidentally ran over a puppy. Their expressions filled with concern brought a soothing confirmation to Lotus that they weren’t her old doctors. They couldn’t be.

Because they looked as though they cared.

She looked down to see Leo’s hand still placed on top of her forearm. There were no scratchy squeaks of latex, no icy grip, and not even five fingers. No one was tying her down. No one was cutting into her.

Instead, she felt a soft warmth emanate through the contact of Leo’s fingers on her skin. The grip wasn’t tight, yet it was still grounding. 

It felt so foreign and so right at the same time.

Emotions began to clash inside her, her past and present fighting in a mighty battle to gain control. Distrust and bitterness clawed at the growing rays of hope. Fear and trauma bit and scratched at the faded hands of peace.

Lotus took a leap of faith.

“I’m sorry. I-... I just… I h-h-hate feeling like… like t-this…” Lotus whimpered as all the fear drained from her body, taking her strength with it. “I’m.. I’m sorry, Leo.”

The corners of Leo’s mouth perked into a kind grin as his icy irises melted with compassion. Raph simply closed his eyes and nodded his head, his expression turning stoic, but not lacking sympathy. Lotus could still catch his concern peeking through as he stayed close to her bedside.

“It’s alright, I forgive you.” Leo spoke softly, as he delicately squeezed her arm. His smile grew the tiniest bit more when he saw that she didn’t flinch. “ And I… can’t blame you for being angry. I just should’ve brought you the snacks myself. It was my fau-”

Before Leo could finish his apology, his words were cut off by Raphael gripping the lip of the eldest’s shell, and yanking him forward so they were face-to-face. Leo let out an indignant yelp at the jarring motion. Raph poked an accusing finger into Leo’s plastron, rumbling in a tone that left no room for argument.

“-You say it’s your fault again and I’ll pelt you in the head with the back of my sai.”

Leo’s face flushed in an instant as he sputtered and squirmed in Raphael’s grip. 

“RAPH! Nghhh.. P-Put me DOWN!!”

As confused as Lotus was as to why the brothers were arguing, she made no attempt to ask. Even though she had gotten more than enough sleep in the last… Day? Days? Her body still ached, resulting in another large wave of exhaustion dragging her consciousness down further into the expectant darkness of sleep. 

Her eyelids began sinking…

Her thoughts fizzled out like the dying flames of a candle…

Just as her eyes closed and darkness filled her vision, a chilling presence emerged from the shadows, beckoning her to follow it deeper into the black of her nightmares once again. 

“-NO!” She gasped breathlessly as she forced her body to jerk upright.

Leo and Raph instantly stopped their tussling, whipping their heads in the direction of Lotus’ distress. Raph let go of Leo and they both drew closer to Lotus’ bedside, asking her what was wrong and why she was shaking.

 Her answer came in a frail voice drowning in terror and hopelessness.

“I’ll…I’ll never be free.”

Aaaand that's it for this chapter!! Now you're all finally seeing more of Lotus' perspective in this story. Some of her true colors revealed themselves in this chapter, as well as some answers about her past. And now we'll all see how the brothers will handle this broken girl. <3 This was one of my darker chapters, as you just read it focuses a good amount on Lotus' trauma, and how her captors created her view on the world and herself. This will be the base of her arc in this story.

Also, you probably noticed I only posted one illustration with this chapter. This was on purpose, cause I wanted to leave room for you guys to create your own picture of the scenes that occur in this chapter. :) Whether it be through your imagination or through fanart! This also helps me to not have as much work to do per chapter, so I can get more chapters finished and posted for you all faster! :)

Hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to reblog this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for giving helpful critiques and suggestions with editing the chapter!! :)

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl

(If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, just comment down below!) :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[starlight-eclipsed]

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dark whispers to the dawn, to Hylia, because he sure doesn’t.

Some art for chapter 20(!!!) of A Dark Among the Lights by LuckyLectio on AO3. In which Dark can excuse threats of bodily harm but he draws the line at poor swordsmanship :b

[every-sasuke-uchiha]

[pelmeshikk]

me & alfred after 529 chapter 🙏🏻

[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.

[littledevilmobby]

timeskip miritama to cleanse the soul bc the new year is terrible so far

[fluffytheocelot]

EVERYONE RUN IVE UNLOCKED THE ANIMATION SKILL!

i will be unstoppable now >:)

Anyways I was testing if Carmen’s werewolf design was animation friendly and uh in conclusion. Kind of? I changed the gradients on her paws and ears to solid brown, and that helped. BUT her floating spots and side stripes might be tricky to keep consistent in animation. Idk I don’t animate often (or ever till now, but I’m learning) so I have no frame of reference lol.

Exported gif & screen recorded in procreate bc exporting screws w the quality and colors for some reason

~10.7 hours in procreate, 8 frames, 16 fps

[meganechan05]

Goober