#Verse: Blast from the Past

[stealingpotatoes]

Not sure if this has been asked or not, but how would canon Luke and Leia react to meeting your au versions of them?

omg I'VE BEEN WANTING TO MAKE AN INTO THE LUKE-AND-LEIA-VERSE FOR AGES thank you for kicking me into doing it

(donation doodles! // tip jar)

[eidetictelekinetic]

Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.

Tagged by @freneticfloetry and @wingedflight

Most Hits: The Lady of Rivers and Storms [ASOIAF]

When Lysa miscarries Petyr's child before anyone learns of her pregnancy, her father negotiates a different marriage for her instead. Married to the second Baratheon son, will the future be any easier for either of them?

Second Most Kudos: Breaking Out the Institution [Suits]

“OK, so, before we start, a few things you should know about me. My name’s Mike Ross, not Rick Sorkin. I am a lawyer, I just didn’t go to Harvard. But you should hear me out anyway.” Where Mike is actually a lawyer, a Brooklyn ADA looking for a change of pace, and gatecrashes Harvey's interviews entirely on purpose.

Third Most Comment Threads: We'll Ride (In the Gathering Storm) [ASOIAF]

When Jon Arryn dies, King Robert rides for Winterfell as secrets brew on Dragonstone and in the Eyrie. Meanwhile, the last Targaryens gain not one but four sworn shields as Daenerys prepares to wed Khal Drogo, and three of them carry secrets behind their Valyrian eyes. Or, A Game of Thrones in the Iron and Silk universe.

Fourth Most Bookmarks: Lay Me Down (Pockets Full of Stones) [The Magicians]

The world spins, and Quentin doesn’t even feel his knees buckle, or how his head hits the wall on the way down. All he knows is the fall into the quiet dark. In which Quentin survives the events of 4.13 by taking such bad care of himself he never actually makes it to the Mirror Realm. Also in which everyone loses him for a day, and Eliot is Not Happy about this.

Fifth Most Words: If I Could Fall Into the Sky [The Magicians]

Quentin survives the blast in the Mirror Realm, but at the cost of half his leg. In the aftermath, he's sent off to recover, but the thing is, he's not sure if anyone is really going to want him to come back now. As for Eliot? Well, first he has to find out what actually even happened. But even once they straighten themselves out, the consequences of magic are more complicated than they expected.

Fewest Words: Winter's Ghost, Storm's Lady [ASOIAF]

It's a relief, to ride south and marry the nephew of the Southron King.

Tagging: @mihrsuri @ofthedirewolves @beanarie @lupismaris

[azukilynn]

[abysmal-black]

(@pxison - reg. Snooj suffering begins now 😈) There was a current of giddiness running through Niji as he sought after the blonde runt. So much time had been lost between his disappearance and reunion with the rest of the family that Niji was all too eager to make up for. In his clutches was an all too familiar helmet. This time resized to fit the cooks head should it be reapplied for old times sake. No matter where Sanji hid himself, he could never truly get away from any of his brother's torment. The sickening grin Niji was wearing only grew when he finally found the little scumbag and the helmet within his possession was presented in full view as though he took pride in all the memories it held. “Remember this Sanji? Those pretty little bracelets you're wearing are nice and all, but I thought you'd look even better in this. Doesn't it take you back? Why don't we both go down memory lane, I'm sure the other two would like to join in as well for old times sake.”

Contentment is long gone, all Sanji can hope for is silence. Being left alone with his own thoughts is preferable to his twin's company and for the most part they've left him alone. No longer is he the small boy that can't defend himself, begging for his sires help to call off the dogs he called brothers. It would be empowering if the mental scars didn't ache. Everything is the same, almost untouched by time in the years he's been absent. There is some sliver of solace that his mother's grave is kept tidy, her ghost not wandering these dreary halls.

It's in the cathedrals that the chef spends most of his time, beauty and color rare on Germa. Inside hallowed walls it almost seems like another place, foot traffic kept low and thick walls drowning out the drone of combat drills and weapons testing. It's as serene of a hideaway he can hope for and passes most of his time with a book of napping in the pulpit for privacy.

Today however, he's been found out.

Niji is loud as usual, any attention good attention. Sanji makes a point to not even glance up at the man as he nears, neatly rolled joint maneuvered to the other corner of his mouth and page turned. Whatever he wants isn't good but the cook feigns an air of nonchalant hoping he'll leave.

Curiosity sets him on edge; there are very few things his twin could be referring to and single viable eye opens fully. Why would they still have that thing? Throat clenches suddenly dry, anxiety crawling up his neck like a cold towel. He knows what it is without looking, can still feel the weight of heavy steel closed around his skull and panic grips his heart. Can hear the painful thumping in his burning ears of racing heart. Knows if he doesn't act know Niji will push the matter and after all these years Sanji can't go back. He can't survive the cell, the mask, this place. Are his hands worth his sanity? If they are gone would his kidnappers find him useless again?

“Fuck off.” It's meek where he wants to growl. “I'm not in the mood.” He's never in the mood and fingers turn another page. “Get lost or I'll fillet you.” This time his voice doesn't crack, the treat very real even if it's carried by bravado.

[deathinfeathers-a]

“Stop being so hard on yourself” (double feature -dabs-)

Slumped against the broad expanse of his chest like the beloved pet cat she sometimes likes to think that she is (sans the characteristic rumble of contentment his presence tends to elicit) she cradles a freshly bandaged hand to her chest, lips pinched in a sulky sort of scowl.

"I am allowed! I should not be making stupid blunders like that at this point in my life!"

She's lucky Adam hadn't been around to watch her slice her palm open during this morning's training session. Something she had given him no small amount of grief over when he fumbled with his axe and injured himself in a similar manner several hundred years ago. She'd never hear the end of it.

[badnikbreaker]

@gonchayas : ❝  wait,  stop you’re bleeding.  ❞ / for kit

"O - Oh!" Oh, they are! They didn't even feel it, so used to pain that new hurts don't register. A hand presses to their chest and comes back slick and red and there's still no aching. Kit smiles, briefly, then frowns, expression twisting into something frightened. Oh. Oh, no, he — "Oh! I'm s - sorry, sir! I promise, i - it's nothing!"

Surge is far from him. Konstantyn is strong. THAT MAKES KONSTANTYN GOD, AND KIT KNOWS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU CAN'T SERVE GOD.

"Please don't be angry! I can keep serving you, no matter my wounds! I can't be killed, so d - don't worry about me!" Not worry about me as in CARE FOR ME, BE CONCERNED FOR ME — worry about me as in DOUBT MY ABILITY TO FIGHT FOR YOU, THROW ME ASIDE OR HURT ME BECAUSE I'M TOO DAMAGED TO BE OF USE. His hands raise / he smiles, weak and trembling / a bloodthirsty monster and a child terrified of harm. A TOOL MEANT FOR KILLING, AND A LITTLE BOY.

Maybe it's familiar. Maybe it's not. Kit curls into themself, just barely. Smaller, like they can disappear that way. A broken tool is useless. KONSTANTYN CAN'T THINK KIT'S BROKEN. "I'm still a v - very effective fighter, even wounded, so — I can still be o - of use, I promise!"

[yameoto]

giving fuckgirl!cait (+basketball) the best head of her life (she still doesn’t know what the hell to do about it)

sub!caitlyn, blowjobs, caitlyn cums in approx 2 seconds and is then humiliated, smut n fluff, ohhh she’s definitely in love with you

fuckgirl!cait who is just a little needy. the first time you ask her she’s all wide-eyed and her mouth is dry and suddenly she’s nervous for the first time in her life. which makes zero sense because (“not to sound like a dickhead—“ “prefacing that everytime doesn’t make you any less of a dickhead, cait.”) she’s been bobbing her cock down willing girls’ throats since she hit puberty. to destress or for fun or if she felt like it. whatever. the point is; she’s well-versed in this.

so, why her palms are suddenly sweating and her cheeks are glowing she has no idea. croaks. “uhm. are you sure? because you really don’t have to—“ like she hasn’t been harassing you for the past couple months and even if she’s had countless fantasies of this moment; imagining you, and your plush, soft lips wrapped around her cock as she splatters her load against the shower wall or a tissue or her dedicated cumsock (ok, sometimes she is just a jock. sue her. she’s a busy woman! and she, admittedly, no longer has a maid waiting on her beck and call.)

you laugh, all deep and throaty and it makes caitlyn want to sink between your couch cushions and die.

“what’s with the deer in the headlights look?” you’ll never grow tired of teasing her, even if you no longer think of her as the arrogant basketball prick who pads around you like a lost puppy and instead; now, something closer to an.. acquaintance with benefits.

(caitlyn has no clue how she made it this far with you. it’s like you just randomly decided to give her a shot one day, on a whim, and she desperately doesn’t want to blow it. even if acquaintance-with-benefits is a title that disgruntles her, at the very least. hurts, at the very most. like, very very most, okay?)

“i just..” caitlyn lets out a quiet whine when your fingers curl against the hem of her basketball shorts and—ah, shit. and now she’s hard. “now look what you’ve done.” she hisses, though she’s not quite sure what she expected when you texted her for netflix and chill like it’s still the 2010s.

“there’s that pretty thing.” you completely ignore her in favour of continuing your blasted teasing, fingers snaking underneath her waistband and pulling, guiding the shorts down the sharp v-line at her crotch and eyes travelling down the fine, inky lines of her happy trail to the spring of her cock, over the edge; half-glazed and all pretty and pink.

“you really want to..?” she doesn’t know why she keeps backtracking, like she hasn’t been talking and talking about how fucking good she’d be. and now that it’s really happening she’s getting cold feet, of all things.

“it’s just a blow, cait.” you roll your eyes.

right. just a blow. like she’s done, a million times before. god. god. she doesn’t know where the fuck this performance anxiety has suddenly arose from (pun unintended). she’s (gracefully and intentionally) bruised countless girls’ throats, for fuck’s sake. twisted her hand in the hair and yanked them sharply with each forceful snap of her hips, and told them to swallow without so much as a blink.

except you—you—

“mmgh—“ caitlyn throws her had back, as she lets out an exceedingly unflattering grunt, with the gusto in which you take her into her mouth. your tongue swirls, along her tip, and—hah—her mind melts to butter. her eyes are all cloudy, head spinning. “wait—mmf—i didnt—“

caitlyn’s hips buck, heedlessly, into your mouth. fuck. she usually has more rhythm than this. more—control. but then your tongue is sliding underneath and your hand running over to curl around her base and she’s rutting upwards aimlessly, like some stupid teenage boy who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. only that—shit—she’s never felt this good in her life and this is not just a blow—this is the most beautiful, nirvana-inducing, mind-shattering experience she could’ve ever—ungh.

oh.

oh, nononono. nono— no. she didn’t just—

your mouth hangs open, still, as you stare up at her with wide, surprised eyes; throat bobbing as if you were preparing to maybe do that really hot vacuum-type motion again except there’s kind of no fucking point because her dick is twitching uselessly as it slips out of your mouth and she watches in horror, as cum drizzles down your chin.

you swallow. caitlyn dreads that glimmer in your eyes, already.

“i usually—i last longer than that!” caitlyn’s cheeks are beet-red and she’s blinking up at you with those big, sad blue eyes and you’re laughing. crawling on top of her stomach as her dick presses flush and sticky against your lower torso and you’re laughing at her plight. ok, that’s it. it’s over. her reputation that she’s fought and fucked so hard for is dead and gone. she’s got to pack her bags, move countries, and start over.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck. surprisingly, you don’t push her away. “you can’t tell anyone.” she orders, petulant. she’s fucking humiliated.

“why would i tell anyone?” you snort. she whines.

“i don’t want you to think—“ caitlyn digs her short-cut nails into palms, looking frustrated; brows knit and cheeks still flushed, stray strands of hair a mess against her forehead. “i didn’t come over just for a blow.”

“i know, cait.”

caitlyn doesn’t know how much you know, frankly, because she doesn’t know how much she knows—considering she’s just had the most earth-quaking orgasm of her life in all but two seconds like some lame loser virgin and not the cool, suave playgirl that caitlyn kiramman is so known to be; but you’re sinking back into her arms and letting her keep leaking leftover dribbles into your couch as she clings and maybe, she doesn’t care. just wants to stay like this for a little while, and blink the spots out of her vision.

“i’m normally really very good.” she insists, words spilling out in an accented rush against your skin, half-slurred. “seriously.”

“caitlyn.”

“seriously!”

[theothervonkarmagirl]

🎧 (I pick Clara but if you're feelin' anyone else I'm game :D)

Send a 🎧 and I will put my music on shuffle, then write a starter based on a lyric from the first song that plays

Song: "Paris is Burning" by Ladyhawke

It was a hot summer night in the city. Clara had accompanied Yusuke to a festival. Young and old, partygoers surrounded them, weaving past. The humid air, the miasma of smells, and the thundering music all blended together into an intoxicating haze for a young girl free of supervision.

Speaking of intoxication, how many beers had Yusuke had? Every time she looked at him, he had a new cup!

"Give me your glass, it's your last. You're too wasted!"

It was ironic, as she was the one to usually have too much at these things. It seemed the tides were turning!

[gyuswhore]

How seventeen would wake you up in the morning

masterlist

Seungcheol: yells. from every corner of the house. gives up when you don't budge after an hour and simply knocks out beside you

Jeonghan: pushes you off the bed after you refuse to get up at his first call. "oops"

Joshua: tries to serenade you awake. has to shake you between verses to get you to actually open your eyes.

Jun: classic wooden spoon to metal pot lid. nearly ends up single.

Soonyoung: raps fergalicious into a karaoke mic

Wonwoo: "it's past noon". its 8 am.

Jihoon: wakes you up suspiciously fresh 6 am. "why're you awake?" "why wouldn't I be its 6 am" he never went to bed

Seokmin: puts his ringer on full blast and lets it bludgeon your eardrums

Mingyu: those vibrating alarms that have you waking up thinking your under attack. he sleeps through the carnage.

Minghao: pulls you to a sitting position before you can even register being conscious.

Seungkwan: his lifelong ambition to hit a G10 begins in the shower. you wish he'd pick something else to do at 5 in the morning.

Vernon: gives up after the second try. confused why your upset when you wake up at 3 pm with a bone to pick with him.

Chan: tries to bribe you with breakfast. physically drags you by the ankles when his patience runs thin.

[vivian-pascal]

Like a Prayer

dbf!joel x f!reader

summary: Since you last saw Joel, he's been on your mind nonstop. You just can't get him out of your head. You miss him, and sure enough he misses you. So, you both plan something and decide to play a little game. (part two to Summer Love)

warnings: age gap, teasing, f!masturbating, dancing, fluff, piv (wrap it up) hand job, lil bit of sub!joel, joel cums fast, fingering, breast play, joel's dirty mouth, bit of feelings, breeding thoughts, lap grinding, description of what reader wears, reader is on birth control, aftercare

"Ugh!" You slam your head against your bedroom door for the five thousandth time today. You just can't take it anymore. He's everywhere. The last time you saw him, you barely got to say good bye to him and you haven't seen him since.

Yes, he texts you, but that only makes it worse. He sends you the most teasing and crude messages that just make you yearn for him harder. It's been horrible, let alone for Joel.

He dreams about you almost every night. The sweet moans you let out for him, the touch of your soft fingertips on his rough body, the way you moved and whispered sighs into his ear.

He is so uncontrollably in love with you. Love? Love is something he'd never be in again. Especially with his best buds daughter, who, not to mention, is at least a good twenty years younger than him.

Your blasting 'As long as you love me' by the backstreet boys on loop and your dad keeps coming upstairs to check on you and see if you're mentally okay.

He cracks open the door and sees you with your forehead resting on the wall and your arms hanging down. "You alright honey?"

You turn your head and nod. You look back down at the ground and sigh loudly. "That doesn't sound like you're okay, sweetie." He walks over to you and turns the volume down on your radio.

You stand up and lift your head from the wall. "What are you doing?" He looks at you with confusion and a sarcastic look on his face. "Turning the volume..down?"

"No, dad, turn it back up." You cross your arms and give him a death stare. He only looks back at you and crosses his arms too. If you want to play, he'll play too. "No."

"And why not?" You quirk your eyebrow waiting for his 'good' reason on why he should turn your music down.

"Because, honey, i've been hearing that song on blast and loop, for the past, let me see." He lifts his arm up and checks his watch. "Two hours, and I can probably sing every single verse to that song. So, I think you should take a break from the music, or play a different tune."

You look at him with shock. How dare he? If he doesn't like The Backstreet Boys or that song, then he can go away. You were doing just fine with that song on blast and loop for the past two hours and he just ruined it.

"Or, I keep the song on, and keep it on blast for another two hours." You give him a sweet smile as you turn the volume back up, grab his arm and lead him to the door, pushing him out and shutting the door in his face.

You smile at your good work and go back to the spot on your wall. Listening to the lyrics and singing them in your head. Dreaming of Joel and only wishing he were here with you right now.

Just as your about to bang your head on the wall for another couple hours, your phone pings and you instantly go over and grab it. It's Joel.

Hey sugar

hi joel

Whatcha up too?

oh, you know, the usual

You set your phone down and plump onto your bed. You haven't seen Joel in so long its making you go insane. When you hear the ping from your phone, you read the message and your face goes red.

Hm, let me think, the usual, as in your knuckles deep in that sweet, creamy pussy thinking about me huh? Oh darlin'. Can't wait to just devour you whole once again, you taste so sweet f'me sugar, man you make me hard.

You slowly put your phone down, grab a pillow, and scream as loud as you possibly can. He can't make this anymore worse for you can he.

You stare at your phone as you rest your head on the pillow. You look at the message and read it over and over again. Your hand slowly tracing circles around your torso and then into the waistband of your underwear.

You circle your clit softly and sigh at the feeling. You imagine Joel as you soak in the feeling of pleasure.

You think back to when he had you pinned against the bathroom door while he shoved his face into your pussy. The feeling of his nose, his mouth, the way his tongue moved so perfectly. The scratch of his beard on your thighs. His hair, tugging it and hearing him groan into your core.

You arch your back as you begin to rub your clit faster. Sticking a finger into your pussy as you whimper at the feeling.

You just wish it were him doing this. His big, calloused hands would run along your beautiful frame, his fingers would go deep into your core and fill you up just right. He'd praise you like no other. Filling your ears with pure filth.

Your mouth goes agape as you come. Imagining Joel on top of you, resting his sweet little head on your shoulder as he pounded you to death.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You remove your hand from your panties and grab your phone.

"Sweetie?" Your dad calls from downstairs. "Yeah dad?" You open the texts from Joel and begin to type one up. "I'm going out with Todd and Jim, I'll be gone for about four hours, we're goin to a bar alright?" You smile cheekishly as you send your message. "Yeah, bye dad have fun! Love you!" You hear the door shut and you smile as fireworks go off in your head.

dads going out, come over now please

Desperate I see, I'm on my way babygirl.

You roll your eyes as you read his message. You get up and look out your window to make sure your dad is really gone. You then go out into your closet and pick your outfit.

You go with a skimpy, white dress that cuts off at the knees and a cute white bow in your hair. You smile as you twirl in the mirror.

You hear a knock on the door and immediately rush downstairs. You quickly make sure your dress looks good and fix your hair as you open the door. And there he is, in all his glory, Joel miller.

You gasp when you see him. It's been so long, too long. He smirks down at you. He's wearing his same old pair of jeans and a flannel.

"Well hello darlin'. Been quite some time." He grins as he sees your flustered state. You look him in the eyes with desperation and grab him by the collar. Pulling him into your face and smashing your lips together.

He stumbles as he walks inside with you and shuts the door. You let go of his lips and release his collar as you start to unbutton it. "Woah, woah, I didn't know you were this desperate hon, I would've come over a whole lot earlier."

You death stare him as you get on your knees and run a hand over his bulge. He groans and closes his eyes at the feeling. You throw off his flannel and unzip his jeans. He takes off his shoes and turns around to put them in the corner, when he looks back, his mouth drops.

Your there, in nothing but the sweet, little bow in your hair and your panties. His jaw tightens as he walks towards you and grabs your hips.

"Well don't you just look so yummy." You giggle as you smirks down at you. You walk over to the couch and grab his hand. He sits down with his legs wide as you sit on top of him.

You run your hands through his hair and mold your lips together. He groans into the kiss as his hands flow down to your waist. You begin to grind against his covered crotch. His hands help you with the motion and he whimpers in your mouth.

You can feel him getting harder and harder by the minute. Your grinding motions quicken as his hands pull you into him faster. "Oh yeah darlin'. Just like that." He rests his head against the back of the pillow as you run your nails along his chest.

He shivers as you get to the waistband of his boxers. Skimming your nails along the soft curls. You carry your hand downward and over his bulge.

He flinches as he watches your movements. You run your nails along his covered length. Feeling his cock through his boxers, running your nails along the veins and tip.

He lifts his hips as a plea to remove his boxers. You only giggle as you keep teasing him. "D-Darlin'" He throws his head back as you grab his shaft through his pants. He whimpers at the feeling and lifts his hips once more.

You give him mercy as you release his cock from his boxers. He groans loudly as he feels your soft hand on his dick. He throws his arms over his eyes as he feels you run your nails along his soft skin.

Precum dribbles from the tip as you circle it with your nail. You admire the way it twitches and leaks for you. You admire how Joel is so desperately trying not to grab you and rail you too death, and how he's just barely holding on because of you.

He moans loudly as you lean down and lick a stripe up his cock. "I can't-" You giggle softly. "Can't what Joel?" You position your covered pussy over his cock and begin to rub against him. His mouth opens as he sees your soaked cunt over his dick.

His thighs begin to tremble as you quicken your pace. His cock twitches and cries under your core. He throws his head back once more and groans. "I'm cumming." He speaks threw gritted teeth. "What Joel?" When you look down at your panties, you soon get your answer. "Oh."

You sit back on his thighs as you watch his cock soften. His face is a flush red as his arms cover his eyes. "Joel did you just die or something."

He lifts his arms from his face and looks down at you. His eyes soften when he sees how absolutely stunning you look right now. He sits up and brings his hand to your face and rubs circles on your cheek with his thumb.

"Probably darlin'." You roll your eyes as he smirks and grabs your hand. He stands up from the couch and picks you up. You wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you upstairs and into your room. "Wait Joel, no-" But before you can say anything else, he's in your room.

"Yes sweetheart?" You grumble as you pick stuff off your floor and throw them into your closet. "Are you seriously cleaning up before we fuck?" He stands there, in your doorway, butt as naked with his arms crossed and a look on his face that says 'you better get your ass on the bed before I make you'

You roll your eyes and throw the stuff on the floor once more. He grins as you crawl onto your bed and lie on your back. He removes your panties as he crawls up your body and kisses your nose. "Baby girl, I don't care if your room is messy."

You giggle as he kisses your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck and through his hair. He deepens the kiss and groans into your mouth. He runs his hand down your body and between your legs.

He slowly circles your clit and you arch you back from the pleasure. You moan into his mouth as he runs a finger through your slit. You kiss his lips harder as he rubs your clit faster.

"Joel." You moan when he inserts a finger into your weeping hole. "I'm here baby, right here." He kisses your neck as his fingers work their magic.

You arch your back as you moan loudly. He feels your juices as you come and groans. "There ya go honey." He brings his hand up from your core and licks it clean. You stare at him with lust and tug his hair as you kiss him once more.

"Ready f'me?" You nod as he lines himself up. That's another thing you love about Joel. He's sweet and will always make sure your okay with something.

You gasp as you feel his cock seethe into you. He rocks his hips forward and you close your eyes.

He kisses along your neck and up to your lips. He groans against your mouth as he thrusts his hips faster. You arch your back as his pelvis knocks into your clit with each thrust.

He runs his hands along your body and rubs your breasts. He rolls your nipple between his fingers and latches his mouth onto your neck as you squeeze his cock.

He kisses and sucks that spot as you arch your back further off the bed. He grunts as he thrusts up and into you faster.

He can tell your close as your moans get louder and your breathing quickens. "Cmon baby, come with me."

You grab his face and collide your lips together as you come. Moaning into his mouth as you feel his thrusts get sloppier as he comes. Filling your pussy with his dripping seed.

His hips come to a stop as he rests his head against your forehead. You open your eyes and see that he's already looking at you.

You stare at his face for a bit. Looking at how beautiful he is. He looks into your eyes with love. He wants to hold you, wants to stay with you forever, he wants to love you. But he can't.

He kisses you once more before getting up and heading to the bathroom, leaving you all alone, for now.

He returns back with his shirt and a soft cloth, this feels all too familiar. Like he'll just clean you up and leave you once more.

You smile as he sits in front of you. You sit up and he taps your knee to spread your legs. Your raise as eyebrow as you do what your told.

His eyes droop as he sees the sight in front of him. Your gorgeous pussy leaking his cum. God, he wonders what you'd look like pregnant. With his baby, that he put into you. No, he shouldn't think like that, you're his best friends daughter after all.

He shakes the thoughts from his head and puts the soft rag against your core. Wiping away his hard work. He throws the rag down and into your hamper as he lifts your arm and puts his shirt on you.

You lift the fabric to your nose and sniff in. You open your eyes and look at him. Oops, you forgot he was here.

He smiles softly down at you and gets up. You follow him as he heads downstairs. He picks up his clothes and puts on his boxers. You don't want him to leave you just yet because you know that right after his shoes are on, he's out the door. So, you come up with an idea.

He pulls his jeans up and then he hears music. He turns around and sees you smiling at him with your finger in your mouth. You walk over to him.

You wrap your arms around his naked shoulders. He chuckles as you begin to sway your hips. "And what's all this darlin'?" You giggle as he steps side to side with you. "Just a little dancing." He smiles sweetly at you.

Like a Prayer by Madonna plays in the background as you both giggle and dance together. He grabs your arm and twirls you around. His hands on your hips as you sway your hips to the beat and he pulls a John Travolta move and you laugh and giggle at him.

You stare up at him as the beat begins to come to an end. You just stare into each others eyes and you want to say it so badly. Want to claw at his chest and make a hole in his heart for you. You want to scream to the whole world that you are so deeply in love with him. Joel Miller.

He stares into your soft eyes. He looks into each one. He would love to just take you back to his house and stay with you forever. He wants to hold you and kiss you and love you till the day you die. But you both know you can't and never will.

The music comes to an end and he stands with you in your empty living room, with no shirt on and his hands on your waist. He leans down and slowly kisses your lips with deep passion and love.

He's never kissed you with such tenderness. When his lips release from yours, you look up at him with tears in your eyes. He smiles down at you and brings his hands to your face. Just say it, just say it, please just say it.

He boops your nose with his finger and goes to grab his shirt but realizes you have it on.

You clear your throat and walk over to he door. He's soon behind you and tugs at the flannel your wearing. "It's alright sugar, you keep it, it's hot out anyways." He smirks at you as you shyly smile up at him.

He walks out the door and waves goodbye. "Bye Joel." You say with sadness as you close the door. You walk back up to your bedroom and shut the door, plunging your face into your pillow and crying your eyes out. You are so so so deeply in love with him and you don't know what to do anymore.

part i part ii part iii

tags!!

@guelyury @livingonthehems @ursagittariusgirlfriend @iamsherloocked @heartpascalispunk

@pinkcrystal44 @amyispxnk @simplewanderer @tupelomiss @heartramen

@kotourasan123 @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @littlevenicebitch69 @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts

@morallyinept @magpiepills @javierpenaispunk @rav3n-pascal22 @yorksgirl

@itsokbbygrl @mountainsandmayhem

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 14 – The One Where They Call It Chaotic but We Call it Predictable

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Yes, I am fully aware my entries have been sparse of late, and, no, I am not planning to stop my general Lukola ramblings any time soon. In fact, once I run out of material, I’ll probably dabble with fan fiction because, meh, why the hell not? Any ways, the reason for my slight absence is that I’ve had a special guest staying at my house – one by the name of “Dad.” Yes, that dapper gentleman has been roosting on my porch for the past few weeks (because that’s the only place I allow him to smoke), drinking an ungodly amount of Coca-Cola and holding my shih tzu like she’s a human baby. He did pry himself away long enough to be my date to see “Wicked” (he loved it, by the way). Oh, and he was obliged to my incessant babblings about Lukola. In fact, he even opened my mind to a few theories of his own and made me laugh hysterically at his reaction to the Jakolas.

It has always been my intention to delve into a certain section of our timeline – the part where Luke seemingly ran off into the Summertime Sunset with his friend group, which included Antonia. That period in time is the cavity of my Lukola table puzzle. The left side isn’t connecting to the right side because there’s this gaping hole in the center called Hot Boy Fucking Summer! Before June 12, things made sense to me. Even with the muck we find ourselves in now, just about everything after July 30 has made sense to me. So, of course, Hot Boy Summer was a topic of discussion with my dad. Actually, it was an “all afternoon” one.

I originally presented the Before, During, and After of Hot Boy Summer in chronological order to my dad only to get blasted with, “Stop doing that shit!” after I mentioned “Bless the Telephone.” His gripe was that – like the Claddagh ring – I had failed to disclose to him information that may alter his opinion about the event for which we were theorizing. Specifically, if I knew that the Claddagh ring preceded June 12 and I knew Nicola’s aptly named “Chaos Week” followed July 30, then disclosing those details to him before asking him to theorize about what happened in between those two dates (i.e., Hot Boy Summer) was necessary and even critical to his final opinion.

I don’t believe there is much explaining to do on the front-end of Hot Boy Summer – at least not to my well-versed Lukolas. We presumably all watched the same World Tour (including that trip over to Galway so Luke could meet Nicola’s mother) and I’ve already discussed the Claddagh ring in Entry 6 of my blog. That leaves us with the tail-end of Luke’s summertime jaunt, which steers us into Chaos Week. For those of you who thought I was going to discuss Hot Boy Summer in this entry, I’m sorry – this one is dedicated to that erratic period of Nicola blowing her war horn, beckoning all Lukolas within a worldwide radius of London to commence at her feet. And, commence we did!

Have you ever heard of “chaos theory?” Broadly speaking, it’s the idea that small changes can result in major changes over time – like cause and effect. That’s kind of how I’ve looked back at Chaos Week. We’d spent most of the summer on one bummer of a vacation, with Luke and Nicola (presumably) spending time apart from one another. Sure, we’d had few fireworks explode here and there with pap pictures, and we saw JVN enter the ring as the fan favorite best friend but, on the surface, Hot Boy Summer was, well, rather static. It had carried on with a monotonous “blip…blip…blip…” until suddenly our radar detected a quiet but distinct “blip-blip,” which didn’t register in any of our minds until we had a torpedo coming straight for us!

I don’t believe we can attribute Chaos Week solely to Nicola. Yes, yes, I know, Nicola’s online presence in early to mid-August was chaotic, hence the name “Chaos Week.” But, I do not believe Nicola started Chaos Week. She sure as shit drove it home but, in my opinion, it wasn’t her actions that set everything in motion. Nicola wasn’t the “blip-blip;” she was the torpedo.

So, what was the “blip-blip?”

Luke returning to London – alone – on August 2, of course.

The friend group, which had included Antonia, was nowhere in sight.

Hot Boy Summer had come to an end (I imagine this to be the reason Nicola started blowing her war horn).

In my opinion, Luke’s return set everything else into motion. He was that second pendulum that caused the first one to spiral out of control.

But, we ate that shit up, didn’t we? Yeah, we sure did, and we loved every day of Chaos Week. What’s funny to me is that everyone remembers bits and pieces of Chaos Week, but they never seem to get it in the right order (how chaotic, right?). This happened, then that happened. No, no, that happened first. No, this happened first. The only way to really look at Chaos Week is to give order to the disorder. And, we’re going to do that via a very generic captain’s log, so…

Welcome aboard!

Mission: Chaos Week

Origin: Somewhere in Mayfair.

Destination: Happily Ever After.

Time of Departure: Fuck, I don’t know. When did you board this ship?

Expected Time of Arrival: Hopefully before we all wither up and die.

Log Entries:

August 2. Luke returned to London alone. Yeah, yeah, I know, I already told you that, but I had to add this:

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August 4. Nicola decided to wake us all up from our somber summer with a plate of French toast. Umm, okay, that’s fucking random. I’m going back to bed – but wait, didn’t Luke say brunch was his “fav meal of the day?” Yeah, I swear I have that polaroid around here somewhere.

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August 7. Luke – after being absent on social media for what seemed like a lifetime – suddenly popped into his Instagram stories to post some delightfully cute Bridgerton Bloopers. The entire fandom rejoiced at Luke’s return to social media! And, let’s be honest, we only cared about the bloopers with Luke and Nicola. Hmm, Luke always has this intriguing, yet subtle way of surprising us. Did you hear that?

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August 7. Shortly after Luke posted his Bridgerton Bloopers, Nicola swooped in and dropped a very loud Wordle anvil on her Instagram stories. <clang!> Was she clocking people for making fake social media accounts using her name? Did she really solve the Wordle in two? Actually, most of us ignored that part of the post entirely and went straight to Mr. Google to ask, “What does ‘anvil’ mean? Okay, how about in the Urban Dictionary?” You know you did, too! In all seriousness, though, when this first dropped, I considered whether she was directing the “anvil” at Luke. After all, let’s face it, Nicola was the one who promoted Bridgerton post-Papsmear while Luke disappeared from the limelight. It’s only natural that she might be a bit peeved at him suddenly promoting Bridgerton. However, in hindsight, I believe this to be nothing more than Nicola calling out the person making fake social media accounts under her name. During this time, there seemed to be an influx of fake social media accounts using Nicola and Luke’s names (Luke would address this same topic on his Instagram stories on August 24). And, as fun as it would be to theorize that the “anvil” was directed at someone (other than Luke, of course), it was, in fact, the Wordle for August 6. That said, I do believe that “Wordle” has become synonymous with “Luke” at this point. So, I’ll give you that.

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August 8. JVN reposted their “[w]hen you catch someone trying to sneak a pic but you were born for these moments” to his Instagram grid. Did you think JVN wasn’t going to be included in Chaos Week?! They produced some of their best shit during this time! Any ways, Nicola liked this grid post, which confirmed my belief that Antonia played some part in the Italy pap pictures (for a full explanation on this, read “Entry 11 – The One About the Heart of the Ocean”). Thanks for the recap, JVN, although most Lukolas probably didn’t need to a reminder as to why they disliked Antonia.

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August 9. Nicola posted the Scrabble board to her Instagram stories. Whoa, hold up, Jakolas! Yeah, we know Jake played Scrabble with Nicola and – guess what – we Lukolas don’t care. I mean, I’ll even throw the Jakolas a small scrap of meat and say that Jake could (emphasis on could) have helpedNicola with the Scrabble board. Why am I being so charitable? Because that just makes me more confident Jake has always supported Lukola. You will not convince me (or probably any Lukola) that this Scrabble board was directed at anyone else but Antonia. In my opinion, there are only two things in this picture that matter – the central word “HEYA,” or “HEY A,” and the Guinness coaster. In fact, if I had been playing on the opposite side of this Scrabble board, I would have challenged this word. That alone says exactly what it needs to say. This is not to dissuade you from theorizing on every other word on that board, though. I’m simply saying I do not need any other evidence to persuade myself into believing the board was directed at Antonia. Now, if you want to take the two corner words and speculate that Nicola was having “SEX” with “DAD,” go right ahead – I won’t argue with you.

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August 10. Nicola posted to her Instagram grid the now-deleted birthday greeting to her friend, Camilla. The caption read, “…Remember the time paparazzi took a picture of us and to protect me you grabbed my face?” If that’s not an indirect jab at Luke’s friend group, I’m not sure what it is because it sure as hell doesn’t scream, “Happy Birthday,” to me.

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August 11. Nicola decided to get out her blow torch and light every beacon fire she could find starting in Bowral and ending in London by posting the “Drink Your Milk” shirt to her Instagram stories. You could practically hear her rallying every last Lukola still standing: “Rise, Lukolas, rise!” In fact, I think some even rose from the dead that day! What was the crisis? Well, only that the “Drink Your Milk” shirt was exactly like the one Luke was seen wearing on or about June 22. Now, now, this was a charity promoted by Jonathan Bailey so it’s entirely possible Nicola was gifted her own shirt. But, guess what? The Lukolas didn’t give a shit! They deep dived into reflections on sunglasses and creases in t-shirt sleeves! And, no, I’m not speculating on that hot mess (if you’re interested in learning more, I promise you there’s plenty of TikToks for that). In truth, it never mattered to me whether the shirt belonged to Luke or not. What mattered was the perception that it was Luke’s shirt. It blew up the Internet and I would stand by my belief that, if the fandom’s perception of something was detrimentally incorrect, Nicola (or Luke) would have corrected it. Nicola did not correct this. And, no, Jakolas, don’t even talk to me about that scrap of green blanket in that picture. I don’t care if Jake played Scrabble with (presumably) Nicola at some point over the summer while sitting outside on a goddamn green blanket. The “Drink Your Milk” post was not a secret coded message to Jake. I would stand on a hill and argue that all afternoon. Why? Because – again – Nicola did not correct the “Luke’s shirt” narrative. She let the fandom run with it. In fact, we all got our own blow torches that day. Mine’s turquoise and engraved with my initials.

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August 12. JVN posted a “Special announcement” to their Instagram grid. Right about now, you might be, like, “What the fuck does this have to do with Chaos Week?” I told you, JVN has this way of slipping shit into to their posts that make you do a double take – usually a day later while you’re daydreaming during your drive to the office. This was one of those posts. The announcement was: “I’ve been waiting for this announcement until after the Paris Olympics had finished, as to not take away from the incredible success of USA Gymnastics…@teamusa has been following my journey and growth as a gymnast and showed up at my house to personally invite me to train to be a potential member of their 2028 team. While I hate taking a slot away from 2028 potentials like @simonebiles & @stephen_nedoroscik (as it appears quite obvious I’ll make whichever team I attempt to)…” What made this post stick out is that it is, in fact, bullshit. As in, it is a completely made-up story. Team USA did not visit JVN at their house; they’re not joining the USA gymnastics team. It’s not even that funny, to be honest. So, what was the point of it? It’s confusing as fuck when you read it at face value; however, when you drop it into the Lukola timeline, I’m convinced it alludes to something bigger. On August 11, we had Nicola posting the “Drink Your Milk” shirt – which sent the fandom into believing Nicola was wearing Luke’s shirt and that Luke’s reflection was in her sunglasses. On August 13, the day after this post, a torpedo was launched at us (warning, warning, anyone got a phone I can use?). When you look at this post as the middle piece connecting Nicola’s August 11 and August 13 posts, I believe it tells a story. Let me rewrite it for you but imagine it now coming from Nicola’s perspective: “I’ve been waiting for this announcement until after the Paris Olympics Hot Boy Summer had finished, as to not take away from the incredible success of USA Gymnastics Luke’s friend group, which included Antonia…Luke @teamusa has been following my journey and growth as a gymnast and showed up at my house to personally invite me to train to be a potential member of their 2028 team [choose your own adventure on this one]. While I hate taking a slot away from 2028 potentials like @simonebiles Antonia & @stephen_nedoroscik Rory (as it appears quite obvious I’ll make whichever team [“girlfriend” or best friend] I attempt to)…” Huh, at the very least, this post is starting to get the side-eye from you, isn’t it?

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August 13. Oh, my God! My hair is on fucking fire!!! Nicola dumped “Bless the [Goddamn] Telephone” on her Instagram stories. Whose voice is nice to hear again? What is she trying to say?! Maybe nothing. No, it’s something. “It’s nice, the way you say my name; not very fast or slow, just soft and low; the same as when you tell me how you feel; I feel the same way, too; I’m very much in love with you. I’m very much in love with you.” I don’t need to elaborate any further on this post. It speaks for itself. Chaos Week had officially launched its massive torpedo (full of firecrackers and pinata candy) and the entire Lukola fandom was hysterical – in the best way possible. However, I will interrupt this happy moment with – Jakolas, please don’t start trying to link this song to Jake because Jack Rooke used it in an episode of “Big Boys.” Yes, we are aware Jake played a minor role in that show as a love interest to the main character, Jack. Again, Nicola did not shut down the fandom’s perception that the song was for Luke. Sorry, not sorry, Jakolas. If any part of Chaos Week was for Jake, I believe Nicola would have shut the entire thing down after realizing the fandom was associating everything with Luke.

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August 15. After giving the fandom 48 hours to process “Bless the Telephone,” Nicola posted to her Instagram grid, “Very demure, very mindful.” In my opinion, Nicola was acknowledging that her recent posts (ahem, “Bless the Telephone”) were intentional, and she was aware of how they were being taken by the fandom (ahem, that they were for Luke).

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August 15. JVN posted to their TikTok account “Slick Back Bun.” Hands down a fan favorite moment with JVN. “Sometimes I just need a very demure slick back bun…I don’t do my slick back bun like all the other girls. Here I’ll show you how to do it…I’m just going to take the hair and twist it around itself, so I just have a little cinnamon roll bun…” Do I need to elaborate on this one? Seriously, do I? Slick back bun – Antonia – yeah, okay, got it, we’re still going knives out on Antonia. If you haven’t watched this, it is still on JVN’s TikTok and Instagram grid. It was clever how “demure” JVN and Nicola were being that day.

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August 16. Nicola posted another song to her Instagram stories. This time it was Clairo’s “Juna.” It was not just a sweet, romantic song; it was full on sexy. “You make me wanna try on feminine; you make me wanna go buy a new dress; you make me wanna slip off a new dress…With you, there’s no pretending.” Alright, alright, enough! Wait – no, no – come back! I didn’t mean it! Please, please bring back your music to Instagram, Nicola!

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At this point, in my opinion, Chaos Week ended; however, I’m going to reference one more log entry mainly because, if I don’t, it will get overlooked in the small gap between Chaos Week and when the Jakolas enter the picture on August 25 (see “Entry 8 – The One About the Adjacent of Convenience” for that side show).

August 22. Nicola posted the picture of Luke and herself from Bridgerton Season 3 to her Instagram grid. And, no, I do not consider this to be a “Polin” picture. The picture appeared to be an alternative version of the polaroid Nicola carried with her throughout the World Tour. She captioned the post, “I thought I’d already shared this but I hadn’t so here you go now it’s all yours.” She also shared this in her stories and captioned that “with the lovliest pal a gal could have” and tagged Luke’s crotch. The story would disappear after 24 hours, but the post itself is still on Nicola’s Instagram grid. This post can be taken in several ways, depending on your mood. Was she friendzoning Luke because she used the word “pal” in her Instagram story? No, I don’t think she was. The “lov[e]liest pal?” That’s about as confusing as their “unique relationship.” Was she telling the fandom to support Luke because she supported Luke (i.e., stop hating on him)? Yeah, probably. Was she telling the fandom that she thought she’d already made it very clear that everything she had been posting was about Luke? Yes, I believe this to be the most reasonable answer, especially when you consider her previous posts. The reality is, that man fills a hefty chunk of her Instagram grid – and not dressed like Colin Bridgerton. But, I also believe that this post may have been a preemptive strike against the narrative that would surface three days later on August 25. It’s entirely possible Nicola knew that the pap pictures of Jake at the festival would be released by DeuxMoi (after all, it took DeuxMois over a week to release them), and Nicola was reminding fans that her narrative involved Luke. Note, that Nicola would repeat this in October when she and Luke simultaneously posted their “Polin” picture to their Instagram stories, which was followed a few days later by DeuxMoi dropping pap pictures of Nicola and Jake.

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Oh, a few honorable mentions post-August 22: (a) Nicola posted a picture from her Stylist Magazine photoshoot – the one from the back seat of a car (i.e., the “modern day carriage”) on August 23; (b) Luke posted about how he only had an Instagram account on August 24; and (c) JVN posted his “two finger” hair straightening demo on TikTok on August 25 (yes, I only listed these honorable mentions to get to JVN’s “two finger” demo because that was some laugh-out-loud funny shit – and it’s literally on the heels of Nicola’s “modern day carriage”).

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August 25. What in the hot fucking kittens is that? Well, thank God, it’s not an iceberg this time. Whoa, they didn’t just pull that Non-Player Character from that group of guys and name a ship after him, did they? Hahaha, dumbasses. Oh, shit! It’s coming straight for us!

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End Log.

Well, how was Chaos Week? Did you have a good time? I’m honestly friggin’ exhausted. Seriously, even just writing all that down was exhausting. Like, my brain is fried. Oh, yeah, feel free to ignore that part at the end of our log. That shit happens every time the Lukolas are given a bit of fun. You’ll get used to it.

I took you on this excursion through Chaos Week today because I believe it is important to develop an opinion about what happened before and after Hot Boy Summer, especially if we’re going to theorize on it at a later point. And, as I mentioned earlier, the before played out in front of our eyes and the after, well, if we have the information available, why not peek in its direction? It’s almost like reading a book from back to front.

There are three things that happened during Chaos Week that have kept my feet firmly planted on the USS Lukola. One, Nicola wearing the “Drink Your Milk” shirt, alluding to the still uncorrected perception that it was Luke’s shirt. Two, “Bless the Telephone.” We started Hot Boy Summer with The Frames singing, “I’m gonna wait for you…” and ended it with Labi Siffre answering, “It’s nice to hear your voice again…” And, three, Nicola posting “Very demure, very mindful,” confirming – in my opinion – that she was very conscious of what her posts were telling the fandom – i.e., that they were for Luke.

But, as I was sitting here typing out my thoughts about Chaos Week, I found myself – oh, no, word vomit! – annoyed.

Yes, annoyed.

It’s not Chaos Week itself that has left me feeling annoyed. That was one hell of a “Bridgerton Ride.” It’s that Chaos Week set in motion this predictable pattern which solidified my opinion that “Lukolas can’t have nice things.” Seriously, we can’t have nice things because something always comes in and fucks it up.

You know how I mentioned at the beginning of this post that Luke’s return to London was the “blip-blip” that led to Chaos Week? Luke was the “cause” and Chaos Week was the “effect.” Well, Chaos Week was the “blip-blip” that led to the current state of the fandom. We now have three ships – the Lukola, the Jakola, and the Lutonia – sailing the Fandom Sea, and every time the Lukola finds itself flying high, it gets hijacked by one or both of those motherfucking side ships.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Somewhere in this hot mess, the chaos that originated from Nicola’s August social media spree found order! In fact, we’ve fallen into such a predictable pattern of events that the ebb and flow of the sideshow antics barely “blip” our radar these days. When bullshit starts bullshitting, I just breathe a deep sigh of unadulterated annoyance and think, “I’m so over this shit.” Honestly, I’m getting the vibe that many of us are over this shit. We’re not playing Scrabble anymore. We’re playing that never-ending game of Risk.

Sometimes I wonder if the fandom would have been better off if Chaos Week had never happened. That Pandora’s Box had never been opened and that the fandom had simply allowed the USS Lukola to sail off into the sunset. But, then I think about the people I have met along the way. The Ones that have made me laugh until my stomach hurts. The Ones with whom I’ve gone so far down a rabbit hole we’ve come out on the other side as different people. The Ones that I’ve rescued from the riptide. And, the Ones that have stopped me from rowing my dinghy to shore (because, yes, I’ve had rough days, too). You all know who you are.

So, I find myself putting up with the day-to-day humdrum of the Life of a Lukola, chatting with the people I now consider my friends, and waiting.

Waiting for something different to happen. A disruption to the current cycle. A new kind of chaos – preferably, the kind that mortally wounds the Jakola and Lutonia love triangles and finally allows the Lukolas to have (and keep) nice things.

But, in the meantime, I am still sitting here – listening for that quiet but distinct sound – but also contemplating knocking the Risk board off the table.

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[harryssyndrome]

Kiwi baby! | h.s 🥝

Summery: Harry’s wife surprises him during Kiwi with the best news ever.

Word count: 3.2k || Masterlist 🍉🍓❤️

The gif and the ai image are both mine! Don’t you dare steal it! I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE EITHER OF THEM OR STEAL MY WORK!!!

On a kind note, I hope you enjoy reading!!! I love this one-shot sm <333 I couldn’t wait to write it the whole night ever since I got the idea. This is probably my most favorite piece of work ever. I guess I’ll make this a part of ‘Our Little World: Documentary series’. REQUEST ARE OPEN! 🌊

Posted on: November 24th, 2024. (IST)

Tag-list: @angeldavis777 @fruity-harry || TAGLIST OPEN 💌

The evening sky above the stadium was painted in deep shades of purple, and the crowd beneath it surged with energy, every soul gathered to see him perform. Harry Styles was in his element, bathed in bright lights, his smile as wide as the stage itself, his voice carrying through the open air. The music was loud, vibrant, and electric—Kiwi blasting through the speakers as Harry moved across the stage, every step laced with the confidence and excitement that only live performances could stir.

His outfit tonight was nothing short of breathtaking—a red and black Gucci harlequin-patterned suit that shimmered under the lights, accentuating his every movement. The slickness of his hair, now a little longer than usual, fell just enough to brush his forehead as he swung his body to the rhythm of the song. Fans were ecstatic, their voices harmonizing with his in perfect unity, shouting the words to Kiwi as if their very existence depended on it.

The crowd threw water at him, a playful and typical reaction to the intense heat of the show. Harry, ever the entertainer, caught one of the bottles and used it to douse them back with a mischievous grin. The energy was alive in a way only concerts could make him feel. He laughed along with his fans, feeling that familiar thrill that had kept him addicted to this life—the adoration of strangers, the pulse of the music, and the sheer joy of performing.

But amidst the buzz of lights, the sweat dripping from his skin, and the joy in the air, there was a quiet thought that kept tugging at him. YN. His wife. She wasn’t in the VIP stand like usual. He could always rely on her to be there, her smile always radiating at him from the crowd, her presence a constant comfort. But tonight, the spot where she always stood was empty. The concern he tried to shake off kept creeping into his mind, distracting him in the back of his head, even as his heart continued to race with excitement from the show.

He couldn’t help but glance over to the section where she usually sat, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face, knowing it would soothe the small, gnawing worry he felt. But the space remained empty.

His foot tapped the beat of the song beneath him, trying to focus on the crowd once more. He tossed the water bottle at the fans, his fingers brushing the cold plastic. The adrenaline kept him high, kept him in the moment, but his gaze drifted again.

Where was she?

YN had been a little quieter than usual in the past few days. He hadn’t pushed for any answers, but now he found himself wondering if something was wrong. Maybe she was feeling unwell. Maybe she just wanted to have a quiet night in. Still, the thought of not seeing her there tonight gnawed at him.

His voice still rang out with the words of the song, but his mind was divided between the stage and the empty stand. He kept looking—one eye on the crowd, the other scanning for her. And just as his next verse was coming up, he saw it.

There she was.

Right in the front row—so close to the barricade, she was almost on the stage.

His breath caught in his throat.

She wasn’t in the VIP section. No, she was right there. In the heart of the crowd. The waves of people parted like the Red Sea for her, and there she stood—holding a sign. Her figure illuminated by the stage lights, her long hair falling in waves over her shoulders, a look of pure joy and love in her eyes.

For a moment, everything else fell away—the music, the fans, the lights—all of it was distant. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of her. The sign she held was simple, but to him, it was everything.

“I’m having your baby” it read, scrawled across a bright poster board in bold, handwritten letters.

He froze. His heart nearly stopped.

She’s pregnant.

He blinked, thinking he must be imagining it, but no—she was smiling at him now, holding up the sign for him to see, her eyes locked on his. There was no mistaking it. YN—his wife—was carrying their baby.

Harry’s pulse raced as the flood of emotions hit him. His heart thudded against his chest like it wanted to burst free. The happiness, the disbelief, the excitement—it all rushed through him like a tidal wave, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt beneath his feet.

He had wanted this. He had dreamed of this. Of being a father. Of having a child with YN. They had talked about it before, casually, in quiet moments after dinner, while walking through the park, in bed at night. But it had never been a “right now” kind of conversation. They had agreed that when it happened, it happened. And now… it had happened.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and his throat tightened. The emotions, overwhelming and beautiful, blurred his vision, but all he could do was stand there on the stage, dumbstruck by the sight of his wife, her belly now holding the future they had always dreamed of.

In a rush of pure joy, Harry stumbled forward, intent on reaching her, to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her how much he loved her. But as he took a step toward her, he didn’t see the puddle of water gathering at the edge of the stage, a result of the fans tossing their bottles earlier.

And then, it happened.

His foot slipped.

There was a split second of disbelief before Harry lost his footing completely, crashing down to the stage in an ungraceful heap. The crowd gasped collectively, their moment of joy paused in shock. But Harry, ever the professional, couldn’t help but laugh at himself. His laughter echoed through the microphone as he quickly scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, still chuckling as he shook off the fall. The fans laughed along with him, the tension breaking as they cheered even louder, impressed by his quick recovery. Harry took a deep breath, regaining his balance and composure. He grabbed the microphone again, still laughing, and gave the crowd a playful wink.

“You okay, Harry?” someone from the crew called out, teasing him from the side.

“Yeah, I’m good! Just a little slippery, that’s all!” Harry replied, still grinning.

His gaze immediately returned to YN. She was still standing at the barricade, her sign still held high, her face alight with joy, her smile as radiant as the sun. It was in that moment that Harry realized he couldn’t wait any longer. The song was still playing behind him, the familiar rhythm pulsing through his body, but he couldn’t focus on the lyrics anymore. Not with the overwhelming emotions flooding his heart.

He took a step forward, slowly walking toward the edge of the stage, his eyes still locked on YN, who was holding his gaze with the same intensity. With each step, his heart pounded harder in his chest.

And before he even knew it, his knees buckled beneath him, and Harry collapsed to the stage once more, but this time, it was with pure emotion.

He covered his face with his hands, unable to contain the tears that had begun to fall freely down his cheeks. After a few moments, Harry wiped his eyes, clearing the tears away as he stood up once more. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke into the mic, his words trembling with happiness:

“My wife is having my baby!” he shouted, his voice trembling. “It’s all my business!”

The crowd erupted in pure, ecstatic noise, the roar of the fans filling the stadium as Harry remained on his knees, the overwhelming weight of the moment too much to bear. His chest was heaving, his body shaking as the reality of the news consumed him.

“Is that real?” a fan shouted.

“Yes, it’s real!” Harry replied, laughing through his tears. “I’m going to be a dad! A dad!” He repeated the words as if he needed to hear them again, the joy overwhelming every part of him.

The fans roared in approval, the noise a chaotic symphony of celebration. But Harry didn’t care about any of that now. He didn’t care about the performance or the crowd or the cameras recording every moment. All he could think about was YN.

His mind was consumed by thoughts of the future—the life they would build together, the family they would raise. He quickly stood to his feet, wiping his eyes, and glanced once more at YN.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Harry dropped the mic to the stage and sprinted toward the barricade, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Harry could feel the heat of the stage lights burning against his skin, but they didn’t matter. The noise of the crowd was deafening, but it was like a distant hum. His heart was the loudest thing he could hear, thrumming in his chest, pumping through his veins with an almost frantic rhythm. His legs carried him toward YN like they had a mind of their own. He was driven by a force he couldn’t describe, propelled by the overwhelming joy of the moment.

Fans parted for him as he made his way to the front of the stage, their cheers rising to a fever pitch as they realized what was happening. Harry didn’t hear their excitement—he only heard the steady beat of his heart, louder now than the music, than anything else in the world.

YN. His wife. The love of his life. The mother of his child.

As he approached the barricades, YN’s smile never wavered. She was grinning from ear to ear, her eyes shining with excitement, her hand placed lovingly over her flat belly. As soon as Harry reached her, he lifted her into his arms, spinning her around in a joyous embrace, laughing like a child. The crowd cheered even louder, their love for Harry and YN growing with every passing second.

She had always known that he wanted this more than anything. They both had. But now it was real. She was carrying their baby, and everything about their lives was about to change.

“YNN…” Harry’s voice caught in his throat as he reached her. He placed her back on the ground, eyes never leaving hers. She was glowing—absolutely radiant in the soft light of the stage, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh as his arms reached out to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. The crowd cheered louder, but Harry only had eyes for YN, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

“I love you,” Harry whispered into her ear, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents.”

YN pulled back slightly to look at him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart under her fingers. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her smile wide and full of joy, matching his own. “I know. I can’t believe it either,” she whispered, voice trembling just slightly. “I wanted to tell you in the cutest way possible, but you’ve already made it the most unforgettable moment of my life.”

Harry’s breath caught again, a lump forming in his throat as he looked down at her belly, still so small but already holding the life they had created together. His hands rested gently on her sides as he crouched down slightly, his eyes never leaving her. He placed his lips softly on her stomach, his kiss a promise—a vow. The fans around them cheered again, but this time, it was just background noise to Harry.

“I’m going to be the best dad for you,” Harry muttered against her belly, his voice filled with awe. “I promise.”

YN’s fingers threaded through his hair as she smiled down at him, her heart swelling with love. “I know you will be. I’ve always known,” she whispered, her voice full of faith and affection.

“You’re going to be the best dad our baby could ever ask for.”

As Harry pulled back from the kiss, he stood to his full height and stared at YN, his hands still resting on her waist, his expression filled with wonder. His lips curled into a grin, and he couldn’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before meeting her eyes once more.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as if the words didn’t fully make sense to him yet. But the more he said them, the more real it became. “You and me. We’re going to have a little baby.”

YN’s eyes sparkled, the tears now freely falling down her cheeks. She looked at him with a mix of love, gratitude, and joy. She reached up to touch his face, her thumb brushing gently against the stubble on his jaw. “It’s happening, Harry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s happening.”

Harry smiled wider, and without thinking, he reached down, cupping her face with both hands. He kissed her then—slow, gentle, tender—a kiss that held all of his joy, his love, his gratitude, his hope for their future. This was more than a kiss; it was a promise, a symbol of everything they were about to become. Harry pulled away slowly, his forehead resting against hers as they both tried to catch their breath.

“I can’t wait,” Harry murmured, his lips still grazing hers as he spoke. “I can’t wait to hold our baby. To be there for you. For everything.”

The love in his voice was enough to make YN’s heart swell to bursting. He kissed her again, softer this time, and then looked back at the crowd.

Harry wrapped her in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around again as he laughed.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

YN laughed, her fingers threading through his damp curls. “I love you too. Always.”

Harry set her down gently, his hands never leaving her as he looked into her eyes. “You’re my everything, YNN. You and this baby—you’re everything.”

Tears slid down YN’s cheeks, and she nodded, her heart full. “And you’re ours.”

Harry dropped to his knees once more, pressing his lips to her stomach in a gesture so tender it made YN’s breath catch.

“Thank you for making my life so much beautiful,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I’ll love this baby with everything I’ve got. And I’ll love you even more.”

YN’s hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers squeezing gently. “You already are, Harry.”

The evening continued around them, but for Harry and YN, time seemed to slow. The music had become a distant hum, the chatter of the fans a soft murmur in the background. All that mattered was each other.

As they stood at the barricades, Harry reached up to take YN’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. He leaned in once more, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and slow, as if savoring every moment, every sensation. His heart felt full to bursting. He had everything he had ever wanted—YN, their love, and now, the promise of their baby.

He felt as if his entire life had led up to this point—this single, beautiful moment. The rush of emotions from earlier hadn’t yet subsided, but now there was a calmness in him, a peace. He smiled as he looked down at YN’s hand in his, then back into her eyes.

“I know we’ve been through so much already,” Harry said quietly, his voice full of emotion. “But I feel like the best part of our journey is just beginning.”

YN nodded, her smile soft and full of love. “I feel the same way.”

Harry squeezed her hand once more, then stepped back slightly, turning his attention back to the crowd. “I’m going to be a dad,” he said out loud, his voice full of awe and happiness. He turned to face the audience, the microphone still lying on the stage. “Everyone, this is the best moment of my life,” he said, his voice carrying the emotion of the words. “My wife, YN, is having my baby.”

The moment was surreal. The fans were still screaming, the cameras still rolling, but none of it mattered. For Harry, nothing would ever top this moment. It wasn’t just another performance or another stage—it was the night his greatest dream began to come true.

As they stood there together, the crowd began to chant, “Baby Styles! Baby Styles!”

Harry threw his head back in laughter, turning to wave at the audience. “You lot are mad!” he called out, but his face said it all—he was over the moon.

The crowd continued on cheering wildly, but Harry’s focus was on the woman in front of him. She was glowing, every inch of her radiating love and joy, and he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive.

He leaned in to kiss her once more, this time a gentle, loving kiss on her lips. He felt everything he had ever hoped for in that kiss—his future, his family, and the love of his life, all wrapped up in one perfect moment.

As the kiss ended, he pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” YN whispered back.

They stood there for a moment longer, the world around them continuing on, but nothing mattered now but each other, and the new life they were about to bring into the world. Together.

The fans’ cheers faded into the background as Harry held YN’s hand tightly, the two of them standing side by side, facing the future with all the love and hope that their hearts could hold.

Harry stood up and kissed her again, his heart still racing, his mind still in a daze, but in the best way possible. His dream of being a dad was coming true, and no matter what came next, he knew he had everything he ever needed right here, in this moment. He knew one thing for sure: their love was only just beginning

And with that, Harry Styles was no longer just a rock star on stage—he was going to be a dad, and that was the greatest role he’d ever play.

[positivelybeastly]

"I could be working on a children's toy, and I'd still want to lock it up if a known malcontent happened to be sneaking about, masking his scent so that I didn't hear him approach." Hank gives the smirking youth an arch eyebrow at that, almost daring him to contest the point.

"Unless you want to try and tell me that you were in full stealth mode because you merely wanted it to be a delightful surprise when you popped back up, like a particularly bad penny?" Oh, but he was being cutting today. Had Raze earned all of this opprobrium, truly?

. . . Yes.

Rolling his eyes at the pointed scan of his body, Hank made a show of locking his computer screen and crossing his arms so that he could deny the younger man at least part of his body to ogle. Sometimes, he really did regret the decision to go without clothing.

"I was not offering, as it happens. I think it's no coincidence that my older self appears to be ever so slightly frayed at the edges and under your proverbial thumb. I've no doubt the two facts are linked. Unless you're inclined to disabuse me of that notion?"

“So idle you gotta lock it up,” Raze smirked. Would it have been polite to pretend not to notice Hank sneaking? Sure. But hey. The shifter wasn’t very polite.

“If you’re offering, I definitely wouldn’t be opposed," Raze cocked his head and bit his lip, perusing Hank's body slowly. "There's nothing wrong with him being an older model. Wouldn’t be a matter of replacement.”

Which sounded like he was collecting them. Oops. Oops? That sounded like a nice idea, actually.

[deadsetobsessions]

Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

F

E

L

L.

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

[littyhoney]

Right Person,Wrong Time. (part 2)

BIG SPOILER WARNING TO ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE!!

Earth 42 Miles Morales x Reader

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

Chapter summary: It has been a year and Miles can’t seem to move on from Gwen…how much longer can you take for always be in the dark? But little did you know someone is waiting in the dark for you..

Warning: Spoilers for the movie Across the Spider-verse, long chapter,heavy Angst

p/s: if some of you are confuse if this is Miles 1610 fic or Miles 42 its Miles 42 but the chapters are for build ups for extra pain hehe enjoy! also i try my best to make it gender neutral <3

You walk through the sidewalk making your way to Miles apartment with bluetooth headphones on both of your hand in your pockets of your hoodie to keep you warm from the chilling air, In your ears is blasting a music from the Weeknd-Call out my name.

It has been a year…for that whole year you have been there for Miles again and again and again… and every single time you fail to win Miles over. You been very vague of your feeling towards Miles but the boy seems to be too focus on someone else..Gwen Stacy. You have try to let him know that you’re there! Not her,whenever he is down you’re there to comfort him,not Gwen. Whenever he is in trouble you would cover for him, you become so selfless over him not wanting to see him get hurt..but who will care for you? Protect you? You just don’t know…

You walk over the steps leading up to the Morales front door and knock on it as you pull your headphones off. You hear the door unlock and open for you to see Mrs Morales “Hey mama Rio,is Miles here? He didn’t answer his phone”

“Really? Oh well he is in his room, come in dear its cold outside”The woman smiles as she close the door behind you  as you walk in, clearly you know where miles get such a warm smile from “Thanks Mama Rio”you smile at the woman taking your hoodie off.

“Oh dear I almost forgot that we be making a party up at the rooftop,its uh a celebration for Jeff becoming the next captain”You look at her with a big smile before let out a chuckle, you knew that Jeff is a good cop who always keeping the city safe “Congrats! Wow! Uh il make sure to come by the party, thanks for the invite Mama Rio”you walk towards Miles door “Anytime dear”the woman speaks before focus back to her Tv show.

You knock on the door to Miles room before a muffle come in speaks from inside the room,you open the door and lean on the door frame with a small smirk “Sup coco head”looking at Miles who is sitting at his desk with his headphones on.

Miles yelp when he turn around to see you by the door before he rip his headphones off his head turning towards you “Geez (N/n) I though you were my mom” Miles sigh before he slump back on his seat “Wait why are you here?”he tilt his head looking at you.

You sigh as you drop your head before push yourself up from the door frame walking towards Miles and pull out your phone showing him the miss calls and unread messages "You promise to hang out today at the park,remember? you told me over the phone yesterday for basketball?”you feel slightly annoyed now knowing he keeps forgetting his promises these past months but you still have sympathy over him,since he been over his head lately.

Miles sit up straigh before looking up at you,guilt drawn all over his face “I-Im sorry man I forgot it’s just ‘sigh’ a lot of things have been going on in my head lately”

“oh,what happened? don’t tell me you got in trouble again Miles”you said with a slight frown drawn on your face looking down at him. Miles head snap back to you shaking his head “noo nono”he laugh nervously as he try to convinve you,clearly he is in trouble.

“Miles..”you look at him squinting your eyes at him frow drawn on your eyebrows. Miles sigh defeated before he held his head in his hand on the table “I uhh..okay..the principal wants to see me and my parents tomorrow..”

You look at him in shock before you held your hand on your waist “But I though you aced the exam Miles,are the notes from me and Ganke not enough to cover it??” you ask him,still in disbelief. Since both of you are busy going in and out of the class for emergency moments,both of you mostly rely on notes to pass the exam,you mostly write your own notes but Miles always share Ganke’s notes with you.

Miles shake his head before leaning back on the chair “I don’t know (Y/n) clearly something is up and right now im in..shambles man. Nothing makes sense to me anymore,after wearing that mask everything is just on my shoulder”the boy is clearly burned out by all of his responsibilities..being a son,a student and a hero. He seems to think that everything and everyone relys on him while he can’t rely on anyone…but how wrong is he.

You shake your head slightly,moving near him as you lean on the chair looking down at him “Miles…youre not alone in this,I know that being a hero is such a big responsibility but…im here for you man”your eyes soften “You can rely on me anytime Miles…heck if you want I can do the patrol stuff for a week if you ask me to man” you let out a chuckle,this boy really have a soft spot on you.

Miles shake his head his face still frowning before he says “But you’re not her (Y/N), you’re...not Gwen”he look up at you.

You look at him…blink a few times letting his words sink in to you,you move yourself away from him,walking backwards before a soft chuckle escape your lips “are you for real Miles..? Gwen?”your brows frown mouth agape not believing what you just have heard..

Miles begin to talk again but you quickly cut him off “No man I heh…well she’s not here is she? Im here for you Miles,from the beginning to hear your problems a-and to cover your freaking ass everytime man..”your voice cracked as you try to talk out through the choking “im the one who is taking hits for you,the one who always have to sit there listening you calling for someone who is not here”you hiss out the word at him..tears building up making everything you see is blurry but you blink away the tears as much as you can..

“Youre not the only one who wears the mask Miles,but I put you above myself everytime so that I know you’re okay…but you’re here telling me that you want someone else to stand here….am I not enough for you Miles?”you point to yourself,your heart cracks at every sob that you try to surpress.

“(N/n) I..”Miles stand up trying to reach for your arm but you held out your hand stopping him. You rub your nose with your other hand letting out a sniff before your cracked voice speaks “No..no Miles..im just gonna go…tell your dad I said congrats”you said as you walk out of his room taking your hoodie that you put on the hanger walking out of the main door and close it.… you lean your back on the door as you finally let the tears running down your cheek…

To be continued.

(Woah what a chapter huh,part 3 soon..)

Tags:

@usernamepassowrd-blog @marimo331 @rinouko @chims-kookies

@rinisfruity14 @gasoline-eater @bath1lda @kiranishi @blep24

@dani111

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Sister Ray In The 70s

Something special to close out the year — SISTER RAY IN THE 70s! This custom-made Doom & Gloom compilation gathers together a whole lot of "Sister Ray," as performed by Lou Reed and his various bands between 1972 and 1980. One hour, 47 minutes. More ding-dongs than Hostess. Would make a great quadruple LP bootleg, if you ask me.

Everyone’s favorite transgressive-in-many-more-ways-than-one Velvet Underground epic wasn't exactly a standard during this time. But when Lou wanted to let everyone (including himself) off the leash for a bit, he'd break "Sister Ray" out as a vehicle for some unholy/unhinged jams/vamps/raveups ... and judging by what we've got here, he really enjoyed doing so. This is gnarly stuff, shameless, harrowing and totally fun. Not for the faint of heart — but none of you are faint of heart, right?!

"Sister Ray" (Leicester University, Oct. 14, 1972)

A roar rises up from the crowd when Lou announces: "This is the sad, sad story of Sister Ray." With the Tots grooving behind him, it starts off in a mellow mode — which is good, because it allows Lou to really sing, making sure to annunciate every nasty lyric. Soon, everyone’s cooking (for the down five).

"Sister Ray" (Kansas City, May 2, 1973)

The short-lived Moogy Klingman-led lineup gives "Sister Ray" a cartoony, streetwalking funk strut, hooting and hollering behind Lou. Extra props to the drummer (known only as Chocolate), who taps out the appropriate beat during the "Who is that knocking?" section. "RIGHT!!!!" Lou exclaims approvingly.

"Sister Ray" (Buffalo, Dec. 8, 1973)

As far as I know, this is the only recording of the Rock & Roll Animal band tackling "Sister Ray," but it's a 20+-minute doozy. Of course, it takes about 10 minutes for Lou to enter the scene — lord only knows what he was getting up to backstage. Despite a wonky mix that occasionally is overtaken by pummeling drums and bass, it's a vicious listen. I like that it all comes to a pretty definitive conclusion before Lou realizes he hasn't sung the concluding verse and revs things for a final ride ride.

"Sister Ray" (Stockholm, May 14, 1974)

This one starts at a blinding white light/white heat pace, everyone riding a locked-groove riff for as long as they can. Guitarist Danny Weis is off the chain here, reveling in both chicken scratch funk and insane feedback. Lou's tambourine accents make me think of On The Corner's infernal sleigh bells, and his "CooooouLLLLDDDNnnnnt hiiiiIIIIIIIIITTTTTttttt iiiIIIIITTTTTtttttt siiiiiIIIIIIIIIdewaaaaaayyyys" vocalizations towards the end are wicked.

"Sister Ray" (Boston, October 29, 1976)

Lou had Doug Yule, an actual member of the Velvet Underground, in his band in 1975, but for some reason, "Sister Ray" wasn't played that year. But she was back in action in '76 — and in Boston, we get to hear a key "Ray" ingredient we haven't heard much of so far: Lou's skronked out guitar work. It's as if he walked past the old Boston Tea Party on the Fenway that afternoon and thought, "Ohhhh yeah, I used to really shred!" And shred he does, dueling mightily and furiously with sax man Marty Fogel. I'll also recommend this video of "Sister Ray" from a week later, which doesn't feature any six-string pyrotechnics but is awesome nonetheless.

"Sister Ray" (Lund, March 26, 1977)

With Michael Fonfara's icy electric keys mixed way up and Michael Suchorsky's locked-in drums, this almost sounds more like "Kicks" than "Sister Ray." I think that's Lou on distorto guitar there at the beginning, but he mainly focuses on delivering his whiplash vocals as the song progresses. Fogel starts to get pretty loose towards the middle, though I wish he'd cut loose even more — and I definitely wish there was a tape of Don Cherry sitting in on "Sister Ray" from around this era! The car crash ending is a blast, too.

"Sister Ray" (New York City, May 21, 1978)

"Sister Ray" takes no prisoners! This one from one of the many Bottom Line sets Lou and the Everyman Band played in 1978 is a tense slow-burner, sometimes dropping down to a whisper, Lou adding profane/profound asides and stopping to tell an old Warhol story. "Andy said, 'Make sure you do the song that's got suckin' on my ding-dong on it.' I said, 'Oh, why? Social commentary?'" Also fun: the band seems to be having a long disagreement about where the changes of this three-chord boogie are. Come on, Moose! (Sadly, this is one of the more lo-fi documents included here — where, oh where, is my Take No Prisoners: The Complete Recordings boxed set?!)

"Sister Ray" (London, April 10, 1979)

One of the weirder "Sister Ray"s I've come across — though that might be partly the fault of the cavernous acoustics we're dealing with. There's a long solo guitar extravaganza (Chuck Hammer, I presume?) to kick things off, and then a monomaniacal/mechanical beat from Suchorsky, the crowd clapping along, Lou hollering over the top; it almost has a Suicide vibe? Then there's a terrifying drone-metal dirge coda ... Chaos! But that's what "Sister Ray" is all about, right?

"Sister Ray" (Avellino, June 16, 1980)

Lou's insane 1970s had ended and the sober 1980s loomed (Loum-ed?) before him. But he wasn't done with "Sister Ray." Or maybe "Sister Ray" wasn't done with him. Fittingly, this version feels a little bit exhausted, some flop-sweat, some out-of-gas fumes. "Give me some rhythm — FUCK!" Lou yells at the gang early on. But it still rocks, don't worry. My favorite part is Fonfara's wildly inappropriate synth solo. Mainline located!

📷: Lars Jonsson, Copenhagen May 1974 (via weaponsetc)