#also i have not tried cinnamon on popcorn before!

[iturbide]

I really wish the fell dragon case was real because it would interesting to see them debate it. One's using it as a personal title and the other is a species name and Sothis is handing out popcorn and I want some (has anyone ever put cinnamon on popcorn? That's really good) And I do hope Sombron loses but I still wanna see it. (And also the kicking outside the courtroom) This has been so entertaining.

Honestly if I had the brainpower I'd consider writing it out and turning it into an actual thing (visual or otherwise) -- but I have learned from experience trying to plot out another AA case for a fic I want to write someday that it takes a ludicrous amount of time, care, and effort to figure out evidence, witnesses and testimony, cross-examinations, and so on -- and that's before throwing it into the Great Ace Attorney System with the damn jury (which, for the record, I hated in the first game but found...at least slightly less frustrating in the second game, possibly because I was generally enjoying myself more with that one).

I can't even convince myself to keep plotting out notes for my prospective NaNo project, let alone pick up some of the old lightweight stuff I have lying around like Golden Attempt. As much as I would love to make this real, I just don't think I can pull it off.

(Which is to say: if someone wants to adopt a case, it's yours for the taking!)

[pray4saint]

hiii! can i get a tall latte with a dash of cinnamon and a donut? 🍩💖

fluffy conversations & nonsense arguments with sapnap

masterlist & descrip. pg. 13+. fluff.

a/n. ofc arissa, my favourite repeat reader 🙄🫶🏽

prompts. ”okay, mom.” / ”what are you doing?” / ”i don't deserve you.”

when you're shopping for snacks for a movie night..

you walk in front of your boyfriend, pacing faster than him. he's got a basket in hand currently filled with ice cream and energy drinks and sodas and your favourite candies. also popcorn, of course, it's movie night after all.

you stop in front of the cookies section, eyes scanning the shelves up and down. sapnap stops just behind you and sets the basket down on the ground. ”you know, the originals are always the best.” you smile at his words. ”yeah but, sometimes..” you reach for a different flavour of your favourite cookie brand. ”sometimes i crave something a little different.”

when you're getting ready to leave for a walk..

the weather had turned, but sapnap was still determined to get out of the house with you, even if it was just for a short walk outside.

you checked your phone after you'd gotten your shoes on while your boyfriend reached for a jacket.

”babe, bring an extra jacket, it's cold outside.” he looked at you and tilted his head, before reaching for another jacket. ”okay, mom.” you let your jaw fall slack at his words and you let out a gasp. ”i hope the cold air makes you horribly sick.” sap burst out laughing as he turned the door handle, motioning you out ahead of him.

when you're both sick..

despite the fact that both you and your boyfriend felt like shit, you still insisted on taking care of everything. the only help you accepted from dream or george was socialisation and taking things to sapnap from where ever you'd prepared them.

this time, neither of sapnap's roommates were home and it was your job to bring him soup. the steam rising from the bowl made you sniffle, your sinuses weren't clearing up and after all the vix you'd used you really hoped they would've cleared. ”you know you don't have to do this f'me, right?” he hesitantly takes the bowl from you and sets it in his lap, phone tossed to the side.

”yeah i know, but i enjoy helping you.” you give him a lopsided smile, and you start to feel an oncoming sneeze so you turn away, face in your arm. achoo! the warmth of your boyfriend's hand on your back makes you turn back to him, face dusted pink all over, a sign of your cold. ”i don't deserve you peach.”

”yes you do, now eat the soup, i'm going to run a bath for myself, you're welcome to join when you're done sicky.” he smiles at you, and then he runs into a coughing fit. ”i'll grab you cough drops and make more tea first.”

when you first tried cooking in his home..

sapnap figured it was just clay cooking at first, so he didn't get up from his spot in his bed. he knew you were over, but you'd only told him you were hungry and then you got up. when he looked up from his phone to see clay standing in the doorway, he was surprised. ”what are you making?” he'd asked before clay could say anything. ”what? i'm not cooking anything.”

”then who's–” clay shrugged, and the together the pair left his room, heading for the kitchen. it would've been strange for george to be cooking. he never cooked.

the only thing stranger than seeing george cooking was the sight before your boyfriend and his roommate. you were humming along to some random tune, kind of swaying around the kitchen as you moved, mixing ingredients into bowls and moving things into the sink and the oven. ”hey peach. what're you doin'?” you froze in your tracks. you turned to look at sap and clay. ”uh, just thought i'd make a little somethin'.” you sounded so nonchalant but the mess around you was anything but. ”y/n uh-” clay scratched at the back of his neck. ”darlin' this doesn't look like a little something.” you looked around the kitchen and laughed. ”i guess you're right.”

pray4saint© do not copy, translate or repost my work without my express permission.

[bravevolunteer]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒; 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋: fox... unsurprisingly— beyond using the mask as a scare tactic, foxy was genuinely his favorite animatronic ( and if i'm self-indulgent, couuulddd have been inspired by him, but- ) and he's always like the animal itself. was probably also that kid who thought wolves were cool as hell ngl HGFHDHG

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑: i don't even think he knows this but he'd like before the storm irises and bat flowers ( emo ass )

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓: firewood, gasoline, the air after it rains

𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐄: he's not that picky honestly— will not hesitate to drink black if need be/he just cannot be bothered to do anything else, but he'll usually have it with a simple milk and sugar. will also sometimes just get straight up espresso shots.

𝐓𝐄𝐀: doesn't really drink tea, if he does he'd probably go for something spiced, like a cinnamon type. maybe with honey because it reminds him of what his mom would make when he got sick but that's embarrassing JHDFGHJKK

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊: ... he was probably an energy drink guy ESPECIALLY in his teens, okay battery acid

𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄: again, not picky— he can stomach pretty much anything: beers, shots, mixed drinks, whatever. he can sometimes be put off by the smell of whiskeys, but he can stomach it fine, with that said he was for sure a fireball guy lmao

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃: ... so i've already talked about how he doesn't have the BEST diet, it's a good day if he cooks himself a real meal period. definitely gets a lot of takeout, but also he's content if he makes himself a good sandwich... any meals that remind him of better times when he was a kid is when he has a preference for homecooked

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓: ... this might be more of a snack but of course my instinct is to say popcorn. it's a comfort after horrible shifts when he can still eat okay HGFKGF he's also a cookie guy i think, cupcakes and ice cream Not Allowed

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆: when he's younger? for sure his stupid "tank tops" aka shirts with the sleeves he cut off himself— he thought he looked cool. into adulthood he does keep a leather jacket that he really likes. bonus: he ALSO likes his piercings and a couple rings as accessories

𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃: left handed, tried to train himself to be ambidextrous as a kid because he got frustrated over smudging paper and failed ( pov william, probably Could teach himself if he hasn't already, finds this really funny )

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆: mostly neat! it's not perfect or anything and can be a little scrawly but it's very readable

𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄: messy... always had a pretty messy room as a kid / teenager, and while he DOES try to put some effort in occasionally.... he is depressed AND lives alone ( in complete isolation post scooping ), he doesn't really have much motivating him to keep his place clean. if he's living with someone, he will try more, but old habits die hard

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: the thing about this is it's assuming he has a schedule like a normal person LMAO— he does struggle with the drive to do so making that already the first factor to handle. when he doesn't work night shifts, he'd usually shower at night. when he does, his regular system will be get home, either pass out or Sit And Deal With That, and THEN shower bc ew gross yucky restaurant.... so that would make it more like afternoon i guess!

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄: quality time and acts of service— he is so prone to isolation and self sabotage that allowing himself to spend that meaningful time with someone is not only what he needs and won't let himself have, but a display of how much he cares for that person. michael's never been good at verbal communication, so he will tend to show his love through actions: doing things for others, defending/protecting them, helping instead of hurting. as for receiving? of course all options good but he is especially deprived of words of affirmation and physical touch ( though this very much hinges on comfort levels )

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: no— he has with struggled concepts related to fate and inherent qualities, but that's more in the personal sense, he's not interested in the idea of love at first sight. has everything to do with the fact that the idea of someone seeing the worst parts of him and loving him anyway appeals to him.

TAGGED BY: @moondevours TAGGING: steal from me i am so tired

[boy-in-a-flower-crown]

notable people from my seven months of working the graveyard shift

- the regular who came in every day before 5 am to buy at least two lottery tickets and two scratch tickets

   - on one occasion he came in while I was mopping the floor and he couldn't see me and i yelled "hi!" and he responded with "i wish I was"

- the surprisingly well dressed but still very exasperated man who came in at about three am asking for coffee creamer

- the 34 year old 5 foot tall woman who came in wearing hello kitty PJs at 4:45 in the morning and was incredulous that i asked her for ID when she asked to buy cigs

- the man with a smoker's voice who purchased four dollars worth of gas entirely with quarters

- the man who came in without a mask, ordered an extra large coffee, and when I started saying "because you're not wearing a mask i will have to dispense the beverage for you", he cut me off after "mask" and said "oh yeah I'm so sorry dude! i just had the most passionate kiss with someone..." while putting up a bandana. his credit card declined on $2.30 and he then ran away looking for cash. he never came back.

- the man with a heavy russian accent who was very upset that we didn't carry whole coffee beans

- the customer on skip the dishes that ordered five bottles of pepsi, a litre of milk and a bag of wine gums at 1 in the morning

- the person who left a mostly empty tub of Betty Crocker french vanilla frosting open and with a spoon on the counter

- the woman who came in at 1:30am asking to use the bathroom and when I told her no pubic access she said, verbatim, "I'm gonna take his head between my thighs, or what's left of them because I'm a skinny little chicken, and I'm gonna pop it off." no i don't know who "he" is

- the man who came in quite literally strutting at 4:30 am saying "cinnamon buns" over and over

- the kid who told me "have a good evening" at 5:30am

- the woman who asked me for cigs and rolled her eyes when I ID'd her, said "I'm 30 years old", and walked out. that's when I noticed that not only was she in her pyjamas, but she was also wearing slippers. like, in the house with a housecoat, bright pink and fuzzy kind of slippers

- the man who had to be at least in his 40s who was using what appeared to be a spiderman themed velcro clasped wallet

- the man who practically begged me to get the store to order more cinnamon buns

- the man who asked "where's your floss?" at 1:30am

- the absolute chaotic boys who asked me to sell them single cigs

- the Uber driver who told me "bless you and bless your family, you're doing a wonderful job"

- the person who ordered two packs of triple a batteries and nothing else at 1 in the morning

- the very spunky girl who came in at 2 in the morning asking if we sold caramels, and told me "it was a craving i got at 1am and i was like 'yeah let's make this!' and no. it didn't work. toxic sludge from hell." and left.

- the older woman who said "the luckiest married women become mothers, and the luckiest married men become motherfuckers."

- the boys who came in at 11pm and asked if we sold firecrackers

- the guy who straight up asked me if he could steal a taquito

- the people who made popcorn in our microwave at 2 in the morning

- the woman who told me to go masturbate after i ID'd her

- an entirely separate woman who came in wearing different hello kitty PJ pants, asked for cigs, and was incredulous when I ID'd her

- a man with an incredibly thick Irish accent who asked me why i was on the graveyard shift, and after saying "it's a pretty easy shift, especially as an introvert" he said "introversion doesn't exist" then as he was leaving he said, "you're adhd as fuck though, aren't you"

- the person who ordered two bottles of water and three packs of gum at two in the morning

- the woman who, as she was leaving, said "until next time, keep fit, and have fun."

- the man who came in at 4:30 am and told me he just had a really good date with a seagull

- the girl who asked me if her hair gave me a stoner vibe when it actively made me think of an anime girl

- the guy who was driving a bobcat

- the (definitely cis) guy who came in looking for oil and the like at about 4am. when he brought all his stuff to the counter he said, "this shit is getting too expensive" and i responded "this is why I don't drive," to which he said "well if it's got tits or tires it's gonna cause you trouble and it's gonna cost you a lot of money."

- the guy who came in, put two cans of red bull on the counter, then asked if we had twizzlers. upon hearing no, he said "forget it" and walked out without buying the red bulls.

- the man who, to pay for his items, pulled out a jar of coins that included pennies (I'm in Canada, where pennies have been discontinued for almost a decade)

- the man who came in and asked if any sex stores are in the area and open (it was 2 am). after telling him no he tried buying condoms, for which his card declined. he then proceeded to ask me if I wanted to hang out with him when my shift was over.

- the ridiculously drunk man who came in at three in the morning and when I said "hi!" he replied "good"

- the boys in their early twenties who came in at 3am and while waiting for me to grab the slurpee cup i overheard one of them say "look at how good his hair looks, i feel like i should be being fucked looking at it."

- the man who paid for a pack of cigs almost entirely in quarters

- *we'd started doing donations for covid relief in India* the man who after asking if there were sizes for the condoms, during the transaction i asked if he'd like to make a donation and he said "why would I donate to covid?" after his payment went through he said "would you?" and i said "donate to a covid relief fund?" and he said "yeah" and i was like "??? yes???"

- two people asked me if I said the donation was for chlamydia. the first guy said "if it's for chlamydia then I'm not donating" but the second guy said "i mean chlamydia sucks too, I'd donate either way"

- the three very drunk and very considerate girls who were all dressed as flappers

- the guy who asked for four tea bags for his 12oz cup and proceeded to make what I'm assuming was an attempt at a London fog

- the man who came in at about 3:40 after I'd already completed cash counts. he put a jug of chocolate milk on the counter and said "does it bother you that I'm buying this? like, can you keep it a secret just between us?" and i was like "i mean yeah sure" and then i noticed he was holding several rolls of dimes and i told him "i can't take cash right now as I've already completed the counts for shift change" and he was like "not even for gas?" and i was internally like "yeah duh" and then he goes "look man i can go without the gas but i have to have my chocolate milk" and i was like "there's nothing i can do" and then he said "do you drink chocolate milk?" and i said "not frequently, no" and he said "oh, not since you were six?" and i was like "I'm lactose intolerant" which shut him up for about three seconds before he said "you're really not gonna budge?" and then walked out

- the guy who asked for the bathroom and when I said there's no public access he said "what about friends, I've been here twice" and i said "unless you're staff you don't get to use it" and he said "i have a staph infection, does that count" and when my unimpressed look told him no he said "well i tried" and left

- the eighty year old man who was actively using a Bowser snap wallet

- the guy who had to change his tire directly in front of the store at two in the morning

- the guy who punched me in the face with a bottle of iced tea, causing me a concussion and ultimately causing me to quit my job

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

Oh! Also #52 with tres horny bois lol

52- "I can’t believe we’re friends sometimes.” from this prompt list! (still accepting!)

“Okay but I still don’t understand how the plant comes into play,” Magnus says, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoveling it in his mouth, not unlike the way one would feed a horse some grain.

Merle laughs and shifts his position on the couch. “Well, y’see Magnus, when a dwarf and an onion love each other very much –“

“So help me, if you finish that sentence, I’m going to magic missile the shit out of you,” Taako interrupts from the kitchen.

“Taako, stop being a prude!” Magnus makes a half-hearted attempt to launch popcorn at Taako from his seat on the couch.

"I'm not being a prude, the two of you are just being gross!" Taako scrunches his face up in disgust.

“Well, I thought you already went to bed anyway,” Merle reaches forward to snatch the bowl from Magnus, who frowns but lets the popcorn remain out of his grasp.

“I’m about to, I was just making a cup of cocoa before I went to bed.”

Strictly speaking, this isn’t exactly true. Taako is making cocoa, but he’s already tried to settle down to sleep for the past hour to no avail. He can’t even blame it on Pringles' snoring or other nocturnal habits this time.

Since the three of them got back from Goldcliff earlier, Taako’s felt unsettled. Seeing the effects of silverpoint, of the Gaia Sash, it was a lot. It felt strangely personal. Not to mention the weirdness in Captain Captain Bane’s office. And that Red Robe… He still can’t quite shake that. It was easy enough to make fun of the fool in the moment but Taako’s thought a little more about what he said and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t creepy. Maybe he’s figuring out how to be afraid after all.

He's still unsure what he's meant to be afraid of. He figured the Red Robe, of course. Kinda hard to put a positive spin on creepy ghosts. But if the Red Robe is supposed to be scary, then why'd it take the time to save the three of them? Just thinking about it makes Taako's brain itch.

“Wait, we still have cocoa? I thought I used the last packet before we left!” Magnus says excitedly, standing up from the couch.

Taako’s snapped out of his rumination by this. “I don’t use packets, my man. I have some class and sophistication.”

“You think we could get some mugs of this classy drink then, fancypants?” Merle sends Taako his sweetest, most shit-eating smile.

“Nah, dudes, this is a made BTFT beverage,” Taako says haughtily.

“I thought those were pictures that were bad for the environment,” Magnus tilts his head in confusion.

"Nah, man, it's a band," Merle shakes his head as he speaks.

Taako rolls his eyes. “By Taako, For Taako.”

“How about a bargain?”

“Merle, what the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs casually. “If you can find the kindness in your heart to spare some cocoa for us, then I can find the kindness in my heart to not start explaining my onion exploits in graphic detail. And kid, I have a lot.”

Taako does his best to suppress a gag. “Fine, jeez. I’ll make extra for you clowns.”

Magnus and Merle let out a small cheer before making a sad attempt to high-five each other. To be fair, the attempt is only sad on Merle's part, but the whole is only as good as the sum of its parts.

“Man, I can’t believe we’re friends sometimes,” Taako says as he rifles through the cabinets for the cocoa, cinnamon, and vanilla extract. He had the measurements exact before the bozos wanted in on his treat.

A small twinge of anxiety picks at his gut. He squeezes the container of vanilla tight to keep him exactly where he is, not back in a dusty, hot frontier town five years ago.

He glances over at the Umbra Staff; he stashed it in the corner of the dorm’s common area, well away from the kitchen.

Can’t kill them if my magic isn’t even in the same room, he thinks to himself. He takes a deep breath before dumping more ingredients into the pot. He’s so focused on that that he doesn’t realize the silence that settled over Magnus and Merle. Taako glances up to find the two of them staring at him as though he’d grown an extra head.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Taako, did you just call us your friends?” Magnus is barely able to keep the glee out of his voice.

“I distinctly heard that, Magnus,” Merle says seriously.

“Oh, I most certainly did not, we are coworkers at best,” Taako busies himself with stirring more milk into the steaming pot.

“Taako said we’re friends!” Magnus crows triumphantly. “Thought it would never happen!”

“We’ve finally broken through his thick emotional walls!” Merle stands on the couch and does a dance that looks more like he’s convulsing.

“You two are so dumb,” Taako can’t quite find the heat behind his own words, though. And he can’t quite keep the quirk of a smile off his face. Not that this means he’s suddenly cool with being forced to make extra helpings of cocoa. He’s still pissed about that and that’s the godsdamn truth.

[writing-blog-iguess]

Do you have any headcanons about the insecurities fic you wrote about? I can't help but headcanon a lot, like:

both Harley & Ivy enjoys watching reader finishing her food, they also call her their mom since reader has been making them food since their first meet (Harley loves her egg sandwich, while Ivy was the baked potatoes bread)

Alfred always bakes matcha swiss roll with red bean paste or pastries that's easy too shallow with reader (so that she could shallow without feeling like choking and needs to drink a lot of water) whenever she stops by and keeps giving him hugs which he gladly return it everytime, the Alferd&Y/N's hug, is what everyone comments it

Dicks showing pictures he took of seven years old (a journey of Y/N's growing he calls) and then reader to all his teammates and the league as soon as he learnt the engagement's finally announce 'Look at this! Can't you imagine?! She's my little sister! This is when she seven years old! It's very heartwarming right blah blah blah... " and that's how the other superheros and older Teen Titans and Barbara knows how much Dick adore his future little sister-in-law who's s cinnamon roll

Sassy and baddass way to talk for so people won't dare mess up with her confidence (Jason help her built up, after he met her and quick into adoption of her, siblings!) Not that he would ever admit, Jason will sent glares to whoever who diss Y/N's like to children picture books (for example, The Guardians of Childhood aka inspiration of Rise of the Guardians movie) come on, his little sister had great taste in books!

Tim forbid her drinking coffee when they first met and even after (since he nearly caused a seven-years-old gone missing in the manor after the reader can't fall asleep decided to have a exploration situation) but will make it for her sometimes later after she used to it, made account for art websites she wants to register that so she can admire arts but underage back when childhoods, so he used it under his own only name (defiantly annoymus, and no, it's not illegal website) and every then and how

Makeover and dress-up with Barbara, Stephanie and Cassandra after they learnt of her (which they give Damian few lessons of 'how to treat the girl you like' with Dick who's extremely enjoy it, Jason and Tim who's enjoy the show all day), in the end, all heads to movie since it's sister bond time and apparently, the ideas of XL caramel popcorns and coke are the best choice!

Bruce pat or ruffle her hair softly everytime they met, a habit since the day he had ten years ago when she's seven, a touch of 'my daughter is growing up' feel will seldom appears in his heart

Damian from straightly ingored to slowly falls in love with reader after everytime he saw her sincere smile whenever she enjoyed Alfred's food heartily (like this, but a more faintly heartwarming one haha, at the very last pic, not sure if you could see it, so here's another link you could try out☺☺ )

Innocent, 'naive girl playing tough' charm whenever she and Damian together alone (first kiss, cuddling, hair massaging, teasing, which he finds not annoying because it's how really she is, and he enjoys keep on trailing and turn on her wildness)

How reader slowly felt left out though it didn't really occur me, just the thought of Batfam night activity and how we're isolating from each other slowly and inoccasionally when growing up just made me feel that way, you know, the feelings of it's not the same like it used to anymore😞😞

And once again, thank you so much for accepting my request at the beginning, I've been having this thought in my mind but I just couldn't write it, I'm so glad you accepted it and it's totally the way I want☺☺ (And about part 2 Talia which you accepted it too, I hope my words didn't scare you out lol... I'm too exciting that day...) Hope you have a very good day ahead, author!

Tumblr really needs to let me know when I have something in my inbox, I swear.

Of course! I loved writing it, and I’m glad you enjoyed it. No, your words didn’t scare me lol, I’m just outlining part 2 and I hope you love it just as much. With that said, and you don’t mind the wait, send in your ideas! I love reading them.

Okay, onto the headcanons! I love these! I put mine under the readmore, there's a bit;

Y/N didn’t have the best home life. Like I’m not saying abusive, just her parents neglected her a little. And it didn’t help that her whole life was planned for. So when she met Harley and Ivy, they basically went, you’re mine now no take backsies. And y/n just rolls with it, because through them, she finds out what it feels to be loved by someone who cares about you. This of course, she keeps from her parents and the day she turned eighteen, she moved out and it was a lot easier to hang out with those two.

Ever since knowing Harley and Ivy, y/n’s been slowly getting out of her shell. When she starts to hang out with Jason, she becomes more confident. She has Jason wrapped around her finger without even knowing

The girls love her, everyone loves her and Damian’s just, why

She loves cooking, and she even swaps recipes with Alfred. (even from the beginning of the whole arrangement) she became fast friends with Alfred first before everyone else.

y/n has known Damian since his first day of school. But I’m not going to lie, y/n was kind of scared Damian.

She got so offended when Tim took away her coffee when she wanted to try it. And when she became a regular coffee drinker, they would talk about different coffees they had tried and compare notes.

When the arranged marriage was first brought up in conversation, there was a lot of protests. Especially from Dick and Damian, but Bruce just shrugged saying that it was a good match. And if they don’t get married in the end, than that’s fine. Everyone was very confused but stopped bringing it up

They have theories though about the whole thing, the most popular one in the manor is that Bruce is looking for the next Robin when Damian hangs up the Robin cape to be someone else

When Bruce announced that, everyone did their own research about y/n. Everyone but Damian agreed but she must be protected, though it kind of blows up when they kind of cast her aside when she started hanging out with them at the manor, (but that’s not until later)

She and Damian have lunch together everyday at school, much to Damian’s displeasure. And he’s mean to her at the beginning, ignoring her and whatnot. She doesn’t do anything cuz she hates this setup just as much

But slowly, she starts to catch feels but keeps it to herself.

As you said, Damian takes longer to fall in love with her. And its one of those moments when she looks at peace within his family and it just hits him like ‘oh. Oh no I’m in love and I can’t tell anyone this’ and he doesn’t. So up until they confess to each other, their just pinning after each other and people who aren’t family sees that their in love but no know says anything

However, they do get more cuddly when they’re alone. Like, they don’t kiss or anything. But when they have movie nights, y/n’s curled up on the end of the couch with Damian’s head on her lap. And she’s always plays with his hair, of runs her fingers through it and Damian has discovered that it feels nice and helps him to de-stress

She knows when he’s stressed about something, so her just pats her lap and he grumbles about it but is secretly happy (they have been caught on multiple occasions by his brothers and they chooses to ignore them

She’s been so use to feeling alone, that being with people who care feels foreign to her

When she starts to feel like she’s alone again, she doesn’t see it until it’s too late

It starts off slowly, the fam is to busy with missions and saving the world that they kind of forget they she doesn’t know, and when she comes over, their not there or just brushes her off when she is. And she’s tried to talk to them, cuz she’s spend years being a part of their family but then one day it stopped.

But they just brush her off and she’s reminded about her parents so she stops pushing and then altogether stops going to the manor.

No one really realizes at first, only Alfred, and when they do, y/n had already broken off the engagement.

[confused-as-all-hell]

where would each of the court members be in the court, if the coc was real?

i would presumably spend my days everywhere, reading on the couches, sitting cross legged on the kitchen table, sprawled across the floor of the library, i just like being around my court and my castle of chaos

@investmentofmyheart would be sitting in the living room, trying to read a book but really getting distracted by whatever movie's playing on the tv, and then she inevitably tries to fight ash for the remote, this is canon

@twelve-kinds-of-trouble would be outside in the gardens, tending to the roses and reading poetry aloud like the aesthetic she is, making everyone fall in love with her fucking beautiful voice (//gen)

@saltyfortunes would be working on some project or another, maybe in the kitchen while someone else is baking, and then she wanders out to the gardens with a snack to take a nap

@ghafascortana is sprawled out on an infirmary bed, eating chocolate and trying to think of remedies for a paper cut, generally panicking but also the best healer we have

@22herondale is watching gossip girl on the sofas, maybe eating popcorn, probably fighting lizzie over the remote, definitely updating the court on the latest gossip in the parlor

@ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog is also sitting in the garden, listening to lyra read, eating a fuckton of sugar and making crowns of lavender and pearl

@sankta-chaosqueen meant to watch over the gardens incase somEONe came back to run it over, but really she got lured to sleep and can now be seen slumbering like a faerie amid the flowers

@counting2zer0 is in her room with books and music piled up like a fortress, with a few cats we have no clue how she acquired, but she always shows for every single meal

@claremcnt is in the infirmary, helping lucie with all the patients, because they actually know what they're doing, and probably stealing some food from the kitchens at any given moment

@alonlyfangirl is playing the ukulele while chaos unfolds behind her, like gina listening to music while terry fights off three criminals at once (b99 reference)

@nevada-the-pirate is wearing a crown of flowers that lyn made her, running through the library, (she's turned it into an obstacle course) and challenging us all to duels

@theglassphantom has taken court in the dining room, where she screens all the food ry makes to check for poison, and steals half the sugar from our cabinets

@thebonecarver is reading in the library and helping nev set out obstacle courses, generally taking care of us dumbasses, and making the best dinners ever

@dreaminginvelaris hides away in a corner of the library with her books and pens, the scholar, we lower ourselves before her for advice like in lotr, she's so smart and we're all chaotic

@ratabrasileira is up in her room listening to music, but every once in a while, she comes downstairs to help make breakfast and recommend songs that are simply wonderous

@im-someone-i-guess is in a spare room, drawing out the floor plans, recreating the whole castle, or sleeping in the movie theatre while everyone else squabbles over whose turn it is to pick

@kazoo-the-demjin sits in the living room with ash and lizzie, she's hidden the remote, they toil in vain, she eats handfuls of popcorn while they fight to the death

@iambecomeyourvillain is our resident hacker, she knows how to bypass every rule and company ever created, and she makes fantastic waffles on fridays

@warmachinerox-with-an-x-all-caps doesn't interact very much, but she stops by every so often with chocolate and chaos, and can be glimpsed scheming on monday mornings

@jurdan-my-beloved reads in the living room, oblivious to the war going on, drinking carmel coffee that only she knows how to make, eating waffles that she begged jes for

@wafflesandschemingfaces sleeps in the garden, sunshine in the shape of a girl, a book beneath her hand and light smudged across her face, the only peaceful one-

@nightshade3465 is the executioner, she stays in the dungeon to make herself more threatening, but really she's turned a cell into a literal pillow fort

@herondalesunsetcurve is burning down something, the gardens, the kitchens, and constantly eating either soaps from her bathroom or candles from the dining area, we dont know whY

@cressjacquine is watching everything from the turret of the castle, a bow and arrow in hand, but since we live in the middle of nowhere, she likes to shoot at the gardens for sport

@sapphossidechick reads peacefully, halts our inevitable wars, generally ensures we murder our enemies instead of one another, tg for her

@naz-yalensky can be glimpsed running over the royal gardens, setting fire to the library, or serving time in the dungeons for her crimes

@brekkercookie is a literal cinnamon roll, she just makes everyone happy by being there, and fulfills her given role as lady of this chaotic court

@neilperryisalive is usually with me; when the castle is awake, we scheme, when they slumber (or pretend to smh) we dream impossibilities. also tv.

@idkwhatthehellisgoingonrn is ever bewildered by the chaos of this court, and can often be seen in their room with chocolate and books and notebooks of looped writing

@echos-of-ages-past is the only reason we’re still sane, they’re the court fool but the smartest person here, it’s probably thanks to their counsel the castle stands still

lmk if i missed you-

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

The Adventurous Eaters Club

Hi buddies!  Welcome to the first post of yet another project I have chosen to take on because I apparently don’t enjoy sleep in any form. 

To make this even more FUN, let’s do a THING (just in time for #RACultivatingKindness and the Random Acts Food Equity initiative)

One hundred percent of author proceeds from Misha’s cookbook go to charity, including the following: The Edible Schoolyard The Garden School Foundation Whatcom Farm-to-School Fund

One week after each blogpost I do for this little adventure, I will count up the notes on that post and donate $1 per note to one of the above, or to @randomactsorg​.  

If you make a donation to any of these (in any amount!) or buy Misha’s cookbook and send me the receipt in my asks I will match your donation AND you can pick the next thing I cook!

[I say this like I have clout here, but hey why not feed some people, do a little good, and make this interactive!]

With all the preliminaries aside, let’s cook some chicken, under the cut! 

(warning: the photos below the cut contain pictures of raw chicken in case that is a “ew” trigger for anyone.  just warning ya)

Mix ‘N’ Match “Fried” Chicken (page 169)

This is a baked fried chicken tender recipe with three different spice mixtures (for those with children, the intent is to introduce them to diff flavors and also make them less fearful of food with ‘specks’ (or speckles, as L calls them)).

**The first thing I said reading this was “Dammit Misha!  Am I just casually supposed to own a meat mallet?” (does everyone? have I missed out on the meat mallet trend? fallen behind the curve of cool culinary utensil ownership? *hangs head in shame*)

First things first, I’m going to go rogue and tell you that after you cut your chicken breast into tenderloins (or open the package of pre-cut ones), you should salt your meat for at least an hour before cooking it. 

Like so:

pre-salting meat allows it to be seasoned from the inside as well as the outside (the salt will absorb), and also helps lower the risk of overcooking.  I promise it makes a HUGE difference.

While the chicken is salting, set up your dredging station.

This is the point in the process where I realized I am out of eggs.  However, I did have the following substitutes: 1. mayo and 2. half and half.  So what did I do? I mixed them (Misha I’m SORRY).

I am also sorry to you who is reading this post for having to look at photos of mayonnaise and half and half on this fine day.  

But! this does work in a pinch.  You basically need something runny enough to dip but thick enough to stick to the meat.

Also, here is another place Mish and I diverge - he kept the “wet” pan as a single one on the station, but I know how messy I am (in both cooking and life), and due to there being three separate spices in the recipe I divided it into three, so as not to mix it.

[somewhere Jake Abel has been summoned to make a few, um, jokes about this...composition]

Next, the “dry” station - i.e. your flour/spices.  The book uses pie pans for all of this, I - a prepared individual who did not assess not having ANY uniform cookware before starting this cooking blog journey - only had one pie pan, so these are what I used:

team free will 3.0

here they are with spices for each separate one.  do not fear the cinnamon.  I too, was once afraid.  trust me when I say you will no longer be shackled by your doubt once you have tried this.

also, I went rogue again on the last spice mixture which should just be paprika but I did not have paprika (OP check your pantry before you do the next installment of this challenge), so that is the combination I recklessly replaced with it (and I recommend it!!!).

spices plus flour plus salt (for the love of Jack always add salt at each step, I cannot re-emphasize enough that this is so very important, like Sam and Dean hotel room warding important).

Mix ‘em up.

sigh I can already tell my colors will not be as vibrant as the book’s (I know you, you’re thinking ‘OP you just mixed mayo and half and half, and THIS is the crime you are sad about?? but. here we are).  

Next, Misha says to wrap your chicken in plastic wrap.

no, I don’t know why mine is green.  let’s pretend its for Soldier Boy.

time to use the meat mallet which I do not have.  however, in a pinch - a cast iron skillet will do.  (the book also very much advocates for owning one of these and I too am a Cast Iron Truther.  the only pan(s) I use).

meat mallet cosplay.

now,“smash that meat until it’s 3/4 of an inch thick.” 

this takes approximately 30 seconds to a minute with the cast iron (longer if you have pent up aggression).  it’s not a REQUIRED step, but nice for an even cook.

take your flat chicken and start dredgin’ - flour first, just a thin coat

on each side

now take it for a trip to the half and half mayo hot girl summer pool party (or, if you are a real adult unlike yours truly, the eggs you have and previously whisked together for your “wet” pan)

[stop that thought this is a blog for a children’s cookbook]

let the excess run off before sticking this back in the dry mixture for a second coat, then put it on your pre-greased pan.

like so.

what my kitchen looked like at 1:00 a.m.

final touch = the moment I knew Misha, Vicki, and I were kindred spirits as I too like to drizzle melted butter over everything and anything.  

drizzle this liquid gold on top of each piece and

pop those babies in the oven at 350 for 20-30 minutes while you write bad fan fiction sentences (well, what I did then anyway)

then slice ‘em up and put them on this plate.

Yes I added popcorn for garnish as a treat.

My colors as predicted are not as good as the professional food photographer’s Misha’s:

But the flavors were definitely there!! Especially the cinnamon.  Would 10/10 recommend.

Happy cooking!  Asks are open if you have questions or want to yell at me about the mayo thing.  SORRY AGAIN OK

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 4,120 Words

Summary: Atsushi finds a small friend in the store. Chaos ensues as usual.

Warnings: Age Regression, Food Mention, Cursing, Past Injury Mention, Fighting Mention, Immunocompromised Character, Xenophobia Mention, Overworking Mention, Fainting Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Translations: Ofitsiant?: Server?; Ni, yo tse vzhe znav.: No, I knew it already.; Brechun.: Liar.; Comment vont les chatons?: How are the kittens?; Ils font du bien. Irina a essayé de se battre à nouveau contre mes cheveux.: They're doing good. Irina tried to fight my hair again.; Ce chat vous teste, il suffit de lui aspergé d’eau.: That cat is testing you, just spray her with water.; Et tirer sur mon bébé ? Je ne pourrais jamais!: And shoot my baby? I could never!

BSD Little Oneshots: Chapter 5: Little!Nikolai x Caregivers! Atsushi & Sigma

Atsushi liked to think he did the Agency's shopping well, he was the most effective at least. The quickest was Kunikida, though he messed up frequently. Dazai was the most incorrect, not shocking.

Ranpo was the slowest, Yosano forgot things, Kyouka only remembered her things, Jun'ichiro usually didn't have time, and Kenji was no longer allowed after purchasing only beef once. Their three new members, Sigma, Poe, and Mushitaro, weren't given the opportunity yet to do the shopping.

But, however, finding a familiar person's smell in the market wasn't a new experience for Atsushi. He'd found all sorts of friends and foes in markets before. He'd run into Poe getting fruit for Karl, Chuuya doing his shopping, even Mushitaro once back when he worked for Fyodor.

But this smell, it smelled like popcorn and peppermint. It was weirdly unique and he'd only ever smelled that odd combination once, during the Decay of the Angels incident, made by one Nikolai Gogol. A certain someone who had been avoiding the police for a year now.

He wanted to check, it could be false, his nose wasn't always correct when he wasn't actively looking for someone. Once he'd even followed Sigma's normal smell of cinnamon and ginger to find it was just Dazai's who had been near Sigma earlier in the day and Dazai, that asshole, his scent was hard to pick up, even when he was actively trying.

So he made a sharp turn into the the frozen aisle and saw him looking over the freezers like they'd offended him. He was quite inconspicuous, for Gogol at least. White hair down but kinked like he'd had it up for a while.

He was hidden away inside a jacket, face obscured by a space-themed mask. He supposed it being Winter, he was also hiding from the cold as well as the police. He saw that he was obviously very tired as he got closer, dark marks under his eyes.

"Gogol." He addressed, getting big eyes to look up at him as he grabbed Ranpo's frozen waffles from the freezer next to where Gogol was standing. Now that he was closer, he could also see that it had been ice cream the clown had been looking at before. "Are you stealing that?" Atsushi asked quietly, getting Yosano's fudge bars into the cart.

"No, I..." He sounded oddly quiet, he supposed hiding from police would make one change their voice. "I can't find it." He looked at him and to the ice cream.

"Find what?" Atsushi asked. He'd decided long ago that markets were peace treaty areas, he wouldn't fight someone in a store. Even if that someone was currently evading police, had stabbed him, planted his leg in the ground like a tree, tore the agency apart, and helped start a worldwide vampirism pandemic.

"Peppermint." Gogol sounded odd still but he spotted said ice cream and directed him to it by the arm. He practically lit up and, with the way his eyes held that same look, Atsushi realized he was regressing much like some of the other kids at he orphanage would.

"Hey, come on. Do you need anything else?" He was abiding his 'no market fights' rule but he also was worried. It smelled like Gogol was alone. Who let someone regressed go out alone without supervision? Gogol tried to take his arm away, trying to shake him off.

"No, you'll arrest me." He looked scared. That was the opposite of the effect he wanted.

"No, I don't arrest people when I'm shopping. I have a rule against detaining people in markets." He assured him and Gogol silently stuck by his side, eventually holding onto his arm with desperate hands as he helped him get the rest of the things on his list.

Whilst they were shopping, Gogol had told him of how he'd just got off from working a fourteen hour shift, he could see his shaking, actually, one he mentioned his shift. It had sent him into high alert because what bullshit was that? Fourteen hours without a break to where your employee was so stressed that they regressed in the middle of a frozen aisle.

"And then I'm done. Thank you, Gogol." He smiled at him, getting a giggle in response that let him know he'd made him smile. Nikolai certainly warmed up to him quickly, he was almost cute. "Do you need to grab anything else? I can bring you home." He offered.

"Dinner. I need dinner." Atsushi realized it was nearly eleven at night. Could Nikolai even cook if he was as small as he seemed?

"What do you need for it?" He asked.

"Want." Nikolai grabbed a pre-made bento with assorted sandwiches from the deli and Atsushi led him up to the counter to pay. "I can pay." Nikolai tried to hand him money.

"Keep it. My treat for helping, the list would have taken me hours. It only took about twenty minutes." Atsushi assured him.

"Thank you." Nikolai still seemed so shy, even for a child. Once they were outside, they moved Nikolai's items into one bag while Atsushi held his own.

"We're out of the market." Nikolai reminded him softly, showing him his hands, trembling wrists held together. He expected Atsushi to arrest him now?

"I've gotta get you home still. You need to eat and I need to get these groceries to the agency after I get you home." Atsushi reminded him.

"I'm not bad? Because I'm little?" Nikolai asked.

"No, you're not in a state where arresting you would be right. And I'm in no state to get you to the Agency even if I did arrest you." Atsushi told him.

"I can go?" The clown asked softly, almost disbelieving he would hold to this. He'd done the same for Chuuya once, after a guy followed him around the store. He smiled kindly at him and Nikolai seemed like he was smiling back under his mask as he nodded.

"What's with the mask, by the way? It know it's winter but there isn't any flu yet." Atsushi asked.

"I can't leave the house without it, my immune system doesn't work, I'd get sick." Nikolai was walking with him, letting Atsushi take him home.

"You're immunocompromised?" He asked.

"Yeah, I get sick a lot. I've been sick twice the last three weeks."

"Why?"

"Because my boss doesn't let us wear masks at work. He says they're unsightly." Nikolai admitted.

"Sounds mean to me. You should be able to wear it if it helps you." Atsushi felt slightly angry at that. someone was practically forcing their staff to get sick to appease themselves only? It boiled his blood.

"He is mean. Mister Aoki doesn't like me."

"What? Why?"

"Well, Mister Aoki bought the restaurant I work for almost four months ago and, when he did, the old owner made him sign a contract saying he wouldn't fire anyone the old owner hired for a full calendar year. I'm one of the only five people left that Miss Minami hired, I've been there for eleven and a half months now. Everyone else quit when he began upping our hours and took away our breaks." Atsushi looked over the way Nikolai looked tense. He didn't like it.

"He's convinced HR that I'm lying and I'm just looking for payout because of Miss Minami's contract. The contract said charges would be pressed on behalf of any employee that got fired and the money from the lawsuit awarded to the employee. That's what happened with Annette when he told her to leave last month, at least. Miss Minami did her best to make sure her staff was taken care of when she retired." He looked a little happier, he guessed, less tense thinking about his old boss.

"He doesn't like foreigners but Miss Minami liked having people who could speak to her patrons in whatever language the customer spoke if they were visiting Japan. We used to have these mini-sections based on who could speak what, so we could make sure anyone travelling could speak whatever they were comfortable with." Atsushi would have liked to visit this place back when Miss Minami was running it from how it sounded. The woman sounded like a saint.

"Can't you contact corporate or anything?" He asked.

"I wish. I'd have to be on the phone for hours and I've been working every day for fourteen hours a day for months now. He made sure none of us had a way to contact corporate unless we stayed up all night and came in again the next day. Because he'd give us a write-up if we called out without a doctor's note, which nobody would have time to get."

"But I get more money out of him overworking me, so, at least, I can save up money for now so I have something when he fires me eventually." He sounded resigned to it, actually, like he was used to being overworked. Atsushi could only imagine the hell Fyodor found this guy in.

"He sounds like he shouldn't own that place if he won't run it correctly." Atsushi assured him.

"I'll probably need to quit soon if it keeps up, I can't handle it much more." For regressed, Nikolai knew how to talk very well. Maybe he was fluctuating since he was with someone? He'd only be able to assume but it was likely Gogol never regressed around others before.

"Where do you work?" He asked.

"Minami Café. Four blocks from my apartment. Some of your Port Mafia friends come through sometimes. That dark one? Your partner, I think? Dazai's boyfriend, Chuuya, comes in a lot too, he likes sitting in my section so I'll speak French with him." Nikolai remarked.

"I think I've been there, almost a year ago I think, with Sigma too. My server was Catalina."

"Catalina quit three months ago. I was probably off the day you came in, Catalina used to be my opposite when Miss Minami was there. If I was off, she was working. We shared a section."

"Ah, Atsushi! There you are! Hi, Atsushi's friend! Kunikida sent me to tell you we forgot to put milk on the list!" Dazai reminded him.

"I know, I got it anyway." He showed him the bags.

"And who's your friend? All bundled up and oh, what a cute space mask!" Dazai poked Gogol's mask, making him buzz back to get the finger away from him. "You look so familiar but I can't put my finger on it." Dazai hummed.

Nikolai had stopped moving. Atsushi was sure he stopped breathing, he was scared. He understood it, he was regressed and hungry and stressed. He was overwhelmed with the amount of interaction, he just wanted to get home. Atsushi, of all people, understood that.

"Hmm. It's not cute enough to hide you, Gogol." Dazai's tone went dark and a pair of cuffs were suddenly on Nikolai's wrists.

"Hey!" He protested, trying to get Nikolai away but Dazai was dragging Nikolai to the Agency.

"You get to explain to Fukuzawa why you pinned the Agency for the Decay of the Angels incident. I want it from your mouth, clown." Dazai roughly moved him, Atsushi was following them, growling at Dazai to stop it, that he was just walking him home and they could talk to him later.

But Dazai, instead, dragged him into the Agency and tossed him into Fukuzawa's office, landing on his hands, shaking still. Atsushi had handed the bags to put away to Jun'ichiro on he way to follow Dazai.

"Dazai!" Atsushi roared now that they were behind closed doors, away from the prying eyes of the public. Gogol looked ready to cry and Atsushi wouldn't blame him if he did.

"Tell him." Dazai demanded. Nikolai looked up at the president, who had stood from his chair to look at him on the floor. He looked at Dazai.

"I wanna go home!" Nikolai bit out.

"Dazai, why did you bring me a fake Gogol?" Fukuzawa asked, sitting back down.

"It's the real one. Look at his eyes." Dazai requested.

"Hm. Yellow and white. The same mark on the left one too. I suppose you're correct. Take him to the holding cell down the hall until we can get confirmation and then we'll contact Ango."

Atsushi wasn't fast enough to grab Nikolai to protect him so Dazai grabbed him by the handcuffs and dragged him off to the holding cell, taking the bag off the Ukrainian's arm before locking him in the ability-blocking bars. It wasn't but a few seconds later that Nikolai collapsed, shaking and breathing seeming hard.

"Open it!" Atsushi snapped at Dazai.

"He's faking, Atsushi. He's a criminal." Dazai reasoned. Atsushi yanked the key from his hand anyway, unlocking the door and taking Nikolai from the cell. He was clammy and clung to him, beginning to cry now that he felt safe again.

"It's okay, I'm sorry." No doubt he'd just dropped even more into that vulnerable headspace and he wasn't well now.

"Dazai? Did you get Atsushi?" Sigma came in asking. "Nikolai?" Sigma asked.

"Atsushi, why are you helping him? He could escape!" Dazai snapped.

"Shut up, Dazai!" Atsushi growled.

"Atsushi, why is he here?" Sigma asked.

"He's regressed, he's not in the right mental space to handle being an adult. I was taking him home so he could eat because he probably hasn't eaten since breakfast and Dazai arrested him." He calmly explained.

"Niko." Sigma crouched with them. Nikolai looked up at him with teary eyes. "There you are, huh, Kolya?" Sigma smiled for him.

"Sima." Nikolai sniffled and hugged tight to Atsushi.

"How old are you?" Sigma asked.

"'M two now. Was six." Nikolai whispered, confirming that he'd dropped more when Dazai arrested him.

"It's okay to be small, Kolya. Me and Atsushi are here, you're safe now." Sigma's soft, gentle voice seemed to calm him, Atsushi was grateful.

"What, are we going to let him go too?" Dazai snapped.

"I need to speak with you. In fact, I'm calling an Agency meeting." Atsushi handed Nikolai off to Sigma, who took the clown with little hesitance.

"Hello, baby bird." Sigma greeted him, hugging him close. "Let's eat, huh, your belly sounds hungry." Sigma offered him.

"Okay, Sima." Nikolai happily smiled, letting Sigma take care of him as Atsushi dragged Dazai out of the room and into Fukuzawa's office.

"I'm calling an Agency meeting. We need to talk about Gogol's arrest before we decide anything." Atsushi requested.

"Alright." So Fukuzawa rounded the other Agency members up and off to the meeting room they went. "Alright, Atsushi, what did we need to talk about?" Fukuzawa gave him the floor to speak.

"Dazai brought in Nikolai Gogol today, Sigma is with him, that's why he's not here." The room went quiet.

They'd been looking for Nikolai for a year, he remembered, since the Agency had been reestablished a year ago, four months after defeating Fukuchi and a month after Dazai was released from Meursault on dropped charges. He was reminded that Sigma, Poe, and Mushitaro had been hired on three months after their reestablishment.

"Yes, you were with him, Atsushi." All eyes buzzed between Dazai and Atsushi.

"I was doing the shopping, as you can tell, the fridge is full again and someone had to do it. I found him in the store but you know my rule about causing fights in markets, they're a neutral ground." He reminded everyone.

"Gogol has been here, in Yokohama, for the last eleven and a half months working at a café. he hasn't done anything wrong and certainly, we'd have heard if he did. I was walking him home, I had full control of the situation and I'd know both where he works and where he lives by now if Dazai hadn't interrupted." He reminded the brunette, who huffed.

"Why did you interact in the first place?" Kunikida asked.

"At first, I had found him by scent. I wanted to confirm, I wasn't planning to interact. But he's regressed, he needed help and I couldn't let him walk home alone regressed. Regression is a coping method, some of the other kids at the orphanage did it, it's to help with stress and stuff. You aren't in an adult mindset, you're in a child's mindset. Gogol said he was six before, when I was taking him home. He's now two, he dropped more due to the introduction of more stress." He explained.

"So Dazai effectively arrested a six year old?" Ranpo asked.

"Yes." Atsushi confirmed.

"You two were talking beforehand, what were you talking about?" Dazai asked.

"His job." Atsushi looked at him. "He was talking about how his new boss is xenophobic and overworks him. We started talking because I asked why he was wearing a mask, he's immunocompromised and he's been getting sick a lot lately because his boss doesn't allow him to wear his mask at work."

"That's discrimination!" Kenji whined.

"Yeah, well, I didn't say his new boss was a good one." Atsushi reminded them.

"So what? We let him continue?" Dazai asked.

"I suggest we keep tabs on him instead of arresting him. It would build trust with him should we need a strong ability like his to aid us at any point, while still allowing us to make sure he isn't a threat anymore." Atsushi suggested.

"It does make sense. If he were in a prison, he could easily break out with that ability. Plus the ability is very powerful and useful if we had access to use it." Ranpo announced happily. "I agree with Atsushi's plan!"

"It would be helpful." Kenji agreed.

"Keeping an eye on him would be quite useful, he sounds like he's assimilated back to standard society again from how it sounds." Kunikida shockingly agreed. He expected he'd have to sway both Kunikida and Dazai.

"Alright, if Kunikida trusts this, then I'm for it." Jun'ichiro agreed.

"I agree with Ranpo. He could easily get out of a prison, keeping him monitored and in a controlled environment is a much better solution." Kyouka agreed.

"It sounds like it could be a good idea." Yosano agreed.

"I agree." Mushitaro told them.

"It couldn't hurt to see first before arresting him." Poe agreed.

"I don't like this, but I agree we should monitor him first." Dazai pouted, like he usually did when he was outvoted.

"Alright, so it's agreed, we'll have tabs on Gogol for now instead of arresting him. If he goes out of line, we can arrest him if we need." Fukuzawa announced.

"Hey, guys, Nikolai says he needs to go home and feed his cats." Sigma poked his head into the meeting room.

"He's free to leave now. Dazai, get him out of those cuffs." Fukuzawa told him.

"Niko, honey, here." Sigma held Nikolai, who looked much less pale and shaky now, Sigma must have made sure he ate, and guided his hands out toward Dazai, who unhooked the cuffs.

"Now, let's go home? Huh? Go feed the cats? Get some sleep?" Sigma asked, Atsushi smiled at them both.

"Okay!" Nikolai squeaked out, latching onto Sigma's arm and letting the other lead him, Atsushi following them to Nikolai's apartment so he could help Sigma take care of him. They were greeted to six little kittens awaiting their owner, who sat with them on the floor, distracting them enough to get said kittens food as per Nikolai's instruction.

"Here, kitties." Sigma called the kittens away to eat.

"Annette's cat had kittens and nobody else wanted them since her cat used to be a stray. There's Irina, Viktoria, Zoya, Sichi, Anastasia, and Vladimir." Nikolai smiled showing off his kittens, who seemed to have little to no reaction to him showing them off.

"Well, you trained them pretty well already." Sigma smiled.

"Sichi is named after you. Sigma, Sig, Sichi. I call her baby bird, like I used to call you. And Sticky, because she needs baths a lot because she likes getting into trouble." 

"Well, it looks like you're the baby bird now." Nikolai smiled at him, giggling, as Sigma poked his nose.

"I'm six, birdie!" Nikolai whined.

"Still a baby bird." Sigma told him. "And baby birds should get some sleep. What time is your work tomorrow?"

"Job starts at 8:30. The alarms are set for 7 in the morning so I can shower and get ready." Nikolai told them, letting Sigma pick him up and giggling as he poked at Sigma's arms. "Birdie's strong."

"Always have been. You just never asked to be picked up before." Sigma reminded him, carting him off to bed, helping him get comfortable and Nikolai was out before either of his two companions knew what was happening.

Sigma ended up being the one to stay the night and Atsushi went home to sleep. The next day, showing up to Minami Café with Poe and requesting to be sat in Nikolai's section was fun. Nikolai lit up seeing him and smiled at Poe.

"Any specific way to make your coffee?" He asked Poe once the other had requested coffee.

"Surprise me." Atsushi laughed, Ranpo's influence was rubbing off on poor Poe again.

"So make it how I like it, got it. Four creamers, three pumps of marshmallow syrup, four chocolate espresso shots, with nutmeg. Tastes like hyper Christmas." Nikolai's smile was cute, Atsushi liked seeing it, especially when it wasn't forced.

"And just sprite for me." He told him.

"I know you two are watching me." Nikolai let them know, smile not faltering in the least bit, he appeared friendly still even in his body language. "I don't plan to do anything, but don't get me in trouble, I'd rather not lose money getting pulled into a two hour long lecture again."

"Ofitsiant?"

"Learning Ukrainian for me, eh, Chuuya?"

"Ni, yo tse vzhe znav." 

"Brechun." Nikolai laughed. "I'll be back with your drinks." He went to see what Chuuya wanted.

"Comment vont les chatons?" 

"Ils font du bien. Irina a essayé de se battre à nouveau contre mes cheveux."

"Ce chat vous teste, il suffit de lui aspergé d’eau." Nikolai put his hand over his heart.

"Et tirer sur mon bébé? Je ne pourrais jamais!" He feigned mock offense, making Chuuya laugh a bit.

"I want to take home the most annoying, toddler-looking meal you can manage. Akutagawa's asking me to bring him food when I come into work today and I plan to bother him while helping him." Chuuya asked the Ukrainian.

"No problem. That would probably be the cheese and garlic soup, mashed potatoes, and the flower and star cut steamed vegetables from the kids menu." Nikolai seemed to take a glee from assisting Chuuya in his torment of poor Akutagawa.

"That sounds perfect, Nikolai, thank you." Atsushi held back a laugh at thinking about Akutagawa eating food meant for a baby. Poe was laughing quietly.

"Nikolai, we'll take the same thing Chuuya asked for back to Dazai after we're done." Nikolai held back his own laugh now, as did Chuuya.

"Getting your toddler to eat is difficult." Chuuya teased. The banter between their two tables continued for all of lunch and both of them getting their to-go orders at the end and Nikolai waved them off before they left.

Eight months later, Nikolai's contract with Miss Minami was up but Chuuya had bought the restaurant two months prior from one Aoki Kenzou once he learned of the conditions that Nikolai was working in. Atsushi was very grateful, so was Sigma when he found out.

Nikolai and all the other workers got a full paid two weeks off after he took over and Chuuya had Nikolai help him send out letters to the workers who had left due to Aoki, both letting them know the restaurant was under new management and inviting them to take their old positions back, no questions or interview necessary, if they wanted.

Atsushi was surprised that half the old staff came back and Nikolai happily welcomed his friends back as Minami Café went back to how it used to work before Aoki came into the picture. Chuuya was running it well if Nikolai not being so constantly stressed was anything to go by.

Nikolai finally had free time and shifts that weren't fourteen hours long without breaks. With his new free time, Nikolai was finally able to help the Agency part time and he finally seemed happy and actually well-rested and not constantly tired.

Atsushi and Sigma still got to 'babysit' him sometimes, which was always cute, Nikolai showing up usually with a kitten or stuffed animal and coloring books to either the Agency office or one of their apartments.

[hufflautia]

The Boyfriend

Dedicated to the anon who came up w this idea and to @eatacrackerandstop <3. There's a small Shadow and Bone reference; if you find it, you get a high five✨

Summary: Slytherin and Hufflepuff meet their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time, and Slytherin has a few concerns.

~

Hufflepuff closes the door behind her daughter, who stepped out to privately wish her boyfriend goodbye on the front stoop, and turns to Slytherin.

“He seems like a sweet kid,” she smiles. Slytherin follows her into the kitchen with a disgruntled expression. He leans against the countertop as she begins washing the dishes.

“What’s taking her so long,” he eyes the door. “It only takes a couple of seconds to say goodbye to someone.”

“They spent the entire night with us. They probably just want a little alone time,” Hufflepuff replies. She glances at him when he sighs and crosses his arms. “Do I sense a little disdain for our daughter’s boyfriend?”

Slytherin scowls.

“I don’t like him,” he states plainly. “He gives me...bad boy vibes.” His scowl deepens when she laughs incredulously.

“Bad boy vibes?”

“Yes,” he says indignantly. “Bad boy vibes! Did you see his smirk when she laughed at his joke?"

"You smirk a lot,” she points out, to which he grudgingly admits. “Besides, is it bad that he can make her laugh?"

"'Course not," he huffs. "But did you see how he put his arms around her?”

"I'm pretty sure that's called a hug, honey."

Slytherin steps between her and the sink. She shoots him a look as water drips on the floor.

“Please get out of my way, Slytherin. You’re acting like a child.”

He takes her hands into his own, not caring that they’re wet. “Honey, you’re not listening to me.”

“I am! I just don’t agree with you.” She continues before Slytherin can object. “You’re worrying over nothing. Our daughter is old enough to make her own decisions on who she hangs out with and what she does with her time."

“She’s only in her seventh year—”

“Slytherin," she says sternly. “Our baby is grown now, believe it or not. I trust her judgment. You should too.”

His brows furrow, and he doesn’t respond right away.

"It's not that I don't trust her," he finally says. "I just don't want her to get hurt."

Hufflepuff softens in this rare moment of vulnerability—his grumpiness and frustration often mask his fears.

"We can't control what happens," she says gently. "We can't control who does what or who hurts who. But what we can control is what we do and how we act." Slytherin remains silent as he considers her words. "I think the best thing we can do is support our daughter. And if things don't end well in their relationship, she will know who to come to: the people who have always been there for her."

Her words sink in, and Slytherin nods.

"You're right."

"'Course I'm right."

He smiles somberly. "I’ve only ever wanted to protect her."

"You will," she assures, pulling him into an embrace. "But you will do so at a healthy and reasonable distance. No threatening the boy."

Slytherin snorts and says, "I'm not that type of dad." He rests his chin on top of her head. "But if he breaks her heart, I keep no promises."

"Good," she murmurs into his shirt. “I'll be right behind you.”

Their moment of peace is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. They see their daughter, Giselle, standing by the doorway with a flushed grin.

"Hey kiddo," Slytherin smiles.

She makes a face. “I'm 18, Dad. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Alright." Hufflepuff notices a familiar gleam in his eye and tries not to smile as he continues. "Do you prefer muffin? Sweet pea? Or perhaps cupcake—"

Giselle covers her ears. "Dad!" she groans. "Eat a cracker and stop."

He holds his hands up in defeat as he chuckles. "Okay, okay."

"So," Hufflepuff says once things settle down. "What did Dorian think? Did he like us? What about the food? Was my cooking okay?" A look of horror washes over her face. "Oh shoot, should we have given him some leftovers to take back to his family? He probably didn't get too far, I'll go get the food from the fridge and—"

"Honey," Slytherin laughs, resting his hand on the small of her back before she can scurry off in search of tin foil and plastic containers. "It's fine."

"Yeah," Giselle assures. "The food was great, and he loved meeting you guys."

"And we loved meeting him,” Hufflepuff says warmly. “Tell Dorian he's welcome to come back at any time."

"Okay," she grins. "Can we start our movie night now?"

Slytherin nods. "I believe it's Mom's turn to choose the movie."

"I know exactly what we should watch tonight," Hufflepuff beams. They pile onto the couch, and when she puts the disc into the DVD player, everyone but Hufflepuff's face falls when they see the title.

"Aw, not this movie," Giselle complains. "We watched the trailer last week, and you said it yourself that it looked like trash."

"Wha—I didn't say trash!"

"I think you did," Slytherin interjects. He stifles a laugh when she shoots him a look.

Hufflepuff purses her lips. "Ravenclaw and I watched it at the movie theaters a few days ago, and it was a cinematic masterpiece!"

He arches an eyebrow. "So you're gonna watch it again?"

"Yes! Because it’s that good. And I want you guys to watch it with me. The movie has adventure and plot twists and romance—I mean, what hurts more than a broken heart?"

"A severed head," Giselle replies, to which Slytherin snorts a laugh.

Hufflepuff scoffs and shakes her head, but a smile tugs at her lips. “You’ll see what I’m talking about after we watch it, but I need to use the bathroom first. I’ll bring back some popcorn.”

“Can you also get some Sprite?” Giselle calls after her.

“Okay.” Hufflepuff lingers by the doorway. “Do you want anything, sweetie pie?” she says to Slytherin.

“No thanks, snuggle bunny.” He snickers when Giselle visibly cringes. He and Hufflepuff liked to call each other outrageously sweet pet names in front of their daughter for the sole purpose of grossing her out.

“Yes,” Giselle says in a deadpan voice. “This is the exact spot I want to be in right now.”

Hufflepuff laughs and winks at Slytherin before leaving. He watches her walk away before whispering to Giselle, “How likely is it that she’ll accidentally trap herself in the bathroom and we get to pick another movie?”

“Extremely likely,” she replies. “If we put a rubber item underneath the door to act as a door stopper, she won’t be able to open it from the inside…” Slytherin is looking at her weirdly, and she swallows her words. “...I mean, I don’t know.”

Slytherin smiles but doesn’t say anything. Giselle may have inherited her mother’s looks, but she has her father’s mischief.

While they wait for Hufflepuff, Slytherin speaks. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure,” she says cautiously.

“Do you love him?”

Her eyebrows rise—she didn’t expect this question. She takes a moment to think.

"Not yet.”

He nods. "But you're happy?"

"I am," she smiles.

His eyes crinkle. If she was happy…well, that was good enough for him.

“I’m glad, kiddo.”

This time, Giselle doesn’t roll her eyes at the term of endearment. Instead, she takes his hand and squeezes it three times. Slytherin, who taught her the gesture, squeezes her hand four times in response.

“Who’s ready to start the movie?” Hufflepuff walks in with popcorn and sprite, unaware of the father-daughter moment she just missed.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Slytherin sighs, scooting over to make space for her. She plops down beside him and settles the bowl between them.

“Oh,” she perks up. “Before I forget. Accio tissue boxes!”

Slytherin looks bewildered as tissue boxes come flying their way. “Do we really need tissues?”

“Absolutely,” she scatters the boxes over their laps. Slytherin raises an eyebrow and glances over at Giselle, who also looks perplexed.

“My teen angst bullshit is about to have a body count,” she whispers as the movie begins playing.

A/N: This fic is somewhat connected to Different Love Languages, another one of my fics. Is the slytherpuff couple in that fic the same couple in this one? That's up to you, dear reader😌

I lowkey hate the title, but I couldn't come up w a better one. Also, this fic was longer than I planned. I originally decided to write something like this:

“Why don’t you like him?”

“Because I used to be a bad boy, which is exactly why I don’t trust him.”

Basic dialogue, plain and simple. But the darling anon who told me their idea deserves a full-length story <3

Let me know what you thought of this one-shot. Feedback makes me happy <3 If you prefer to stay anonymous, the anon option for asks is available! Be safe and well, everyone.

Tag lists are open✨ Let me know via ask/messages/comments if you want to be added or removed.

@slytherpuff-shenanigans @axieleration @sunnniiee @just--another--bean @determinedpines @zenobiagrace @asterinflower @cinnamon-roll-unicorn @mossy-axolotl @dumbbitch11 @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @notsowiseravenclaw @arianatorpotterhead @eatacrackerandstop @luciferswife16 @walkinganomaly @asunshinepuff @lewispoolerpayton @adreameratdawn @thewitcheswords @oncergleekpotterhead @princessstoopid @stardustzainy @flvrqnce @multi-fandom-nutjob @eunnieah @iamahufflepuff @1hufflepuff @introvertedrae @princessstoopid @jasminedayz @magnoliamermaid @HOPEFUL-HUFFLEPUFF-PEEVES @peanut-in-the-goal @pufflehuff929 @sophiexteresa @da-fox-rangerrr @dawinehouse @shipping-book-keeper @xxavaloraxx @silverhetdanes @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @elegantcroissantplaidpony @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog @vickeyunicorn @arianatorpotterhead @hmilkwhoney @simpering-simpleton @grandcyclecreation @sweetinvisiblewriter @marvelenthusiast10 @mvlpksvthisht @qiaopa @beardedhumanoid @jadefox05 @justanotherperson @inkedintothepaper @minty-malfoy @trippy-morgan @fangirlgeekandfreak @boilyourteeth @absentmindeduniverse @colettedelaurel @halfelven1 @happy-puff @coloring-bud @in-love-with-remus-lupin @autumnpleaves @crakencc @flyme--tothemoon @hedgepuffgirl @littleemotionalpanda @pancakes-and-sugar @korra4321 @aquietkindofthunder @qixnsriess @porksoba @thatfann @hellounicorn @i-have-a-bad-feeling @aasa2102 @zuko-28 @annie-mcl @clementines-x @writtenfoxscreams @randomwriter23 @cryingabtwandavision @coolninjavoid @urfaveslytherin @malfoys-demigod @tumlbr-trasher @violayaxley @wolfpack-arts-industries99 @zainieees-stuff @blueberry-9-pancakes @stressy-depressy @royalelusts

[themadauthorshatter]

OTP PARENT HEADCANONS PART 2

Because I'm bored.

And I want to give myself some serotonin.

And because I've put this off for a long time😅

RED QUEEN:

Shade and Coriane were never afraid of monsters under their beds because Cal would "scare them away" with a really bright flashlight.

Both children have a little bit of buidling and tinkering in them. Shade showed it by switching out lightbulbs and pointed out the ones he was putting in would be better at being adjusted than the ones before and Coriane showed it by fixing a clock.

Mare isn't exactly the best at cooking, but she's at least better than Cal. And her mother; sorry, Ruth.

Both children are excellent swimmers, much to Cal's chagrin.

Coriane remembers meeting her great Nanabel, and the smile she had at the sight of her great granddaughter.

Shade didn't really have a chance to meet her.

Both children wish they could have met their uncle on their mother's side and uncle, grandfather, and grandmother on their father's side.

Both Samos siblings are allowed to see the children, and neither of the children were excited; they'd heard "scary stories" about them and their father, who sounds scary; no, Cal didn't make it clear that Volo was dead, all he said was the Samos patriarch had fallen down and didn't get up, so they assumed that meant he couldn't use his arms anymore.

They were all pretty surprised to meet each other.

Ptolemus was more like a fun uncle than the berserker they all knew.

He did explain that Volo did indeed fall, but couldn't get up because of how high he fell.

The electricons love how entertained the children are with their lightning abilities.

Tyton is a pretty good babysitter. Coriane is allowed to stay up, but only after Shade has gone to bed.

Kilorn is not allowed to teach either child how to swim; there was an 'incident' where Cal tried to be brave and go swimming and Kilorn scared the living hell out of him.

That's fine because neither children like swimming.

Yes. Just because the children are good at swimming doesn't mean they enjoy it.

Mare has told Gisa she doesn't need to make the children outfits, but Gisa did it anyway because she loves her niece and nephew.

The court ettique stuck with Cal, which has led to him raising the children to be very formal.

SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL(I'm naming Tedros and Agatha's son Anthony):

Both parents were kind of scared Anthony was mute because he didn't start talking until he was nearly a year old. He's not mute, he just doesn't talk much.

You have to catch him at just the right moment. Anthony is completely silent around large crowds or assemblies, but with his parents he's half of a chatterbox, at least.

Anthony and Agatha can have full conversations with nothing but facial expressions.

Tedros had a hard time getting Anthony to open up to him, and decided to give the boy space for a little bit.

It was absolutely worth it for the heart to heart they had.

Hester and Anadil hate kids, but Agatha's and Tedros's little demon spawn is the only exception to that statement.

Anadil was won over by how he didn't cry and even 'said' how her rats were cute.

Hester, however, only warmed up to him when she spent a longer time with him, and after getting a chance to watch him because Aunt Sophie kept stepping in.

On one such occasion, where Anthony was surprised by Hester's watching him, the boy was overjoyed to see her, hugging her closely. He then backed up and stepped back, giving her a wave and smile. As she understood his silence better than Sophie, Hester wrote to him on a paper, 'Did you miss me THAT much?' Anthony nodded and wrote back, 'Yes!'

Sophie is not a helicopter aunt, but she loves Anthony a bit too much for his liking.

She NEVER talks about how she'd been hoping he was a girl.

Anthony isn't a fan of pink, but he doesn't hate it. Pastel is fine. Anything more vibrant makes him puke.

Both Tedros and Agatha were surprised to see how good Anthony was on horse back.

Heart attack angst moment: A former supporter of Rhian and Japeth snuck into the castle and made an assassination attempt on the royal family, more specifically Anthony. Tedros threw his son behind him and drew hus sword and Agatha shot a spell at him and proceeded to tackle him to the ground, not caring about her dress or the fact that the assailant was still armed.

Anthony colud not watch the execution because he hates bloodshed. He's a vegetarian/vegan and tries to eat as little meat as possible because he often spends time in the stables and around animals.

Agatha and Tedros are aware of this and are okay with it, though Tedros has him eat a single steak for dinner and teo eggs for breakfast once a month on seperate occasions, just so he doesn't lack any iron or protein.

To clarify, by separate occasions, I mean that Anthony will eat the steak one day and the eggs later another day within the month. After that, he can indulge in as much vegan/vegetarian food as he wants.

Have fun trying to convince Tedros and Agatha to let him attend the SGE; it's not that they have unpleasant memories, they just want him to try and have as normal of a life as possible.

On a walk, and when the Tagatha child was a teen, Tedros noticed some girls trying to flirt with Anthony and that his son barely reciprocated their actions. He pointed out that they were showing an interest in him, and Anthony admitted that he knew and he just didn't really feel the same way; he didn't exactly see why they were so flirty when he didn't feel like giving it back to them.

NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS(The triplets I'm naming Jacob, the eldest boy, Luna, the middle girl, and Daemon, the youngest boy):

Jacob is 98% the triplets' father; he'd be a spitting image if it weren't for his mop of hair, he's sharp as a whip, but still puts the E in idiot(please tell me you git that Jenna Marbles reference!!!).

Luna is arguably the smartest, but good luck getting a, 'you don't say' out of her. She won't tell you she's smarter than you, she will show you. Good thing Jack and Sally keep her in check.

Daemon is the family's "underdog." He has the last minute, 'this will work,' Jack Sparrow plans. He's quiet, he sews, he sings, and if he's not trailing behind Jack, Sally, or his siblings, he's probably touching up his clothes.

Jacob was the idiot kid that got electrocuted to the point his red hair turned black. He barely remembers it, but now all he tastes is cold peanut butter. Daemon has often suggested and offered to do it again, but Luna stops him. Pro: he's spending more time with Luna and Jacob is safe. Con: he's spending time with LUNA and Jacob still doesn't remember.

Jacob, as the oldest, attends 'meetings' with Jack and the Mayor. It doesn't bore him, he just gets tired of the Mayor's whining.

Jacob doesn't get Christmas. Luna has the basic idea of it. Daemon is the only one that understands, but doesn't explain it fully out of spite; Jacob called him scatter brained because of an incident where, at the table, a cockroach crawled out of his eye socket.

Daemon is the only one of his siblings to have eyes.

Even though she's literal bone, Luna has stitches that are very close to Sally's.

Neither Jack nor Sally have nicknames for the children, besides terms of endearment.

You know you're in trouble when Jack looks at you and looks ready to dig your grave himself.

All three triplets have Jack's fire power, but no one's gotten hurt because of it, even though Jacob and Daemon had one close call.

Neither parent would ever even dream of raising a hand against the children.

It's safe to say that Luna and Sally use common sense the most out of all five of the family members.

Daemon smells like pumpkin and cinnamon. He finds both himself, cinnamon bark and small, apple-esque pumpkins, and eats them like skittles and popcorn.

Another result of the electrocution, Jacob is hard of hearing where is left ear would be, if he had ears. He can't hear at all in the "ear." Not even a ringing sound.

The only reason Jacob doesn't like something is because he doesn't get it. At all.

Luna sees the glass as half full, Daemon sees the glass as half empty, and wonder if it belongs to someone who drank out of said glass, hence its being hald empty, and Jacob just sees a glass of water, now can he just drink the rest?

Luna, the best with herbs, has poisoned her brothers. Sally found out and she was grounded.

Daemon, to see how much he could take, dived off the roof of Dr. Finkelstein's tower. It took Jack, Sally, Luna, Jacob, and Zero all day to collect all of him. He was grounded and locked in his room.

Jacob got grounded for a few things: setting his sister on fire(no one knows who started that fight.), hiding in a morgue to scare people only to end up falling asleep, even as they tried to cremate him, and then waking up in front of the humans, pretending to be one of the hanging men on The Hanging Tree, and dancing on top of the tallest Pyramid in Egypt.

The children do misbehave sometimes, but their parents love them.

Jack and Jacob don't see eye to eye exactly, but they still get each other.

Luna loves both her brothers, but she will hang out with Daemon more than Jacob.

Daemon has a lot of glow sticks he collected and they all still glow when it gets dark. Jacob used his thinking cap and had a moment of big brain time, and drank some of the glow stick juice.

One more thing he got in trouble for.

Daemon also got in trouble, but he was allowed to keep his glow sticks.

Luna is a good singer, Daemon is a great dancer, and Jacob is the best at succeeding their father

[scoopsgf]

can i get a good night’s sleep? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep?!

or: five times peter parker doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

my contribution to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! this is for @snarky-drabbles - I hope you enjoy it! 

1. 

The first time is actually just the first in a while. Peter’s had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid; it was just one issue of many that stacked up on top of each other, resulting in his personal belief that he must be the most difficult kid to look after on the planet.

Asthma meant hundreds of dollars spent on inhalers, covering what their shitty insurance didn’t. His poor eyesight was the same story and the bullies that used to break his glasses had never helped. But it wasn’t just physical crap, of course: he’s had anxiety for as long as he can remember.

There are cute side-effects like panic attacks and nausea, not to mention the constant sense of impending doom he’s been nursing since… well, birth, probably. When he was younger he’d worry about whether or not the taxi driver had enough gas in his car to get them where they needed to go, or maybe Ben would get shot at work (ironically enough, he’d never worried that Ben would get shot off-duty, and there is a teeny superstitious sliver of him that believes maybe if he had considered the possibility it never would have happened, like some kind of a reverse jinx or something).

One of the other cute things that comes along with it is insomnia.

So here he is, pacing in his kitchen at three in the morning because May isn’t home yet.

Her shift ended at two. She’s usually back within a half hour considering the hospital isn’t far, hence his agitation.

He’s tried calling and texting to no avail, and he keeps telling himself that everything is fine, that she probably just got held up; meanwhile his subconscious provides a great slideshow of mental images that speak to the opposite—her getting kidnapped because somehow someone links her to Spider-Man, her getting hit with a car, mugged, shot, slipping on black ice—and that’s actually not far-fetched considering it’s January, there’s a lot of it, and so he pulls out his phone and types, You didn’t slip on black ice and die did you? to May.

No little dots appear to signify that she’s typing. The message doesn’t even change from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’.

She has her read receipts on. She’s promised him. There’s no reason she’d change that, right? But maybe she accidentally switched them off when she was scrolling through her settings.

He calls her.

“Hi, this is May Parker, I’m unavailable at the moment but if you leave me a message I’ll get back to you as soon as—”

Peter hangs up with a dissatisfied grunt.

It’s only then that he realises, to his great dismay, that he’s paced all the way onto the ceiling.

In his shock he loses concentration and falls. “Ow, fuck.” He pulls his aching knee to his chest. It’ll no doubt be bruised soon. “God has forsaken me.”

He picks up his now cracked phone and texts Ned:

I just fell off the ceiling at 3 AM in the morning

Don’t ask me what I was doing on it

Every bone in my body is broken :(

No reply comes which is pretty typical; Ned probably passed out in front of his PC like, hours ago. Peter can picture it: the light of his computer screen casting a blue glow over everything in the room, his head probably tucked into his arms to muffle his snores (and there’s also probably a bowl of stale popcorn spilled across his floor at this point), his creepy mother lurking in the doorway—or worse, trying to find out how to snoop through his laptop while he’s out of it.

Peter could totally go swing down there and help the guy out. It would be something to do anyway.

But no. The door is too far. His suit… too much work. It’s definitely better to just stay here curled up under the table like a little turtle.

But wait—a blanket.

Is it worth the effort? Probably. Peter scans his immediate surroundings and, oh boy, Lady Fate is actually on his side tonight because there’s a gigantic purple fluffy one hanging off the couch and it only takes a little bit of physical exertion to yank it down and wrap it around his body.

He burrows deeper into it and scrolls through Instagram. MJ posted a picture of a banana today. Literally like, just a banana. No caption, no explanation on her story, nothing.

Peter double taps it and comments: i hope u asked before u took his jacket

No like. No reply. That makes sense. It is three in the fucking morning, after all.

No. Three thirty. It’s been an hour and a half.

What had May said once? That it was okay to call someone if she was two hours late?

Peter tries texting and calling one more time and then just sits there, staring at his home screen and watching the minutes pass. At exactly four AM after much deliberation and stomach churning, he calls someone else.

Three rings later: “I’m in Vienna right now so this better be good.”

Peter feels even more nauseous than before. “Oh,” he says. “I guess—never mind, then. Sorry.”

“Wait, wait, that was just for show and I’m greatly intrigued as to why you’re calling me so… early? Late? Anyway I’m out of the conference room now so lay it on me.”

Against his will, Peter’s lip quirks up. “Um, it’s kind of stupid—”

“Nothing is ever stupid,” Tony says. “Especially when it’s coming from the brain of a kid with an intelligence quotient of 260.”

He feels his cheeks heat up and then it all just comes tumbling out, “It’s really late and May was supposed to be off at two and home by two-thirty, but she’s not and I don’t know what to do. I tried calling and texting but she’s not replying and I know that I’m probably just building it up in my head but I can’t help freaking out because like, what if she got stabbed or slipped on black ice or—”

“Hey Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

Tony’s voice has softened immeasurably. Something uncoils in Peter’s stomach. He flops onto his side and closes his eyes. “I’m breathing.”

“That’s good, kiddo. Now just hang on a sec, I’m gonna call the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Well she works there, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you haven’t tried calling them yet, correct?”

“...Correct.”

“Ergo,” Tony says.

“But I—”

“Yeah?”

Peter bites his lip and then he just blurts it: “I don’t want you to hang up.”

He feels like such a child but the thought of losing connection with Tony is literally making his heart palpitate and his palms sweat. He needs someone. He needs an adult.

“Well lucky for us both I have two phones.”

Peter cracks an eye. “You what?”

“I’m Tony Stark, don’t question it. Hang on, let me just—hello, hi, um, I need this room. No, it can’t wait. Yes the whole room. Yes locked. I don’t know, five minutes? Ten? An hour? No, I’m not joking. Thank you. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Bye now.” Something slams shut—the door to the office Tony just stole, probably. “Okay, just a sec, I have the number for the reception desk she works at in my phone.”

Peter, for some reason, feels immeasurably comforted by that. He sits in silence gnawing on his lip while Tony has a somewhat muffled conversation he can’t hear the other side of. Then, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay, well, they said she’s covering for someone and can’t get to the phone because a baby had to have emergency surgery so she’s literally in the OR as we speak. Pretty badass and not bad as far as excuses go. Now that you know she’s fine and not dead by ice, how about you get some shut-eye, okay kid?”

Peter swallows. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Tony.”

“No Mr. Stark this time, huh?”

“It’s too late for formalities.”

“I see,” Tony replies. “Sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

The line goes dead. Peter, slightly relieved but not fully consoled, rolls over to face the door. He doesn’t sleep at all that night and is still there when May comes home at six in the morning with bagels and apologies.

—

2. 

The anniversary of Ben’s death is always super weird.

This time it takes him a few minutes to remember what day it is: he’s in the middle of brushing his teeth and then it hits him like a train: oh, it’s been three years.

Then comes May. She usually tries to cook something for breakfast but like always it burns. He leaves the bathroom to the sound of the smoke alarm and fans a cookie sheet at the screeching little device while she swears up and down in Italian.

“It’s okay, May, really—”

“No, it’s not!” She snaps, tossing a batch of blackened cinnamon rolls into the trash. “I just want this day to be easy for you!”

Peter goes over to her and, after kicking the oven door shut with his foot, pulls her into his arms. May starts to cry even though she tries not to; sniffles turn into barely stifled sobs. He knows that it’s harder for her than it is for him. Ben was her husband and they’d been married for thirteen years when he died. Sometimes he still catches her looking to see if he’s laughing too when they watch TV, only to find an empty recliner.

“It’s okay for it to be a bad day,” he whispers. “You know that, right? I mean, I love you to pieces, May, but I don’t wanna see you bending over backwards for me.”

“But that’s my job, doofus.”

Peter pulls back. He’s an inch taller than her now. “No it’s not. We take care of each other, okay?”

Then comes school. Ned usually hovers nervously like an agitated gnat, too afraid to say anything, not sure if he should act normal or be sad in solidarity, which means it’s kind of Peter’s job to set the tone. As he’s putting his combination in for his locker he asks, “So did you beat that level of Obra Dinn last night?”

Ned, shoulders slumping with relief, starts to ramble on about how hard it was to do and how it took him like, thirty whole tries.

They go to class. Peter zones out. He doesn’t bother making more web fluid or ditching and he gets so inside his own head that Coach Wilson compliments him again during gym class. Peter deliberately slows down after that, even if it’s kind of irritating; being physically active actually helps work off his anger.

Because that’s what he is more than anything else: angry. At the mugger, yeah, but at himself more than anything else. It was his fault that they were out that night, anyway. It’s a wonder that May doesn’t hate his fucking guts.

When school is up Peter comes home to an empty house. He thinks about going on patrol but doesn’t really feel up to it, and then he feels bad for not wanting to do it because like, what if someone is dying?

So he puts on the suit and swings from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s no action today. Peter eventually settles on a fire escape with a burrito. A stray cat hops up after a while and, despite his matted fur and crazy eyes, Peter decides he has a kind of quiet dignity about him and names him Charles.

“Do you like beef?” He asks, holding some out for Charles to sniff. The cat yowls and, without any warning other than that, nearly chomps Peter’s fingers off to get the meat.

“Ow, jeez!” Peter shakes his wrist. “I was literally giving it to you for free, but go off I guess.”

Charles blinks his big brown marble eyes and then literally jumps off the fucking ledge. Peter leans over and watches him scamper across the street, somehow not getting hit by any traffic. Sometimes he thinks his spidey sense is more like feline sense in that way: he could probably manage the same thing with his eyes closed.

After a while the sun sets and all of the streetlights turn on. Peter does another patrol around the immediate vicinity but again, nothing. He stays out anyway though because he’d rather do his Chemistry homework behind a dumpster than sit alone in the apartment with nothing but the quiet for company. At least out and about there are sewer rats and mangy dogs and shady characters who actually just turn out to be skateboarders.

Peter is almost done with his assignment when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He looks up and finds Iron Man himself coming in for a landing. The suit drops with a barely audible clunk; it’s Mark 54, the sleekest and most lightweight model yet.

“Oh thank God,” says Tony’s voice, “you’re not dead.”

Peter frowns even though Tony can’t see it. “No,” he agrees slowly. “Why would I be dead? What are you doing here?”

“Well, your aunt called me in a panic at around four when she got home and you weren’t there, and then I checked the scanners and saw that you’d been here, completely stationary, for like five whole hours—needless to say I had a little bit of a heart attack and here I am, relieved and also mildly infuriated. Care to explain, young padawan?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Opens it again and, “It’s four AM?”

“Four fifteen,” Tony corrects.

“I didn’t even—I didn’t know! Shit, May’s totally gonna kill me, I might as well be dead—”

“Woah woah woah,” the faceplate lifts, “calm down, okay? No one is mad. Just, uh, concerned, I promise.”

Peter is still frantically packing up his school supplies and not really listening. He only stops when Tony gently touches him by lightly gripping his elbow. “Kid?”

Peter stares down at the older man’s hand. Behind the mask his eyes start to burn. “Ben died.”

“Pardon?”

“Ben died,” he repeats louder. “In this alley. Two years ago.”

All at once Tony’s face falls. He moves to sit by Peter on the grimy floor of the alley while the suit hovers nearby, a hollow shell, just the way Peter feels now.

“Kid,” Tony says, “take off the mask.”

“What? No, I’m in public—”

“No one’s around,” Tony says. “Just take it off, okay?”

Peter does, reluctantly peeling it back to reveal his tear-stained cheeks. Tony stares for a second and then, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around Peter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I—” he chokes. “I’m just so tired. I’m tired of having to watch May be strong for me when I can’t be strong back, and I’m tired of Ben not being around. I miss him and it—it’s not fair.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s never fair. That’s why it hurts, kiddo. You’ve got all this love and no place to put it.”

Peter bites his lip to stop it from quivering and looks away, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I just feel pathetic.”

“Don’t,” Tony says firmly. “I felt the same way after my mom died and it… In some ways I don’t think the feeling ever actually went away, but uh, take it from someone who’s had a lot more time to process: no one is expecting anything from you, okay? And I can guarantee there’s not a single human that thinks two years is long enough to be perfectly fine again. You’re allowed to still be upset about this.”

And Peter is. He’s really, really fucking upset about it and so tired of holding it in. Tony pulls him against his chest when Peter starts to cry and it sort of seems like he’ll never be able to stop. There’s just so much, so much guilt and pain and all kinds of other bullshit that he refuses to lay on May.

So he lays it on Tony. And it’s surprisingly not horrible or awkward or even the end of the world.

“You good?” the older man asks, when Peter finally sobers up enough to wipe his cheeks dry and take a few steadying breaths.

“Yeah,” he says, voice ragged and awful-sounding. “Um, sorry. For freaking you and May out and ruining your shirt, I mean.”

“You know there’s this really snazzy invention called a washing machine—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Tony laughs and it makes Peter laugh too, and the tension between them just sort of dissipates. “Speaking of clothes,” Tony claps his hands together, “you got any to wear in that backpack?”

“Uh, jeans and a hoodie?”

“Fantastic, incredible. Throw them on, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But what if someone sees?!”

“Let ’em. I’ll have Pep release a statement claiming you as my personal assistant or head intern or something.”

“That’s totally unrealistic.”

“Do I care? No. Just—okay? Up and at ’em, make haste, come on. What do you feel like, pancakes or waffles?”

They bicker about which is better the entire way to the little diner Tony choses, and Peter comes home full an hour later. May is fast asleep at the kitchen table. He kisses her forehead and starts on breakfast for her.

—

3. 

He’s thirty minutes into helping MJ study for her AP French test when she finally gets a question wrong. “‘Il n'est pas clair que’?” Peter queries, holding up the flash card.

“‘It’s not certain that’?”

He makes a pitying noise. “Close. ‘It’s not clear that’.”

“What’s not clear, exactly? That if I see one more word in French I’m gonna blow my brains out?”

Peter snorts. “No, actually it says more clarification is required on how much you like your boyfriend. Suggestions to improve that include: a hug, a kiss, both—”

“Neither?”

He pouts. “Mean.”

MJ rolls her eyes, but she kisses him first. She tastes like the Twizzlers they’ve been eating and her hands are in his hair and she laughs when he presses his lips to her cheeks and nose and forehead.

They somehow end up in an incredibly compromising position. “You know,” MJ muses, “I don’t think I’ve been studying the right kind of French.”

Peter, hovering over her (oops), nods in agreement. “This kind is definitely way better.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and he’s so consumed with this: her and him and the smell of her jasmine shampoo—that he almost doesn’t hear it.

Almost.

Peter rips away abruptly. “What was that?”

She groans. “God, you’re such a dog sometimes.”

He ignores her, sitting alert with his eyes narrowed at the window and, sure enough, there it is again: a faint, blood-curdling scream. “Someone’s being attacked or something. Maybe four blocks away tops.”

MJ squints. “Don’t tell me you can echolocate.”

“I—” Peter’s mouth snaps shut and then opens again. “I actually don’t know. Anyway, I gotta go.”

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek, throws on his jacket, and quickly ducks out her fire escape (which happens to be the same way that he came in). He slips the mask on and tosses his hood up; it’s raining in heavy, icy sheets and Peter is drenched within seconds of swinging. He remembers the first time he’d gone out during a storm; the webbing he’d made hadn’t held up because the chemical formula hadn’t accounted for the massive amounts of water-based reaction, so the biocables had evaporated as they left his shooters. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped first that day, otherwise he would be a Peter Pancake.

Another scream sounds. Peter follows it and winds up latched onto the side of a two-story brick building. There’s an incredibly dark alley below, but a quick flash of lightning tells him everything he needs to know: one man is trying to wrestle a woman down, while another is rifling through her purse. He’s also holding a gun.

“Oh, cute,” he mutters sarcastically.

Peter tries to time it right: he takes aim and shoots a web right at the weapon with the next bout of lightning, but to his immense misfortune, the armed mugger had already seen him and was aiming right back. The bullet hits Peter in the side.

“Ow,” he says, “that was uncalled for.”

He drops. His side is throbbing and hot but he ignores it in favour of disarming the guy who shot him. It’s a brief struggle but Peter ends up whacking the gun out of his hand and webbing it to the wall opposite. Then he knocks the guy out with a solid upper cross to the temple.

Peter rounds. The assailant has already fled, leaving the woman shivering but relatively unharmed.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asks.

“Me? That guy shot you!”

Peter looks down at his side which is now stained with blood. “Oh, yeah.”

He’d actually forgotten for half a second. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s starting to really feel it: a burning sensation in his abdomen, an aching that pulses from his stomach to his chest. Ah. Wonderful.

A little dazed, he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. Super healing. Are you good? You need me to call you a cab?”

“What? No, um—the police station is like, down the block, I can go get them.”

“Are you sure? Because I can totally do that—”

“I can handle myself,” she says sharply, bending down to pick up her purse and the discarded items within. “It’s just… there were two of them and there was a gun and—”

“I get it,” Peter says, his hand pressing harder into his side as the world grows blurrier around the edges. “You really don’t want me to at least walk you down?”

“I’ll take a taxi,” she says. “You just, um, get yourself fixed up, okay? And thanks.”

“Yeah, sure, anytime! But, y’know, preferably never again,” Peter says, and proceeds to swing away.

—

Tony doesn’t expect to get woken up at two AM after only just falling asleep five minutes before, but such is life; FRIDAY’s voice bleeds through the speakers above to inform him that Spider-Man is currently rifling through the Med-Bay and bleeding from a wound on his side.

Pepper looks at him. “You heard that too, right? That was real?”

“It was real.”

They both scramble out of bed. Tony takes the lead, throwing on his jacket as he runs toward the elevator. It’s times like these when every second stretches out into an eternity; it takes maybe five of them to get from their floor to the Med-Bay, but it feels like forever.

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

“I know, right?” Peter glances up. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Peter,” she returns. “Do you mind if I wash my hands and take a look at that?”

“If you want. It’s kinda gross, though.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Through this exchange Tony was already washing up, and now he dons a pair of gloves and sits on the rolling stool. “Looks like it’s through and through,” he tells Pep over his shoulder. “Could you grab a couple suture kits and, uh, the stuff?”

Pepper makes a face. “The stuff?”

“You know,” Tony says, “The Good Stuff.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, that stuff.”

Tony feels around the area. “Do you know what kind of gun was used?”

“Looked like your standard nine mil,” Peter replies. His voice is growing a little slurred.

That’s good though, about the gun. Means there’s probably not any bullet fragments to worry about. Tony grabs a load of gauze and presses it against the wound. He checks Peter’s pulse while he’s at it and finds that it’s slowed considerably. “We’re gonna have to get you some blood, too. A neg, right?”

“Yuppers.”

Tony excuses that because after all, the kid is bleeding out on a table. Said kid actually starts to swing his legs back and forth and, yeah, that’s not gonna fly. “Do me a favour and lay back? I’m gonna put this towel right under you for now.”

Peter doesn’t have any arguments, or if he does, he doesn’t vocalise them. Pepper comes back in with the kits and drugs and, because she’s just smarter than him like that, bags of blood.

Tony grabs the vials first and loads up a syringe. Peter is pretty numb to all of it until the needle goes in. Then he frowns. “Why are you injecting me with alien blood?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s not alien blood, it’s a pain killer. A serious one at that, so you’re probably gonna feel a little out of it for a while, okay?”

Peter frowns. “Is it for Steve?”

Tony tenses, but it’s only for a second. “Yes,” he says, somewhat tightly.

“Ugh. What a turd, Mr. Stark. You’re giving me turd vitamins!” Tony scoffs while Pepper laughs. Peter notices. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re not helping me here,” Tony says to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Here, have some thread.”

Tony sighs. “Just stay still for me, okay?”

Peter does. Pepper passes him various supplies and they work together to sew up both ends of the gunshot wound. By the time they’re done, Peter hasn’t moved once, but his eyes are open and he’s frowning.

“How do you feel?”

“Wired,” he says.

“Seriously? Bruce never said anything about the side-effects, but I figured they’d be like normal pain-killers; make you drowsy and all that.”

“No,” Peter sits up quickly and doesn’t even flinch. “I feel like I just got steroids or something. Are you—are you actually telling me that Captain America’s drugs are infused with a stimulant? What, so he can keep fighting even when he’s in the middle of dying?”

Tony blinks. “Well that was smart of dear Banner.”

“Yeah, or insane.” Peter flexes his hands. “I feel like I need to go for a run, or like, break something.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Tony says, pushing him back down. “You need to heal, not mess yourself up even more, understood?”

Peter stares. “Is it normal to see sounds?”

Pepper bursts out laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she says when Tony glares. “Really, I am, I promise. Peter, honey, how about we get you to a bedroom where you can rest up? We’ll call your aunt and explain everything.”

—

Everything is going fine until May asks, “How did you get to the Tower so quick, then?”

Peter blinks. “Hmm? Pardon?”

“If you were at Ned’s,” May says, “how’d you manage to swing all the way across town?”

Peter opens his mouth and closes it. “I, uh… well, funny story, um… I wasn’t actually at Ned’s?”

There’s a pause over the phone. Pepper, who’s holding it, raises an eyebrow. May says: “You told me you were going to Ned’s, Peter.”

His face feels hot. He hopes it isn’t red. Both Pepper and Tony—from the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sweatpant pockets—are staring. It’s almost as bad as if May were really here.

“Well I was going to Ned’s, but then I changed my mind and went somewhere else and oh—look at the time! I think we’re going through a tunnel—”

“Don’t even try to pull that crap! That’s it, I’m coming over there—”

“May,” Peter says, serious now, “you’re in the middle of a shift, there’s people dying. Just—I’m perfectly fine, I took my Captain America drugs and everything is gonna be okay.”

“But you lied to me.”

“No, I changed my mind.”

“And went where?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Peter.”

“May.”

She groans from the other end of the line and demands to speak to Pepper one on one. Tony’s fiancé grins and switches off speaker, before slipping out with a bright laugh to finish off the conversation. Tony stares expectantly. “So where were you?”

“Oh my god, not you too. You know, on second thought, I actually am completely exhausted and—”

“Uh, nope,” Tony flops down onto the bed. “Fess up.”

Peter sighs. He squirms down and covers his pillow with a head. “No.”

Tony joins him under it. “Tell me.”

Peter scowls. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing one another. “I was with my girlfriend.”

“Oooo—”

“Shush! It’s… it’s really not a big deal and I haven’t told May yet because MJ and I haven’t even really talked about it and it all happened super fast and—” he remembers to breathe, “I just… I always tell May everything, you know? But I kind of just felt like… this was something I had to figure out first on my own. Maybe it’s stupid, but I know she’s gonna be super hurt when she finds out it’s been a month and I haven’t said anything—”

“Kid,” Tony cuts in. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Peter promises, because he is. He’s also just incredibly hyper and stressed.

“It’s a normal instinct to want to figure things out and define them before you start announcing them to the world. I get that. But you’re still a kid, Pete, and even if you don’t want people prying into your love life, we still need to know where you are in case something goes wrong.”

Peter harrumphs as he turns away. “There’s a tracker on my phone and my suit. It would be easier to find me than anything else.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You got a point there.”

“I just wanted time.”

“I know.”

“But I really like her, okay? Like she’s so smart and she’s got this really dark sense of humour and she’s actually kind of terrifying sometimes—”

“Oh, the scary ones are always fun.”

They stay up talking through the night and, when the sun comes up, Pepper joins them with a tray of freshly made blueberry waffles. May arrives around the same time and, looking too tired to be mad, simply drops onto the bed with them and steals what’s left of his food.

—

4. 

Peter is on patrol when he hears it:

a soft, quiet yelping coming from somewhere down below the rooftop he’s perched on.

At first he figures he’s imagining things, but then his ears perk again. He leans over the building’s edge to find the source of the noise.

In the dark it’s hard to make anything out, so he climbs slowly down the side of the wall, squinting. There’s another yelp and a low whine, almost pained. Peter zeroes in on the sound and creeps toward a set of dumpsters; they’re so full of trash they’re overflowing, and it’s underneath a broken down cardboard box that he finds it... 

A puppy.

Now, Peter is no liar. He’s wanted a dog since he was like, a fetus. The words ‘A dog’ have been on every birthday and Christmas list for as long as he can remember. It’s only recently, in the years since Ben’s death, that he’s pretty much given up—after all, May is so overworked and they can barely afford to feed themselves. How could they afford a pet?

But also…

This is the cutest dog he’s ever seen.

It’s tiny and fluffy and brown and has the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever seen.

Peter kind of just stands there staring like an idiot for a good few seconds and then slowly kneels down. “Um, hi,” he says, in the gentlest voice he can manage. The puppy, who can’t be older than a few weeks and looks completely starved and exhausted, whines in response.

Peter holds out his hand for the dog to sniff. It lifts its head lazily and leans forward, nose twitching and dry. “You need water, huh? Come on, I know a place.”

—

“Shelob,” Tony greets without looking up from whatever project he’s working on. “What can I do for you at… one in the fucking morning?”

“I need your help with something, but you have to promise you won’t get mad or make me get rid of him—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what have you done now?”

“He was just so helpless and cold and small and…” Peter swallows and reveals the puppy, presently wrapped up in his hoodie. “Meet Nugget.”

Tony’s face is the epitome of Disappointed Dad. He stares, open-mouthed, and after a second his shoulders fall. “Well, fuck.”

Peter snuggles Nugget against his chest and steps closer, but then Tony holds up a hand to stop him. “Nah-ah! Not until that thing gets a flea bath!”

Hope sparks in Peter’s chest. “You mean we can keep him?”

“I mean there’s no way I’m getting near him until I know I won’t break out in hives.”

“That’s not how fleas work.”

“Do I care? No. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

—

“Why do you have flea shampoo?”

Peter’s inquiry is made tentatively. They both have their hands in the sud-filled sink as they systematically wash Nugget’s fur.

“There was… an incident a while ago. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Peter stares. Blinks. “Okay. Well, I think he’s clean.”

Nugget barks as if in agreement, and so Peter and Tony lift him out of the basin and set him on a pile of no doubt expensive, fluffy white towels. Tony takes the lead after that. He’s surprisingly gentle and patient with the yapping, impatient puppy—even when Nugget tries to claw at him and shake himself dry, Tony never loses his cool.

A few minutes later they’re sitting on their stomachs watching Nugget stomp around on a blanket. There’s water in a bowl for him at one corner and a plate of chopped up chicken at another.

“I can’t take him home,” Peter says morosely after a few minutes. “May won’t let me keep him.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Where does she even think you are right now?”

“...In my bed.”

“Wow,” Tony says, deadpan. “Okay, well, I most certainly can’t keep him either.”

“What?! Why not?!”

Tony sighs. “I’m Iron Man, if you hadn’t noticed, kiddo—”

“Oh, what, so you’re too tough to look after him?”

“No, I’m too busy. I spend like, twenty-three out of twenty-four hours in a day in my shop and the rest of the time I’m on my knees apologising to Pepper and begging for forgiveness. There’s no time in-between to feed the pup, walk the pup—”

“I could come by,” Peter blurts. “Like, once a day, and I could make sure he’s eaten and play with him and stuff. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—”

“Except to press ‘purchase’ on my shopping cart full of dog food—”

“Tony,” Peter cuts in, pleading, “please? I can’t just drop him off at some kennel so they can—” he covers the dog’s ears, “so they can euthanize him in a week when no one buys him. He deserves so much better, you know?”

Tony frowns, considering it, and Peter waits with his breath caught in his throat until, “God, fine.”

“Yes!”

“But! But! A pet is a serious responsibility, okay? You might as well be adopting a child—”

“What would you know about raising kids?” Peter asks, only jokingly, but Tony just stares and then, for some reason, smiles.

“You have to make sure he’s happy,” Tony says. “You have to be there for him in whatever way he needs, alright? I’ll set up a pen in the penthouse and you can make sure he works off his energy there, and if I have time I’ll even take you both to the park. And if he ever happens to pee on my carpet, I’m counting on you to clean it up.”

“Don’t you have, like, housekeepers for that sort of thing?”

“Yeah, but this is character building stuff.”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll clean up the pee.”

They continue to iron out the details for a while and bicker over whether Nugget’s last name should be Parker or Stark, and it’s only when Pepper walks in—still in her pajamas, bleary eyed and complaining that they woke her up—that they both decide it should be ‘Potts’.

—

5. (+1)

It starts with a headache.

He’s bent over his desk studying for a Calc test when the throbbing begins. It’s not so bad at first, but after a half hour or so his vision is swimming and he keeps having to take breaks to massage his temples and close his eyes. The equations are all blending together and he can’t think straight anymore.

Peter decides to give up right around then. After all, if he’s not gonna retain any of the information, why bother?

May pokes and prods through dinner. Peter tries to fool her by acting like everything is normal and okay and even manages to make her laugh once or twice.

Inside, dread is coiling through his stomach like an irritated snake. He knows what’s coming next; after all, he doesn’t really get sick anymore, so what else could it be?

Peter tries to sleep but ends up tossing and turning for most of the night. He falls into some kind of half-conscious daze at around four in the morning and rouses about twenty minutes later, soaked with sweat and aching everywhere.

Feeling like he’s gonna vomit, Peter kicks off his blankets and strips the sheets off his bed. He takes his shirt off because the fabric is too abrasive against his skin and it’s like he can feel every fibre tickling against it, grating and chafing. He curls up into a tight ball and covers his ears with his hands to block out the now amplified sounds of the city: car alarms, dogs barking, music playing.

Normally Peter loves the way New York is never silent. Now, he just wishes everyone would shut the fuck up for once.

When he stumbles out of his room a little while later, May is already gone. She’d told him the night before that she had an early shift and for once he’s actually grateful. Haltingly, Peter gets ready for school. He’s already skipped three days this month and if he misses this Calc quiz he’s gonna fucking bomb the class.

May would kill him.

It’s better to suffer a little than die.

Brushing his teeth makes his head spin and the minute he wriggles into his clothes he feels like a caged animal about to claw his skin off. Everything takes so much longer than normal. He doesn’t eat because the mere thought of food makes the back of his throat sting with bile.

On the train, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the cool glass of the window, trying to tune out the constant screeching of the rails. One day, on God, he will make it a personal project to oil every fucking line in the subway.

At his fifth stop, an old lady boards and all the seats are taken.

Peter swallows thickly and stands. Black spots dance in his vision and he grabs onto the overhead bar—something he hasn’t actually needed to use since he was a little kid—and tries not to pass out.

He almost misses the stop to get to school, but slips out at the last second, millimetres away from getting his backpack caught in the doors. Peter is hot all over and lightheaded as he makes his way out of the station. It’s even hotter up above, what with summer coming now and all.

Peter is late and he doesn’t need his watch to tell; Flash’s car is already parked out front instead of zooming through the drop off to run him over (which, hey, silver lining), and the majority of the student body is already inside.

Peter has to stop multiple times on his way to Spanish just to breathe. By the time he gets there he’s at least ten minutes late for roll call.

“Mr. Parker,” his teacher greets, unimpressed. “So glad you could join us.”

Peter makes a noise and takes the proffered quiz. He wonders absently why some people choose to teach. What is it, like, some kind of power trip for them?

He has five minutes to finish the quiz but doesn’t make it past the first question. Ned volunteers to collect them and stops at Peter’s desk while Professor Scott outlines today’s lesson plan.

“Dude,” he whisper-hisses, “you look like complete shit. What on Earth are you doing here right now?”

“Test,” Peter mutters dully, resting his cheek on his hand and closing his eyes. “Here you go. Didn’t finish it.”

Ned takes it carefully, holding it with two fingers like it’s covered in disease. “Do you want me to get the nurse or something?”

Peter hums. “No. Just… headache.”

Slowly Ned backs away. “Um—”

“Mr. Leeds!” Professor Scott says, loudly. Ned jumps. “Is there a problem back there?”

Yes, Peter thinks. You’re the human version of nails on a fucking chalk board. Please, for the love of all that is holy, just start on the vocab.

Only he accidentally says all of that out loud.

The whole class is staring. Flash is slack-jawed. Betty Brant’s eyes are the size of small moons.

“Parker,” Scott grits out—and Peter has denominated him to just Scott now out of reciprocation and spite; “You just earned yourself a shiny new detention. I’d like you to take this slip to the principal’s office. Please.”

Oh, thank God. At least it’ll be quiet there.

Peter stands and brushes past Ned and it literally feels like flames of hell are licking against his skin. He almost vomits. This is decidedly not good.

He takes the paper. “Gladly, good sir.”

When he’s gone, there’s an outburst of muttering that his enhancements let him hear. It only makes the overload worse. Peter covers his ears with his hands again and, overcome with a sudden wave of vertigo, ducks into the bathroom.

He barely makes it to the toilet before emptying his stomach of last night’s food.

Peter sags against the wall, panting. He keeps his eyes closed and waits for the world to stop spinning. About ten minutes later, the smell of jasmine shampoo—normally welcome—causes him to lean over and retch again.

MJ pokes her head inside the unlocked stall. “Jesus,” she whispers. The second her hands touch his body he flinches and she immediately retracts them. “Fuck, sorry. Ned said you wigged out in Spanish. I looked for you in the Principal's office but you weren’t there and... What’s—what’s wrong? I thought you couldn’t even get sick.”

“Bad headache,” he mutters, spitting into the toilet. It’s easier than explaining about his freakish mutations and how they sometimes go completely haywire, leaving him on edge and nauseous and irritable.

MJ grabs him some toilet paper to wipe his mouth with. “Did you take anything?”

“Pain meds don’t work on me.”

“Does May know? You should have called in.”

“Couldn’t. Can’t miss my test.”

She sighs. “Your final is like fifty percent of your grade and you could pass it with your eyes closed. You can miss your test, you’re just afraid of getting anything lower than an A.”

Peter is silent. “You got me there.”

MJ’s hand twitches like she wants to touch him but knows she can’t. “You need to go home. Lie down, get some rest.”

“May is working,” Peter says, “and if I have to take the subway again right now I’ll die. I really will. It’s so—the smell and the noise and I can’t sit down and—”

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

She’s holding her hand out for it and giving him a no-nonsense expression that kind of reminds Peter of Pepper Potts on a rampage. He’s seen what happens to Tony when he crosses her, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over.

“Hold on.”

She stands and leaves. Peter closes his eyes again. He tunes out her conversation because if he doesn’t, he’s absolutely gonna vomit again and nobody wants that.

MJ slips back inside the stall. “Okay, solved. Do you still feel like you’re gonna vomit?”

Peter thinks about it. “No.”

“Good. We’re gonna go to the nurse, okay?”

“Oh boy.”

—

Tony Stark walks into Peter’s school and finds the hallways empty. The classroom doors are shut and the muted sounds of teachers lecturing are the only signs that anyone is here at all.

He finds Peter in the infirmary, sitting on the examination table with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes.

He’s at his side in an instant. “Kid?”

It’s surprise that gets Peter’s eyes open, but the little spider baby immediately regrets it. He flinches and sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony,” he whispers, like the name is all he can manage and the questions will have to wait for later.

Tony looks him over. There are no obvious injuries. The girl on the phone had said it was just a headache, but Tony is way more experienced with Peter’s brand of bullshit and knows there’s usually something else going on beneath the surface.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and then get you out of here, okay?”

A nod.

It’s always a bad thing when he doesn’t argue. Peter Parker would start a fight about what kind of pizza to order, even if you suggest the kind he really wants, just to be a stubborn little shit about things.

Tony slips out of the exam room. The nurse looks up when he enters her office. “Oh my—Mr. Stark?!”

“Yes, hello,” Tony takes a cautious step forward as she stands. He doesn’t bother to sit. “I’m here to pick up the little gremlin in there.”

Her face flushes. “I didn’t know you’d been called, I—I figured I would just let him wait it out, you know? He didn’t want to be touched, so it was hard to figure out what was up and—so it’s real? About the internship?”

“Of course. Why would he lie?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Well… you know how kids can be.”

“Do I?”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Tony sighs. “Look, Nurse—uh, Timms—Nurse Timms, can I please just sign the kid out and take him home? He’s clearly in pain here.”

She starts rifling through her desk for a form. “I mean, I can admit you to take him home, but I really suggest you talk with the principal first—Peter was given a detention before he was brought to my ward, see, and I was—” she shakes her head. “I thought he might be faking.”

Tony stares without blinking for a whole five seconds and then, “Detention? For what?”

“I heard he bad-mouthed a teacher or something. But to be fair, Professor Scott isn’t exactly what I’d call patient.”

“Well, be that as it may,” Tony takes the form she hands him to sign, “my kid doesn’t fake. He has a condition, see. Gets uh… overloaded. Sounds, smells, it can be too much for him. Probably why he snapped.”

“That… that makes sense.”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, and hands the paper back. “You’d know that if you bothered to ask. Anyway, I’ll be going. Thanks for the help, Nurse Times.”

“Uh, it’s—it’s Timms—”

The door shuts behind him.

—

MJ was forced to go back to class. She’d argued and protested but Nurse Timms was insistent. So, MJ had relented. She’d pressed the lightest of kisses on his forehead and it surprisingly hadn’t felt that bad, and then she’d gone.

Tony Stark had shown up about twenty minutes later and it’s just when Peter’s starting to think it was all just a vivid hallucination that the smell of coffee and motor oil fills his senses again. It’s overwhelming but not debilitating.

“Kiddo,” Tony whispers, “is it okay to touch you?”

Peter cracks an eye. Everything is bright but Tony’s suit is mercifully black, so he focuses on that. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna move.”

“Well I gotta get you outta here somehow.”

“But my detention—”

“I already got you out of it,” Tony says breezily. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Tony,” Peter says, cheeks flushing. “You can’t just bribe my principal into—”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just explained the situation and besides, Morita’s an old friend.”

Peter closes his eyes again as he frowns. “You’re friends with my principal?”

“I’m a benefactor for your school, too,” Tony says. “But don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.”

Something shifts in the air. Tony is sitting now. “Happy’s waiting outside,” he says, “but whenever you’re ready.”

Peter thinks about it for a few seconds and decides it’s gonna have to happen at some point, anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off now. Slowly he takes a deep breath and manages to sit up with Tony’s help. The older man tries to avoid touching him as much as possible, but surprisingly enough the weight of his hand against Peter’s spine isn’t crushing or aggravating. It doesn’t hurt.

“Baby steps,” Tony says softly. “We’ll take you out the side door, okay?”

Even getting to the door is slow going but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. Right before they open it, Tony stops and pulls his sunglasses off. “Here, try these.”

Peter puts them on. He feels ridiculous because like, they work on Tony who was literally born in the seventies, but Peter really doesn’t dig the groovy shades. Regardless they’re better than nothing and even help a little.

The halls are empty again. Most of the students will be in the gym right about now, or the cafeteria for lunch. They don’t run into anybody on the way out and as soon as they’re in the back of the car, Peter sags against Tony’s side. He feels like he’s just run ten miles.

“Drive, Hogan,” Tony says, and then the partition glides up.

For a few seconds it’s almost completely quiet. Noise suppression tech, Peter realises, and he feels like he could cry from relief. For the first time in hours there’s just… nothing. No traffic, no dozens of students talking at once. The air conditioning unit is filtered, so he’s not being attacked with the smell of body odour and clashing perfume scents and Axe cologne. There’s just Tony and beautiful, amazing, showstopping silence.

Tony shifts a little. “Better?”

Peter nods, figuring it’s still probably not safe to speak.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tony says softly.

—

Peter doesn’t remember much after the car ride. He can vaguely recall protesting getting out of the Audi, and he remembers Tony assuring him that everything would be okay, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in an utterly dark bedroom. The walls are insulated just like the car had been, so there’s just no sound, and the bed sheets probably have the highest thread count of all time.

Something shifts beside Peter and he realises Tony is there, feeling his forehead.

“What—?”

“Oh, hey,” Tony greets. “I think you might’ve blacked out there. All the noise hit you at once when we got out of the car and you just…”

“I fainted?”

Tony snorts softly. “Relax. It happens to the best of us. How do you feel, Webster?”

Peter hums. “Bad.”

“Let’s try a scale of one to ten.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “Ten.” Tony lets out a little grunt at that and so Peter elaborates, “It was at like, a twenty this morning, so.”

“Ah, I see.” Tony’s grip shifts to Peter’s wrist to measure his pulse. “This okay?”

“It’s fine.”

And it really is. He doesn’t feel like burning his skin off or anything. Tony’s hands are just warm.

“Any idea what brought this on?”

Peter shifts a little. “I uh… haven’t been sleeping a lot lately.” He swallows. “Like, at all.”

“And how long’s that been going on for?”

“I don’t know. On and off for a few weeks, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Tony sighs and pulls his hand away. He rakes it through his hair. “Kiddo, what have we said about communication? Does May know?”

“....No?”

There’s a long pause where Tony just kind of sits there thinking, like he wants to say whatever comes next carefully. He massages his temples and then: “Alright, scooch over.”

“What?”

“Make room for me.”

Peter blinks and then, tentatively, scoots over a little to allow Tony room to lie down. The older man does, arching his back a little and grunting in pain because he’s like, ancient. They’re not touching, but very slowly Peter starts inching closer again. Eventually he works up the courage to try resting his head on Tony’s chest, which is terrifying not only because it’s Tony Stark, but also because he’d rather not have his brain implode.

Nothing happens. “Your fabric softener must be like, super expensive,” he whispers, because this is actually better than the sheets.

Tony snorts. “I’ll ask Pep about it.”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise and before he knows it, his eyes are closing. For once they actually feel heavy, and the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beat is soothing, dependable.

Tony’s hands brush lightly over Peter’s hair and then thread through it. “Too much?”

“No,” Peter promises. “Good.”

And so Tony’s fingers run through his curls over and over, gently, lightly. His thumb sweeps over Peter’s cheek once, too, and then he starts muttering in Italian.

Peter cracks an eye. “Are you telling me your grocery shopping list?”

Tony laughs a little. “My mom used to do it for me,” he says. “Something about just hearing her speak the language made me feel… relaxed, I guess. Didn’t matter what she was saying.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Tony’s torso. “Tell me something else.”

“You wanna hear about the time I almost blew up a Chem lab?”

“Uh, duh.”

So Tony launches into it, speaking in a low voice and absently twisting one of Peter’s curls around his finger. It feels nice and the headache is fading fast.

Peter sleeps. 

[bloodypapercut]

f.w. headcanons (part ii)

here it is! you’re all too kind to me so i truly hope you enjoy! <3 (I apologize if this headcanon is a bit redundant)

word count: 2.1k

@somekidinacoma

(if you’d like to be tagged just ask, i’d be more then happy to!)

-he talks about you so much, molly and arthur practically know everything about you. as for the other weasleys you all get along and they make you feel like you’re part of the family

-he’s so excited to show you everything around the house, like his room, the backyard, the small fort all his siblings made together in the woods, the treehouse, and all the little trinkets that litter every available space. he’s practically shaking when he meets you at the train station because he can’t contain his emotions

-he can’t wait for the people he loves the most to be together. the thought of you, his siblings and his parents in the same household just excite him so much and fills him with joy 

-when you arrive molly has already made all of your favorites because she knew from all of fred's letters about you and arthur is already asking about how your ride was and if you saw anything interesting (his letters are mostly about you, they only contain 2 sentences about him)

-you get along with molly and arthur very well, they treat you with so much kindness and love. molly lets you cook with her and she shows you old photos of fred. you and arthur have conversations about muggle things he finds interesting and about all the fun experiences you’ve had while art hogwarts

-when fred leads you to his room he shows you his first inventions that he made with george many years ago, seeing his eyes fill with pride is one of your favourite sights 

-his side of the room is covered with pictures of you and him, letters and doodles from you and it’s so cute “george says it’s creepy like it’s some sort of shrine.” “i wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

-he lets you rummage through the old clothes that are too small for him and keep them. they still smell like him, a mixture of cinnamon, ash, pine, and orange

-sneaking down to the kitchen while everyone sleeps and eating cake outside

-baking 4am cookies with fred, trying your hardest not to laugh and make a lot of noise, but it just ends up with the two of you feeding each other the cookie dough then getting stomach aches the next morning 

-throwing popcorn at him, him diving to try and catch it, probably leading to his head banging against a table (pouty fred trying to ignore you but ultimately failing when you kiss him all over his face)

-sitting around a fire with his entire family as they all laugh and tell stories, his arm around your shoulders and your head leaning against his

-water chugging competitions, you always win

-staring competitions, he’ll always pull odd faces in an attempt to get you to crack or tickle you with strands of your hair

-stargazing in his old treehouse, holding hands and falling asleep in that position. (imagine fairy lights everywhere, there's a record player in the corner playing si tu n’etais pas la, you’re both under a blanket and you’re tracing words onto his palm making him guess what your message is) 

-he comes up from behind you and drapes a blanket over your shoulders while hugging you and talking into your hair, his speech being muffled

-refusing him kisses before class if he’s the reason you’re late, to which he’ll reply by lightly pulling your hair when you try and walk away from him. he doesn’t show any signs of relenting so you quickly turn around and kiss him hard while gripping on his collar, but as soon as he tries to deepen it you turn and rush through the classroom door quickly

-while walking down a corridor together he’ll twirl you around

-sometimes he’ll just hold you up because he wants to admire you. or he’ll prop you on a desk or dresser just so you’re face to face, so he can look at every feature on your face 

-i cannot stress enough how warm his hugs are, they completely engulf you and all you can smell is his jumper and you can feel his heartbeat, his hands gripping at the ends of your sweater then slowly running up and down your back in your jumper and he’ll nudge your leg with his knee as an indicator for you to step into him so there's practically no space between the two of you

-slow dancing, he’ll hold you tightly to his chest with his arms wrapped around your waist and your head will be on his shoulder while you play with the strands of hair at the base of his neck. you’ll have hushed conversations about what you want to do in the future, all the places you wanna travel to together, and all the domestic things you can’t wait to do together (while the catfish and the bottlemen cover of read my mind plays in the back)

-pretending to have mini-concerts in his dorm, using random objects as microphones, screaming, jumping around on every surface that will allow it (in my mind fred dances like jarvis cocker)

-if you’re both singing he’ll claim that you’re outshining him so he’ll try and cover your mouth, which leads to you covering his mouth, which ends with him just him licking your hand and you rubbing it off on him “you did not.” “yes, and i’ll do it again.” he’ll take off running, causing you to chase him

-the two of you sitting next to each other while listening to music and you’ll start to head bop, then he’ll start to head bop together in unison

- during lessons he’ll slip little sweets into your hand

-he’ll nudge your ribs while you’re trying to pay attention to class and whispers to you “i’m so in love with you darling.” to which you’ll just grin and hold his hand under the table, tracing shapes onto the back of it

-he definitely throws things at you randomly, at any given location, nothing that would hurt you obviously

-sometimes he’ll just stop mid-sentence and look at you in awe, his mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. his smile is so bright and genuine, his dimples are so prominent and his eyes crinkle and it’s so contagious, you can’t help but hold his face and kiss his forehead lightly

-he admires you so so much, you motivate him to work as hard as he can because one day he hopes that his business will be enough to sustain a life that he wants to give you, he wants to give you the world and he wants to encourage you to follow your dreams as much as you do for him

-very specific compliments “your earlobes are a really nice shape” “i really like the space between your eyebrows” “ahh your nose is just so cute i just wanna poke it all day”

-he gave you a locket and it has a picture of you and him on your first hogwarts train ride together. and whenever he gets the chance he’ll put it on for you, he loves sweeping your hair out of the way and softly putting the necklace around your neck

-matching rings 

-fred definitely knows how to make bracelets and rings, i feel like he’d always make them for ginny and molly on holidays. he’d make you so many, and on your birthday he gave you a really ornate silver jewelry box

-he loves brushing your hair 

-whenever you’re staying up whether it be studying or writing an essay he will not allow himself to sleep until you’re done, he says people who suffer together stay together. he’ll also try to shovel food in your mouth and make you drink water or tea to assure sure you’re not depriving yourself. in return, you stay up with him while he’s trying to perfect the products he wants to sell. you’ll sit side by side bumping knees and rubbing his back while he scribbles into his notebook

-sometimes he’ll ask for you to lean your back against his because he still wants to be able to work and be around you, but he gets distracted by your face because he just wants to kiss you every time he sees your eyebrows furrow as you reread a paragraph, or your tongue dart out of your mouth, or a tendril of hair slip from your ponytail and onto your face

-he’s not one to be very hard on himself about attendance, but if you are he’ll wake you up and remind you that you have a test to get to, or you have to attend practice. he’ll help you get ready but as soon as he drops you off he’ll go back to sleep or go to the kitchens to get food for you and him for after your class or practice 

-he’s so good at comforting people, he takes it after molly. it may seem at times that he’s insensitive due to his playful nature, but if he sees that you’re frantically flipping through pages, nibbling at the end of your pen he will hold your face tenderly between his hands and reassure you in a soft and sincere voice “why’re you being so hard on yourself? can’t you see how hard you’re working and how accomplished you are?” “take a rest, beautiful, you deserve it.” “i’m so proud of you, you have no idea how much you push me to work harder.” “you’ve got a stunning mind, but i think you should give it a break okay?” “you’re so resilient, angel, you can do this okay? i’m right here.”

-if you have a headache he’ll massage your head. if any part of your body hurts he’ll try and soothe it. he’ll pause occasionally to kiss whatever part is in pain

-(for any female, male  or non-binary angels that get their period)he’ll keep his hands over where you’re cramping and he’ll let you curl around him. he even bought you a huge body pillow because he’d want you to use it when he couldn’t be with you. he’ll feed you whatever you crave and he’ll read to you or sing quietly to you (fred with an acoustic ahhh). he’ll constantly reassure you, saying that you only have a couple more days left, and if the pain is really bad he’ll try and soothe you to sleep. fred also keeps track of your period, he’s surprisingly really really good with dates 

-he likes humming you to sleep while he pushes the hair out of your face, rubs your back, and kisses your forehead lightly

-if you’re about to do something you’re really nervous about he’ll look you in the eyes, grab both of your hands and encase them in has after leaving kisses on them. then he’ll place them on his chest and give you a reassuring grin

-when he gets hurt from quidditch you stay next to him the entire time he’s in the hospital wing, the two of you playing cards or helping him plan a future prank

-he holds your chin between his thumb and index finger and kisses you softly. you two have to stop occasionally because one of you will giggle, causing you to nudge your noses together

-he’ll wake up randomly in the middle of the night and nudge you until you stir “go to sleep fred.” “nooo let’s talk, i wanna have a conversation.” “can’t we talk tomorrow, it’s your fault i’m so tired.” “but love, all these thoughts, amazing beautiful one of a kind thoughts are ripe in my mind now, if we talk tomorrow i won’t remember.” “isn’t that a relief?” “c’monnnnnn.”

-a lot of back and forth bickering “wow, i’m speechless.” “finally.” “shut up freddie.” “look who’s talking.” “you are.” “no you are.” “no now you are.” “you. are.” “shut up.” “we’re back at square one i see.”

-the two of you reeling over in laughter, tears slipping down your cheeks and gasping for air (all. the. time.)

-during the train ride to hogwarts he leans against the wall of the cabin while you lean on his chest, then you’ll take everyone's jackets and use them as blankets and pillows. you’ll cuddle, eat random sweets, and nap throughout the entire ride

-he constantly takes pictures of you and he has an entire box filled of them, the box also has tickets from shows you went to together, receipts from random dates you’ve been on and little notes you’ve passed during class. he plans to keep all of these to decorate the flat he hopes he can live in with you

-he will randomly run into your room, drop a bag and rush out as quickly as he came. usually there are your favorite sweets, socks, candles and a new book. in return you try and spoil him as much as spoils you because he deserves the world 

[sneezefiction]

apple pie & ice cream

Kenma x Reader - Scenario

desc: gloomy days can always be brightened with sweet smells, cinnamon sugar, and a homemade apple pie from yours truly: Kenma Kozume

a/n: to the anon who requested this a little while ago... happy birthday, love!! i hope you’re okay that i switched things around a little bit & had Kenma make you something sweet instead <3</i>

warning: slight language

wc: 1580

---

Some days are longer than others.

You’ve never had a good explanation as to why, but there are at least some telltale signs.

Like when red lights seem endless, your favorite song doesn’t sound as pretty as it should, and you just can’t keep your tired eyes open. Even with a cozy mug of hot tea in hand or the gentle stream of sunlight filtering through your office’s window, the warmth on your fingertips and face simply refused to reach you on the inside.

It also doesn’t help that you were flipped off not once, but twice, by some shitty drivers when you clearly had the right of way.

So you determine that the faster you can get home to Kenma, the better you’ll feel.

You take every short-cut and any back road, impatiently awaiting the moment that you can kick off your uncomfortable shoes and step out of those constricting work clothes. To turn on the air-conditioning and crash into a couch that proves to be far more welcoming than the outside world. Even just a nice, long stretch would do your aching back and heavy arms some good.

But most of all, you long to sink into Kenmas chest and lazily breathe in the comforting smell of home that rested on his well-worn hoodies. To run your fingers through his silky, soft hair and make messy braids out of it while sighing heavily to relinquish the day's grip on your tight shoulders. You can’t wait to bother him until he sets aside his black and red headphones to kiss your forehead and pull you into a soul-catching hug.

Most crappy days call for extra love from your gamer-boyfriend… but today Kenma has really gone out of his way to shower you in sweetness. Literally.

You’d sent him an awfully lengthy text about the number of crazy drivers on the road, the dreary weather overhead, following it up with a recap of your teary-eyed breakdown in a fast food chain parking lot... and you topped it off with just how much you missed him.

So he did the one thing he knew could lift anyone’s spirits.

Kenma got to baking his world famous apple pie.

Countertops were covered in white and brown sugar, apple peels, and other various, scattered ingredients. A store-bought pie crust was preheating in the oven, because only God knows how long it would take for Kenma to learn how to make that from scratch. Spices plumed in delicate, little clouds throughout the kitchen. Everything was coming together beautifully.

Kenma mumbles to himself quietly, a little miffed that he’s missing his weekly streaming session...

But secretly, he’s been meaning to do this for you for a long time. 

He’s been dying to thank you for putting up with his incessant live shows and never-ending computer gameplay. For living with him in his rental house even though he could probably (definitely) afford something far more luxurious. And you deserved luxurious. You should be decked out in diamonds and fancy cashmere, lounging on a sofa atop some rooftop garden oasis that overlooks the entirety of Tokyo, and dancing the night away at clubs and galas.

But you chose him. 

Simple Kozume. 

A smaller-framed boy with a knack for video-games, patterns, and strategy. The one they jokingly called “pudding head” in high school. That kid who used to hide behind his own hair because the world around him was far more daunting than he thought he could handle.

Kenma would rather stay in and binge a series on netflix than spend a night out on the town. He invests himself in playing an overly-competitive tournament of Mario Kart with you over flying out for a highstakes game of poker in Vegas. He prefers nights surrounded in fairy lights when you collaborate on videos with him, throw popcorn at his long hair, and drink a bit too much just because you both compliment each other more when you’re a little tipsy.

You love all of this about him and you’ve reminded him time after time that you wouldn’t trade him for the world… yet Kenma is still determined to at least have this apple pie done by the time you get home.

But as luck would have it, you’re early.

The lock to the door clicks and twists as you slide it open with a few squeaks.

Your senses are instantly delighted by the blooming fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg. An ambrosial wafting of warm apples and pastry dough permeates the airspace while the added ginger and lemon cut through the sweet scent.

As if the room had just handed over a fluffy blanket and set you in front of a crackly, wood-burning fire, you’re filled with that much needed comfort. 

You’re home. And it smells so damn good.

If heaven had a scent, this was it. And you might as well be wearing a halo and angel wings.

“Kozume…?” You call out, wondering if it was really your boyfriend in the kitchen creating that mouth-watering aroma. 

“...yes, y/n?” He replies slowly, trying to clean up the countertops, a little frustrated that the pie wasn’t finished in time for your arrival.

“Is that you? Or did Gordon Ramsey break into my house and take over my kitchen?” You giggle, waltzing into the kitchen, the stress of the day being alleviated immediately upon seeing those speculative, gold-speckled eyes.

His hands are in his hoodie pockets, but when your form turns corner into the kitchen and makes its way toward him, Kenma draws them out and sneaks his hands up to your cheeks, cupping them gently.

He leans in, his expression a tad quizzical and somewhat mysterious, and whispers…

“You’re an idiot sandwich.”

A laugh bubbles up and out, shaking your whole body as you wrap your arms around his frame. You’d seen him just this morning, but wow you’d missed him and his extensive knowledge of meme culture. Now Kenma has his arms draped around your waist, hands squeezing at your hips a little. Your flustered but smiley expression spurs on a soft chuckle, a gentle yet deep rumbling in his throat.

“I thought you’d be back a little bit later, but I’m glad you’re here.” He murmurs out, voice tired but so soothing to your ears.

“Mmm, I’m glad to be back… now are you gonna tell me what that magnificent smell is? Or should I open up the oven and check?” The cheeky tinge to your voice causes him to pull away from you for a moment to look you in the eye.

“If you want it to turn out well, I’d keep your pretty little hands away from the oven for the next few minutes.” Kenma quips.

You playfully stick out your tongue but then proceed to place a teasing peck between his eyes, making him crinkle his nose cutely.

“So, when you sent me those texts earlier, I might have accidentally made an apple pie.” Kenma admits, looking away.

“Accidentally?” A grin slowly spreads across your face, eyes glinting with humor.

“Yep. Accidentally.” He shrugs, “I found some ingredients and a pie dish and I just accidentally threw it all together. So yeah, how convenient is that?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. 

He’s really something else. And to think your day had previously been wrought with misery and disappointment.

“Mmm I don’t know, Kozume… it doesn’t sound like an accident to me. I think you did it because you wanted to be sweet.” You whisper softly into his ear.

Leaning back to brush away a strand of his hair from his face to get a full visual of his cat-like gaze.

“And why would I do that?” He teases gently.

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe because you love me?” You poke at his shoulder.

“Huh? Love?” He gives you a goofy look, raising both eyebrows in mock confusion. “...Is that some kind of sauce?”

He tries to keep a straight face, but the quirk of his lip gives him away.

You just stare at him before giving in to another fit of rolling giggles. The hearty, unrestrained laughter overtakes the both of you, causing you to double over and clutch your middle in an attempt to hold yourself up. Kenma has his back up against the counter-top, holding the edges of it with both palms to keep himself steady and from falling to the floor. 

As you both recover from aching lungs and that cloudy, euphoric feeling, you can’t help but let a smile plaster itself on your face.

Kenma has done many things today.

He gave you a reason to come home with hope in your heart. He’d drawn you into a heartfelt, soul-refreshing hug. He had made you laugh like nobody ever could. He’d even baked you an apple pie.

But best of all, he‘d held you together.

Like he always did.

Every single day, without a doubt in your mind, you could celebrate and smile. Because you would always have this cinnamon-covered cutie to smile and crack up with. He would always brighten the most mundane of weekdays and find the loveliest of ways to match your moods.

You two are like apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream.

And speaking of ice cream…

“Hey, Kozume?” You bring him into one more bear-like hug.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Did you get ice cream to go with the apple pie?” You ask, your face preciously tucked into the crook of his neck.

No reply. Had he heard you?

“Kozume? Did-”

Cue a huge sigh from Kenma.

“...Where are my car keys? I need to go to the store immediately.”

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

[hobbitsetal]

Tagged by @bektheimaginative and @starwarmth~

are you a morning person? Not really, but my son thinks I am.

ideal breakfast? Ideal breakfast? Eggs benedict, coffee, and buttered cinnamon toast.

favorite warm drink, and how do you take it?

Coffee with half and half, or tea! I like all kinds of tea, though I usually gravitate towards herbal, and frequently towards mint

sit in the sunshine or the shade? Sunshine!

favorite baked good? Brownies might be it, but I have a sweet tooth

a song or album that makes you feel at peace? "Woodland" by the Paper Kites, "Samba Nights" by The Peter Pupping Quarter

take a walk with your friends or read a book next to a friend on the sofa? Both! I like to walk and talk with friends and I like to sit and read with them << stealing Stell's answer

what tasks do you gravitate to when making a meal with others? Cleaning around them; I love to finish a meal with all extra dishes clean

a chore that if someone completed it for you you’d love them forever? Cleaning the stupid fridge

favorite board/card game to play with friends? Lol my mom collects European games, so things like "Istanbul dice" are quite fun. I also love Uno and Bananagrams

what kind of snacks/candy do you want at a movie theater? Popcorn and Icee if we're going that route, m&ms and Junior mints if we're going the other

bar with live music or bar with a pool table? Live music, if it’s not too loud << again with Stell

go-to compliment? I tend to compliment people's outfits. It's a quick visual if I don't know them well, and it's something they control

hang out on the couch, the bed, or the kitchen chairs? I roam between couch and kitchen chairs

are you tending the fire, looking at the stars, or singing campfire/folk songs? Tending the fire!!

a favorite Scripture verse or prayer? Oohh...I love all of James, 1 John, that verse from Zephaniah that says God rejoices over us with singing...

are you the person begging to go to just one more bar/sing one more song, the person staying up late talking about love and the universe, or the person who fell asleep hours before anyone else? Usually the person who fell asleep XD

Let's see, tagging @tsfennec aaaand Tumblr won't let me tag anybody else

Scarvenartist and Stealingmyplaceinthesun, I tried to tag y'all ;_;

[nobodyfamousposts]

Runaway: Roommates AU

For @a-marlene-s​ and the contest, for the prompt: Runaway

A Harry Potter-based Miraculous Ladybug AU. With roommates.

_________________________________

Marinette was a big believer in luck. She came by it honestly, as there was something of a family belief regarding the unknown force that impacted their lives.

Her Uncle’s luck helped him work his way to becoming a world famous chef.

Her Mother’s luck led her to her husband.

Marinette’s luck gained her a strange roommate and his equally strange cat.

...If there really was a universal force directing fortune as her family believed, she had some questions for it.

It was just Marinette’s luck that the day she met Adrien, she was in the market for a new roommate. She had been sharing her flat for the last five years with her best friend, Alya, and they got along well. But Alya had a boyfriend and they had recently chosen to take the next step in their relationship and get a place together. Marinette understood, of course, but it still left her now as the sole resident of a flat that was outside of her budget and forced to choose to give it up or find some other way to make ends meet that wouldn’t involve giving up food and end up causing Alya and Tikki to stage an intervention.

The choice should be obvious, but Marinette loved her flat and was loathe to leave it. Sadly, she had only been able to afford it previously because she had shared expenses with Alya. On her own, it was more costly than she could afford and more room than she really needed.

But oh...what other place had an extended balcony that was perfect for a garden? Or such wide windows that were positioned to let in light but avoid the sun’s glare? Or had a built in desk and a space she could use as a crafting nook?

She was already having to say goodbye to Alya, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her home, too.

But it seemed that Luck pulled through for her, albeit in a rather...unusual way.

When the blond cinnamon roll appeared in her bakery, looking so lost and confused with no idea what to do or where to go, and nothing with him but a suitcase and an equally unhappy cat...she hadn’t known what to think of him.

Well, that’s not quite right. Her immediate thought had been to take the poor boy in and hug him until he stopped being sad.

Then he tried to pay for a single croissant with an overabundance of a strange type of coin. And it became clear that the man was very much not from around here. And had no idea how money worked.

Or how anything worked apparently, given his multitude of strange reactions to things.

Admittedly, she had been a bit hasty in her offer of letting him stay with her. After all, inviting a complete stranger to live with you was...generally not the brightest idea. If anything, it was usually the setup to a horror movie. But Marinette still went through with it anyway.

To this day, she still didn’t know what made her do it. Desperation, perhaps? Attributing it to her luck and not wanting to let an opportunity pass her? Or maybe it was the way something about him had drawn her in...

Regardless, he had no place to go. And she had a place he could use. It seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.

She just hadn’t realized just how lost Adrien was when they first met and introduced themselves to each other. Not until after he first moved in and it became abundantly clear how unfamiliar he was with...well...everything. It was no wonder he had been so overwhelmed when she first met him.

She couldn’t help but want to help him.

She just hadn’t realized what all that would entail...

____________

“Marinette! What is THAT?!”

“That’s the microwave.”

“WHY IS IT BEEPING? ARE WE GONNA DIE?”

“No, Adrien, it’s just popcorn.”

“What are these words?!”

“Do you really not have popcorn in the country?”

“Why is the bag big now? Is it magic? Are you magic? Because—”

She just shoved a couple of the popcorn pieces in his mouth at that.

_____________

"Wait, you mean you don't know how to use a washing machine?"

He shrunk in on himself. "No."

She blinked in surprise. She could have sworn…

“But...then how have you been washing your clothes?"

A long pause.

He simpered. “Can I choose not to answer that?"

She sighed. 

_____________

“Marinette! Your morning wake-up box is beeping. You need to get up.”

She mumbled and turned away from Adrien and the offending noise.

He frowned. “Marinette, it won’t turn off unless you do the thing.”

She pulled a pillow over her head and continued to ignore him.

Undeterred, he approached her bed. Against better judgement, he poked at her to get her attention.

“Mari—”

A hand suddenly made contact with his face. In an all too similar manner to how she would normally try to subdue the ringing wake-up box.

It would take two days worth of apologies and make up gifts of hot chocolate and pastries for him to forgive her.

_____________

She frowned, looking at an expanse of wall and empty space on one side of the den.

“That’s weird…didn’t we have something here before?”

Adrien stilled at that.

“No.” He answered tersely.

“I could swear there was something.”

“Nope.”

She tilted her head, thinking. “I thought this flat had a fireplace? Didn’t we use it sometimes?” She could have sworn...

“You must be imagining things.” Adrien told her, taking hold of her shoulders and trying to guide her to the couch on the other side. “There hasn’t been anything there since I moved in.”

“Oh. Maybe it was a shelf or something Alya took with her.”

“That must be it.”

“Hmm…maybe we could set up a television there…”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied automatically as he drew her away from the area.

So caught up in her thoughts, she never noticed the dirty glare Adrien shot towards the now blank wall.

_____________

She had thought the introduction to television would be the biggest thing.

And she was right.

“What is THAT?” He asked in wonder, staring in shock at rectangular box with moving images inside.

“It’s a television.” She explained, gesturing to the screen as Romero confessed his love to Julia in the Spanish soap opera her cable had somehow allowed her access to.

She bit back a laugh when Adrien attempted to touch the screen. “Are they stuck in there?”

Omg, he was so adorable.

“What? No! It’s…well…it can play sounds and images from somewhere else. Things that were pre-recorded and are replayed for entertainment.”

He perked up at that. “Like a radio?”

Okay, good. So wherever he was from, he wasn’t THAT far behind on technology. Only early 1920’s instead of the nineteenth century like she’d feared.

“Yes! It’s just people pretending.”

“Oh.” He sighed, still enraptured by the TV.

“Yeah, and there are all different types of shows and movies. Different genres and different styles.”

“Styles?” He asked, finally tearing his eyes from the television to look at her.

“Sure. There’s live action, CGI, animation—”

He blinked. “Animation?”

“Yeah, like cartoons and anime.” She frowned, considering. “Actually, I think there’s…what channel was it on again?” She used the remote to flip through channels until she reached one particular network that was currently playing some anime she vaguely recalled.

Adrien gasped, his eyes even wider than she had previously thought possible. And there was a particular shine to them as he stared at the TV like it was the holy grail. He barely noticed Marinette anymore, now standing in front of the TV and completely enthralled.

Marinette chuckled softly to herself as she lightly took his arm and pulled him back so they both sat back on the couch. Adrien let her, his gaze never straying from the screen as the teen magical girl protagonist transformed to fight the monster of the day.

That was the day Adrien was first introduced to anime.

It was also the day Marinette inadvertently created an otaku.

_____________

One day, he had called her in a panic while she had been at work.

“Adrien?! What’s going on?” She asked.

“It…this thing just came out and it’s crawling the floor! IT ATE PLAGG!”

She balked. “WHAT?”

“He tried to attack it and—wait. Plagg? You’re alive! What are you…NO WAIT PLAGG, NO!”

Marinette had practically thrown her apron to Tikki and rushed home. Within minutes, she had reached the flat and slammed the door open to what could only be chaos.

Or at least the sort of chaos that comes with Adrien huddled with his legs held up on the couch and glaring in betrayal as Plagg proudly sat atop the Roomba that was still making its way across the floor.

And…

Yeah, Marinette couldn’t.

She just couldn’t.

It took a good five minutes for her to stop laughing.

Adrien pouted the whole time, muttering about traitorous cats and roommates.

And Plagg continued to ride the Roomba. Looking for all purposes like a king, even when it knocked into the counter at one point and an empty can of Camembert fell on his head.

Marinette just laughed harder.

_____________

She had slowly been introducing Adrien to the world. Bit by bit. One lesson at a time. And with each day that passed, he seemed to become more comfortable with her and the world at large. And while he never said much about his life before, what he did say (and what he didn’t) was more than enough to paint a picture. One that Marinette didn’t like and made her silently swear to herself she would be having WORDS with his family if she ever met them.

But Adrien had been getting better. Happier. More outgoing as time passed. 

He had even gotten a job at the coffee shop as a barista. Which was kind of amazing, to be honest. He didn’t know anything about coffee, but he seemed skilled at mixing things. When she had asked, he made a comment about “potions” being his best class.

Funny guy. Though she wasn’t sure she understood the joke.

There was also just…something about him that seemed to draw people in. Whenever he was working the register (after he had finally learned how to work the machine and count money, and wasn’t THAT an experience in itself?), the number of customers seemed to grow exponentially compared to other days. It just didn’t make sense. Adrien just smiled and said it was part of his charm.

Another joke she didn’t understand.

Tikki seemed to get it though. Her friend was also a bit weird, but she and Adrien seemed to get along rather well. It was like they shared a bond of some sort.

To be honest, Marinette was a little jealous.

But she was happy for him. He was really growing over the months they spent together. Wherever he came from, it didn’t seem to be the healthiest place. Adrien certainly never wanted to talk about it, so the best she had to go on were his behaviors and conjecture.

He seemed happy, at any rate. He was able to leave the apartment now. He was making friends, and seemed to be getting rather popular even. He had a job—not that he seemed to need it given how much money he had…even if he had no idea how to use it.

Who tried to pay for a pastry in gold coins anyway?

Ah well. It didn’t matter.

Whatever happened, he was her weird roommate.

And she wouldn’t have him any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrien liked his “roomie”. Marinette was…nice. She was patient and took the time to explain things when he didn’t understand. She didn’t yell at him for making a mess—which he did…often. She smelled like cookies.

And most importantly, she didn’t ask questions.

Oh sure, she gave him weird looks fairly regularly. And she was clearly confused by his lack of knowledge about things that were normal to her. But she never ridiculed him for it. If anything, she was teaching him, and he had to thank her for it—especially for anime. Because this? This was awesome!

She was the best roommate he could have asked for.

Even if she was a Muggle.

He shouldn’t be with her. Or here at all. How could things have possibly worked out this way? Or even half as well as they have?

Adrien Agreste was a Wizard. The son of Gabriel Agreste, a high-ranking official of the French Ministry and personal friend of the French Minister of Magic. He came from a long line of powerful Wizards and no blood pollution.

At least…not until his mother, whom had been a half-Veela.

Gabriel hadn’t known at the time when he chose to pursue her. And it remained questionable to this day whether it had been her Veela charm that had driven him to her in the first place. But he had been furious when he had realized it, and it was considered a dark mark on the family line.

Maybe that was why she was gone? It was certainly why Gabriel had kept Adrien isolated for most of his life. At least until Beauxbatons. But even there, things had been…stifling.

A private room. His classes carefully chosen for him. Personal tutors. And his interactions with other students were kept limited to avoid anyone falling under his charm. But even then, his heritage gave him an aura of some sort. One that made people in awe of him, but only further increased the distance between him and everyone else.

Sure, Chloe was there, and she had been his childhood friend, but the Minister’s daughter did not endear herself to anyone. And when it became known he was her friend, it hadn’t helped matters.

It was little wonder that a number of the other students avoided him.

Other than ones who wanted to use him.

Like Lila Rossi.

He hadn’t known what to think of the girl. She was popular enough, sure. But her stories rang false to him and she tended to treat people around her like helpers rather than friends. He knew from the start that there was something about her that was untrustworthy.

Lila…had an unusual interest in him. One he didn’t like. It made him uncomfortable.

And yet somehow, she wormed her way into his father’s good graces. So much so that of all people, Gabriel had decided to arrange a marriage for Adrien to her. Because of course it just made sense for the two to get together.

Not that Adrien’s opinion had ever been consulted on the matter.

Gabriel was nothing if not stubborn though. Once he had set his mind on something, that was it. Adrien had never won an argument against him. And he knew he wouldn’t win here either. Even when it was his own future on the line. Even when it was his life being decided for him.

So he ran.

It was quite possibly both the best and worst decision of his life.

He had been completely lost and overwhelmed at first. And almost immediately questioned his sanity. But he just couldn’t let himself back down on on this one. Sure, his father had always been somewhat overprotective of him and controlling of his life. And he had been fine with it. Mostly. Kind of. Not really.

But an arranged marriage was just…too much? He ended up gathering his more important belongings into his trunk and taking off with Plagg before he had even realized what he was doing.

Adrien had kicked himself afterwards. He had always given in to his father’s orders before and it turned out…well, not “fine”, but all right, at least. Surely…surely this wasn’t that big of a deal right? That his father was selecting his wife for him? That his future would be set in stone before he even really had a chance to figure it out for himself.

He was an adult now. Surely…he could choose what he wanted to do, right?

Well, he was an adult, sure, but he knew nothing about the world. And especially not the Muggle world, where he had escaped to in a rash bit of insight. Because surely his father would never think to look for him there? His father didn’t know anything about the Muggle world, after all.

Except then Adrien had realized all too late that he hadn’t even known anything about Muggles, either. His father wouldn’t let him take the Muggle Studies class, so he knew nothing about what they were like or how to fit in. He had money on him, of course, but what currency did Muggles use? How did he convert it? Where could he even look to for a place to stay?

Within two hours, he was regretting everything. He was debating giving in to his fate when Plagg had seemed to get an interest in something and ran off, resulting in a chase that led Adrien to a quaint little coffee shop.

If nothing else, he could take a break here and regain his bearings.

But…

Everything had smelled so wonderful. And the pastries looked heavenly. He had known it was a bad idea, but…well, maybe they could accept Galleons here?

How many Galleons were one of these pastries worth?

Well, a dozen should be enough, right?

The strange look that the girl gave him only made him want to duck his head in shame.

It wasn’t enough, was it?

But as if she was proficient in Occlumency and could tell exactly what he was thinking, she instead took him aside and talked to him. And despite himself, he told his story.

Well…half of it.

A third?

A little, at least. Just enough to give the basics of what she needed to know.

And it turned out to be enough, as she made him an offer he’d had to have been a fool to refuse.

That was how he ended up sharing a home with a Muggle. A sweet and strong woman whom, for all of their differences and completely separate worlds, he had felt closer to than anyone he had known in the Wizarding world.

She didn’t understand where he came from. And he certainly couldn’t tell her. Wizarding laws and secrecy and all. But she was still trying to help in her own way. And he could tell her…some things, at least. About his feelings. About his wants. Things he had never been able to tell his father. Things his father had never cared to listen to.

But she listened. And she cared. And she offered shelter. For him and Plagg, regardless of how much a of a pain the cat could be.

He had his own room, sure. But it was a quarter of the size of the old one and somehow all the better for it. While bare at first, the walls were eventually covered in silly posters from his favorite anime. The shelves were filled with books and toys, little knick knacks that actually made him happy to see. Some things Marinette helped him picked out. A lot of which were just things he saw and wanted. All sorts of things he had never been able to get back…there.

And he wasn’t stuck in the room either. He could leave it whenever he wanted. Spend time in the living room and watch the “television” and feed his growing love of anime (once he had gotten rid of the fireplace because he wasn’t about to risk someone trying to get in through the Floo Network, even by accident). Play “video games” with Marinette. Go on the balcony and enjoy the sun. Even just go out into the city whenever he wanted.

It was…a truly marvelous experience for someone who had been isolated for so long.

He even had a job now, working at the very shop where he had met Marinette. He knew nothing about coffee or the machines, but Potions was his best class and one he enjoyed. Mixing and cooking things to create something new was a rather amazing thing. And while coffee weren’t potions, he had come to realize that certain things he had learned in his class could translate over. A difference of heat and changing the length of time the coffee was allowed to roast resulted in a different flavor. Though he did have to fight for the position with another coworker by the name of Tikki, a friend of Marinette’s whom she introduced him to.

And that was the other thing…

“You’re a Wizard, aren’t you?”

He had admittedly not expected to run into anyone from the Wizarding world at all. But the short red-head with twinkling blue eyes caught him off guard completely.

Even as she smiled sadly at him.

“Marinette doesn’t know, does she?”

Dumbly, he could only shake his head in response.

He hadn’t wanted to be discovered. Not by anyone.

It turned out to be for the best though. Tikki was a huge help in getting him more acclimated. She explained to him more about fitting in as a Muggle. She even led him to the nearest Wizarding Bank where he was finally able to change his Galleons to the correct currency.

As a Witch herself, he knew she wouldn’t reveal him. And it was nice…having someone else who knew, even if she didn’t know the full story. She was still in touch with the Wizarding world and could help him. Giving him news or updates, point him to the nearest hidden shops for anything he might need. And yes, even laugh with him over his latest failures.

“It’s not funny!” He pouted as Tikki was practically howling after hearing the latest story about King Plagg the Roomba Rider.

“Yes, it is! YES, IT IS!”

“I even have video.” Marinette added cheerfully, much to Tikki’s pleasure as both women proceeded to look at her cellphone and chortle over the recording. Adrien was simply ignored and left to sulk.

He would never live it down.

It had been months like this, and some embarrassment aside, he had thoroughly enjoyed it. All of it.

He even enjoyed working. Though he admittedly felt a little guilty that his Veela charm seemed to draw in customers to the point where there would often be a pretty long ling just to order coffee. But Marinette and the other workers just laughed it off.

He was…really starting to consider this home.

The coffee shop. The city. The flat.

Tikki.

Plagg.

Marinette.

Rooming with Marinette was probably the best thing to happen to him. He had been trying new things. Learning so much he hadn’t known previously. Seeing things. Doing things.

Living.

It was...nice. It was home. It was everything he wanted in a home. Even if he was banned from activating anything besides the television when Marinette wasn’t there.

He was ever grateful that Plagg had led him to her.