#bertha looks so cute

[mydaylight]

AHHHH this makes me so excited!

[bloopitynoot]

It's cosplay prep sunday, and today im teaching my partner some sewing basics!

(We're recycling some shirt sleeves into a cape for our cat)

Eventually we'll be making

Mollymauks coat

Percys coat

Esseks mantle

Vex's entire outfit

[wisteria-lodge]

Guys who Cry in the Harry Potter Books (and Why)

Men do 30% of the crying in the Harry Potter books, even though they represent 66% of the characters (and that's pretty much as expected).* I’m interested in why the crying happens though, and what it says about the characters. For the ladies, crying is neutral - they all cry, and for all sorts of reasons (tired, frustrated, stressed, emotionally overwrought...) Bellatrix, Augusta Longbottom, Ginny, Tonks… all cry. *Hermione* cries thirty separate times over the course of the books. 

Male crying though, that's something that gets mocked (usually by Slytherins.) Pansy calls Neville a “fat little cry baby,” and after Rita’s article (falsely) describes Harry crying, Draco comes in with “Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” Of course there’s also “D’you think [Hagrid]’ll cry when they cut off his hippogriff’s - ” right before Hermione slaps him. So making fun of guys for crying is bad right? 

Let’s get into it. 

1 : Crying because of a death

The most “acceptable” reason for male crying. This happens a lot, we are definitely not supposed to think any less of the guys who do it. Mostly it happens *right* at the moment of death, or maybe at the funeral. The exception is Harry, who cries in Book 3 after talking about hearing his parents dying (although the narrative voice DOES let us know that he’s kind of embarrassed about this...)

“Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.” 

Then he cries again in Book 7, while visiting his parents' graves. But it’s definitely still crying over a death. Just one that Harry takes a little bit longer to process. 

Crying over a Death: Full Breakdown: 

Amos Diggory: 1 (Cedric’s death) 

Arthur Weasley: 1 (Fred’s death)

Harry Potter: 3 (Hedwig, Lily, James)

Rubeus Hagrid: 4 (Dumbledore, Buckbeak, Aragog, Harry) 

Argus Filtch: 1 (thinks Mrs. Norris is dead) 

Xenophillius Lovegood: 1 (thinks Luna is dead) 

Fillius Flitwick: (thinks Ginny is dead) 

Ron Weasley: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral) 

Elphias Doge: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral

2: Crying because of Pain

You’d think this one would also be acceptable. But… it really isn’t? Dudley cries when Vernon hits him (but Harry doesn’t.) Peter Pettigrew cries when he cuts off his own hand, Saw style, but it gets framed as blubbering weakness. Pettigrew framed SO pathetically for the entire resurrection scene - and honestly, for the entire rest of the series.

(Which is strange when you think about it. Like objectively, Pettigrew did GOOD. Sure he only likes Voldemort because he’s powerful, but so do most of the Death Eaters, that’s nothing special. Peter found Voldemort, resurrected him single-handedly (ha.) Found Bertha Jorkins,  i.e. the reason Voldemort was able to plan his comeback. Obviously he has god-tier bluffing and lying abilities, as well as enough willpower to cut off a limb. Being able to turn into a rat would make him a really useful spy. Also his spell, the one that killed thirteen muggles and destroyed a street? Most magic we see does not have a blast radius like that. Peter’s formidable. But somehow his job is to hang out and be Snape’s servant? (Is it because he’s not cute?  Is this JKR’s fatphobia rearing its ugly head? Unclear.)

Our last guy crying in pain is Book 1 Neville, after he breaks his wrist during flying lessons. He also “sniffs,” while walking into the Forbidden Forest for detention, which *might* count as crying? But really, Neville cries surprisingly little. We get a lot of “looked as though he might cry” and “on the verge of tears”... but that's not actually crying. And I think that’s because… early-books Neville, yes we’re supposed to see him as a little pathetic. But definitely not as pathetic as Dudley or Pettigrew. 

3: “Childlike” Crying

Sometimes the people who cry are literally little boys. This is also okay. No one is going to judge infant Harry for crying when Voldemort is in the house, or little Severus for crying when his parents are fighting. Interestingly, when Myrtle is talking about Draco crying in her bathroom, Harry assumes she’s talking about someone much younger: 

“There’s been a boy in here crying?” said Harry curiously. “A young boy?” 

But of course, when an adult is crying in a childlike way, it immediately becomes… pathetic. Again we have Pettigrew, who “burst into tears. It was horrible to watch: He looked like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.” In the Horcrux cave, crying Dumbledore is described “like a child dying of thirst.” Which is also meant to be pathetic, but in more of a ‘Harry has to be the adult now’ sort of way. Also, the potion seems to have made Dumbledore mentally regress back to his youth, so it’s *closer* to a literal “child crying” moment. 

(I considered putting Dumbledore drinking the potion in the ‘pain’ section, but at least in the book I think it’s clear he’s mostly in emotional rather than physical pain.)

Where this gets messy is with the house-elves. House-elves are not children, but they are presented as childlike. They are small and in-your-face, direct even though their problem-solving tends to be very convoluted/not especially logical. I like the present-tense, no pronouns way they speak, but I can’t deny it is kind of baby-talk adjacent. And… house elves are *really* emotional. Dobby, Kreacher (and Winky) cry a LOT. If I had to guess, I would say JKR likes treating house-elves as childlike so it’s more of a surprise when it turns out that one of them was behind everything. But considering that they are slaves, it is gross - considering that one of the main real-world justifications for slavery was ‘slaves are childlike, and unable to take care of themselves.'

There’s also Hagrid. With seventeen separate instances of crying, Hagrid easily cries more than any other guy in the Harry Potter books. And… well… he’s also presented as oddly childlike. He seems much more like Harry and Ron’s contemporary than a peer of the other professors - which is weird, since  if he went to school with Voldemort fifty years ago, he’s in his sixties now. But still, he’s helpless in the face of criticism, he’s comically out of his depth whenever he deals with the Ministry, he’s constantly letting things slip or drastically misjudging danger levels. The first three books all use “Hagrid gets in trouble, the gang has to bail him out” as a plot point, and in Book 4 his sideplot with Madame Maxime gets treated like a schoolboy’s first crush, with all these jokes about him wearing suits that don’t quite fit, and trying and failing to style his hair. Not to mention, we know she’s flattering him because she wants insider info on the Tournament. But he doesn’t know that. 

4. Crying because of Sports

Oliver Wood cries when Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup. That's all.

And that brings us to our stragglers. The only non-childlike guys who cry for reasons other than death, pain, or sports are as follows: 

Harry Potter: 1 instance of crying

Draco Malfoy: 2 instances of crying

Severus Snape: 2 instances of crying

Albus Dumbledore: 4 instances of crying

Horace Slughorn: 1 instance of crying

Let’s see what’s going on here. 

Harry Potter

Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that terrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him. Fang began to howl. He clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes

There’s a lot going on in this moment: Harry is tired, frustrated, disappointed, overwhelmed. But even though it is a complex moment, probably the main emotion is still Harry’s attempt to process Dumbledore’s death, now that he finally has a second to do so. So this honestly could have gone in the “Crying because of a death” category. It’s just different enough that I want to specially call it out. 

Draco Malfoy

We hear about Draco crying once from Myrtle, and then see it first hand: 

Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

The narrative takes a second to let us know that he was ACTUALLY CRYING, just to hammer in that this is something unexpected and not-normal. I think I want to attribute Draco’s tendency to cry - and cry because he’s overwhelmed, scared, lonely - to the character’s slight femme coding. What can I say, he cries for ""girly"" reasons. And so does Snape!

Severus Snape 

“Snivellus” is clearly a nickname meant to evoke the idea of “crybaby,” since “sniveling” is a synonym for crying. We also get this: 

Snape was kneeling in Sirius’s old bedroom. Tears were dripping from the end of his hooked nose as he read the old letter from Lily. 

Crying over Lily’s letter could count as crying over a death… but since he’s crying over a letter, not over a grave or her body (like in the movie), I’m going to say that he’s probably crying because of guilt, emotional overload, or love (especially because he rips the ‘love Lily’ off the end of that letter.) Like Draco, Snape might be getting little bit of femme-coding here. He’s the mean-girl type of bully (versus the mean boy) He cries, he threatens to poison people - which is something we only see women (and Draco) actually doing in these books. Idk, he’s an odd one who JKR clearly has very complicated feelings about. 

Albus Dumbledore 

I was actually really surprised that Dumbledore cries as much as he does, and at such unusual times! He cries when he sees Snape’s doe patronus - because of love or just because he’s emotionally overwhelmed. He cries all through the Horcrux cave, primarily because of guilt. He cries twice during the King’s Cross Station vision-quest, once because of his complicated feelings about Harry while he asks for forgiveness, and once over … Grindlewald.

“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that it is true. I would like to think he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends . . . to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow . . .”  “. . . or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.

And okay. JKR announced that Dumbledore was gay just a few months after book seven was published, and I think she was folding in deliberate queer-coding as early Book 6. My proof of that is Dumbledore's increased emotionality - as we can see, it’s pretty unusual for men to cry in the Harry Potter books because of “softer” emotions like love, regret, stress etc. It’s something she associates with femininity, and I’m sure she associates gay guys with femininity as well (I mean, that’s a very common thing to do.)

There’s also this interesting passage from Book 6: 

This younger Albus Dumbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. “Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled.

Now, this is subtle. Wizards out and about in the muggle world often wear unusual colors like purple and emerald green. However. That adjective flamboyantly is only used one other time in the entire series, to describe Fudge’s hand gestures. But here, it is used to describe an outfit, a purple velvet suit which is honestly more than a little bit Oscar Wilde. And “flamboyantly gay” … those are two words often heard together. 

Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I am pretty sure this is the only opinion about clothing Harry ever expresses aloud. And, I think @niche-pastiche hit the nail right on the head, saying that Harry's "Nice suit, sir" is "SO the response of a young adhd boy in the early 2000s trying not to say "thats gay." 

Horace Slughorn

Horace Slughorn cries at Aragog’s funeral, not really out of grief for Aragog, but mostly out of a maudlin sense of togetherness, nostalgia, and camaraderie. And… I do think we have one more slightly morally ambiguous femme-coded guy on our hands? Like Dumbledore, Slughorn is very much a flashy dresser, with shiny hair and gold buttons on his waistcoat. He loves treats and candies (hey… so does Dumbledore. They’re the only adults with a sweet tooth like that.) He loves fancy dinner parties, and is well-connected without being ambitious the way Lucius is. He also (like Draco) is aligned with pureblood-supremacy, but hyper avoidant of violence and confrontation. Except for the Harry example, I think I’d be comfortable with calling all of these last few instances “Femme-Coded Crying.” 

* Methodology - My list of 208 Harry Potter characters comes from TV Tropes, which had the most complete list. I am excluding characters from Cursed Child and the Fantastic Beasts Films. 

In order to find instances of crying, I searched for the words “cried/cry/crying” “tears” “sob” and “sniff.” I counted each crying episode as one, even if crying was brought up multiple times throughout the scene. I made the fairest call I could whenever I hit a “the crying intensified” or the “the tears restarted,” but I mostly judge pretty conservatively when I’m ringing up data.

[silkscream]

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua

[el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle]

As you recently posted that you are worried about the third series without Gaitan I would ask some questions. First, what did you thing of the second series *Ecomoda*? What would you want Betty, Armando, et al. to be up to decades later? Are there aspects of the original series you would like to see followed up?

Hiii thanks for the questions!🥰

Tbh, I never watched Ecomoda. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the cute Armando/Betty fluff, but I really saw no point in it (and it always looked so oversaturated with colors that it was unappealing to me lol). So some of the things I'd love to see might have been answered already in Ecomoda and I judt don't know lmao. Although That's also part of my issue with this new coming series!

Regarding what I would like to see, new and continued, and in no particular order, I'd love:

Tributes and/or mentiones of the original cast members that are no longer with us. Perhaps Hugo keeping a portrait of Inesita on his desk and occasionally making comments to it (("ay, Inés, ¿está viendo usted la porquería de puntadas que son estas? No, es que esta gente es alérgica al talento, de verdad" while he's in the middle of one of those tantrums or something before moving on. Just general and occasional comments in a way that leaves the viewer with the sure knowledge that Hugo loves and misses Inesita, and that for him she'll forever be his best friend and she is never forgotten but also not to an unhealthy degree you know??)). Bertha talking about her Gordito on the phone or to the Cuartel (just because the actor passed doesn't mean the character has to, too). Betty mentioning something like Catalina moved to another country or something but that they are still the best of friends and keep in contact often; or Camila saying she's planning to go on vacations with her Aunt Cata for the summer. Just in general, I'd love for this new part to not forget those who participated in the original, and for all the relationships and friendships that were so cute and strong to remain as such in the new one.

Betty and Armando still in love. I want them to be so in love and devoted to each other, but I also want to see them as a team working together in Ecomoda. I also want them to be respected. Maybe the Cuartel is not so aprovechado anymore? Lol

Flashbacks. I want some more details about their lives, things that we missed for the past 20+ years

Clues about the characters' pasts. I want to know Marcela and Armando's childhood. I want to know when Nicolás and Betty became besties. I don't need big full scenes, but a casual mention like, Armando going "oh, sí, yo tenía tu edad cuando...". Just to fill in gaps that the original left (although I'm also fearful of too much info considering Gaitan is no longer the one writing them)

Unfortunately, there are characters that aren't coming back even though the actors are still around. I want to know what happened to Daniel, to Sofia, to Jenny. I want to know what happened to Daniel after being so stupid as to invest every single penny he owned and put it in a proyect that led nowhere lmao. I want to know what happened to Jenny.

I'd love to see Freddy and Jimmy being good friends. Jimmy doesn't have to call him dad, but I want it to be super clear that Freddy basically is and they love each other as father and son (as seen in ysblf). Just imagine their bond now, after so many years! Hopefully Freddy and Aura María are still going strong

I don't remember if Mariana is coming back, but I'd loved to see her actually getting a modeling career like she wanted

I want to see the relationship between Betty and her in laws

I want to see how Marcela came back into their lives (which is honestly baffling and I'm still unsure about this decision, but I understand they had to bring back the iconic duo)

I REALLY don't want Patricia to be redeemed. I don't. She never seemed like she wanted to be redeemed. But if she is, they better give a super good explanation

I also don't want Mario redeemed lmao. I hope he still is the hedonistic womanizer with no sense of morality. Again, I don't think he wanted to be redeemed.

In general, my only three real expectations are: Betty and Armando still together, good and faithful characters, and a good story. I really don't see the need (besides money lmao) to bring it back, so I'm not having much hopes ((especially regarding the characters. I really hope they aren't further flanderized!))

Thank you for your question🥰🥰

[chaoticstanley]

Beetlebabes dni (seriously fuck off)

So, my current hyperfixation is Beetlejuice, movie, cartoon, and musical. But I have all the Beetlejuice cartoons on file so as I was watching, I decided to redesign Lydia and Beej in the show’s style for my own fic I’m working on. I added silhouettes of the show’s designs as a comparison. And I finalized my OC as a bonus. So here’s some info about Bj and Lydia. I’ll explain my OC some other time.

Beetlejuice:

I used all iterations of him as inspiration, but in terms of visual, it’s mostly the musical and cartoon. Gave him his green hair and also a mullet cause... Idk I think it looks good. But in terms of personality, it’s a nice combo of all three. He’s a lot more nastier and violent than his toon counterpart, but still retains some of the sensitivity showed in the show. For example, he’s still protective of Lydia, but instead of simply putting beetles in a bully’s hair, he’ll genuinely traumatize them with a scare or straight up try and kill them. He’s still a handsy and overtly sexual being like in the movie/musical. Instead of responding to emotional rejection (outside of flirtatious contexts) with a depressive episode like the show, he gets very angry and vengeful. He’s petty, selfish and a conniving ass like all three iterations. But he’s not as dumb as his toon counterpart. He’s irrational and acts before he thinks sure, but when it comes to being a trickster, he’s more thoughtful and malicious like the movie version.

His relationship with Lydia is a big brother/little sister type. She’s one of the very select few who’s ever gotten past his walls. He’s protective of her and always encourages her interests in the gross, rude, and dead. But he’s less affectionate than the show/musical. He’s not a big fan of pda and just barely tolerates her occasional hug. He and Lydia are the type of friends that exchange insults and petty barbs as a way of showing how they care.

A brief note on his most common alter ego, Bettyjuice. I modernized her into an egirl because the aesthetic is perfect with all the stripes. She’s pretty much the same as the show; gross, rude, and impulsive. But I made her too pretty unfortunately. I kept leaning towards cute with certain attributes like the added beanie and her adorable tummy, so that’ll probably be tweaked in the future, but we’ll see. I do like this design a lot even though it’s not gross enough.

Lydia:

Again, all iterations were an inspiration. Her Netherworld design is just a more aged up version of the original poncho, but I added a touch more purple at the forefront to reflect her personality. And her normal design is more muted just as a contrast to the Netherworld to make it seem mundane in comparison. In terms of personality, she’s got the character development of the musical. She’s still deadpanned and sarcastic like the movie/musical, but she’s much softer and more sweet like her toon counterpart. She’s a little more mature now that she’s 18, but not by much cause she’s still a young, developing girl. She only has a few friends her age since most of her peers at school are put off by her goth aesthetic and macabre interests. It also doesn’t help that she hangs around a weird egirl who likes to throw bugs at people (Bettyjuice of course). She does have two friends, Becca and Pamela (loosely based off Bertha and Prudence) and of course, her family. She still loves the Maitlands and hangs out with them a bunch. She has a better relationship with Charles Deetz now that she’s a little older. The one she has conflict the most is Deelia, but there’s still clear love there. She fully accepts Deelia as her mother now, while, of course, still keeping Emily Deetz in her heart as well. But they tend to bicker and argue the most because of their different worldviews, but much less so than before now that Lydia regularly spends time in the Nethworld.

But of course, Lydia’s best friend is Beetlejuice. They pull pranks, get into mischief, and regularly get revenge on Lydia’s main bully Claire Brewster.

But yeah, that’s it. I’ll explain my OC later, but I’m too tired rn. I’m working on some more art for Beetlejuice, but the main inspo is the cartoon since it has a lot more to work with in terms of story and world building.

[emo-rabbit]

OOC

Here’s a little intro to my TMNT X ANIMAL CROSSING “au” there’s an island attached to this, so l’ll share the dream address. But here’s the master post

WELCOME TO HIDEOUT! A town made from the remains of New York City, for mutants and mutant ally’s. Walk around! You’ll find amazing restaurants and beautiful cites!

OUR STORY

back in the day, HideOut was a city full of humans. However, most of them were wiped out by creatures called “Kraang.” Only leaving mutants and a few humans. However, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles made a new city, us!

RESIDENTS

HUMANS

Casey Jones (named Raph on my save- oops): Casey Jones was one of the founders of the island, having fought along the ninja turtles. He’s often seen assisting fellow residents.

April O’Neil: A very helpful guide! April O’Neil is always willingly to assist you if anything goes wrong! She’s got powers too!

Baxter Stockman: he’s been missing for some time. We don’t know where he went.

MUTANTS

Hazel: She’s been living here since the founding of the island, she’s a mutant squirrel. Really nice, if April or Casey aren’t available, please go ask her for assistance!

Simon: A cute monkey who’s always out fishing! He’s our local fish expert, got a fish question? He’s your guy! Spike: A rhino who looks mean, but is actually a really nice guy! He works at our gym, making sure everyone is healthy!

Purrl: Purrl used to be an ice cream cat called “Ice Cream Kitty”, but now (thanks to further mutantion) is stable outside a freezer! She now helps new comers!

Henry: Henry’s the child of a mutant frog from an alternate universe, we legitimately don’t know where he came from. However, he’s smug.

Lucky: Lucky used to be Casey Jones childhood dog, well before he died. Then he came back to life thanks to a spill! Hes extremely shy.

Snake: Ex-Foot Clan member. He was mutated whit his pet Rabbit. He’s still trying to heal from the trauma he induced from the foot clan.

Stella: She’s a goat, and the mother of the island. She’ll often bring you food right to your door step!

Bertha: She’s a hippo who’s always kind and cheery! She’s the town’s therapist!

Rasher: He was an experiment by Baxter stockman, he wanted to see what would happen if he combined Bebop and Rocksteadys DNA. So he’s basically their “child”, in a way. Really cracky however.

we have other residents, who would like to stay anonymous.

Why us?

well, we’re a save haven for both mutant and human. We have lots of services, like food and disability aid, which insures every single person has a home and a stable environment to trive.

PHOTOS

[yutopia-eleftheria]

Favorite Pokémon Trainer of Each Type Meme

When I went looking for some Pokémon Memes, I always find stuff like "Favorite Pokémon of Each Type", but never "Favorite Pokémon TRAINER of Each Type", so I decided to change one and turn it into that because trainers also deserves to shine

(And I think we all have a favorite Pokémon Trainer of a certain type, don't we ?)

Normal : Larry Okuba

I can't really explain why but I like this guy. He is so formal yet so funny at the same time.

Shoothout to Aloé Lenora, because she is highly underrated and I almost put her in here.

Other trainers ranked :

2. Aloé Lenora

3. Althéo Ilima

4. Tcheren

5. Norman Mitsuko Senri

6. Blanche Whitney

Grass : Barbara Mallow

I found her to be so cute and kind. Even though she is a Trial Captain, she is still a Trainer after all, so she counts ! ♥

Other trainers ranked :

2. Érika

3. Rachid Cilan Cress

4. Flo Gardenia

5. Colza Brassius

6. Percy Milo

7. Amaro Ramos

Fire : Meloco Braseco

She is way too badass ! Her entire design is *chef's kiss* ♥ Honestly though there are a lot of cool Fire Type Trainers so it was really hard to choose. I'm sorry Kabu :,(

Other trainers ranked :

2. Kabu Arwen

3. Adriane Flannery

4. Malva Pachira

5. Rubépin Crispin

6. Armando Cilan Cress

7. Kiawe

8. Max Archie

9. Adrien Flint

10. Auguste Blaine

Water : Marc Wallace

This man is too sassy for us not gonna lie xD !

2. Donna Nessa

3. Narcisse Siebold

4. Marlon Amana

5. Noa Cilan Cress

6. Ondine Misty

7. Arthur Maxie

8. Néphie Lana

9. Juan Adan

10. Lovis Wake

11. Kombu Marisco

Electric : Inézia Elesa

She is such a wonderful woman. I pretty much immeditely fell in love with her. One of my Waifus not gonna lie ♥

Other trainers ranked :

2. Mashynn Iono

3. Tanguy Volkner

4. Lem Bonnie Clemont

5. Chris Sophocles

6. Voltère Watson

7. Major Bob

Bug : Éra Katy

All the Bug Type Trainers are pretty much in the same Tier for me, but I still like Éra slightly more than the others.

Other trainers ranked :

2. Aaron Ryo

3. Hector Bugsy

4. Artie Burgh

5. Violette Panji

6. Guzma

Flying : Alizée Winona

In all honesty, I love all of the Flying type Trainers. They're all so cool in my opinion and it was one of the hardest choices to make.

Other trainers ranked :

2. Carolina Skyla

3. Albert Falkner

4. Kahili

5. Larry Okuba (Elite 4 Alternate Team)

Fighting : Élige Dendra

Mah gurl alright ! I love Élige with all my heart ! ♥ I wish I could have had a Sports teacher like her OMG ♥ Also Girl supremacy among Fighting type trainers ! ♀♥♀

2. Faïza Bea

3. Cornélia Korrina

4. Nèflie Éri

5. Mustar Honey

6. Bastien Brawly

7. Mélina May-Lin

8. Aldo Bruno

9. Pectorius Hala

10. Kunz Marshal

11. Chuck Shijima

Ground : Cayenn Rika

I'm pretty "meh" about the Ground type trainers, but Cayenn : That's my Elite 4 ! My Ground type gal ! I love her with all of my heart ! ♥

Other trainers ranked :

2. Paulie Hapu

3. Bertha Terry

4. Giovanni Sakaki

5. Bardane Clay

Rock : Alyxia Olivia

It was a hard choice because Roxanne was up there too. They are definitely the best Rock type Trainer Girls out there ♥

Other trainers ranked :

2. Roxanne Tsutsuji

3. Thaïm Rytima

4. Chaz Gordie

5. Lino Grant

6. Pierrick Roark

7. Pierre Brock

Ice : Olga Lorelei

As much as I love Zhu, Lona, or even Grusha and Sina...and Glacia OMG they're so many !!!... Anyways... the OG Ice Type Trainer that is Olga Lorelei will always hold a special place in my heart, especially with her Let's Go redesign ♥

Other trainers ranked :

2. Zhu Brycen

3. Sina

4. Lona Gordie Melony

5. Grusha Nievecima

6. Glacia Prim

7. Gladys Candice

8. Garrett Gaeric

9. Urup Wulfric

10. Frédo Pryce

11. Lilien Zinzolin

Poison : Ério Atticus

If only Mimosa Miriam was a Poison Type as I thought she was at first, she would have absolutely DOMINATED them ! But no she doesn't have a specific type lol. Most of them are ninjas and are therefore pretty cool, but I have to choose Ério because : Handsome guy behinf the mask ♥

Other trainers ranked :

2. Sophora Klara

3. Strykna Roxie

4. Jeannine Kyô Anzu

5. Koga Kyô Anzu

Psychic : Morgane Sabrina

The very first Psychic Type Trainer and Gym Leader is the best one ! She has an amazing backstory and design ! (Except for HeartGold and SoulSilver because they destroyed her...) She is still the best nonetheless !

Other trainers ranked :

2. Saturnin Avery

3. Tully Labiosa

4. Clément Will

5. Lucio Goyô

6. Percila Caitlin

7. Lévy & Tatia

8. Astéra Olympia

9. Dexio

10. Saubohne Faba

11. Travis Bede (before becoming a Gym Leader)

Ghost : Alistair

I mean who doesn't like this little boy ? He is so cute and yet can be so terrifying at the same time. By far one of the best Ghost Type Trainers ever made !

Other trainers ranked :

2. Mortimer Matsuba

3. Spectra Phoebe

4. Laïm Rytima

5. Margie Acerola

6. Kiméra Fantina

7. Anis Shauntal

8. Agatha Kikuko

Dragon : Amaryllis Zinnia

Everything in her is pure awesomness ! From her design to her purpose and her destiny, she is just too incredible ! Note that Iris was still close to her as she has one of the best glow-ups in the entire franchise.

Other trainers ranked :

2. Iris Landon

3. Peter Lance

4. Sandra Clair

5. Roy Raihan

6. Hassa Girasol

7. Dracéna

8. Solane Ryuki

9. Watson Drayden

10. Irido Drayton

11. Drake Aragon

Steel : Shehroz Peony Rose

I think you pretty much know it at this point. He is my favourite character in Galar and one of my absolute favorite characters of the franchise ! I don't care what people say, this is my opinion and I'll stick by it.

Other trainers ranked :

2. Pierre Rochard

3. Nikolaï Akuroma

4. Jasmine Mikan

5. Dhilan Peony Rose

6. Popi Llavesol

7. Nérine Amarys

8. Thyméo Wilkstr��m

9. Charles Byron Roark

10. Molène Mullain

Dark : Rosemary Piers

Our punk girl that turns out to be an absolute cinnamon roll is in this OMG ! Not gonna lie this runs in the family : her brother Peterson is also insanely cool. But some people managed to made their way in between them...

Other trainers ranked :

2. Pieris Grimsley

3. Marion Karen

4. Peterson Piers

5. Giacomo Brôme

6. Damien Sidney

7. Dahn Nanu

Fairy : Valériane

Fairy type happens to be the most recent type added (*kof kof* DLC *kof kof* ?...) But when you come to think about it, it's been already 10 years since X & Y came out and since Fairy was first introduced ! Time flies ! And to this day, I still think that our very first Fairy Type Trainer, Johtonian now Kalosian as well, Valériane, is still on the spotlight.

Other trainers ranked :

2. Taro Lacey Elesa

3. Oléa Mine

4. Travis "Tracie" Bede

5. Sally Opal (when young she is easily above both Travis and Oléa)

6. Ortiga Mejadoha

What about you people ? Who is your favorite trainer for each type ? Let me know ; I'm curious.

[nerdyvocals]

Wow, it's been like two months since I posted the Descendants 2 quotes list, and its been a month since @look-at-those-niceass-rocks and I watched D3. We're planning on watching Rise of Red tonight, so it feels like an apt time to give you the unhinged things we had to say about Descendants 3. As always, the dumbassery is under the cut. Please enjoy!

Me: They have a bigger budget but somehow everything is Worse

Bee: Her wig is worse Me: ... I don't know who you're talking about, but you're right

Mal: Not a tentacle in sight Me: That is the opposite of kinky

Honorable Mention: A much too long interlude of us trying to figure out what the timeline here is, because at times it feels like they're all much older, but others it seems like D2 *just* happened.

Bee: DOUG WHAT IS YOUR HAIR Me: Bad!

Ben: *proposing* Me: You are seventeen (I think???) Bee: You are in high school (probably???)

Me: That ring is hideous Bee: What is that leaf thing on the side???

Insert various squealing over how cute the twins are

Me: Ben, how many times do we need to have this discussion about your suits? 1. Buttons, 2. If you're not wearing a tie, you don't do the buttons that high.

Ben and Mal: *discussing closing the Isle permanently* Bee: This argument makes no sense! It would make more sense the other way around Me: Its so out of character for the both of them

Audrey: *turns Mal into a hag* Me: I feel like we need to drink for that Mal: *speaks* Bee: I feel like we need to chug for that

Audrey: *singing Happy Birthday in cursive* Bee: Oh god, she's a theatre kid

Mal (returned to normal on the Isle): Evil magic doesn't work here! Me: See, they can never decide if they're gonna stick with that Bee: Follow your own fucking rules, I beg of you

Us noting how weird the movie is, like they're trying to be grittier but the script is the most "Disney Channel" the franchise had been at that point

Mal: How big is that dog? Bee: CAN I PET THAT DAAAWG

Bee: I think I am just the right amount of drunk to appreciate this movie for what it is

Bee: *about Hades* He is so hot Me: I would do ungodly things to that man- pun unintended

Me: Also, are we just gonna gloss over the fact that Mal is a fucking demigod???

Me: So the canon up until this point (implied in the movies and explicit in the books) is that none of the Villain kids know who their other parents are, and all Mal knew was that her father was human and Maleficent was ashamed of that

Me, two seconds later: Hades had two fairy demigod children; Mal Bertha and Nico Di Angelo Bee: *chokes on drink*

Bee: Now I know there's a dramatic song here because I vaguely remember a dramatic song- oh there it is

Bee: What. The fuck. Is happening? Me: Something I'm still way too sober for

Hades: If it gets wet, it's game over! Us, simultaneously: Me too- *wheezing laughter*

Audrey: Sleep is too good for you! Ben: *drops like a sack of potatoes* Bee: Oh shit, she killed him!

Octo-Uma: *exists* Bee: Oh the budget is back!

Uma: Guarantee me that every single villain kid that wants to can get off the Island Mal: I can't do that Me: You literally can? Bee: You're the queen??

Me: Harry's costume is the only one in this scene that I like Bee: You're right Me: He should be more tits out Bee: He should have a boob window!

Bee: She (Evie) would make a great preschool teacher

Audrey: *pets Chad* Bee: He's gonna have some interesting kinks to figure out when he's older

*In the hallway* Uma: Hold up! What's this? Bee: Bad set dressing?

Mal: I wonder what fried octopus tastes like? Bee: Like you haven't eaten her before Me: *chokes on drink*

Bee: Evie is literally just sitting there looking pretty and I respect the fuck out of her for that

*During Night Falls* Me: Did they say "bitch, splat?" Bee: I think they said "pitch black", but I also heard "bitch, splat" Me: That's a better lyric

Bee: Evie actually invented gentle parenting. I'd call her mommy Me:

Uma: *talking about Audrey after reading her diary* Bee: Oh, they're in love. Like I know they haven't met, but they're in love

Bee: Oh no, my lesbian! (note: I cannot for the life of me remember what the fucking context for this was)

*In Evie's sewing room* Me: PAUSE Bee: Oh, she's (Evie) so cute! Me: Oh, I was trying to see what kind of sewing machine that is, I think it's a pfaff Bee: ...Does that count as costuming? Me: Enough for a drink, yes- Oh actually, that might be a Bernina

Me (about Evie and Doug): "I miss Bee and [Husband]" "We have Bee and [Husband] at home" The Bee and [Husband] at home

*During the introduction of Beast!Ben* Bee: *incoherent screeching* Me: I think we need a chug for that Bee: I need to drink to forget, when will he go away?

Bee: ...I wasn't gonna say anything, but that's a butt plug tail

Jane: *appears* Me: My babygirl! Bee: She gets cuter every movie.

*@ Carlos* Bee: Puh-lease give her a little smooch Me: He's so smitten, it's disgusting

Harry: Hey Jay, uh, thanks for saving me, gorgeous face~ Me: HELLO??? Bee: GAY Me: I don't remember that, that might've been something that was cut from the Disney Channel release?

Harry: *smacks Jay's shoulder* Me: It only could've been better if he smacked his ass Bee: Oh, he definitely smacked his ass. I saw him smack his shoulder, but he smacked his ass

Bee: Through the power of lesbians and rhyming couplets!

Honorable mention: Us losing it over the VISIBLE LACE of Ben's shitty fake beard

Bee: Chad was a better character in the first movie where he was kinda dumb but conniving, but now he's just dumb

(About My Once Upon a Time) Me: This song is from a better movie Bee: Right like holy shit??? This is a mid-act-two power ballad on Broadway. The way I would scream this in my car.

(Side note: the verses of the song felt out of order to me. Turns out it's sung in a different order in the movie than it is on the soundtrack)

Bee: There's something really gross about this dragon model and I can't put my finger on it Me: It looks wet Bee: Yeah! It- oh. Oh it, uh. It looks like a "bad dragon". If you catch my drift. Me: ...I'd like to go home now

Audrey: *comatose* Me: WHAT is that cover??? Bee: Is that a shroud??? Me: They changed her! They put in the effort to put her in pjs but turning her covers down was too much? Was that too inappropriate??? Bee: They left her feet uncovered!!! Dogs out for free on the Disney Channel!

Me: Another fit in which Ben needs a tie

Me (@ Hades): Dad, more like- no. Bee: Dad, more like daddy!!! I'll say it, I have enough daddy issues to Me: Bee, no

Bee: Why do they (Hades and Mal) love each other now? This relationship is unearned

Bee: (@ Beast) You gave the kingdom to a sixteen year-old, you can shut the fuck up

Jay: *making very romantic-sounding plans with Gil* Me: Which ear is the gay ear? Bee: I think it's the left??? (after Googling) No, it's the right Me: Jay has had an earring in the gay ear and only the gay ear this whole movie Bee: *screeching*

Me: In a better version of this movie, Lonnie has been here teasing the fuck out of him (Jay) about Gil the whole movie and then she eggs him to ask him out now.

Bad note for costumes, Uma is wearing a repainted Amazon corset in the final number. So much for Disney money and this movie having a bigger budget

Hades: Am I invited to the wedding? Bee: No, go away

Speaking of the wedding, we took a brief interlude there before Rise of Red

[usergrantaire]

gilded age s2e7

- feminist icon larry russell

- ah so george is still a robber baron after all

- they need to STOP putting marian in those yellows and stick to jewel tones, yellow washes her the hell out

- “i am persuaded” mmm are you tho?

- all this drama over fucking opera

- ooh is peggy gonna recruit marian to teach at sarah garnet’s school

- not agnes indirectly telling marian she wants her out of the house 💀

- “how many others went with you?” scandal!

- why is jack’s clock storyline so cute

- man stop sex baiting us make use of that hbo banner already

- old timey cameras are so charming

- flora is here!

- i knew mr mcneil was nasty

- naur is agnes reading a bible??

- it hurts to see oscar getting scammed

- sure, maud is definitely just in newport

- mrs astor ambushing bertha during tea, gotta live passive aggressive combat

- “you’ll regret it” nah the academy will have their last opera performance in 1886

- you know maud could still be a lesbian it’s just irrelevant to her scammer plot (me when im delusional)

- robber barons gonna robber baron

- yayyy john adams is back

- maud beaton, the gilded age anna delvey

- this brooklyn rooftop party looks divine

- peggy’s dress!!!!

- EMILIE KOUATCHOU????

- jesus christ everyone on broadway and their mother has been in this show but aaron

- naur not mrs astor stealing the duke from bertha 😭

- dorothy trying to set peggy up

- FEMINIST ICON LARRY RUSSELL!!!

- why are mrs bruce and mr borden cute lol

- noooo ada

- another larry and marian crumb how are we doing girls

- marian’s gonna have to marry super rich now isn’t she

[crystalelemental]

Full tier list is here, breakdown of the C-tier. Again, I generally like these ones, they give a bit more than the D-tier, but they're again not really hitting that sweet spot.

Shauna: dating Serena. the only XY friend with personality, really.

Rowan: I dunno man, I just like Rowan.

Kukui: Fun quirky dude, fails to hit any particular love point with me somehow.

Sycamore: The dork man himself. I dunno, he's fun sometimes.

Blue: Kanto anti-bias, but Blue is at least a decent character half the time.

Nanu: can be really fun with Grimsley or Looker/Anabel, kinda whatever on his own.

Kieran: Okay listen I liked what Teal Mask set up but do not respect where Indigo Disk went. Kieran falls short for me. They gave him some neat beats but he doesn't stand out.

Fantina: she's silly <3

Amarys: Kinda love that she's Carmine's bestie. She's alright.

Lisia: Wish they did more with her.

Calem: Masters skews this, but I love his rival focus as being frustrated he can't beat Serena and trying really hard to keep pace. That's good protag characterization.

Rei: he gets stuff.

Barry: Fun rival, has some quirks going on.

Hop: When I'm being fair I like him, when I'm not being fair he feels repetitive to previous rivals.

Agatha: cool old spooky lady, loved a Masters even with her but she doesn't get enough play. Let's Go redesign actually top tier.

Koga/Janine: I like the ninja family, they're cool.

Sabi: she's silly <3

Yancy: I really liked Yancy, okay. "Don't you play as the girl? What about-" I have nothing to say about him.

Wikstrom: Silly knight man with lore implications due to the whole knight thing.

Diantha: Sadly does not get the play she deserves. Could be higher if they gave her more.

Leon: I think the series is confused about what makes Leon interesting and keeps failing to lean into what's broken about him. That one Generations episode got it.

Birch: fun professor, the only one doing legitimate field work.

Burnet: She's fun too, not much to add.

Viola: I kinda like her fight, so I kinda like her.

Lenora: she's just a cool lady.

Hala: just a kahuna on a stroll to the laguna. He gets it.

Wallace: Fabulous, but that is not enough for affection.

Grant: I dunno, I kinda just vibe with his design.

Bertha: I have a soft spot for her. Tough granny.

Mustard: Same deal, but more active.

Lance: He has some stuff but I feel like he's a lot blander than people give credit for.

Will: Kind of a weirdo, and I respect it.

Drake/Glacia: they're just neat.

Sonia: I like Sonia alright, but I feel like her "research" is kinda just her showing up and talking about stuff you incidentally find, and she removes Magnolia from view which I consider a cardinal sin.

Giacomo: he's neat.

Morgan/Evelyn: I kinda like these two, they have fun, if one-note, personalities.

Ingo/Emmet: I know I reversed it, but I'm used to this order. They're alright. My wife likes them a lot more than I do, but I don't really know them because I refuse to do Battle facilities anymore.

Piers: got all the neat stuff Marnie should've gotten and it still wasn't enough for me to think he's that interesting.

Lucian: the man has style.

Zinzolin: Legitimately and unironically the best part of the Team Plasma. He is literally just some old fart with no significance running around ranting and raving about how feeling the cold biting at your skin and suffering is proof that you're alive. Actually unhinged, best subordinate.

Beni/Sanqua: I like these two a lot.

Tierno: he can be fun, XY just kinda overdid it with friends.

Sawyer: I do kinda like the loyal friends.

Raihan: he's fine. At least he has personality.

Ryuki: Look, I know I'm discounting the anime in most cases, but they made him such an over the top rocker with a headbanging Zweilous, I am making an exception to put him in C.

Protagonists: they're all cute enough.

Gordie: Swag.

Melony: Finally, a mom that looks like a mom.

Falkner: Johto bias.

Olivia: can have a fun personality but not as much play time.

Korrina: sure.

Eri: Has stuff going on I just don't strongly connect with her. I think it's the wrestling. I am not into wrestling.

Wake: See above.

Mira: I just think she's funny. Lost in a cave and you rescue her only for her Kadabra to put in more work than you do.

Ghetsis: conceptually interesting, but still a bitch.

Guzma: see above, though I think the implications of him being an abused child are fascinating. He has some fun structural ideas on the nature of abusive cycles, and how someone who is abused is easily abused by others who show even the slightest trust in them. But he's also really abusive toward his underlings and I'm just not a huge fan of Team Skull in general so C is the best I can do.

[mydaylight]

I found this picture while rummaging through the internet, judging from the poor quality it isn't an officially released still, so maybe a photo from the set? it's such a pity this scene was cut!

[demonfox38]

Completed - Wild Guns Reloaded

What do you mean, you can't use a single screenshot from a video game as both your feminist philosophy and gender identity?

How about two? Would two work?

Man, so many things confuse me about Natsume as a company. Like, its history, for one. Splitting to form two different companies, both of which use Natsume in the name (Natsume Co. vs. Natsumi Atari, which no, is also not the Atari you are thinking of.) Then, of all products for Natsume-associated games to become popular, it's "Harvest Moon." Like. What? Why? I'm not saying the library of Natsume works is the most creative set, but they're all excellent zeitgeist encapsulations. Like, you want hard platforms with ninjas and bullet hell adjacent shooters with snappy music? Man, Natsume has you covered. But apparently, it's the dating/farming sims that the masses are all about. I just don't get it.

Look, man. I live in Iowa. If I wanted to do "Harvest Moon" shit, I would have done it in real life. Ya know. Joined 4-H. Picked rocks on my grandparents' farm. Showed animals at a county fair or two. Get knocked up in high school. Worked in an industrial slaughterhouse for Tyson. The kind of stuff that I have deliberately avoided.

Shooting robots in petticoats ain't something I can get in real life, so that's the game from the Natsume library I'm playin'. Living that sweet South Dakota lifestyle, I guess!

"Wild Guns Reloaded" (not to be confused with "Wild Arms," despite me doing that multiple times) is a 2016 remaster of Natsume’s SNES title "Wild Guns." Set in a vague futuristic depiction of the American West, you are charged with blasting the notorious Kid gang's faces cranially inward through a series of bullet-riddled levels. Do you have the structural integrity of a paper plate? Yes. But you also have access to several gun styles, bombs, electric lassos, grenades, and a drone being led around by a little long-haired dachshund. You'd be surprised what you can do with such an arsenal.

Look man, you're not playing this game for plot. You're doing it for the challenge and the sweet, sweet aesthetics.

Like, God. The original "Wild Guns" was already a stunner with its large, detailed sprite work and bombastic music. "Wild Guns Reloaded" has doubled-down on that, smoothing out its animations while keeping its bright sprites, broadening the play field, remixing its score with higher-fidelity instruments, adding two new stages, and throwing in two new characters with unique playstyles into the mix. And man, what a choice they made there, too! Getting a cute little doggie? Adorable. Getting a gigantic gal with legs like a Ninja Turtle action figure and the ability to pitch grenades in heaps at will? Outstanding!

Could there have been more logical character archetypes to pull? Sure. An Indigenous American, Latino, or Chinese immigrant character could have made sense, if care was taken into their implementation. But, man! I appreciate the stones of a game to toss a second Big Bertha into the mix. I'm not gonna be the bitch to argue against a dog, either. Excellent choices! Very creative! Bark bark bark!

As cool as it is, "Wild Guns Reloaded" is an unyielding steel wall in terms of difficulty. Like, yeah. I'm used to getting my teeth kicked in with certain games, so I wasn't surprised when even the first screen of the first stage was enough to push me back on my first try. What did surprise me is how few people on Steam have been able to drive through that first barrier. We're talking a 46.7% achievement rate for people able to beat the first boss. Next boss? 22.1%. Like, holy crap. Are we as a community that weak willed in spirit?

Having said that, I don't think it's actually very well communicated how to even play this game. Like, yeah, there's a manual. A whole whopping three pages long! But, that doesn't even remotely get into the logic behind the game. Or, hell. Even how to properly shoot.

So, I want to take a good chunk of this evaluation to do just that! Because damn it, this game is too fucking cool to not help other people get into it.

At heart, "Wild Guns Reloaded" is an arcade-style shooting gallery. In some sense, it could even be seen as an extreme variant of Treasure's "Sin and Punishment" series, or perhaps a game akin to "Galaga" or "Gradius." To survive, you need to not only dodge shots, but turn the tables on your enemies, using reflexes and memorization to hold waves back and smack bosses around for daring to try the same trick twice on you.

You have two planes of action to monitor:

The red space is your general field of play (where you are expected to shoot down.) The green space is the area that you occupy. Aiming and walking are tied to the same controls, so you will move around a little bit when you are drawing a shot.

If you are in danger of getting hit, the game will let you know with a little "Look Out!" message.

You can also watch the trajectory of an enemy's fire through this flashing cursor on screen:

Missiles will have a subtle shadow effect on your territory as well, so keep an eye out for them:

Your evasion options are either:

Walk with the control stick/directional keys (not generally advised unless you are playing the dog)

Jump using a dedicated Jump button (gets above obstacles)

Dodge by hitting the Jump button and your directional controls left or right while keeping the Fire button held (keeps your character on the ground; allows for faster recovery)

If the enemy lobs a stick of dynamite at you, you don't necessarily have to run. Stop firing, pick the dynamite up using the Fire button, and toss it back at your foes for a little extra damage! Whatever you decide to do, commit to it ASAP. You do not want to be around with that goes off.

Generally speaking, it's to your benefit to plant your heels in the center of the screen and only move out of it when you are about to take a hit. (If you had a buddy, perhaps you could split the screen. But, good luck with that…) The game tends to punish you for hanging out in the corners of the screen, often deliberately planting sentries at the edges to rebuff you. Camping in the corners also reduces your space to evade, so it's better to keep your options open for evasion by owning the center.

Your offensive options differ depending on the character you play. For the original characters (Clint and Annie), the standard style is:

Hold the Fire button to shoot an uninterrupted stream of bullets

Tap the Fire button repeatedly and release to shoot out an electric lasso that stuns your target (allowing you to return to regular file and blast the crap out of them for a few seconds)

Whack the Fire button when an enemy is in your territory (sending them flying back)

FYI—you should notice a brief change in your character's stance when you can whack an enemy.

Normal:

Whacking:

Doris' play style is based on building up power to unleash barrages of grenades at a target. Unlike Clint and Annie, she's waiting for a perfect opportunity to strike once and as hard as possible. Hold the Fire button to charge up her attack, then release it for her to unleash it. You can charge Doris' grenades up to an x7 multiplier, but most situations can be handled with at least a x3. Also, you can preserve her multiplier through dodges, so prioritize dodging on the ground to jumps where possible.

Bullet's style separates his hit box into two separate entities (the drone and the doggie.) The drone can be activated by pressing the Fire button. It will continuously attack anything that comes into its aiming reticle, but it will have to be released and reset for new targets outside of its range. Bullet can't defend himself, but he can wiggle around much quicker than other characters, so it makes it easy for him to avoid getting hit while his robot buddy provides a steady stream of damage.

You will have to disengage the robot to whack people back on the playing field, so make sure to keep Bullet by his buddy when someone comes creeping along the bottom of the stage. It is important to note that the robot can also be stunned, so you should try to keep it out of enemy fire when possible. It's just not a run ender necessarily if it takes a hit.

All characters have a bomb ability to clear the room when necessary to keep the screen from getting too busy. These are limited, so use them with discretion.

Be sure to pick them up any time you see them on screen! You can usually find them either by killing specific enemies or blowing up chunks of the terrain.

Clint, Annie, and Bullet can get limited-time modifiers for their weaponry. This can include a machine gun for faster damage, a shotgun for a broader range of damage, a grenade launcher for big and heavy damage, a laser gun for some precise spicy damage, and a harmless pop gun designed just to screw with you. All have a limited ammo account (around 50 for everything), so use (or deplete) wisely!

The machine gun, shotgun, grenade launcher, and laser gun will all appear on screen as an icon with a single letter for their ammo type (M, S, G, and L, respectively.) A randomized weapon (including potentially the pop gun!) comes out of these:

Everyone has a green meter on their HUD.

This builds up as they hit and kill enemies. When it maxes out, this triggers the Vulcan Cannon. This weapon not only deals massive damage on hit, but it also makes your character invulnerable. It will run out of steam within a few seconds, so don't be too reliant on that status. But, it can help in a pinch.

Everything past that? It's standard video game stuff, ya know? Memorize waves. Endure a minute or so of gunplay to get to the next boss. Learn their special moves. Find the glowing weak point. Crack it open. Regular Peppy Hare behavior.

Honestly, getting a handle on your offense style and movement capabilities is most of the challenge. The weird little movement ticks were what caught me off guard. I would be studying what few YouTube videos I could pull up for this game, stop, then go "Wait, what? I can do that?" before booting the game up and doing exactly what I saw. Like, I didn't even know how to fire my goddamn gun right. I didn't even think about holding my Fire button! I just went into rapid tapping! That's how far behind I was in all of this!

Having said that, you may want to remap your controller to something like this:

(Buttons pictured correspond to an Xbox 360 controller.)

It'll allow you to keep spraying bullets with the back of your thumb joint, then kick in jumps or dodges as needed with the front of thumb.

As far as other issues go? I would have liked having some kind of screen select or boss rush for practicing. (I suppose just playing the game is practice enough. Still, I would have liked to focus on a few trouble spots at my leisure.) I know some people in the forums for this game on Steam were disappointed that the multiplayer function was local co-op only, but man, I can't imagine what a mess the net code and rollback situation for this kind of game would have been like. Especially, when you live in the middle of Fuckoff, Iowa and the really cool players are out in South Korea. I guess people out here do okay with whatever flavor of "Call of Duty" is available, but those games are also far more forgiving when it comes to injury and death. It's hard to get people recruited for this kind of abuse.

Although, I could see my dad playing this. Maybe just once!

Look, this game isn't for everybody. I get it. It’s a tough cookie. But, I think "Wild Guns Reloaded" deserves more than for half of its players to give up on it within 0.3 seconds of their first death. It's a wonderfully constructed game, and there's a lot of logic underpinning its challenges. It does require some gumption, analytical skills, and reflexes to push past the worst the game throws at you, but it's not insurmountable! Hell, the game gives you infinite continues! You just gotta grit your teeth and get in there!

Hell, I got my first game clear in under four hours of playing! It can be done, and maybe even in a reasonable amount of time! (Though, maybe keep your playing sessions under an hour and a half to give your hands a break.)

If you feel like you could use a waltz with a Winchester, "Wild Guns Reloaded" is currently available on Steam for $14.99. You may want to wait for a sale, if you're feeling iffy on it. Fine. Reasonable. Definitely more so than the average going price of ~$250.00 for the original SNES game. I might be a sucker for the retro market, but damn it. Even I've got to put my foot down every once in a while. Especially, when an affordable upgrade is available!

Life is hard. Sometimes, people just want to work on their cutesy little gardens and snuggle with their video game spouses. Get through the sadness softly. There's room for that in this world. Hell, there should be more room for it, if we're being honest.

But, uh…I prefer having a hearty digital ass-kicking instead. Even when neither the computer nor I know whose ass is going to get kicked.

[lesbiangummybearmafia]

The Gilded Age, 02x07, Wonders never Cease. My thoughts

This episode was a fucking roller-coaster of a ride! One moment I'm crying then next I'm happy for someone, next I'm completely suspicious of one certain rich mrs. pain in ass.

First to everyone that was on to Muade Beaten right off the bat y'all get million brilliant points and I completely apologize for ever doubting any of you. Omg y'all were so right!! I truly didn't believe she was part of the scam. She freakin good! Give her award for that shit. At the same time I'm sad because I wanted her to be on the up and up. I really liked her, especially with Oscar. They made a cute couple. Omg poor Oscar, I just wanted to hug him when he started crying at John's place and I started crying for Oscar. Then when he tells Aunt Agnes how much money he lose, I started crying for all of them. Because I thought he had just used his individual money for the investment not his mother's money also. That's when I was oh no no no Oscar!! This has to be ok somehow, it just has too.

Then if that wasn't hard enough they have Luke pass away. I was just sobbing when Aunt Ada woke up he was gone. It's just awful that they were together for such a short time. Aunt Ada deserves so much more than just a taste of happily married bliss. My heart just brakes for her. At the same time I am glad she got to be loved like that and love someone in that way.

I did love what Aunt Agnes said to Luke when they were alone. It was also wonderful getting to see that side of her, Aunt Agnes truly loves and cares for her family. Even though she has this tough outer exterior, once you get pass that she's quite loving and she a softness about her. I like how she take her role as head of her family, all her family seriously. Aunt Agnes will always be the strength, the backbone, the true North for them. No matter if it takes kicking their ass or loving them like mad but most likely both she will be there doing it. Aunt Agnes over this season especially has become another of my favorite characters.

Ok once again not enough Bertha in the episode! I think we got spoiled last season because the show kinda revolved around Bertha and the Russell's. But this season their expending the other characters story lines more so we're getting less of what I want the most Bertha. Maybe they could made TGA two hours long episodes. I totally watch them!!

But onto what we did get. First fucking Mrs. Astor, suddenly all oh I got you box at the Academy of music. Yea like Bertha wasn't gonna be what this bitch up to. Mrs. Astor overly nice, her voice dripping with enough sugar put Bertha into glucose shock. Mrs. Astor should work on her fake nice act it's really transparent to anyone that can smell bullshit at 1000 feet. Then the stunt she pulled at Aurora's just made her look stupid not Bertha. But I so did love Bertha's crystal clear No, than she's all look bitch I never told you for sure I was doing that. Why are bringing up now, don't look so smug you haven't won anything. I'm not about to be your lackey. Mrs. Astor getting all huffy and leaveing she's just so pathetic omg. Mrs. Astor really thought she got the better hand of Bertha Russell with her stealing the Duke not with standing. But she simply can't Bertha far more intelligent, cunning, calculated and purely ruthless then Mrs. Astor. On flip side of that Bertha is also friendly, sweet, fun, kind and sincere. Where Mrs. Astor full of crap there's nothing sincere about her, she's all fake nice and attitude. I think she far to use to people kissing her ass and getting her way. We all know Bertha isn't going to do that. I'm so ready to see what happens at the opening night at both opera houses!!

I'm so happy for Jake! Mr. Bannister all casual oh I write my friend in German clock makers group for you. I really do like how there like a little family at the Van Rhijn house (with the exception of Armstrong). I really hope Jake gets his pattern, then goes on to be a clock maker if that's what he wants.

I don't have any idea why Marian is trying to convince herself to marry Dashiell. She's not in love with him, what she going to do wait until she's actually married to the man than be like I made mistake here. I wish she could be as brave for herself as she for everyone else. It's like this all she think she deserves is a loveless marriage at least on her side so she'll doom herself to it. Instead of being brave and looking for what deserves a love like Aunt Ada found. Which might be with one Larry Russell.

I adored the scene with Bertha and George. It's always a treat getting to see Bertha with her hair down all related in her night clothes. I really love that show has a in love married couple at core of it. It's not too much or too little, it's just right as Goldie Locks would say. They have reached the ideal balance for a loving marriage couple in a series, now all other series take note please. They are very endearing. When Bertha sat on George's lap such a romantic thing to do. I really do enjoy their scene together. Ever if their just talking. 😍

I was hoping George would end up being a good guy with his workers, treat them as human beings but so far he's still being ruthless ass. It's so hard with him, when he's with Bertha and his children I really like him, but as soon as he's all business I can't stand him. It drives me nuts.

I'm so happy to see Peggy stand her ground. But I do wonder how long that's going to go on for? Her boss doesn't even seem to give a second thought about his wife or family, just going to listen to his dick. Because let's be honest that's what he's doing. I just don't like him there's something about him the rubs me the wrong way, beyond the I'm so easily willing to cheat on my wife. I definitely feel he's done this before. Peggy might want to find out how many other babies he has around! I just get this feeling off him it's more like he wants to own Peggy untilhe gets bored then he moves on to the the next woman. I hope a really good guy comes into Peggy's life that's not married and sweeps her off her feet.

I really like what Larry did with his speech making sure that at least people in that room which did include the President know that Mrs. Roebling did the work on Brooklyn Bridge. I hope she knew that she wasn't forgotten in history. I learned about her college in my women in America history course. Now thanks to The Gilded Age so many more know her incredible story and she's come back to life in a way that makes the history even more exciting.

Oh I almost... I love when Mr. Baudin ask Mrs. Bruce if she going to watch the fireworks. I was omg the roof of the house! Because that house has to tall enough. I was happy I was correct. I thought I was so sweet he took up there so she could see them. I really like them together. I hope they become a couple. Makes me think of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson in a way.

[whartonists]

Flowers and Fake Marble: How TV Production Designers Create the Past (The New York Times)

“I always say that if there were a marble Olympics, our team would definitely take the gold,” Bob Shaw bragged.

Shaw, the Emmy-winning production designer of the HBO drama “The Gilded Age,” was discussing the painstaking effort and maddening attention to detail that goes into painting a wooden column so that the camera can’t help but read it as stone. The scenic artists of “The Gilded Age” can paint a half-dozen distinct marble varieties. To pause at nearly any frame of the show is to marvel at the meticulous mix of authentic materials and brilliant fakes. Look closely at the candelabras, for example: They are fitted with fire-safe LEDs hooked to wavering filaments that substitute for open flame.

Though production design is often seen as a mere backdrop to the action, the scenery, furnishings, finishes and props have their own stories to tell. And these stories are often especially intricate in period dramas, in which a need for accuracy must accommodate narrative demands and the constraints of a show’s budget.

[...]

Flowers were not enough.

In the first season of “The Gilded Age,” the home of Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon), the wife of a railroad magnate (Morgan Spector), was garlanded with fields of flowers for each social event. So even though the script for the first episode of Season 2, which premieres on HBO on Oct. 29, described the Russell home as resplendent with flowers, Shaw knew he had to do more.

In a scene at the close of the episode, Bertha, a patron of the nascent Metropolitan Opera, arranges a surprise performance of a song from Gounod’s “Faust” by the Swedish soprano Christine Nilsson. While her guests are dining, her sumptuous staircase is transformed into Marguerite’s garden. There are flowers, yes, a mix of real and artificial ones, garlanding the railings. But above the staircase are several panels of hand-painted Italian scenery, as would have been seen in the opera houses of the day.

“It was a challenge to have it be beautiful and evocative and tasteful and not be cute,” Shaw said. “It conveys that Bertha goes to extremes beyond what anyone could imagine to get what she wants.”

The result is ostentatious but still gorgeous. This is a line that Shaw and his team often walk, on lush carpeting. “The Gilded Age” dramatizes the conflict between new money, like the Russells, and old money, like their near neighbors, Agnes van Rhijn (Christine Baranski) and Ada Brook (Cynthia Nixon). The excesses of the new money crowd gave the Gilded Age its name, but whether in the studio or filming on location in various historic homes, Shaw balances lavishness with restraint.

“In all of the houses that we did, we had to back off a little bit from the 100 percent period look,” Shaw said. “Because it’s too much visual information for modern eyes.” He is careful to avoid using the set decoration, a combination of period furniture and scenic art, to judge or insult the characters.

“They’re more complex,” he said. “They’re not simply out to say, ‘Anything you can have I can have bigger.’”

[adamsvanrhijn]

The worst TGA opinions that are also popular (aka. Read them a few Times): 1. Larry and Marian are the best shipping ever (it's ok but just a flat pancake to me) 2. Peggy is unrealistic as a character because she's black (don't get me started with that and did you even watch the show) 3. Oscar is attracted to Gladys (did you even watch the show) 4. Oscar is too ugly (esp. For Gladys like. just -stop-) and miscast (imo he probably wouldn't even be the same character played by anyone else). 5. Bertha Russel is just a girlboss and super likable (I get she's fun to root for but she's a bitch). The best unpopular opinions: 1. Oscar is a Blorbo and pretty 2. Team Ada 3. Turner is fun 4. The long wait for s2 wasn't the worst thing ever 5. Marian doesn't look that bad in yellow. Give some of your hot takes

oh i feel like none of my tga takes are hot takes to be quite honest other than thinking marian is Fine Actually

but. i will respond to yours and then include some . re: worst opinions that have existed at least a few times.

i think they're cute and definitely endgame! and i also think most vocal larry/marian shippers are melodramatic and at least a little bit deranged

evil. obviously with you on this one & i still reeeeeally need to read black gotham, i want that Context baby

evil

evil. evil

i actually don't know if i've seen people call bertha Likeable specifically so i'll withhold an opinion on that piece. i think she's spicy and dramatic and attractive which makes her fun to watch but i would hate interacting with her in real life almost certainly. does indeed have #girlboss vibes.

your less popular good opinions

blorbo <3

I SAW ON REDDIT THAT PEOPLE DISLIKE ADA TODAY AND WAS SCANDALIZED? HAD NOT OCCURRED TO ME THAT ANYONE WOULD DISLIKE ADA!!!

turner is so fucking deranged and i am SO excited for her to come back in s2 like this:

4. hard disagree sorry. i've lost my marbles so many times. 5. agree again marian looks fine in yellow. that said soooo excited to see her in summerwhite soon!!

MY hot takes.... is being obsessed with oscar a hot take. i think at least a little bit it is. i have some bitchy takes that aren't necessarily hot which mostly relate to the way other people do shipping however.